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Eddie Munson
I Was Made for Lovin' You - Eddie x reader, 18+. Smut & Fluff.
Aemond Targaryen - House of the Dragon
High Points of New Lows - Aemond x Reader (HOTD Aemond, fluff & hurt/comfort.)
Aemond Headcanons - (Post sex, inspired by @xxnymeriatargaryenxx)
Psycho Killer - Modern Aemond/Dark Aemond x reader (18+)
TLK / Sihtric
Love Me (@urfriendlywriter prompt)
Tell me you feel the same way (@urfriendlywriter prompt)
Know that I'm here, waiting. (Sihtric x Reader)
Our First Christmas (Modern Sihtric x Reader)
How bad is it? (Sihtric x Healer reader)
Even at my worst? (Sihtric x Wife Reader)
Blóm (Post SKMD Sihtric x reader)
A Pleasant Intrusion (Modern Sihtric x Sigtryggr x Reader, PWP, 18+)
A Life Well Lost (Sihtric x Witch/Healer reader, TW: Hanging)
Touch Starved (Sihtric x Reader, Angst & Fluff)
HOTD Edits
TLK Edits
Other Edits
Caraxes mirroring his Daddy Daemon.
Thought these details were so interesting in Ep.1 - Caraxes seems to mirror Daemon, in the way he stalks forward as Daemon walks, and his cheeky grin when Daemon is content.
Matt Smith as Daemon Targaryen - House of the Dragon, S3 Ep 1.
Word count: 5.9k
Fluffy/ Hurt & Comfort/Blossoming love
When a young maiden of noble birth shows up at the Red Keep, accompanied by her father, a new member of the small council, the usually stoic Aemond is strangely enamoured with the new arrival, yet doubts the sincerity of her affections. The sudden appearance of an old companion brings the two together in a rather unorthodox fashion.
Beta read by @thenameswinter99 🖤
Pain is a great equaliser. Nobody can escape it, yet some suffer in its cruel grasp more than others. As Aemond Targaryen found out at a tender age, pain does not discriminate between the young and the old, the poor and the rich, the ones destined for greatness and the plebians destined to serve beneath them. Pain takes no prisoners, and holds no grudges. It can be a tool to be wielded, and in the hands of foolish young boys, it can be thrust upon those who scarcely deserve it. Brandished by the hands of a boy who despised him, Aemond was left maimed for life, plagued with an agony that would ebb and flow, but never disappear, and the crippling self doubt of a man scarred forever. Yet he blossomed into a true warrior with age, a man who walked hand in hand with his pain, rather than fighting against it. It had become a lifelong reminder of his childhood grievances, of deeds that remained unpunished, rather than a hindrance to his abilities, and the loss of his eye only became another obstacle to overcome.
Though as Aemond would soon find out, pain can not only drive a wedge between people, but also draw them together.
Small council meetings were rarely occasions of interest, though Aemond sat through each and every one he was granted entry to diligently, unlike his brother. Although Aegon was next in line for the iron throne, he paid little attention to the ruling of the kingdom or the petty matters of court. Aemond however, took a vested interest in how his kingdom was to be run, even if he wasn’t a member himself. If he was not present for meetings, his mother often recalled significant events and decisions to him over dinner. When the time came to replace a member of the small council, a trusted and integral member of the King’s advisors, Aemond had sway, his voice echoing through his mother’s lips.
The role of Master of Coin had long been filled by older members of court, typically of noble families who lived in Kings Landing. With the passing of the old master, the small council pleaded with the King to inject some youth and vitality into a stale system. The Hand of the King was instructed to search the realm for the most qualified, loyal men with families and ties to the realm, men of good standing, but with real world experience - who could give real insight into the plight of the people, yet handle the burden of the vast finances of the crown. He found all those qualities within your father.
You had never expected such a dramatic upheaval, a thorough uprooting of your entire life, yet you packed your belongings and endured the long journey to Kings Landing, everything you ever owned in tow. As an unmarried woman, you were tied to your father, supported by his finances and stuck under his thumb until you found a husband. It wasn’t the life you’d ever have chosen, but it was the one you were stuck with. Luckily your father wasn’t the type to force your hand into an unhappy marriage, and thus far all prospective suitors had been highly undesirable. Perhaps you had read too many books, too many stories of romance and the ardour of men who simply did not exist in reality. Perhaps your standards were simply too high. In any regard, this move would prove to be the start of a very interesting adventure, one you truly never expected.
Few introductions are memorable affairs, but the day Aemond Targaryen made your acquaintance was one he was sure to never forget. As the second son, it was his unfortunate duty to greet new members of court, along with his mother, the Queen and the King’s hand. As always, Aegon much preferred the company of his cups and the whores of the street of Silk, forsaking his obligations to the crown over his selfish pleasures. Aemond had seen in four Masters of Coin, all distinguished men in their fields, all of whom had flittered away the crown’s reserves, or had died before satisfactorily executing their duties. He wasn’t looking forward to heralding in yet another man severely unprepared for the responsibilities of such a role, but there he stood, pin straight and the picture of a Targaryen prince. He heeded his mother’s warnings, giving his guests ‘the courtesy of a smile’, with as much zeal as he could muster.
When you floated into his field of vision, accompanying a middle aged man who clearly hadn’t seen battle in some time, Aemond was rightfully stunned. He paid little attention to the new Master of Coin aside from a brief but polite greeting, so rapturous was your beauty, you stole the very wind from his lungs. Even as the older man introduced you, a far away voice muttering “Your Grace, this is my daughter”, and you lowered yourself before him, Aemond stood dumbstruck, all sense of decorum and propriety falling by the wayside.
Despite a youthful appearance, Aemond suspected you were of an age where most ladies would’ve already been married, and blessed with babes. Maybe, like him, you were disinterested in such things, or perhaps your father stood in the way of unsuitable matches. In any case, you possessed a rare beauty, even rivalling that of the Targaryen’s themselves. It wasn’t often a woman left Aemond stunned, even a little shellshocked in their presence, yet he stood silently as you passed him by. A bow of his head was the only reasonable action he could summon in that moment, his mind swimming as his eye locked onto yours. Yet despite this immediate infatuation, Aemond was also plagued by self doubt - the notion that such a woman could ever love a man so maimed and damaged was beyond all reason, and he put it to rest straight away, to shield his fragile self esteem from further disappointment.
The remainder of the evening was spent settling into your draughty chambers, and eventually roaming the castle. Although your father held a tight rein on some aspects of your life, he allowed you the freedom to go where you pleased unaccompanied. You knew it would cause a stir among the ladies of court, but you weren’t about to give up your independence to satisfy gossiping women who could never be satisfied, or to give into rules imposed by men who hardly knew you. The following day would be a flurry of strangers, a whirlwind of social obligation and overstimulation, so you enjoyed the contemplative silence of these small moments. These slivers of tranquility, where you could explore your new surroundings in peace.
Eventually after wandering the many cold and confusing corridors of the Red Keep, through the hallways lined with vaulted ceilings and intricate carvings, you found yourself pushing through the doors of a vast and sprawling library. Every twist and turn led to a new nook, a new cosy place to spend your days lost in the pages that filled this room.
The earthy smell of old paper swam in your nostrils, the twisting and winding labyrinth empty enough to think and daydream without interruption. Rows and rows of books lined the walls, entire generations worth of knowledge ready and waiting for your curious mind to soak in. You wandered the maze of stacked books, thoroughly astounded by the vast array of information at your fingertips. Books in the common tongue but also books in High Valyrian - an ancient language spoken almost exclusively by the Targaryen family, a language they used to communicate with the beasts that cruised the skies. You’d always thought that there was magic in communicating with such creatures, in a tongue older than most people could fathom. These books contained stories of their history, of the origins of the language itself, perhaps you’d learn it someday.
Your next turn brought you to a cosy alcove, where prince Aemond sat engrossed in his pages, his striking profile outlined by the orange glow of the hearth behind him.
He seemed oddly at ease, his body free of the knotted tension that pulled his muscles taut in public. The expectation of duty had been shed, a heavy weight falling from his shoulders with the turn of each new page. Now he sat in silence, in the company of wise words and the smell of decaying parchment, a place where Aemond seemed at ease within himself. A fire burned brightly in the wrought iron grate, illuminating the words of the thick tome in his slender fingers.
Thick flames licked at the mantle, threatening to escape. The warm light danced against his hardened features, softening even the sharpest of edges. He looked like a statue, carefully carved from the finest stone, each whack of the hammer revealing more of his chiselled beauty.
At first he didn’t notice you hovering, watching from a shadowed corner as he digested each and every word. His eye darted rapidly across the pages, a satisfied smirk painted onto his face as he consumed every line. There was something beautiful about him like this, at peace, thoroughly absorbed in the words of pages much older than himself, and you couldn’t help but watch. You stood there gaping rather unabashedly at the graceful flick of his fingers against the parchment, deftly turning one page after the next. The veins in his hand caught the light as he moved them, highlighting each and every ridge. Only a subtle shift in your stance revealed your position, the small movement alerting him to your presence, though he couldn’t see who was there until you stepped into the warm glow of the fireplace. His head swivelled to where you stood, his expression
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, your Grace.” You bowed your head and swiftly walked in the opposite direction, his wide eye following your every move until you disappeared from view. He didn’t even get the opportunity to respond before you disappeared into the dark once more.
Your adventures continued the following morning as you explored the entanglement of corridors of the keep, observing the daily happenings of its inhabitants. Through the winding hallways and beautifully manicured gardens, you somehow found yourself hovering above the training yard, eyes gleefully trained on the men refining their battle skills, the clashing of metal and crash of swords against wooden shields which provided a soundtrack for the graceful dance of flesh and steel. You stood mesmerised by the weaving of limbs around one another, the glimmering armour protecting hardened muscle. You watched from your perch high above and though other ladies passed by, you stayed for hours on end observing the men of the realm diligently practicing their craft among the dust and dirt of the training pit, thoroughly entertained by the display of testosterone and repressed rage.
Though you had been there from early morning, it wasn’t long before the swish of silver hair announced the arrival of prince Aemond. He moved like a specter in the night, swiftly parting the crowd to find his target, quickly setting into a well rehearsed dance around his sparring partner, moving through the space with ease and learned precision. He struck at Ser Criston Cole with a controlled ferocity, a rage tempered by poise and restraint. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the serpentine movement of his body, each strike of his sword communicating fury governed by a logical mind. Large palms held tight to his sword as if it had no weight, he could strike any opponent effortlessly. There was a deep seated anger behind his blows, a desperate frenzy at times, yet he remained in complete control, the steel in his hand obeying each and every command.
Your eyes were fixed firmly on the One Eyed Prince, captivated by every move imbued with grace and composure, yet with purpose. You couldn't help but think that he was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, despite his obvious physical imperfections. His build was slim, a little thinner than you typically preferred, but underneath layers of leather and cloth lay the sculpted body of a warrior. Clothing fit his svelte frame like a glove, the material molded to the contours of each and every muscle. As you watched from your high vantage point, you let your mind wander, imagining what lay beneath those layers of form-fitting leather and tight cloth. Thoughts highly unbefitting of a lady of the court, hell, even the women roaming the streets of Silk would blush at some of the visions that plagued you since your first awkward meeting. The one-eyed prince invaded your dreams, so striking was his beauty.
You did wonder why the most beautiful son of a Targaryen king was not yet betrothed. Perhaps it was his deformation that hindered a fruitful match, perhaps it was his rather disarming personality. You had an inkling that his disinterest was all a front though, you could see how intrigued he was when he spotted you staring. How taken aback he was when he realised you had eyes for only him. Perhaps he expected derision from yet another lady of the court, perhaps that was all he was used to. But you had your sights set on the pretty prince, and would use all your feminine charm to lure him in, to let him know your interest was sincere.
You wondered how long it would be until he approached, until he made a move - if he would do so at all. You could only do so much as a lady. You could choose how you present yourself, seek out his attentions, but you could only place yourself within his reach, it was up to him to chase after you. Would it be enough to lure in the famously aloof prince Aemond Targaryen? Most men of his station were already married, already courting mistresses or wading through swathes of heirs, nipping at their ankles. But this prince seemed only interested in bloodshed and his beloved dragon.
Perhaps if you made your affections for the prince known to your father, he would aid you in your perilous quest. He had always sought a good match for you, and despite the lines of noblemen that graced your door on a regular basis, vying for your regard, you took no mass in any of them. All of them pitiful, powerless men. They had wealth, certainly, but none of them deserved it. They let their wealth determine their worth, rather than the content of their character. They were defined by their blood, by the graces of their birth, rather than their achievements or talents. They skated by, as most noblemen did, with their servants doing the real work. You were not so easily swayed. One look at Aemond Targaryen though, and you were enraptured. His fearsome reputation paled in comparison to his beauty. He was a powerful man, sure, with a wealthy family and prospects for the throne….but that’s not what drew you in. It was the way he held himself, under your gaze. As if he didn’t think he was worthy of such attentions. As if he expected that your ogling was intended to offend, rather than to show the depth of your interest.
One look and he diverted his eyes, shrinking under the weight of your curiosity. Yet you couldn’t help but notice the ghost of a smirk form on his lips. Now, as he trained with ferocious precision, he couldn’t help but put on a bit of a show, swinging his sword with extra flair and flounce, just for your benefit. One misstep and he would succumb to the bite of Ser Criston’s blade, but his focus was pure and his motivation strong. Aemond scarcely realised it, but watching him train only furthered your quickly developing crush, never had you seen such a fine specimen of a man, such a fierce warrior in a form quite so beautiful.
Aemond could always tell when his eye would cause him trouble, when the flesh behind his crudely carved gemstone flared, and the nerves danced like they were set alight. It usually started as an ache, barely perceptible, a prickling sting he could ignore. Often it bloomed into a throbbing pain, debilitating and powerful. Sometimes it halted his vision, shrouding his good eye with black spots. Other times, it gave no warning and hit all at once, devastating and overwhelming his system without caution. This night was one of those times.
It had been a rather joyous celebration of your father’s appointment as the newest Master of Coin, with the Targaryen family and friends of the realm gathering to break bread in his honour.
The hall was filled with the din of merriment, clattering of silverware and half empty cups striking the solid table tops. It was rare to see the entire Targaryen family in revelry, no arguments or animosity to be seen on their bright, gleeful faces. It warmed your heart to see your father brought into the fold so quickly, he’d worked hard all his life, and even though he was a nobleman of some standing, it didn’t stop him grafting countless hours to be the best in his field. When the opportunity to work for the royal family opened up, he grasped it with both hands, and you followed gladly, looking forward to seeing the inner workings of the Red Keep.
You never expected to become so enamoured with the infamous one-eyed prince, the second son who was often overlooked in favour of his drunkard of a brother. You couldn’t see how that lout had the fairest of ladies fawning all over him, aside from his enormous wealth of course. Prospects are an enticing force, and Aegon came with the highest of prospects…the iron throne would naturally pass to him, as the first born son. You knew Rhaenyra had a claim, as the first born, but a woman would never be accepted on the throne, not in this lifetime. You certainly didn’t look forward to the grief it would cause. But for now, you enjoyed the merriment and respite your father’s appointment provided. Good food, plentiful wine, and a view of the most breathtaking man in King’s Landing.
Soft fluttery eyes met Aemond’s disarming glare across the room, his usual dour demeanour immediately softening with your bright eyes upon him. You tried to communicate your interest in him through those brief, but powerful moments.
Over seas of people, mountains of food and the rapturous cacophony of joyful conversation, you admired the one-eyed prince in his stoic, silent glory at the left hand of the king.
He didn’t quite know how to handle such attentions, though there was a glimmer in his eye that looked like fascination. He returned your stolen glances, to the best of his ability, relenting when he was sure that you weren't simply staring as others tended to do. Ladies of the court seemed utterly repulsed by his mangled face, often staring quite brazenly, but diverting their gaze just as quick when caught - but you seemed different, you seemed genuinely interested in the scarred and broken man across that enormous feast hall.
He had scrutinised your father at council meetings, looking for any fault, any sign of treachery or dishonesty, but he couldn't find a single trace of impropriety, in fact he seemed more honest than half of the men that previously occupied that role. Aemond saw a steadfast man, trustworthy by all accounts. He saw how he doted on you, accompanying you to meals, and on your leisurely walks about the castle.
In truth, he became slightly jealous at the loving relationship you shared with your father. It hurt more than anything to see such a bond between family, one he never experienced with his own father, the king. Theirs was a bond of blood, and not much else. Perhaps if he had that kind of support as a child, his life may have taken a different path. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been maimed, and wouldn’t have been subjected to a life of pain and torment. But he couldn’t blame anyone for that bar his father, and despite his poking and prodding, Aemond found no reason to hate yours.
Seeing integrity on full display eased his anxieties slightly, finally accepting that your intentions might’ve been pure, your subtle flirting and brazen gawking coming from a genuine place, not just toying with him as other maidens had done in his youth. He’d been hurt before for sure, and guarded as he was, Aemond wouldn’t let an opportunity to court a fair highborn lady, who showed genuine interest in him, pass him by.
As he sat distracted by your flirtatious ogling, picking at his plate of food, Aemond was struck down by a rather sudden spasm of the damaged nerves behind his missing eye. Stifling a groan with a barely audible hiss, he excused himself from the table quite quickly, before rushing out of the hall into an adjoining corridor. Only his mother noticed his departure, and the look on her face told all.
He went from flirting with you across the hall in a series of stolen glances, the corners of his mouth twisting into something resembling a smile, to clutching at the eyepatch laying across his damaged eye, his face contorting into a harsh grimace as he stumbled quietly out of the grand hall. Before you knew it, he had shuffled out of your eyeline, though some movement in the darkness gave hints to his whereabouts.
Seeing this unusual behaviour, and noticing his stagger towards an empty hallway, you quietly excused yourself from dinner, and assured your father you were okay. With an approving nod, you shuffled in the same direction as the prince.
You never expected to find him huddled in a corner, away from prying eyes, clutching the source of his discomfort, one hand braced against the cold stone of the castle walls. You could only see a vague outline in the darkness, but there was no doubt as to the shadow’s identity. A soft whimper came from the pitiful mass, and your heart hurt for him, knowing he must’ve been in significant pain to succumb in this manner. To see such a fierce and powerful prince, who was only hours earlier dancing and lunging around the training yard struck down, forced to his knees, it touched something within you.
You'd never seen someone in such agony, cowering against an invisible foe, the one enemy Aemond could never see coming, the only one he could never slay, never evade. Every fibre of your being longed to help him, so pathetic was the silhouette of the most fearsome prince of the realm, now knelt in a hallway, doubled over in utter torment. So you lowered yourself down beside him. You tentatively extended a hand to touch his sleeve, trying not to startle him, but with enough force to make him aware of your presence, you whispered “My prince, apologies for the intrusion, but may I be of some assistance?”
“Leave me be, woman..go!” he shouted, though his strained voice came through as more of a plea, than anything else. His usual irrefutable commands now sounded desperate, his throat tight as his body battled against unimaginable suffering. “Please my prince, I may be of use. Let’s get out of this place, I'll escort you to your chambers at the least” you extended a hand to Aemond, hoping he wouldn't be too proud to accept it. To your surprise, he grasped onto your hand, using your arm as a lifeline as you slowly guided him through the empty halls. You had to shoulder the majority of his dense weight, as he faltered under the hand of his invisible tormentor several times. Luckily everyone was tending to the guests at the feast, there were no onlookers to his misery.
As soon as you reached his chambers, he raised a flat palm to the smooth surface and pushed through the heavy wooden door, collapsing onto the first chair he could find with his limited field of vision. You helped him drop down, supporting his weight as best you could and immediately called for the maesters. Unfortunately they were busy tending to his ailing father….so you decided to take things into your own hands.
Your mother, in her short time on this earth, taught you a few useful tricks for remedying simple ailments. They wouldn't completely fix him, but you thought perhaps they may soothe the worst of his pain. Some herbs such as calendula and comfrey could soothe the skin, ease pain of irritation or open wounds…and you desperately hoped they would prove useful in this situation. Aemond’s servants fetched bowls of cool water, along with the herbs you requested, but you were insistent on doing the rest.
You thought he may have cowered away from you, from such an intrusion into his personal space, but instead, as you gingerly dabbed the cold water onto the inflamed skin around his eye, Aemond melted into your arms. His body was coiled tight, like a viper ready to strike, with his pain the source of all the tension. But your hands provided a welcoming source of warmth. He usually wasn’t one to lean into physical contact, but this was a comfort, a true balm to the permeating sting behind his damaged eye socket.
He heard a small resonating thud as your knees hit the stone floor beside him, and you settled by the leg of his writing chair, holding that wet rag against his inflamed skin. The herbs began their task immediately, reducing the swelling and fiery redness around his scar, while the water cooled his flesh. Every brush of your hand against his face set Aemond alight, and even through the fog and debilitating haze of pain, he felt every gentle caress, every soft and healing touch.
This was a man who was hurt, touch starved, in desperate need of comfort & companionship. To have someone on his side, someone to prop him up, meant the world, especially in a moment of true vulnerability. In this moment, in the privacy of his quarters, Aemond was free to shed the mask of the cold, uncaring weapon and just be a man.
His body unconsciously chased the warmth of your hand, the solace of your body heat against a frame wracked with pain. It was a type of intimacy he was woefully unfamiliar with, yet his body instantly craved more, clearly aching for a deeper human connection.
He had never even had company in his chambers before, save for the maesters and his sister, on occasion. Though with the white hot flames licking at the inside of his brain, he could have been in any room in this godforsaken castle. Now, to have the object of his affections doting on him while pain ran unrestrained through his body, it all felt slightly surreal. If he was a prouder man, he'd have been ashamed to have such a lovely woman tending to his wounds, but pain is a great leveller. All his notions of grandeur subsided with that first swell of pain, and again as he felt your soft hands clasped around his own in that hallway, his inhibitions ebbing away with his pain under your tender care. The throbbing behind his roughly cut sapphire eased a bit under your careful watch, the cold providing more relief than anything else.
“My prince, I will need to remove this..” you whispered as your fingers traced the edge of his leather eyepatch. You weren’t afraid of what lay underneath, however you were wary of how he’d respond. “You will only think me a monster. It’s unsightly...” Aemond croaked, his throat still tight, tears welling up in the corner of his good eye. “I will think you a man. A mere human, who feels pain. Please, let me help..” He looked at you for a second, his bright violet eye surveying the sincerity of your statement before nodding, allowing you to remove the leather standing in the way of your treatment, however basic it may be.
As soon as you removed the leather covering, Aemond cast his face down, detaching himself from the reaction he expected to come. But you merely looked at him for a minute, your eyes sympathetic but kind, before returning to the dappling motion of the rag against his severely inflamed flesh.
The skin underneath the eyepatch was worse than you thought, scar tissue had formed into jagged ridges, though the skin around the eye itself looked raw and angry. You couldn’t fathom the pain it must cause him on a regular basis, but you could sympathise and not judge him based on this one imperfection. What did bring you monetary pause, was the beautiful sapphire that stood in place of his eye. It sat in the socket, glimmering even in the dim dappled light of the moon. It was truly mesmerising and complimented the tones of his naturally striking lavender eye and his crystalline pale skin. It was certainly striking, but you could understand why he hid it from the world. His family were known for their flawless physicality, their silver hair and lavender eyes. They were the epitome of royalty, imbued with dragon blood. To feel imperfect in a world where perfection walked around you daily, it must have been impossibly tiresome.
When no visible gasp could be heard, no intake of breath or any sign of shock, Aemond raised his chin slightly, bringing his eyes back to meet yours, albeit sheepishly.
“How can you look at me and not feel utter revulsion at this hideous sight?”
“I find you remarkably beautiful, your grace. Tis’ but a blemish on a rather impressive canvas”
He tilted his head, studying your face for any signs of deception, as if he could hardly believe the words falling from your lips. He tried to furrow his brow, but this aggravated his swollen eye further. You maintained a steady, neutral expression, as if the words you spoke were fact, not open to interpretation. All the while, dabbing at the delicate skin around his raw, bright red eye socket. With your efforts bringing some relief, Aemond could think clearer.
Looking at him now, just a man tormented by a childhood wound, Aemond didn’t seem quite so menacing as his reputation led you to believe. You could see that underneath the guise of a warrior, of a mad man prone to violence and utter fiendish behaviour, lay someone broken, in need of comfort and love. Somehow it only made him more attractive, his imperfections didn’t detract from his beauty, only added backstory and context to a rather elusive man. If this would bring you closer, if this was the impetus he needed to make his feelings known, you were glad it was you tending his wounds, and not some sheepish maid or withered old maester.
In a moment of perhaps ill advised impulsivity, Aemond raised his hand and laid his large palm over your own, halting your benevolent ministry. Though you jumped slightly at his sudden movements, you were shocked at the pure heat emanating from his hands, as if fire ran beneath the surface of his skin, as if his veins held the same force that coursed through his dragon. He leaned into the comfort of your touch against his scarred skin, those healing fingers that brought him such relief. You could only look at him, mouth agape, slightly shocked by the sudden contact. He didn’t stop there though, eventually bringing your hand to the unexpectedly soft curve of his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the flesh of your open palms, as if he was worshipping them before the seven, a chaste, yet surprisingly gentle gesture unbefitting a man with such a fearsome reputation. He clutched your hand to his cheek, hesitant to let it go, should this tender moment come to an abrupt end. His eye closed, afraid that if he looked at you directly, you’d come to your senses and abandon him to his torment. He certainly never expected you to reciprocate such a gesture.
“Aemond, look at me, please” you whispered.
He drew his eyes from the ground to look you in the eye directly. What he saw shocked him. He saw compassion, a tender and unfamiliar look, before you tightened your grip on the curve of his jaw, and leaned in closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the soft skin of his slightly parted lips.
It was merely a peck, an innocent gesture to test the waters, yet you saw the profound impact such a token had on the broken prince. You felt his breath hitch, sticking in his chest as if he didn’t know what to do with it. As you pulled back to let him breathe a little, Aemond soon chased after, quickly pulling you back into a rather tender display of affection. His lips were surprisingly soft against your own, traces of wine still lingering on them from the feast. A tender kiss developed into something frenzied, passionate, a clash of teeth and tongue utterly unbefitting a lady, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much as he melted into your embrace.
You felt incredibly lucky to have been entrusted with something so vulnerable as his trust.
You knew prince Aemond was notoriously aloof, showing no discernible interest in ladies, but in a moment where his pain was raw and exposed, he sat unguarded before you, letting you in wholeheartedly. He softened in your arms, truly let himself relax into your touch, yielding to your tender kiss. Although you were taken aback at him letting down his carefully crafted walls so suddenly, you felt honoured to know that he felt safe enough in your arms to do so.
In that moment, all your selfish desires came to the fore, but you knew he wasn’t strong enough for more rigorous activities, nor was it proper to even suggest such things.
Pain still wracked his body, you could feel the trembling of his muscles beneath your hands, the adrenaline coursing through his system in the fight against an impossible opponent.
To be held by hands so strong, that had seen battle and bloodshed, hours of training, yet shook like a leaf under the torment of an invisible foe.
You wanted nothing more than to ease his pain, to soothe the demons that lay behind that glimmering gemstone. Yet, you couldn’t slay these enemies. You couldn’t use your wiles or charm on an adversary you could not see. Your tinctures and potions would only go so far, but to hold him, to be a support and a shoulder to lean on when he so desperately needed one, that was something you would willingly provide. You thought maybe showing him that wasn't alone, perhaps that would be enough.
TW: Murder, explicit smut, erotophonophilia (deriving sexual excitement from killing), face fucking, manipulation & slight stockholm syndrome..overall he’s not a good dude.
Thanks to the lovely @volklana for collaborating with me on this! And always being such a fantastic support 🖤 and @mintwrit3z for beta reading.
Ao3 Link
Word count: 9.6k
There’s something about the quiet reflection of smoking alone, while a party rages on behind thick concrete walls, that you’d always found incredibly relaxing. Your focus lay solely on your breath and the object balanced delicately between your fingertips. For a few short moments, it seemed like it was just you and the night, in silent communication.
Autumn was your favourite time of year. Crisp, cold nights and fresh days with the sun dipping lower in the sky. You felt the magic of this season hanging heavy in the night air, it was as if it spoke to you. Perhaps it was because you were born in autumn, perhaps it was the mystical nature of the season. The veil between the worlds was thinner, and as Halloween approached, you felt the subtle shift in the elements. Taking a large lungful of smoke, you communed with the darkness, enjoying a brief moment of peace in a night full of frivolity and alcohol fuelled debauchery. But the black night shrouded all manner of sins from your eyes, and in that moment, your only focus was on the glowing embers dying at the tip of your cigarette. You had no idea what horrors lingered in the shadows, what terror lay only inches from your feet.
With your back propped up against the heavy wooden door, music boomed from inside, penetrating the thick oak slab behind your head, yet your mind was caught in a thick fog. The night air was cool, your breath and smoke mingling in the frigidity around you. For once, you weren’t overthinking how you looked or dissecting a conversation you just had. For a brief few minutes, you had true calm descend over you in the form of cold evening air and invigorating substances in smokable form. That is, until the door swung open, sending you hurtling into two veined arms that quickly righted you upright and encapsulated your torso.
“Jesus…shit…you scared me…”
Your asshole of a boyfriend simply laughed, a rumbling display of amusement spurred on by your skittish reaction. He simply nuzzled his chin into your neck, huffing in delight against the delicate skin and inhaling a nosefull of your scent.
“What's the matter, baby? You look like you've seen a ghost..”
“Aem, quit it, you know I'm normally not scared so easily” you scowled, your face painted with fake displeasure. Though you couldn’t help but squeal as his hands wandered your sides, hitting every ticklish spot on their way, breaking your face into unrestrained smiles. Aemond was always incredibly handsy, though as touch starved as you were, you never complained. You loved getting attention from the prettiest man you’d ever encountered, you felt blessed to have his hands roaming your flesh, his good eye trained on you and only you.
You'd only been together a few months, and though the relationship was relatively fresh, you'd fallen…hard.
Aemond was unconventionally attractive. His face, though it looked like it had been carved from pale white marble, was marred by blanched pink scars, which spanned the length of his right cheek. One eye had been damaged in an accident as a kid, so in its place sat a prosthetic painted in the most dazzling shade of sapphire blue. Somehow, it only added to his ethereal nature, never detracting from his unusual beauty. That, alongside an entirely black wardrobe consisting mostly of band shirts and leather, complimented his stunning features. He was a man of great contrast, his look most striking, while his personality was more reserved. He was the most captivating, yet troubled young man you'd ever laid eyes on, and you couldn't help but fall face first into quite an intense entanglement after being introduced.
Aemond was always the most attentive partner, always paying heed to even the smallest details. He noticed things most boyfriends would completely ignore: changes in your expression & body language, slight shifts in your mood, and he always anticipated your needs before you’d even have to ask. When you were around friends, Aemond’s hands stayed connected to your skin at all times, holding your hand, tracing delicate patterns against the back of your palm, or running his spindly fingers along the column of your neck. His eye would always be on you, following you around the room. In private, he was even more impassioned. He loved feeling your body pressed against him, the warmth of your flesh against his own. Instead of psychoanalysing these slightly possessive traits, you leaned into them, rivalling his intensity with your own eccentricities. You were a rather odd, but well balanced match.
On this night, as you stood in the dark, your face only highlighted by the glow of your cigarette, Aemond took advantage of the privacy the shadows afforded and peppered your neck with kisses, pulling you tightly against his chest as you stood resolutely, facing into the black night. You loved how needy he was, but also domineering in equal measure. He never used those sculpted muscles against you, except to further your pleasure, to satisfy you in every way you desired. And now he cuddled you against the cold, sheltered you from the chilled wind blowing through the trees. “It’s such a nice night out…you thirsty baby?” his warm breath vibrated against your skin. He extended a hand out, a chilled beer bottle grasped between several graceful fingers. Even the sight of them made you shiver, though that could’ve also been the bitter breeze swirling around your ankles. “Thank Aem, I'm parched.” You happily snatched the slim bottle from his hands, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary against his digits, which earned a smirk, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as the fermented amber liquid ran down your throat. The familiar quenching of thirst came with a promise in itself, you could see the hints of mischief present in his smile.
In return for his generosity, you extended a frigid hand, the end of your cigarette blooming between your dainty fingers. He didn’t even need to say anything; instead, Aemond leaned down, wrapping his plump lips around the thin paper. One sharp inhale and his body filled with an addicting sense of elation, one he sought out in other avenues of life. He found it touching your body, pulling you close, and feeling each curve and valley of your perfectly sculpted frame under his fingertips. He found it in coaxing those pretty mewls from your lips, a soundtrack he’d gladly play on repeat. Yet there was always the pull towards something darker, something a little more… taboo.
As he stood with you in that doorway, the swell of your arse pressed against his quickly growing bulge, Aemond realised that the evidence of his other, perhaps more niche hobbies lay only inches away, neatly tucked around the shadowy corner.
It was only sheer luck that you hadn’t noticed a pool of sticky crimson blood inching across the damp mud, crawling towards your feet - but the night had long descended, the sun had fallen from the sky, replaced by the heavy blackness of an autumn night. The dark provided cover for his lurid savagery, shrouding the horrors from your sight.
With one drag, Aemond filled his lungs with the delicious sting of nicotine. There was only one languid last puff left, one draw of the bitter nectar he so often craved. With a sharp exhale into the night, he dropped the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out, the heel of his shoe squelching the dying embers into the damp earth. Not too far away, the mud was stained red with blood, a pool slowly forming beneath the corpse of a man who dared lay his beady eyes on you across a packed dancefloor earlier that same night.
Warm hands kept you pressed to his chest, pulled close to a heart beating softly beneath leather clad skin. In that darkened doorway with the man of your dreams hanging on your every breath, you found yourself smiling like an idiot. Your eyes were drawn to the curve of Aemond’s mouth as it encased the last of your cigarette. You marvelled at the swell of his cheeks as he billowed smoke into the crisp night air. He always stole your focus, captured your attention simply by existing. You were utterly entranced by his sharp, angular features. Such beauty in a man was rare, but he had both softness and a sharp edge, a traditional pretty boy look laced with danger and the added oddity of his disfigurements. He somehow appeared angelic and devilish in equal measure, an enigma wrapped in the most beautiful packaging. And as he held you against the frigid wind, the darkness encroaching on your romantic moment, you couldn't help but be completely taken with the man you called yours once more.
Yet the wind brought with it a certain anxiety, a subtle foreboding that settled in your mind. As he crushed the remains of your cigarette under his boot and pulled you tightly into his arms, sandwiching your body between his hardened chest and the wall, you utterly fell to his wiles, melting like butter under his smoldering gaze. You couldn't help but see a glint of mischief in that unyielding stare. As if he had a plan you were not yet privy to, but it was wrapped in warmth, in a certain affection that you sought out in every room.
Before long, strong hands dragged you from the chill of night and guided you back into a sea of drunken bodies, each one swaying to their own rhythm, some with the music, some following a tempo of their own design. Each one moved like a branch in the breeze. The intoxicating scent of liquor billowed from inebriated lungs, mouths that messily combined on the dance floor, swapping saliva and the lingering traces of whatever they'd been drinking. Bodies undulated like the tide, a swell of flesh to music, yet even that couldn't distract you from those dazzlingly blue eyes piercing into your flesh as his searing grip held on and led you across the crowded room. The atmosphere numbed any unease in your mind, the sense of frivolity and joy contagious. Even under the haze of alcohol, you felt Aemond’s eyes trained on you as he walked you through a sea of drunkards. Never once did you suspect distrust in your relationship, yet he kept his eyes on you as if you’d disappear into the night.
Instead of allowing you to wander into the haze of debauchery that surrounded you both, Aemond pulled you flush to him, and began to sway along with the other bodies in the pool.
His hands wandered to your hips, feeling in the dark for anywhere he could grasp onto. Moving in tandem with the pulsing rhythm, his hips were pinned against your own, undulating in time with one another. You allowed your mind to go blank, to exist solely in the moment with Aemond, his eyes as hypnotising as the thrumming beat over the speakers, the swell of want between his legs enough to send waves of desire through your body. It was almost intoxicating, surrendering to the music and the feeling of uninhibited bodies around you. It was a certain type of freedom, a complete departure from your regular life.
It took a while for people in their drunken stupor to notice that someone was missing, and inebriated people eventually tottered around the room in search of a man who’d never walk through those doors again. Aemond noticed the commotion, yet remained cool and collected, instead channeling his focus towards you, as your body mirrored the mindless drones around you, swaying in time with the music. He was never one to dance, usually opting to prop up the wall with a beer in hand instead, but he'd follow you anywhere, would do anything you asked. That included grinding on the dancefloor to the dulcet tones of ‘Don't Fear the Reaper’, well lubricated by several shots of whiskey beforehand. You'd have never realised that he also had an ulterior motive for his compliance. Participating in such a charade was a small price to pay, to keep certain secrets hidden.
It took several more minutes for you to notice the panicked faces wandering around the dance floor, yet the gravity of the situation didn't quite register, your mind had been swallowed by lust and alcohol. Lipsticked lips sloppily met Aemond’s warm cheek and you hurriedly dragged him by the hand over to a group where his sister had been standing. The music rumbled on, though you leaned into Helaena’s shoulder, whispering into her ear. “Hel, what's going on?”
Helaena shrugged, clearly too lost in her drink to comprehend the situation. “It's really weird, isn't it, to think this fuss is all because of you?”
You loved the bones of her, but she was scattered at the best of times, let alone when she had imbibed on her favourite beverages. Sometimes she simply made no sense and spoke words into the ether without any context at all. “I love you, Hel, but you make no sense sometimes..” you laughed, before returning to Aemond and snuggling into his waiting arms.
Gossip made its way around the room - unfounded words swirling in the mouths of drunk people like the ice clinking in their cups. Young men had been going missing in your neighbourhood the last few months, some turning up disfigured, some slashed and beaten beyond recognition. But all undeniably dead. It was enough to strike fear into the coldest of hearts, and Aemond hadn't left you out of his sight since. You found it strange, some names you’d even recognised, but they weren’t close friends, only people you’d encountered in passing. Friends of friends, faces you'd have recognised in social situations like tonight. A strange sense of foreboding settled in your gut, but the alcohol numbed any immediate reaction to the chatter, dulling your usually acute intuition.
Still, the atmosphere inside had changed, and despite something gnawing at your mind, a subtle warning sign that you pushed to the side, your immediate desires took control, and you pulled Aemond upstairs. To your chagrin, the bedrooms were already occupied, so you headed outside, perhaps the dark would shield you from prying eyes. It seemed Aemond had the same thought, his voice carrying above the din of some cheesy rock song, “Wanna play a game?” and he nodded in the direction of the back door, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.
Out in the dark with Aemond, despite the stinging chill in the air, you couldn’t keep your hands off him. The night provided adequate cover for your lewd activities, though at any moment someone could walk through the door and catch you in the act. Somehow, the danger made your boyfriend that much hotter, his perfectly sculpted body that much more irresistible. Only the stars were witnesses to your ravenous appetite, to the dip of your tongue into the warm caverns of Aemond’s mouth, exploring each other as if it were the first time. Those twinkling lights saw every grinding thrust of hips and wandering palm, searching for friction against a willing body.
The heat of his breath stung like frostbite, while the wind nipped at your cheek. Yet you only leaned into his warmth, you soaked up every ounce of affection this beautiful man bestowed upon you. You never imagined feeling so wanted, so seen. Aemond always made you feel like the only woman in his life, the only one he saw. His hands carved a path through skin, warm fingertips frantically grasping at flesh as if you’d soon disappear into the night, vanish like a puff of smoke beneath frenzied fingers.
He was always passionate, desperate to have you close, but in the biting darkness, he seemed more frenzied, less controlled than you’d seen him before, as if a fire burned within him that couldn’t be quenched. Or perhaps it was the whiskey. Either way, he was insatiable. His movements were messy, frantic. Plump lips captured yours in an impassioned embrace, your back braced against the pebbledashed wall of the house, the embers of the party slowly dying inside. Aemond’s fire roared brightly, the flames of passion swelling in his eyes.
You moved in tandem in a messy celebration of limbs and spit, neither one of you cognisant of your surroundings, both oblivious to the position of your feet as you danced in passionate unison. Your steps were clumsy as Aemond flung you from wall to wall, your back taking the brunt of his zealous maneuvers. He was a man possessed by desire, but there was something far darker driving his insatiable lust, something you’d very quickly be confronted with, face to face.
In a whirlwind of tangled limbs and blundering footsteps, you managed to lose your footing and your grip on your boyfriend's muscular frame somehow. You stumbled in the dark, losing your balance over something dense on the ground. Tumbling forwards without anything to grip onto, your knees immediately hit the damp earth, taking the brunt of the fall. They squelched into some wet mud, no doubt ruining your favourite dress, but other than that, only your pride was hurt. It was only when you stood up and inspected your hands under the dim flickering light over the back door that you realised it was more than mud; it was thick and sticky, coagulated into revolting globules.
Under the warm, fading light of a lone bulb, you saw your hands covered in a deep crimson substance, which you quickly recognised as blood - even under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. It wasn’t an illusion, your mind wasn’t playing tricks. It dripped from your fingers into the earth below your feet, staining the ground as it fell. You cast your gaze towards the object that hindered your steps in the dark, and immediately noticed a pale hand dislodged from the mess of grass and sodden muck. Earth encrusted digits led your eyes towards a face, ghostly and drained of life, smothered and half-buried in the damp soil. Two vacant eyes stared into the night, their colour leeched from their place, a result of a throat slashed, and left to drain the contents of his body into the earth below. His body had been mercilessly butchered, cast aside into the mud, and left to rot under the watchful gaze of the moon. Left to the elements, as if nothing more than rubbish. Though you didn’t recognise his face, reality quickly set in.
A blood-curdling scream bubbled up from your lungs, spurting from two kiss-swollen lips, before being quickly silenced by a large hand. The sound didn’t even get the chance to echo into the night before the man you loved grabbed you and gripped your skin so hard it was sure to bruise. Aemond had wrapped himself around you again, one hand clasped around your mouth, the other holding your waist tight. “Shh,” he hissed in your ear, as if the shock would subside on command, as if you'd not just stumbled across a fucking dead body at a party. What was his name? His face looked familiar, but so pallid and pale, with his skin reflecting the bitter chill of death, you couldn't quite tell who it belonged to.
“Sshhhhh…I couldn’t just let his eyes defile you, I had to teach him a lesson...see” he teased, while sniffing at your neck. The hand around your mouth directed your gaze downwards once more, as if looking upon the icy cold flesh of a dead man once wasn’t enough. No, you were forced to look upon a man you scarcely knew, but who had the audacity to look in your direction just a minute too long for Aemond’s liking. You wriggled under his grasp, desperate to run away, to find an escape from his clutches. “That's insane, why? Why would you kill him for simply looking at me? You know I only have eyes for you, Aem, but this…this is nuts..”
“You belong to me,” he murmured, the words serving as both a promise and a sure threat. “And I do. not. share.” His voice rumbled against your skin, vibrating through your bones and settling deep within you. Those words, staccato against the cold night air, each consonant emphasised, would be imprinted in your psyche, committed to memory in flesh…if you survived the night that is. His eyes sparkled with something close to amusement. You’d never seen this side of your boyfriend before, a whole new person emerged from behind those eyes. One who relished in danger, who delighted in inflicting fear. He revelled in the terror he caused, drank in every drop of panic pouring from your face. It seemed a switch had flipped in Aemond, where once was Jekyll, now shone Hyde. He’d become the monster, the bump in the night. Where once lay affection, deep seated and genuine, his eyes now only reflected his delight in your terror. They were devoid of any true emotion, any connection you once shared, if you indeed ever did, was now replaced by sheer derision and ridicule.
“I will make sure you never forget who you belong to.”
Every word emphasised by sharp sibilance, every consonant harsh and unexpectedly aggressive. You loved Aemond’s voice once, only minutes earlier infact, each rumbling low note and how he could command with such minimal effort. Yet with one sentence, he managed to erase any trace of love, and instead instill fear; chilling you to the bone with words alone, whispered into the crisp night air. Despite the chill running through your veins, nipping at your skin and drawing goosebumps to the surface of your flesh at Aemond’s cold glare, and despite the corpse lying mere inches from your feet, that one line was enough to stir something within you.
The thought of Aemond taking you in the open air, claiming your body with cold steel pressed against your skin, although wicked and slightly deranged, forced a need you never knew you had to the forefront of your mind. Perhaps deep down, you always knew who he was, perhaps you liked his possessive nature, his forceful and domineering personality. As reserved and well tempered as he was, it always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to rear its head. Something in his voice let you know he meant it, let you know that you weren’t getting out of this house without him utterly claiming you, flesh and bone.
The rest of the world melted away as he pulled you closer, constricting his arms around your chest like a python. The party slipped into the darkness, clouded by dizziness and fear. All you could hear was the sound of your breath, as it was squeezed from your lungs, right before Aemond released his grip and allowed you to draw air once more. It was all a game, your life a frivolity. Even still, you couldn’t help but let arousal wash over you. Arousal mixed with fear proved to be an intoxicating combination, a drug you had never experienced before.
Seeing that glimmer, that faint light in your eyes as he laid claim to your body, Aemond was emboldened to push onwards, to find his pleasure in a body willing, pliable, and waiting in his grip. Yet he needed to know just how far he could push, just how much he could take from you before you’d recoil in disgust. He needed to know just how far he could push you before you’d break. Delving one hand slowly into his jacket pocket, Aemond withdrew a knife, its handle settling into the curve of his deft hand. Even in the dying light, its blade danced and glittered, shining menacingly against the blackness. Your eyes widened, yet you didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe against the shining silver he drew to your pale flesh.
With a sharp knife to the throat, the steel pressing against your delicate flesh, you trembled beneath its pointed blade. Aemond tested your mettle, pressing it hard enough to break the skin and draw a minuscule drop of blood to the blade. A hiss escaped your lips, swallowed quickly by Aemond’s plump mouth. No sooner had you made a sound, he wrapped his pouting lips around yours, taking his pleasure from your pain. He’d never given you cause to be afraid before, but now, with hardened steel slicing at your throat, and a sparkle you’d never seen before gracing his natural eye, Aemond looked every bit the villain. “I never took you for a sadist…but you seem to be enjoying this a little too much..”
“There's a lot you don't know about me, darling.” he whispered, a menacing smirk creasing the pale skin of his perfectly chiselled face. Despite the hairs at the back of your neck standing on edge, and your nervous system all of a sudden plunged into a state of fight or flight, you couldn’t help but succumb to the wiles of this perfectly handsome man. Even with his flaws and his newfound savagery, your body ached to feel him, to feel his warmth and that deliciously familiar sting as he ravaged your body.
The driving bassline of ‘Psycho Killer’ thumped through the brick walls, a fitting soundtrack for Aemond’s mindless ravaging of your helpless frame. There was nothing you could do to stop him in this moment, nothing you could do to escape…but if you were truthful with yourself, you really didn’t want to. Even with fear licking at the edges, your nerves pulsing in time with the groovy bassline thundering through the concrete walls, you abandoned all reasonable judgement in favour of potential pleasure. You lapped up his undivided attention, his utterly deranged attempts at securing your affections. And no matter how much your mind sought to escape his greedy clutches, how desperately a rational part of you wanted to flee, another part of you craved Aemond’s touch, no matter the circumstances, no matter how grim your surroundings may have been. Your body instinctively knew how crazy he was for you, how deeply he craved the comfort of your flesh, and how he’d kill to keep you all to himself. A part of you loved it; a voice that sounded when his hands roamed your body, all controlling and all enveloping. And now it was that part of you that drove you further into his embrace, that relinquished control of your flesh to his greedy hands. As you closed your eyes and shut the world out, you could only feel his slender fingers worshipping your body, every touch a prayer to your depraved soul. They traced a path through your skin, gripping at every inch as if his hands could strip it from your bones. It wasn’t long before you felt the evidence of his appetite pulsing against you, a thick bulge caressing your abdomen, searching for friction and warmth, searching for its target.
In a flurry of raw passion and craze-fuelled lust, Aemond’s hands flew to your head, grasping your hair at the root and tugging at it until your scalp throbbed; an undeniable stinging sensation that forced you to do its bidding. He pushed you down, your knees once more hitting the blood sodden earth. Once again, your eyes fell on the dead body lying only inches from you, yet Aemond forced your eyes upwards, tugging at your hair until he had your undivided attention.
It was obvious what he wanted, and he knew just how to make you squirm while getting it. Before long, his cock had sprung free of its tight denim prison and hung heavy before your face.
You could never quite grasp how well endowed he was for a petite man. It seemed so disproportionate to his body, yet you never once complained, except for the moments in that initial intrusion of course. The crisp night air nipped at the delicate skin. It was this cold air that only intensified the pleasure when your lips wrapped around his shaft, when the warmth of your mouth enveloped his cock, drawing him into your throat as far as you were physically able. His hips immediately chased a rhythm which mirrored the music from the other side of the wall, pistoning relentlessly, pounding your throat, causing you to gag and choke around him. There was no time to tease, no time to accommodate his size in your throat. Yet he didn’t let you move. His fingers flexed at your scalp, coaxing your mouth deeper still. The pain prickled, a sharp stinging sensation, yet it was dulled by the force of his merciless thrusts. His hips kept up an unforgiving pace, chasing a release that all too quickly approached.
Before long, your throat was painted by his unending supply of semen, as unrelenting and demanding as the tempo of his hips against your jaw. You greedily swallowed each and every drop, milking his cock with hollowed cheeks. He was stunned at your veracious appetite for his cum, the haze of orgasm washing heavily over his tired eyes, yet you kept up your enthusiastic pursuits. Even after release, Aemond stayed rock hard. His solid phallus throbbed in your mouth, veins pulsating against the muscle of your tongue even as he pulled out and let it rest on the tip, the protruding vasculature quivering against the warmth of your lips. The thought of ruining your cunt as one of his victims lay alongside you had him ready almost immediately, every inch of his body thrumming at the prospect. To see the woman he craved and the man he so furiously butchered laying side by side became part of the fantasy, part of the game.
The fear present in your eyes, mixed with a shameful desire for what he had to offer only spurred his arousal, the war raging in your mind between sheer terror and a desire for absolute pleasure evident in tear-stained eyelids. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, painting your face as it fell. Aemond admired his work, yet he was only getting started. His desire to ruin you, to take exactly what he wanted from your pretty cunt and have you fall apart around him was titillating.
For months, he watched you play the part of the dutiful girlfriend, yet you entertained lustful stares from random men. Holding their leering gazes across a room. It was a shame, but he simply had to punish you, to mark you as his own. If you didn't submit, if you wouldn't behave…well..Killing you was never part of the plan, but his blade was thirsty, and brats must be shown the error of their ways. Perhaps he'd show some mercy if you were good.
His hands remained interwoven with your scalp, fingers tugging at the roots tightly to keep you in line. The sting provided a sharp reminder that your boyfriend had in fact killed a man, who laid face down in the dirt only inches from your feet. Yet you couldn’t help the heat of arousal building with every tug. As Aemond dragged you from your knees to your feet, pulling you tight to his chest before spinning you around and pinning you against the wall, the coil in your core grew increasingly tight. He didn’t even have to fuck you to make you a quivering mess beneath him. Any trace of fear left seemed to leak down your leg with evidence of your arousal. Your face grazed the pebbledash finish on the side of the house, but it wasn’t long before he forcefully arched your back, pulling your head backwards by the hair and pressing your cunt against his tumescent cock. He didn’t even need to undress you; he had easy access once your panties were pushed aside. Aemond loved it when you wore such short dresses; he fantasised about moments like this. Your underwear was sodden, you didn’t even need to be touched to be ready for Aemond’s intrusion into your body. “Hm,” he snickered, that knowing smirk plastered firmly onto his chiselled face. It was amusement, laced with derision and mocking, something completely foreign to your ears from a man you only knew as loving, though truthfully, you had clearly ignored many aspects of his personality, perhaps you saw it and ignored it in favour of his more amorous qualities. Desire can cloud judgement, and you’d definitely misjudged Aemond.
He took full advantage of the ample lubrication. Nudging the folds of your cunt with his spongey pink tip, he tilted his hips and found the right angle so that he could easily plough into you with devastating effect. In one swift motion, Aemond speared your cunt with his impressively thick cock. Another ear-splitting scream left your lips, this time caused by the force of being impaled by your boyfriend's egregiously large penis rather than a corpse scaring the life out of you. Usually, he gave you time to adjust, inched his way in, and let your walls stretch to accommodate his size, but tonight he saw fit to punish you, to brutally defile your body as he saw fit. Perhaps it was retribution for letting your eyes linger on another longer than appropriate, perhaps this was bubbling within him for a long time. He didn’t stifle your screams this time, he let them ring out for everyone to hear.
Time passed in a blur, your body no more than a vessel for containing Aemond’s rage. You were pinned against the wall by his veined forearms, blood pumping through his body with the exertion. You could do little to adjust to his onslaught, your body didn’t have time to get used to the feeling. His sharp hips pistoned against the plump curve of your arse, the sound of skin slapping echoing out into the hollow night. You knew you’d be bruised, your skin would bear the mottled remnants of his anger for days, stained with multicoloured blotches. You let your mind wander, settling into the thick fog of pain and numbness. It’d be over in just a minute, with the pace Aemond had set; he was sure to come undone quite quickly. There was no restraining raw, animalistic desire and his was on full display. Eventually, the pain of his forceful penetration dulled, the sharp sting muted, and all too soon you felt the familiar coil settle in your core. You knew there’d be no relief, yet you allowed yourself to hope, to picture the sweet release that could come, if he was merciful.
This wasn’t reminiscent of any other time you’d fucked, any other time he used your body for his pleasure. There was no love present here, no affection, only crude carnal desire. Raw, unfiltered, tainted with ego and testosterone. Pure adrenaline coursed through his system, driving each callous thrust. There was no hint of gentility in his movements, no trace of the man you’d once made love to. This monster chased his own high, using your flesh as he saw fit. Your skin would bear the evidence; it’d remind you of this night even when the memory dulled. Even when the haze of potential pleasure clouded your recall of his brutality. Mottled bruising would stain the surface, remind you of the sudden appearance of this alter ego, this second self Aemond had long hidden. A bloodthirsty creature that lingered underneath the surface, and reared its head when jealousy spilled over. Considering the alternative, being used as no more than a fleshlight was a preferable outcome. Considering the violence you’d seen at his hand, the body that day in the dirt as a result of his rage, being used for his sexual release was the least egregious path.
Yet, even though your mind knew all this was wrong, that you were upset and betrayed, that you wanted the gentle man you loved back, you couldn’t deny the physical response your body had to being so roughly handled. You couldn’t deny the burning between your legs, the ever tightening coil as his cock ravaged your cunt. And though your mind had slightly more trouble overcoming the whole jealous rage-murder-thing, your body seemed more than capable of withstanding each revenge fuelled thrust, each slap of skin and bone against your delicate flesh. Even the sound of his pale skin smacking against yours drew goosebumps to the surface and sent a fresh shiver through your bones. You knew you’d fall apart around him soon. The question was, would he find his high before your banks burst around him?
Aemond certainly wasn’t shy about making noise, letting his guttural grunts ring out into the night. He didn’t care who heard, he didn’t care who witnessed the punishment he inflicted upon you for casting your eyes towards another. He watched your body swallow his cock, over and over, as his hips kept up their punitive pace. Somehow, the sight of his cock disappearing into your body, sheathed within such warmth, it pulled emotion from him that he never knew he had. He didn’t think he was capable of forgiveness, of being anything but cold and vengeful. Yet this seemed like a fitting punishment for you, taking his length over and over, taking him so deeply into your body that he felt the very essence of you coming apart around him. The moonlight danced on your juices, which coated his cock from tip to base. It was mesmerising, hypnotising, evidence of your arousal and devotion, even under such gruelling circumstances. Aemond felt the familiar flutter of your walls around his shaft, the telltale sign that you were on the precipice of release. Yet you held yourself together, you held your peak back. And he would drag you there, he’d show you just how merciful a violent man could be, with the evidence of his passion staring at them from the cold ground.
Aemond’s change of heart was sudden and rather shocking. Instead of verbalising his ideas, instead of communicating, he halted his brutal assault all at once, pulling his pants up around shaking knees and leaving you empty, without warning or any thought for your building pleasure.
You just stood, in a state of shock and right on the edge of release, desperate for relief, when it stood tantalisingly close. He hadn’t finished, he didn't even wipe himself off, he just…stopped. And before you could comprehend why, Aemond’s hand found the nape of your neck. His grip was tight, consuming, his touch like tongues of flame against the contrasting chill of the night air, yet he didn’t grab tight enough to cause you pain. Just to bend you to his will, to let you know that you belonged to him, and him alone.
He pulled you into the warmth of the house once without a word, ignoring the sheen of sweat on your brow, and the red hot flush that burned beneath your skin from his efforts. As you walked through sticky swathes of drunken people, you kept your eyes trained on the beer stained floor, hoping that nobody would notice your disheveled state. The crowd were too engrossed in their bottles to notice, but you were certain everyone had heard your lurid activities outside, even above the din of the playlist that blasted through crackling speakers in the living room. Approaching the one person you knew would miss your presence, you said a quiet goodbye to Helaena before disappearing through the sea of inebriated bodies, into the ink-black night with Aemond guiding your way. His hands gripped your spine like a vice, directing every step, controlling the depth and pace of every breath you took. Yet there was something oddly freeing about it. Something strangely comforting about removing your autonomy and giving complete control to this unhinged human.
He controlled your every move, even when his hands weren’t on your body. You felt his red hot stare lingering as he rounded the bonnet, making his way to the driver door.
The dark leather creaked as he sank into the plush seat, the material shifting under his weight, accommodating and molding to his shape as he settled into it. It gave way to him like clay, fitting to his svelte yet strangely dense and muscular form. He didn't reach for the radio, didn't force small talk where it wasn't needed. From the minute the key turned in the ignition, Aemond had you right where he wanted you; unsatisfied and on the edge of reason. He left you empty and confused, waiting on tenterhooks for his next move.
As he steered into the night, with only the glow of the headlights shining against the tarmac, his hand moved to rest on your thigh, long fingers digging into the soft flesh, leaving crescent shapes in their wake. He may as well have branded you, his touch felt like flames nipping at your skin. Not once did that hand leave your thigh, not once did he lift his fingers from their resting place.
Each squeeze made your breath hitch in your chest, each time getting a little tighter, pinching the skin just a little more. You knew there was a chance those marks would be permanent, scars to remind you exactly who you belonged to, like a tattoo carved into flesh.
Passing streetlights illuminated the smirk permanently painted onto his face. The pale glow from the outside glinted off of his prosthetic eye, catching the sapphire hue and somehow making Aemond look even more menacing. Each flickering bulb formed a rhythm; you found yourself tapping your fingers to the beat of each one as it whizzed by. Perhaps it was a way to distract from the sting of nails digging into your thigh muscle, perhaps it was a coping mechanism - a way to make sense of all that had happened tonight, and all that was sure to come in the early hours of morning. Despite the pleasure you were denied, and the lingering ache within you from Aemond's onslaught, you couldn't help but recall the horrors you had seen also.
You’d left that man lying face down in the dirt. Would he be found by some other drunken soul, stumbling over his chilled corpse as they sparked up a cigarette? Wound someone find out who had led him to his inevitable death?
The torturous silence stretched into the night, the only sound underneath that metal roof were the mingled hushed tones of your combined breaths.
No door could contain Aemond's fervour, no barrier of wood could keep him from his plans. As soon as his feet crossed the threshold, he pulled you down the hall, pulling you into the bathroom hastily. He didn't verbalise his carefully crafted plans, he never once let you know where his mind was going, you simply followed wordlessly, accepting your fate as it came.
You certainly didn't expect plump lips to meet your own in an unusually passionate embrace, before backing you into the shower, still fully clothed. You didn't question it, but your eyes clearly communicated your confusion, ad Aemond answered with a familiar cheeky grin.
His hand reached behind you, releasing the water from its chamber. It was hot, like fire in liquid form. Like dragon fire, tongues of flame licked at the surface of your skin. Aemond didn't seem to notice, it didn't seem to faze him, and immediately crowded around you, backing you against the glass wall. He had less grip under the running water, his hands couldn’t get purchase on your skin. Clawing hands slipped under the flow of running water, yet that didn't hinder his frenzied actions.
He crowded you against the glass, held your body tightly with one hand, while the other wandered to the slick column of your throat. Nimble fingers wrapped around delicate skin, pressing slightly on either side. Just enough to remind you of his power, just enough to keep you malleable under his touch.
He’d already punished you that night, taken his anger and malice out thoroughly on your pliant cunt. So instead of abusing his power and alienating the one good thing he had, he decided to incentivise good behaviour. To show you he could be the devoted man you thought he was, as well as the one you found tonight. To keep you truly under his thumb, he needed to be merciful as well as vengeful. Besides, it was fun to watch you fall apart under his touch, to watch your eyes roll back in your head as his body brought you immense pleasure. Dropping to his knees, Aemond hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder as you braced yourself against the glass, eyes widening with each surprising development. You could scarcely believe the vision before you, it was a shocking u-turn, a swift pivot back to the passionate, tender man you called yours only hours earlier, though that sharp edge remained. The man you thought you knew so well was not lost, merely buried beneath the thin veil of a monster. You just let it happen, not daring to question his intentions, not daring to interrupt.
A hot tongue darted from his jaw, catching the falling water on its rough surface before plunging to its purpose. His jutting chin nuzzled between your legs, his pointed nose angled slightly upwards to stimulate your sensitive clit. Aemond knew what he was doing, he always did, but this night he set about devouring you with renewed purpose and surprising enthusiasm. One dazzlingly blue eye peered up at you from between your folds. He seemed to know just where to apply pressure, how to stimulate the most sensitive spots that would make you melt into his mouth. He was still the man who devoured you at every turn, who took pleasure in pleasuring you. But this time seemed different, this time he seemed determined to watch you come undone, to assert dominance in the most unlikely of positions. Every breath, every sweet exclamation and high pitched whine only fed his ego further. You were truly and devastatingly under his thumb, and you knew it. With one swipe of his tongue, you’d fallen into his trap. There was no escaping it now.
So instead of fighting the pleasure that welled deep within, that wrung tighter with each lapping sweep of his textured tongue you gave yourself over to it. You resigned yourself to the duality of his wanton violence, to his murderous tendencies and slightly insane possessive nature, with the man that knelt before you, the one you'd fallen for. You even allowed yourself to enjoy it, to lose yourself in it and lap up each and every ounce of tainted love Aemond deemed fit to give.
Even over the patter of running water, your exclamations of ecstasy echoed between the thick glass panes keeping you aloft. Your knees had long buckled beneath your tired frame, you were only kept upright by Aemond's strong shoulders and one solid sheet of glass behind your back.
It wasn't long before you found the pleasure you were earlier denied in a warm supping tongue, ravaging your cunt as if it’d never taste your flesh again. As if your skin contained the sweetest of nectar, a delicacy Aemond sought out most fervently.
It was merely minutes before you were spilling into the open caverns of his mouth, your body succumbing to his expert ministrations, seceding its battle with guilt and fear to an overwhelming blanket of ecstasy. Aemond sucked every drop from your dripping cunt, licked and sucked your swollen clit long past the point of release, until he had you writhing around his head, begging for relief from the almost painful overstimulation. It was only then, as your pleading rang in his ears, that Aemond finally relinquished his efforts, and made his way back up your body, to share his reward with your waiting mouth. You could taste yourself on his tongue, in his searing kiss. He claimed every inch of you, everything you had was his.
And now, as he gave you everything you wanted, you were more than willing to succumb to his every whim.
Though when the haze of pleasure wore off, when the coil in your gut had been let loose and you could think clearly, your mind reeled, remembering every gory detail the night held.
You were truly stuck, wedged firmly under his thumb, and Aemond knew exactly how to keep you pliant and willing, he knew exactly how much your body yearned for his hands, how you couldn’t possibly resist the call of his body, even when your mind fought to escape.
The next morning, knuckles rapped on sagging wood that could tell a multitude of stories. Glazed eyes opened the door to reveal local police, investigating a missing person's report.
The man without a name, the corpse in the cold, who everyone assumed had Irish goodbyed, never made it home. Yet another young man in recent weeks who never graced their own front doors again, who disappeared without a trace. His body had been discovered tossed onto the side of a blackened road, far from anyone who loved him, or even knew his name. His roommates called it in, knowing he was supposed to walk home that night. They knew he'd never stay out, never leave his cat unattended without saying anything. It was out of character for him to stay out without so much as a text, or posting about his night. They knew something was very wrong when he didn’t grace their flat by 4am, and they raised the alarm.
Two level headed cops interviewed every hungover face in that living room, every person that stayed and slept where they stood. As expected, memories were foggy, clouded by alcohol and recreational drugs, now wreaking havoc on tired bodies. Yet despite hazy recollections of that night, Aemond’s name came up a few times for having disappeared throughout the night. Sore heads and cloudy memories all pointed to Aemond as acting suspiciously, though nobody outrightly suspected him of being a killer. A few names graced tired lips, a few people who had left early, some who had a reputation for trouble, some who were known to disappear without saying anything. Yet it was Aemond that drew attention, it was him that stuck in the clouded minds of everyone who attended that night.
It wasn’t long before trouble graced your doorstep, the hollow sound of knuckles knocking at your door stirring you from sleep, and bringing you out into the hallway. You were groggy, moving slowly, but you heard someone at the door. Aemond was already up, and had answered the front door clad in nothing but his boxers. To some it might have been seen as pure laziness, you knew better. You knew that the sight of his sculpted body would throw off whoever was on the other side of that door, knocking at an ungodly hour as a migraine rattled through your brain. You could barely hear what they were saying from your perch atop the stairs, but you did hear several questions being asked, and so out of curiosity, you wandered to the landing to get a better view. It was the police. Shit.
Every morose detail came flooding back to you, in grotesque clarity. The blood, his face under the pale moonlight, the wound that spanned the breadth of his neck. The violence and brutality of it all. You’d honestly forgotten most of it, the vivid details were diluted by alcohol and knocked loose by Aemond’s bipolar behaviour afterwards. But seeing two officers in uniform grace your apartment door brought it all back, including the overwhelming sense of horror. It was all you could do to run to the bathroom and rid yourself of the guilt before someone spotted you.
After you’d expelled your guilt into the porcelain bowl, washing your face with cold water and tidying yourself up to the best of your ability, you decided to join Aemond downstairs. It was better than hiding. You only caught part of the conversation, and even as you descended the stairs, you heard pointed voices echoing in condescending tones.
“You’re not in any trouble,” one of them said kindly, ‘the good cop,’ Aemond thought distastefully, though he didn’t for one second let his face reflect his true thoughts. “Right now we’re just following some lines of inquiry and your name has come up a lot.”
Another, more stern voice chimed in quickly after. “Seems enough people were concerned about your disappearing acts on the night in question that they thought it worthwhile mentioning.”
“Am I under arrest, officers?” he sighed, almost bored at their probing line of questioning. You cringed at his blatant display of ego, you knew that this alter Aemond was different, somewhat maniacal but you never thought what would happen when he was confronted with true authority. Even still, you made your way over to them and stood by his side, giving a polite nod to the officers.
“Well that depends son, you have anyone else that can account for your whereabouts on the night, anybody who can solidly swear they were with you the entire time?”
Silence. He looked to the side, throwing his eyes in your direction, slightly confused, but also betrayed by your hesitance.
Aemond deflated, he thought of the fear in your eyes when you'd discovered the true depths of his depravity last night, the look of betrayal when he’d pressed the metal of his blade to your skin and watched the trickle of blood there. Somehow he expected obedience.
“I will make sure you never forget who you belong to,” he’d said at the time and he’d hoped his actions last night were enough to enforce upon you that no matter what happened now: no cuffs, bars or barbed-wired fences would ever change the fact that he had killed and would kill again to remind you of this fact.
“That’s what I thought..” the tougher cop smirked after a few moments of uneasy, weighted silence, “Aemond Targaryen you are under-”
Realising the opportunity before you, seeing your chance at escape from this dire situation of your own making, you kept your mouth firmly shut. You never anticipated just how viscerally your body would react to the jingling of handcuffs though, the cold metal struck a chord within you, pulling something along the lines of guilt and sending a feeling akin to pity bubbling to the surface. Your resolution to stay silent broke in a matter of seconds, your steel will crumbling before you could stop yourself.
Just as he was about to be placed in cuffs, his eyes locked with yours once more and disappointment turned to rage in an instant. There was no pleading to be found there, just a look, a look that made your stomach clench and the words were wrenched from you before you even had time to think. One glance from dazzlingly blue eyes was all it took for the words to come tumbling from your lips. "He was with me all night” you blurted and the cop stopped mid arrest-speech. You regretted it as soon as you heard the words form in the air before you, but it was too late. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at you in a way that made you feel small and far too bare. You had given Aemond a way out, an escape from a fate he truly deserved.
“All night you say?” he asked, tone mocking and you were nodding wide-eyed and heart racing.
“And you would be willing to swear that before a judge now would you sweetheart?”
Something about his mocking tone, or his condescending use of the word sweetheart had you bridling and you stuck your chin out stubbornly.
“I’ll swear it to anyone you want me to, he never left my sight all night. I can even go into the details of what exactly we were doing when we ‘disappeared’ each time if you’d like.”
‘That’s my girl’, Aemond thought as the police officer was forced to unclasp the bracelets from his narrow wrists and he grinned knowing that he had you exactly where he wanted you. You’d had your chance to escape him, and now he knew resolutely that you were lovestruck, even in the face of everything you’d seen and he had you undeniably stuck, under his thumb.
With an alibi now firmly in place they had no choice but to take your statements and be on their way, any hope they had of pinning it on Aemond dissipated with your sworn statement and their demeanour toward him completely changed.
Aemond himself had switched into charming mode, you’d seen it a thousand times before, you had yourself been victim to it, but it still scared you how easily he slipped into it and how capable he was of making people believe him and bend to his will.
“Whoever the killer’s after, I'm glad they have you guys to protect them” Aemond uttered to the retreating police, flashing a fake smile their way before turning his back.
“City’s finest…” he whispered under his breath, as they walked in the opposite direction, leaving you to a fate of your own making. As he pushed past you, once more entering the cosy apartment, Aemond whispered a final sentence that made your blood run cold at the utterance.
“You can't run from who you are baby ..none of us can”
Taglist: (no pressure) @volklana @thenameswinter99 @suntizme @zaldritzosrose @dreamilypurplepillar
