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zaldritzosrose · 6 hours

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Divine Violence: Part Two

Summary: Prophecy was a dangerous thing. “The one akin to you, will be your downfall.” Daemon could only think of one. His nephew, Aemond. He had not even considered another. Viserra. His niece. While unlike him in physical skill and prowess, she was more than Daemon’s mirror in temperament. The twins, married in the ways of Valyria, and a force that Daemon soon would reckon with.

TW: She/Her Pronouns, use of OC (Viserra Targaryen), mentions of character deaths, canon-typical incest/twincest, mentions of child death, descriptions of sex (not full smut).

Words: 1,769

Valyrian translations at the bottom of the post.

And AGAIN, thank you @legitalicat for being my lovely beta!

Sex and Vengeance

She felt sick. Stomach twisting into knots over and over. Jaehaerys dying was one thing, but to know Daemon had been the one behind the act was another. Viserra could not bear to tell Aegon herself, sending word through Ser Criston and Larys Strong instead. What she felt was nothing compared to what Aegon would feel, she knew that, but she could not bring herself to see the emotions when they raged through him.

Aemond, however, knew something was wrong the moment she entered their chambers.

“Ābrazyrys?” Aemond asked, the moment she shut the door, just one word enough to convey his concern.

He was a man of few words, in even Viserra, but he was perceptive. From the way her brow remained furrowed, and her hands clenched and relaxed. Aemond knew she had been down to the cells, something he had not hesitated to berate Aegon for allowing. Not that Aemond believed she would be unsafe, but he knew whatever she heard would shake her to her core.

When she did not answer, he walked over, setting down his book with little ceremony. His focus now was Viserra, hands on her arms to keep her in front of him.

“Tell me.”

Only then did she look at him, concern evident in the way he stared and the thin set of his lips. But it was as though she could not form words. Nothing would be enough to convey what she felt.

“Daemon.” Was all she could manage. But it was enough.

Aemond could piece together the rest and Viserra could feel the subtle tightening of his grip as he held back his own anger. His rage could wait. Revenge would be had, one way or another. But he had to focus on her now.

“It was Daemon…” She repeated, as if finally coming to terms with the situation.

Aemond remained silent, words were not what Viserra needed right now. He knew her as well as himself, like she was an extension of his own body and soul. He led her gently to the couch by the fire, where he had been reading when she entered. Silently, he sat down and coaxed her into his lap.

He could almost hear her mind whirring, processing everything that had happened. Not only today, but in the last few weeks. Lucerys, dead. Jaehaerys, dead. Helaena catatonic and Aegon sick with rage. Their mother and grandsire doing the best to hold the family together. Her only solace was Aemond now, the only one who could keep her sane.

His hands rested on her back, pulling her closer and urging her to curl her body into his. She was quick to relent, her head buried in his neck as she finally let herself process it all. Tears soaked the fabric of his shirt, but Aemond cared little. Viserra needed it. He needed it, his own eye stinging with tears he still would not shed. His hands firm as he rubbed up and down her back, slowly but surely calming the heaving of her breath as she sobbed.

“We have to do something.” Viserra mumbled, or at least that is what Aemond thought she said.

He leaned back and tilted her body to look at her, his finger under her chin. One brow raised which told her to repeat herself.

“We need to do something.” She said again, this time far more forceful.

Aemond knew where she was headed. Revenge. The same thing he wanted, that Aegon wanted. That their family wanted. But the way she asked, the look in her eyes. She meant the two of them. Not the family.

Them.

“We?” Aemond asked, his thumb stroking over the curve of her chin.

“What shall we do, my love?” he asked, his thumb now tugging down gently on the flesh of her lip.

Viserra paused, distracted by not only his proximity, but the warmth of his hand and the way he stared. What did she want? Revenge, yes. But how? It was not as though they could demand Daemon be brought to them, that would never work.

They needed to be clever about this.

Aemond took advantage of her silence and began to pepper kisses over her neck and jaw. For the two of them, there was never a wrong moment for intimacy. Nothing ever stood in the way of their respective appetites.

“What would my sweet idaña do in her vengeance?” Aemond muttered between kisses, knowing his voice and touch was enough to not only relax her, but entice her.

The sigh Viserra let out was enough to tell him it was working. The way she leaned into him, silently asking for more contact.

“We cannot demand Daemon come stand for his deeds…” Viserra said softly, doing her best to concentrate as Aemond moved down her jaw to her neck.

All she received in response was a hum of approval. Politics and strategy were his game, not hers. She preferred the more, secretive arts. Using the smallest morsel of information against another where she could, an art she had perfected by now. Aemond focused solely on distracting her, letting her relax and think things through.

With practised hands, he maneuvered her to straddle his lap, hands squeezing her thighs when she did not continue talking.

“Word says he is in Harrenhal, laying claim to the stronghold for Rhaenyra’s cause,”

Aemond nodded as he nipped at her neck, hands continuing to knead the flesh of her thighs as he bunched her skirts higher. All of this was the obvious part, to him anyway. But he needed Viserra to work things through. She needed to work things through.

“Harrenhal would be a prize and more for our cause, would it not, brother?” Viserra pulled herself away to force his answer.

“A prize, yes, but how would we take it?” Aemond countered and Viserra narrowed her eyes at him, earning her a smirk in response as he resumed his attack on her skin.

“Our uncle is arrogant, but he will expect retaliation. He would expect Aegon to send an army at least,” Viserra replied as her hands tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to have him biting a little harder at her neck.

“So, we do not send an army.”

Aemond had to admit, he had not expected such coherence in her plan. Not because he doubted her intelligence, Viserra was more than she seemed. But because he had expected to be filled with a rage that would near burn her from the inside, not be calculated and planned in her vengeance so soon. His smirk could be felt against her neck, telling her she was right.

“I do listen when you prattle on about strategy, you know, my darling,” Viserra purred, tugging him away from her neck and bringing his lips to hers.

“Jāhor ao gūrogon vengeance rūsīr issa?”

Aemond near growled in response, even more so to the High Valyrian. Ever since Storm’s End, he had kept vengeance in his mind and heart. The death of Jaehaerys had only made that need greater. Now, having Viserra has desperate for it as he was, he would leave tonight and burn Harrenhal to the ground if she asked.

"Va moriot.” Was the last word from Aemond’s lips before he had his lips on hers, near throwing her down onto the couch below in his haste.

Some men found lust and desire by softer means, like the flirtation or tender touch of their lady. Aemond, however, found it in the darkness that lived in his sweet sister. That fire that never failed to have both his heart and cock demanding her. And Viserra was always willing.

Aemond’s hands slid under her skirts, making quick work of her smallclothes before slipping his fingers deftly between her folds. It seemed talking about vengeance atop him had been enough to get his precious wife excited. But Viserra was not here for his teasing this time.

“Do not tease tonight, valzȳrys,” Viserra hissed down at him and Aemond chuckled but relented. He knew better than to argue.

He made quick work of his preparations, fingertips spreading her slick over her skin as his other hand made quick work of his own breeches. Tonight, would not be a night for soft caresses and slow sensuality. But Aemond remained gentle as he entered her, as he always was, earning him a moan from Viserra to match his own growl of satisfaction.

His movements were gentle but hurried, pushing inside her until he could move no further. Hands pinning hers above her head as he began to rut into her, lips kissing whatever skin he could.

There was no softness and romance, the two of them pouring all emotion they had into this one act. Aemond’s thrusts brutal as he kissed and nipped any skin he could. Viserra’s nails digging into the hand that held her wrists while her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

Soon, release found them both. Nothing but grunts and growls from Aemond mixed with the soft chants of his name from Viserra. Slowly, he stilled, gently settling his weight atop her as he released her hands.

“I will give you, and our family, the vengeance we deserve, my sweet sister…”

Alys had been summoned to Daemon’s chambers, which surprised her. The prince never asked for her presence since she had given him her last vision. He had all but avoided her. But he had been given word that she had done nothing but stare into her flames for the last three days.

The three days that had past since word had reached him of the success of Blood and Cheese, and rumours had circled she had seen another vision.

“You called, my prince?” Alys asked, standing close to the door as Daemon turned to acknowledge her.

He nodded, gesturing for Alys to come closer.

“The servants said you have been at the flames? Is this true?” Daemon asked, sounding sceptical as usual.

Alys knew this was coming, despite how he would mock her abilities, he still sought them out.

“I have, do you wish to know what I saw?”

Daemon knew to take the witch’s words with a grain of salt. Never outrightly believe what she said, but he needed to know. And what Alys had seen, would change everything. The question was, how much would she reveal?

Alys began to explain, in her usual frustratingly ambiguous way, her vision. The sudden rush of sight that had hit her hard as she had stared into the flames. Slips of silver hair. The quick flashes of blood, flame, and battle.

A decision made.

Vengeance would be taken.

Valzȳrys = husband

Idaña = twin

Ābrazyrys = wife

“Jāhor ao gūrogon vengeance rūsīr issa?” = "Will you take vengeance with me?"

"Va moriot." = "Always."

a/n I do use a translator so the High Valyrian won't be perfect!

And comment or dm if you want to be tagged!

Taglist:

@multyfangirl @khaleesihel @lady-phasma @blissfulphilospher @vhagar-balerion-meraxes

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #oc!viserra targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #alys rivers

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merge-conflict · 10 months

Text

as long as we stay in this bed

V sleeps like the dead, all six feet and change sprawled out directly in the middle of the bed leaving precious little space for Johnny and Kerry to flank her. The aging mattress sags under their combined weight, pulling them into their own private gravity well. There are springs digging into his ribs, and the wheezing air conditioner feels more like the fan in an oven, but Kerry falls asleep almost as his head hits the pillow and wakes to bright gleam of the moon through the curtains and the sound of quiet conversation.

“–because it’s obviously bothering you.”

“You’re bothering me.”

“C’mon–“

Kerry has to dig his elbow into the mattress to keep in place as V rolls over. She grimaces, readjusting her leg with one hand and then blinks in surprise when she makes eye contact. “Good morning.”

“It’s one a.m.”

“Now we’ve interrupted his beauty sleep.” First Johnny’s hand slips over V’s hip, and then he props himself up on an elbow, his smirk appearing just over her shoulder. Her elbow in his ribs is half-hearted, but he still winces.

“Someone in this show has to look good,” Kerry grumbles, fanning his shirt in a mostly failed attempt to get some air. “Sure as hell isn’t going to be you.”

“What–” Johnny says, defensively, “–you wanna lay in bed with your feet up and talk about who’s prettiest?”

“Be a three-way tie,” V says, saving Kerry from the ledge of his half-formed apology. “We’re all obviously going to vote for ourselves. Or you can admit you liked being me.”

“Not even remotely the same thing,” Johnny tells her, and disappears down back behind her.

“Johnny–“ Kerry props himself up, and then after a moment of indecision moves in close to V so he can see over side. She slings an affectionate arm over him, and even though it’s too hot the weight is reassuring. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Am I allowed to complain that you managed to get your hands on the guy exactly a half inch taller than I am?” V asks dryly, which makes Johnny break into a shit-eating grin.

“Happy coincidence,” he drawls. “Plus the bastard deserved it.”

“Got a better question,” Kerry says, drawing Johnny’s attention. “I save your ass, come all the way out here and you wouldn’t even vote for me?”

Johnny grunts, but he can feel V’s laughter where their ribs touch. Her hand presses against the small of his back, bringing him closer. “Everyone would vote for you, pretty boy.”

“He’s got enough of an ego, doesn’t need you stroking it.”

“Well if you aren’t going to–“

“Oh, that’s how you wanna play it, huh?” Johnny rolls over again, slotting in behind V and making her flinch as he jostles her leg. He drapes his left arm over hers: flesh over red chrome, as arrogant as he is handsome even in a stranger’s face. It’s still Johnny underneath, just like it was once Johnny looking at him from V’s eyes. Now both of them are looking at Kerry in the moonlight like they can see right through him. “This going to be some kind of contest?”

“Probably can work something out,” he says, with a smile. “Although if you wanna fight over me–“

“Look at him preen,” V murmurs, in a low voice. “He’s almost as bad as you are.”

“Not even close,” Kerry protests, and then freezes when Johnny’s knuckles brush over his cheek, V’s hand going up his spine. He closes his eyes, feels the callus of Johnny’s thumb tracing his lips and a surge of heat, along with a sudden a sort of panic that the last few months have been a fever dream.

“You just going to let her call you a pretty boy?” Johnny says, and there’s no better question engineered to pull Kerry back into reality.

“Are you asking to get cut down to size?” V asks, in a disconcertingly mild tone. Johnny sulks, but doesn’t argue, fingers roaming down the side of Kerry’s jaw, down his neck and ghosting over his collarbones before retreating to the relative safety of V’s hip.

“Something is bothering you,” Kerry tells her.

“Yeah,” V says, eyes flashing. He recognizes her smile– just like the one he uses for the cameras. “Got a two hundred pound brain tumor.”

“Right,” Johnny says, pressing himself in even closer, making her eyes flutter closed as he kisses her neck. “It must be my fault.”

“It’s not,” she admits, her hand balling between Kerry’s shoulder blades before she visibly relaxes. He laces his fingers in with Johnny at her hip, which finally coaxes out a real smile.

“Uhuh?” Johnny prompts, expression softening as he looks at Kerry with his cheek pressed into V’s shoulder.

“Good night,” she says definitively, pressing her face into the pillow. “It’s time for me to get my beauty sleep.”

“Good night,” Kerry says, suppressing a laugh as Johnny rolls his eyes.

“Guess I need to work on mine too,” Johnny says. V turns onto her back, exposing them both to view as their intertwined hands come to rest over her stomach.

“Yeah, I’m the one with the ego,” Kerry mutters, and feels V laugh.

“Exactly,” Johnny says, and settles down next to her, tucking himself in close despite the stifling heat. Kerry does the same, feeling a strange sense of deja vu as he tucks his chin into her shoulder. He squeezes Johnny’s hand and receives the same reassurance.

And despite the fact that his knee is starting to ache and he’s sweating and hasn’t eaten a decent meal in three days, he falls asleep and doesn’t dream at all.

#cyberpunk 2077 #silvervdyne #johnny silverhand #kerry eurodyne #valentine #shenanigans au #my fic #just had to write some fluff #and valentine demonstrating her skill with frame-perfect interrupts lol #this originally had way more plot in it and not enough touching but this is better #writing this is the only thing keeping me sane right now ngl. send thots and prairies

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