mine // aemond targaryen/f!reader
based on mean!aemond from @tinfairies blog
cw: mean aemond, implied assault (not from aemond), smut-ish, implied murder (lemme know if i missed sth)
Her husband is cold. That much she's used to. Aemond Targaryen doesn't show emotion unless it's anger or, though rarely, humour.
They've been married for months and that much hasn't changed. And yet she cannot complain.
Despite his rough exterior, and his cutting words, he's not awful. She's heard of much worse.
At least he cares for her in their marital bed and doesn't take his anger out on her in ways she knows other men are partial to.
Aemond might fuck her roughly and call her names all the while, but he always makes her see stars and cleans her up after, going as far as to kiss any bruises he might've left when he thinks her asleep.
It's the only time he's ever gentle.
She jumps when his hand settles in her hair.
"Why are you crying?"
Instead of answering she pulls her legs up against her chest, trying to take up as little space on their bed as possible. Then she buries her face in their pillows a little more. It stiffles the sounds of her sobs and she hopes it might be enough to appease him.
She's wrong.
His grip tightens on her hair and then he forcefully turns her head around so she has to look up at him.
Aemond's gaze makes her shiver. It's as cold as ever, with anger at her noncompliance creating a storm, but there's something she can't make out on his face as well.
"Answer me."
Aemond's voice leaves no room for argument but another onslaught of tears and sobs render her unable to speak.
To her surprise, he doesn't reprimand her for it, instead he leaves her alone on the bed for a moment and returns with a cup of water.
He helps her drink and waits for her breathing to normalise before he tells her again, "Speak."
Normally the need for him to repeat himself would mean she won't be able to sit for a week but she prays he'll be merciful for once.
"He- They all laugh at me."
She knows he doesn't like it when she avoids his gaze, but she can't look at Aemond while she tells him.
"They- the ladies, the maids, everyone- they call me names when you're not there. It's bearable, normally. But- he-"
She has to swallow around another sob and risks a quick look up at her husband's face. Fear strikes through her at the rage clearly written all over it.
"Today, Lord Bulwer, he stopped me when I was leaving the library and he- he repeated some of the usual things. That I wasn't good enough for you, that clearly you don't care for me, that I'm-" She stops to breathe before she continues, overgoing a repetition of the names they've called her. "I was trying to leave, but he-"
The words get tangled and stuck in her throat, she can't produce another sound.
"Did he touch you?"
His razor-sharp tone makes her flinch, and she merely nods.
"Did he-" His hand grips the fabric of her dress so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Did he rape you?" Now Aemond's seething.
She shakes her head and finds enough strength to say, "I managed to leave before he did much more than- than touch."
Aemond leaves without another word.
Later, after she cried herself to sleep and night fell, she's awoken by his mouth on hers.
Aemond devours her, holds down her arms, rips her nightshift and makes her cry from pleasure. He lets her hands pull on his hair when he gets tired of holding her down. His own hands pinch and grab her skin, her breasts and stomach and the thick of her thighs, no doubt bruising her.
He's leaving his mark.
Aemond's teeth sink into the sensitive skin over her collarbones until he draws blood and has her screaming.
All the while he talks.
"You're mine."
Another pinch, another bruise, another hard thrust.
"Let them hear how my whore of a wife screams for me. Let them know I take you with pleasure."
His teeth breaking the skin of her lips before his tongue laps it up.
"No one will touch you but me. He won't ever touch you again."
His hands craddling her face and sapphire and amethyst burning into her.
"You're mine."
Her hands pulling on his hair until he cries out lowly, while she comes undone.
"Keep something like this from me again and see how you like the outcome."
Her head on his chest while her breathing settles.
An accident, a broken neck after a tumble down some stairs. Scared faces and eyes that won't meet hers when she walks through court.
Her husband's hand on her, always, and his lips on her neck even when people can see. His eyes burning cold on anyone who looks at her too long.
No more whispers, no more name-calling, no more Lord Bulwer.
Aemond Targaryen is cold, and remains it, but his wife learns that a dragon will protect what is his with fire and blood.
