The Kiss Of Judas – Lodovico Carracci / The Encounter – Louise Glück / House Of The Dragon

The Kiss of Judas – Lodovico Carracci / The Encounter – Louise Glück / House of the Dragon

CherryWaves

Prologue

Ghostface! Danny Johnson x f!reader

Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around. Just to play or course. 18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence

ao3 one masterlist

There's something in the air. Maybe it's that time of year. When you feel yourself fall away like thread splitting at the seams. When you’re clutching at the fabric of your knit sweater. Pulling it closer to your skin. Jeans become looser around your waist, you watch them fall around your hips as you push down the urge to throw up. It's normal. It's a regular occurrence you swear! When winter comes round it's like you're dying from the inside. Wilting quickly. Blackened petals folding in on themself. Ready to crumble into a pile of ash. You're just another brown leaf on the sidewalk. Stepped on, splashed over. Melting into a mushy pile like the others. Until spring comes, when you find yourself blossoming all over again.

And maybe you haven't been too careful recently, watchful, cautious. You're in and out of work. The days feel slower and quicker and it's hard to remember what time it is and when you last washed the bra you're wearing. So it's not like you're keeping an eye on things.

You rub your eyes. Eyeliner smudging underneath, you feel the grit of your mascara rub against your eyelids. You huff smoke. Cigarette hanging out of your mouth as you tuck your hair behind your ears. There’s a slight chill in the air which is slightly unusual for Florida, but you tuck your thin sweater around your chest anyway, numb fingers taking the cigarette out your mouth as you blow a billow of smoke into the air.

You throw the cigarette on the floor and crush it under your foot, watching the embers escape into the concrete slabs. You check your watch. It's only ten past five, Thursday evening. Someone bumps shoulders with you as you pass by a crowd after work rush. You've only just escaped from a job yourself. You pat down your jeans, wallet gone. You look back quickly and watch someone scurry across the crowd of people, ducking between workers and customers. He was out of sight just as you noticed him. You sigh. Looking up at the pharmacy ahead. You bite your lip.

You pull yourself into a nook between shops and lean down on the cold gravel. Hands digging into your pockets, you pull out 4 dollars, a lighter and a receipt for milk. You bite the insides of your cheeks. Hands scraping up the wall as you bring yourself back up on your feet.

The door to the pharmacy swings open, it smells like an air-conditioning unit and pepto bismol, your shoes scrape across the floor as you wander around the aisles, eyes flicking through hair products, condoms, prenatal vitamins, and finally razors. A pack of twelve single blades is a buck. You wonder if you should just tuck them under your sleeve and buy a burger from over the road instead. You wonder if you should buy them at all. But you find your feet shuffling over to the counter anyway, before you can even think for yourself.

Are you really doing this?

Yes.

You made up your mind a long time ago.

You slide the pack across the counter along with a two dollar bill , the pharmacist looks up at you with a smile, it stretches across his face like a mask. Skin shiny and plastic. Against the hard fluorescent lights, You smile back quickly and watch him type up the price on the cash machine, buttons clicking. He looks at you. Eyes tracing over the curves of your cheeks, you watch his lips purse, eyes flicking towards the packet you slammed down on the counter mere moments ago, the bill curling up at the sides, you wonder if it still has coke around the edges. He sighs. “Do you have any I.D?”

You blink, biting your lip in annoyance. Of course you fucking dont. Your wallet just got stolen. You want to scream. You pat down your pockets, digging into the back ones and then shrug, baring your teeth on one side. “Oh sorry, I think I left it at home.”

He stares back in annoyance. “I'm old enough to buy them though, I promise.” you laugh, pushing the cash closer towards him.

“You have to be over 18 to buy, I'm sorry if you don't have any I.D I can't let you buy any.”

“I've bought them here before and you didn't ask for I.D?”

Plan B it is.

He shrugs, pushing your cash back at you. You blink slowly, hand grabbing onto the dollar bill and pushing yourself away from the counter. He watches you pass through the aisle, and you slip your hand out quickly to grab something before running out the door, your feet thumping against the sidewalk quickly, you dash into an alleyway and pull the object into your line of sight. It's a child's lip balm shaped like some cartoon character, it's dead-stock of some kind because you had the same one when you were about five, tiny cracked lips covered in glitter. Toothy grin.

You throw it on the floor and take out your carton of cigarettes, there's one. Broken, shoved in sideways at the bottom, you fish it out quickly and rip off the end, fishing your lighter out, you bring the cancer to your lips, breathing in as you flick the clippers edge, sparks fly quickly. You bring your thumb down repeatedly but no flame appears.

You fight the urge to bash your head against the wall.

You walk twenty minutes down the road, climb a flight of stairs and then settle between the indentation in your cheap sofa, your apartment is inherently hot, even as the sun sets behind the curtains you feel yourself melt into the cracked leather. Skin sticking to shiny fabric. The place wasn't exactly clean, but it wasn't like you were living in squalor the whole time, clothes piled into corners of the room, a couple of empty glasses here and there. A moulding cup of coffee on the windowsill, unopened bills piled next to the door. It was a list of things you weren't going to have to deal with in the next coming days or ever.

When you blink yourself awake it's eleven pm. You smile into your palm. Bare feet pattering against linoleum tile to the cupboard in your bathroom, you pull out the full bottle of sleeping pills. Closing the door and watching your face appear in the mirror, dark circles and gaunt cheeks. You trace your brow bone with your finger, watching the nail scrape against skin, it trails down to your cheeks. Then your lips and then you smother your face in your hands.

They won't find you till Monday, maybe Tuesday if they don’t realise you’re missing, maybe never, maybe you'll rot into the floorboards till it gives out on the weight of your swollen body and you'll collapse into the floor underneath you, you're a lawsuit waiting to happen. You wonder if the coroner will think you're pretty. Will they judge you for the underwear you're wearing, or will it be sliced off without a thought? They'll mark it as a suicide the minute they see the scars across your thighs

Will your Mum even attend the funeral?

Will he?

You groan against your palms, smile disappearing into nothing. You can't keep doing this to yourself, edging yourself at the thought of death. You shake yourself out of it quickly. Pulling the door open and grabbing the first bottle of liquor you can see. You sit down on the floor near the tv. Running your fingers over the edge of the pill bottle, fingernail knocking against every divot of the cap, you bite your lip as you pull it off. Pouring a couple into your hand, five perfect pills lying neatly in your palm. You tear the bottle cap of the whiskey, shoving the pills into your mouth without care and drowning them.

You swallow, feeling them go down your throat, nearly scratching the sides. Switching on the tv to some horror movie, you fall into the crevice of the couch.

And now you wait.

It feels like hours have passed quickly and you're floating, and suddenly the floor is crashing up at you. You're slumped over the toilet bowl as someone's hand digs deeply into your mouth, you gag, fingers leaving a trail of spit as you puke into the toilet bowl, the taste of acid and leather on your tongue. Your eyes are half closed as your cheek rests against the ceramic seat. It feels hard to breathe, you suck in air all jagged. You're breathing all wrong. Something or someone pats your back softly, and then you're throwing up all over again, watching the white pills come up quickly. There's about four in the toilet, only a sliver of them dissolved. Snot runs down your face. It's only been a few minutes since you took them and apparently since some guy has come into your home.

Your hands grip on the floor as the black smudges approach your face again, mouth yanked open as he shoves his fingers down your throat, you feel the bile rise up. And you're chucking up all over again, it’s just pure stomach acid, but the last pill comes up and you feel yourself slump into a pile on the cold plastic floor, tears wetting the hair you're leaning against. The shower curtain billowing against your legs. Your hands feel weak and you can barely grip a fist. You cough against yourself, drooling out your mouth. You run your hands over your face as you curl into a ball. You're hot to the touch, sweating through your shirt. Back sticking to the fabric.

Whoever is in your apartment has ruined your plans.

You blink as a cool glass of water is pressed to your lips, it tastes so sweet in comparison to the sick, and you gulp down the liquid as someone hushes at you softly. Leather wipes away your tears, you're pulled into a chest and rocked back and forth until you stop hyperventilating, it feels like you’re a child all over again, feeling so small. Half awake in the arms of comfort. You wonder if he’ll bring you to bed, tuck you in and read you a story.

It pulls off your clothes in quick recession, your limp body placed carefully in the bath, he holds your body to the wall as your scrubbed clean of spit and puke. Gentle hands running down your body. You're still so out of it. Eyes half closed the whole time, they feel so raw. The light penetrating through the window feels like they are ripping them out of your head.

Then your body gets pulled out of the tub, into your bedroom where you’re fully clothed all over again. He chosen the nice pj’s, the ones your mum got you for christmas, fished out from the sale rack of some expensive department store. They're still so soft on your skin, even when you use the cheap detergent. Strands of hair are wiped away from your face as you lie in bed. Your arms and legs are useless, they flop against the mattress as a sheet is pulled over your body.

You gaze up at the guardian angel. A pale face gapes back at you. Black eyes, a skeletal nose, You gasp. Wetting your lips with your tongue. Your heart beat raises for the first time that night. Your lip quivers into a smile. “Who?-”

“Shh, It's okay. Wrong place and Wrong time. Okay?” his hand grasps around your chin pulling your head into a gradual nod. You blink up at him. Lips parting. He smoothes a hand over the black sheet. He stands up, quiet on his feet as he approaches the door, you meet his gaze as he turns round.

“Try killing yourself again and I'll gut you” his hand grasps the door, he pauses. “Got it?”

You find yourself nodding quickly,“Yeah, I got it”.

“Good” He flicks the light off. The room pools into darkness, and he steps into the light of the hallway, whatever is on the tv switches off and the door slams shut after.

ᴇᴡᴀɴ ᴍɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ as Martin

in: Fontaines DC - It's Amazing To Be Young

Beautiful Boy Two

dark! aemond targaryen x strong!reader chapter one chapter three

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con,sa "You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy. You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards

You stare at the wall, condensation drips. Your lips crack, hair knotted, dirtied fingers run against the divots, stone brickwork that dusts under the weight of the castle, another mindless dream of escape. The taste of blood is persistent in your mouth. You sip the water, eat the mouldy bread. Run your hand against the wall, scratch your nails deeper into the hole with the rats. You dream again of close bodies and gouging yourself on sweet foods, kneeling down praying to your rescuer, but you always awake back here. Back in your cell.

You're so sure you're on the brink of insanity, about to tip over the edge.

There's about three steps from your cot to the wall, three small steps and then seven from the bars to the other wall. You're plagued with thoughts of escape, wishes to pull a guard inside and change their mind by kneeling before them. But they all take their oath way too seriously. You feel yourself drown in your hopelessness, every footstep without the sound of heavy armour sending frivolous goosebumps down your arms. You miss the smell of rain, the feeling of sun on your face. Things you hadn't even thought about while being in the safety net of the damp castle. The only thing that provided you comfort was the dripping of water, bringing you back home for just seconds.

The rowdiness of men subsidies for a mere moment, and then there are angry shouts, exasperated yields of freedom, pleads and begs towards the stranger. Well what you believe to be, you can hear the footsteps, just brushes of fabric and shadow figures that double under the candle light.

You sit up, ears straining for sounds of the stranger, this had brung as much excitement to you; as when you had found two rats curled up asleep next to you on your cot, hands grabbing the crumb of bread you had picked off ,and then the sound of nothing. As if the visitor had disappeared. You look towards the gates, hoping to make out a shadow, barely even noticing the sound of them swinging open as your prince had already stood over you.

Your gaze stiffens, eyebrows raising up. Mouth opening in protest, but he hisses at you, a lone finger over his mouth. Be quiet, let him speak. He crouches and you notice he has come without his eyepatch this time. You stare at the sapphire eye, brighter under the light of the candle, hoping to make him as uncomfortable as he did you, his face remains unreadable holding your gaze.

“How you withered in here”, he speaks, voice softer than it had been when he had last seen you, his hand grabs at a strand of hair twisting it ever so slightly and then letting it fall back onto your face, you wished his hand had brushed near your mouth so you may bite it, but you act obedient under him, Act broken and get out it repeats in your mind like a hum.

Your eyes flutter, offering a small sweet smile in his presence. He huffs, hair grazing against his knee as his head tilts, you're encumbered by sweat and dirt, lips cracked and bleeding, you could be shoved on the street in the poorest area and still be seen as dirty, a filthy wench. He offers no sympathy towards the predicament that he had landed you in.

He opens his mouth to speak instead turning to the corner to see rats scurrying across the floor, a piece of bread in their mouths. “I see you have company” His mouth curls to a smile, watching to see if you bite back, a test.

“Not very good company, I was saving that bread for dinner.” You watch his face fall, and then you smile offering a light chuckle in return. “I merely jest, It might be odd. I feed them because I fear waking up in the night to a missing limb.” you smile back at him.

He scoffs “ You think that will stop them?”

Your smile fades at his darkened tone, “well, if it doesn't i hope they aim for the throat”

"And why would you want that, exactly?" he smirks, his eyes still fixed on yours.

“A quick and honourable death” you lean into your words, feeling your cracked lips brush against each other.

Aemond's smirk fades at your words, replaced by a colder, more calculating look. "There is nothing honourable about death by rodents." He says, his voice low and firm. "And it certainly wouldn't be quick."

Your eyes flicker downwards, grasping hair in your hands near the roots ,”Then i hope you would pity me and give me mercy” you run your hand down the expanse of your leg.

He studies you, face unreadable, the pleading in your eyes that fills him with a sense of power as if he didn't hold it already. “And you would want me to kill you?”

“That's what you've come to do isn't it?”

Aemonds jaw tightens in return, he pauses standing quickly, turning to the gates and then back at you. He takes a step closer. “ And if I were to say yes?”

“Then i would thank you, for a quick death would be better than withering away alone” your shoulder sag, head nodding in tandem as you speak.

He takes a step closer towards you. Piqued with interest at the hopelessness in your voice. He looks down on you, and then suddenly his hand reaches out to grab at your face, his palm is soft, softer than anything you've felt in months, and the pad on his thumb draws circles around your face, you sigh into his touch. Eyes closing at the soft nature he had presented. You find yourself tearing up in his hold and then suddenly you're breaking under his face. He brushes a tear from your face.

“Can't you see?” you splutter, “what you've made me” the sound of your voice is cracking and desperate. Your head tilts into his hand and then your own hand presses over his own, pressing the salty tears into your face. His eyes widened, he wasn't expecting such distraught sadness. Anger? Yes. Despair? Maybe. The feeling of discomfort sturs in his stomach. But he doesnt pull away, if anything his thumb starts to rub small circles on your cheek again. The tears pour and time passes quickly. He rises hand leaving your face. He turns to leave without a word, you stand hand grabbing at his arm, he tenses under your grip. He looks at you surprised.

Suddenly his hand flies through the air and smacks you in the face. Anger boiling within him, you clutch your cheek, falling to your knees. “Wait! Please, I've had no comfort here for so long, that I've begun to think I've gone mad just under your touch.”

His hand stings from the impact and he peers down at you, your breathing laboured and thin. He thinks about moving but he stays kneeling down to your level. Hesitation. His expression has softened. "Why would you want comfort from me?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly. "I am your captor, your enemy. I have caged you here like a bird. Why would you want me to touch you?"

The words roll off your lips like a plea,“Can't you see what you've done to me? You've driven me mad without saying a word”

“One moon has passed” His gaze flicks over you, taking in your pathetic, desperate form as you kneel on the cold stone floor. A mix of anger and something else - something he can't quite identify - flickers in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turns and steps out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

You sink down into the floor, eyes on the empty space he had left. The candle flickers. There's a grunt. It startles you from your thoughts of Aemond, “Miss?” it's rough, he’s from the north, maybe.

“Hm?” you mutter, eyes turning to the source of noise. You peer before you, just making out the figure of a man held captive, a man of a taller stature, covered in furs.

“You're involved with the wrong prince miss” He mutters, hand coming up to run through his curly hair and then there's another voice, quieter, older.

“Don't talk to her, he’ll have your tongue!” The gasps turn into a stumble of laughs and sputters and then a huge coughing fit. You watch as the man turns around from you in his cell, sitting on the cot. Your own hand presses over your mouth as you conceal a whimper. Eyebrow’s furrowing. You shake under your own palm. Your other hand runs through your hair, providing little comfort. Cheek still hot from where he slapped you. Cheek still hot from where his thumb rubbed against your skin as if you were a precious child.

You kneel in the corner that night and pray to the seven, pray he will come back, pray you won't die down here with the rats, from starvation. Pray your brother will be slain. Pray for salvation.

Act broken and get out.

You tuck your legs into your body and trace the cheek he held, You fall asleep. In the morning you braid your hair over and over again, letting not knots fall out, You use your water to rub your face from the dirt, you drop half the amount of bread on the floor this time, you don't pick at your nails or scratch at the surface, and then you wait, and sleep and wait and sleep and wait.

Act broken and get out.

And sleep. It tolls on your body like a heavy cloud, you dream of all sorts of things, slaughtering your brother yourself. Killing the king, Aemond on the throne, a burning of flesh and metal fused together under the hot sun. White hair soaked with blood, body impaled on spikes. And you awake, wash your face, eat the bread, pray to the seven, braid your hair, stroke the rats. Your nails grow back, skin now pink instead of the blackened blood that had dried there. You pace along the expanse of your cage, waiting to hear the roars from men begging for relief.

Act broken and get out.

You pace, pray in your corner, braid your hair, stroke the rats, tuck your legs up into a ball and trace the cheek he held.

Act broken and get out.

It happens when you least expect it just like last time, in the midst of prayer, head buried in the wall, hands clutched so deeply. the hinges had moved from your cell door so quickly. The screech had bled out like a scream, you had only thought there was another prisoner, another captive who had joined you in the under belly of the RedKeep. So when you had turned to pace along the little expanse you had and noticed the flash of white hair, your eyes had brightened up like a pup seeing its owner, heart leaping.

You smile “Aemond, your back.”

His jaw tightens, unsure of the happiness that displays across your face, it's cleaner now. And your hair doesn't look unkempt like last time, there’s something wrong, he can feel it deep within. It makes him uneasy.

Your head tilts, hair falling against your shoulder like riptides of waves. “Aemond?”

He doesn't respond, studying your face quietly, your smile not faltering, there's a beat,“yes?”

“Are you well?” your brows furrow in concern.

He seems taken aback by your question. He's not sure what he expected you to say. He blinks, "What do you mean, am I well?" its snarky, voice ringing against the walls of your cell.

“Sorry” you look at your feet, fiddling with your hands.

“Im fine”, He answers, voice flat.

“Good” you smile, hand’s smoothing against your dress as you sit on your straw cot. His eyes follow your hands. Hand reaching out beside you to signal him to sit down, he hesitates for a moment. Then he heads closer to you, finally perching himself on the floor next to you, his long legs against the wall.

Get out.

Your eyes perch on the cell door, it opens at a crack, the door to freedom. Aemond’s eyes follow your own and then suddenly you're grabbing at his face. Pulling it back to look at you. Both of your eyes widen, he looks angered. You're shocked at your own movements. Mouth gaping open and yet your hand stays laid across his cheek, you feel yourself heat at the movement. And then the weirdest thing happens. Aemonds hand lays across your own and his eye shuts. You feel the warmth of his cheek.

Moments pass, he lets go of your hand and instead of leaving, he grabs at your waist, tucking his head into your lap. His hands smooth over the material of your dress, you feel a sob rake through his body as he holds you in his arms. You are unsure of what to do, so you take to stroking his hair away from his face, his cries seem to stop simultaneously. You lean against the wall, his hands pulling you closer to his face. He clings to you like a child.

He lets go, and stands swinging the cell door behind him, disappearing into the shadows. The guard locks it.“It's been three weeks” you clench your jaw at the revelation, nearly two moons. You slam your hand against the wall, feeling the bones crack, and then you scream. It cuts through you like a knife, you wanna bash your head into the wall, you wanna feel Aemond’s bones crack, you want to make him feel crazy, drive him to the brink of insanity over and over until he feels dizzy with panic.

You bind your wrist quickly with material torn from your dress, keeping it elevated against the wall to avoid swelling. You're unsure if it's broken, you can still move your fingers slightly but the pain worsens as the hours go by.

You wake up. Drink water. Eat bread. Try to braid your hair, but fail. Scream into the wall. Pace the cell with your arm up in the air until you feel dizzy, and you wait and sleep and wait and sleep and wait and you're falling deeper and deeper into madness.

Get out.

Your hand traces the wall, noticing every single divot in the cracked interior. You say fuck it and move your cot, finding nothing. You put it back. You pace with your wrist held high. It’s started to bruise and swell. You could use some hot water to soak it, or something colder, you hold it against the wall. The swelling goes down, pain lightens up after a couple of days and you can stretch it out slightly, it's not broken. You thank the seven. You dream of pain beyond compare, stretching out over your body.

Get out.

You count the bricks, you count the strands of hair on your head. You pace, you pray, you sleep and wait. You push your head into the wall and scream. You finally braid your hair loosely behind your back and tie it with the piece of dress. You press your fingers into the divots your cheeks hold. You stand against the wall and scream until you can't speak, can't sing, can't scream.

Get out

Your head is pressed into the wall and you feel the presence behind you, it hasn't been that long, you don't think. Time passes oddly; sometimes you awake to three pieces of bread on your floor stacked up in the dirt, other times it feels like hours go past and the candle hasn't even melted. You don't turn, you face the wall, watching the water run through the structure, droplets racing each other, one gets held up in the moss, the other races past and then your hair is snatched backwards by its braid, your hands reaching out to your scalp, you haven't even heard the words muttered until Aemond is shouting at you. “Fucking look at me!” you're pulled down to your knees, head shoved into the ground by a boot. You lay limply staring into the wall, eyes flickering between the bricks.

GET OUT!

Your head is screaming at you, Do something, fucking do something.You hands scratch at the dirt, watching mud collect under your nails. Your cheek burns with pain. “Such a pretty little thing” he mutters, “and yet my brother wants nothing off you” your eyebrows furrow, his voice is more melodic than his usual soft, stoic tone, your eyes turn and you gaze up at the bright eyed targaryen, aegon.

You scurry to the corner, legs pressed against your chest. Not him, he promised, Not him.

“Aemond said~”you splutter.

Aegon’s hands land on his waist,“Well i'm the king” his head tilts to the side, and then you notice a bright light, red fire erupting throughout his body so suddenly, he stands unaffected as you cover your ears and scream at him, watching the fire spread quicker and quicker, flesh burning, the smell rancid. You close your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your face.

When you open them you're standing in the middle of the room. Blood pools in your hand, you touch your nose, wincing, turning to the wall, a spot of blood just lower than your head, Your eyebrows furrow. Metal fills your mouth. Your wrist is unbound, no bruising. You swallow back blood.

Wake ,Drink, Prey, Eat, Pace,Braid. Over and over and over and over.

Get out.

“Two weeks”

“Hm?” you look up, Aemond stands there near the cell door, eye patch on. Has he been there long? He looks at the guard, you touch your nose, is there blood there? You look at the wall. Nothing, you look at your wrist, Nothing. Your hair is braided down your back. You whimper, it catches his attention, he turns a look of care in his eyes.

“Are you still in there?”He whispers. The candle light shines behind him, he looks like a prophet of some kind of god, a religion you would fall into.

“Sorry?” you mutter, hands clutched towards your chest.

“You dont look like you've eaten much” he peers down at you, the dress appears to hang off your shoulder,his expression is unreadable. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your dishevelled, malnourished appearance.

“Aemond” you whisper, your voice crackles.

His face softens, hand reaching down to grab at your face you nearly flinch at the contact. He pauses, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Easy," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you."

“I'm confused” you shake your head.

“Can you stand?” low and gentle, you nod standing on your feet, you tremble against the wall and his hands reach out to catch you, pulling you into the heat of his body. “it's alright, i've got you” his hand smooths your hair against your back. You lean into his chest.

“Is this real?”

There's a pause, you await the obvious wait for his eyes to bleed and snarl about your insolence. But he nods his head slowly. The door to the cell opens, you hush out into the hallway, eyes darting around the room, rats scurry, you look at the cell across you, Empty.

He leads you up hallways, down corridors, up steps you reach a large oak door, the knight opens it. The bedroom is clean, orderly. Filled with bookshelves, the fire roars, you remember Aegon, the way his skin blistered under the heat,you look at Aemond. Eye intact. “Your brother is going to burn” you utter.

His eyebrows furrow, he looks at you like you've gone mad, he leads you into the room “Who told you that?”

“No one, i saw it when he visited me” you shake your head, suddenly you feel stuffy, you pull at your dress. it falls off with a thud.

“He didn't~” Aemond’s eyes widened and you followed his eyes. Looking down at your feet. It's a mangled and bruised mess wrapped in the same fabric from your dress, but that's not what he's looking at, your undergarments just cover your thigh, you lift them. It's like someone had whipped you from behind, rope burn wrapping around your thighs, you feel his hands on shoulders turning you, lifting your slip, there's a strangled breath.

“Who did this?” it's angered.

You shake your head, Did what? Did what! You lift the slip of your body, baring yourself, turning it in your hands, blood staining the back of it. “Am I dreaming again?” you look to Aemond.

“Let's get you to bed” he gestures to the bed you are near.

“I don't want to wake up there again”you shake your head, exasperated tears wrecking through your body like heavy waves, you clutch your face.

“You're not going too” he smiles, hand smoothing down at your arm, you feel yourself fall into his grip. Breathing in the scent of sandalwood, books, ash.

“Do you promise”

He nods his head. You slip into bed, eyes heavy, your back doesn't even hurt, you can't even feel it. You toss, and watch Aemond sit at the edge of the bed looking at you, the last time you had held him he had the same look, almost like pity.

You try to close your eyes, but all you can smell is the heavy moisture under the cold damp stone walls. You scratch at your hands, Aemond feels closer than before he reaches a hand out tentatively smoothing back your hair. “ I don't want to go back there,” you mutter.

“I know, i know”

You drift off, eyes aching, if this was a dream it was a nice one.

You feel heat on your face, there's the smell of something fresh like bread and then there's the weight that settles against your back, your eyes open afraid your face will be face to face with the dungeon walls, instead a bookcase, you try to turn but instead find yourself tangled in limbs, Aemond had tucked himself behind you his head nestled in the small your your back. You sigh, head perching on the pillow again, you grit your teeth and then look at your hands. Blood is spread all over them.

You think you need a bath.