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darkestspring · 1 year

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headcanon to aemond obsessed with his half sister (daughter of Aemma and Viserys), please

you were the king and late queen's second daughter, born five years after your sister rhaenyra.

You had been dubbed The Realm's Joy. A nickname you never really paid attention to. You were the apple of the people’s eyes. You were a young girl with all the kindness in the world mixes with the softest tone.

For all intents and purposes, you were a kind girl who loved those around her and none was loved more than your mother. Your sister was rebellious and brave, you were soft and sweet, like your mother. You spent most of your time reading with your head in your mother’s lap as you took in all the teachings both she and your septa gave you.

you were a mere two years old when your mother died, and you would not understand until you were older why Rhaenyra and your father cried with you when you sobbed out for your mother. you didn’t understand why they were simply hug you when you cried out for your mother. Your mother was gone, you would never see her again, only in memories and dreams.

It was only a few months later that your father would remarry, urged by the council using your name in this method (the young princess needs a mother, otto hightower had confided in your father, she is merely two years old. She needs a gentle hand to guide her from a child to a full fledged princess.) and your father had chosen a lady who had shown him kindness, he was confident that she would raise you well beside him.

The news of her best friend marrying her father had come as a shock to rhaenyra, especially as she saw you babble sleepily into her father’s shoulder before you were handed over to Alicent. Their new stepmother.

As you grew a year older, only a few months after you turned four years old, your younger brother Aegon was born. A boy that shared your features, white hair and purple eyes. A boy that you adored. Even as a child who’s time was monopolized by her older sister, who could not bring herself to like Aegon, and her father, who adored her and her sister above all, she loved her younger siblings, bringing them little trinkets, carrying them around and playing with them.

You had picked out the egg for Aegon’s crib, much to Alicent’s gratitude and Otto’s approval. You had done the same for Helaena, Aemond and even Daeron.

you were seven years old when Aemond was born and you had cared for him above all. Nine year old Aegon had pouted restlessly as you held baby Aemond in your arms as you sang to him in high valyrian.

With all the care you gave Aemond, it wasn’t strange that he totted after you, hating to leave your side, something that pleased Alicent and Otto incredibly. In their minds, with all your care towards them, you would side with Aegon once your father died.

Even if you were oblivious to it all as you focused on your own studies and caring for your family, changes were brewing. It was certain when rumors sprung that Rhaenyra and Daemon had been spotted in a whore house. Then Rhaenyra was engaged to your cousin, Laenor. You had opted to stay behind with Alicent, as boats made you sick. She had appreciated your care. A sweet girl you were. You had been there when the declaration had been made, your step mother, caring and loving and kind, entered in a green dress, in contrast to her usual red dresses. You had looked at your sister with a confused look, being only eleven years old and she had been quick to soothe you.

even as you grew from a young child, to a young princess, more children were born. your nephew, jacaerys, and your younger brother, daeron, were both born when you were eleven, in 114 ac. you second nephew, lucerys, born only a year later, a few weeks after your nameday, and your third nephew, joffrey, was born two years after that, you had been fourteen.

One things had not changed through the years, you remained a soft and lovely girl, the reincarnation of queen Aemma, the whispers had said as you accompanied your stepmother and half-sister on walks, as you walked with Aegon, even as you talked excitedly with Aemond as he watched you with an awed look in his eyes. You were compared to your mother especially as you carried baby Daeron in your arms.

It had all come to a head when your good aunt-cousin died in 120 AC when you were 17. You had all headed to driftmark for the funeral, you had softly spoken to your uncle of your condolences as he had patted your head gently in thanks before you moved on to drift back to your father’s side. It had worsened in the night when you had woken to commotion and drowsily walked towards a lit room to find Aemond bleeding with one closed eye in a chair and your two nephews jace and luke also bleeding.

“Aemond, Jace, Luke!” You had gasped in horror, running over to Aemond, seeing as he was the most injured. Alicent’s hand reached fro your own and your heart throbbed at seeing her teary eyes.

“Sister.” Aemond had called out, his other hand reaching out for you and you gently grabbed his hand. “Sister, i claimed Vhagar.”

You had gasped at that, smiling at him. Ever since it became clear that his egg would not hatch, you had encouraged him to claim his own dragon “I’m happy for you, brother.”

Yells and shouts had mixed together and when your sister had insisted that aemond be strictly questioned on why he referred to her sons as strongs, your brows had furrowed. Aemond had already been maimed, all he needed to do was rest.

“Father, Aemond has been mortally injured.” You injected, your face pinched together in sorrow. How could your sister insist that? “Please allow the maesters to tend to him and let him rest. The same must happen to Jace and Luke, they are also injured. Father please.” Aemond, Alicent and Otto had all stared at you. You had defended Aemond over your own sister, it was a win for the greens in their eyes.

You father, moved by your tears had agreed and the matter had been settled. Rhaenyra left to dragonstone, where she married your uncle, much to your father’s rage. You, despite Rhaenyra’s insistence that you come with her as she was her sister, returned to King’s Landing with your father and family.

You wouldn’t see her for another seven years and you grew from a beautiful seventeen year old, to a stunning twenty three year old. Your hair was always decorated with flowers, even as you took ride on Silverwing with Aemond on Vhagar not very far away.

You had been overjoyed by seeing your sister again while Aemond had been less than pleased and he had made his place in your bed like he had when he was younger, taking advantage of your comfort as he rested his head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. It’s okay, he needs only to be patient for a little longer.

Aemond had gone to his mother and grandfather with a request. Allow me to marry my older sister, Princess [Y/N].

Alicent had been hesitant but overjoyed. Her two favorite children marrying? it would be a dream come true but Helaena was not happy in her marriage, she did not want to make the same mistake twice. Otto had agreed easily, taking the proposal to the king, who had deliriously agreed.

Aemond had gone to train as you had greeted your older sister. “Sister, Uncle.” You had smiled at them, as soft as you had always been. You were the spitting image of your mother, all soft and kind and sweet. It had pained Rhaenyra to be parted from you. She knew what sort of things Aemond was doing, going into your room and taking your things, sleeping in your bed. Following you around when you didn’t notice. Vile acts towards her beloved sister.

You had departed from her , going about your daily duties, you were not to attend the audience, by request of your stepmother and you had all too easily agreed as you spent your time in the gardens, picking flowers for your stepmother and helaena.

“Sister.” A deep voice had interrupted your time and you looked up, smiling sweetly as you made your way towards Aemond. “Father wishes to have a dinner tonight, come, I will escort you.” He held out his hand towards you but you had gestured towards the flowers.

“I will need to drop the flowers off and wash my hands free of dirt, sweet brother.” You had chuckled gently as he nodded and guided you away. It was a quick trip and then the both of you were on your way.

Everyone had looked up as you entered, your arms hooked with Aemond and he had guided you towards your seat and took his spot besides you.

It had been a dull affair until the toasts began. He rose his glass. “I’d like to raise a toast to my lovely sister, [Y/N].” He seemed satisfied as other rose their glasses as you smiled at him. “Who is to become my sister-wife by decree of our father.”

You had blinked at him, you lips parting but your father had smiled proudly at Aemond so you gently smiled as well. It would not be bad to be married to Aemond, he was kind and gentle.

Rhaenyra grit her teethas Daemon grabbed her hand gently. Alicent had stolen her mother’s place, and now Aemond was going to steal her beloved sister. Where would it end?

Aemond had seemed satisfied with the anger within the blacks as he leaned over to kiss your cheek. “I look forward to our life together, my sweet soon-to-be wife.”

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #LEGIT AEMOND X OLDER SISTER IS MY FAVORITE THIS WAS FUN

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feodor-dostoevsky · 5 months

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Ewan Mitchell as prince Aemond Targaryen in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON 2 (2024)

#MY FAVORITE BABY BOY IS BACK #hotdedit #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #myedit

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angelamcss · 1 year

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House of the Dragon | 1.08

#hotd #hotdedit #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #myedits #👀👁️#this show is my favorite sitcom actually #got me acting a lil weird a lil unwise

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miss-crazy-rose · 2 years

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The SECOND Viserys sent a message saying “since you’re struggling to win your war I send soldiers to save your ass” Daemon said “I think the fuck not” and ended a 3 years conflict in 3 minutes out of pettiness

I am obsessed with this dramatic bitch

#my favorite attention seeker #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd #hotd spoilers

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thecruel · 4 months

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.09 — The Green Council

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #another favorite still of mine!!!#now in uhq 🫶#pics

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earlgodwin · 1 month

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"One day, you'll realize that everything I've done has been for your own good." Juan Borgia x Lucrezia Borgia | Aegon II Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen

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corporalicent · 2 months

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aegon ii targaryen house of the dragon season two: green trailer

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegontargaryenedit #aegoniitargaryenedit #aegoniiedit #house of the dragon #houseofthedragonedit #hotdedit #corporalicentedit #corporalicentgifs #not my favorite gifset but oh well

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drakaripykiros130ac · 2 months

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“Poor Helaena…to lose a child like that”

“Poor Aegon…a father’s rage is justified”

Not hearing a whole lot of poor Rhaenyra who lost her father, her son, her throne and her unborn daughter in a short span of time.

According to TG stans, a child’s death is absolutely horrible (unless it’s Rhaenyra’s. If it’s Rhaenyra’s child, it’s fun, let’s celebrate).

I fail to see why Helaena’s grief is more important than Rhaenyra’s. She lost one son, said “bye bye world” and shut down (and I don’t see anyone pointing fingers at her and calling her useless in this war even though she was. She had a dragon she could use, but chose to remain locked up in her room and in depression).

Rhaenyra lost a whole lot more, and she had to stay on her feet and fight to take back what rightfully belongs to her.

Why is Jaehaerys’ death more tragic than Lucerys’?

Lucerys was murdered in cold blood, just like that boy of Helaena’s who’s barely relevant throughout the whole story.

Lucerys was a boy too.

Now there’s the question of who shed first blood.

The Greens did.

Actions call for reactions, and this is war.

Daemon wanted Aegon the Usurper to lose a son, just like the Greens forced Rhaenyra to suffer the loss of one of her own. He called for retribution. A life for a life. He could have arranged to have everyone in that tower killed that night. He could have demanded Aegon’s daughter, Jaehaera, be killed in exchange for the life of the daughter the Greens made him lose (Visenya). But he didn’t.

I’ve seen comments cheering on Aegon for wanting vengeance for his dead son, but apparently Rhaenyra is not allowed to demand retribution for the death of hers.

Misogyny runs high in the 21st century, doesn’t it? A woman who is not perfect is a monster, and a man with vices is just “misunderstood”.

And then you all have the nerve to point fingers at people who don’t care about the consequences of B&C. No, I don’t care that Aegon’s child is going to be murdered. Because I didn’t see that sympathy from stans when Lucerys was murdered. All I saw were jokes made at a child ripped apart by the biggest and most dangerous dragon alive because her rider is a twisted one-eyed psychopath.

The Blacks are entitled to vengeance.

Lucerys’ death is on Aemond’s head. And so is Jaehaerys’. He’s 100% responsible. If anyone is to blame for B&C, it’s Aemond the Kinslayer.

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author-morgan · 2 years

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Title: Rise by the Birdsong Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: In which you soothe Daemon's wounded ego and pride after he loses in a tournament. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE SUMMONS YOU to his chambers in the hours after the tourney and feast —the taste of defeat still bitter on his tongue. Hubris cost him the victory. He had the Merryweather boy cornered. It should have been easy, yet he was forced to yield the champion's title and purse. Daemon Targaryen drapes his arms over the side of the tub and thinks of who he would have named as the Queen of Love and Beauty had he won. Certainly not Rhea Royce —the old bronze bitch. He’s more apt to name one of the sheep before her. The thought fades when the doors creak open, his guards letting you pass into the prince’s chambers.

Steam fills the room, as does the scent of Myrish oils. Your skin prickles with heat for reasons that have nothing to do with the warmth of the air when your eyes settle on Daemon at the center of the room. You wondered where he’d gone so quickly after the feast. His eyes flash open as your footfalls echo on the stone floor until you stop beside the tub and kneel. “My prince,” you greet. He’s always liked how you say his title, sweet and taunting, nigh like a songbird. Glancing away from his face, your gaze follows the line of his arm and the planes of his chest. He’s all lean and lithe muscle, sculpted from years of training and battle —the most seasoned warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon takes your hand, reclaiming your attention. His fingers curl around yours, then he shifts and leans toward you, head dipping down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles —a knightly and unexpected gesture. He lets your hand go and settles back in the tub, and the look of an arrogant prince reclaims his expression. “Take off your dress,” Daemon demands, flicking the surface of the water. Ever the dutiful lady, you rise and reach for the ties of your nightdress —shedding the pale linen, baring yourself to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

He's been soaking for nigh half-an-hour, and the water is still warm —fire cannot harm a dragon, he told you once whilst he held his hand above a candle, toying with the flame. You sink into the water and find the space he’s made next to him, head half-resting on his shoulder. Daemon drapes his arm around your shoulders, and wordlessly, you begin tracing mindless patterns on his chest. “You fought well today,” you tell him after a while, thinking of how handsome he looked in his dark steel suit emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen and decorated with rubies.

“I lost,” he reminds you, no lack of bitterness in his voice. He’d find a way to best the Merryweather boy, somehow.

You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it, curious brows raised. “Yet they all speak of how commendable your effort and skills are” —your fingers find the scars on his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Reputation is its own victory,” you tell him, placing a kiss to the center of his palm before he retracts his hand.

Daemon looks down at you. “Trying to mend my broken heart?”

You trace a curving line over his breast and up his neck, caressing his smooth and sharp jaw. “It’s I who am heartbroken, Daemon,” you say, smiling. He cuts his eyes at you, something dangerous lurking in his stare. “You told me you’d gift me a crown of roses upon your victory, and here I am, crownless.”

His lips quirk upward. “Dare speak to your prince with such impertinence?” His touch against your cheek is gentle, but you can still hear the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. It’s the look in his cool eyes that speak of danger, though —he’s always been as wild and unpredictable as his dragon. You hold your breath as you look at him, expecting his kiss when he careens forward in the water, and when he leans in to meet your mouth, you’re struck by how desperate it feels in comparison to all the other times.

You’re impatient for more —always more— feeling his smile growing as he kisses you again, and you’re happy to give the Rogue Prince whatever he wishes. He always brings out your worse impulses. Sighing against his mouth, his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like the spices from dinner, warm and enticing, and there’s still a hint of sweet wine lingering on his lips. Not even a maiden could refuse Daemon Targaryen after a single kiss like this —you hadn’t been able to either, but now all that is in the past. His fingers run along your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and the little moan you make is music.

“Who else would keep you on your toes if not I?” You question, breathless. Daemon hums his agreement against your neck, lips trailing further down your pulse.

He pulls you close against him until you’re nearly in his lap —his cock twitches against your leg, but he brushes you off when you try to reach for him. He’d not summoned you tonight for a quick fuck. Daemon’s hands trace along your ribs to cup your breasts and feel your nipples stiffen in his palm, and his slight hum of approval makes your thighs squeeze together instinctively. Tonight, he’s more interested in having his hands on you instead —reparations for his failure to give you a rose crown.

“Open your legs,” he orders, a hot whisper at your ear, and you do so without a second thought. His hand slips between them, teasing briefly over your inner thighs before he’s touching you. Your voice is a breathy whimper as you feel him stroke slowly over the folds of your cunt and up to circle your clit. He doesn’t enter you yet, not until he can get his fill of watching you squirm and shudder from such simple attention. “What would Lord Mooton say if he could see precious his daughter like this?” Daemon relents to your soft pleas and slips two fingers into you. You shudder against him as he works in and out of you, breath catching. Your father is the last thing you want to think of with Daemon’s fingers buried in your cunt. “You like this?” He asks, well aware of how quickly he has you rutting into his hand for more stimulation.

“Yes, Daemon,” you insist, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to draw his lips down to yours. His thumb rolls across your clit, and your head falls back.

His kiss is less fierce this time, deep and slow until your lungs ache. You can sense his mood improving as he fucks you with his hand, relishing all the little noises you make for him. “You’re mine, little dove,” he breathes in your ear, and you can’t disagree when your cunt is already squeezing so tight around him. He brushes over your clit again, and you lean your head forward to his shoulder this time. “I won’t let you wed another.” You know he speaks true.

You whimper when he nibbles at your earlobe. Cautiously, you move to touch him and slowly trace down his stomach and past his navel, earning you the smallest laugh of amusement from him. Permission enough to touch him. You take his hard cock in your hand, and he lets out a pleased sigh as you begin to stroke him. Watching him is mesmerizing, his movements as graceful as ever even as he rocks his hips into your touch, though his own rhythm between your thighs stutters momentarily with distraction. “Yours,” you agree between long kisses. The Seven and the Old Gods be damned, you’d made your bed among the dragons and intended to lay in it.

Both of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the feel of your bodies as you work to get each other off. He’s better at it than you are —this Lord of Flea Bottom— and it doesn’t take long to have you panting hard with every brush of his fingers inside you. He can tell you’re close from the way you’re clenching around his fingers, his tongue muffling greedy moans.

“Let me see you,” he says, and you’re powerless to deny him when you lift your head from his shoulder. His thumb brushes over your clit harder, and the tension in your body snaps, your arms wrapping around his back and holding him to you in a desperate need to ground yourself as you come on his fingers. Daemon’s fingers keep moving inside you, teasing you through your orgasm until you’re a dazed mess for him. You give yourself several long moments to recover, breathing in the perfumed steam of the bath to slow your frantic heartbeat. He withdraws his hand from between your legs, and you can’t hide your disappointment at the newly empty feeling inside you.

Daemon rises from the water —his cock hard and straining against his belly— and offers his hand to help you out of the tub, leading you over to his bed. You lay back as he wishes, and he parts your thighs again, rubbing along the wetness he finds there and lifts his fingers to his lips to taste you. The noise Daemon makes is a promise of next time, but you’re given no time to dwell on the thought when he crawls over you and settles between your legs, the head of his cock just pressing into your cunt —unexpected, he usually takes you like a bitch in heat.

Your hips rut up towards his impatiently, and a moment later, he’s inside you. He hisses sharply but can’t stop the roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. It’s a newfound boldness you do not wish to relinquish. “Behave,” Daemon scolds, but there’s none of the usual annoyance or ire in his voice. His mouth eager on yours as he guides your arms up to pin your wrists above your head. “Stay still.” You do. Relaxing into the down blankets and pillows while he laves your neck and breasts with affection.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and he hears how you stutter out his name, and it only spurs his need to have you like this. “What a good little dove you are.” Daemon smirks, and you have to look away, almost ashamed of how red your face turns at his praises, but you squirm beneath him as he strokes along a sensitive spot inside of you.

You feel his lips ghosting over your closed eyelids, and you peek one open to watch him. There’s the faintest flush across his face as he stares down at you with such raw hunger it feels like you’re going to burn up from the heat of your bodies —like Caraxes has bathed you both in flames. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his silver hair and down the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. You flex them impatiently but keep your hands obediently where he’d placed them.

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, and you jolt, letting out a shaky moan that has his cock throbbing inside you, and it rips a harsh groan from his lips. You reach for him without thinking, dragging your nails across his scalp before he takes your wrists and presses them harder into the bed. You wriggle under him and only earn a quick nip to your earlobe. “Told you to behave,” he reminds you sternly, but his scolding only makes you clench around him tighter. Daemon curses and his next kiss is hot and demanding, and you part your lips for his tongue without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please, Daemon,” you whimper, and he knows what it is you want and gives a small nod of agreement. You reach for him again, going for his silver locks to bring him back down into another kiss. You hold tight to him when he tries to separate, keeping his chest flush against yours, whispering and whimpering his name like sacred prayers as he presses himself deeper into you —his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He thrusts into you harder while stroking your clit, and you unravel for him, tension running through you like dragonfire until you’re unable to do anything more than shudder beneath him. “Daemon,” you whimper, muscles twitching uselessly as he teases you through it. You’re too focused on your blood pounding in your ears to fully appreciate his reaction to you, his breaths ragged, and pupils blown wide with his own arousal at how you spasm around his aching cock. It’s a sight you’re not like to see again —you very well may never see your prince like this again.

You try to wrap yourself around his waist and pull him further into you —wanting to help him find his release— but instead, your legs are pressed firmly into the bed. “No,” he says through rough kisses, the last one nipping sharply at your bottom lip. He groans, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation of release.

Daemon pulls out of your cunt and leaves you empty. You almost complain, but he shushes you by dragging your hand down to his cock —slick and throbbing from all your efforts— and you follow his lead without instruction. His fingers are warm around yours as he guides you. He looks tragically beautiful when he comes, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open in a sharp gasp at the shiver running through his body. His cock twitches in your grasp, coating your hand and stomach in his sticky seed —he won’t risk a bastard child.

He moves to lay beside you, more relaxed than he’s been in a fortnight. You roll onto your side and look him over. This is far from your first time entertaining the prince in his bed —even being of noble blood, you know how this works. All the Seven Kingdoms know you are his mistress, even true love perhaps, but he is already sworn to another, and you must act as though the whispers and rumors are lies. It always hurts when you must leave, but you’d been foolish enough to cast your heart to the son of the dragon, and now you must suffer the price. “Do you require anything else, my prince?” You query.

Daemon turns his head to look at you, flushed and glowing. “Mmm” —he reaches for you, fingers trailing along your cheek and back into your hair— “stay.” The request surprises you, but you’ll indulge him and your own heart. A comfortable silence lingers until Daemon shifts, gathering you up in his arms to lay you down on the bed properly and offers a rag to clean yourself with as he does the same. When he returns to your side, Daemon rests his head on your breast and lets you hold him, humming sweetly as the songbirds, to an age-old lullaby. We'll sleep when the morning comes, and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs. And the morning will come too soon.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x Reader #Daemon x Reader #Daemon Targaryen Fanfic #House of the Dragon #Matt Smith #my writing #setting for this fic is before HotD and the DotD begins #he came for me y'all and i cannot help it #between him and Criston Cole woo boy #if i wasnt sold on the casting i am now #soon to be everyones favorite bastards

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