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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

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* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.

She knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of metal on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, Princess."

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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mxltifxnd0m · 6 months

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ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Summary: It’s Halloween, and you do Anakin’s makeup

AU: Modern AU, College AU

Pairings: Anakin Skywalker x fem!Reader

Words: 1.5K

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Warnings: No use of y/n, mentions of smut, somewhat spicy, suggestive content, fluff, and foul language.

A/N: This was intended as a blurb, then it got out of hand and turned into a one-shot, but I had no clue how to end it. Also, my first fic for Anakin!

And as always, thank you to my lovely wife, @songofpatrochilless, for beta reading this 🫶

𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘬𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"Would you stop squirming? You're going to make me smudge something." You grumble as you shift in Anakin's lap, trying to fill in some of the spots on his neck with black face paint. His hands are planted firmly on your thighs as he sits back on the bed, shifting around each time the brush touches his neck.

"Sorry, I have a beautiful girl in my lap, and she's touching my neck,” Anakin says with a charming smirk as he looks up at you, his cobalt blue eyes even brighter with the black paint surrounding his eyelids.

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere, Skywalker," You say, rolling your eyes, a hint of a smile on your face. "Now shut up and stop squirming. I'm almost done, and then we can slick back your hair." He mimics your words silently, and you hold the paintbrush in your non-dominant hand to pinch Anakin's nipple in retaliation. He yelps slightly in pain and glares at you.

"That wasn't very nice." He pouts at you, the teeth you painted on him morphing around his mouth.

"You liked it, shut up." You hush Anakin and return to painting the finer details on his neck. As you work on his neck, you can feel his hands slowly moving up and down your thighs. You take the leftover black paint on the back of your hand and use it to fill in any part of his face that was painted partially black to make it more opaque.

You guys decided to go as Violet and Tate from American Horror Story for Halloween this year. You really wanted to see what Anakin would look like with Tate's skull makeup.

Anakin's eyes were closed, letting you finish painting his face. Once done, you sprayed some setting spray on his face and fanned it dry. You leaned forward to kiss his forehead and moved to get off his lap. He squeezed your thighs tighter before letting go.

"Can I look?" He gestures to the mirror on the back of his door.

"No! I have to do your hair, and you can get the grand reveal." You say with a teasing grin as you get off the bed to grab the bag you brought to Anakin's dorm room. He rolls his eyes but has a smile on his face as he sits up on his bed and stretches, the black shirt he was wearing rising, revealing the band of his Calvin Klein underwear and the trail of hair you love to see as you remove his shirt in the throes of passion you and Anakin have.

You grabbed a towel, black hair wax, gel, and fine-tooth comb from your bag and crawled onto the bed, this time behind Anakin. You place the comb on the bed beside you, wrap the towel around his shoulders, open the jar of black hair wax you bought recently, and put some on your fingertips. You only put the black in the roots to mimic Tate's hair in the show. You massaged it into his scalp and saw Anakin relax at your movemments. After finishing the black hair wax, you wipe your hands on the towel to remove the pigment.

Then, you open the cap to the hair gel and scoop a generous amount into your hand. You warm it up between your hands and rake it through Anakin's dirty blonde hair, which still had bright blonde streaks from the summer you spent together on the beach. His hair was the perfect length for the costume he was wearing. After spreading the gel through his hair, you took the comb and started to slick back his hair. It took a little while for him to begin to resemble Tate. Once you were done, you got up from the bed and stood in front of Anakin.

You left a little piece of hair in the front and twirled it around your finger to make it curly with some of the gel that was left on your hands. You bit your lip as your eyes raked over Anakin. He looked so similar to the reference photos of Tate in his skull makeup. The only difference was that his eyes stood out compared to Tate's brown ones. You smiled at your handy work and clapped your hands together excitedly.

"Ani! You look so good!" You exclaimed.

He smiled at your excitement, "Thank you, angel, but it was all your hard work." He began to lean forward to kiss your forehead, but you swerved and stepped back.

"Nope, no kisses yet, Anakin," You tease him. "I need to get ready, and we need to take pictures together."

"Then I can kiss you?" He says exasperatedly.

"Yes, then you can kiss me." You laugh at his expression, his pout making him look less intimidating in the skull makeup.

You're glad that Violet's look was more straightforward. Trying to match an outfit she wore in the series took some time, but you managed to thrift most of her outfit. You bought a burnt orange cardigan, a short floral sundress, and a black wide-brim hat. You already had some tights and debated between your black Doc Martens and black thigh boots. You ended up choosing the thigh-high boots because you knew Anakin loved them.

Anakin was lying against the wall on his bed, his feet hanging off it and scrolling on his phone. As you took off (his) your shirt, your chest was bare since you didn't like wearing bras when wearing baggy shirts. You bent over to grab the bra you left when you spent the night with Anakin when his roommate was out. You heard the camera shutter sound come from his phone, and your head snapped over to Anakin. A cheeky smile was plastered on his face as he put down his phone and put his hands behind his head.

"Oh, don't stop on my account." He said smugly.

You give him an unamused look and turn around so your bare back is facing him, and he lets out a noise of protest, and a smile breaks out on your face at the noise. You quickly got dressed and put on jewelry and simple makeup. The finishing touch was the hat. You smiled to yourself and turned around to face Anakin. He smiled, got up from the bed, and stood before you.

"You look beautiful, angel." He says softly as his eyes roam your figure.

"And you look so attractive right now, Ani." You say.

He smirks, "You have a thing for a school shooter that is tied to the house he died in as a ghost?"

You tilt your head, contemplating, "When you put it like that. No, I don't, but Evan Peters is hot, so it balances it out." You shrug. He opens his mouth to reply, but you grab his wrist and pull him to the mirror on his door before he can.

"Okay, now you can look at what you look like." He studies himself before turning around and kissing your forehead quickly before you can protest.

"I look great. Thank you for doing it for me." He says gratefully. You grin at his words.

"No problem, pretty boy. Now, time for pictures!" You quickly grab your phone and take pictures of Anakin and vice versa. You guys take individual pictures before taking some together. Once you guys are done, you begin to look through them, picking your favorites.

Before you can delete the images you didn't like, Anakin grabs your phone and tosses it on his bed. He grabs your waist and pulls you against him. You yelp in surprise but wrap your hands around his neck to steady yourself.

"I believe I was promised a kiss after we took photos." He said with an expectant look on his face. You roll your eyes at him but oblige and give him a peck on his lips. But as you begin to pull away, one of his hands leaves your waist and cups your face to deepen the kiss. You make a noise of protest, but as he swipes his tongue at the seam of your lips, you melt into the kiss.

Before the kiss becomes any more heated, you pull away from Anakin.

"Anakin!" You admonish as you check his makeup. It stayed in place, luckily. He leans in again to kiss you, but you put a hand on his chest.

"Anakin, no. You're gonna ruin your makeup, and we have to get going soon."

He rolls his eyes, "Fine, but you owe me at least a makeout session after the party." He relents. You chuckle at his demand and turn your head to kiss his palm that is still on your cheek.

"After the party, we can do more than just a makeout, okay?" You say suggestively.

He smirks, "You just want to fuck me in the skull makeup, don't you."

You smile at him, "Maybe." You unwind your arms from his neck and clap your hands together.

"Let's get going before Padme has our heads for being late." You said with a grimace. The thought of an angry Padme didn't settle well in your mind.