#martin in the modern world

[myfandomprompts]

Fontaines DC - It's Amazing To Be Young (2025)

[venmondiese]

WEIRD HOBBIES

-ˋˏ| summary: you meet a guy in a bar and decide to go back to his place, as weird as he might seem.

✧ | Pairing: Martin (in the modern world) x reader

✧ | word count: 2.3k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f/m receiving), 69 position, Martin is weird as hell but a pussy eating champ! Not beta proof<3

“So… what’s your name again?” You ask curiously, walking behind the man that holds your hand, guiding you through his home, and to his bedroom. You don’t complain, though, since you were out just for that; to get home with a handsome man. 

There was this band that you never heard of playing near your house, and it took little for your brain to convince you to go. If something good came from it, you would get fucked. If something bad came from it, well… you hoped for the first one. 

That’s how you ended up here, following a dude, which looks from head to toe like a metal head. His hair goes to his shoulders, coal black, which you assume he dyed it, and some graphic shirt with the words ‘Knotfest’ and all, wearing some metal stuff that you didn’t really know much about.

And you looked like a rock groupie, with a leather top that practically squeezed your tits and a dark jeans miniskirt with some boots. Yet, this mysterious man was still taller than you, and that was quite exciting, and a bit arousing.

“Eh, Martin” he says nonchalantly, as he grabs your hand, his bracelets really end up the detail of his fit, and you feel really horny now to lay with this dude. “Yours?”

You tell Martin your name, following him as he opens his bedroom door. To be fair, it is tidier than you imagined.

“Sorry the mess” he murmurs, moving the drone and an electric guitar out of his bed. You hum, looking around curiously, to the badly positioned posters, some rock-metal bands that you didn’t know about.

“Is that a snake?” You ask, watching the little head of the reptile in the middle of the dim light coming from outside.

“Uh- no, it’s a lizard” 

A guy with a lizard as a pet. Okay.

“What is its name?” 

“Lizard. I don’t like naming them-” 

Great. 

You look at him with a fake smile. The dick better be good you think, taking out your jacket and leaving it on a chair next to the desk.

“Be careful, spider likes to crawl near there”

You took your jacket off there, and you really hoped that he had a dog called spider because otherwise it would be strange as hell.

“Riiiiight” you say, leaving your jacket in a hanger of his opened closet. Whatever. “So… Apart from having a lizard and a spider… do you maybe also have… a cockroach?”

He lets out a huff, his lips turning upwards as he takes his shirt off. “No” Martin says. “I do have another thing, though, it’s very big”

You try to smile at his corny, cringy words. It’s for the dick. You repeat to yourself: The dick better be good. He better not finish in two minutes. He better knows how to eat pussy.

“Ha. Funny” you say as you start to take off those boots.

“How did ya meet the band?”

“Ehmm… A friend dated the brother of an ex of the bassist. I think” you say watching as he frowns his eyebrows slightly trying to make any sense as he lights up a cigarette. 

“ah, nice” he says as he lays on bed as he smokes the cigarette, taking off his shirt as he remains only in those Adidas jeans of his. “Heard the songs before?”

“Once or twice” you say looking at the CD albums stacked on top of each other messily, and you move to grab a solitude piece of paper, as you can practically feel Martin’s eyes on your ass. “I liked the vocalist, quite handsome, don’t you think?” you unwrap softly the paper, away from Martin’s eyes.

It was an address. It piqued your curiosity.

“Aye, come here” his voice is soft as he extends his hand to turn off the cigarette on the glass ashtray, which has the shape of a dragon.

You turn around and walk toward his bed, and watch how he seems eager to have you. It’s hot to have a man drooling for you like Martin is now. And his erection is the living proof of it; it was obvious against his trousers that he was rock hard. You wondered if he was leaking as well. 

You straddle his lap, a smirk forming on your lips as his hands move immediately to your thighs, cold hands moving slowly up to find their way to your ass. 

“Sit on my face” Martin murmurs, words slightly stuck between his pants

“Hm? What was that?” You ask petulantly, pretending not to have heard. 

“Come on, beautiful, sit on my face” he says, pushing your hips closer to his chest, trying to push your miniskirt up.

“Gotta take my panties off” you say softly to him, watching his lips as he licks them, savouring the ghosting taste of you.

“No, like this” he murmurs, eager to taste you. “I’ll eat you from behind even.” Martin proposes, more desperate than the last time “Please”

You might forgive cheesy comments for his eagerness. You sigh with a wide smirk, turning around as Martin places his big hands around your thighs, dragging your centre closer to his face. 

Eager was the wrong word for it; he was desperate.

His hand moved your panties to the side, and his face almost nuzzled your cunt, before starting to press his tongue on your centre. You could hear his groan of pure delight, his hands caressing the skin of your thighs and ass as he delighted himself. 

“Fuck” you said, but it was as if all the air from your lungs when out in that moan. 

Martin’s hands were keeping you still, not allowing you to move your hips to grind his face as you wanted. You could hear his moans, the way he slurped and nuzzled his face on your cunt. 

He was a pro, eating pussy as if he did it every day (maybe he did, god knows), and he didn’t seem to care for his lack of air in the matter. He was on it, devoted to eating your dripping cunt as if it was his last meal on earth.

Your hands are pressed on his stomach, and he has to forcefully let you go to breathe, and you sigh as you feel his breaths. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” You breathe softly, as you can hear how he pants, catching his breath. 

“A good pussy can make a man go feral, love” he says, moving your panties out of the way as his index and middle finger move to rub against your slit. 

He was cheesy, and it was a bit weird. Yet it couldn’t bother you less, you had been with worse men, and Martin was good in other areas…, well, at least in sex and eating out a pussy. And it was more than average, so you were up to it.

Before he decides to keep on eating you, still caressing your clit as he catches his breath, you lean a bit on his torso, to try to pull down the leather pants, opening the zipper. 

It takes you a bit, yet after accomplishing your mission, your hand grabs his dick to guide it into your warm, eager mouth. 

He was well doted, and hard as a rock. He was leaking, and his tip was a bit pink compared with the rest of his cock. 

God damn you if it didn’t make your mouth drool. Between him eating you out, and his leaking cock, you think you will go insane. He could have cheeky, cringe comments but you could live with it. You couldn’t live without him eating you out or his cock. 

You are as enthusiastic with his cock as he is. Though, you start slower. You take the head on your mouth, sucking on it as you feel him groan against your pussy. It was fucking hot, and it had you moaning on his cock. You didn’t remember the last time your legs were trembling like this, and how much you wanted to feel a dick in your throat. It was a need, a primal need.

Martin was kind and nice, had his things, but god, you need to fuck him. You might even need to have his babies by now. You wouldn’t complain if he came all inside you, filling you with his cum, and making you pregnant. Fuck, it even turned you more on. What was this man doing to you?

You took more of his dick in your mouth, trying to take all of it, not minding if you choke on it. He was hot. More than hot, in truth.

Martin was relentless with his tongue, lapping at your cunt again and again, moaning loudly against it as he could feel how deep you were taking his cock in your mouth. Your hand moved to cup his balls, as your tongue tried to swirl around his tip. It drove him insane. 

It was not long before you started to cum, moaning loudly, his dick slipping from your mouth as your thighs pressed against his face, riding his face and nose as he was making you cum. His tongue was as greedy as him, and he worked with his nose along your slit. And it made you cum hard, rolling your eyes back. “Fuck, Martin, just like that…” You say, hips grinding against his mouth in a desperate need to stretch the feeling a bit more. 

And once you finish, your mouth goes back to his cock, to keep on sucking him off. “Fuck, you feel incredible” he rasped, as you moved forward, closer to his cock and have full access, as Martin’s hips pumped upwards to fuck your mouth. 

You lay on his chest, his face back on the pillow, moaning loudly as you seem to try to drain him completely, deepthroating him as if it was nothing at all.

“Fuck, you are going to make me cum” He says, teeth gripped as his hand moves to grab a fist of your hair, to move your head down to allow him fuck your mouth deep as he wanted. His own head titles back in pure bliss and pleasure, moaning loudly as he uses your mouth as a desperate animal in need to cum. Not that you complain, it costs a bit more to breathe, and you were almost choking, but hearing Martin be so local, groaning, moaning and grunting was worth it. 

His cum soon fills your mouth, and he keeps you still, the signal clear for you to swallow all of it, as his throbbing cock unleashed his hot cum. 

“Swallow it… fuck, swallow it all, take what I give you…” he mutters in pure bliss.

As the last drops of cum are licked off his cock, he leans back and you move to his side. 

“That was great” You mutter, looking at the ceiling. How could he be so great at it?

“Yeah. Cig break and round two?”

“Hell yeah”

You are with your friend when you search the location in the paper that you found in Martin’s room. You were supposed to go to the club, you were wearing your miniskirt and a top, really to party, but that man had eaten your pussy and fucked you like no one before, so you felt entitled to find what that was for.

“It’s cold” Your friend, Tamara, says. She was chewing gum as she followed you begrudgingly. 

“It’s a fucking parking lot?” You ask looking around the empty street, the night made it lonely yet not totally isolated. 

“Your darling buries the bodies here” Your friend says, obviously judging it all. “Can we go?”

“Look, there is a car” you point out, as the car seems to be jumping around due to the movements inside. “Gods, you think they are having sex?”

“Ew, you think he has a brothel in his car?” Tamara asks you, looking at the car as you both get closer. “Eww and you fucked without a condom… You could get an IST, and die”

“It is called an STD, and… I think he is not fucking anyone” you frown slightly, getting closer.

“Careful! What if his pimp is here…?”

“He is fighting someone!” You say looking inside the car, as you find Martin pressing the head of the other guy against the window. 

Surely, Martin was a weird dude. He was corny as hell, and he had pets called like the species they were. Sure. He almost burned his hair as he smoked after sex, yes; and he also ate pussy like a champ and was hung as a horse. 

“I am going there” You tell your friends. “The dick is worth it”

“Yikes” 

As you walk closer, you feel your friend either staying behind or walking away, not that you care. 

Martin had blood trailing down his forehead, and was lying in the passenger’s seat as his thighs choked the other guy he was with, holding his head still with his hands. Okay, whatever, a guy can have hobbies.

When he sees you, he starts rolling down the window of the car, as you lean closer to his height.

“Hey, darling- how did ya–”

“A girl has her secrets” you say, smiling as you see him. God, he was sexy as hell. “I want my pussy eaten” 

Martin smirks, and he leans back to sigh at your request, as if the idea delights him. He still applies pressure to the other dude, who seems to pass out. Martin leans forward closer to your lips and whispers “Will ya’ wait ten minutes as I finish with this round?”

“Three” You bargain.

“Seven.”

“Three”

“Five and I’ll make you cum twice.” His final offer, and the time you had in mind. Offering lower than one wants always seems work to get your official deal, even with an extra.

“Deal” you accept with a smirk. 

And what if he was fighting inside a car? You fancied Martin, and sure as hell he fancied you. Even if he has weird hobbies. 

[meatsaint]

In Spite of Us.

Modern Aemond x Reader.

Summary: Raised in an orphanage before being adopted by the same family, you and Aemond have always been bound by something deeper than childhood friendship. Darkness. Obsession. The kind of things that burrow into your minds and refuse to leave. In a world that couldn’t care less about either of you, the harsh truth remains: you’re all each other has—whether you like it or not.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Incest, drug and substance abuse, mention of graphic violence, mention of murder, mention of parental abuse, smut, degradation, possessive behavior, dub-consent.

Author's note: I'm deciding whether to continue. If you'd like to, please let me know.

In a world this fucked, it's no wonder it spits out people just as broken. Twisted up, chipped, and ready to snap. Minds that don't play by the so-called normal rules. You’re a glitch in the system, the full stop shoved into the middle of the sentence. A ticking bomb of chemical chaos, or maybe just the gnawing hunger that’s been chewing you from the inside out since day one. You knew it. Aemond knew it. Always did. You didn't fit, never would. For a while, that shit felt like a curse—like a weight tied around your neck. But then it became second nature, like breathing in poison and calling it air. You stopped fighting it, stopped letting it tear you apart. You didn't just wear it; you owned it. Hell, maybe you even died for it.

Aemond sometimes wondered where it all started. Maybe it was that hellhole of an orphanage, where they threw you both like trash. Not a home—just another cruel joke. A meat grinder, with its hunger pangs, freezing walls, and the constant line-up for scraps that were never enough. You were quiet, too fucking quiet, and that made people look at you sideways. But then there was him. The shadow that stood between you and the bigger boys who thought pain was a game. You didn't know why he gave a damn. Maybe it was that time you woke up in the dead of night and saw him sitting on the floor, staring at you like some ghost that couldn't rest. The dark didn't bother him, and his silver hair sure as hell didn't make him harder to spot.

He was there. Always was. And you? You were his shadow, just as much as he was yours. Years didn't change a damn thing. Then that joke of a family came along, slapped the word adoption on you both like it meant something. A better life? Bullshit. Things didn’t get better—they just shifted into another shade of misery.

Mum? She spent her days with a bottle of cheap wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other, blowing out clouds that reeked of fake watermelon. She used to say the sweet ones were best, even if they tasted like shit. And Dad? Oh, he loved Aemond’s silver hair. Loved it so much that when he was about to lose his temper, he'd hold onto him like some sick lifeline. But that didn't stop the scars. Those stayed, etched into his skin, courtesy of the belts and threads Dad liked to use.

Crying? Aemond didn't cry. He didn't have to. The silence screamed loud enough.

Years dragged on, and one day you weren't some helpless kid anymore. But the bullshit didn't stop—if anything, it cranked up a notch. You remember the screaming. How could you not? Dad’s twisted little excuses, his shitty jokes that got uglier every time, all just another way to go at you or Aemond. And Mum? She was barely even there—when she was, all she did was scream too. The sound of her begging still rattles in your head. “Stop. It hurts.” Over and over, bouncing off the walls like it could break something in him. It never did.

So, you did what you always did. Slid under the covers next to Aemond, the only refuge you had. Not that he reacted much. He’d just lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, cold as death. It was like lying next to a corpse. But it was better than being alone. At least, that's the lie you kept feeding yourself.

It was during one of these times that you felt him react for the first time. His fingers slid down your thighs under the covers, gripping them firmly. They traveled up to your waist and disappeared under your shirt. His cold fingertips mapped your spine as if they were counting the bones there, his breath blowing at the back of your neck, and he leaned closer to bite your neck, hard enough to leave a mark on your jaw. You felt every sensation, as if the devil himself was licking your skin raw and bathing it in his saliva. When his hand found your breast and rolled your nipple between his fingers, you arched your hips back, and as you wiggled them, you found his member already hard under his loose shorts.

After that, it was like two beasts were being released from their cages at the exact same time.

Aemond turned his body and spread your legs, not even bothering to take off your shorts or yours panties, just pushing them aside. Pulling down his shorts revealed his cock, almost throbbing your name. At least that's what it seemed like, since he was calling for you. Grabbing your thighs, he parted them even more and thrust into you in one swift motion, until your groins slammed together. Over and over, growing in your ear, while using one hand to cover your lips, muffling the desperate cries of pain and ecstasy that escaped. His cock became a mess with your scent and the blood from your first experience, going deeper and deeper.

It was too much, for both your body and your mind. Your nails scratched into him as if you were ready to disintegrate him, the screams that had tormented your nights before vanished. Sweat clung to your bodies and the clothes you still wore, your walls squeezing him, pulling him even deeper. You felt whole, so fucking whole that your eyes rolled back. That was when you reached the first true orgasm of your life, before feeling Aemond pull out and spill over your belly, staining you in more ways than one. It was almost peaceful.

The peace shattered when the bastard stormed into the room. It didn’t feel real—more like some fucked-up fever dream. He yanked Aemond off you and threw him to the floor like trash. You tried to get up, but he was on you in an instant, his fist smashing into your face so hard it sent you sprawling back onto the bed. Your nose was leaking blood, your vision blurry as hell, but through half-closed eyes, you saw it all.

He mounted Aemond, his fists raining down in a storm of violence. But this time? This time wasn’t like the others. Something snapped. Aemond's thighs locked around the old bastard’s torso, flipping him over with a strength you didn’t even know he had.

That was it. That fucking line—the one that should never have been crossed—was gone.

Aemond let loose. His fists came down again and again, each punch sinking into the man’s face, his nose collapsing under the blows. Blood sprayed everywhere, pooling on the ground like a sick offering. Aemond’s knuckles turned black and blue, the flesh split and soaked in crimson, but he didn’t give a shit. He grabbed the bastard by the hair, slamming his head into the floor over and over, screaming like a man possessed.

The crack of his skull splitting open echoed through the room. Blood spread out like a dark halo around his head, but Aemond didn’t stop. No, stopping wasn’t in the plan. He wanted to tear the son of a bitch apart, piece by piece, rip him open from crown to toe, exposing every festering, rotting bit of ugliness for the world to see.

You saw it—the exact moment that piece of shit raised his hand and jammed his thumb into Aemond’s eye. That was it. No more waiting, no more thinking. You shot up from the bed, your hands grabbing the first thing in reach—a pen from your desk.

Your heart was hammering like a war drum as you moved in, the sharp tip aimed and ready. One step, and the pen sank deep into his left eye. You didn’t stop. Not until his face was a grotesque, unrecognisable mess, blood and pulp dripping down like something out of a nightmare.

When he finally stopped moving, you looked over at Aemond. His face was the same cold, detached mask he always wore, but his raw, trembling hands betrayed him. His silence was deafening.

You thought about saying something—hell, anything—but the scream cut through the room like a blade. Your head whipped to the side, and there she was. Your mother. Sliding to the floor, hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. She was still naked, her body a wreck from whatever that bastard had been doing to her before he’d turned his attention to you both.

There wasn’t time to think—fuck, thinking wasn’t even an option. You were on autopilot. Aemond was the first to move, landing a punch on Mum that sent her sprawling to the floor, her scream cutting off like a bad record. You didn’t even flinch. You were already moving, grabbing a backpack and shoving in whatever the hell you could find, yanking on the closest clothes without a second thought.

When you were done, you looked back at the scene—Mum on the ground, Aemond standing over her, the room still reeking of blood and chaos. You knew it then, as clear as the blood on your hands: you were fucked. This wasn’t something you could crawl back from. So Aemond found their stash of cash, shoved it into your bag, and bolted. No goodbyes, no second guesses. Just running.

Every moment after that was soaked in fear. The shitty motels you both crashed in, the greasy diners where you shoved down food that tasted like cardboard, the endless paranoia that came with every passing police car. Red and blue lights haunted the back of your eyelids, flashing like some kind of sick countdown. Every night, you stared at your fingers, half-expecting handcuffs to snap around them. But they never came.

The anxiety started to dull, forced out by exhaustion and the silence that hung between you two like a heavy fog. You never figured out why no one came looking. Maybe no one gave a damn about that bastard. Maybe the world had just decided to let you off the hook for once. Whatever the reason, the answers didn't come, and you weren't about to go digging for them.

Aemond was the practical one, the one with the plan—or at least the one who acted like he had one. He decided your next moves, no questions asked. He wasn’t afraid to dive headfirst into the filth, mixing with the worst kinds of people. And why the hell not? Everyone was scared of him. They didn’t see a guy—they saw a rabid animal, barely tethered. That suited him just fine. It suited you just fine. Fear opened doors, and Aemond kicked them wide open.

By working the right angles and talking to the right scumbags, you both found some good shit to sell, and before long, a shitty little hole to call home followed. He was always making extra stops, running his own little side deals with people who made your skin crawl. You didn’t ask questions, though. You knew better. Some of it was personal—his own brand of chaos that you didn’t dare get involved in.

And when things went sideways? When his preferences left a trail of wreckage behind? It always came down to you to clean up the mess. Blood, lies, broken promises—you were knee-deep in it, scrubbing his mistakes off the floor and praying no one noticed. That’s just how it worked.

So when you came home that morning, boots in hand, tiptoeing in like you were trying not to wake a sleeping beast, what you walked into didn’t shock you. Not really. You were past being surprised by shit like this. The living room floor was painted in scarlet, the blood so fresh it looked like it might still be warm.

And her? She was sprawled there in the middle of it all, like some fucked-up display. You couldn’t even tell what colour her hair was, not with how soaked it was in blood. Her throat—well, there wasn’t much of it left. Torn open, barely held together. Her face still stuck in this frozen mask of terror. Clothes? Forget it. She didn’t have a shred on her, just skin bruised all over like someone had been working her over for hours.

You took another step, then another, and there he was—Aemond. Lounging on the couch like it was just another Tuesday. Legs spread wide, head tipped back, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Blood covered him—his chest, arms, hands. It was everywhere, dripping down him like some grotesque masterpiece. The only thing untouched? His sweatpants, the one clean piece of fabric on him.

He didn’t even look at you. Just sat there, exhaling a long drag of smoke, like he’d just come back from a jog instead of whatever the hell this was.

"Where the fuck have you been?" His voice cut through the suffocating silence, sharp and loaded with accusation. You could have laughed—really could’ve—at the irony of him asking the questions when the room looked like this.

But you didn’t laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because when you looked at him properly, you saw that he wasn’t in the mood for your shit. His eyes were hard, jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding into that cigarette like it had personally offended him. The black hair he’d been dyeing since everything went to hell was sticking to his pale, blood-slick skin, smoke curling around him like he was burning alive from the inside out.

He was pissed. You didn’t need to ask why.

“I went out for drinks,” you said flatly, like it wasn’t even worth a conversation, leaning down to drop your heavy boots onto the floor with a thud. That’s when it hit you—the ache in your thighs, sharp and unforgiving after hours spent dancing, grinding all that tension out of your body. You straightened up slowly, your muscles protesting, your gaze flicking back to him like you were daring him to say something about it.

"All night?" His voice was low, almost too soft. It was ridiculous, really—how the hell could he sound like a goddamn feather when everything about him screamed destruction? It was like he was about to rip you to shreds, but still, the tone came out smooth and menacing. "Are you sure?" The second question came, quieter, sharper.

You squinted at him, head tilting slightly, trying to piece together what game he was playing this time. Every time you left, it was the same damn thing. Coming back to that look in his eyes—something primal, dangerous, like he could rip through you without a second thought. Like he wanted to hunt you down, drag you back into the house, and break you apart, just like he did with the girl on the floor.

And goddamn it, you knew. You knew the thought had crossed his mind more than once. Every time you pulled some shit like this, he probably imagined slicing you open, testing how much you'd bleed. You didn’t even have to ask. You could see it in his eyes.

"Yes, all night," you answered, your voice sharp with irritation. He wasn’t the one who should be asking questions—not after the bloodbath he’d left on your favorite rug.

Aemond exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. Slowly, deliberately, he stood up. His bare feet made no noise as he walked toward you, stepping over the body like it was just another object in his way. You met his movement with your usual defiance, head held high and chin up, not showing an ounce of weakness. But that only seemed to make things worse.

He closed the distance, stopping just inches away, his hot breath hitting your face. He tilted his head down, leaning in closer, nose brushing against your skin as he took a deep sniff, his eyes narrowing as he examined you for something he didn’t want to see. The smell of blood, alcohol, and sweat mixed in the air, the tension thick enough to cut.

"You let someone fuck you?" he murmured, his voice dark and low. He exhaled slowly, searching your scent for any trace of another man’s presence.

Your fists tighten, nails digging into your palms as the sharp, metallic smell of blood mixes with something unmistakably Aemond—anger, frustration, and that volatile edge of his temper that never seems to stay contained. You should be used to it by now, the question always hanging in the air, the same shit over and over. The way he digs into it like a damn animal, hoping to find something he can’t.

"No." The word slips out, tight and clipped, your jaw clenching as you force the response. You see it in his eyes—the search, that desperate need to find an excuse, something to justify whatever the hell this is.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, shoulders dropping momentarily before he tilts his head back, the movement slow and deliberate. You watch the way his throat works with the motion, the sight making your own lips dry. Then, without warning, his hand is in your hair, fingers curling tightly around the strands and yanking back hard. The pain is sharp, like a dagger to your scalp, and you’re quick to grab his forearm, trying to pull him away, but it’s useless. His grip is ironclad.

"Fuck off!" you gasp, the sting radiating through your scalp, but instead of backing off, he tightens his hold, the pull sending a hot rush of tears to your eyes as your skin stretches, every nerve alight.

Without any kindness, he begins to drag you across the room until he reaches where the girl's corpse now lay cold. Kicking the back of your knees, he brings you down to the floor on them, holding tightly to your hair. He positions himself behind you, pressing your cheek against his, using his grip to angle your face better towards the scene.

"Are you lying to me now, you fucking bitch?" his words are poured directly into your ear, the tone so deep it seemed to vibrate from his chest.

"I already said no!” you answer through gritted teeth, the unbearable pain in your head made worse by the amount you drank the night before.

With a grunt, he forces your face to the ground, pressing your cheek into the blood that was there, his open palm on your other cheek. He takes a moment to observe you in that position, so fucking at his mercy. He could break your jaw right now if he wanted to. He could mix your blood with that of the filthy whore on the ground. He could; it would be so damn easy, and you knew it.

"Yeah? You know what's gonna happen if you keep this up, don't you, little dove?" He smirks, grinding your face into the blood, the scent overwhelming your senses as he presses his body against your hunched, aching back. "Come on, scream it out, you fucking know." His voice, though low, slices through the air like a command.

"Fuck you!" you spit back, defiance burning in your eyes, refusing to yield even as the pressure on your jaw intensifies, like he's contemplating grinding you into the damn floor.

His hand snakes up under your dress, yanking it up until it's bunched around your waist like a cheap trophy. You squirm, but he just smashes your face harder against the floor, a silent fucking threat. His fingers creep between your thighs, hunting for any trace of dried cum, like he's some kind of detective in this sick game. His thumb brushes over your panties, feeling the dampness—not the old kind, no. You're getting wet for him right now, aren't you? Pathetic as fuck. He shoves the thin fabric aside, prying your flesh open with his fingers, delving deep, his lips curling in a sneer even as he bites down on them, craving to dive in, to sink his teeth into you, to chew up that whole defiant attitude of yours.

"Look at the fucking mess you've caused," he spits out, his voice as thick and hoarse as yours. He yanks your face up, his hand clamping around your jaw like a vice, forcing you to see the body sprawled out in front of you like some fucked-up centerpiece. "This is your goddamn fault, it was supposed to be you." His whisper slices through your ear, loaded with venom.

And he fucking means every word. It was supposed to be you bearing the brunt of his rage, dealing with his insanity when you pull your disappearing acts, when you don't give a shit about how worried he gets, how out of his mind he goes imagining what you're up to out there. How many more times does he have to spill blood, just to stop himself from snapping that pretty neck of yours, to punish you instead of some random street whore who looks like you just to vent his frustration?

"Yeah?" you manage to retort, attempting a smirk but his grip on your face makes it a twisted effort. You push through, showing him how much you mean it. "Then do it now." You're practically daring him, knowing damn well you'd go through with it.

Silence hangs thick and suffocating. You watch his fingers stretch out, then curl back into fists, like he's psyching himself up to finally break you. You almost embrace it, judging by the calm breath that escapes. You're ready for it, but then he lets you go, suddenly, and if it weren't for your hands catching you, your face would've kissed the floor. Your eyes track him as he strides over, hoists the girl's body onto his shoulders like she's nothing but a useless sack of bones.

"Clean this shit up," he orders, his voice cutting through the air, and your glare deepens.

You watch him walk off, heading to the garage with the girl's body swaying like some macabre metronome. The moment he's out of sight, you're left alone with the blood pool, aching knees, a pounding headache, your dress still rucked up, and your panties askew. And the worst part? You're dripping wet, throbbing, feeling hollow inside. Maybe that's his real punishment. Fuck him.

The hours blended together in a haze of endless scrubbing. The floor was an unforgiving mess, and no matter how hard you worked, it seemed like it would never be clean again. He hadn’t come back. You could only imagine where he was, dealing with the aftermath of everything he’d left behind. The carpet was ruined beyond repair, and everything you'd used—the cloths, the sponges—was burned, destroyed to erase any trace.

It was second nature by now. The motions, the repetition, the burning sense of inevitability. You'd done this so many times, it was like your fingers had become one with the sponge, hardened by the constant, futile effort to make it all disappear.

When it was all over, you were drenched in sweat, and the shower stretched on longer than you'd meant it to. You scrubbed your hair, your skin, trying to wash away all the filth from the night's ordeal. Your muscles screamed from lack of sleep and a day spent scrubbing, the water initially running dark with the grime. But damn, it felt good, so fucking good. Stepping out, you towel-dried yourself, slipping into a pair of panties and a blouse that might've been black once; you couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't yours—it was his.

As you headed out, you knew you'd run into him, and right on cue, there he was. He'd just arrived, helmet still in hand. His clothes were different, suggesting he'd cleaned up somewhere—likely at one of the crew's places, probably asked for help to deal with the "problem," and as always, he managed it. He carried a bag, full from what you could see at this distance.

He takes a moment, his gaze lingering on you drying your hair in the hallway before he advances, his steps deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches you, his face is that unreadable mask, giving nothing away. You couldn't tell if he was still pissed, if he felt any satisfaction or relief, or if he was just numb. With him, you never could.

His fingers dive into the bag, emerging with a Twix bar, the golden wrapper catching the light in his eyes. A small smile plays on your lips, and he returns it with his own subtle smirk, just a slight curve, no teeth. He unwraps the chocolate slowly, and once it's free, he brings it to your lips, tapping gently against your bottom lip. You open up, taking a small bite, and from the look in his eyes, he's completely captivated by the sight. It's like he's back at the orphanage, remembering how you'd pester him incessantly for these, how your eyes would light up brighter than anyone else's. No wonder there are several of these stashed in the fridge now. Idiot.

You take the candy from his grasp, holding it yourself, but his fingers don't retreat; instead, they rise to your cheek, where there's a hint of red that might bruise. His doing, no doubt. His thumb gently strokes the tender spot as you take another bite, the slight pain from the bruise barely registering. Your eyes lock with his as he steps closer, his head dipping to plant a kiss on your jaw. His lips feel like ice against your skin.

You feel him take a deep breath, as if to confirm your presence. His mood seems to have lifted, even if slightly. His lips trace a path down your jaw, along your face, while his hand moves to the side of your neck. Another small smile graces his lips, sending shivers down your spine.

"You stink," you mutter, though there's no real venom in your words. True as they are, the potent scent of sweat and dirt from him is overwhelming.

He inhales deeply, grunts, and uses the hand that was on your neck to push your face aside, not gently but not with the force he could muster if he really wanted to hurt you. That wasn't his intent right then. Without another word, he snatches the towel you were using and vanishes into the bathroom, the door shutting you out, leaving you to chuckle quietly. The dessert? You polish it off in one more bite, savoring the taste.

Back in the room you share, the window is always open, blue lights casting a glow on your skin, mingling with the smoke you exhale. On the table in front of you lies a near-perfect line of white powder, like winter snow but with the harsh burn of the summer sun. You lean over, one nostril pinched by your index finger, and take a sharp inhale, making the yayo vanish. The bitter taste hits your tongue, stars pulsing behind your closed eyes. Your heart races, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple.

At the door, Aemond stands, observing silently. But soon enough, you catch his presence, tilting your head to see him. He's clad only in loose black shorts and white high-top socks, his black hair wet and dripping, his shoulders still marked with black, suggesting he's just finished dying it. The drops of water on him tell a story of their own. His pupils, dilated, nearly obscure the icy blue of his eyes, and his shoulders are relaxed, hinting the bath had been beneficial. Whether that's a good sign or not remains to be seen.

"Didn't you wait for me to start?" His voice carries that familiar low tone as he nods his chin toward the remaining coke on the table.

A mischievous smile curls your lips, and with a nonchalant shrug, you acknowledge his comment. It's not like the supply is dwindling; you have more than enough, stockpiling for both use and sale, probably more than you should use. Either way, he won't go without.

"Not very nice of you, sis." His tone could almost be called playful if it weren't Aemond speaking, and humor was the last attribute you'd attribute to him.

With deliberate, slow steps, as if he intends for every part of the room to sense his presence, Aemond approaches, and there's this glint in his eyes that you've never been able to fully describe. From childhood to now, it's been there—those dilated pupils, intense, his gaze almost vacant, like he's not fully there. It can seem manic, sending a chill through you under certain lights. It's a trait of his that has barely changed.

He stops at the edge of your chair, pausing for a moment. His thumb delicately brushes your nostril, wiping away the residual powder with an unexpected tenderness that seems foreign to him. Then, with an even slower pace, he kneels before you, between your legs. His hands glide down your sides, gripping your hips firmly, pulling you forward with a force that brings you to the chair's edge, compelling you to grab the backrest to keep from falling off completely.

"If you step out of line," he murmured, his gaze lifting to meet yours. One of his hands maneuvered your thigh onto his shoulder, positioning himself closer to your core. "You know I'm going to kill you, right?" The words were sweet, calm, but their sincerity was unmistakable. He would do it, and he could do it so effortlessly.

You nod, swallowing hard, not out of fear—oh, you wished it was fear—but it was heat, excitement, adrenaline, like sugar melting directly into your veins, ready to roll your eyes back in ecstasy.

"Yeah, you know," he whispered again, his breath hot against your panty-covered intimacy. "That's a good girl." His hands then traced down your thighs, exploring every inch of skin and hair as if they were part of a map he was memorizing.

You watch him intently, the cocaine still racing through your veins, making your heart pound and every nerve tingle. He reaches for the table, picking up the small pin with the remaining coke, and brings it close. With precision, he drops some on your inner thigh, using his pinky to form a line that leads directly to your pussy. He's always so calculated, so infuriatingly in control, it makes you want to tear your hair out.

Leaning in, he covers one nostril, then inhales, sliding forward until he's taken the coke from one end to the other, his lips meeting your panty-covered intimacy at the end. His pulse quickens with the drug's effect. The bitterness of the cocaine mixes with the sweet seepage of your arousal through the fabric. His lips, eager to claim ownership, find your taste more intoxicating than any drug. He swears your pussy is the ultimate narcotic, the only one that can truly bring him down, flowing through his veins smoother than heroin. It's a fucking god.

His tongue slides over your intimacy, and your hands grip the chair and table tightly. You know not to touch his hair; if you did, all hell would break loose. So you cling to the furniture, seeking some semblance of control. His lips savor you like you're the ripest, sweetest fruit, his tongue swirling, gathering saliva which then drips down your panties, blending with your own arousal. He makes you clench and clench, craving more without pause.

"Fuck," you moan, head thrown back, the fabric around your waist now feeling like an intolerable barrier. "You are so good, so good." The words spill out, not so much thought as they are a direct translation of the sensations coursing through you. In that moment, he felt so good.

His teeth graze your skin lightly, perhaps in response. His grip on your thighs tightens, leaving marks that would soon purple, claiming you as his. Again, and again. His hands travel up, fingers hooking into your panties, dragging them down your thighs, discarding the now-soaked fabric. When his gaze returns, it's to the sight of your pulsing, glistening flesh, the taste of you already imprinted on his tongue. It's the part of you he adores most, the most exquisite fuck he could never tire of. He feels like if his lips were bound, he'd chew through the ropes just to taste and devour you completely.

"You're so fucking beautiful." His thumb traces through your folds, finding your clit, the soft sound you make in response making him bite his lip hard enough to nearly break skin.

Leaning in, he first presses his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent like it's something sacred. He slides down, breathing you in. His tongue, slick with saliva, extends, slowly tracing from your entrance up to your clit, his eyes lifting to lock with yours, watching your reaction unfold. Your lips part in ecstasy, your eyes locked on his, painting a scene of paradise right before him. The warmth spreading through his body feels like floating on clouds.

"Such a good pussy." His voice is muffled by your heat, the vibrations echoing inside you like he's already within.

His lips work with such intensity that it sends a sharp ache through your core. He explores every inch, tongue rolling over every detail, collecting your taste, swallowing eagerly. His nose glides along, then his chin rubs against you, moving his head side to side, letting your arousal paint even his cheeks. He devours your pussy, and with every gush of your wetness, a moan escapes him. Your hands clutch the chair, almost breaking the wood in your grip, the pleasure coursing through you, as slick as your insides now feel.

Pulling away from your heat, he rises to your lips, sharing your taste. His hands find the back of your knees, lifting you effortlessly from the chair, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You feel his hardness through his shorts, throbbing against you. With quick steps, he moves to the bed, sitting and pulling you onto his lap. Your tongues dance in a deep, wet kiss, the sounds unrestrained.

As he lies back, you follow, his hands urgently gripping your hips, pulling your thighs, trying to coax you higher, towards his face. He needs this, craves it more than air itself.

"Ride my fucking face," he demands, his breath heavy against your lips, breaking the kiss only to speak.

Encouraged, you move up the bed until your knees straddle his face. His hands swiftly guide you down, his face fully enveloped by your heat. His tongue plunges deep, while your hips begin to rock in rhythm. The heat is overwhelming; you yank off your shirt, revealing your breasts, nipples hard and waiting. His eyes catch the sight, his brows knitting together, a needy sound muffled by your pussy.

His hands travel up your stomach, fingertips tracing your ribs, causing your body to shiver, before reaching your nipples. He pinches them between his fingers, making you grind down onto his face with more force. Your hands cover his, urging him to tighten his grip, and he complies. He momentarily pauses to bring his fingers to your lips, allowing you to lick them one by one, then returns them, now wet, to your nipples, teasing and pinching the hardened peaks.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum, Em," you gasp, arching back, your hips grinding with a desperate speed, your nails digging into his forearms as he flicks his thumb over your nipples, mirroring the delicious torment on your clit.

He nods, his chin tilting to drive his tongue deeper. Your walls clamp around him, your movements faltering as your thighs weaken. You look down just in time to see him suck on your clit with renewed vigor, his teeth grazing it, pushing you over the edge. A raw scream tears from your throat, and you clutch the headboard to keep from collapsing forward. And he licks you, thoroughly, consuming every drop of your release.

Your body, now pliable and exhausted, allowed him to easily slide out from under you, lifting you just enough for his head to escape. You collapse back into a sitting position, your back still trembling, mouth open in a silent moan. Then, your ankles are seized, pulling you across the sheets until you're lying flat on your stomach, your thighs shaking and weak.

"You're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" His voice comes from behind, his hand tracing down your soaked inner thighs. "Such a good little slut." The words are punctuated by a sharp slap on your ass, the impact nearly twisting your body.

He observes the quivering form you've become, the fingerprints on your skin already starting to mark you. You look so beautiful, post-orgasm, with your essence still dripping from you, ready for him to drive you into oblivion. His hand dips into his shorts, freeing his throbbing cock. Looking down, he spits on it, using his fingers to spread the saliva along its length.

"Are you going to scream for me, sis?" he murmurs with a hint of malevolence. He steps forward, spreading your legs and teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, watching you writhe. "Scream on my dick, scream. Do it for me, hm?" He bites his lip, savoring how your entrance clenches around his tip.

He thrusts just the head in again, watching you squirm before pulling back, using one fist to brace himself on the bed and the other to hold his cock steady. He teases you, inserting only the tip, making you moan and arch back, trying to take more, but he keeps it shallow. His eyes are glazed with desire as he watches you clench around him, your body begging for more.

"Please what, little dove?" he nearly spits out, pushing in a bit more before withdrawing again, leaving you empty, tight, and craving more.

Your hips sway side to side, arching off the bed in pursuit of him. You feel him enter you once more, his soft moans barely audible, just for you, and damn, how that makes you even wetter, soaking the sheet that's all too familiar with your scent and taste.

"Please fuck me," you whisper, turning to look over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his in what feels like a challenge.

It was like you'd just slapped him across the face with your words. Without a moment's hesitation, Aemond thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt, the hair at his pelvis meeting your ass. His hands dig into your flesh, gripping tight as he begins to pound into you, each thrust deeper and harder, his balls smacking against your drenched clit with every impact. His gaze drops to watch his cock disappear into you over and over, your arousal glistening on him, spreading to his lower abdomen. Your screams fill the room as your body rocks with each movement. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelmingly good, he feels like he wants to drive his cock right through you, straight into your skull.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, seizing your hair with one hand, pulling it back to whisper close to your ear as he leans over you. "You can barely take me, can you? I'm going to draw blood from that tight little cunt of yours, like always." With that, he thrusts even deeper, eliciting a choked scream from you.

Your body shakes under his relentless thrusts. Your eyes are half-closed, tears at the corners; your feet lift, toes curling, saliva escaping from the corners of your mouth onto the pillow. The deep penetration is overwhelming. His gaze confirms the mix of blood with your arousal around his cock, spurring him to thrust in completely, grinding deep inside you, feeling your walls contract around him with fierce intensity.

"You look so pathetic like this, just a hole to use." He releases your hair abruptly, his hands returning to your hips, nails digging in.

With his last ounce of strength, he pulls your hips back, lifting them, positioning you on your knees. You attempt to prop yourself up with your hands, but there's no strength left, so you remain with your cheek pressed to the mattress. From this new angle, he can penetrate even deeper, turning your screams into whimpers of excruciating pleasure mixed with pain, your arousal now dripping down both your thighs.

"No, no..." you whisper, barely audible amidst your whimpers. "Fuck..." Your voice fades as your mouth hangs open, drooling onto the pillow, your fingers clutching the sheets.

"Yeah, I know, I know," Aemond replies, a small, genuine smile curling the corners of his lips. "Cum for me, cum nice and sweet for me." His hand comes down, delivering a sharp slap directly onto your clit.

Your hips instinctively try to escape, but he secures you with an arm around your waist, keeping you still, taking all he gives like the good girl he knows you are. He spits into his free hand, then returns it to your heat, circling and stimulating your clit, squeezing and flicking it, feeling it pulse under his harsh touch. Your walls constrict around him, signaling how close you are.

"Aemond, Aemond..." you try to warn, but the sensation overwhelms you before you can finish.

Your walls clamp down, a loud moan breaking free from your lips as your body convulses, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. Aemond's eyes roll back, the sensation of you gripping him so tightly driving him over the edge. A growl escapes him, more beast than man, as he wraps both arms around your waist, pressing his cheek to your back. He thrusts deep one final time, holding you there, ensuring every last drop of his release is spent inside you until you're left utterly spent. His cock pulses within you, matching the rhythm of your own spasms.

Your body collapses forward, and he follows, bracing himself so as not to crush you. He observes your closed eyes, your body sliding into what looks like a deep, heavy sleep. He loves you like this—silent, immobile, utterly vulnerable. The thought of your helplessness reignites his arousal, despite himself.

With a sigh, he withdraws from you, flopping onto the bed beside you. The room reeks of sex, mingled with the remnants of cocaine still in his nostrils and your taste, seared into his memory. You don't move, just manage to close your mouth with effort, your jaw sore. You don't anticipate tenderness or kisses; you know better than that. Silence fills the space, punctuated only by the sound of your breathing.

"What did you did with the girl?" you hear yourself asking, despite knowing better. Maybe you want to know, or maybe it's just the impulse of the moment.

"It's none of your fucking business," comes the expected, sharp reply. "Shut up and go to sleep." His tone leaves no room for further discussion. After moments like these, he's never in the mood for conversation, unwilling to soften because you've drained him with that perfect pussy.

He turns his back to you, lying on his side, and silence envelops you both. He doesn't want to talk, doesn't want interaction. He doesn't even want to hear your voice right now. Because, fuck, how much he truly craves all of that.

[helaegon-vault]

no cuz ig she also didnt expect Ewan to play lover boy that SERIOUS OMFG they literally had so much fun filming this🧎‍♀️

[endless-ineffabilities]

In Your Modern World (a Chemical Override minishot)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: so this lil baby is set some time in part 5, around late August, when they were at the height of their initial relationship. Also, this references the bonus chapter In the Modern World. No taglist for surprise minishots - I hope this will find the chem ov readers in due time! <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan finally watch his music video. With some interruptions...

"So the concept to this is very straightforward. It's about Martin, and he's a recluse, an aimless youth of sorts, and..." Ewan's words come out in a nervous flurry as he places your laptop atop the duvet. "Do you remember what I told you about it? I mean... that was nearly two months ago, was it? But - "

You can't help but smile at his endearing ramble. "Baby," you say soothingly, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sure I'll love it."

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. "I haven't seen the final cut myself. I hope I did well."

"It's already the music video of the year," you say with a smirk, brushing your lips against the corner of his, "as long as you're in it."

His cheeks flush, the sight of it making your heart flutter. You can't resist leaning in to kiss him again. It's meant to be momentary, but his hand finds its way to the back of your head, keeping you in place so that the kiss deepens. His other hand snakes its way underneath your shirt - his shirt, oversized on your frame - kneading the flesh of your waist.

"Kissing was a bad idea," he rasps. "Now I don't wanna do anything else."

"Oh, oh!" you gasp and pull back when his hand starts to inch your shirt upward, "Hold on there, baby. Music video time."

He groans in protest, his forehead resting against yours, a teasing smile on his lips. "Alright, then. But the next time I kiss you, there'll be no interruptions."

"Fine," you roll your eyes. Then you reach out and press play on the video.

It opens with Ewan as Martin, black wig and all, brooding heavily as he scrutinises his slimey pet. You spot something in the background immediately. It's right there for viewers to see.

Before you can process it, the shot quickly cuts to another scene of him with a thin paintbrush in his hand, hunched over some figurine. Then another, and another... Martin in his room, going about his humdrum and aimless routine. You spot it - yourself - flashing in and out of the frame.

To your side, Ewan is silently chuckling at your surprised expression. Your lips are parted slightly, eyes squinting like you don't believe what you just saw. He waits for it, gazing at you fondly, forgetting all about his piece of work playing on the laptop.

You let your thoughts win over, hitting pause.

As if in slow motion, you turn to face him, the question practically bubbling from your lips. "Was that me?"

"What was that, darlin'?" He absently twirls a lock of your hair, trying - and failing - to keep a straight face.

You raise your eyebrows, challenging him with a look that says Really?

He laughs. "Yes, I asked to have a poster of Alyna Rivers on Martin's wall. Seemed fitting."

"Seemed... fitting?" you reply. "A grunge boy with a poster of a medieval fantasy character? How does that make sense?"

"Martin likes her," he shrugs, grinning mischievously, "What can I say?"

"Martin?" you tease. "Or Ewan Mitchell?"

"Martin likes you," he taps the tip of your nose, "But Ewan... is in love with you. Completely obsessed."

You shake your head, unable to fight the rush of pleasant warmth to your cheeks.

"There is a difference, darling," he clarifies in a husky whisper.

You glance back at the screen, where the video is paused on a shot of Martin sitting in the car.

"Well, he is pretty hot," you admit with a smirk. "All dirty and reckless."

"Hmm," he chews on his lip, "is he?"

Your hand moves to press play again, but his own darts out to stop you.

His voice is a low, seductive rumble. "Think you can fix him? Think you can fix poor Martin?"

Your lips stretch out in a sultry smile, eyes glinting at his playful instigation. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, giving in to the pull of distraction. The rest of the music video can wait; he's in it anyway, he's got some clue as to how it goes.

"I think I can, I think I can," you whisper humorously in that famous playground chanting, desire bleeding through your words.

"Lucky Martin," he breathes against your skin, "should I be jealous?"

Instead of answering, you lean forward, pressing your body flush against his and reclaiming his lips, remembering when he said that the next time you do, there will be no interruptions.

Martin can wait. Or he can watch, in the back of your minds, why the hell not?

You push the laptop aside, then climb on top of your boyfriend, straddling his thighs. He smirks openly, in pure satisfaction.

You ask, "Why don't we give him something to be jealous about?"

[aemonds-gf]

dating Martin from modern world hcs

Author Note : I’m still so rusty at writing but Martin has definitely awaken something inside of me, I hope I did him justice. Feedback is appreciated and requests are open for him, Aemond and aegon.

Trigger Warnings : Martin might be ooc, no use of {y/n}, written with afab in mind, allusions to smut, pussy slapping, spanking, bondage, use of spreader bar.

Martin is fairly observant. He noticed some of the snacks you like to eat and started stocking up on them, he made a place for them in his pantry so when the both of you have a sleepover, you'll feel like you're at home.

Before Martin asked you out, he made a playlist of all of the songs that reminded him of you, out of the blue one night he sent you the playlist and you've been drawn to him since.

He takes you out for late-night dinner dates at his favorite rundown diner. Not many people dine there anymore; mostly, it's the older folks, but that makes it quiet. Every time, both of you order the same thing: blueberry pancakes with a side of oatmeal.

Martin doesn't start conversations much; he much prefers to sit back and paint while you tell him about the day you had at work or college or whatever you were doing that day. He relaxes this way.

When he is unable to sleep, he finds solace in taking walks under the moonlight at the park near his apartment. After spending a few months together, he invites you to join him one night. It was a balmy summer evening, with warm air and a peaceful atmosphere. As you walk together through the park, the moonlight lights your way, creating a soft glow around you. The gentle rustling of leaves and distant of the town sounds add to the tranquil ambiance.

Martin may not appear to be the type, but he is a hopeless romantic and, to add to that, he's touch-starved. Whenever you're together, he finds subtle ways to touch you, even if it's not obvious to those around you in public. For example, if you're reading, he might softly stroke your thigh, or when you both decide to watch a movie, Martin will lay his head in your lap.

Martin is accustomed to receiving strange looks; he knows he's the outcast. As a metalhead with even more exotic pets, he embraces his uniqueness. This doesn’t bother him—he doesn’t feel a need to fit in with everyone else. However, he doesn’t want you to endure the same treatment he does. He would do anything you wanted or needed. Want to wear that outfit? Go for it; he can fight. Want to dye your hair? Go ahead, he’ll stand by you and protect you from everything.

Martin will get you anything you want, he's down for anything. Tickets to your favorite concerts, or maybe a fair you'd like to go to. Never worry because he'll always try to be there for you.

We can all agree that Martin is a freak in the sheets, #1 number one pussy eating champ™. Martin loves to eat you out, he'll have you sit on his face, the edge of his bed, or the bathroom sink. Just anywhere.

He loves bondage, loves to make intricate patterns with you. Loves different color ribbons, rope. Speaking of bondage, he loves to use his spreader bar. Martin had surprised you with it one night, after a long day of work. You felt a bit nervous about the contraption, but Martin, being the loving boyfriend he is, reassured you that if you didn't want to, you didn't have to.

Definitely has a praise kink, he loves to be told that's he doing a good job. He praises you a lot too, his favorite phrases are "his favorite girl, his good-girl, and his favorite cumslut."

Wax play is a must for him, Martin enjoys to mixing the wax. He loves to make you his muse, and your body becomes his canvas. Blue candles are a favorite of his.

Brat taming, he's quite good at it. He likes to feel like he's in control, and will spank you as punishment.

Size kink, need I say anymore

Postion wise, he's simple taste. He enjoys missionary and reverse cowgirl. If you wanted to do something spicer he's down, to try everything once.

It's easy to turn Martin on, wear his band shirt with your just your panties underneath. Listen to his reptile facts, he'll meet you in the bedroom.

[demigoddessqueens]

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Martin (it's amazing to be young mv) moodboard

Please reblog and credit if you use!

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Making Dreams a Reality -Martin Whitlock

I needed Martin content and there is only so many fics written so far and while many of them are fucking amazing, I’ve read them all so I figured, make your own (especially since several people asked for a Martin fic), and make him an Obsessive Yandere Stalker! So without further ado, Yandere Martin Whitlock!

Warning:This is a Dark Yandere!Martin fic with potentially disturbing content, know your limits before reading Dark stories.

This Dark Content includes: Stalking, Use of Roofies,Forced Oral in Sleep (Fem Receiving), Somnophilia, Non/Dub Con, Manipulation, Naked Photos Taken while Asleep,Use of Daddy Kink, Severe Obsession

DD:DNE

Martin had always been a loner, from a very young age he had no friends, was constantly alone, and preferred the company of his skink that he had had since he was 12. He was comfortable in his solitude and always had been…until her.

Y/n L/n. She worked in the bookshop across the street from his favorite Vinyl shop and he found himself going there more and more just to watch her through the window at the register, checking out customers or reading a book. In fact he was there so much that the owner of the Vinyl shop clearly noticed what he was doing and found it funny. The 60 something year old man commented on how “fine” the young girl truly was and that the boy should just “toss her over his shoulder and carry her on home” if he likes her this much.

The Vinyl shop in town was closed for only a day before it reopened with a new manager that was an older lady. She loved to play her music and sing, not caring at all about how long Martin hung around, often appreciating having a strong young man that is willing to help move the boxes of vinyls upon delivery. She only ever commented on the girl he stares at once, encouraging him to go down the street to the flower shop and get her a bouquet to ask her on a date like men did in her day. He loved her sweet idea and made a mental note to bring her flowers one day when she was his girl to spoil her like she deserved.

His girl was lovely. The faces she would make as she read were adorable and Martin found he was smiling to himself every time she smiled or stuck her tongue out between her lips as she focused particularly hard as she counted money in the till. She was precious…and she was his.

As Martin laid in his bed, cum splattered across his stomach and chest after his third time jerking off that night, he knew that he couldn’t go on like this. His imagination could only get him so far.

He needed the real thing.

He needed Y/n…And so he would have her.

It was easy to put his plan into action considering he had been stalking her for almost a year by that point. He paid one of the guys he often does car-jitsu with to follow her in a very obvious way, steering her away from her usual direction home and towards the parking lot where they fight. Martin knew that if she was being followed that she would be drawn to a group of people and he was completely correct.

The first time he saw her out of work (when he wasn’t following her home as she’s just as much of a home body as he is) was from inside the car and he locked eyes with her, instantly trying to push down the reaction his cock was having from seeing the girl he’s wanted to shove it into for months as well as the adrenaline. He nodded his head to her, smiling and she blushed as she watched him pin the man, twisting his arm until he tapped out with the other one. She looked around apprehensively and he made a show of seeming concerned, opening the car door and stepping out, scanning over the small crowd quickly and seeing his buddy had disappeared like he was supposed to…Martin can take it from here.

‘Hi there. Haven’t seen you here before, I would’ve remembered you. Usually its always the same girls or kids recording us.’ He joked, chuckling awkwardly.

‘Oh, no. I’ve never-um…there was this big guy following me after work and I ended up here cause I didn’t want him to know where I lived…I’m sorry, I’m fucking you up right now!’ She apologized as the next guy was rushing Martin to get back into the car.

‘No, please don’t apologize love. Stay and hang out for a bit until you’re sure he’s gone, in fact I’ll walk you home. I won’t let anyone touch you, Scouts honor…I wasn’t a Boy Scout but you get it.’ He got her to smile and he loved it even more than every other smile he’d seen because he’d made it happen. ‘I’m Martin by the way.’

‘Y/n. Nice to meet you Martin, and thank you. Take your time, I’m not in a rush. I would love to see more of…this?’

And so she stayed. He went three more rounds before giving his place over to walk her home. He hated “quitting” but for her? He would tap out a million times over.

‘Where do you work? Must be close if you’re walking.’ Martin spoke, trying to get the basic knowledge that he needed to know out of the way without her realizing that he already knew it.

‘Oh, I work at Plot Twist, the book shop on the corner back there. It was always my happy place in school and when I turned 16 the owner offered me a job since I practically worked there anyway.’ She explained and he could see how much she loved it.

‘That’s cool. You like to read?’

‘Constantly. It’s a perfect job, I get fantastic discounts and I get to read all day when I don’t have to stock or ring people up. Plus the coffee shop next door has great hot chocolate.’ She giggled.

This was a new sound for Martin that he had never heard before and it shot straight to his dick. ‘That sounds really cool, perfect for you. I’ve never been much of a reader but I’ll stop in sometime, I spend a lot of time in the Vinyl shop across the street, I’ve definitely seen you before-I knew you looked familiar.’ He teased making her smile.

‘Well, stop in and I promise I’ll find you something you’ll like. I’ll even give you my employee discount…this is me.’ She said stopping at an apartment complex.

‘Need me to walk you in?’ He offered but she shook her head.

‘You’ve done more than enough Martin. I really appreciate it.’

‘Anytime Y/n, it was really nice talking to you.’ As she moved to open the door he took hold of her hand and bowed his head before kissing her knuckle sweetly, grinning and making her laugh at his teasing.

‘Goodnight Martin.’ With that he watched her walk inside before turning and making his way back home, his erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

He had touched her! Only her hand, but her skin was so soft he couldn’t help but imagine it on him everywhere. He was so focused on touching her that he hadn’t even asked for her number like he meant to but she had invited him to her work, he would get it tomorrow. For now, he knew he would be desperately fucking his hand until his cock was raw or until he finally passed out.

‘Welcome to Plot Twist, is there anything that you’re-Martin!’ He watched his girls face light up as he walked in and he was instantly thrilled that he brings her so much happiness. He did have to readjust himself though as she walked around the counter and pulled him into a hug, her breasts pressing to his chest. ‘Are you ready to find a book? What kinds of things are you into besides car fights?’ She teased and he found he couldn’t stop staring at her smile.

‘I’m…I don’t know? I love my skink and music I suppose-‘

‘Music!’ She cut him off. ‘What kinds of music? You strike me as a Hard Rock kind of guy, Maybe you’d be more into magazines? We have a tons of music magazines that you’d probably like? Rocksound? Revolver? I personally love Kerrang myself-‘

‘Oh, I love Kerrang! Gotta order it though, but it’s worth it cause they always have awesome interviews!’ Martin found himself truly surprised by her interest but he was happy for it, he had known that he made a good choice on Y/n and she just kept proving him right the more she talked.

‘Well you can get it here. We don’t get many copies but I always snag one off the top every month. I can do the same for you if you’d like and put it off to the side? Actually, there was one put on hold to be picked up before noon today and they never came, interested?’

‘Fuck Yeah, you are awesome! Gotta make sure I can keep getting them every issue, I have all of them dating back to the beginning.’ He really did have every issue but he knew that was likely to get her attention and give her a reason to come to his place.

‘Oh my God, what?! All of them?’ He nodded.

‘All the way back to June 1981, you should come and check them out sometime. It’s nice to talk to someone who shares my interests in this shitty town.’

‘I would Love that Martin, yeah! When?’ She asked, moving back behind the counter and looking along the shelf, pulling the magazine from the brown paper bag that it had been on hold in.

‘What time are you off? You can come to mine and hang out? Music, horror movies, pizza?’ Martin knew that with anyone else he would come off as awkward and weird but he knew his girl didn’t see that at all and she was quick to agree to the date.

‘Okay! Yeah, I’m done at 5 and I’m off tomorrow, so we can hang out for as long as we want.’ She scanned the magazine alnd applied her discount like she had promised before handing him the bag with a smile.

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that just smiling at each other but they were shaken out of it by the bell above the door that rang as a man walked in. ‘Okay, well I’ll come and meet you here at 5 then.’

‘See you then.’ With that he was out the door, turning back and smiling at her to see her watching him as well.

‘I’m here to pick up a magazine I put on hold yesterday. The name is Barker.’ Martins eyes widened and Y/n just seemed to roll her at him.

‘I said it would be held until noon, it is after noon sir, so sorry. Be here on time next time, like I told you-the magazine is very popular.’ He held in his snort until he got out of the store, grinning like an idiot and nearly running home to clean his room. He pulled out all of the magazines and ordered a pizza to be delivered at 6:30 before showering and washing the blood off of him from the night before that hadn’t come off from just scrubbing his face.

Martin thought about what Y/n’s hands would feel like. They would be soft and amazing, and he’s sure she would clean blood off of him after every night of car-jitsu. She would tend to him like a good girlfriend and he couldn’t wait for it, determined to feel exactly what her hands felt like that night.

He met her at the bookshop right on time and walked her back to his place where they spent the next hour reading through the magazines and talking about their favorite bands. She surprised him a bit with her knowledge but it only made him all the more confident that she was made just for him.

They ate dinner when it arrived and he decided that he couldn’t do without her anymore, he needed to ensure she didn’t leave him. He ended up doing something he knew was wrong but he couldn’t help himself as he made her tea and crushed up the sleeping pills into a white powder, pouring them into the hot drink before delivering it to her on his bed.

They laid there together and she willingly snuggled close to him as they watched her favorite horror movie, staying exactly like that until the medication began taking effect and her eyes began falling shut.

‘God I’m tired…must have been a longer day than I realized…I should get home.’ She yawned but his arm tightened around her waist.

‘You can stay. You shouldn’t be walking this late anyway. I don’t want anything happening to you.’ He admitted and she paused but nodded, not in a place to argue with how exhausted she was.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so tired…I-I don’t…’

‘Me too…I feel like I need a nap…’ Martin responded, pretending to be tired too, laying down onto the bed and giving her space before she did, pulling the blanket over her and closing his eyes and waiting for her to pass out. She actually snuggled up to what she assumed was his sleeping body before passing out.

That was way too easy. He made a vow that he would protect her from anything and everything from that moment on, never leaving her in any kind of danger other than himself considering how easy it was to drug her and she didn’t even question her sudden sleepiness.

He pulled the blanket back down, leaning close and nuzzling into her neck where he licked a trail up to her ear. ‘So fucking perfect Darling. Daddies gonna take such care of you…all mine! Gonna make you feel so good.’ His hands moved to pull at her dress, pushing it up and kissing down her chest and belly, shoving his face between her legs and inhaling deeply. ‘Fuck! I’m gonna taste you for fucking hours!’ He got the dress off of her before pulling out his phone and taking a picture of her pretty red lace panties. He couldn’t stop himself from taking another one before repositioning her and taking another. She was the loveliest thing he had ever seen and he was determined to convince her to pose for him later in their relationship.

Martin pulled her panties down her legs before leaning back down and kissing her thighs several times. She smelled of the pomegranate mango body wash that he knew she used as well as her arousal, a fact that just got him more hard when he realized that she was wet. Sticking his tongue out, Martin gave her cunt a test lick, tasting her for the first time and knowing that he would never get enough of her. He had waited for this moment for so long and it was just as perfect as he imagined, especially as Y/n let out a loud moan upon his lips wrapping around her clit, sucking firmly. It was him! He was here doing this! He was the one making her feel so good!

His cock was throbbing and he could barely stand it anymore, pulling his pants and boxers down before lifting her legs around his waist and resting his member against her slit. Sliding his cock up and down against her was made simple with just how wet she really was. ‘Fuck Y/n, so God damn perfect, aren’t you baby? Daddy’s good little girl, giving me your wet little cunt, never keeping her away from me again.’ He’d already had to wait a year for this moment, he would never wait again, he would make his baby so horny for him that she’ll allow him to use her whenever he wants. ‘You’ll be my needy little baby, won’t you? Yeah, you will. My desperate little Princess.’ He pressed his lips to hers, having to physically restrain himself from not only biting her flesh and leaving hickeys on her but from pressing his cock into her and filling her with everything he had just for her. It was for her, everything that he was belonged to her and Martin truly believed that the only place his cum belonged was inside of his girl-not yet though. He couldn’t risk losing her.

Instead he sat back and finished onto her stomach, panting heavily before taking one final picture, saving them into a private folder that needed a password to access and moving to clean her off. Martin enjoyed the act of cleaning her up, something that he knew he would continue to enjoy doing every time that they were together, determined to make her feel how loved she was. Pulling her clothes back on was simple before covering her with a blanket and laying snuggled up into her side, cuddling into her for the night.

Martin awoke the next morning around 9 and enjoyed his morning with her, watching her sleep peacefully for about 20 minutes before she began moving, opening her eyes just as he shut his and felt her moving around. He peeked his eyes open, watching her move the blanket and check her clothes, seeing that she was still dressed and he had to resist the urge to smirk.

Y/n laid back down, moving closer to him and snuggling him before he groaned, opening his eyes and stretching. ‘Good morning…how did you sleep?’ He asked, smiling at her and watching her blush sweetly.

‘Really well. Your bed is comfortable. I’m still a little groggy but I’m too hungry to care.’ He smiled wider at that, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

‘Let’s order breakfast, I don’t want to move yet. You’re too comfy.’ He teased, nuzzling into her neck and she giggled, settling down against him and letting him enjoy his nuzzling as much as he liked. ‘You’re so soft.’ He spoke before taking a chance and kissing her neck softly. Y/n just tightened her grip on him and so he did it again, kissing up her neck behind her ear. ‘I’ve been dying to kiss you since I first saw you…tell me that I can?’ He whispered to her and she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck as he moved to press his lips to hers. He settled a hand on her back as his other rested on her hip, rolling them over so that he was on top of her and her legs came up to wrap around his waist. Martin moved his hand to her exposed thigh and pushed it up her soft skin, hearing her moan. He pushed his hips up, grinding against her clothed cunt, her moan turning to a soft whimper and he could feel his cock harder than ever rubbing against her.

‘Don’t stop…Fuck Martin!’ She threw her head back as he trailed his lips back to her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin teasingly before she humped her hips up against him hard. His hands grabbed onto her thighs and he pulled her legs around him tighter, grinding down into her harder than before, feeling the needy mess that she was becoming.

‘You feel so good Princess.’ He mumbled, her hands tangling into his hair and pulling his lips back to hers. He licked her bottom lip and she parted them to let him in, his tongue tasting her for the first time and moaning loudly. He pulled at her dress and her hands moved to yank it over her head, leaving her in her panties which he got a quickly view of, enjoying her exposed tits before she pulled him back into the kiss. He humped his hips against her harder, her legs tightening before she released him again to pull her panties off and dragging his boxers down enough to free his leaking cock which instantly pressed to her slit, the head rubbing against her clit hard enough for her to cry out against his lips. ‘Fuck, you’re so wet…’ he mumbled, never pulling away from her lips. ‘Please? Let me inside? I’ll fuck you so good Princess…fuck! Let Daddy make you feel good…’ He lifted her waist to press harder to her wet slit, her pussy lips parting for his cock as he rubbed against her deliciously.

‘Want you inside me…please?’ She whimpered and he moved to take ahold of his cock, pressing against her hole and pushing into her in one deep movement.

‘Oh Fuck! So tight…perfect fucking pussy…’ he thrust up into her roughly, his tongue licking up her jaw to the shell of her ear while she continued whimpering like a needy whore. ‘Been thinking about this pussy since the moment I first saw you…I knew you’d be so tight for me! All fucking mine now, aren’t you baby?’

‘Yes! Yours Martin! All yours! Oh God!’

‘You wanna cum for me, baby? Wanna cream on my cock? Gonna squeeze me so tight while I fill this little cunt, aren’t you?’

She whimpered, nodding into his neck frantically. ‘Yes! Yes, please?! Please let me cum?!’ Y/n begged, Martin feeling the tears falling from her eyes onto the skin of his shoulder. God, she’s so desperate, he knew she was perfect but his girl is a little slut too. His perfect little slut to fuck and fill over and over.

‘Cum for me baby, cum for me while I fill your cunt full of me! Gonna fuck you until you’re leaking around my cock, my messy little pussy!’

‘Yes! Yours, g-gonna-Fuck! Oh God!’ She cried out quite loudly as she clamped down on his cock like the most beautiful vice grip he’s ever felt. A jolt of pleasure shot up his spine as he came, burying his cock as deep into her as he could and filling her womb with everything he had for her, immediately praying that it takes.

‘Such a little good girl for me. Gonna let your Daddy cum in this hole over and over again until your belly starts growing my baby. Fuck!’ He was still hard, not willing to stop fucking her yet now that he has her. He’s been waiting for her for too long.

‘M-Martin! Oh fuck! What-‘

‘I’m not done with you yet Princess. Told you your gonna be leaking by the time I’m finished!’ He tucked his arms under her back and lifted her up as he sat back on his knees, thrusting up into her body.

‘Oh God! So d-deep! Please-‘

‘Don’t worry Princess, I’m gonna fill you up again. Your womb will be stuffed full of me, I promise! Gonna give you my babies!’ She cried out, pleasure mixing with the pain as he rammed his cock so deep it hurt, fucking her harder than she thought possible but it was so perfect she never wanted him to stop. ‘That’s it Y/n! This body is all mine now, this tight little hole is gonna take everything I give her and beg me for more! Fuck! Take My Cum!’

‘Ahh! Too much!’

‘Never too much for my pussy, she takes everything I give her. Takes Me So-Ahh! Good! Fuck!’ He growled deep in his chest, one arm around her waist and the other holding her shoulder as he pulled her down onto his cock hard and shot his cum straight up into her body.

Y/n had never let anyone cum inside of her before and she never could have imagined someone filling her so much but she could feel the stretch from how full she was and it hurt but it felt so good she could only cry as she came on his cock, squirting around him and making a slick mess all over his thighs.

‘Fuck…such a mess you made my love. Did I make you feel so good you needed to squirt all over me?’ She nodded, tears still leaking from her eyes as he still held her down onto his cock, not about to move from her body. ‘You’re all mine now. I’m gonna fill you with my cum everyday until you are crying in pleasure.’ He promised, pressing his lips to hers softly.

Martin laid her back onto the bed and stayed deep inside of her, his cock kissing her womb perfectly after having battered it painfully with his cock and forcing his jizz into her. He kissed over her face sweetly as she began to drift back off to sleep after the physical exertion.

‘That’s my good girl, you go to sleep. When you wake up we’ll talk all about moving you in here with me. Gonna take good care of my girl and my baby she’ll soon be carrying.’ He swore, kissing her cheek softly before pulling the blankets up over the both of them.

After nearly a year he finally has her just the way he wants her and he will never let her out of his grasp again.

Aemond T. Masterlist

[darthvhagar]

sad emo boy with his bluey lizard child x happy emo boy with his bluey lizard child

[myfandomprompts]

EWAN MITCHELL as Martin

Fontaines DC - It's Amazing To Be Young

[venmondiese]

SOMETHIN' STUPID

-ˋˏ| summary: You have the biggest crush on Martin, and yet you have to watch how he falls for another girl. Even if it breaks your heart, you wish to be on his life rather than be nothing at all.

✧ | Pairing: Martin4Spider (It's Amazing to be Young) & Reader

✧ | word count: 5.1k

✧ | Warnings: Angst. Hurt/no comfort.

✧ | notes: baby's first angst omgg... anyways, i LOVE martin4spider but i also love angst and suffering and pain.

⋅˚₊‧ Based on Something Stupid by Frank Sinatra and I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams ‧₊˚ ⋅

You waited in the car, most of the time you did. 

The night was quiet and Martin was taking an awful long time to buy the medicine for his wounds. You never complained, though, you liked being around him. He was different from most men you knew, interested in sex and leaving their lives as if it was their last day on earth. 

Martin was a great guy, you two met thanks to college, and you liked to think that two outcasts could understand each other perfectly fine. He dropped college after the first semester, but it didn’t stop you from hanging out with him. You texted him, and he’d pick you up with his car, buy some snacks and go to a city viewpoint to hang there. 

Martin was, probably, your dearest friend. He was not judgemental, he could hear and he always gave you those fraternal hugs, his arm on your shoulders as he squeezed you close to him. 

Even if he was bruised, you took the time to clean his wounds, disinfect them and heal them. You never complained or judged him. You’d often keep your thoughts to yourself, about how he was hurting his body to feel something. 

“You got it?” You ask when he gets into the car, and he has a wide smile on his face. 

“I met someone” he says softly, as if amazed by it. 

“Oh?”

You look at him, your heart clenching on your chest as if it would explode. It was no secret to anyone how head over heels you were for Martin, even if he was clueless about it. You were too afraid to mess it up; he was your friend, and you could live with not being his girlfriend, but not being friends… frightened you. 

You tried pathetic attempts of flirting, sometimes getting drunk so he could pick you up and take care of you, even if it was a lie, you did it as if trying to heal something in you. You didn’t know if he was clueless, or if he knew and ignored the fact. 

“Yeah, I even got her number… She’s… beautiful” 

You look at him, as you try to look inside the drug store. “You always have girls fawning over you and your bad boy look” you tease him. 

“Heh, I know, but this is… different” he says smiling, and finally he turns to see you. His black eyes, well, still red from the recent punches, find yours with certainty as you realize something, this was different. He has that glint that he had never had with you, or any other girl he was fooling around. 

“Okay, Romeo” you say smiling, as he rolls his eyes amused, with a smirk. 

“Romeo?” He asks, chuckling as he starts the car engine. “You are so weird sometimes” he says amused, and you smile softly. 

As he starts to drive away, you can see the feminine figure from inside the drug store, seeing him from the glass. Your heart ached, watching her and then Martin. This certainly would last only some weeks, like all the flings he had before. No girl can resist a bad boy facade, not even you. But, only a few girls know how to appreciate a man like Martin. 

You had forgotten about it after some days. You certainly had more things to your plate, some college stuff, and things at home. Well, that was a lie. You had thought about it, but you tried to push it away from your head, because nothing ever comes up when Martin meets a girl. He’d fool around, and then be all on his own again. 

It was a normalcy bias, as you were sure this wouldn’t last. 

“Your room is cleaner, but still a mess” You say disapprovingly, as you pick his dirty laundry, and he groans.

“Come on…” he said, laying shirtless on his bed. “I cleaned it, though”

You raise your eyebrows with a smile, and you leave the dirty clothes in the basket. You sit on the edge of bed, looking at him.

“To what we owe this miracle?” you ask, looking at him, and he chuckles, a bit shyly as he looks away. 

“Spider was here yesterday” he says softly. 

You are in silence for a few moments, as if trying to understand what he meant. 

“Spider? I don’t think a spider cares…”

“Not the spider.” He cuts you, looking at you. “The girl I met. Her name is Jennifer, but she prefers to be called Spider”

You blink softly, your insides turning around in a horrible feeling as you take in the information. A girl, this Jennifer-Spider, in his room. He never told you about the girls he brings here either, and so your stomach feels as if it had been punched.

“She was here”

“Yes” he says simply.

“Wait, Spider? Why would she prefer...” you ask curiously.

“She just does.” he says simply, but you can sense the defensiveness in his tone, as if he didn’t like you questioning her motives.

You blink, your mouth turns slightly downwards as you feel it trembling slightly. 

“Okay” you say simply, as if trying to soothe the conversation. 

“She’s just… different. She’s special, she gets me” He says as he just watches the ceiling, he has a slight smile on his lips when talking about her, and you wondered if this is how you looked when talking about him. “She is weird. She is so fucking weird, like me…”

The chuckle on his tone, how dreamily he says it, it is almost enough to make you cry. But you don’t, you stay there, thinking what to say. What to do. What can you even do? You can’t try to sabotage them, it would be cruel… and you aren’t like that, you couldn’t live with that. 

“Come on, say something” he says after a while, and you haven’t noticed how quiet you have been.

“That sounds great” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “She sounds great” you correct yourself, and Martin nods, not fully taking in your expression. You still hoped that this would go away. That everything will be like it was before.

Jennifer, or Spider, as Martin calls her, was more present in your life than ever. She had some strange aura around her, always somewhat quiet but she was almost glued to Martin, and he to her. 

The more the weeks passed, the less you saw him. Sure, you were busy with college, trying to finish some essays that were due close, but you missed him. You always tried to catch him, sometimes he would pick you up after classes, or at your home. Everytime you hoped to see him again, to see his rusty car outside and him waiting for you with his half smirk and bruises on his face. 

But you haven’t seen him, not much. He took forever to answer your texts, and you couldn't help but feel that you were losing him. It felt horrible, because you felt so selfish, you wanted him back. You didn’t want him with this girl, but again, who were you to keep him down? To force him to stay by your side? It wasn’t you to do something like that. 

Usually, you’d meet on friday, since it was a day that both of you agreed that was easy to meet, and you’d do the usual, go to the viewpoint and chat there. You liked hanging around Martin, because you didn’t have to speak, or do anything. 

After he doesn’t text you back, and seeing the time, you tried calling. You hated calling, because it was awfully awkward, but this was a bit more desperate. 

“Hi?”

You freeze at the sound of a feminine tone.

“Hi…” You are a bit surprised, as you curse inside your brain. Fuck, fuck, fuck… “Is Martin there?”

You could feel your heart being squeezed on your inside, as you tried to breathe calmly. 

“Yes, he is here. Who’s this?”

“I am his friend…” you tell her your name, and she doesn’t seem to recall. “You must be…” Jennifer, spider? What should you call her? You try to decide, but you just leave it hanging there.

“I am Spider, his girlfriend” she says softly. 

“I see. Yeah, just… tell him to text me back later” you say trying to sound normal, as you just end up the call abruptly. You see the words call ended and then your screen turns black, and you can see your horrified face reflected on it. 

You were never nothing with Martin, damn, you never even kissed, or held hands. You were just friends, and it hurts more than anything to know he is in love, having a proper girlfriend. You were all for guys who were loyal to their girlfriends above all, but you never thought you’d be at the other end, the dumped friend. You always pictured yourself as the one he’ll be devoted to, not otherwise. 

You cry, as your eyes were so watery you couldn’t keep them open. It was silly, because you aren’t the first nor the last woman to suffer from a heartbreak, of secretly yearning for him, for his embraces, his kisses, and his affections. 

You’ve played all your cards with him, being everything he wants and needs, to no avail. What does she have? Why is she so special? He had met her for maybe more than one month, and you know him from much more.  

You cannot see them together, you cannot bear the thought of seeing them together. The first time he picked you up, it took you by surprise. He always joked that he was your uber, since you couldn’t drive, no matter how much he teaches you. He waits for you outside the car, arms crossed and his usual clothes.

“Oh, hi…” you say as you walk closer to the car, and see that inside the car there was a girl. He never brought girls around you, he talked about them casually, but this was.. different. 

And it hits you just now how serious he is about it. If you tried to think that this won’t last, this was like a cold water bucket being thrown at you with the reality of it all.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, murmuring in your ear as he opens the door for you. 

You look at him, big eyes and confusing feelings. It feels like an ambush, in a way, as you were not ready to encounter her… and him together. 

“It would have been nice to be notified” you murmur to him, the slight annoyance on your tone.

“Sorry” he says, giving you a half crooked smile, yet sympathetic to it all. 

You sit in the backseat, and she turns to see you. 

“Hi” she says softly.

“Hi”

Fuck, she was gorgeous.  

You smile weakly as you put on your seatbelt, and you watch through the window. 

“We came back from the forest, that’s why we are so….”

“Rusty?” Spider says back to him, with a lovesick smile, that Martin returns.

“Yeah” Martin says as he leans to kiss her cheek, and you try to look away. 

“Cool” you try to sound cheerful. 

You really wanted to be supportive, you really did. You wished you could be happy for him, he seems… happier. She makes him happier.

Which definitely was killing you, because no amount of time with you made him as happier as she did. But it was better to be his friend, than nothing. It would kill you to be nothing, even if it meant seeing Martin happy with her. 

“So… you going with friends?” She asks curiously.

“Oh, yeah, my friends… they live closer to Martin, so…” you say shrugging, a bit awkwardly. 

“That’s neat” she says softly, nodding. “You are nice for driving your friends” she says softly, leaning to give Martin’s cheek a kiss, to which he certainly enjoys.

You can help but feel sick. You hated it, seeing him so in love with someone else. You had hoped that, with time, he would look at you like that. Hold you gently, and talk to you the way he does with Spider. 

“You have a boyfriend?” she asks, eyes wide as she turns to see you and chat.

“...no” you say almost bitterly. 

She nods softly, and Martin says.

“When you get one, we should do things, like the four of us. That’s still a thing?” 

“I think so,” Spider says naturally to him. “They can carve their names alongside ours” 

“Oh? How so?” You ask, frowning slightly as they speak so nonchalant about this. 

“We carved our names into a tree” Martin says almost too proudly. 

You feel your eyes too dry all of the sudden, and the back of your head, just behind your ears, hurts slightly. He sounds more than proud, he seems… in love. He was in love. 

“I am not… into anybody these days” You lie, your voice a bit shaky as you feel your blood running almost coldly into your limbs. You pinch the skin of the back of your hand, as if trying to soothe yourself, or to wake you up from this nightmare. 

Spider has those deep eyes that stare at you. She doesn’t say much, just watching you closely. Since she was in the copilot seat, she turned to see you. You squirm slightly uncomfortable, as if she could read your thoughts. Could she possibly know that you fancy her boyfriend? Could she know how much you envy her? How much you would give, how much you wish, how much you crave to be her?

You don’t know anything about her. Martin doesn’t particularly go off about her life the occasions he is with you. These days, they are almost glued together, doing everything together. You know it, and it didn’t bother you if Martin was just a friend. But he wasn’t just a friend to you, he wasn’t just a guy. 

You look at her and she at you, and you can’t deny how pretty she was. She had soft features, and you couldn’t help but remember Martin by the way her expression changes. It’s as if he’s all over her. 

You turn to look out the window, as if trying to ignore Spider’s eyes on you. What if she sees you cry? She doesn’t look scary, you’d probably have a fair fight if it came to it. But you aren’t that type of girl. And she was so pretty, you don’t want to ruin her beautiful face,

“I don’t have friends to introduce you to” she says softly, after a thought. Her tone is calm, and you turn to see her. Martin has his hand intertwined with hers, as if he couldn’t be without touching her. 

“It’s okay, you are so very kind”

“Do you?” She turns to Martin, quietly, and he shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Well, if you-”

“It’s truly okay, I do not mind it.” you cut the quick chat. “Martin, leave me at the intersection” you say, grabbing your purse from the floor. The lipstick has fallen, and rolled under Martin’s driving seat. Spider leans closer to the back to search for it with her eyes as if to help you locate it.

“I can really drive you to there”

“It’s okay” you say exasperated, extending your hand to grab your lipstick, but between the metal you fear that your hand will be stuck. 

“Do you want help?” She asks, leaning curiously.

“No, it’s fine”

“Truly, I can drive you to your friend’s house, it’s on our way and I don’t mind”

You feel the lipstick with the tip of your fingers, you try to roll it closer to you, but it doesn’t work. It is stuck between some metals, and you lean closer to grab it, without really thinking how you will get your hand out. 

“Do you need light?” She asks turning on the backseat lights for you to see, but it only serves as a small blindment to you. 

“I can’t leave you here, it is too dark and…” Martin starts rambling off as he drives.

“You will hurt yourself if you do it blindly,” Spider says, trying to help.

“You asked me to do this…”

“For God’s sake, just drop me off here” You say a bit too loud, overwhelmed and just… exploded. You give up on the bloody lipstick, and anyways, it was almost empty. 

You take off your seatbelt, and you get off the car, seeing the couple inside as you close the door, and you just walk behind the car, not minding this isn’t a pedestrian crossing, and probably any car that crosses there, will mostly make you at danger of being rolled over.

You just walk crying, pathetically and recklessly walking in the dark streets, holding your purse with your hand, not minding how it drags on the pavement. You always asked for a ride because walking exposed you to avoidable danger, but in truth… You prefer it over seeing how Martin was head over heels for another woman. 

And the worst is that you can’t even hate her. She doesn’t know about your feelings about him, fuck, he doesn’t even know. And even so, he was not in any way with you, so he didn’t owe you anything. She didn't do anything wrong about it, she didn’t steal your man, she didn’t keep him from you, she wasn’t jealous or condescending to you, she was… she was good. She was nice, and obviously very weird, but it only seems to fit with Martin. 

You sit on a bench, in the middle of the street with a flickering light. Your makeup was probably ruined, by how you have rubbed your tears off your eyes, and the worst part? You also lost your lipstick.

And probably she’d keep your lipstick as well. You cried harder at that. How could she? She would keep everything you wanted, and you felt hopeless. 

You have that tendency. Your friend had said that you always subconsciously choose something unreachable, as if self sabotaging yourself. It was true, in a way, you had always been one for yearning in a distance, and never acted on your feelings. It won't either be the first time you have felt these emotions, but the other guys were crushes, too far away from your reach. But Martin? You were so close.

Was it so wrong to feel so much?

The next couple days you feel miserable, but again, not contacting him was better, at least for now. You truly wanted to get rid of your feelings, to just feel platonic love for him. To be happy for his relationship, to be glad he found someone who complements him so well. 

Maybe getting the ick would make it easier, but you knew Martin, and nothing that he did was horrible in your eyes. You cured his wounds, no matter how bloody or swollen they were. Never complained, and had a tender hand to cure it. It also helped with the proximity, and you enjoyed every second of it. 

You don’t reach to him, too afraid to have messed it up. He texts you once or twice, but again, he never was one to be really into his phone. You were rude, and you were ashamed of it, of making it about yourself and your feelings. It was a bit selfish, but they were your genuine feelings. 

Instead, he reaches to you after a while. His texts aren't usually long or descriptive,

i am in the usual spot.  can i see u?

Against your better judgement, and ignoring your mixed feelings, you take the bus, and walk to the parking lot where he usually did his car jujutsu stuff. The ‘usual spot’ always meant that, the place where he felt things in his flesh, as if he was self flagellating himself. 

You find him, by his car, sitting with a whiskey at hand. He looked even worse as if he would when fighting, and he was drunk. You could see it in his movements.

“Hi, you” you say, slightly glad he called you. “Another lost fight?” You ask amused, kneeling to help him to get up, and he grumbles.

“No…”

“Look, I wanted to apologise...” You start, as his hand was around his shoulders and your hand gripped his torso to help him up. He was bigger than you, and also heavier. You take the chance to apologise, to make things right, hoping he would forgive you. You are always sincere in your apologies, and even if your heart is happy to see him, you have to set things right “Because the last time, I was…”

“She left” He cuts you off. 

You freeze for a moment, surprised. It’s as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, as if a cold breeze came. You look at him, not even realising how you didn’t finish your apology.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer, too drunk and trying not to fall as he grips your shoulder tightly. 

“When did she leave you?” You ask, surprised. You don’t want to say you feel glad, because you don’t. You didn't even know what you felt.

“She didn’t leave me. She left… the place. Her mum sent her off…”

You think for a few moments. You bite your lip, as you try to cheer him up. You still fancied him, and you knew you had to keep your distance, for everyone’s  well being, but he was hurting. He was your Martin still, somehow. 

“You want to go to our place?” You ask softly, looking at him. “I’ll drive”

He’d usually stop you, he’d raise the keys with his hand and make you jump to get them, and he never trusted you to drive so carefree when you had no idea of traffic signs. 

Instead, he handles you the keys as he opens the backseat and leans on it. 

You might even get your lipstick back. 

You drive carefully, even if at this time of the night almost everything is quite dead, even when the car ride up to the viewpoint is quite hard to you, you do it, and even manage to park in a great spot. After you use the hand brake, you turn off the engine. 

“Tell me you didn’t die back there”

“No” he murmurs bitterly.

“You threw up?”

“No”

“Good” you say, as you help him out of the car, pulling him to take some fresh air, and maybe the city lights could provide some comfort. You see the spot where your lipstick was left, and you decide to get it later. There was a lot of time now. 

You two settle in the car hood, laying on the glass as you sigh. 

“The night is nice” you say softly, looking at the sky, trying to break off the awkward silence. You turn your head to look at him, all puppy-like. It almost clenches your heart to see him like this. “Wanna talk about it?”

He lays on the window for some moments. 

“I loved her” it’s the first thing he says, totally heartbroken. 

“I…” you say, not sure what to say. I could see it. I know. She seems like she loves you too. I love you as well. 

“She didn’t want to leave” he keeps on going. “She… we didn’t fit, okay. But we do fit together” he murmurs, his words blurry as he is drunk and just rambling. 

“Then why did she?”

“Her mum” He says simply, looking at the sky. 

“She didn't… approve?”

“Ha, you bet” he says in a chuckle. “We were in her room, hanging out, we were… making out and her mum just got inside and kicked me out” he says leaning back, as he recalls the scene. “Tried to be polite and all, I wanted to be polite, y’know. Maybe lose the damn piercing when doing so and…”

He lays for some moments on the window, his jacket a bit too uncomfortable to do so. 

“She sent her off. Saying she was a disgrace.”

You nod softly, as you hear him. You thought you’d feel good about it, but.. you don’t. 

“Her mum hated me. She didn’t even.. know me, and I really… Me and Spider understood each other”

“To be fair, my mum doesn’t like you either” you try to cheer him up. 

“Well, I do not care what your fucking mum thinks of me. It’s not the same” he cuts you with his tone rough. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t send you away because of it.”

You bite your tongue as you watch your hands. You didn’t mean it like that, you guessed. You didn’t think too much about it,  never did around him. 

“Sorry." He says after a while. "She left. I couldn’t even say goodbye, I was too much of a coward not to go back”

You can hear the hurt in his tone, as he moves a hand to pass it on his face. He is bitter, he is confused. 

“I’m sorry too” you murmur, as your eyes are teary. “To be fair… she was nice. She seemed nice and she made you happy”

“How can I even… go on…” Martin says, rambling off.  He lights up a cigarette, as he sighs.

You two are quiet for a while as the night was awfully dead. How could you try to comfort him? You can still feel your heart long for him, even when it was already broken. Even when it was rejected, how pathetic can it get? Going back to him, hoping for him to notice you? 

The muscles of your cheek feel heavy as you hold tears, and your lips turn down on that horrible expression you hate. You rub your forehead, as if trying to relax.

“When was the last time we came here?” He asks softly, as his head turns to look at the starlights. He takes a drag and smokes blows out of his mouth.

You think for a few moments, and shake your head.

“I don’t really remember.”

He had discovered this place, and he picked you up to show it to you. Nothing fancy, but something unique. You usually bought the snacks, and he drove. 

Had he brought her too, you wondered? The tree where they carved their names was near? Had they made out in the car as well?

“I am not that drunk, you know” he says after he chuckles, as he takes the last smoke out of the cigarette, before pressing the cigarette down on his palm. “I am just…”

“... Heartbroken” you say for him. It isn’t as if you didn’t understand the feeling. How were you supposed to comfort him when you felt the same? You couldn’t even show it, or tell him about it. 

“I am taking care of her lizard.” he says after a while. You can smell the faint scent of his cheap cologne, the faint smell of liquor and the strong scent of cigarette, and you feel somewhat stupid “And I got an spider too, obviously…”

“I love you” 

Your words come spilling out of your mouth, you do not even think about saying them outloud. He never knew how much you liked him. He’d never choose you over her, and you aren’t even asking him to do so. You know he won’t. 

“I’m sorry” you add quickly, cursing yourself. It was the truth, was it wrong to say it? You can’t think of an answer, because it was done.

He doesn’t say anything, as he turns his head to see the sky as well. 

Perhaps you had been settling the nails for your own coffin, doing this. Being around him, as if nothing was happening. 

“This isn’t about you” Martin murmurs bitterly.

“I am sorry I am not her” 

“I do not want to hear about it.”

“I love you, I am sorry” You say, as you start crying, you couldn’t even fight for your feelings without crying. 

“I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know” you cry out, as you press the heel of your hand against your eyes, almost too hard as if to dry tears out. “I am sorry, I am sorry, don’t hate me”

“Why would you tell me this kind of shit?” He asks frustrated, as he sits up straight. You shake your head, as you try to keep your tears from coming out. 

“It’s stupid, I was stupid, I am sorry!”

“Were you always like this?”

“I said I am sorry” you begged him, shaking your head.

“You know I don’t love you back. I can’t love anyone but Spider”

“I know you love her, okay, I know!” You say exasperated, as you feel frustrated as well. You had no reason to, but it wasn’t as if you could rationalize your feelings in the moment. “And I know I am not her”

You always thought love didn’t make you stupid. It was kind of weird to think about it, how could people do stupid things? How could people forgive cheating, have a blind eye when it came to crimes or stay when it hurted their mental health?

“Martin, please… I didn’t mean to” you say as he gets off the car hood, and you slide to follow him. “I won’t say it again”

“I don’t want you around”

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t… I never meant ill on you, or her… she is so nice… and she makes you happy…”

“Don’t talk about her” he says opening the copilot door to hand you your jacket, and your purse.

“Hear me out” You cry out trying to take his wrist to hold him back, begging him to hear you. 

He shakes your grip, as he looks at you with… disappointment? You don’t want to decipher his expression. 

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to” you repeat again. “I can't lose you, Martin. I can't... Please”

“Don’t” he says as he walks over to the driver seat. “Just… don’t”

The least of your worries is how you are going back home, or how you will freeze to death. Damn, you barely remember your forgotten lipstick.

You know that it was a massive screw up. But it felt right to say it in the moment, and were words you truly meant, with all your heart. And he was rightfully mad, you also understood that.

But again, you aren’t truly thinking. It’s as if the muscle that beats in your chest has truly taken over you, making rash decisions in your careful life. You had never confessed to anyone, you never said your true feelings, and you never ever would risk a friendship as valuable as the one with Martin. 

But you love him. You love him so much, it hurts, it makes you sob uncontrollably in the middle of the viewpoint, as your jacket and purse fall from your grip and fall on the pavement. You wished you could be like her, and make him happy. You wish he’d let you into his world, into his heart. At the same time, you wish he could get back at her, and be happy once again. She wasn’t a bad girlfriend as much as you would like, she was actually great, and nice. 

Perhaps it was indeed selfish, you had spoiled all by saying those three words. But deep in your heart, you know it was true. 

[meatsaint]

In Spite Of Us.

Modern Aemond x Reader. PT2

Summary: The lines tangle tighter, pulling you and Aemond into something neither of you can fully control—something that could cost you everything. But in the end, none of it matters. Not if the pain fades into something you can stomach. Not if you can tell yourself it’s worth it. Even if he leaves you in ruins, painted in black and blue.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Oral sex, violence, mention of illegal activities, incest, dub-consent, aggression, degradation, mention of blood, childhood trauma, mention of attempted suicide.

The mornings were fucking hell. Shafts of light pierced through every crack, heating up the room that was already suffocating with the windows closed tightly. You'd learned better than to leave them open, or anything else, for that matter. One slip and it was over—whether it was the cops or the worst of the fucking dragnet. Who wanted your head more at this point? Hard to say. Aemond wasn't making it any easier, carving his own path through this mess. The blood was heavy on your side, stained deep under your nails, but his? Worse. At this point, it was hard to tell. The chipped black polish on his nails was the only dead giveaway.

Aemond used to grunt in his sleep, tossing and turning, his restless movements making the bed feel like a battlefield. Meanwhile, you were as still as a statue beside him, and he couldn't help but wonder how the hell you managed it. But today? Today was different. He woke up without the usual weight of a hangover, his eyes snapping open, the light cutting through the room like a blade. His hand instinctively found his face, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to shake off the drowsiness, but it was futile. Some mornings, he just wanted a shock straight to the skull—anything to wake him up fully and get rid of that corpse-like heaviness dragging at his bones.

Rolling over, his gaze landed on you, as always. Lying on your side, eyes closed, still wrapped up in the sleep-induced haze. He knew you wouldn't wake up now, not with the crap you shoved down your throat every night just to knock yourself out. It was the usual routine. Him waking up first, having to shower alone, eating alone—shit, he didn’t even get to share the fucking morning with you. It pissed him off, made him want to pinch you from head to toe just to see if you'd stir, maybe open those damn eyes and remind him that you were still here. Still fucking human. Still present.

But he didn't move, not yet. Instead, he just watched you, lying there so still, almost serene. Usually, you were a pain in the ass—your tongue sharp, always quick with a retort, too fast for your own good. But like this? Like this, you were calm, a whole different side of you that made his gaze linger longer than it should. It was almost unsettling how peaceful you looked, and he couldn't shake the thought of how fucking strange it was to see you this way.

It was like those beaches he’d seen in pictures, the ones with the waters so blue they looked almost unreal, like a fucking dream. On a hot day, you'd dive in without thinking, wanting to swim every inch of that vast, sparkling expand until your body ached and your lungs burned. But there was always a little sign, tucked away just out of sight, warning you: beware sharks. And even if it looked inviting, even if every instinct screamed at you to dive in, you knew better. One wrong move, and those sharks would rip you to shreds before you could even get tired.

Yet, the thought of being devoured, of sinking into that cold embrace, was oddly tempting. The idea of being consumed by you, torn apart and remade—yeah, that sounded fucking good to him. Almost too good.

Aemond's breath escaped him in a heavy sigh, as if exhaling his thoughts right along with the air, the weight of them pressing on him like an invisible burden. He tore his gaze away from you, reluctantly letting the stillness of your form fade from his view. With a sluggish movement, he sat up, his body protesting the action with every subtle shift. His muscles felt like they were made of stone, every tiny movement pulling at something inside him, making him ache. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was where it should be—nothing out of place. The blue light still bathed the walls in its soft glow, although it lacked the same intensity it had at night.

He stretched, hoping to shake off the lingering heaviness of sleep, but it only worked halfway, leaving a faint ache in its place. His eyes found you again, just from the corner.

Fuck this. Fuck you, he thought.

His gaze, whether he intended it or not, traced the contours of your body. The curve of your hips barely concealed by your panties, your torso only covered by a sheer white tank top, your breasts almost visible, your nipples subtly outlined, calling to him, even if unknowingly. Your body always beckons to him, regardless of the situation, the mood, or the moment. Every woman has an itch, and he knows yours is him. There's no other explanation, and he wouldn't accept any alternative.

His body moved as if he was being called by a siren. The not-so-gentle hands turned your body so you were lying on your back and giving him a better view. You groaned softly, but didn't really wake up. Your body, swallowed by heaviness and sleep, too heavy to actually do anything. Vulnerable, open. Everything Aemond likes, everything he wants. Like a fucking leech, or maggots crawling on dead flesh feeding on what's left of a life, he feeds on these moments. Control, pure and raw. Over everything, over you.

His fingers clawed at your legs, dragging himself across the bed like a really silently predator stalking its prey until he was nestled between your spread thighs, squatting on his heels. His fingers, cold and unyielding, scraped down your thighs, seizing your ankles with a tight grip. He dragged them, forcing your feet to frame his body on the bed, keeping your legs wrenched apart, exposing you. You were so fucking malleable under his hands, like he could take you apart and put you back together however the fuck he wanted, twist your body into any perverse shape his dark mind conjured. And he loved it, loved how you were his to corrupt.

"I'm hungry," he murmurs, the words dripping with that familiar, chilling tone. You've heard it before, countless times, in various contexts, knowing damn well what it means when he says it like that. It's not about food.

He fucking knows you remember, too. The times when there was no food, or when dad, that piece of shit, would beat you until you were sick. The leather belt, the shine of the silver buckle in the dim light, always after a meal, when your stomachs were full. And on your knees, he’d beat you until vomit painted the floor, until there was nothing left but the acrid taste of bile. He remembers that bastard's smile, how he'd grab him by the hair, forcing his face into the mess he'd made. He remembers the shaking, the pain, the hunger that followed. He remembers you.

Like a fucking feast, like you are now.

His fingers slithered over your skin, their tips sneaking under your tank top, feeling the fabric’s edge. He watched as goosebumps erupted across your thighs, your body betraying its response to his touch. Like it always fucking does. When his hunger was palpable, it didn't matter if your eyes were wide open or shut tight, if your mind was with him or lost in some dark dreamscape behind those lids. He'd always been this way, and you? You'd always allowed it. Ever since before that son of a bitch's death, when he first felt you wrapped around him, when you heard him jerking off to thoughts of you at night, whimpering into your ear, his hips grinding against you. You'd always let him because you want him; you fucking need him.

And you'll get it. You bet your ass you will.

His fingers ascend, dragging the fabric of your shirt with them, baring your breasts to his ravenous gaze. At the mere sight of your skin, his mouth waters. Your head turns aside on the pillow, a low moan escaping you. You feel the heat spreading through your torso, warm and alive. His fingers then travel down to your panties, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and slowly dragging them down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes lock onto your pussy, so fucking perfect for him. Always so fucking perfect, so good. How in hell could something this delectable even exist?

"I'm hungry," Aemond murmured again, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he visually consumed your intimate space, as if he hadn't already memorized every inch with his own senses.

He lowers himself, almost flattening against the bed, his long fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. He takes a moment to savor the view from this angle, your little cunt in his face, his gaze traveling up past your breasts to your face, turned away, lips parted, teeth just visible. So fucking beautiful, it makes him want to rip your face to shreds with his bare hands, to create chasms with his teeth, to chew on the pieces. He could do it, he wants to do it. But somewhere deep down, he knows that even if your flesh were torn apart, you'd still be this oppressive tightness in his chest. And he fucking hates it.

"And you're going to feed me, aren't you?" he whispers against your skin, his breath hot as it fans over your heat, noticing the slight twitch of your leg beside his head, but nothing more.

His tongue extends from your entrance to your clit, dragging up to your lower stomach, the sensation of his warm tongue unmistakable even through the haze of your disjointed thoughts, the weight of your limbs anchoring you to the bed. His lips return with increased urgency, one hand gripping your thigh, pulling it to his mouth, his teeth sinking into the skin of your inner thigh, while the other hand rises to grab one of your breasts, his fingertips pressing into the flesh. Your breath quickens, your chest rising and falling with mounting intensity.

His tongue traced a path down your inner thigh before making its way back to your core, not wasting time before delving in. It rolled between your folds, coating them with his saliva. As his tongue danced over your entrance again, the taste of your arousal hit him, eliciting a moan from deep within. Your body responded to every touch, tightening, a dim light seeping through your closed eyelids, though the two purple pills you'd ingested the night before made full consciousness elusive, your reactions slowed, your desires muted.

"You're getting all wet for me, little dove," he murmured, his voice low, muffled by your pussy, with no intention of pulling away to speak further. "Dirty girl, I should rip your throat open for this." A growl rumbled from him, his eyes closing as he sank deeper, his entire being focused on the sensations his mouth was exploring, leaving all his senses tethered to the act of licking you everywhere.

Your lips part further, a moan slipping through, your brows knitting together, etching a line of tension on your face. Your hips begin to shift weakly on the bed, up and down, your whimpers soft and muffled by fatigue. Aemond responds with his own sounds against your intimacy, taking full advantage of your semi-conscious state to vocalize his pleasure unrestrainedly. His fingers play with the nipple he's captured, giving it a sharp tug to jolt you further into awareness. Your legs, on either side of his head, fall open wider.

It's too good, too fucking good.

So good that you're unaware when your fingers find their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his black hair, pulling him closer in an instinctive, desperate plea for more.

Aemond freezes.

Your heart pounded like a drum, the shock of wakefulness like a slap across your face. Sweat beaded at your temples, and when you looked down, Aemond's eyes were already locked on you, his mouth still against you. The room seemed to stand still, time itself arrested. The chill that ran through you was like a bolt of ice, your senses suddenly sharp but tainted.

You attempted to rise, but he pounced, his hands reaching for your neck while your legs thrashed to push him off. You knew you were doomed if he pinned you down. Aemond grappled with your flailing arms, your nails raking his skin each time he tried to seize your wrists. But your resistance was faltering, and you knew this could be the end.

His fist slammed into your jaw, snapping your head to the side, blood erupting from your nose onto the pillows. His thighs clamped over yours, holding you down, but you still fought. His hands pressed your shoulders into the mattress, aiming for your neck, when you clawed at his throat, your nails digging in deep. A pained grunt escaped him as he clutched the bleeding marks you left on his neck. You seized the moment to free one leg, using your foot to shove his chest back.

"You fucking bitch!" Aemond's yell reverberated, but there was no time for discussion.

You hit the floor with a thud, a groan of pain escaping you. You saw Aemond beginning to rise from the bed, coming for you, and despite the difficulty, you managed to scramble up, staggering as you bolted. You collided with furniture, each impact a jolt of pain, while behind you, Aemond closed in with purposeful strides, his fists balled, jaw clenched tight. He was boiling over, rage spilling out like steam from an overfilled pot, threatening to scald you.

You made it to the living room, positioning yourself behind the small glass dining table. Aemond appeared in the doorway, his heartbeat almost audibly pounding, the intensity of it pressing against the air in your throat. Your naked body felt too exposed, his gaze raking over you, but not with lust. No, this was the look of someone intent on tearing you apart, letting you bleed out.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" you scream, knowing your words would fall on deaf ears. This wasn't the Aemond you knew; it couldn't be, not in this state.

He moved to the other side of the table, effectively blocking your escape route to the kitchen where you might have grabbed a knife. His eyes, wide and void, met yours, almost lifeless. Your palms were slick with sweat, your feet rooted to the spot despite your mind screaming to move. The mantra echoed in your head, 'he's coming for you.'

"Run," Aemond said, his voice laced with a sinister glee, his smile all teeth, gleaming menacingly.

And you didn't hesitate.

Your feet propelled you forward, his hot on your heels, the air barely making it into your lungs. You clutched the bathroom door frame, ready to dart inside, when his arms encircled your waist, lifting you off the floor. Your legs flailed, your hands clawing at his arms to break free, his grip squeezing your ribs like a vise. He began to retreat, pulling you with him, but you reacted swiftly. Your elbow slammed into his ribs, and when he didn't release you, your head snapped back into his, his sharp cry of pain mingling with the force that sent you sprawling to the ground.

"Fuck!" he shouted, his fingers pressing against his newly bloodied nose, courtesy of your counterattack.

You scrambled across the floor, more like a creature than a human, managing to slip through the bathroom door. You locked it with trembling hands. The door shook under the assault of Aemond's fists, each impact making you jump back, landing on your rear. The wood seemed on the verge of splintering with every hit. Your eyes darted around; there was a small window, but it was too narrow for escape. You'd tried before; it was impossible.

"Open the fucking door!" he yells, his punch so forceful it seems to bruise his knuckles, but the pain is the last thing on his mind now, only you matter. "It's going to be much worse for you, much worse!" His voice drips with venom, and with truth; it would indeed be worse.

But you don't care. Using the sink for support, you stand, and in the mirror, you see the blood trails from your nose to your lips. Your hips will soon bruise from the collisions with furniture and the floor. Desperation grips you as you pull at your own hair, each knock on the door a reminder of your vulnerability. Until his foot slams into the door, and you turn just in time to see it buckle.

You need to do something.

With no time for thought, your fist smashes into the mirror, glass exploding in all directions. The sound halts Aemond's assault briefly, as does your sharp cry of pain, your blood now dripping from your cut knuckles onto the white tiles. You frantically search for the largest, sharpest piece of glass among the debris, feeling the sting of tiny crystals under your nails.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Aemond's voice escalates with new urgency.

With another powerful kick, the door gives way, splinters mixing with your blood on the floor. Aemond's gaze locks on the bloody glass in your hand, his own rage intensifying. Eye to eye, you brace for what's to come.

He's coming for you, so you come for him too.

Aemond steps forward, and so do you; the glass slices the side of his arm, drawing blood. He staggers back, clutching the wound, and you advance, but he quickly seizes your wrist, twisting it viciously. It feels like he might break it, your fingers crushed further into the glass, embedding it into your palm. A scream tears from your lips, tears at the corners of your eyes. You're forced to release the shard, which shatters on the floor. With a knee to your stomach, Aemond sends you crashing down, all air exiting your lungs.

Slowly, he kneels beside you, watching your mouth open in a silent scream, your hand clutching your stomach as if to hold yourself together. Fucking pathetic, he thinks, the urge to spit in your face, to make you swallow every piece of broken glass on the floor overwhelming him.

"I should make you chew this whole fucking glass right off the floor." His threat is punctuated by him grabbing your hair, yanking your face closer to his.

Your pained expression feeds into him. He's aware he's using you as a punching bag, treating you like you're worthless, and he doesn't feel an ounce of remorse. Perhaps he will when the rage subsides, but when does it ever truly subside? Was it ever meant to? He doesn't know. But he's hard, painfully so under his underwear, throbbing with every tear that escapes your eyes, consumed by a frenzy that's pure and intense.

He slams your head back onto the ground with all his might. You squeeze your eyes shut, but there's no escaping the pain. Both his hands encircle your neck, and to prevent any more tricks, he kneels on your thighs, his weight crushing your flesh, drawing a scream that's stifled by the lack of air. There's a high-pitched sound in your ears, reminiscent of chairs scraping or the squeaky springs of that old swing in the dilapidated playground where you once played, where you felt like you could touch the clouds when he pushed you. You almost wish you could now.

"Die! Why wont you die?!" Aemond screams into your face, but you know he's not seeing you; he's not screaming at you.

Your hands claw at him, your nails raking down his bare chest, only adding to your torment. Aemond's eyes close, his body shaking above you. His nails dig deeper into your neck, darkness enveloping your vision. Your back arches in one last attempt to free yourself, and a loud, pained moan escapes Aemond as he climaxes in his underwear, the sensation so intense it could have shattered him instead of you. The pressure becomes unbearable, your lips parting in a futile attempt to breathe. Your eyes close, and you're thrown into a cold, black abyss. Alone.

Nights always carried a kind of mercy. The cold slipped through the cracked window, brushing against the room like a quiet apology for the chaos that had come before. The neon blue light pulsed faintly, painting the walls with something soft, almost alive. You’d always thought the blue was too sad, but Aemond liked it, so it stayed. Yet tonight, when you opened your eyes, it wasn’t blue filtering through your lids. No, it was clear light—sharp and unkind. Strange.

Then the ache hit. It was everywhere, spreading from your fingers to your chest like it had been carved into your very bones. Every muscle in your body screamed, raw and heavy, like you’d become one giant bruise. And maybe you had.

Your eyes moved across the room, desperate to find him. Your chest tightened when you didn’t see him straight away, and panic started to set in. But just as you shifted, ignoring the pain in your ribs, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Aemond stepped inside, his movements deliberate, his frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the light. He was dripping wet, his hair clinging to his shoulders in dark strands, wearing nothing but jeans slung low on his hips. In his hand, he carried a white plastic bag, casual as ever.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. The sound of it cut through the stillness, grounding you in a way that nothing else could.

You glanced down at yourself, noticing the oversized shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders and a pair of sweatpants that didn’t belong to you. His, clearly. You caught sight of your wrist next, carefully wrapped in white splints. The work was precise, too meticulous to have been done by anyone but him.

“Hey,” you croaked back, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt foreign in your throat, raw and strained. The bitterness in your mouth confirmed what you already suspected—he’d forced some medicine into you while you were out. It was just like him.

He moved closer to the bed, his gaze fixed on you as he settled on the edge. The space between you was thin, almost nonexistent, but it still felt like a gulf. You studied him, and he studied you right back. The marks on his skin stood out against the pale light—your nails had left their trails, violent and deliberate, carving down his neck, chest, and arms. There was a deeper wound too, one from the glass, glinting faintly in the morning light.

And he saw it too—the purple bruises on your neck, stark against your skin. His fingerprints. They sat there like inked tattoos. He likes them a lot.

“Do you want a picture?” Your voice cut through the silence, hoarse but steady, your words laced with that sharp edge he knew so well. It didn’t hurt anymore, and that was enough.

“Yeah,” he muttered, almost laughing under his breath. His eye traced your face like he was memorising it, his thoughts catching on the idea. If he had a camera, a good one, and if things were different—better—this house would be covered in you. Your face, your body, your marks. Everywhere. You’d be the only thing worth seeing.

The silence wrapped around you both, not oppressive, but present, like a third figure in the room. His hand, trembling with hesitation, inched towards yours. You caught the flicker of doubt in his movements, and without giving him a chance to second-guess, you reached for him. Your fingers threaded through his, clasping tightly, as if sealing a quiet promise neither of you dared to speak aloud.

The thought settled again at the base of your skull: If it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s okay. Even if every inch of you was bruised and battered, flesh stained in shades of blue and black, it didn’t matter. It was just a body, after all—just skin and bone. Nothing more, nothing less.

When his gaze finally met yours, it wasn’t with the depth you might have hoped for. His eye held a flatness, void of the kind of emotion he wished he could express—or the kind you sometimes wished you could see. But you’d long since stopped expecting it. He didn’t know how to show it, couldn’t, and that was all right. You had learned to live in the spaces between what he gave and what he withheld. In the end, you told yourself, it would be bearable. Even if the walls of this house crumbled into ash one day, you’d both still be here.

Your eyes searched his, and his mirrored the same dance. Without warning, he pulled hard on your hand, yanking you forward until your chests collided. His arms snaked around your shoulders, locking you into him, as if he were holding on for dear life. Instinctively, your hands found his waist, drawing him closer, your fingers gripping tightly as if the two of you could weld together. Your face nestled perfectly into the curve of his neck—a hollow that seemed carved for you alone. A place to rest, and perhaps even to bite when the need arose.

Holding him like this felt steady. Familiar. Safe. Just as the bruises and scratches had their place, so did the moments like this—the quiet inhalation of his scent, the way your arms clutched at him like he might disappear. It was measured, restrained, the intimacy meted out in doses small enough not to overwhelm. Anything more would be unbearable, tipping into something too raw, too unmanageable.

“I brought you something,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze again.

You said nothing, only watched as his hands left you to reach for the white plastic bag he’d brought in earlier. His fingers dipped inside, searching like a child eager to reveal a secret treasure. When he finally pulled it free, the golden wrapper caught the light, and your eyes locked onto the familiar shape of the chocolate bar.

Of course. It was always this. Sweetness. That was what he saw in you, wasn’t it? Something indulgent. You didn’t mind, not really. Even though you knew it was fleeting—your teeth would rot eventually, fall out maybe. The ants might come, leaving trails of fire across your skin. But none of that mattered, not when the sweetness melted on your tongue. He always brought it to you. Always.

You take the bar from his hand, tearing it open with your teeth like you’ve got no time for subtlety, the wrapper crinkling loud enough to fill the silence. Chocolate smears across your fingers as you peel it back, and you pause for a second, staring him down before sinking your teeth into it. A big bite—half the damn thing gone already. Aemond watches you for a moment, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smirk, but then his gaze drops to his hands resting in his lap.

“You need a shower,” he says finally, voice low but firm, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “The Worm wants to see us at the club tonight.”

Your eyes flick up at that, unimpressed, because of course that bastard does.

“Why?” you ask, exhaling the word more than speaking it, your tone halfway between exhaustion and annoyance. You take another bite of the chocolate, letting it melt lazily on your tongue like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“A little daddy’s boy soirée or something,” Aemond mutters with a shrug. He’s got that look again, the one he always wears when he talks about this shit—a mix of disdain and quiet rebellion. He hates this scene, the pounding music that sounds like it’s on a loop, the suffocating crowds. But then he adds, “There’ll be some good fish,” and his eye meets yours. Just a flicker of understanding passes between you.

The Worm might be a total bastard, but he had a nose for opportunities, especially when it came to sales. The nightclub was his playground, his stage, and let’s not forget his little meth empire ticking along in the background. The man handed you a lifeline—or a leash, depending on how you looked at it—but saying no to him wasn’t exactly an option. He loved to remind you of that whenever he could.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” you mutter, a dry laugh escaping as you finish off the last of the bar, the taste bitter-sweet as it disappears.

Aemond reaches over and plucks the wrapper from your hand, his touch light but deliberate, watching you as you stand. Every muscle in your body protests, stiff and aching, but you ignore it, your bare feet hitting the cold floor with a shiver that shoots straight up your spine. You don’t pause, though. You make for the wardrobe, pulling open the smallest drawer to grab a bra and panties from the mess of clothes stuffed inside. Aemond doesn’t move, doesn’t look up. His fingers stay intertwined, his expression distant, like he’s lost somewhere else.

It’s only when your hand reaches for the door that his voice cuts through again, quiet but razor-sharp.

“I’ll be watching you,” he says, his tone warning but calm, his eye finally lifting to meet your retreating form. “So don’t do anything stupid.”

You let a sly grin slip out before moving on. It's not like you meant to fuck up, not tonight. Could be exhaustion or whatever. Your mess wasn't like Aemond's, not some epic cleanup. Well, at least not usually. You know his real fear is that you'll slit your wrists open and finish what you sometimes started after...incidents. That wasn't your intention tonight.

Your feet drag you to the bathroom, now always wide open thanks to that morning's drama. Inside, it's all spick and span, the sharp scent of bleach hitting you hard. He'd cleaned up, but some things just don't wash away. The door with its frame fucked, the mirror with a new hole in it, and that's it. Everything else, gone, like it usually is. Sometimes you wish you two were like this floor - a little soap and water could sort it out. Fix it up.

You try not to overthink, just strip down and jump into the shower. It's like your second home, scrubbing until your skin's raw. Careful not to drench those bandages he wrapped around your wrist. Eyes shut, you let the water wash you off, even if it's just skin deep.

Drying off and slipping into your undies and bra, you pause for a sec. Just taking a breath before heading back to the bedroom. From the doorway, you spot Aemond in front of the mirror, the little pots of black and white paint open, brush at the ready. His hair's less wet, those heavy black boots already on his feet, leather jacket slung over his shoulders, no shirt beneath. He turns, eyes sweeping over you, unabashed. Head cocked to the side for a moment.

"Help me with this." It's not a request, it's a command, part of the routine.

You don't think twice before stepping up, and neither does he. Aemond slides down in the chair, legs spreading wider, an open invite. You take it, hands on his shoulders for balance, swinging a leg over to sit on him. His hands lock onto your waist, holding you steady.

"Want something special tonight?" you ask, leaning down for one of the black eyeliner pencils.

Aemond's gaze travels your body again, you sitting there like he's your personal, ragged throne. His eyes crawl back up to yours, meeting them dead on. Yeah, he wants something special, but it's not about the paint or the lines on his face.

"Just the usual," Aemond says, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours, pupils blown wide.

You nod, leaning in to start sketching the lines on his face with the precision of someone who's done this dance before. When Aemond does it himself, it's all over the place, but you manage to make it look halfway decent. Not that it's supposed to be pretty; it's more about the vibe. With the eyeliner, you draw from his eyebrows down to his nose, stopping at the tip, then circle around his eye, connecting back to the other brow. It's rough, forming something like a triangle - shapes blurred and edgy. Moving to the other side, his eyes track you, locked on as your face scrunches in focus.

"You know I wanted to kill you, don't you?" Aemond mutters, pulling your gaze to him for a split second before you both return to the task at hand.

He did want to, no question about it. There was that moment when he saw your eyes close, your body go limp on the floor, and he thought, "This is it." But then he stopped. He didn't regret it; he was fucking glad he did.

"You didn’t." That's all you manage, a whisper, the only reply you've got.

You've thought he might end you, on some other nights, on those dark moments when the beast in him roared to get out because of some shit you pulled - intentional or not. But intentions? They're meaningless here. Not yours, not his, even if his was to squeeze the life out of you.

Aemond just stared, maybe with a hint of appreciation or some twisted form of affection. He couldn't tell if he'd fucked up your head, if he'd made you blind to his true nature, the chaos he brought into your life. He saw himself as a plague, infecting everything he touched, and he reveled in it, in you.

"I should take you to the beach sometime." Aemond's voice was low, almost a whisper, and you couldn't help but smile a bit. He'd mentioned it before, but it always felt like a fantasy.

He loathes the beach, despises the sun. The sand that grinds into knees, leaving them raw. Mum and dad never took you, and before that, the orphanage was all shades of gray. There was no sun there, and his pale skin seemed to thrive in the absence of it. You didn't miss what you'd never known.

"Yeah? What do you want to do there?" You play along with the dream, knowing it's probably never going to happen.

Your fingers grab a brush, dipping it into the white paint. You start painting his face, careful not to touch the dark lines around his eyes. His breath is heavier now, chest heaving in what seems like a thoughtful sigh.

"I don't know, just watch you swim." His reply is soft, his words hitting you like a gentle wave. "Some Sunday just watch you get pounded by the waves and some purple and blue in the sky. Being the only motherfuckers filling the place with smoke.”

A low chuckle escapes you as you shake your head, your fingers continuing their task with the white paint, transforming his face into something that feels more like a phantom than the man you know. You'd like that, at some point, to see him in such a scene. Perhaps perched on that motorcycle in some secluded spot, hiding from the sun, a cold beer in hand. His blue eyes would mirror the sea, his silver hair the sky, though you know he'd never let them be seen again. It's all just a daydream.

"Would you be there?" he asks, causing your hand to pause, the brush set aside.

The question strikes you as almost absurd. There are so many answers to it. He's pulling himself into the abyss, into a personal hell with all its promised torment, and you'd follow if only to hold his hand. Your answer is always yes, never no. He knows this, and still, he asks.

"I would be wherever you were," you confess in a whisper, meeting his gaze with unfiltered honesty, more than you'd wish to reveal, more than you could ever conceal.

His eyes shift from yours to your lips, perhaps searching for the taste of those words, or seeking some unclaimed piece of your skin to press them against. He doesn't speak, but the silence says he'd be with you too. You're like a persistent bit stuck in his teeth; no amount of licking or prodding or thinking he's had enough or moved you aside would ever truly dislodge you. Ever.

You pause, focusing back on the brush, cleaning off the white paint and dipping into black. The brush follows the eyeliner's path, shaping the design more distinctly. It's not your best work, but it's far from your worst, even if it's not art gallery material. But it'll do.

"It looks good," you murmur, more to yourself than to him, knowing better than to stroke his ego too much.

Aemond's eyes are locked on your lips, reading your words off them rather than through sound. His breath is warm, careful not to move and ruin your work. He's learned from experience you wouldn't like that.

"Yeah, it does." His gaze shifts up, impatience simmering under his skin. Being still isn't his forte.

With the final stroke, you complete the look. The white paint has dried, melding into his skin like a second layer. As you move to get up, his hands reluctantly slide off your waist, resting back in his lap. You take a moment to admire him - the corpse paint fitting him like a second skin, like he was born to wear it. The desire to have him take you, right there over the paints, until your drool becomes part of the artwork, is intense.

"Take a look," you say, motioning towards the mirror, keeping your darker thoughts at bay. If you let them out, there'd be no stopping.

Aemond looks into the mirror, not seeing himself but the mask he's donned. It's good, it's something. Just paint, toxic and transformative, embodying much of him yet not all. It's good, truly good.

You head to the closet, pulling out one of the usual dresses - same color, similar cuts, limited choices. Slipping it on, the fabric clings to your body, barely covering your thighs, the straps mingling with those of your bra. As you adjust it, Aemond turns, catching the motion of you smoothing it over your hips, his teeth catching his lower lip. You're a vision of sin, a gift to behold, stoking the fire in his veins and elsewhere.

You sit at the bed's foot, tugging on your black knee-high boots, similar to his but with higher heels. Aemond approaches just as you zip up, standing close enough that you nearly collide when you rise. His silent steps are always so damn stealthy. Your eyes lock, and without a word, he kneels before you, your gaze tracking him down, lips parting slightly.

Your heart races. He lifts your dress, bunching it at your waist, revealing you in just your panties. You anticipate warmth, but what you feel is cold. Opening your eyes, you see the pocket knife he's just stuck in your panties.

"You know how to use it," he murmurs, his breath teasingly close to where you're most sensitive, a slight dampness forming. "So use it if you need to."

He stands, eyes never leaving yours, fingers sliding the dress back down, covering you once more. It's like a cold splash of reality or a sharp stab of withdrawal; he steps away, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, regain some semblance of control. He moves to the table, grabs his keys, cigarettes, and lighter.

"I'm going to get the bike out of the garage. Don't delay." His tone is devoid of warmth as he heads for the door, leaving you in the center of the room.

You adjust your dress, feeling the pulse of anger and desire because that bastard always knows exactly what he's doing. The knife's tip, so provocatively close to your core, feels like a taunt. You hate him, more than when he breaks you apart. With that hatred, you move to where he was sitting and look at your reflection, noting the bruise on your jaw that you'll need to conceal with makeup. Not for the opinions of those at the club, you couldn't care less about them.

But, that's what you do. You cover his marks. And tonight, you'll do it again.

[yakultf4thesoul]

[helaegon-vault]

the way he looked at her during thumb war and trying to fit in the hula hoop 🫠 I would pay to watch all these cutscenes.

and look at how tiny Grace or tall Ewan is bcuz shes even standing on a box... with heels🧎‍♀️

they better come out with sequel of them in marriage or children or whatever the plot is bcuz ill be eating whatever they serving

[misfitbimbosblog]

Martin 4 Spider 🖤🕷️🕸️

Xoxo I caught emotional asthma loved this video so so much.