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fan-goddess · 3 months ago

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I wish you would write a fic where...Aemond forces a lady at court to marry him because she used to bully him when she was young, and he wants revenge. But the sexy kind lol

Authors Note: Oh my god I love thatttttt honestly I should write for a more darker Aemond tbh don’t know why I don’t. This is less bully more torment still I hope you like it

Warnings: angst, bullies, revenge, dark!aemond, mentions of rape, not direct consent, simp!Aemond, hinted at smut but none written, (if I miss any let me know!)

Taglist: @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

When Aemond first laid his eyes on the daughter of Ser Tywin Lannister, he had no idea of the thorns that lay hidden beneath the beautiful rose.

He would find himself staring at you whenever he could, but to his disappointment, like everyone else before you, you chose to spend your time with Aegon and his little duo of puppies that were his nephews.

When he trained with Ser Criston in the training yard whilst you sat in the crowd, he worked hard to try and ensure your attention. Though everytime he looked at you, your eyes never left his brother.

After training one day, Aemond left feeling dejected due to your unspoken rejection, and walked with his head held low to the familiar route of the library. He tried to take his mind off you with some old texts on ancient Valyria before the doom, and yet with every minute Aemond tries to concentrate on his studies he found himself thinking only of you.

It’s something he found himself doing a lot recently since the discovery of your existence. He thinks of your hair and how soft it must be to feel through his fingertips. He thinks of your eyes and how pretty they look whenever he catches your eye. He thinks about how loving your soul is and the warmth your kindness would be to feel against his skin.

Aemond has never felt like he had the soul of a poet, and yet one afternoon he finds himself writing about your beauty on some paper with a quill that had been previously left at the table he sat on.

To my lady sun,

How does it feel to know that your beauty radiates more than the sun, and to be its only envy? I am sure it is grateful for night so that it is not forced to compare to you, and yet even then the jealousy does not sleep, for now the moon must be forced to bear witness to your glowing skin.

Your body is a temple handcrafted by the gods, and I am sure they watch in anticipation for their greatest creation to walk amongst its divergent brethren. With how your head remains high, I am sure you must be aware of your own greatness. So no doubt these words seem meaningless. Yet I hope they spark something within you still.

With care,

a simple worshiper

It wasn’t very good, but then again, Aemond never expected to sound like the greatest poet of the seven kingdoms. He never expected anyone to read his letters ever. But of course, Aegon went snooping and found something that didn’t belong to him that he felt entitled to take.

“Did you really think she would love you?!” Aegon laughed, dangling one of the pieces of paper before Aemond while he tried desperately to grab it before you came and saw it.

“Why would she want a dragon less twat like you when she could have me?”

“What’s going on?” A very familiar voice spoke, a horror filled jolt going down Aemonds spine as he turned to confirm his horror. Lady Lannister stood there as beautiful as ever with your brow furrowed in adorable confusion, and your eyes trained on the paper still in Aegons greasy grasp.

“My little brothers turned into a poet my lady! Just look at what he’s had to say about you!” Aegon laughs while Aemond once more tries desperately to stop him. But with just a simple shove to the floor Aemond is weak and helpless as you take the paper in hand and begin to read.

And when you finish, Aemond feels his heart shatter into a thousand pieces as you begin to laugh at him.

“Did you think I would thank you?” You begin, that once delicate smile turned poisonous as you slowly make your way over to him still laying where he fell. “You were right about one think little Prince. These words are meaningless. But they’re especially so coming from a boy like you. Still, I must thank you for this little Prince, as at least I’ll have something to laugh at when I’m bored.”

Aemond feels the tears brim against his eyes and for the first time since falling he gets the strength to stand and run away. The sound of yours and Aegons cruel laughter echoing through his mind as he does, with a vow of revenge brewing behind it.

“My Prince regent, with this new position, there is a matter of marriage I must bring forward.” Lord Wylde begins, an edge to his voice as he knows the delicacy behind it all.

It’s been years since the embarrassment of his writings, and yet Aegon and you as well had made sure to bring it up almost everyday before you traveled back home. Whether that is by a memorised line from one of the pages or with seemingly innocent words with hidden meanings and a not so hidden smirk, Aegon and you had deployed them all to make Aemonds life miserable.

Aegon continued though long after you went away, and Aemond supposes that’s what made the act of burning him all that sweeter. To know the taste of revenge against one of the ones who hurt him was as sweet as honey against his bitter tongue.

“Borros Baratheon has four unwed daughters who-“

“I have made my decision already in who I should have by my side as my wife my lord.” Aemond interrupts, a ghost of a smile on his face as he thinks of the lady in question and watches the lords at the table furrow their brows. My my how fun was it to watch the rats fumble like a puppet show.

“And who is this lady my prince regent?”

Aemond smirks at Ser Tyland, who sits there unaware of what is about to occur to his family.

“I intend to marry your very own niece Ser Tywin. The young, and I am correct in presuming still unmarried, lady Lannister.”

Silence radiates through the council room as all attempt to process the news Aemond has just released to them, while Aemond himself is just sitting there like the dragon who ate the hatchling.

“My Prince regent, I-it is an honour!” The man stutters out, knowing if he didn’t say anything it would be much more worse for him.

“As it should be Ser Tyland. Tis an honour to be wed to a member of house Targaryen. I trust you to be the man to call for your niece, but please, do not tell her the reasoning. I wish for it to be a surprise that I myself shall tell her, if you would do be the honour?”

“Of course my Prince. I shall write to her soon as we finish this meeting and request for her to arrive the beginning of the next week.”

Aemond would’ve preferred her to arrive on the morrow, but he supposed he shouldn’t be too picky. You’re coming back to him. That’s what he chooses to focus on.

The rest of the week though he waits in anticipation for your arrival. He thinks of you constantly, but unlike him as a boy, he doesn’t write these thoughts down on a paper. At least Aegon can’t steal his thoughts.

Aemond though must confess he is anxious about seeing you. The last time he had, you’d embarrassed him and made him feel worthless. But now, he is no longer that scared little boy who you tormented. Now, he is the Prince Regent of the seven kingdoms. And he has the power to take what he wants and do what he wants.

And what he wants is to take you. He has a plan on what he wants to do, and he thinks of it every day since that council meeting.

Aemond Targaryen wants to defile you and leave you with nothing. Perhaps he’ll even force you to be married to some old lord who’ll use you for a boy or two. Or send you to the citadel and make you become a septa. It all depends on how he feels at the moment he supposes.

Yet on that first day of the new week when he’s standing in the courtyard and seeing your golden carriage pull up, sick anticipation curls and builds in his gut like a fearsome storm.

“Little prince?” You say as you get out of the carriage, sending Aemonds inner storm into an all out raging war.

“That is Prince regent to you little lion.” He snaps, relishing in the way you frown at his words.

“Where is my uncle? In his letter he said it was of upmost importance and to come with haste to Kingslanding today.”

“Ah yes little lion I know of the letter he had delivered to you. I was the one who requested it to be sent. Let us go somewhere more private so we can discuss it.” Aemond purrs, walking forward so he can get his hand on your lower back and lead you into the keep.

You do not protest to his sudden demands, yet still he finds humour in your confusion still.

Aemond as he walks makes sure that servants and ladies alike see him leading you to a room with no chaperone. Or more specifically, see him leading you to a room with a bed.

“What is it you wish to tell me, my Prince regent?” You ask, emphasising the title just to tease him for sure.

“I wish to congratulate you my lady!” He smirks, watching your face further contort in confusion.

“Congratulate me? Congratulate me on what?”

“On your marriage my little lion of course.” Aemond finally reveals. He watches your face turn in its final form, and he’s delighted to know your fire has not been yet destroyed when fury takes over your entire body.

“Who?” You demand.

“It’s me.” Aemond simply says, watching with even further delight what that once dragonlike flame instantly vanish for cold hard horror.

“You?”

“Yes. And I shall take my wedding present now I think. I believe it is what I deserve for what you did to me all those years ago.” As he speaks, Aemond begins to slowly prowl towards you like a predator stalking its prey towards the bed.

“That was years ago!” You shout, looking at him in shock.

“And yet I never forgot what you said.” He simply says, pushing you backwards so with a yell you fall backwards on the bed and look at him with fear in your eyes.

Good, he thinks, you should be scared right now.

He wants to make the oh so proud Lannister she lion be reduced to a mere mewling kitten, and all by his hand alone.

“I suppose I must ask,” he begins, leaning forward and forcing your body to be pressed against his own. “Have you had anyone touch you? Just by looking at you I can think your maidenhead has been given to some poor impressionable lad thinking only with his cock.”

You stay silent initially, but he has ways of making you talk. Including but not limiting to him using his dagger that was strapped to his side to tear your dress from your body.

“Just a stable boy…” You finally confess, gasping as Aemond moves to firmly grip at your upper thighs with a growl on his own lips once he forces the delicate fabric away to reveal you to him.

“Tell me his name.” Aemond demands, his singular eye firm as he forces you to look at him. “I shall rip off his hands and his cock myself for dare touching what is rightfully mine to claim. For what was meant to be taken by me all those years ago.”

“Are you saying you’ve thought of me?” You attempt to tease, only realising your mistake when he answers with a serious tone.

“Of course. I have thought of this moment endlessly. The idea of me ruining you for all has always delighted me, just as much as the idea of actually fucking you does to me.”

And with that, whether you called for him to stop or keep going, he continued with his plan. He ravished you senseless committing the sound of your voice to memory. The guards outside he had posted in order to bear witness to your taking also most likely memorised them, but he’s comforted by the fact he’s going to kill them by the end of the week.

His mother yells at him later that day about how selfish he’s been and how much like Aegon he is being. But the thought comforts him when he thinks of what Aegon had and what he now possesses.

The crown. The people. The power.

He has it all and he’s able to throw it away at the drop of a hat.

From what Aemond has heard, after he had announced to the entire court he would not be marrying you due to your broken maidenhead, you were condemned back to casterly rock and are being prepared for a marriage to a lord from the stormlands named Riordan Rael.

Form what he has been told, Lord Rae is an elderly man long since due for a meeting with the stranger who has yet to father any children from his other past seven wives that have all tragically died young.

Aemond does not care for you anymore now that his revenge has been thoroughly completed. Even if he has had several letters in the last moon detailing the fact you had given birth nearly two months early to a babe with hair as pearly as the moon.

For the power is all his, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Not unless they want to be put to his sword and taste his Valyrian steel.

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