Fool Me Once (pt 2)

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Fool Me Once (pt 2)

Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 3.6k)

Summary: Despite learning about Aemond cheating on you, life has never been sweeter. Who knew being so bad could be so good.

Warnings: manipulation, mentions/allusions to pregnancy issues, mentions of self harm

A/N: first, I just have to say thank you for the response to part 1. I truly had no idea it would get the reception it would. Thank you to everyone who followed me as well. I hope I can continue to produce stuff y’all like. I’m hoping to write more hotd stuff, Aemond and non Aemond related. I plan on taking a small hiatus but will be back around thanksgiving weekend. I will be writing on/off during that time but just away for a trip/the holiday. If you have any hotd requests my inbox is always open. I would try to get them out either before my hiatus next week (11/16) or after it ends (11/26). I’m pretty open to writing any character, though I will warn you I’m way more fascinated by the greens so they just come easier to me. Anyway please reblog, like, and follow if you read anything you enjoy 🫶🏽🫶🏽. And some housekeeping: in this Aegon is not r*pist who enjoys watching children fight (the hotd are truly…. not right for the cartoonishly evil way they wrote Aegon). He’s just petty and neglected. Also the timing of this is different from the books bc Aemond meets Alys pre dance.

Fool Me Once (pt 1)

Blog Masterlist

A bastard Strong. The irony is not lost on you. Your straight-laced husband fucking someone who is the complete opposite you. Older, no kids, no title, and no duty to uphold. At this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, it makes your blood boil in the most delicious way. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize how you’ve been going through the motions; endlessly sleepwalking, hoping one day Aemond would come around. It woke you up to how much he’s taken advantage of you. He sees your kindness, and aversion to standing out as a weakness. Something he can manipulate and twist like one of his daggers.

The both of you must have forgetten where you came from. A rich, well respected house. The only daughter of smart, albeit conniving, family that knows how to get what they want. Your family didn’t have dragons or absurd ideas of exceptionalism to help you gain power. You’ve learned that inflated egos and prideful indulges can cloud Targaryen judgment. A trait you hope skips your children.

Shame on you for thinking Aemond would be different. Shame on him for the carefully curated facade.

All you do after Larys Strong comes to you the first time is think. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many options in front of you. Your mother’s words about patience run through your head. Keeping your wits is key. Play your hand too quickly, and you lose all leverage. You have Daella and the babe in your belly to think about. You stood pat in the beginning; Lord Strong simply relaying messages to you. You make sure Alys gets the letter Aemond wrote, and the ones after that. Lord Larys makes sure you get the details of each letter exchanged.

When the days grew lonely, and your body aches because of the babe in your stomach, you think about the letters. The declarations of love and recounts of lust filled meetups simmer in your head, but it’s the mentions of you that makes the anger sizzle and crackle. It makes the guilt you feel wash away.

You question if the rumor is true. That his Alys is a witch. Does her magic allow her to see the way Helaena can? Fuzzy premonitions and dreams that only make sense after they happen; a gift and a curse. A part of you wishes it to be true. You hope while your stomach stirs with untold truths, hers stirs with regret. Maybe the pain that runs through you leaves an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. That she can’t quite put her finger on it, but she feels you.

You wonder if when Aemond prays, he asks the Father to protect him… to protect her. The same way when you pray, you ask the Warrior to help you find the courage to destroy him.

It started with a bruise. A bruise that you don’t even remember how you got. Maybe one of those things you just wake up with. But it’s there, on the inside part of your left arm. It’s starting to fade but an otherwise noticeable bruise that stands out when you wear something with shorter sleeves.

The idea doesn’t come to you till you see the curiosity in Alicent’s eyes when you absentmindedly rub the bruise while asking if she’s seen Aemond. It’s only you two in the walkway; an unusually quiet day at the Red Keep. Her eyes go from it to the far away look in your eyes. It makes her tilt her head in thought.

“No dear, I haven’t,” her eyes go back to the scratch. “Are you doing alright? I know for some, the second babe can be even harder than the first.”

You look down at your arm, and something just clicks.

“I’m fine,” you start, then you make your voice tremble a bit. “I will be fine. I think I’m just tired.”

You give her a strained smile, and she returns one that tells you she doesn’t believe you. You can feel her big brown eyes burning into your back when you walk past her towards your chambers. There could be two thoughts in her head: you did this yourself or someone else did it to you. Either way, her son’s sweet pregnant lady wife is not doing well, and her son is nowhere to be found. Queen Alicent is one of the smartest, if not the smartest, person you know. She sees the change in her son; the change in the dynamic between Aemond and you.

It hits you. It would be too easy to physically harm Aemond. Though the idea of taking the blade that hangs from his hips and putting it to his throat has crossed your mind more times than you’re proud of. It would be too easy to get Larys to kill Alys. You don’t want to give Aemond the satisfaction of having his whore’s blood on your hands.

Where’s the fun in killing when your rage could be channeled into something more… methodical.

Under all that false bravado is the little boy who got picked on for not having a dragon. To break the man means bringing out that little boy. A truly broken man can’t love anyone. Isolation, and self hatred. What a gorgeous combination for your dear husband.

If this is going to work you need to up the ante.

So, you write. If Aemond and Alys can document their love, you can document your pain. You sent your lady in waiting out to get a blank book from one of the maesters. The color dyed cow skin feels smooth under your hands. There needs to be a slow build. Each day you grow closer and closer to shattering. Whoever reads it needs to know Aemond brought you to this place. He is the villain in the story of the poor, innocent wife that did nothing but carry his children and try to love him.

It will read like a diary, but to you it is a creation. A mixture of truth and imagination. A manifestation of pent up feelings. Purging and revenge all rolled up into one. You make sure to mention how terrified you are for your safety, and for you children’s safety. How an angry or disenchanted Aemond is nothing to toy with, especially if he has a bastard witch on his side. How maybe life would be better for Aemond if you just weren’t around.

But this fading bruise isn’t enough. Neither is just having a diary that will be discovered in due time. A deep cut, a dark bruise, half hazardously placed hand prints.. now that could work.

There’s something cathartic about the pain you feel when the dagger slices through your skin. The blood is so red and warm. It smears so smoothly on the page. Blood on your dress, cloth pressed to the wound, and wandering the halls is how Ser Criston finds you. You notice the worried, confused look in his eyes when you stutter out an ‘I don’t know’ when he asks what happened.

As the maester tends to your wound, you notice how Alicent and Criston stand in the corner of Alicent’s quarters. They occasionally glance at you while they whisper to each other. You recognize the familiar crinkle she gets in her forehead when she’s upset. All her children do it too.

“Sweetling, we both think it might be a good idea to give you your own knight of the kingsguard,” she sits next you. “Just to help you and… keep an eye on you during this vulnerable time.”

You blink. Not one mention of her son. But it’s clear to see how Ser Criston is with his queen. Submissive, and utterly devoted. Having someone like that is an asset. So, you smile weakly and nod. The more people who see you in this way, the better.

Ser Quinton Throne was quiet in the beginning. As if he was scared to be in your space. A far cry from the rambunctious knight his brother, Rickard, is. Moving past the initial shyness, he is attentive and even indulges Daella’s fascination with him. Despite you telling her not to, she would always run up to him, tugging on his white cloak to get his attention. She likes having someone around just as much as you.

The distance between Aemond and you had started to carry over into his relationship with Daella. Kids are more intuitive than adults give them credit for. Your throat felt tight when you daughter finally asks where father goes. You lie; it comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would. It makes you think if this is how easy it is for Aemond to lie to you. Or for everyone to not gloss over the clear problems in your life.

You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having a man around, even if it was his job. It was Aemond’s job to do right by you, and he couldn’t do that. A man carrying out his orders with a warm smile was welcomed. The comfort of having someone who sweared his allegiances to you, and only you, and intended on keeping them.

You look from your embroidery loop to see Daella and Ser Quinton sword fighting with wooden swords. It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day. Perfect to get much needed fresh air, and apparently going to battle.

“She’s gotten quite good.”

Like a storm rolling in to ruin a sunny day, your husband’s tone is ever cold and distant. You hate the uncomfortable energy that radiates when he sits next to you.

“Yes, she has,” you stare at the Lysene lilac flower starting to come to life on your loop. “He’s good with her as well.”

You know he won’t like you saying that. He hates Quinton being around, and he especially hates how Daella taken a liking to him. Aemond scoffs and mumbles something under his breath you can’t make out.

“It’s just lovely having real protector around,” you continue to push your luck. “Someone so attentive and… strong.“

You look at with his a sickening sweet smile. He opens his mouth to say something, a complaint or rude comment since those seem to be the only reasons he talks to you, but he is interrupted by Daella yelling out for him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters to you, getting up.

“Oh you’ll actually be here long enough for that?”

The words slip out your mouth and it makes him turn to glare at you. It reminds you of the gossip you heard about him when you first arrived at court. How cold the king’s second son can be. It should’ve been a warning to you.

Quinton takes it as his cue to leave them be; you know he can sense how much Aemond doesn’t appreciate his presence. You watch as Daella clings to her father. As selfish as it sounds, you patiently wait for the day she too realizes he can’t be depended on.

“My mother used to make me embroider,” your knight’s voice breaks you out of looking on. “Something about being dangerous with a needle is just as great as being dangerous with a sword.”

You take a good look at him. If Aemond is the moon - ethereal, mysterious, and always changing, then Quinton is the sun. Bright, forward facing, and shines brighter with time. His choppy black hair, beard, and warm standing in contrast to your husband’s Targaryen features.

“Sounds like a smart woman,” you smile as he sits next to you.

His eyes linger on your embroidery work before traveling to you right arm. The blade wound was just starting to scab and scar over. His first day on duty was marked by seeing your husband give a long lecture on safety and ‘using your brain’ after Aemond saw your wound. The blade cut wasn’t under pure circumstances, but the look of resentment on your face was real. He saw that. He’s never asked what really happened to your arm.

“How are you princess,” he whispers. You told him he can address you by your name, but he still insist on the formal names especially around others. “Is the babe giving you trouble.”

Ser Quinton, Helaena, and Alicent are the only people that seem to care about your well being, on top of the babe’s. Aemond concern went making sure the babe was fine to just not asking all together. It’s better that way, you think. You don’t think you’d be able to take fake concern about your little ‘mistake’.

“My bladder is being pushed on, I’m finding clumps of my hair on my pillow, and Maester Oliver told me this baby will weigh more than Daella did,” you reply lightly. “But other than that I’m doing fine.”

This pregnancy had knocked you on your ass. You’re sure the stress and thoughts that consume you don’t help. You know how it feels to come into a fracture family; it makes you feel awful for the babe in your stomach. Your parents tried hard, frankly too hard, to pretend things were good between them. Trying to prove their union was more than a duty for their houses. Till this day, you don’t know what’s worse: knowing they didn’t share that love or the years you watched them fake everything. They had ambitions, and to carry them out there needed to be an appearance of an united front. You took your father’s lead, knowing he always tried to have your best interest. The relationship you have with your mother often ebbing and flowing, especially since your marriage.

When you ravened your mother about your pregnancy troubles, she tells you that this is your responsibility to your husband. Harsh and utterly true. You don’t know if your father ever had indiscretions like Aemond, but you know she’d never plot the way you do. Her calculating nature showing up in different ways. Instead of going after him, she chose to focus on elevating you.

Her and Queen Alicent remind you of each other. Devoted to a fault. A victim who had no other choice but to fall in line.You pray for the both of them. Pray that they find peace with the sacrifices they’ve made. Pray that you never get that far. A shell of yourself. Duty, responsibility, cleaning up others’ messes - what a dull way to live.

“Once he’s out, I’m sure it will all be worth it,” says Ser Quinton, voice not wavering.

He’s trying to be kind, mentioning the working theory in the castle that you’re having a boy. You try to smile at the thought. It’s hard to believe that. Plan or not, you still have to know the truth about the father of your children. There is hole left in your heart about that. Him disrespecting you is one thing, but his words pertaining to your unborn child is another. A sudden spurt of anger rushes over you thinking about everything. It makes you stand abruptly.

“I’m feeling tired,” you watch as Daella pretend to stab her father with her sword. Her giggles ringing out when he reaches to pick her up. The dichotomy of Aemond Targaryen will always fascinate you as much as it terrifies you. How he manages to smile in her face, and lie to yours is quite a sight to watch. “I’ll send Margret out to get Daella.”

Waiting for the perfect moment is not going to work. There no time like the present.

The stiff upper lip of this family is something you noticed the moment you stepped into their presence. It’s seeped into the way they gatekeep a dying Viserys. Alicent is cold and collected in the most beautiful way. A sharp glittering icicle. A pretty rose littered with thorns to keep you admiring from a distance. Even Helaena, who you consider a friend, keeps certain things close to the chest. It’s better to keep the full truth away from her.

But there’s Aegon.

Pitiful, and lonely Prince Aegon. A drunk with a bad attitude. But he’s also the most painfully self-aware person you know. There will be times that you and him exchange looks, as you are in on the joke. That everything is a farce. One day someone will just come up and say it’s all been a bad dream. You think it’s the reason why he frustrates Aemond so much. The teasing on top of him never taking the Targaryen name seriously. Aegon spends his days trying to drink and fuck his way out of thinking about his life. Stuck in a royal cuckold. The first born son of a king with nothing to show for it.

He’s messy, nosy, and so openly brash. He’s your missing chess piece. The perfect pawn.

You leave the diary around places in the castle you know he will be. It’s not until you conveniently leave it in the play room where all Daella, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys all frequent that you know he’s taken the bait. His lilac eyes seem to follow you whenever you two are in the same room. It takes days for him to confront you; book in hand and wry look on his face.

“Is it true? Everything you wrote?”

You stroke your belly while looking at him, a small smile on your face.

“Does it matter that if it is,” you tilt your head, and his eyes glitter with something you’re not used to seeing.

He mirrors your head tilt with a full blown smile on his face this time. It’s like a bright light after weeks of darkness. A person who also sees through the bullshit that enraptures once you call yourself a Targaryen.

“I greatly underestimated you my good sister,” he whispers. You know he’s thinking about his own words. ‘Pretty but horribly dull’.

“That’s fine,” you motion to the seat next to you. “You can make it up to me.”

Queen Alicent stands facing the fire. Aegon, Helaena, and Ser Quinton off to the side. All of them standing across from where you sit. Aegon gives you a knowing look while Quinton’s eyes are filled with pity and anger. Pity for his princess, anger towards his prince. Helaena looks like she wants to say something.

“I… do not know what to say,” her voice is strained with pain. You know this hurts for her. The image of the perfect son being destroyed. The pedestal she put him on crumbling before him.

You’ve gotten better at crying after Aegon told you tears will be necessary to sell it. It’s an automatic response now. The perfectly timed emotion that breaks like flood gates when Alicent holds out the diary. You say you’re embarrassed. That you never meant for anyone to read it, especially not anyone in the family. Aegon gets to be the concerned good brother. He rubbed your back, while his mother called for Helaena. She needed to know who else knew about this.

“I can say what everyone is thinking,” Aegon pipes up. “He’s a fucking cunt.”

“Aegon.”

His mother turns to glare at him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Walking around with that self righteousness just to fuck a Strong,” he scoffs. “Calling his child a mistake?”

The words makes Alicent sigh, and squeeze her eyes shut. Helaena continues to play with her fingers with a quizzical look in her eye. If Aegon of all people can judge, the actions must be bad.

“This all my fault,” you decide to take it up a notch. Your breath catches. “I must’ve done something to deserve this.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” Alicent walks over and sits next to you, pulling you into her chest. “None of this is your fault.

“I just don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you continue. That part is true; what the seven hells did you do to deserve this marriage? “This, and the baby, and missing my family. I’m just so unhappy here.”

Alicent strokes your hair. You can feel her heart thumping in her chest. You can tell she’s upset and scared. Scared for what your unhappiness means. You’re a risk now.

“Maybe… my father can come and visit. He hasn’t been here since Daella was born.”

After you got married, your parents left court to tend to your house. They felt their work was done. That the marriage was as far as their political ambitions can go. They visit from time to time to see their granddaughter but normally you’re the one who has to make the trip.

“Of course,” you can see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m sure the Hand would love to pick his brain on some things. Your father has always been so kind and helpful”

Queen Alicent is as predictable as she is smart. Your dad thought your marriage would help him get a seat in the small council. When no offer came, his ego was bruised. If your marriage couldn’t, maybe a desperate Alicent can. The idea of sending a raven about the news makes you have to bite back a smile. An ally in an castle full of strangers.

“I’ll speak to Aemond about this,” she nods to herself. “You don’t need to be worrying about this in your condition.”

The disappointment is clear in smooth voice. Before you can reply with a thank you, Helaena finally piped up.

“A baby’s green eyes spurs brighter skies.”

She mutters it before looks at you curious. You look down at your swollen belly, feeling confused. Neither Aemond or you have green eyes. You try to push the sinking feeling out of your stomach. Even Aegon, who normally ignores Helaena’s cryptic language, has perked up a little.

You take a look at Ser Quinton… his eyes as green as spring grass.

Ok this is my first one doing a tag list, so I’m sorry for those I’ve missed. It only let me do 50??? Idk it’s it’s different on desktop or I’m doing something wrong. Hopefully I can find a more conducive way for this. I also only tagged people who specifically asked: @afro-hispwriter @crispmarshmallow @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @its-sam-allgood @lol-im-done @grey-water-colors @sassysaxsolo @justsumstufff @lilithskywalker @dc-marvel-girl96 @bekky06 @claudie-080102 @cloudroomblog @shelbythequeen @crazylokonugget @solacestyles @instantpeachpeace @katyadenauer @nsainmoonchild @deeeeexx @iwanttohitmyself @rosa-berberifolia @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @princessmiaelicia @bregarc @castellomargot @thesadvampire @chaosmagiq @icarusignite @happinessinthebeing @flavorofsalt @wishfulwithwine @slut-for-eddie-munson @rosaryos @mistalli @inana-mm @winxschester @papery-maniac @nolongereviliwantlove @fultimefangirl @missusnora @skinmittensgoblin @duckworthbean @b00kdiary @chiyausu @alexandra-001 @tachibubu @juneisreading @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @verycollectivecreator

Until He Met Her

aemond targaryen x reader

author's note: i am SO sorry this is so late, i lost my phone which meant i lost this and i've been dying in deadlines but i hope you like it, i haven't written in years, feedback is appreciated <3

genre: slight angst, fluff at the end <3

aemond targaryen did not believe in love.

he saw the way his father treated his mother, the way his brother treats his wife. he knew very well that his marriage would be one of duty, to increase alliances and to produce heirs.

aemond targaryen did not believe he could be loved.

sure, his mother loved him, but that was it. it was the day that he lost his eye that consolidated his feelings. other than his mother, not a single person had defended him, not even his own father. he felt sorry for his future wife, having to live someone such a 'monster' like him.

that was until he met you.

it was his nephew's nameday celebrations or in aemond's eyes, another excuse for his brother to get drunk. the prince hated such celebrations like this. he found them rather pathetic, lords drowning themselves in their cups whilst the ladies entertain themselves with the latest gossip. however, aemond kept himself entertained with his observations and on his nephew's nameday, his observation was you.

you stuck out to him the moment you walked in. this was the first time he'd ever seen you, walking in with a smile plastered on your face, bursting with energy, greeting every single guest as if the celebration was your own. in all honesty? he found you bizarre. he found it bizarre how you insisted on acquanting yourself with every person in the room regardless of their birth. he found it bizarre as to how he can hear your loud laugh from the other side of the table. he even saw you talk to his stoic grandfather which caught him by surprise. he couldn't bring himself to admit it, but he was sliently waiting for you to approach him.

however, aemond's attention was diverted when he heard his name mentioned in the whispers of the lords and ladies, started by tyland lannister.

"how can the kings brother remain unwed? there must be something gravely wrong with him."

"he has one eye, is that not enough wrong with him."

"i heard that along with eye went his heart."

"which lady would want to lay with such a deformed creature?"

although the prince was used to such chatter and knew it was best to ignore and rise above, to remain unbothered, he still felt hurt. his missing eye always was and always will be his greatest insecurity.

"gods brother, you look like you've got something stuck up your backside no wonder why you've never danced with anyone other than mother." aemond rolled his eyes at the sound of his brothers voice, fighting the urge to put his fist in face.

"it is not that no lady wants to dance with me, i do not want to dance. whilst you fuck, drink and dance brother, i do your job." he replied with anger laced in his voice. aegon backed down, knowing better than to provoke his brother even further.

the music had changed which meant it was time for the dancing, which was also aemond's cue to leave. he never bothered to approach ladies, he could see the fear and disgust on their faces and would rather leave than face rejection.

"my lord Lannister, it has been a while are you keeping well?"

aemond felt slightly disappointed but not surprised by your approachal to the lannister lord. he had hoped you wouldn't mix with such people but then again, who didn't view him in such a way?

"my lady y/n, your beauty increases by the day, i would be a fool not to ask for this dance."

just as the prince was ready to leave, he heard,

"it is with great regret my lord i cannot accept your offer as i am to dance with another. my prince Aemond, may I have this dance?"

the prince was more than shocked. he concealed his feelings well enough but he couldn't help but feel confused. first, he was confused by you. you came in smiling with mountains of energy entertaining every single person now you came up to HIM and asked him for a dance? confused was an understatement. not only that, it wasn't normal for a lady to ask a prince for a dance nor was it normal for aemond to dance in such occasions with anyone other than his mother or sister. he was nervous, he could feel the all the eyes on him.

"with pleasure, my lady."

with that aemond took your hand and placed one hand on your waist and began to dance. he knew he was a good dancer, all the years of training meant he was swift on his feet but it still wasn't enough to stop his nerves.

"you seem tense, my prince?"

his one eye looked at you. he found you beautiful. he knew he was dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room. he strongly believed that you danced with him out of pity.

before he could replied you leaned in to his ear and whispered,

"take a look at tyland lannister for me my prince, i think his reaction might be enough to ail you."

he looked past your shoulder and right at the lannister lord who had an amusing mixture of jealousy, shock and confusion written accross his face to which both you and aemond couldn't help but laugh.

he visibly loosened up after that, which caught the attention of his mother and grandfather who shared a knowing look. after everything that happened with her own marriage, aegons and helaena's marriage and aemond's traumatic childhood, all alicent wanted was for aemond to be happy and loved.

aemond quickly spun you both around so aegon was in your eye line, who's face showed nothing but pure confusion.

"my lady, just behind me is my brother, the king, tell me what does he look like right now?"

"his grace seems rather perplexed my prince, but i think that may be due to all the ale."

you both made eye contact once again and couldn't help but laugh. whilst aemond was enjoying himself, the insecurities came creeping in. he couldn't understand why you would dance with him.

"tell me, my lady, why is that you dance with me?"

"is there any reason why i shouldn't dance with you my lord? is there something you are not telling me?" you reply amusingly

"do you not hear the whispers of the court? most ladies are repulsed by the sight of me." he said lightheartedly, but you could hear it was much more than a jest.

your squeeze his hand for a moment and hold it a little tighter. you knew the real story of prince aemond, and you couldn't help but have a soft spot for him.

"but of course i hear the whispers. but why should i take any heed? before me is a handsome, brave prince who rides the greatest dragon is westeros, why would i be repulsed? those who cower away and take heed to the gossip are at a great loss, they do not get to meet the prince aemond i have just encountered."

his gaze softens. he couldn't find an ounce of insincerity in your voice. he felt appreciated and at the very moment, the prince realised he had fallen for you. prince aemond targaryen, who had never truly known peace, finally felt it with you.

"my lady, i would like you to meet my mother."

taglist: @moonmaiden1996 @the-orions-belt @animusxy @uselessbutinteresting @dianaelena15 @sahanna @skythighs @modicum-ofnothing @cullenswife @ewansmitchells @whitesunflower @mugiwaraelly @fultimefangirl @allyoursriver @molieski @sunna-fangirls @fragilemarissa @stillinracooncity @paperstreetsoaps

*tags w a line through didn't work!!

**i really appreciate comments and reblogs <3

Aemond literally melts when you touch him.

He is devoted to your caresses and your touch, no matter how small. A simple brush of your hands, a caress on his injured cheek, a loving kiss on his forehead, any token of affection, no matter how small, means the world to him.

He grew up deprived of that kind of affection, his mother being the only one who held him in her arms in an embrace, although aemond never felt them as true as yours.

There is something about you that gets him, something that compels him to stay in constant contact with you, even when you are in public and surrounded by people, his hand always lingers on some part of your body; holding your hand under the table, squeezing your thigh or caressing your lower back. Whatever makes him feel your warmth is enough.

In public try to be more reserved, not as demonstrative as when it's just the two of you in your bedroom.

Inside those four walls where it's just the two of you, aemond feels free. Free from that cold and disinterested facade he usually shows to his surroundings, free from that uncomfortable patch covering his injured eye, free from his title of prince.

In his bedroom, hugged tightly against your chest while his arms are wrapped around your waist, with your legs intertwined and your hands stroking his hair to relax him; in that exact moment, it's just him. He is not the one-eyed prince, he is not the king-killer, he is not that frightened boy who lived in the shadow of a dragon that did not exist. He was simply aemond.

Your aemond.

Your husband, that same man who shows himself indifferent and cold to everyone, is the same man who cuddles every night with you, who fills you with kisses and caresses, the one who melts every time you flatter him and whisper sweet words like a prayer, the one who every time you kiss his scar his eyes shine and he blushes.

That same man you could call your own, was totally different in the safety of your arms. He loved when your hands played in his hair making braids or just stroking it, when you unknowingly played with his hands, caressing every roughness caused by training or by Vhagar's reins, when you gently caressed his back to make him sleep peacefully or when he enjoyed a relaxing bath with you in his arms splashing soft kisses on your bare neck.

Aemond felt at home every time you were with him, by his side.

No but aemond has a big praise kink and you can’t convince me otherwise. That boy wants to be appreciated and told he is good and pretty because no one, except alicent and criston cole, has ever praised him.

He also loves hearing you say how much you love him — he has never heard this before, not even from his mother. How can you love him, he thinks, if his own father doesn’t.

When you take off his eyepatch for the first time and say, in a choked voice, with so much emotion, “gods, you’re so beautiful”, he just melts. He can hardly believe it and he kisses you reverently, softly, then it turns greedy as he wants to pull more praise from your mouth, always more praise. When you pull apart and you gently stroke his scarred cheek (that part of his face is numb so he doesn’t feel it but the gesture, the appreciation, the lack of disgust sends him reeling), he closes his eye. “You’re beautiful,” you repeat, whispering into his ear, and he gasps, then wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, peppering the crook of it in kisses. His soul wants to sing because he has never thought he could be considered beautiful, crippled as he was, and here his love is, saying it in a worshipful tone.

When you catch him without his sapphire in in his room, his eye hurting, he turns his back to you, his heart beating fast in his throat. You caught a glimpse of his face and his skin is crawling with the fear of rejection. “Aemond,” you say softly and walk up to him and he angles his face so that his empty eye socket is hidden from you. “Leave,” he responds in a strained voice, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his whole body tense like a wolf that spotted a human in the woods and doesn’t want to be seen. In this moment, he truly feels more like a beast than a human, monstrous and not to be looked at. “Aemond,” you repeat and your fingers slide onto his jaw as you try to turn his face but he wrenches his face from your grip and takes a few fast steps back as if you just threatened him with a knife. “Leave me alone!” he snaps and you reply: “no, I want to see you as you are, my beautiful dragon.” Those words cut right through his heart and rage crashes through him like a powerful wave. He turns to you and advances on you and you stand strong as he leans into your personal space, threatening. “Oh, you want to see me as I am? Then see me, my love, see what the man you say you love, the man you say is beautiful, the man who kisses you and fucks you, really looks like!” he says lowly, dangerously, but it rings through the room like a scream. He is breathing harshly, his hands painfully clenched around your shoulders and he stares into your eyes, fury evident in his gaze but also fear. You just cup his cheek and turn up your face to kiss him. “I want you as you are, Aemond,” you whisper against his mouth and his breath hitches in surprise. He didn’t expect you to say this, he expected disgust, he expected you to turn away from him, not just now but forever. “I am a disfigured cripple,” he breathes out shakily and your heart clenches at the venomous self-loathing in his voice. You kiss him, then, pouring all your love and want into the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth when he opens his and he moans. He pulls you to himself by your waist, then he breaks the kiss and buries his face in your hair. “Do you… do you still want me?” he asks hesitantly, vulnerably. “Of course I do, Aemond.” “Say it, say you want me,” he says and it sounds more like he is pleading than commanding you. “I want you, Aemond, just as you are. You are beautiful still, eye or no eye. I love you.” And something breaks in him and you feel his shoulders shake and then a sob escapes him. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you, radiating shame, his face in his hands. You wrap your arms around his trim waist, your cheek against the back of his shoulder. He weeps desperately, every sob tearing from his throat against his will and he can’t stand that you are seeing him like this, so weak. Fear wraps around his heart and he realises you will now see him as less of a man and he feels like a child again, powerless and mocked and inferior. It’s unbearable and he craves to turn around and seek comfort and this only causes him to feel more disgusted with himself. “I love you, my prince,” you say again, knowing he needs to hear it. “I will always love you.” After a while, he calms down and you gently turn him around. He is avoiding your eyes. “Why did you remove the sapphire, is it hurting?” you ask with worry and he breathes out and nods. “Is there anything I can do?” He shakes his head and you stroke his cheek. “Come, let’s get into bed, I will read your favourite story to you, distract you.” In bed, he lays his head on your chest, the book propped up on his shoulder, and you stroke his hair. “I love you,” you repeat before you start reading and he smiles.

personal space – aemond targaryen x reader

If Aemond wanted personal space, then that was what you would give him.

warnings: none. just fluff as always.

this was based on this request. it’s short but i hope you like it! english is not my first language so i’m really sorry if there are any mistakes here.

The wind was breaking through your hair and your heart was pounding. Aldrus, your dragon, was flying fast as always. The fastest dragon alive, that was how people called him. Vhagar was after you and you could hear Aemond tell her to go faster, which made you laugh.

You and your husband once got into an argument about which one of your dragons was better. He said Vhagar was invincible because of her size. You said that it didn’t matter if she was big if it made her slow. Aemond took that to heart, apparently, and said that she could be as fast as Aldrus.

So there you were, winning a bet and proving that it didn’t matter how much they tried, Aldrus would always win when it came to speed.

When you landed on the ground, you had a proud smile in your face. You came down from the dragon and looked at the sky, waiting for Aemond and Vhagar. When they landed, you saw the angry look on your husband’s face.

“I’m sorry, were you saying that Vhagar was fast?”, you provoked him as he came down from her.

“It was not fair”, he said as you walked to him. “You left first.”

“Oh, did I?”, you laughed.

Before you could get to him, Vhagar roared. You stopped and looked at her surprised. She usually was very kind to you. “I guess someone doesn’t know how to lose a bet.”

“She does, actually. She just likes it when people respect her personal space”, Aemond said. “That is one thing we have in common.”

You knew Aemond didn’t exactly like showing affection in front of other people, and you always respected that. Why would he say that then? Did he want you to stop being so close to him?

“Really? So, you’re telling me you don’t like it when people approach you?”

He walked until he was right in front of you. You had that defiant look on your face that he loved so much. “Maybe.”

His eye stared at your lips and he got closer to you. He leaned to give you a soft kiss, but you took a step back. “I see.”

You turned away and without looking back, you left. He liked personal space? Then that was what you would give him.

The day passed and you kept away from your husband. During the supper with his family, even Helaena noticed that you decided to sit on the other side of the table, far from Aemond. No one said anything, of course. Also, you didn’t care. You were too stubborn to care.

But it was too much for him when he went to his bedchamber, the one that you two always shared, only to not find you there. He went to your old bedchamber and opened the door, completely ignoring the guard standing outside, who didn’t dare to say anything.

There you were, sitting in front of your dressing table while brushing your hair.

“Are you done?”, he asked.

You looked at him. “With what?”

He sighed. “This is ridiculous. Come to bed.”

You tried to hide your smile seeing how desperate and needy he looked. “You can just say that you miss me.”

He blushed. He knew he did because he could feel his cheeks burning and that just made it more embarrassing. It melted you inside. Only you could make him blush, that part of him was only for you. You stood from your chair and walked to him. He hid his face on your neck, putting his arms around your waist.

“I missed you”, he said with a low voice. Only you could hear it.

“See? It was not that difficult, was it?”, you felt him pinch your waist and laughed. Your arms hugged his neck, pulling him closer.

He left a few kisses on your neck before he looked at you. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t”, you whispered.

“No, I don’t, but I should”, he whispered back while staring at your lips. But this time you didn’t take a step back when he leaned to kiss you.

“Come now, I still want to brush your hair before we go to bed.”

He rolled his eye and sighed like he didn’t love it when you did that. You two walked to the other room, the one that you shared. That was your safe space. That was where he could show you how much he loved you. And the best part was that only the two of you knew what happened inside those four walls.

😭❤️‍🩹

Imagine Aemond...

Imagine Aemond’s… Humiliation, when his own brother and cousins make fun of him by bringing him a pig with wings and taunt him into riding it, calling it ‘The Pink Dread’.

Imagine Aemond’s… Shock once you put on a cheerful face and jump on the pig, pretending it’s a dragon, and laughing so merrily. 

“Lo’ and behold, citizens of King’s Landing, for I, Y/N Targaryen, First of her name, and my trusty dragon, the Pink Dread, shall bathe this place with Fire and Blood!” you looked as if you were having so much fun, and whilst Aemond’s eyes were wide with absolute bewilderment, Luke jumped on the pig as well, joining the fun, while Jace was running by your side and Aegon was cursing and stomping out of there - Once again, you destroyed his attempts at mocking his younger brother. You will pay for it.

Imagine Aemond’s… Pink cheeks once you finish playing with the pig and you let the brown haired Velaryon boys play with it, and you go up to him and cup his face, smiling so sweetly at him, and he can only mutter a soft ‘Thank you’, though he hated how he had to rely so much on you, your strength and outright nerve to go against literally everyone, just to make sure he’s fine.

Imagine Aemond’s… Impatience, every time his mother tells him he will get his dragon, but literally everyone else BUT him has one… Well, you don’t have a dragon either, which sucks because even his sister Helaena has a dragon… And such a beautiful one… Just like her.

Imagine Aemond’s… Sheer fright as he tries to run after you and stop you from going to The Cannibal - Were you out of your mind?! Were you suicidal?! He kept yelling out your name, but as soon as you got in front of the dragon’s snout, you yelled out your orders proud and confident, like a true Targaryen, and with a cheeky grin on your face, you pat and kiss his snout before outright jumping on his back and riding him like a mad girl - Doing tumbles and spins and loops and playing around with the Dracarys-ordered fire… All that Aemond is close to crying and praying to all the Gods in Westeros that you return to him, safe and sound, because you’re his only best friend and he loves you so much and never wants to lose you.

Imagine Aemond’s… Absolute relief, once your dragon finally lands back on the land, and while everyone else around him is still flabbergast that a child was able to tame THE Cannibal himself, Aemond, as soon as you playfully jump on the ground and laugh cheerfully, still drunk with euphoria from how much fun you had – He runs full speed your way and tackles you to the ground, holding you tightly and crying in your arms, cursing you for worrying him so much and almost leaving him all alone.

Imagine Aemond’s… Jealousy, once The Cannibal snarls at him in sheer envy and protectiveness, and he outright shouts back at the dragon saying you’re HIS lady! … Only to then falter a bit once the dragon begins to get aggressive, and you have to calm down the both of them by kissing their noses.

Imagine Aemond’s… Torture, once each of his brothers and cousins start making fun of him for being so absolutely useless, unwanted, worthless - And that even some silly girls can get dragons, while he will be forever doomed with a Pink Dread.

Imagine Aemond’s… Rage, when he hears you shrieking out his name, and once he gets to you, he sees you trembling and sobbing while trying desperately to keep your composure - Because Aegon was threatening you by approaching one of Helaena’s super disgusting spider thingies close to your face, and whilst you didn’t want to hurt the poor girl’s creature since they were her only happiness… You were outright terrified and disgusted by them, to the point of almost fainting.

Imagine Aemond… Jumping on Aegon and slapping him, taking the spider from his hand and giving it back to his sister, before immediately going to hold you in his arms and rock you back and forth, trying desperately to sooth you back to sanity.

Imagine Aemond’s… Smugness once you convince him to ride with you on The Cannibal, and you taunt everyone for not having the coolest dragon in the world.

Imagine Aemond’s… Cockiness, once he gets the courage to claim Vhagar, thanks to your own braveness, and despite losing his eye, he will come over to you and propose having a Dance of Dragons up in the air, as you are definitely the perfect pair and not only have you always made the best dancing pair on the ground, but, without a doubt, you will synchronize up there as well.

Imagine Aemond… All grown up, an adult, proud and confident in himself, even with that sapphire eye of his, and no claim to the throne - As he loops his dragon around your own and the two of you share such a majestic and playful dance, that the whole Targaryen lineage would be envious of you.

Imagine Aemond’s… Absolute victory once he goes against the whole fucking King’s Landing and, in front of everyone, after a most wonderful Dance of Dragons, he lands on one knee before you and proposes - Making sure Aegon, Jace and Luke are there to witness and die in anger as their crush accepts marry the ‘Useless, worthless, ugly, one-eyes Aemond’.

Imagine Aemond… Making you the absolutely happiest and most treasured person in the world, because from the very beginning, you were the only one to always be there for him, encourage him and believe in him whole-heartedly.

Imagine Aemond… Just loving you so, so much that he has no idea how to express it in words, so he just smiles at you with that sweet, loving, kitten smile and he holds you tightly to his chest, every night, and tells you new ways of telling you how much he loves you to the moon and back.