Obsessive!Aemond who won’t stop until he gets you, even when he’s ill.
“The tea, Your Grace.” Your voice came out quieter than intended as you carefully lowered the silver tray onto the carved table beside his bed. The porcelain cup rattled softly against its saucer. You felt it before you dared acknowledge it.
His gaze.
It clung to every movement you made, following the brush of your fingers as you straightened the tray, the rise and fall of your breathing, the nervous way you smoothed your skirts. Even bedridden with fever, Prince Aemond watched you like a starving creature denied its meal.
"Stay." The single word rooted you to the spot. "I'd like to see you beneath the candlelight."
Heat bloomed across your face. "Forgive me, Your Grace," you answered, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I must retrieve the rest of your medicine before you retire." You turned before your resolve could fail.
Two steps. Three. Then came the rustle of heavy blankets. Footsteps. Despite the fever that had confined him to bed for two days, they were predatory. The hairs along your neck rose. You barely had time to turn before he was upon you.
A chair scraped violently across the stone floor, sent skidding aside beneath the force of his foot. You startled with a sharp breath as his hand caught your wrist, guiding, then pinning you against the cold wall of his chambers. The candle above you flickered. A single bead of molten wax slid down its side. It landed against the bare skin near your collarbone and you hissed.
His visible eye darkened. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his gaze followed the tiny droplet cooling against your skin, as though nothing else in the room existed. "Poor thing," he murmured.
His thumb tilted your chin upward, you had no choice but to meet his eye. Even sick, he was beautiful. Even sick, he was terrifying. His forehead glistened faintly with fever, loose strands of silver hair clinging to damp skin, yet none of it softened him. If anything, the illness only sharpened the hunger behind his gaze. It made him seem less like a prince and more like a dragon denied flight.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth pouring from him swallowed the chill of the stone at your back. His breath ghosted against your ear, hot from fever. "You flee," he whispered, his voice rough and low. "Every day you flee."
His fingers loosened around your wrist only to brush lightly over the pulse there, where your heartbeat betrayed you. "And yet," his lips curved into the faintest smile, "you always come back."
His thumb traced beneath your jaw with unbearable slowness before he leaned closer still, until there was scarcely enough space to breathe between you. "Do you have any idea," he murmured, his voice dropping to little more than a rumble, "what you do to me, ñuha genesītos?"
She stumbled back as Aemond took a step towards her.
“What th-” She stuttered, confused. “Why are you here?” She hissed.
“You love to forget that you’re my wife, uh?” Aemond asked, taking another step forward, grabbing two glasses of wine from the table, giving her one. “Let’s toast to our sweet reunion.” Aemond said, his voice sounded teasing but his expression was cold. “And to my dear friend James, who made it happen.”
The glass almost fell from her hand, her chest, her heart, clenched, like she had been shot or stabbed,
Betrayal.
Deep, painful, shattering betrayal.
She had been played.
“What?” She mumbled, her voice weak as she stared at him. “James…” She shook her head, stepping back as her eyes filled with tears. “No.”
“Yes.” Aemond took a step forward at every step she took backwards. “Did you really think I’d let another man fuck you? Kiss you?”
Is that why James didn’t kiss her?
Because of him?
He scoffed as he put down the glass, and snatched hers from her hand.
No.
So it was all planned? James asked her out just to make sure she wouldn’t have messed with another man?
“What is it?” Aemond smiled cruelly as he moved his hand towards her face, his fingertips grazing her cheek. “Got a little crush for him? Maybe because he brought you out to that restaurant that I chose?” He smirked. “I liked that dress.” He leaned closer.
God, it was so humiliating.
“Fuck you.” She hissed, baring her teeth.
He was there. Watching them.
She had never been free. He only let her have the illusion.
“You are the most hateful, fucking piece of shit I’ve ever known–”
His hand wrapped around her neck in record time, squeezing tightly and making her choke before she could even finish spitting her insults.
“Careful what you say to your husband, wife.” Aemond growled. “I’m showing you a generous amount of patience and control, letting you have your stupid vacation after you wrecked my room, and ran with my money.” He squeezed her throat tighter, cutting off her air.
She let out a choked groan, her hands wrapping around his wrist and arm, moving frantically, trying to unwrap his hand from her neck and push him away.
“I told you I’d chase you, didn’t I?” He growled in her ear.
“You said a lot of things that you clearly didn’t mean–” She said with the little breath she had.
Aemond laughed at her, releasing her neck just when her face was getting a deeper shade of red.
She fell down on her knees, coughing and gasping for hair.
“Like what?” He hissed as he crouched down to be at her level. “What made you run so far from me, uh?”
As she looked up at him, she clearly saw fury in his eye. But not only that.
There was also… disappointment.
Despite her better judgment, that got to her, but she didn’t let it deter her.
“You’re a shitty husband.” She hissed the moment she could speak again, even if her voice was still rough from the choking. “Did you have fun with Floris while I was away?” She couldn’t stop herself now. “Did you invite her over for dinner like you wanted to? Let her warm your cock? Did you laugh at how stupid your wife was for believing you cared about her?!” Her voice kept rising. “You fucking disgust me.” She hissed as she leaned closer to his face. “You use people, you used me.” She clenched her jaw as she looked at his face getting redder. “You treated me like shit, like I was some fucking sex doll for your own plasure!” She yelled.
His jaw looked like it might break any moment from how set it was.
“Don’t talk like you didn’t fucking come like a wanton whore on my cock every time I shoved it inside you.” He snarled. He stood back up, looming over her. “So all this theatre was all because you’re jealous?” He scoffed. “Dumb bitch.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her up on her feet. “How many times will I have to tell you that I’m not fucking Floris, and that I don’t plan to even sniff that cunt, uh?” He shoved her to the side, making her stumble in what she recognised as the living room. “I don’t want to fuck her. I want to fuck you. As many times as I physically can.”
She hated how his words made her body burn, and her cunt wet.
“So what?” She growled. “You humiliated me in front of her, making it very clear that you don’t give a shit about me!” She yelled. “I’m done being a fucking sex toy!” She punched his chest, but he didn’t even budge. “Why do you even want to stay in this marriage?! What the fuck do you care if I fuck someone else or if I run?!” She pushed him. “Is it all about fucking possession to you?” She looked up at him, shaking in anger. “Then fucking divorce me and find youself someone that is willing to be just a furniture in your house, because I’ll never, ever settle to that!” She screamed.
Aemond grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, hard.
“Shut. Up.” He snarled. “Just shut the fuck up. Stop acting like you figured me out, because you clearly didn’t.”
His mouth crushed on her without a warning, stealing her breath away.
The kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn't kind, it was a pure fight of control.
It was like he was trying to fuse his tongue in her mouth.
“Keep fighting back.” He growled against her lips. “But don’t run away. I swear, I’ll put a tracker inside you if I have to.” His single eye looked down at her with an intensity that made her legs feel like jelly. “If I didn't care about you, I wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way here to come and get you.” He hissed.
“Don’t mess with my head.” She wanted it to sound like a warning, but it came out like a plea.
He looked down at her in silence, studying her face.
“What do you want?” He asked her. He kept her head leaned back so she couldn’t look away, his other hand covering the side of her neck and jaw.
“I want to be free.” She stated, desperately.
His hand pressed harder against her face and he kissed her again. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against her, forcing her to lean back her head as he pushed against it.
“Not possible.” He whispered against her lips. “You’re mine. My wife. My woman.”
“Oh, go to hell.” She hissed. “You never treated me like one.” This time she pushed against his forehead.
“Do I disgust you, wife?” He asked as his hand gripped her hips, making her step backwards until her back hit the wall. He slid a hand between her legs, finding without hesitation her panties. “Then why are you wet?” He growled as he moved his finger, teasing and caressing her slit through her panties.
She bit her lip hard to not moan.
“Because I came here thinking James would fuck me –” She growled back. Aemond’s free hand quickly moved to her jaw, squeezing her cheeks tightly as he pushed her head back, making her hit the wall.
She hissed at the pain, and glared at Aemond with all the hate in her body.
“Fucking cunt.” He growled. His fingers pushed her panties to the side, and dove in between her lower lips, circling her entrance, but never touching her clit or entering her. “You think you want to be free? Or be with a man like James?” He scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. That’s not what you want.”
She glared up at him, her hips trying to follow his fingers for some stimulation, some pleasure, but he always pulled them away.
“What do I want, since you think you know me so well?” She hissed.
“You want someone to tell you that you did good.” His finger slipped inside her, two, bottoming out to the knuckle.
She moaned and leaned her head back, her hips bucking, but his fingers remained still inside her, unmoving.
“You want people to be proud of you. You need acceptance, validation, acknowledgement.”
She was breathless.
She felt naked, exposed, and embarrassed.
Was she so simple to read? Was it that pathetic that she simply wanted someone to notice her and be enough as she was?
“I fucking hate you-“ She gasped and cried loudly as he started to move his fingers suddenly, rubbing inside her roughly, fast, his bicep flexing with how hard he was moving his hand.
“Yeah, I’ve made myself quite hatable.” He braced his arm on the wall beside her head, his hand moved on the top of her head, his thumb caressing her forehead. “I wanted you to hate me, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.” He hissed, his nose an inch from hers. “But you were driving me absolutely crazy. Sneaking out, doing whatever you wanted, talking to me.” He groaned, as if those memories were still frustrating him. “Then…” He scoffed. “Then you started talking back to me. The fucking nerve.” He growled, actually baring his upped teeth. “I hated it so much. And I hated how it got me hard every. Fucking. Time.”
She cried loudly, panting heavily as she grasped the arm of the hand between her legs like her life depended on it.
He had fucked her fast, hard, and rough, but this, this was beyond whatever he did to her before.
This was on another level.
“Stop-“ Her knees buckled, the pleasure so intense it was starting to make her head dizzy.
“You don’t want me to stop.” He replied immediately, as if he expected her resistance. “You want me to keep going. You want to feel good.” He leaned closer, moving his lips to her ear, his nose pressing against her temple. “I want to make you feel good.” He whispered. “Because if I have learned something from this fucked up play I put on for you…” He turned so his forehead was pressed against hers and he could look at her. “Is that I hate you by someone else’s side. And apparently, I care for you more than I’ve let myself know.”
Her eyes snapped open and met his.
She almost felt suffocating under his gaze.
His pupil was so widened she could barely see the colour of his eye, and her reflection looked like it was falling into a black hole, sucked into darkness.
It felt oddly addictive.
“Come.” His order was the last straw.
With a loud cry, she came harder than she ever had, and her legs failed to keep her standing.
She crumbled on the floor, but didn’t hit hard because Aemond held her and accompanied her down.
She sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her face in it.
She must have looked so pathetic.
“I fucking hate you —“ She sobbed. “I hate you so much-“
“Keep hating me then.” He interrupted her, his voice calm. “But I’m taking you home with me.” He grabbed her ankle and tugged her towards him, forcing her to open her ball form and look up at him. “You’re not leaving me again. Fight me all you want, but from now on, you’ll only sleep on my bed. You’ll stay in my home. And you’ll fucking act like my wife. Because you are.” He tugged again at her uncle until she found herself on his lap. “And you’ll never be able to strip yourself of that title. I won’t let you.”
{Request: Can I request a one shot older aemond and younger reader where reader father forces her to marry him and she didn't liked it a bit so she always tries to make him mad by pissing him off or by making him jealous Aemond tried to control his anger but He couldn't after he Caught her kissing a guy Then he punished her}
She never wanted this marriage. It wasn’t like she had a choice. Her father saw it as some grand opportunity, a way to bind their house to the Targaryens, like that would magically fix everything. As if marrying her off to Aemond, Aemond Targaryen, no less, was supposed to make her grateful.
But her father didn’t care. He hadn’t even bothered to ask how she felt about it. He’d simply handed her over like a prize, expecting her to smile and bow to Aemond, as if she owed him her devotion. Aemond. The man barely spoke. Half the time, it was like she didn’t even exist to him. Cold, stiff, and always so composed. She swore she could scream in his face and he’d just stare right through her with those sharp, calculating eyes, silently judging her.
She’d tried to make an effort. Tried talking to him, initiating conversations, anything to break through that icy exterior. But every time, he brushed her off, answering in clipped, controlled words, distant as ever. She wasn’t some ornament, some pretty little thing to be kept out of sight and out of mind. Yet every attempt to get his attention felt like hitting a stone wall.
Fine.
If he wanted to ignore her, she would ignore him right back.
It wasn’t as if he cared about this marriage either. He didn’t even bother to pretend. He was always locked away in his study, working, gods, always working, while she was left waiting like some foolish girl. Waiting for what? A few disinterested words over dinner? A fleeting glance in the hallway? The truth was, she wanted to hate him, and he made it so incredibly easy by acting as though she didn’t exist.
‘I don’t get it. You have his money, he doesn’t want to be with you. Why are you still at home? Come with me to dance tonight!’ her friend had said.
And she couldn’t argue. Why should she stay? Why pretend to care about her marriage when Aemond couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge her presence? So, here she was, sneaking out of the grand house like some rebellious child, holding her heels in her hand to avoid making noise. She was going to dance. Maybe drink. Maybe flirt with someone just to feel alive, to remind herself that she still had choices, no matter how reckless they might be.
She made it to the door, her heart racing with the thrill of defiance, but as her hand brushed the handle, a voice as cold and sharp as a blade cut through the silence.
"Again?" He raised his eyebrow at her as he stood a few steps from her, unimpressed and unamused.
Her heart stopped, her fingers freezing on the door handle. Slowly, she turned around to face him, and there he was, Aemond, standing a few steps away. His eye was fixed on her, unimpressed, his expression cold and unamused. He stood tall, regal, his arms crossed over his chest, and though his voice had been calm, there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Her pulse quickened, not just from fear, but from the sheer audacity of his tone. As if she were the one acting out of line. As if he had any right to question her after months of barely speaking, after ignoring her for so long.
“You don’t care where I go." She shot back, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “Why should it matter to you what I do?”
Aemond’s expression didn’t change. His gaze swept over her, taking in her dress, her shoes still clutched in her hand, the rebellious fire in her eyes. He took a step closer, and despite herself, she instinctively backed up, her shoulder brushing against the door.
“It matters." He said, his voice low, controlled, and dangerous. “Because you are my wife.”
The way he said it, like it was a fact she couldn’t argue with, only fueled the frustration burning inside her. His wife. His. As if the mere title gave him ownership over her, when he hadn’t so much as shown her an ounce of affection since the day they were wed.
She shook her head with a bitter smile on her face, and after that, she walked out, running barefit to her friend's car at the end of the driveway of the house.
For the first time in what felt like ages, she let herself breathe. The wind from the open window tangled her hair, and the thought of dancing, laughing, and forgetting everything about Aemond, about her father’s plans, about the endless silence, lit a fire of excitement in her chest. She wasn’t a prize to be won, and tonight she’d prove that. She’d reclaim her choices, even if just for a few hours.
The club was a blur of neon lights, pounding music, and bodies moving in time to the heavy bass. She and her friend weaved through the crowd, making their way to the bar, where she ordered a drink, something strong, to dull the lingering bitterness that clung to her like a shadow.
"You go girl." Her friend laughed, handing her the glass. "Let's have some fun."
She smiled, but the triumph she’d expected didn’t come. Instead, Aemond’s cold, dispassionate face flashed through her mind, his voice, that same calm authority in his words, as though he had any right to dictate her life. It grated at her, the memory of him standing there, unimpressed by her rebellion, almost daring her to leave.
But she had left. She was here, wasn’t she? Surrounded by people, music, life. She downed her drink and ordered another.
For a while, it worked. She let the music sweep her up, moving to the rhythm, letting her body loosen, the alcohol sending a warm buzz through her limbs. A stranger approached, smiling, and she found herself flirting, feeling the rush of attention, the thrill of being seen. The stranger's hand rested lightly on her waist, guiding her as they danced, and for a brief moment, she felt like she’d regained control of her life.
She leaned into the stranger, her body moving effortlessly in sync with his. The alcohol had dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, and in this moment, she craved nothing more than to lose herself, to forget the weight of her marriage, the coldness of Aemond’s gaze, the suffocating expectations. She didn’t want to think anymore; she just wanted to feel.
The stranger’s hand slid up her arm, his touch warm against her skin, pulling her closer. Her heart raced, not with affection, but with rebellion, an act of defiance against the life she had been thrust into. His face was inches from hers, and without thinking, without pausing to consider the consequences, she closed the distance between them and kissed him.
The man immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, his hands slowly darting out to her lower back as he pushed his tongue in her mouth, kissing her quickly, harshly.
She closed her eyes shut, trying to forget everything about her life and just focus on the kiss, on the man in front of her, his hands that moved to her butt, grabbing a handful of her skin and squeezing it.
The man pulled away from her lips and started to kiss her neck, she opened her eyes to look down at him, then, she made the biggest mistake.
She raised her gaze in front of her and she saw him.
Her husband.
Staring right back at her, right behind the stranger that was touching her body and kissing her neck.
Basing on Aemond’s look, he was not happy about that.
She didn’t dare to pull the man away.
It was like a silent battle between her and her husband, where he was silently ordering her to leave the man, and she was showing him just how much she didn’t care about his orders.
Aemond took a step closer, standing right behind the man that kept touching her body and sucking the skin of her neck, pulling her closer against his chest as he slowly started to grind his hips against hers, trying to look like he was simply dancing.
She simply placed her hands on the man's shoulders, and that’s when Aemond smirked.
That took her off guard,she couldn’t understand why he was smirking, but then he looked down at the ring on her finger.
Her wedding ring.
She smirked right back, and without tearing her eyes off Aemond, she leaned towards the stranger's ear.
“I’m married…” She whispered, trying to sound sexual, and she bit her lip. She saw with the corner of her eyes the man’s head snap up, then a grin forming on his face.
“So young?” He asked with a hint of surprise.
That’s when she looked away from Aemond, to the man in front of her.
“Yeah… But my husband is older, and he doesn't know how to take care of me…” She said, pretending to be sad and frustrated. The man raised his eyebrows and looked at her with a wide smirk.
“Oh, don’t worry, baby.” He squeezed her butt again, pulling her against him. “I can.” He chuckled and kissed her again, unaware that her husband was watching them, and he felt ready to kill that guy.
Then, in a second, the man wasn’t on her anymore, but on the floor, with Aemond’s foot pressed against his chest.
She saw him lean down and say something to the man, but due to the loud musing, she couldn’t hear a word.
Aemond turned and glared at her his nostrils wide open as he panted in fury, he stepped back from the man and grabbed her wrist, dragging her behind him as he strode out of the club.
Without much elegance, he threw her in the car, not so elegantly and slammed the door right after.
She pressed her lips together as she looked at him, walking around the car to get in the driver seat.
“Disrespect me like this-” He growled as he turned on the engine. “Act like a damn whore , “ He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “Cheat-“
“Cheat?” She repeated, her voice trembling, betraying herself when she tried to sound strong. “We’re not a couple.”
Aemond took a deep breath as he sped up the car, his hands gripping tightly the steering wheel.
“Shut up. Shut. Up.” He growled, his tone of voice suggesting her to follow his order.
She looked out of the window and sank in the seat, spending the rest of the ride silent.
The rest of the car ride was tense and suffocating. The only sound was the engine's roar, and the tension crackling between them like a fire ready to burst. She kept her gaze fixed on the blur of the passing city, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to shield herself from the storm brewing next to her.
Aemond’s grip on the steering wheel was so tight, his knuckles turned white. His eye was trained on the road, but the energy radiating from him was unmistakable, anger, frustration, something darker she couldn’t quite name. The car cut through the city streets with reckless speed, and for a moment, she wondered if he even cared where they were going or if he was just trying to burn off his fury.
They arrived back at the house far quicker than she expected. Aemond barely parked the car before he was out of it, slamming the door with enough force to make her jump. She hesitated, but only for a moment, before following suit, the click of her heels echoing on the pavement as she stepped out. The front door was already open, Aemond standing inside, waiting for her.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her. The sound reverberated through the grand hall, making her stomach drop. She turned to face him, heart pounding, unsure of what would come next. His single eye was fixed on her, blazing with barely restrained fury, but beneath it was something else, something more dangerous, possession.
“You think you can humiliate me like that?” His voice was low, the words dripping with anger.
She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to back down. "Humiliate you? You've ignored me for months, Aemond. You don’t get to act like you care now. You made it very clear from the beginning that I mean nothing to you."
Aemond’s jaw tightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’re my wife." He said again, as if that explained everything. His voice was cold, but there was an edge of desperation beneath it.
She swallowed, trying to hold his gaze without flinching. “Your wife?!" She snapped, her voice rising. “Being ignored, pretending we’re something we’re not, this is our marriage. You don’t even care about me, Aemond. You’ve made that very clear.”
Aemond’s eye darkened. “You think I don’t care?”
“You don’t!" She shot back, her frustration bubbling over. “You never speak to me, you never acknowledge me. You’re always locked away, and I’m left here, waiting for... what? For you to remember that I even exist? You never have, not once!”
He took a step closer, his posture tense, coiled like a predator. “You think that justifies what you did tonight? Throwing yourself at some stranger like a common-”
“Don’t you dare!" She cut him off, her voice sharp. “Don’t you dare make this about my behavior when you’re the one who’s treated me like nothing more than an accessory. You don’t get to be angry, Aemond, not when you’ve given me nothing to work with.”
Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flaring. His chest heaved as he struggled to contain whatever storm was raging inside him.
“I’ve given you everything." He said, his voice barely above a whisper, though the weight of it hung heavy in the air. “Everything I have, you have. My name. My house. My loyalty.”
“Your loyalty?” She let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t even look at me.”
His eye flickered with anger. “I’ve been patient." He snarled, his voice laced with cold control. “I’ve kept my distance because I didn’t want to force you into something you clearly weren’t ready for. But make no mistake, wife, you belong to me. No matter how much you hate me, or I hate you. No matter what we feel, we are married.”
Aemond stepped closer, towering over her. “I’ve allowed you your space, your defiance, even your rebellion tonight. But no more. This ends now.”
She swallowed hard, her pulse racing. “And what if I don’t agree?" She challenged, though her voice faltered at the end.
Aemond’s smirk returned, dark and dangerous. “You will." He said, his voice as smooth as silk, “Because I won’t give you a choice.”
“Aemond -” She began, but her words were cut off as he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You are mine." He whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “And I am yours, whether you like it or not.” He paused as he looked at her face. “This marriage is real." Aemond said, his voice rough. “You don’t get to run from it. You don’t get to run from me.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “And what if I still want to?" She whispered. He immediately wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing lightly.
“Then I’ll chase you." He growled. “And you won’t escape.”
Her breath caught at his words, at the possessiveness in them. His eye bore into her, and she felt a sudden anger warming her chest.
She knew that no matter how much she ran, this was her life.
And she couldn't do anything to change it.
“I hate you.” She hissed, her voice filled with venom.
She saw it in his eye, a spark of lust at her words. Her breath got caught in her throat as she looked up at him.
He liked it. It turned him on.
In a swift motion, he closed the distance between them, his hand squeezing her neck. The sudden lack of air sent a jolt through her even if it was for a brief moment. His touch was cruel, it was possessive, commanding.
Before she could react, his lips crashed down on hers, fierce and unrelenting. It wasn’t a kiss of affection; it was a claim, a reminder of the bond they shared, a bond she had tried to forget but could no longer deny.
She wanted to resist, wanted to push him away, but something inside her cracked, the wall she had built around her heart splintering under the force of his kiss. She kissed him back, not out of love or affection, but out of the same defiance that had driven her to the club in the first place.
When he finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads nearly touching. His eye searched hers, his chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling his emotions.
“Run away again, and when I find you, I’ll tie you to my bed.” He growled as he pressed his forehead against hers.
“If I run away again, I’ll make sure you’ll never find me again.” She hissed right back. Aemond groaned and pulled her by her neck closer, his lips slamming against hers again, kissing with all the anger he had inside, all the desire and frustration he grew over the marriage.
“Keep fighting back.” He hissed in her ear. “It only gets me going.” She could feel the smirk against her ear, his amusement, his challenge.
She placed her hands on his chest and forcefully pushed him away, but he only let out a low grunt, taking a small step back. He looked down at her with an amused smirk, and moved his hand behind her neck, pushing her forward and slamming her face against the wall, his body pressing hers from behind.
“Try again.” He growled. She could hear him trying to unbuckle his belt, and she waited until he shifted his attention to his pants to throw herself back to get him off of her and run upstairs.
She managed to take four steps before he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him, wrapping his arms around her from behind, one around her middle, the other arm clenching around her throat.
She gritted her teeth as she wrapped her hands around his arm.
“Fuck you-” She managed to say before he bent more his arm to cut her off. He moved his other hand to raise her dress over her legs and ass, leaving her in underwear.
He thrusted his hips forward against her, and her breath got caught in her throat as she felt his big hard cock rubbing against her ass.
He chuckled at her gasp, he kept her close to him by the grip around her neck as he lowered his boxers.
“Do you think you can take it?” He pressed the side of his head against hers. “I know you can't see it, wife, but I assure you, it’s big.” He pressed a hand on her stomach to make her feel it again, and she had to bite back a moan, just at the idea of his big cock filling her so good.
“I’ve had better, husband.” She smirked as she dug her nails in his arm, that was still tightly around her neck. He growled in her ear as his hand on her stomach moved lower, until it found her core.
Without much teasing he slipped two fingers inside and chuckled.
“That’s why you’re so wet?” He started moving his fingers inside her with a fast pace, roughly, making her legs tremble as she tried to close them for too much pleasure so suddenly, in such a short time.
“No, kissing that guy at the club did it-” She choked as he bent further his arm.
Truth was, Aemond was fucking hot when he was angry.
And she was enjoying this game perhaps too much.
She groaned as she tried to close her legs, Aemond pulled his hand away and slapped her butt.
“You’re so wet I won’t even have to properly prepare you, I guess I’ll thank that guy, for wetting my wife for me-” He said in a low growl, then he pressed his forehead against her temple and growled in her ear. “I will spread your walls on my cock-” He moved his hand between their bodies, grabbing his cock and giving it a few pumps before pressing the head against her entrance. “Until you’ll be begging me to stop.” He thrusted his hips forward, making his cock slam inside her, placing a hand on her stomach to keep her still.
“Oh my God – “ Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she moaned loudly, her back arching, her buttcheeks pressing against him as he filled her to the bring, to a point no one has ever reached before.
“You feel it, don’t you?” He chuckled darkly in her ear as he moved back, pulling out almost to the end before slamming inside once again, settling the whole glorious length inside her warm folds.
She sobbed as she got filled again, she could feel him everywhere, rubbing every spot inside her, throbbing against her wet walls.
He started thrusting slowly, but hard, making her jolt forward every time he settled back inside her,
“Not so talkative anymore, uh?” He chuckled as he started to pick up the pace, his hand on her stomach pressing harder. “I know you feel me.” He whispered as he felt a slight bulge against his hand every time he thrusted back. “Even I can feel me.”
“F-fuck you-” She breathed out, her eyes closed as she tried to focus on pleasure and not at the slight discomfort of having something that big inside her. “I hate your small dick just as much as I hate you.” She grunted, trying to sound believable, but the laugh she heard from him let her know that she failed miserably.
“Small dick? Is that all you can do?”
He smiled and moved his hand lower, back between her legs, his fingers quickly found her clit and started rubbing it quickly. She arched her back violently as she bent her legs, crying out and trying to close her legs to stop his hand, Aemond’s arm around her neck was the only thing keeping her on her feet, her legs slowly starting to turn jelly as he kept with his merciless pounds, always harder.
The only sound filling the room was his grunts and her pants, along with the sticky wet sounds on his cock as it slipped in and out of her, his balls hitting her ass every time he filled again.
His tip caressed her sweet spot every time it rubbed its way inside, then it hit another spot she didn’t know she had, way deeper, sending shivers of pleasure through her. In addition his fingers never stopped stimulating her clit, bringing her edge dangerously close.
“For fucks sake, you’re leaking-“ He grunted as he kept thrusting inside her with a punishing pace.
She moaned and tilted her head back, her mouth agape, she felt unable to properly think of a sentence or an insult, anything.
She was completely out because of his husband's long, thick, wonderful cock.
Aemond looked down at her, finding her eyes lost in pleasure, her dumbfolded expression as he fucked her raw was almost too much for him.
Almost.
He suddenly picked up a faster pace, hugging her chest with his free arm as he slammed harder against her, making her let out sounds he had never heard before.
“I know you want to come.” He growled in her ear. “Because you love this dick.” He smiled as she head a particularly loud moan, then her walls started to squeeze him inside, massaging his cock tightly, asking him to never leave that wet heat he was enveloped in.
“There, baby. Come.” He moaned as he choked her a bit more, and his words seemed to be enough for her.
Her whole body shook violently against his, and she would have fallen over if he wouldn’t have been keeping her up.
He moaned loudly as she tightened even more that he expected, and with a low growl, he slammed his cock as deep as it could go, staying there and enjoying every little squeeze she gave him.
He moved only when she calmed down. He pulled out and pushed her towards the back of the couch, making her bend over it.
“What? Get off me! I can’t-“ She gasped and stopped herself when he smacked her bottom, hard enough to leave a red print of his hand.
“What did I say?” He said as he pushed right back into her, making her arch her back immediately and stood up. He pushed right back on the couch, keeping her firm with a hand on the back of her neck. “You’ll be begging me to stop.”
He quickly started to pound into her again, looking down at his cock getting wetter by the second, as it disappeared in her folds.
“Fuck! Ah — Aemond-“ She moaned as she tried to hold on to everything she could find.
“Yes? What is it?” He chuckled darkly, waiting for her pleas.
She groaned loudly and squeezed the cushions of the couch in her hands, wanting to beg him to stop and let her rest, but too stubborn to actually do it.
“Fuck you!” She shouted, but that only spurred him more. He slapped her butt again, the he grabbed a handful, pressing her cheeks apart so he had a clearer view of what he was doing to her.
He started to feel his orgasm reaching, but he wanted to make her come again first.
“Look at you -“ He panted. “Here I thought you were so rebellious, but it took me only a night to make you bend over for me.” He laughed. She could feel her cheeks burn hot with anger and embarrassment at his words.
He felt her clench around him, and with a low grunt, he started to slam in her harder, deeper.
“I’ll make sure every night, every day, that you won’t be able to use your pretty legs to run off again.” He snarled.
She moaned as she felt the couch starting to squeak under her, the force of his movements was breaking the damn couch.
“Christ — Aemond- Wait-“ She mumbled as she panted.
“Keep begging.” He smiled. “I like that.”
“The couch —“ She gasped. “It’s breaking -“
“I don’t care about the fucking couch. I’ll buy one where I can fuck you as hard as I want.” He growled, his pace never relenting. “Now come again.”
He threw his head back, trying to hold back his orgasm, waiting for her to come, and basing on how her walls were squeezing him, she was right there.
“Fuck!” She moaned loudly as she came again, waves of pleasure ran through her body, stronger than before, taking her breath from her.
“Yes — Fuck — I’m gonna come —“ He moaned, his pace quickening. “I’m gonna come inside you, wife -“ He panted loudly as he slammed his hips into her one last time, grabbing her hips to pull her back against him, trying to come as deep as he could inside her.
He leaned forward, his body covering hers.
“I don’t want to see a drop come out of you as we walk in the bedroom.”
In celebration of HOTD S3 finally airing, here's a piece I've been cooking up for a couple of weeks. Yes this episode pissed me off, but yes I will be watching next week. Please leave a like/comment/reblog if you enjoy! <3
CW- 18+, non-con/dub-con, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, loss of virginity, fingering, PIV, rough sex, High Valyrian translator used, blood, references to death/murder
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word count- 2,362
It was the hour of the owl when you heard Vhagar’s roar. You recognized the vocalization of the dragon, so unlike that of Sunfyre or Dreamfyre’s. Aemond had been gone for a fortnight now, and the thought of his return made your stomach drop. But the deep grumble of the formidable beast flying past the Keep was a welcome warning, giving you time to prepare yourself for what was to come.
You rose from the bed quickly, pacing about the room and searching for a garment to cover yourself. You did not wish to face your husband in only a thin nightgown, yet nothing in your wardrobe would allow for you to dress without the help of a maid. Sheets of rain smacked against your window as lightning danced in the sky, a wicked storm that chilled your bones.
After a considerable struggle, you were able to shimmy your way into a red gown that had needed to be taken in. Unable to lace the back of it on your own, you resorted to tucking in the strands and wishing that it would go unnoticed. You sat down in front of the fireplace, grabbed a book from the shelf, and pretended to read as you waited.
It felt like an hour passed before you heard the knock against the door. Your spine stiffened immediately and your breath caught in your throat.
“Enter,” you spoke as sternly as you could manage. You kept your gaze on the book in your lap as the door creaked open. The smell of dragon filled the room, strong and sulfuric with a hint of fresh blood. Your husband stood in the doorway, soaked from the storm.
“Wife. What possible reason do you have for being awake at such an hour?” His tone was immediately accusatory, his voice scratchy. Aemond was dressed in his flying leathers, a deep grey with dragonscales woven into the breastplate. His left boot was partially unlaced, the hilt of a long dagger peaking out from where it was nestled against his shin.
“I was feeling restless and could not sleep,” you tell him plainly. “What reason do you possibly have for returning at such an hour? We were not expecting you for another three days.” This was partially true, as he had given that date upon his departure to the Riverlands. But everyone in the Red Keep knew that the Prince Regent was wildly unpredictable, and the wedding had proved that.
No one had expected him to truly marry you, especially not after the Dowager Queen had advised him against it. Your father, Lord Staunton served on Rhaenyra’s council, which branded you a traitor in the eyes of the Greens. Captured during the Battle of Rook’s Rest, you had been imprisoned in King’s Landing for several months. They would not behead a lady of your station, and many had expected that you would simply be wed to a lesser lord that had sworn allegiance to Aegon.
But upon being named Prince Regent, Aemond decided that he would wed you himself. After all, he had been the victor of Rook’s Rest, and it was only fair that he kept you as a prize. The wedding was arranged hastily, and the two of you stood together in the sept mere hours after he had declared his intentions.
But he was swept away later that evening, after a message had been delivered during the wedding feast. To your great relief, Aemond mounted Vhagar that night rather than you. If the marriage remained unconsummated, then there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps your father would still send men to rescue you. But that glimmer began to fade now that your husband was in front of you once again.
“You should mind your tongue when you speak to me, wife. I am not in a patient mood at present,” he warns you as he finally enters the room, allowing the door to slam behind him. He peels the gloves off of his hands as he approaches, and you notice a splattering of blood has stained the leather.
Aemond circles the room, examining every little that could have possibly changed since his departure. He had insisted that the two of you share chambers, and you had been moved on the night of the wedding. You had almost no belongings, save for a few dresses that had been allowed to be sent to you by your sisters and mother.
Your eyes trace his every movement, until he turns his head and catches you staring. Embarrassed, you engross yourself in the book once again and try your very best to keep your head down. His footsteps approach slowly, until his boots are at your feet.
“I see you have kept yourself rather busy in my absence,” he declares. You look up to face his gaze, swallowing hard as his violet eye stares you down.
“What do you refer to, my prince?” Your voice is softer than it had been before, not wanting to provoke him to the anger that he had grown a reputation for.
“Reading the histories of Valyria, in High Valyrian,” Aemond reaches down and taps the cover of the book, which you now realize is not written in the Common Tongue. “Nyke gaomagon daor māzigon ao syt zaldrīzes āeksio” I did not take you for a dragon lord.
Heat rises to your face, angry at yourself for making such a careless error. Aemond’s lips have curled smugly, relishing in your shame. More than anything, you wish you could reach out and strike him.
Instead, you slam the book shut and rise from your chair. The sudden movement causes the unlaced dress to snag against the furnishing, and you hear a rip as the fabric splits further down your back. Aemond’s eye widens, apparent that he has also heard the noise.
“Turn around,” he commands you, peering over your shoulder. You make no effort to do so, but keep your eyes fixed on his face. “That wasn’t a suggestion, wife,” he says as he reaches for your waist. You plant your feet firmly to the ground, but he still spins you around with ease.
“Let go of me,” you yelp, the sudden feeling of Aemond’s cold hands against your bare back startling you. But his grip on your waist remains firm.
“Your gown has ripped. A rather flimsy garment, to be so easily torn,” he tuts, fingers tugging at the fraying edges of the fabric. He shifts his posture forward, closing the gap between your bodies. He is still wet from the rain, water dripping from his body and spilling onto the rug beneath your feet. Likely, the whole room will stink of wet dragon come morning time.
“You should be thanking me, you know.” His voice softens as he reaches for the strap of the dress, threading his fingers through it and sliding it off and down your shoulders. “You ought to be grateful that I have returned. Traitor’s daughter and then a widow would be quite the sorrowful fate.” The fabric slides off your back and pools at your waist, causing your heart to beat faster than you thought was possible.
“Why must you torment me so?” Your voice holds steady, although your legs have begun to shake. Aemond leans down, bringing his lips close to your ear as he tugs the dress off of you.
“Torment? I have simply come to do my duty to you. How can we be truly married if my wife remains a maiden?” His lips brush against the divet of your neck, the smell of smoke swirling through your nostrils.
And any hope you had of escaping from this place leaves you with a long breath, as his hands begin to trace up your thighs. The possibility of fleeing in the night is abandoned as he bites on your neck and slips two fingers in between your most intimate area.
Instinctively, you jerk away from his touch. But his other hand is flat against your stomach, keeping your body pressed against his. Shame fills you as his fingers caress your folds, rubbing against your bundle of nerves and eliciting jolts of pleasure. You let out a croaking noise, a mix between a whine and a moan.
“Shhh, don’t resist me now. I only wish to make it easier for you,” he whispers against your skin. You wish to speak something, a phrase both crass and hostile to this man that holds you hostage. But what good would come out of that?
The pads of his fingers prod against your entrance, giving you a moment of anticipation before he presses them inside of you. His sudden intrusion is certainly overwhelming, but not as painful as you had imagined such a thing would be. His thumb strokes your most sensitive area as two fingers begin to thrust in and out of you. You remain silent, but allow your shoulders to finally relax against the support of his broad chest.
“That’s a good girl,” Aemond tells you, tracing his lips down your neck with soft kisses. “I knew you would be an obedient little wife, despite what everyone had warned me.” He laughs suddenly, surely recollecting a conversation in which you had not been present. His fingers inside of you curl upwards, causing you to clench as a new sensation takes hold of your lower half.
“Aemond,” you plead as you attempt to shift your hips away from him. He wraps one of his legs around yours, threading you to him with his heavy boot.
“Keep still,” he warns, and you feel his teeth graze your neck. Your mind has become a puddle of emotions, your body sending you mixed signals just as well.
“I can’t,” you whimper as his prodding fingers cause you to jolt once again. To your surprise, he laughs coldly rather than chastising you again. His fingers pull away from your center, and you immediately regret the loss of pressure.
Aemond steps to your left, and then circles in front of you. His expression is hardened, but there is a glimmer of sympathy etched into his face.
“Get on the bed,” he commands, as he begins to unbutton his tunic. You remain still for a moment, watching as he undresses himself and reveals his bare skin to you. His chest is broad and toned, but littered with burns and scars that you could never have imagined.
When you finally oblige and lay down on the bed, Aemond is quick to follow you. He is naked, his bare form pushing through the green canopy and towering over you. His manhood is swollen and stiff, and you cannot help but to stare as he climbs on top of you.
‘You will learn to love me, wife. I will be your only escape from this cold and cruel place,” he murmurs as his hands pry open your legs, leaving you exposed and bare to him. Aemond grasps at your forearms, pinning them down to the bed as he lines his cock up to your entrance. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what is to come.
When he enters you, the stretch causes you to gasp. The pain is the least of your worries. Aemond lowers his face to yours, meeting your lips in the first kiss since the night of your wedding. His lips swallow your cries and his tongue traces along the inside of your mouth as he bottoms out inside of you.
He sets a steady pace, his cock driving in and out of you repeatedly as he kisses you roughly. Your body has become enveloped by his heat, and you have no response other than to meet his kiss with equal fervor. The rain continues to splatter against the window, and Vhagar’s roar can be heard from the Dragonpit.
“You take me so well,” Aemond groans, as the head of his cock slams against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. When you let out a moan, he shifts his hips so as to place more pressure against yours.
He has released your arms, choosing instead to place one hand around your neck as the other grips your left thigh tightly. The sound of his heavy breathing combined with the building pleasure within your gut elicits a rash decision.
You reach forward and tug against the strap of his leather eyepatch, pulling it over his head in one fluid movement. A sapphire rests in the socket of his eye, a contrast to the violet one that remains fixed on you. Aemond is taken aback, but he makes no retaliation.
“You are mine, gevie. No one will ever take you from me,” he mumbles, his pace quickening as his fingers thread between your legs and begin to stroke you once again. This sensation, combined with the feeling of his cock deep inside of you, causes your thighs to quiver as your stomach swirls.
The build-up of pleasure becomes overwhelming, and you bury your face in Aemond’s neck, unable to meet his gaze. When a wave of sensation crashes through you, you cry out and grip down on his shoulders.
Aemond continues fucking you, his pace growing quicker and his breath heavier. His fingers still work against your bundle of nerves, and you try to pull his hand away as your core clenches desperately around him.
“Take it all, my good little wife.” His thrusts become sloppy as one of his hands weave through his hair, and a roar of thunder crashes through the night as he spills his seed inside of you.
Aemond pulls out of you slowly, his spend leaking as he does so. The blood of your maidenhead is apparent, mixing with the sticky white substance. Even more apparent, is the blood streaked across his forearm and down the side of his neck, gone unnoticed by you prior to this moment.
“Pray to the Mother that you will be blessed with a child,” he tells you as he retreats. With his head turned to the side, shadows dance across the duvet. “It is only just that new Targaryen life should follow the death of a dragon.”
The obsession I have with HOTD is unreal....The first ep of season 3 left me crying,devastated, shocked - 3in1 atp. Sooo to feed my delusional ass, decided to write a mini ff of our evil guy Aemond >"<
Reader is from House Blackwood of Raventree Hall !
WORDS: 7k
TW: slow burn; enemies to lovers; explicit detailed smut; dom!Aemond; primal play; marking/biting/choking; overstimulation; praise; hair pulling; angst; typical Aemond (?); Aemond being a total control freak; nicknames (little bird, wicked girl etc.); reader is just as unhinged as he is.
"You have no room for light, love is lost on you"
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was always suffocating, but tonight the air felt particularly thick with malice. The scent of roasted boar, spilled spiced ale, and melting tallow wax hung heavy in the high stone rafters, doing little to mask the underlying stench of political rot that characterized the capital. Above, the tattered, crimson-and-gold banners of the Targaryen dynasty draped like heavy, golden-threaded shrouds from the blackened beams. Below, the court of King’s Landing laughed, drank, and plotted behind jeweled chalices and painted smiles, oblivious to the precarious thinness of the ice they all walked upon.
You sat across the long, polished oak trestle table, your fingers curled tightly around the stem of your silver chalice. You weren’t listening to the bard strumming a melancholic, high-born tune near the massive hearth, nor were you paying an ounce of attention to the sycophantic lords currently whispering sweet poisons into your father's ear. Your eyes, hyper-focused and unblinking, were fixed entirely on the deliberate, rhythmic tapping of leather-clad fingers against a silver goblet directly across the expanse of the room.
Aemond Targaryen.
He didn't look at you. He didn't need to. His eye was fixed on his older brother, Aegon, who was currently slurring some drunken, base insult into the ample bosom of a serving girl.
Aemond’s posture was rigid, a stark, striking contrast to the slovenly, soft royals around him. He sat like a Valyrian steel blade embedded deep in stone—unyielding, sharp, and deadly. Yet, despite his feigned indifference to his immediate surroundings, you knew with absolute certainty that his entire, hyper-vigilant frequency was tuned directly to you. He was aware of every breath you took, every time you shifted in your seat, every time your gaze lingered a second too long on his scarred face.
You were political hostages to each other's families—two houses bound by a fragile truce that felt more like a slow-burning fuse than a genuine peace treaty. Your family’s strategic allegiance was crucial to the crown, and the King had demanded your presence at court to ensure your house's loyalty. Aemond, by extension of his terrifying reputation, was your designated keeper. He was the shadow meant to remind you of the devastating fire that awaited your lands and people should you step out of line.
You loathed him with a passion that frequently frightened you. You hated the arrogant, aristocratic tilt of his sharp chin, the silver-gold hair that cascaded perfectly over his broad, leather-clad shoulders, and the way he looked down his nose at the rest of the world as if they were nothing but ants waiting to be crushed under the heel of his riding boots. But most of all, you hated that he was the only person in this wretched, superficial castle who truly saw you. He didn't see a polite, malleable lady to be bartered off for alliances; he saw a wolf in silk clothing. He saw a threat. And God help you, you saw the exact same thing in him—an untamed beast wearing a crown.
When the feast finally dissolved into a blur of drunken laughter, clashing cups, and retreating bodies, you seized the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. The stifling noise of the hall faded into a dull echo as you navigated the damp, labyrinthine corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast. The air grew cooler here, kissed by the salt breeze of the Blackwater rushing through the high, narrow arrow slits in the stone walls.
A heavy, deliberate boot click-clacked against the stone floor behind you.
You didn't speed up. To accelerate your pace would be to acknowledge fear, to admit that he had power over you, and you would sooner throw yourself from the highest battlements into the sea than give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled your composure.
"Walking alone in the dark, Lady?" Aemond’s voice purred from the shadows behind you. It was smooth, deep, and laced with an underlying current of danger—like silk being dragged slowly over the edge of a freshly sharpened blade.
"A dangerous habit in a house full of dragons. One might think you're actively looking for trouble. Or perhaps, looking for me."
You stopped dead in your tracks, turning slowly on your heel to face him.
He stepped out from the deep darkness of an arched alcove and into the pale, ethereal pool of moonlight spilling from a high window. His leather brigandine gleamed, the dark material hugging the broad, muscular lines of his chest.
"The only dangerous thing in this castle, Prince Aemond, is the company I am currently keeping" you spat, tilting your chin up to meet his singular glare with equal ferocity.
"Go back to your histories. Or your monstrous dragon. Whichever is less exhausting to endure."
He stepped closer, invading your personal space with an ease that made your breath catch. He didn't stop until he was towering completely over you, his massive frame blocking out the corridor behind him. You were trapped between the cold stone wall and the suffocating heat radiating from his body. You could smell him now—the intoxicating scent of rich leather, ozone from the high clouds he rode through, and old parchment. His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second, a predatory calculation, before locking back onto your eyes.
"You bite" he murmured, a faint, cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't an expression of amusement; it was the look of a predator fascinated by a creature that still had the spirit to struggle.
"I wonder how loud you'd scream if someone actually squeezed that pretty throat of yours."
"Try it" you dared him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. It wasn't fear that made your blood boil; it was a sudden, intoxicating rush of adrenaline. You leaned in, bringing your face inches from his, defying the sheer gravity of his presence.
"Try it and see if you manage to keep your good eye."
Aemond’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced by an intense, dark focus that made the air between you feel entirely flammable. He didn't move a muscle, but you could feel the sudden, dangerous shift in his demeanor. The game had officially begun, and neither of you had any intention of playing nice.
The rivalry between you was not merely spoken in dark corridors; it was a carefully choreographed dance of mutual psychological warfare practiced in the blinding light of day. Over the following weeks, the tension between you escalated from sharp, whispered barbs in the Red Keep's private gardens to deliberate, public provocations designed to test who would break first under the weight of the pressure.
Aemond was a master of subtle, agonizing torment. During small council meetings where your presence was required alongside your father, he would invariably take the heavy oak chair directly next to yours. He would sit back, sprawling his long legs with a casual arrogance, deliberately pressing his leather-clad thigh heavily against yours through the silk and velvet layers of your heavy skirts. It was a silent, suffocating assertion of dominance. He wouldn't look at you while he did it; he would pretend to listen to the master of coin speak, his face a perfect mask of royal indifference, all while his heavy leg pinned you in place, demanding your submission without a single spoken word.
You were not a victim to be cowed by his size or status. You responded in kind, matching his unspoken cruelty with your own. You would drive the sharp heel of your shoe directly into the top of his leather boot, pressing down with all your weight until you felt the sturdy leather give way, watching for the subtle, satisfying twitch of his jaw as he absorbed the pain without flinching. You would lean past him to hand a scroll to the Hand of the King, letting your scented hair brush his cheek, whispering secrets to his political rivals right in front of his face, watching his sapphire eye darken with a murderous fury he was forced to suppress for the sake of decorum.
It reached its absolute boiling point during a stifling, breathless afternoon in the outer training yard.
The sun was brutal, baking the red dust of the yard into a choking haze that hung low in the air. Most of the court had long since retreated to the shade of the silken pavilions, sipping iced wine and fanning themselves, but you had taken up a heavy weirwood bow at the archery butts, needing to channel the restless, violent energy that had been plaguing your sleep for days. You pulled back the heavy bowstring, your fingers strained against the tension, aiming at the distant straw target.
Suddenly, the world narrowed to a sharp point. A cold, leather-gloved hand wrapped firmly around your own, his fingers ruthlessly adjusting your grip on the bow's riser. Another hand came up to steady your trembling elbow, and before you could even think to recoil, Aemond’s broad chest pressed flush against your back. He was entirely unbothered by the heat, smelling of sweat, steel, and that ever-present, terrifying scent of ancient dragon scales.
"Your posture is terrible, little bird" Aemond whispered directly against your ear. His breath was hot, sending an unwanted, agonizing shiver down the entire length of your spine. "You’re too tense in the shoulders. You’re fighting the bow instead of commanding it. You must master the weapon, not let it master you. Let me."
"Get off me, Aemond" you hissed, attempting to pull away, but his grip was unyielding iron. He didn't budge a single inch. He was asserting his dominance in full view of anyone who cared to look, yet doing it under the guise of an innocent, courtly instruction. He wanted you to know that he could touch you whenever he pleased, that he owned the very air you breathed, and that you were powerless to stop him without causing a scene.
"Quiet" he commanded softly, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like it vibrated through your very bones. His chest expanded against your shoulder blades as he drew a slow, deliberate breath. "Align your sight. Stop thinking about how much you want to kill me, and focus entirely on the target. Release."
Your fingers slipped from the string. The arrow hissed through the air, tearing through the heat before thudding dead-center into the bullseye with a satisfying crack.
Before you could celebrate, or even draw a breath of relief, Aemond leaned in even closer, his chest crushing your back. His lips brushed the soft shell of your ear, his voice a low, terrifying growl that made your blood run hot. "You see? You do exactly as I say, and you get exactly what you want."
You twisted violently out of his grip, dropping the bow into the dirt, turning to face him with your chest heaving rapidly. Your blood was roaring in your ears like a wild river. You didn't just want to kill him in that moment; you wanted to tear him apart, to rip that smug, arrogant smirk off his handsome face with your bare hands. But as you stared into his singular, unblinking eye, you saw something reflected in the blue depths that made your stomach drop with a terrifying realization.
There was a ravenous, chaotic hunger in his gaze. He didn't want a meek, docile lady to submit to him out of fear. He didn't want a broken doll to play with. He wanted a monster that could match his own dark, twisted freakishness. He wanted a war of equals. And looking at him, you realized the most terrifying truth of all: you wanted it just as badly as he did.
The final, inevitable confrontation did not happen in the bright light of the training yard, nor in the crowded, gossiping halls of the court. It happened in the deep, suffocating quiet of the Grand Library, hours after the moon had reached its zenith and the rest of the castle had succumbed to the heavy sleep of the unjust.
You had been completely unable to rest, your mind a chaotic storm of frustration, anger, and a strange, aching emptiness that you refused to name or acknowledge. Seeking any form of distraction, you had slipped into the library, navigating the towering shelves of ancient, dusty texts with only a single, flickering candle to light your path. The shadows stretched long and distorted against the stone walls, mimicking the monsters that lived in your thoughts. You were searching for a specific, translated text on Valyrian history—anything to keep your mind away from the one-eyed prince who haunted your waking hours.
You reached up for a heavy leather-bound tome on a shelf just above your head, your fingers brushing the cracked spine.
Slam.
A heavy, pale hand slammed against the dark wood of the bookshelf right next to your temple, the sheer force of the impact vibrating through the wood and causing your candle to flicker wildly, nearly plunging you into total darkness. The sudden, violent movement sent a massive shockwave through your nervous system, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a gasp. You slowly lowered your arm, turning your head to look up into the shadowed, sharp face of Aemond Targaryen.
He had followed you. The heavy oak doors of the library were closed behind him, likely bolted from the inside. The castle around you was dead silent, cut off from this sanctuary of paper and dust. There were no courts to appease here, no fathers to watch over your virtue, no political games left to hide behind. It was just the two of you, stripped of your courtly armor, standing in the dark.
"You've been pushing, little bird" Aemond growled, his voice dropping an octave, losing all of its courtly polish and refinement. It was replaced by a thick, simmering possessiveness that made the small hairs on your arms stand up in a mix of terror and anticipation. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a massive, predatory shadow over you in the dim candlelight.
"You mock me in the halls. You defy my commands. You think because you have a sharp tongue and a noble name, I won't clip your wings and cage you like the animal you are?"
"I'd like to see you try" you challenged, your breath hitching in your throat as he stepped even closer, pinning you entirely against the hard wood of the shelf. The heat radiating off his body was intoxicating, melting away the chill of the room and replacing it with a heavy, electric tension.
"You think you're a god because you ride Vhagar, Aemond? You think because people cower from your eye, you can command me? You're nothing but a broken boy playing with fire, desperate to prove he's a man to a family that barely tolerates him."
His eye flared with an ancient, predatory rage at the insult. The strike hit home, but instead of drawing his sword to cut you down, his expression shifted into something far more dangerous, far more feral.
"Careful" he warned, his voice a dangerous, gravelly whisper as his hand flew up with lightning speed. His long, calloused fingers gripped your jaw with terrifying strength, his thumb pressing hard against your chin, tilting your face upward, forcing you to look directly into the storm of his wrath.
"I am a dragon. Fire and blood run through my veins, and I do not tolerate insolence from a captive. It’s time you learned exactly how it feels to burn."
You didn't pull away from his harsh touch. You didn't cry out for help. Instead, a dark, wicked thrill shot through your veins, answering the call of his violence. You leaned directly into the tight grip of his hand, your own hand flying up to bunch the rich, dark fabric of his doublet, pulling him down toward you until your lips were almost touching, sharing the same ragged breath.
"Then burn me"you whispered, your voice a ragged, desperate dare. "Show me your fire, or get out of my way and admit you're a coward."
The collision of your lips was not a kiss, it was a violent, catastrophic wrecking of two starved souls who had spent months denying the rot inside them. It was a brutal battle for dominance from the very first second our lips met.
Aemond groaned deeply into your mouth, his lips crushing yours with a bruising, desperate force that would have terrified any normal woman, but you met him strike for strike, matching his aggression with a feral hunger of your own.
You parted your lips willingly, letting him invade your mouth with a wild, ravenous tongue that tasted of sour wine, iron, and old secrets. You bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to feel the skin give way, hard enough to taste the faint, metallic tang of his blood, and a low, guttural growl tore from deep within his chest, vibrating against your own ribs.
The taste of his own blood seemed to snap whatever lingering restraint Aemond had left. He grabbed your waist with both hands, lifting you slightly off your feet, and spun you around in a single, fluid, and violent motion, slamming your front violently against the bookshelf. The ancient wood groaned under the sudden impact, several old scrolls rattling on their shelves. Before you could even gasp for air, he pinned both of your wrists together above your head with a single, iron-clad hand, securing you effortlessly against the wood.
"Look at me" he commanded, his voice raw, ragged, and completely stripped of his usual royal decorum.
You turned your head to the side, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, your eyes finding his in the dark, reflective surface of the large glass window opposite the bookshelf. The candlelight caught his face—he looked demonic, his silver hair a wild halo in the dark, his eye burning with an intensity that made you tremble from head to toe.
"You think you can match me?" he whispered against your bare neck, his free hand moving to the back of your gown. With a violent, deliberate tug, he tore at the intricate silk laces, the expensive fabric giving way with a sharp, echoing rip that filled the quiet library. He exposed the bare, sensitive skin of your back to the cool night air, making you shiver against him.
"You are mine. You have always been mine, from the moment you first looked at me with those hateful, beautiful eyes. Every act of defiance, every insult you spat at me in public... it was just you begging for this. Begging for me to take you and ruin you."
"S-shut up" you choked out, your body betraying your words as a hot, agonizing rush of desire pooled heavily between your thighs.
He didn't reply with words. Instead, his teeth sank viciously into the soft junction where your neck met your shoulder. He bit down hard, marking you, claiming you with a primal intensity that made a sharp, high cry of pain slip from your lips. But the pain was immediately chased by a suffocating, intoxicating wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure. You arched your back into his chest, your thighs rubbing together in desperate, agonizing need.
He released your wrists, but before you could even think to move, his hand slid down your side, his long fingers gripping your hip with enough force to guarantee deep bruises by morning. He lifted your leg, hooking your knee securely over his hip, exposing you completely to his gaze. With his other hand, he clumsily but urgently freed himself from his trousers. You could feel the heat of him pressing against your damp center through the remnants of your shift, thick, unyielding, and incredibly hot.
He positioned himself, his gaze locking onto yours through the dark reflection of the window, ensuring you were watching every second of your own undoing.
"Say my name" he demanded, his thumb driving painfully, beautifully into your hip bone, anchoring you to him so you couldn't escape the depth of what was coming.
"Tell me who owns you in the dark."
"Aemond" you choked out, your fingers clawing desperately at the wooden shelves in front of you, knocking a small scroll to the floor where it unrolled in the dark.
"Aemond, please."
He thrusted into you.
It was a hard, deep, merciless thrust that snatched the air straight from your lungs, forcing a broken, shattered gasp from your throat. He stretched you completely, filling the hollow, aching void that had been consuming you for months.
The pace he set was punishing—a relentless, dominant rhythm that left you completely unmoored from reality, from your name, from your family. He controlled everything. He controlled the angle, the depth, the speed, using his superior strength to remind you exactly who was in charge of your body. He was a prince, a dragon rider, a conqueror, and he was conquering you in the dirt and shadows of a forgotten room.
Yet, you did not break under his weight. You were not a victim to be pitied.
Every time he pushed you to the absolute brink of pain and pleasure, you clamped your internal muscles tightly around him, pulling him deeper into your heat, matching his frantic, dark energy with a desperate, ravenous hunger of your own. You bit your own lip until it bled to keep from screaming his name louder into the empty castle, your hips rolling back against his in a perfect, chaotic, and deeply sinful synchronization.
You matched his freak, absorbing every hard thrust, giving him back the same violent intensity he was inflicting on you.
He was a monster, and you were the only cage strong enough to hold him, the only fire hot enough to burn him.
"Look at you" Aemond hissed in your ear, his breath coming in ragged, animalistic gasps as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shallower, faster, and incredibly intense. His hand moved to your throat, not choking you, but holding you steady against the wood, his thumb resting over your racing, frantic pulse.
"My beautiful, wicked girl. You love this. You love being ruined by me."
It hit you like a wave of pure, unadulterated dragon fire. Your vision fractured into blinding stars as a violent, uncontrollable tremor wrecked your entire body, starting from the core of your intimacy and spreading to your fingertips. Your internal muscles clenched tightly around him in a desperate, prolonged spasm of release.
The sheer intensity of your climax broke his iron restraint completely. With a choked, guttural roar that vibrated against your spine, Aemond buried himself as deep as physically possible inside you, his entire body shuddering violently as he filled you to the brim, his forehead resting heavily against the back of your neck as the world spun away into utter bliss.
The heavy, suffocating quiet of the Grand Library slowly returned, the silence thick and heavy, save for the echo of your mingled, ragged breathing and the slow ticking of a distant clock somewhere in the keep. The candle had finally burned down to a melted stump of wax, leaving the room illuminated only by the pale, silver glow of the moon filtering through the high windows.
Aemond did not pull away immediately. He kept his heavy body pressed tightly against yours, pinning you to the bookshelf as if he were afraid that if he let go, the reality of what had just happened would dissolve into mist and leave him alone in the dark.
His hand, still resting on your neck, shifted gently. His long, calloused fingers began to trace the sharp, bleeding bite mark he had left on your shoulder, his touch trembling slightly in a way he would never allow anyone else to see. The dominant, untouchable prince of the realm was gone, replaced by a man completely consumed, humbled, and rearranged by the woman in his arms.
Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew from you. The sudden absence of his heat made you shiver, the cold night air hitting your damp skin. He kept a steadying hand on your waist as your legs threatened to give out beneath you, your muscles weak and trembling from overstimulation. He gently turned you around to face him, his movements surprisingly tender compared to the violence of moments before.
His silver-gold hair was a wild, tangled mess around his sharp face, a few damp strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. His fine clothes were utterly disheveled, his doublet torn at the collar, but his eye was softer than you had ever seen it in the light of day. The cruel, mocking glint was entirely gone, replaced by a profound, dark, and terrifying devotion. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of pure sensation that had escaped your eyes.
"Tomorrow, the sun will rise" you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, your body aching in the most magnificent, ruinous way possible. You tried to pull the torn fabric of your dress over your exposed, marked chest, but your hands were shaking too badly to manage the task.
"We go back to the Great Hall. We go back to being enemies. We go back to the game of thrones and families."
Aemond let out a low, dark chuckle, the deep sound vibrating pleasantly against your chest as he stepped closer once more. His hands rested possessively on your hips, pulling you back against his body as if asserting his permanent claim. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering, and almost reverent kiss to your bruised, swollen lips.
"Let them think what they want, my love" he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, unyielding promise.
"Let the court watch us glare at each other across the council table. Let them whisper about our hatred and our families' rivalry. But they will never know the truth. They will never know that every time you look at me in the light of day, you are remembering exactly how it feels to have me inside you, ruining you in the dark."
He stepped back slowly, his hands lingering on your skin for as long as possible before he began to help you adjust your clothes, his long fingers surprisingly deft as he tied what laces remained of your ruined gown.
You were still enemies, bound by different bloodlines and a precarious, bloody political landscape, but the foundation of your world had fundamentally and permanently changed. You didn't just match his darkness - you had captured it and made it your own.
As you finally slipped out of the library, leaving him alone in the shadows, you felt the cool morning breeze hit your face. You were bruised, marked, and utterly ruined—but as you walked back to your chambers through the waking castle, a small, wicked smile touched your lips.
The prince thought he had conquered you, but you knew the ultimate truth: you had just tamed the dangerous dragon of House Targaryen, and he would come back to your hand whenever you whistled....
Possessive and a warden
➝ in his image: You're far too precious, you're his, and there's nothing Aemond is above doing for you, once you've been corrected on certain behaviours of course. No one's perfect! Aemond will make you perfect for him, if that means a rather scary ride on vhagar or weaponising the faith against you. and once you're in the keep? any servants tending to you? hand picked by him, thorough but cold to you. the only warmth you ought to have is from him.
➝ Self-imposing: aemond has lost track of how many hours he's spent fantasizing about you, at the start of course he detests it and you for a while. He’s a prince and he could be training or studying, improving himself yet he’s been utterly ensnared by you. Aemond will infiltrate your life, your friends are cast by him, textiles for your clothes are picked by him, and any family members who disapprove? They won’t linger much longer.
➝ collection: He takes things of yours when he has to leave, aemond truly has second son syndrome, forever in competition with aegon yet can never win due to the system in place, alicent is a somewhat absent mother and viserys much the same. But do you know who would advise him? Krispy cream of course! Which would influence his yanderisms greatly, aemond both adores and detests his s/o because they are a weakness to him, if they aren't from a strong house than it is a political battle he’s lost but also craves validation and just to be seen by you. He’d collect clothes, anything you write or draw, embroidery you’ve done, he loves tangible things. Also he’s keeping the artists of kings landing in business, he’d commission painting after painting just to still be able to look at you.
➝ Controlling: Hes able to convince himself that anything done to protect you is a worthy cause, even if he’s protecting you from your own poor choices. I think he’d even take up tournaments if it meant sneaking small peeks of your pretty face. Also a great opportunity to at least emasculate any romantic rivals, at best dispose of them entirely. Of course due to his family and their power no one would deny a marriage proposal from a prince and if they did, a visit with vhagar would quickly change their mind. He’d also want them completely dependent on them which means anyone from their own home cannot come to the red keep, if he is able to keep your world small than surely he’ll become the sun to you.
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