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youraverageaemondsimp · 5 months ago

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Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter I : The Beginning.

Summary: "Be careful what you wish for" is what everyone says, you realise that you should've taken them seriously when you find yourself reincarnated as a character in the show who never existed.

WARNINGS: CANON TYPICAL INCEST, CONTAINS SPOILERS OF F&B, S1 AND S2, reader's appearance isn't described, only the fact that she is a strong, you can imagine her however you like, the picture used in the header is only to capture the feel of the story. A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune

masterlist // next

“Jesus Christ, fuck this show, fuck everything, what the fuck is wrong with the writing?” You exclaim in annoyance after witnessing the scene that was supposed to be heavily impactful be butchered.

“That is the most anticlimactic death scene I've ever witnessed, this has to be a joke.” You furiously ramble. You decided to give House of The Dragon a try after your friend had recommended it, the show currently has released three seasons, with the fourth season in production, you thoroughly enjoyed season one and decided to binge all the seasons.

However, everything started to go downhill from season two, yet you still decided to watch for the sake of your favourite characters, daemon and aemond, only to witness the battle that was supposed to be intense and stressful get finished in the span of two minutes.

You stared at the screen, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you witnessed Aemond falling into the lake along with Vhagar, Daemon was knocked off Caraxes too and fell to his death.

They wrapped up the battle in mere moments, which made you angry as you were so hyped up to see them fight.

“Ugh, I never hated a show more than this, waste of my time, they did season one so well, what happened to rest? I did not expect this.” You sigh in frustration, feeling like you just wasted your time.

“If only… If only I ever get a chance, I'd change entire plot and script because fuck this.” You lay down on your sofa, staring at the ceiling, the show still playing in the background. You recollected the entire plot in your head, thinking of every moment in the show, trying to come up with an easy solution.

“If only they had married Jace to Helaena, it would have been peaceful.. Or at least if they had an older daughter married to Aegon or Aemond.” You mumble, but then shake your head, “What am I saying? Things still would've been complicated anyway.” You wonder in disbelief at your own words.

You yawned loudly, stretching out your limbs and blinking your eyes rapidly, your vision began to get blurry and you sighed in content, finally willingly wanting to sleep after you forced yourself to stay up all night to binge the series.

Your vision darkened slowly as you closed your eyelids, head spinning as you took slow breaths of air, cool breeze brushes past your cheeks and before you know it, you're slowly succumbing into slumber.

You blink your eyes open, realising you fell asleep, you sigh stirring on the soft sheets, entangling them between your legs.

Soft sheets?

Your sofa doesn't have any sheets.

You quickly blink again, taking the note of a translucent veil hanging from above, surrounding the bed you're in, creating a curtain around your bed.

Why were you in bed?

You sit up looking around, taking in your surroundings, your eyes widening in fear as you don't recognize this room at all, ancient tapestries, brown wooden furniture, and the source of light being only from the candle.

Have you been kidnapped?

You look down at your body, noticing you are in a white nightgown instead of the shorts you fell asleep in. Your heart begins to race and you panic, unable to understand where you are or how you got there. You steady your breathing, wondering if someone kidnapped you to play a role in a mediaeval film of theirs? But why would anyone do that?

The sound of metal clanking harshly against the floor and a small scream made your head turn the direction it came from, the liquid in the decanter spilling out rapidly as the person behind the fallen cutlery stood in shock.

“The princess is conscious!” She yells loudly before turning around and running out of the room in a hurry.

Princess?

Is this a prank?

You barely have any moment to think when you hear the sound of multiple footsteps coming from outside to your direction, you could almost feel the ground rumbling, noting that everyone was rushing to this room.

You push the veil to the side and stand up, getting out the bed and examining your surroundings, looking at the sigils and the paintings. All of this looked familiar somehow.

A small gasp echoed through the room, coming from the entrance, which made you turn around to take a look at who was in the room once again. Your eyes widened at the sight.

A lady with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes stood in front of you, someone who resembled Rhaenyra and next to her stood Jace and Luke breathing heavily, looking at you in shock.

Did the house of the dragon cast kidnap you to play a prank on you?

That sounds too unreasonable.

“Oh my sweet daughter!” Rhaenyra rushes over to you, embracing you tightly, tears flow down her cheeks as she peppers you with kisses “I-i i cannot believe this, you finally woke up after many years.” She sobs, you look at her questioningly. “Sister.” Jacaerys speaks up, coming to you and joining the embrace of you and Rhaenyra, Luke joins in as well.

“We missed you.” Jace says and you stare at all of them confused.

This has to be a joke.

They notice the expression on your face and their faces immediately drop, “Your grace, the princess woke up after many years, she might not be able to recognise you.” The maester chimes in, Rhaenyra nods, sniffling yet understanding your condition.

“Emma? Is this a joke?” You question, referring to the actor of Rhaenyra, “I’m not Aemma darling, she is your grandmother.” Rhaenyra corrects you. “I think she must be confusing the names of everyone due to her hazy memory.” The maester tries explaining, you sigh.

Yeah this must be a dream.

You shake your head gently and immediately slap yourself to wake yourself up.

“Ouch!” You yell in pain, cupping the cheek you slapped yourself on, Rhaenyra is mortified and the guards rush in and hold your arms back so you don't further hurt yourself.

This is not a dream.

You can’t feel pain in your dreams and you will wake up right before impact.

You look at Rhaenyra’s face, she is as real as a living person, standing right in front of you.

She looks just like Emma. of course, after all Rhaenyra is indeed played by them.

But this is not them.

She is not Emma

You can feel the vibe, it's very different.

You’ve met Emma before in costume, yet they did not give off the vibes as what Rhaenyra is giving off right now, after all, when you met them; it was just a show, but now it's your reality.

Did you die in your world?

You’ve definitely transmigrated into this show, but as who?

Did Rhaenyra ever have a daughter? You knew she didn't.

“Mirror, get me a mirror.” You ask and they look at you questioningly, your form begins to shake as the realisation is too overwhelming, there are many questions in your mind, “Please!” You cry, and immediately a servant moves and rushes over with a mirror.

Your eyes widen.

It's you.

You had not become someone else, but you remained as yourself. “What is my name?” You ask, “Y/N.” Rhaenyra replies. Your mind begins to spin, you are in another world as yourself, you have not possessed anyone else, which means your body must’ve disappeared from your world.

You try to stay calm in this situation, breathing heavily, “You are?” You ask, wanting to reconfirm, you watch as Rhaenyra's face crumples into that of a sad face, probably feeling hurt that her own daughter doesn't recognise her.

“I'm your mother, you are my eldest daughter, they—” She points at Jace, Luke and Joffrey, “—are your younger siblings.” You turn towards them.

You nod, pretending to play the part while you figure out everything. “I'm sorry, I do not remember.” You apologise and Rhaenyra shakes her head, “It is alright, you have been unconscious since the past six years, this is better than losing my daughter.” She replies.

“Six years… Did I fall unconscious after Aemond lost his eye?” You think out loud and Rhaenyra looks at you in shock, “You remember him?” She asks and you clear your throat, “It's hazy, my memory.” You answer back.

“Your grace, the event was probably traumatic for her, hence why she can remember it in parts.” The maester explains it to Rhaenyra, you mentally thank the maester for covering up for you always.

You noticed how they were all dressed up, looked as if they were about to leave but their plans were cut short, and you recognize this gown of Rhaenyra.

It was the gown she wore when she left for King's Landing, in order to settle the matter of Luke's right to driftmark. “You guys were departing somewhere?” You ask, wanting to really confirm it, “Hm? Huh, Yes, We were about to leave for King's Landing.” Jacaerys answers your question.

“Can I tag along?” You blurt the question.

“.. Tag along?” Lucerys repeats your words in confusion, your language confusing him.

“I mean to say, can I come along?” You ask the question in a proper manner, Rhaenyra shakes her head, “No- you've just woken up, you might still be weak- I cannot risk-”

“Mother! I am perfectly fine!” You cut her off, breaking free from the guards hands and running around the room, doing jumping jacks, showing her that you aren't weak and are perfectly capable of physical activity.

Rhaenyra watches in shock, seeing you move like this but she chuckles, shaking her head in comic disbelief, “I guess she has not changed after all.” The maester comments which makes Jace and Luke smile.

“Very well, Pack the princess’ belongings, and get her ready for departure, we will depart two days later.” Rhaenyra orders the maids and you smile at her.

“But mother, I do not have many dresses—”

“You do, I had them tailored every year, whenever you grew, hoping that you would wake up.” She replies softly and you just then realise how Rhaenyra loves her children.

“The maesters said that you might not ever wake up, and that your body will be stunted from growth, yet… I'm glad their predictions never came true.” She smiles gently at you, you smile back.

The maids come in with a bath as everyone leaves, some of them begin packing your belongings. You notice how your body doesn't look how a person in a coma state should be looking especially in the mediaeval times, but instead you seem to be well taken care of, treated as if you were alive.

The maids quickly finish your bath and dress you up, you have to pretend to get used to this atmosphere and era even though you're highly uncomfortable, the mere thought of having servants made you feel bad.

And with that, the night fell, you couldn't sleep thinking about how you're going to deal with everything, could you really prevent war from happening? It happens due to a misunderstanding in the show right? What if the misunderstanding doesn't occur? Your mind was filled with such thoughts through the whole night.

In King's Landing.

“My queen, Rhaenyra, has sent a letter saying that their arrival will be delayed further.” The master sums up the contents of the letter in the council room, in front of Aemond who had been called by Alicent for an urgent matter.

“Why so?” Alicent asks, furrowing her brows.

“Princess Y/N had woken up from her unconscious state.”

An ear piercing shattering sound of glass is heard through the entire room, when turned to look at the origin, It is known that Aemond had dropped the wine glass he was drinking from.

“Y/N is awake?” Aemond asks the maester.

“Yes my prince.” The maester replies.

Aemond's heart begins to pound in his chest loudly, his mind spiralling at the thought of you finally waking up all these years later.

“Please excuse me.” Aemond gets up from the chair, excusing himself from the council and leaving the room, his brain occupied with the thoughts of you.

There wasn't a day where Aemond hadn't thought of you, he would at least think about you once a day- the news of you waking up from unconsciousness made the adrenaline in his body rush.

He felt like a hungry snake that had been starved for many years who at last found a prey to feast on, he felt like a drought-stricken land finally receiving rainfall, he felt like a garden void of any flowers which started to bloom once again.

He was thrilled.

He reminisces of the fond memories you both shared, he could never ever forget them, smiling at the thought of you.

He wondered if you had changed or remained the same.

Whatever it was, he couldn't wait.

He couldn't wait to receive you.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 11: The Innocent Can Never Last]

A/N: Below are your guesses…let’s see how you did!!! 🥰😘 Only 2 chapters left 🥳

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“You could have gone to California with them,” Rio says as he flips open the fuel cap of a black Nissan Frontier, parked in the driveway of a two-story brick house on National Avenue, not far from where Route 95 branches north of Winnemucca like an artery from a heart.

You squint up at the cumulus clouds to avoid meeting his eyes. You keep thinking you’re going to cry and have to suffocate it, drown it, slit its throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Sweat runs in rivulets down his face as he slides in the semitransparent siphoning hose, the one with the little pump on it that Jace had when you found him in Iowa. Aemond gave this to Cregan; he kept the hose without the pump for himself. A small, curious sacrifice. You are fanning Rio with a magazine, Bow International. You had grabbed it thinking of Daeron, then remembered he wasn’t here to give it to. “Jesus Christ, it’s so fucking hot…”

“Djibouti was hotter.”

“Djibouti had a beach. And an air conditioning unit in every window.”

Cregan is waiting by the Tahoe and leafing through a guidebook he found at the Maverik gas station. Ice is lying on the ground and panting beside him, her shaggy grey coat filthy with dust and sand. “The town was named for Chief Winnemucca, who was born in the 1820s in what would later become the Oregon Territory. It either means ‘the giver of spiritual gifts’ or ‘one moccasin,’ depending on the interpretation.”

Rio says: “Damn Cregan, you can read?”

Cregan frowns down at the guidebook with feigned regret. “I really wish Trump had built that wall.”

Rio guffaws. “Cregan, man, I told you. I was born here!”

He continues: “Winnemucca was a stop on the transcontinental railroad.”

“Great. Let’s get that up and running again.” Rio groans as he squeezes the pump on the siphoning hose with increasing frustration. “Absolutely nothing. Not a drop.”

“We probably have enough to get to Denio Junction,” you say gingerly, knowing he’s suffering. It has to be over 100 degrees.

“Yeah, and what if there’s no gas there? How the hell are we going to get to Adel, Oregon?”

“We could walk if we have to.”

“85 miles? In heat like this?”

“In basic training we had to run—”

“We had water in basic training, Chips!” he snaps; and Rio never snaps. “And real food, and corpsmen for if we passed out, and also there were no fucking zombies running around eating people, remember that part?!”

You stare down at the dirt. You can’t cry; you can’t waste the liquid.

“Wait, no, no, no, I’m sorry.” Rio lifts your chin so you aren’t able to hide from him. “I’m…you know…I should already be there. I could be in Odessa in six hours, I could be with Sophie and the baby before sundown, and instead we’re stuck here in the desert and I’m thinking…what if what should take hours ends up taking weeks? What if when I get there, I’m too late?”

You nod, you understand. Out on the road, Cregan keeps his face buried in his guidebook, trying to be polite and pretend he can’t hear you.

“And, I’m also thinking…” Rio says, soft and low. “That I don’t want to be the reason why you miss out on a chance at happiness when the world could literally be ending.”

You gaze up at him, dejected, pathetic. “I can’t handle any virgin jokes right now.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to make one.”

“I didn’t want to go with them to California,” you lie. And then a truth: “And I would never leave you. I promised.”

Rio smiles. “You promised not to let me die alone, and I don’t plan on dying. You’ve gotten me most of the way already.” He glances towards the Tahoe. “I think Axe Boy would have rather stayed with them too. When he was asleep last night I heard him mumbling something about Helaena.”

Cregan? Helaena? Interesting. “Aemond doesn’t want me.”

“Oh, come on. You know he and his one eye are sobbing into a can of SpaghettiOs right now.”

“Be nice,” you murmur morosely.

“Why? He can’t hear me,” Rio says. “Look, Aemond’s fucked up. And of course he is. He went from learning how to save lives and deliver babies to watching his friends die horrible, preventable, completely meaningless deaths. That’s gotta suck. It sucked for me, and I barely even knew them, and no one expected me to be able to do anything about it. Aemond’s the one people trusted to protect them, and he couldn’t. So why would he be able to protect you?”

I never wanted Aemond to protect me. I just wanted him to take me away from here, even for a minute, even for seconds, one hushed stolen moment at a time. “I wish I had said something different back in Battle Mountain.” I wish I had told him I love him. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late.

“You deserve to have the whole wholesome normal family thing, the husband and the kids and the warm fuzzy holiday traditions. I know you’ve always wanted that.”

“If I choose the wrong person, I’m going to end up alone and miserable. And I’ll turn into a monster like my mother.”

“Hey,” Rio says, like he’s ready to fight you. And then he uses your real name, something he’s done maybe five times since you met him, just like you almost never call him Bryan. “You will never be like your mother. Okay? It’s not possible. You don’t have it in you. You’re not a parasite, you’re not mean.”

You want to believe him. “Okay.”

Then Rio chuckles. “Actually, you’re going to end up like my mom. Living in the middle of the woods, making your own soap out of goat milk, growing weed and knitting sweaters.”

You smile wistfully. “I have no idea how to knit. I want to build things.” Then you remember something from when you were fishing on Lake McConaughy in Nebraska. “Aegon said I look like someone who knits. Whatever that means.”

“It means you’re from Kentucky.” Then Rio asks, tentative: “So…what do you think about Aegon?”

This seems random. “He’s cool. I like him, obviously. He’s, um…I don’t know how to describe it. He’s so sad but so warm. It’s impossible to feel nervous around him, which is nice.”

Rio nods, giving you a teasing smirk. “Alright then.”

“Why?”

“Well I was just thinking that if he grows up a little more, he might be good for you.”

“Rio, he’s thirty.”

He bursts out laughing. “So give it another decade and he’ll finally be baby daddy material.”

“I’m sure he’ll be preoccupied with his drug dealing and brothel empire by then.”

“You aren’t even the tiniest bit intrigued?”

“I’ve never really thought about him that way.” And there’s another dimension to it that wouldn’t occur to Rio: Aegon is an addict. You know what it’s like to have to depend on somebody like that. You would never allow yourself to fall in love with him, not the way he is now.

Rio sighs and pivots. “You want me to give you a baby?”

Now you’re giggling. Of course, he’s not serious, just like he wasn’t serious when you were trapped on that transmission tower together back in Pennsylvania. “Stop.”

“I’m super tall and charming, and I was a great electrician back when electricity existed, and I have luscious curly hair that you can readily observe since the U.S. Navy isn’t around to make me shave it off anymore.”

“Sorry, I don’t reproduce with Enrique Iglesias fans.”

“You are so racist, and yet I’d still be willing to help you out with a sperm donation. I’d blindfold myself and struggle through it somehow.” He’s grinning, but his dark eyes are kind. “As long as I’m alive, you will always have a family. And Sophie gets that. Her parents were fuckups too. That’s why she’s so close with mine even though they’re insane.”

“They’re exactly the right kind of insane for the way the world is now.”

“Remember when my dad went through his ‘wifi gives you cancer’ phase and would only communicate with me via Republican-president-themed postcards?”

“The Ronald Reagan one was neat. So many eagles.”

“Truly an excessive amount of eagles.” Rio goes for the porch. “I guess we’ll scrounge whatever we can inside and check the rest of the cars on the street before we head north.”

“I ain’t seen any others without the fuel cap already open,” Cregan says from the Tahoe, dispirited but trying not to show it.

“If we end up having to walk, we’re going to need water or Hawaiian Punch or something. A lot of it. Maybe we can find some of that Pedialyte stuff Aemond got for Jace when he was sick.” Rio pounds one closed fist against the front door. “Hey! Anybody home? We’re looking for supplies. Not trying to cause any problems. If somebody’s in there, just give a shout and we’d be happy to keep moving.”

You’ve followed Rio up onto the porch. “If there’s no water inside, canned fruit will work. You can drink the syrup for hydration, and all the sugar gives you calories.”

Back by the Tahoe, Cregan is leaning down to pet Ice. She’s still panting hard, foamy saliva dripping from her muzzle. “Y’all, we gotta get moving,” Cregan says. “Princess needs to be back in the truck with the AC, and I don’t want to waste gas by letting it idle.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re working on it.” Rio kicks the door once, hard enough that you hear the wood split near the hinges, dry and cracking. He backs up to prepare to give the door another blow, which is all it will take. Then there is a muffled voice from inside the house.

“Get the hell off my property!”

Immediately, you are stunned by the boom of an explosion, shards of wood flying like shrapnel, the steel barrel of a shotgun jutting from the fresh hole in the center of the door. Rio is scrambling off the porch and dragging you with him. With your free hand, you grab your M9 from its holster and begin shooting before the man inside can fire again, before he can kill Rio or Cregan or you. Your bullets pierce through the blackness of the gaping wound in the front door. You hear shrieks of agony; you see flecks of blood painting the wood. Now there are people shooting from the second-story windows, and you feel the wind of bullets clip by as Rio pulls you towards the Tahoe. The engine starts; Cregan is already in the driver’s seat. You return fire until your M9 makes only small, hollow clicks when you pull the trigger. And by then Rio is shoving you into the truck.

“Go, go, go!” Rio yells at Cregan the second he crawls in behind you and slams the door shut. Cregan swerves away from the curb and barrels down the street, tires squealing, gunshots still ringing out from the house. Ice is barking franticly.

“Rio, I’m out,” you say, terrified.

“What?”

“Bullets. I’m out of bullets.”

“We gotta go,” Rio concedes. There are scratches on his cheeks from splinters of wood, sweat turning from clear to blood-tinged pink as it drips down onto his shirt. “We gotta get out of Winnemucca. If we have to walk, we’ll walk. At least there’s no one north of here to worry about for a hundred miles. Not living and not dead either.”

From the backseat, you glance over at Cregan. “Oh my God, Cregan, you’re hurt.”

“I know.” His right forearm is covered in blood. It’s a graze wound, but deep; when he turns the steering wheel, you can glimpse the white of bone as his shredded muscles open like a mouth.

“You need stitches!”

“Oh yeah?” Cregan replies as the Tahoe bumps over corpses in the street, bodies mummified by the wind and the sun. “And which of you two would be better at that, you think?”

“We’ll get supplies to patch you up,” Rio says, peering out the window, searching for someplace to stop. “And enough food and water to last us through the desert. Right there, hop on Route 95, and we’ll find a store at the edge of town before we’re in No Man’s Land.” Cregan jerks the wheel; the Tahoe veers onto Route 95 heading north. Boarded-up houses and graffitied overpasses and gnarled bristlecone pine trees and lifeless traffic lights and looted storefronts pass by in a blur.

You turn to Rio. “What if those people try to follow us?”

“It’ll only take five minutes.”

“Rio…”

“We don’t have enough to drink. If we get stranded in the desert, we’ll die. I’m not dying out there. I didn’t cross 3,000 miles to drop dead just a few hundred away from Sophie.”

He’s right. There’s no other option. North of Winnemucca is a wasteland, a boneyard. “Okay,” you surrender, helping him look for stores. “But we have to be quick.”

“I can be real quick, baby. You’d know that if you took me up on my very selfless sperm donation offer.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows; you can see his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Y’all have a mighty strange relationship.”

Rio is pointing. “Right there, Riverside Grocery & Liquor. Let’s give that a try. Cregan? You see it? By the Taco Bell.”

“Of course you’d be attracted to Taco Bells,” Cregan says as the Tahoe zigzags across the parking lot, but his voice is woozy. Blood pours from the gash in his arm. What if the bullet severed a major artery? What if he’s bleeding to death?

You ask: “Cregan, do you feel okay?”

“I’m alright. Don’t you worry about me, Miss Chips. You got enough worries already.”

“You don’t look alright.”

His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror; they are fearful. “I think I need to get pressure on it.”

“We’ll take care of you, buddy,” Rio says. And as soon as Cregan shifts the Tahoe into park, Rio is out the door and striding into the small grocery store, his Remington 12 gauge in his hands. It’s unloaded, but still good for blunt force trauma. The glass of one of the front doors has been shattered. Rio steps inside, his boots crunching on broken glass. You are right behind him; Cregan lifts Ice with his uninjured arm so she can get inside without cutting her paws.

Harsh desert sunlight streams in bright enough that you can see reasonably well, dusk or dawn instead of midday. The air tastes like dirt and decay. The shelves of alcohol have been picked clean, but cans and bottles and cardboard boxes have been left strewn haphazardly around the rest of the store. There are several circular racks of souvenir t-shirts: horses, mountains, pine trees, I was a buckaroo on the Cowboy Corridor, #DesertLife, Straight Outta Winnemucca. You yank a white shirt with a rattlesnake on it off its hanger and tie it tightly around Cregan’s bleeding forearm, closing the ragged ends of his wound.

Ice is whining and nudging at Cregan. “There’s one in here,” he warns.

“Yeah, I got it,” Rio says. She staggers out of the stockroom hissing and growling, the flesh on her face almost completely gone, her exposed skull stained with clotted blood, her teeth chattering. Long strands of blonde hair hang in patches from the back of her head. She is wearing a red vest with a nametag on it. Once upon a time, her parents called her Jasmine. Rio strikes the zombie with his Remington so hard it is decapitated, and the corpse crumples to the filthy tile floor as its head rolls over towards the cash register. Then he slings the shotgun over one of his shoulders and begins shopping.

Cregan is tall enough to see the tops of shelves where items have been missed; he pulls down bottles of Snapple, Gatorade, Yoohoo, Jarritos soda and stuffs them into his backpack. You are on your hands and knees sorting through the debris on the floor, everything coated with a layer of dust and sand. You find cans of mandarin oranges, boxes of graham crackers, tuna pouches, and packets of Tylenol. Cregan will need them. He needs more than that, but you can’t give it to him. You’ve never been to medical school. You grab more souvenir shirts to use as bandages later.

Maybe there are doctors in Odessa.

Rio says excitedly from the other side of the store: “Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!”

Maybe there’s a life worth living in Odessa.

“Just hurry up so we can go.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He’s filling his arms with boxes and bottles, making a lot of noise. Ice is pacing and whimpering, panting like she can hardly breathe, drooling gluey strings of saliva. The grocery store is an oven. Cregan pops open a can of Arizona iced tea and pours it into her mouth to be gulped greedily down. Still, Ice’s yellow wolfish eyes dart around the room, vigilant, rattled.

“I think there’s another zombie,” you say, watching her. You reach for your M9 before remembering it’s unloaded.

Cregan replies: “Sure she ain’t just overheated?”

Somewhere close, less than a mile away: gunshots out on the streets of Winnemucca.

“Ready, kids?” Rio says, his arms overflowing, half a Slim Jim hanging out of his mouth like a cigarette.

“Yes sir,” Cregan agrees. The t-shirt you knotted around his forearm is splotched with crimson, but the bleeding appears to have slowed. Fragments of glass shatter as he crosses through the doorway and out into the parking lot, carrying Ice as she struggles and barks.

Rio pauses as he passes one of the other t-shirt racks, circles of metal that gleam like halos. He’s rearranging his supplies so he has a free hand to grab a shirt he likes. There are more distant gunshots outside, and the squealing of tires. In the parking lot, Cregan is starting the Tahoe.

You say distractedly, noticing an empty Twizzlers wrapper on the floor and thinking of Jace: “Rio, let’s go.”

“Hold up, this one has an elephant on it—”

The hand juts out from below the rack and seizes his ankle, claws up his legs, rips and tears at him, grey flayed flesh and screeches from rotting vocal chords, something that used to be a man or a woman and is now only a monster, half a body, nothing from the waist down but shred of black necrotic muscle, skin, intestines, too close for Rio to push away, already clinging to him like graffiti on concrete, like a pair of stainless steel dog tags hanging from his neck. Without thinking, without hesitating, you are across the store and trying to get it off him, screaming as your fingers rake through disintegrating gore, so deep you can feel the zombie’s ribs like rungs of a ladder, trying to get a grip on it, trying to kill it. Now Cregan is back with his axe and he’s hacking at the skull as best he can without hitting Rio, and Ice is barking, and Cregan is yelling for you to get away before you’re bitten, but you don’t listen, you don’t care; all your life you were homesick until you found homes with Rio thousands of miles from where you were born, and if he’s gone then so is the only place you’ve ever belonged. There is a surge of blood, hot and metallic, rot and iron in the air, and you don’t know whose it is.

He can’t be gone. If he’s gone, who am I?

An arm hooks around your waist and drags you backwards, so roughly you lose your breath for a moment and cannot fight them; over your right shoulder, you see a hand holding a Glock. Aemond pulls the trigger and the zombie falls to the floor, a mangle of decomposition and exposed bones, because wherever the others ended up they found bullets and gasoline…and then they came back for you.

Aegon is stumbling over the rubble that litters the floor to get to Rio. You can hear Daeron and Rhaena’s voices out in the parking lot, and the blasts of Rhaena’s Ruger, the revolver she once didn’t know how to use. Cregan is trying to help Rio up, but he can’t stand. He is slumped against bare shelves and holding a hand to his throat, where he’s hemorrhaging from a gaping, ragged wound, torn arteries and lacerated veins. He’s been bitten, but his transformation won’t take long. He’s bleeding out. His dark eyes are on you, and beneath the glassy sheen of catastrophic blood loss is disbelief and fury and grief. He will never see Sophie again; he will never meet his child.

Your voice is a whisper, a phantom. “Bryan…”

“It only takes once, right?” he says, weak and guttural, already fading, blood on his lips. Then his eyes drift to Aemond. “Get her out of here.”

“No!” you shriek as Aemond pulls you towards the door, his arms locked around your waist, his lips to your ear as he begs you to come with him, that you have to leave, that it’s not safe here, that Rio doesn’t want you to see what has to happen next. Aegon is sobbing as he touches Rio’s face. Cregan bows his head; but he’s already looking at the Marlin .22 that hangs by its leather strap from Aegon’s shoulder. “No, I promised, I promised! I promised I wouldn’t let him die alone!”

“He’s not alone,” Aemond tells you, and he doesn’t let go when you struggle, when you scream. Burning sunlight floods over you, and you are in the parking lot. Rhaena and Daeron are shooting down zombies as they lurch towards the grocery store, drawn by the commotion, the symphony of the dead and dying. Luke is using a siphoning hose to fill the Tahoe’s tank with the remaining fuel in the Ford Expedition. Helaena is moving their supplies into the Tahoe, weeping softly to herself, her long ghost-pale hair flowing in the desert wind.

The racks, you think, you remember. You can see Helaena shining the flashlight into your eyes like you’re back on a living room floor in Iowa. I forgot to remind Rio to check under the racks. And now he’s gone.

You’re screaming that it’s your fault as Aemond forces you into the Tahoe, and you don’t care what anyone says to you: Luke trying to tell you that’s not true, Rhaena swearing that you’re safe now. There is a gunshot from inside the grocery store. Your heart and lungs have turned to iron like the anchor of a ship, cold and still and heavy, unmovable, unbearable. You cannot breathe through your sobs; you cannot see, cannot speak. You curl up on a seat and wish you were dead. All your life you have been compelled by a blind belief that there are better places even if you cannot imagine them, that sometimes when it feels like the world is ending the only way out is through. For the very first time, you want to give up. You want to let all the poisons of this earth seep into your bloodstream until they stop your pulse and everything goes quiet, quiet, quiet.

Aemond is pouring bottles of water over you so he can wash away the blood and sand and gore. He is searching your skin for bitemarks. People are climbing into the Tahoe and a key turns in the ignition. The wheels are spinning; shadows fall over your face through the windows as you sail beneath overpasses. You hear voices but not words. You feel Aemond’s hands on you and do not flinch away.

Someone is putting pills in your mouth and telling you to swallow. “What is it?” you ask.

“Tramadol,” Aegon says. “It will take you somewhere else.”

And it does, this poison he doesn’t know you are starving for; it erases the future and the past until you don’t exist, you never have, and this is a relief.

~~~~~~~~~~

Glimpses through fogged vision, disjointed flashes like dreams: Aemond cleaning and suturing Cregan’s arm, Helaena’s fingers threading through Ice’s shaggy grey fur, smoke from smoldering Marlboro Golds billowing from Aegon’s lips and out through an open window, coyotes watching the Tahoe pass from the shoulder of the highway, mountains and barbed wire, clouds and useless power lines, land that turns from flat and vast and vacant to steep hills thick with pine trees, so many they block out the sun.

You are dimly aware that the Tahoe is stopping frequently, long lulls to hunt for gasoline in small towns, one gallon here, three gallons there, discussions over which routes to take as Aegon scrutinizes his map. Aemond is always with you, coaxing you to take sips of Gatorade and nibbles of Ritz crackers, feeding you spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup straight from the can, and each night when you fall into numb unconsciousness in a dead stranger’s bed he sleeps on the floor in case you need him, and eventually you do. You jolt awake from a nightmare, not death but cursed immortality, a bite he missed somehow that turned you into a monster, into a murderer, your raw skin and muscles sloughing off your bones.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, look at your hands,” Aemond says, taking your wrists and holding them gently. “No bites. You’re going to be okay, I promise. Hey, hey…” He cradles your face, he pleads for you to believe him. “I swear to God, you’re going to be okay.”

“It should have been me,” you whisper in the red glow of the candlelight. “I don’t have a family that would miss me if I was gone.”

“Yes you do,” Aemond says fiercely; and it takes your drugged, horrorstruck mind a moment to realize who he means.

The next day the Tahoe runs out of gas, and you know this because Aemond wakes you with a palm resting lightly on your forehead and an apology sighed through your hair. “What’s wrong?” you murmur.

“We have to get out and walk for a while. Can you do that?”

You force yourself to sit up, blinking at him. “Where are we?”

“Kingvale, California. In the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

“We’re going to the beach house,” you realize.

“Yeah,” Aemond says, smiling a little. “Yeah, we are. We’re going home.”

On Donner Pass Road, following in the centuries-old footsteps of doomed westward migrants, someone always walks with you as you shuffle along in a daze. Aemond tells you about California, Rhaena reads aloud from Mockingjay, Ice licks your knuckles, Aegon talks endlessly about golf and yachting even when you can’t respond. His burned leg is still bandaged, but healing, and he’s found a Converse sneaker a few sizes too big to wear on his left foot; Aemond treats and wraps his wounds each morning and night, and Rhaena observes and takes notes so she can learn how to do it.

One afternoon just north of Beale Air Force Base, Daeron sneaks a Marlboro Gold out of Aegon’s backpack when no one is watching and lights it as he lingers in the back of the group. Aegon smells the smoke immediately and whirls, runs to him, snatches the cigarette from between Daeron’s lips and stomps it into the pavement.

“You’re not going to be like me!” Aegon shouts at him in the middle of the road. “Goddammit, you’re going to be safe, and you’re going to be happy, and you’re going to know that people care about you because I’ll break your fucking arm if I ever see you smoking again. You don’t get to poison yourself. You’re going to live to be a hundred years old. Got it?”

“Got it,” Daeron echoes, startled, petrified; and then Aegon hugs him, hanging on for a very long time.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is midnight in Meridian, a miniscule town founded in the 1850s on the banks of the Sacramento River, a relic from a time when travel meant ferries and railroads and wagon trains. Here, well outside the state capital, there are no sounds except the breeze through the trees—blue oaks, sycamores, willows, white alders—and the hoots of owls. The house is old, built in the 1950s or 60s, creaking steps and a screened-in front porch where Cregan and Daeron are playing Uno while keeping watch. The moon is new and invisible. The stars are bright.

Aemond appears in the doorway of your room. You are on the edge of the bed and staring at the wallpaper, flickering candlelight and scenes of galloping horses. Aemond is not letting you have any more Tramadol. He’s also not letting anyone load your Beretta, although you saw a box of 9mm bullets in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag. Maybe he’s worried you’ll try to shoot yourself. Maybe he’s not too far off.

He closes the door, crosses the room, and sits down on the bed beside you. In the firelit quiet, Aemond says: “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I can’t stay here. Take me somewhere else.”

At first, he doesn’t understand what you mean. Then you reach for him—for a life raft, for something to tether you to the earth—and the lines of your palm press against his scar, flesh he stitched back together himself, proof he can heal people, a reminder of how temporary any of you could be. Aemond lays his hand over yours and closes his eye, holding you there against his face, feeling your warmth and your forgiveness, your need to be close to him in a way that is suddenly so uncomplicated. There is no fear left in you. Perhaps there’s nothing left at all.

Aemond kisses you, and there are blooms of golden light through your darkness like what you call lightning bugs and he says are fireflies. You are entangled on the bed together, and all the sounds still ricocheting in your memory—screams, gunshots, bloodlust, hunger, anarchy—fade until they cease to exist. He is touching you, and you can feel lost pieces of yourself returning to you like rain soaking through parched earth, faith and resolve and desire. And now, and now…

Now Aemond is taking you far, far, far away, to bottomless blue water you can drown in, to where Diego Garcia lies marooned in the middle of the Indian Ocean, to the sun-glinting waves off the coasts of Chinhae, Corpus Christi, Key West, the Horn of Africa. He is between your thighs, and you want him through the pain, a razor-sharp fullness that seems so immaterial and so fleeting; and you lie to him over and over again because if he knows he’s hurting you he’ll stop, and in this world one cannot assume there will be second chances. Aemond stills once he’s inside you, giving you time to adjust but also overwhelmed by the intensity of it, his hands in your hair and trembling all over, kissing your face as the pain bleeds away and leaves a shade of craving you’ve never felt before, something deep and indistinct, something intangible like a spell or a myth. You move first, rolling your hips with a slow, cautious rhythm, and only then does Aemond follow you. It’s in his voice, in the reverence of his hands, in his iris like a clear secretless sky; you have taken him far away too.

“I love you,” Aemond says afterwards as his head rests on your belly, your fingers tangled in his damp hair and your skull hushed like calm seas. “And I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

And in the morning, there is something different about the world: a hopefulness that makes you want to wake up, a radiance like moonlight on the wave crests of the Indian Ocean.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader

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bucknastysbabe · 10 months ago

Note

now, catholic school priest criston and aemonds twin. Criston is from a catholic family, wanted to be a priest since he was a little boy, going to the sunday mass with his mothet was like the highlight of his week, went into the seminary very young, never had a girlfriend, he is a good man alright. then aemonds twin, whos not catholic, not even christian, her dad doesnt even go to church but alicent is very catholic and she wanted her kids to go to catholic school. but shes a menace, a straight up gremlin, like aegon but a girl and not a loser (srry aegon ily). And criston is sure the devil sent her to tempt him and shes like but what if it was god the one who sent me for you??? And specially for you??? Like, as a treat?! 🤗

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k of filth and catholic guilt

Tags: 90’s catholic school setting, Criston had the Crisis, mutual masturbation, confession booth shenanigans, age difference, manipulation, teacher/student relationship, sexual tension, Targtower reader, Criston’s woe is me internal monologue, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, pnv!sex, Jesus saw that Crispy, DESPERATION, priest kink, #imahorridcatholic

A/N: I made that priest edit and I’m proud also listened to talk by hozier for the entire last part. I’m a gremlin and made her her daeron’s twin.

Taglist: @fairysluna @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @bambitas

Criston knew his purpose since the day he could recall. Nothing pleased him more than sitting in mass with his mother, going through Sunday school, getting ready to become an official Catholic. Confirmation was the one of the happiest days of his life.

Vocation became the forefront of Criston’s mind in school. He probably annoyed the hell out of Father Dondarrion, pestering the priest with questions upon questions about seminary. In the mean time, he was the best altar boy a Cole could be. A-team altar boy! Strong fumbled the bells every time, it repulsed Criston.

He did other school things such as tennis, won a state championship in that, got some offers for a spot on a college team. Then in the other season he played second base for the baseball team, won a state championship in that and received multiple offers to college teams. No, Criston had his mind made up. He could lead others to victory— through Christ’s love of course. He had to admit his father was quite pissed about the baseball team but he’d be okay. Criston had a little brother, he was athletic.

The young man had even tried dating, just to see if God called for Criston to instead populate the world and lead a family. Not tend to the flock of sheep. There was a plethora of girls but he fell for a devil.

Her name was Rhaenyra Targaryen and she left him in a puddle of tears. The rich girl couldn’t respect staying chaste until marriage. He was ready to give her a ring. The priest sniffed recalling her harsh words, “You, like, won’t even dry hump me? What’s the point?” At the time the young man was miffed, broken, distraught. Criston held a hand over his heart as he whispered tearily, “You want me to be your whore?”

Mind you, he was a foolish 17 year old. The man was tested with her, but he learned from the experience. Criston was obviously meant to be a priest. He prayed and prayed for God to reveal his path. The answer came in Father Dondarrion giving Criston a letter from the Archbishop himself, inviting the young man to join seminary.

Criston took his first vows at the tender age of 18. He spent the next seven years learning and perfecting his bond with God, ready to guide his brothers and sisters in Christ. He’d smile and wave off comments at his home parish, often elder women asking why such a handsome young man would devote his life to chastity.

He rarely thought much of it. Jerking off was a boring thing, simply a biological process Cole needed to take care of. He took no shame nor pleasure in it, not truly thinking of anything at all. It would lessen as he aged but currently Criston was twenty-five and a ‘hot blooded’ young man.

He got his first job as a teacher in a Catholic school. At the beginning, Father Criston Cole found a passion for teaching while on a mission trip. He was ecstatic for the job. A year later he was significantly less overzealous. Add some years later Criston found himself, well, bored. Agitated. Discontent if you will.

Lord knows he had to calm himself for these wayward children. After a long day the man would pour some scotch and wonder why the rich ones were the worst behaved. Especially the damn Targaryens— he thought he could escape from that name.

Rhaenyra’s father had remarried and they had five children. Rhaenyra had five herself, different fathers came the whispers. The two youngest apparently looked like her. Criston smirked into his glass, God was watching and protecting him even as a foolish kid. She left the church anyways, but the children were polite and well-behaved in class.

Alicent Hightower-Targaryen’s children were a handful. Aegon made Criston sick to his stomach, the idiot either drunk or high in class, flipping up skirts of poor girls. If the priest thought about the eldest too long he’d grow a headache. He chose not to dwell on the fact that the family generously paid for Aegon to graduate— like a twisted version of simony.

Then along came sweet Helaena, she made good marks but often had to be drawn back to attention, and he tried to stifle the bullying drawn to her strange nature. Aemond was another headache, in a good way. He seemed to fit the vocational lifestyle and bonded with Criston over it. Criston truly enjoyed discussing hot topics in the church with the smart lad.

Aemond just needed to let his anger go and let God in, Criston had to do the same, his temper could be stormy. Then Aemond graduated and went off to study the sciences. Criston frankly thought he was done. He forgot. The twins were seniors and signed into his year-long Papal History elective.

He was now 32, and God really had sent him a test this time. In the form of good-natured Daeron’s wily sister. He had to send her to the Headmaster’s office the first day! The pale-haired girl was wearing an…indecent…skirt. One to catch long shapely legs.

He huffed and downed the rest of his scotch. He knelt before his icon of Christ and prayed. ‘Please my loving lord, I am afraid you shall test me, but give me the strength to pass through this.’ He felt strange. This girl was trouble. Criston wiped his face and grabbed his scotch again, one more would do for the night. He hissed, “FuckingfuckfucksticksFUCK!” Eyes widening he apologized to the empty room, “Forgive me my lord, that was uncouth.”

It was November 1997. Father Cole thought about making a request to a parish to be their full-time priest. He suited up for the lovely worship of Mass, mood sour. Deacon Erryk was next to him, almost out of his seminary studies. Erryk hummed, “How’s the class this year?”

“A pain in my side. I have another Aegon Targaryen in the form of his youngest sister. She seeks to make me miserable.”

The man stifled a laugh and prodded, “Damn. Aegon was bad, he was in my class with you. My condolences Criston, pray that Mary will bless the girl with some sense.”

Criston grumbled, “Indeed.” He felt old. Erryk was about to be a priest now.

Mass went off good as gold, the younger altar boys falling into place easily. He could always see the believers and non-believers based on their actions. Some wouldn’t even stand when he entered the room, the cross bearer ignored too. If Criston could start throwing Holy Water he would, ingrates.

In the front row, Daeron and his sister sat. Criston tried not to grimace as he sat down in his chair. They’d have mass every Friday at the school. Confession on Tuesdays. Criston would teach a RCIA class next semester for those outside of the school at night.

She was staring at him, wearing another little dress with her button-up underneath the skinny straps. He could see her smokey eyeshadow and glossed lips, moving around a piece of gum. Daeron held himself in reverence, hands clasped. Criston turned away, he would not give the evil little blonde any satisfaction!

He shivered when she knelt and took the body of Christ, tongue lapping against his fingers with a licentious look. The priest almost yelped, moving onto the next. He was shaken for the rest of the ceremony. Maybe he should call for advice— no, no, they would think Cole some sort of deviant pedophile. That was a problem enough and she was merely being a temptress. ‘Son of a fucking BIIIIIIITCH’, he thought angrily. Then did the sign of the cross.

The beleaguered priest sat at his desk during his planning period, grading papers. The headphones on his head played some songs— his only vice. He loved ‘radical’ music. So Criston kept that little secret to himself. He liked to belt rock ballads. Only by himself in the rectory.

How embarrassing. A grown man of the cloth.

The door opening had Criston jerking his head up, hand flicking off his walkman. He raised a brow when it was the little Targaryen and her mother, livid by her expression and wild red hair. She shoved the girl in a seat and crossed her arms.

Criston stood up and greeted the frankly scary woman, “Miss Hightowergaryen, oh, Hightower-Targaryen yes!” He peeked at teary red eyes, deadpanning, “And you.” The senior scoffed, “Good to see you too Father.” He ignored her quip and cautiously asked, “What seems to be the problem?” Alicent raved, “She’s going off the wrong path, just like Aegon. Guess where Aegon is, tell Father Cole please!” She gave her daughter a sharp look.

The girl mumbled something before getting a pinch to her arm. She croaked, “He’s in rehab! Rehab! Alright there mom!” The younger curled in and hid under her blonde hair, streaked with some sort of red dye.

He frowned but couldn’t say he was quite surprised. Criston offered, “My apologies, may he find the light of His way soon. Occasionally some rejoin the church or convert after getting clean and sober. Is there an issue with my student Miss?”

Alicent sighed, calming a bit and taking a deep breath. She looked up, doe eyes wide and pleading. The mother asked, “Can we go into your private office for a second Father?” She stopped and hissed, “Don’t you move an inch!”

A roll of violet eyes was the answer, pouting lips turning further downward.

Criston perched on his desk and tried to soothe the woman, “Alicent, relax my old friend, what can I do for you?” He offered a look of sympathy, watching her pace and run a hand wildly through her hair. The woman stopped in place and whimpered, “She’s so lost, I can’t screw up another one of my babies. I need you to keep an eye on her, pray and guide, something…Something so I know I tried.”

She looked very tired, taking a sharp breath in to chew at her nails. Alicent rambled, “She was so good, her and Daeron were so good. Then she turned sixteen and something happened, I don’t know what, and it’s gotten worse. She hates Sunday mass, like Aegon and Rhaenyra. I don’t want to lose her forever to whatever this is, straying off the path.”

He nodded contemplatively, hand on his chin, thinking. Alicent was in a state of chronic stress, even back when they were all in school. She married Rhaenyra’s father so young, nineteen to be exact. He felt a need to protect the woman of God, just trying her best to lead her children to heaven since Viserys did not seem to be in the picture.

He swore, “I’ll do my best, you have my word Alicent. God bless you, let me bless you.” He prayed over her and the tenseness seemed to leave her shoulders. Alicent smiled softly and thanked Criston, the pair of them exiting the office.

Her daughter remained seated, looking more miserable by the second. She gazed up with curious eyes, mouth still set in a pout. Alicent beamed, “Father Criston will be keeping an eye on you and reporting to me, okay? You will behave and try to learn that the path of the righteous is never easy.”

She raised a brow, “So I’m going to have my priest follow me around? That’s uncool.”

Alicent stiffened and remarked, “No. You’ll come to him when in trouble. You’ll be spending lunch with him too so you don’t go off and smoke like a vagrant. We will go sign it in with the headmaster now. Get up.”

Criston had to hold his jaw closed. He definitely did not know what he was signing up for. Hail Mary, full of grace rambled off in his head. This would be a tumultuous year for sure— inked and sealed onto paper. God bless him.

“I guess we’ll be the best of friends now,” she snarled tearily.

Criston placed a hand on her shoulder and hummed, “God works in mysterious ways Targaryen.” Internally he was climbing a mountain and shouting at the heavens like some Bible prophet. He was feeling very Job-like at the moment.

First of all, he truly didn’t expect the girl to sit in his classroom during lunch. Criston raised a brow when she entered, slammed down her lunch and plopped down. She cocked her head and smiled, “Afternoon father.”

“Afternoon,” he replied, turning his gaze back upon the scripture he was annotating. Cole wanted to comment on her sudden chopping of that beautiful white-blonde hair, or the fact she smelled of minty cigarettes. She wasn’t supposed to be smoking.

It remained quiet until she blurted, “Do you smoke?”

Yes, in fact he did. But she didn’t need to know that. Criston murmured, “No I do not.” To which she lobbed back, “Is it not a sin to lie? I saw you in the parking lot! Also you smell like marlboros sometimes.” Her face turned bright red— like she had no control over her yapping.

Criston peeled off his glasses and sat back in his chair to level the girl with a stern look. He flatly stated, “Yes, good point, it was a sin for me to lie. Although as your teacher and priest I would not have you pick up bad habits,” he took a moment before asking, “How do I smell of cigarettes in class? Are you sniffing me?”

She stammered, “N-no! No! It’s just when you pass by, I don’t know, stop!”

Criston shook his head in concern, “Please do not sniff me in class, that’s, that’s strange.”

“I don’t sniff you! Quit saying that! Okay, enough of smoke talk! Hi how are you doing Father Cole?,” she animatedly gestured, eyes wild and cheeks pink.

He couldn’t help but snicker at her mad gestures. Snickers turned into genuine laughter, Criston slapping his desk a bit. A different hand slapping down on his desk made the man look up, donning a grin at her grumpy face. The littlest dragon hissed, “Ha-ha very funny. I asked you a question. Small talk, since I’m stuck here with you for lunch.”

Criston shrugged and replied, “Ask a better question, I don’t know how I’m doing half of the time. Especially having to babysit a legal adult.”

Her pout was endearing, the girl biting into her sandwich in an aggressive manner. She chewed and swallowed before blurting, “Is it true my half-sister dumped you in highschool?” Criston squawked in surprise, heaven on earth, how would she even get the knowledge? Rubbing the bridge of his nose he sighed.

“Yes, she dumped me. Didn’t want to stay chaste until marriage. That was a little personal don’t you think Miss Targaryen?”

She seemed to contemplate his words, sounding out her thoughts, “Now you’re a priest and she has like 2 baby daddies and a gay hubby. Cool. Love my family.” Her laugh was a sharp giggle, almost sarcastic in nature. Nothing like the torture of Aegon’s nonsensical shrieks.

Criston smiled a bit at the information, leaning back in his chair. He sucked on his teeth and asked her, “Why’d you cut off all your hair?” She narrowed her eyes and smiled, “I was wondering if you would make a comment, quote some scripture that shorter hair is for lesbians and therefore I’m going to hell.” The older man gaped and stared, almost choking at her blunt words.

“No- what? You’ve got some sort of an imagination!,” he sipped on a water bottle, offended she would assume he was that mean, “I think it fits you nicely, glad whatever dye you put in was lost in the chop.” He shook his head, muttering about lesbian scripture. She giggled again, content with flustering the priest.

Criston tried to hold off a headache as she yapped about school. He snorted a bit when she marked some of the students on the dot. Soon the bell rang and she packed up her lunch, swinging her backpack on. Stopping at the door she asked, “So what’s your poison of choice? I like the fancy camel ones.”

He stared blankly before deadpanning, “Marlboro reds, now begone Targaryen.”

Her endearing giggle echoed as she left, the door swinging shut. Criston sat back in his chair and sighed— she had spunk. He quite appreciated it. Maybe she was a gift to spice up his growing distaste of where his life was at.

His dark eyes widened. He’s got to be too young for a midlife crisis? Now he really wanted a cigarette.

Father Criston Cole was indeed having a mid-life crisis. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, fitting his clerical collar on. Peering closer he inspected his face. He was still relatively young looking, hair not showing any grays. Practicing a smile he immediately dropped the grin. Crows feet. Great.

The priest shivered at the slight wrinkles. Why did he care? He didn’t have anyone to impress. A cheeky smile and icy eyeshadow, choppy blonde hair flitted through his mind. Goodness gracious he was her teacher, her priest, went to school with the girl’s parent. A spiritual guide!

This was bad. The damn girl had him wrapped around her ringed pinky. Bringing her little gifts, letting the blonde stay after school to chit chat. One time he let her cry on his shoulder, upset about rumors swirling. Criston heard a lot in the classroom.

Slut, whore, burnout, bitch.

He didn’t want to know what the little dragon got up to in her spare time but his knuckles did whiten at the thought of her not treating her body as a temple. Letting stupid boys have their way. Not like he could help. He was a priest and the farthest he’d ever gotten was smooching Rhaenyra and grabbing her tit before freaking out.

He needed to pray. Pray away these sinful thoughts. Guilt wracked his chest. He couldn’t turn the girl away either— he made a promise to Alicent. On a better note, her grades and attendance had improved. Ali called him once to thank the priest for helping her daughter. Although the girl still was apprehensive about faith. He didn’t push the subject; she didn’t bring it up. Maybe sometime soon.

Brushing back his curls, Criston sprayed cologne on his dark garb. He bought it on a self-indulgent whim. Maybe to cover the cigarette smoke, truly to entice a certain favorite student. Instead he was pestered by other girls bringing treats and batting their eyes at him. The man of the cloth could care less about the others. He was hopelessly haunted by his agnostic, rebellious student.

The man prayed some, did a Hail Mary before smoking a cigarette or five with his coffee. He was jittery at school now, worried that somehow a teacher or the elder nun would run and declare him a sinful wretch. Locking himself in the office until class time seemed like a good option.

He tried to grade some papers, mind drifting off to the increasingly heavy burden on his shoulders. Something needed to give— he was afraid what that might be. Deacon Arryk gave the homily that morning mass since Criston was out of sorts. Trying to not stare when she knelt and took the body of Christ. Playfully flicking his fingers with that tongue and saying ‘amen’.

Thank the Trinity and the saints he was covered head to toe in thick vestments. Hiding his cock just brought to mind Criston’s change in habit. Jerking off wasn’t a mindless activity anymore. He imagined plump lips and her raspy voice, teasing him, so delightfully mean. Then he’d flip her around and- he usually came with a pathetic noise by that point in the fantasy.

He pressed his fingers into his temples, groaning aloud. Doomed. Eternal hell. Purgatory sentence maximum if he got lucky. The second bell of the day woke the man from his racing mind. Criston straightened up and popped some gum in. Mary take pity on his soul. Satan himself was testing Criston. Although he couldn’t help but think she was anything but demonic.

The next day the tired priest had to attend confession for two hours. Usually it wasn’t a laborious affair; most of the kids who attended were the devout sort and only had some venial sins. Daeron Targaryen was a regular attendee, his twin was not.

He thought he was done for the day, sighing in relief. The two hours were up. Until the curtain swished and someone entered. The brunette thought to groan and hit his head on the wood. Fuck him— sorry, forgiveness please Lord for the profanity.

Criston’s eyes widened when he heard a familiar voice. That lilting, teasing, raspy voice that was the specter of the nightmares and fantasies. He could faintly see the outline of her, that damn silvery blonde hair.

“Uhhh, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been, uh, one year since my last confession?” She made the sign of the cross, bracelets jingling. Criston could snort— blondie was obviously reading off a note card. She remained quiet afterward.

He prodded, “Go on child.”

She huffed, “I’ve lied, slandered, gossiped about others. I’m inattentive in mass. I don’t respect my parents. I’ve been ungrateful, taking the lords body out of a state of grace. Obviously I’m egotistical, depraved of thoughts, I’m selfish.”

Father Cole swallowed.

She laughed blithely, “I could probably keep going except for mortal sins? I steal, sneak, deceive, suffer from jealousy and envy. Bad bad envy. Always want what I can’t have, y’know?”

He wanted to ask her to clarify…but had a feeling.

The twin’s voice lowered to a purr, “I think you’re waiting for the grand finale. I’m lustful, wanton, perform unnatural acts of sex. Inordinate affection, especially for men who are sworn to another. I defile myself to the thought of him.”

Criston gripped his black slacks roughly, cock swelling so fast he was pretty sure his vision had spots in it. He discreetly tried to readjust himself, swallowing back a whine. The man was no better than a horny boy— denying the pleasures of the flesh for so long.

“I’m a fornicator. Not lately. I can’t stop touching myself to the thought of him.”

The priest hadn’t stopped rubbing himself, biting on his bottom lip to shut up as she rambled on. Oh, it felt so goddamn good he was panting. Meanwhile from the other side he could hear her shifting, voice growing breathier as she talked.

“I think about him touching me, kissing me, those pretty lips and dark eyes only for me. I fucking hate when other girls talk to him— I slashed one’s t-tires.”

“No swearing,” Criston grunted.

“Sorry, where was I? I came so hard the other day wondering what his cock would feel like inside of me. I don’t know if y- he would last long but I’d keep riding, oh mmh!,” her breath hitched and he could hear slick noises from beyond the screen. She was touching herself in the booth. Touching herself. In the booth.

He leaned back, head thumping against the wood, practically humping his hand. Criston whined through his nose, mouth hanging open. The man was a goddamn mess, pleading, “You’d ride him huh? Until he got ready again?”

“Mhmmm, yeah, I’d put his pretty cock in my mouth until I felt him get hard. Hah, what do you think he would do to me?”

Oh holy spirits, he had no clue? Everything? He’d do anything? He drew on his fantasies and the dirty mag a boy brought to class once. Criston went home and asked forgiveness for seeing the woman…doing that.

His voice was much more desperate than he expected, tan cheeks turning a shade of darker red. Criston rambled, “I, oh heavens, he would do whatever she asked, maybe, maybe, put his mouth on her.”

He must have said the right thing, her breath quickened and he could see the outline of her arm moving faster. Emboldened, Cole practically whined, “He’d lick and suck at her until she was crying and grabbing his hair, ohfuckinghellfires!” Criston’s cock throbbed and twitched as he cursed and shoved a hand down his slacks.

“Yeah? Yeah? He’d eat me out? Suck on my clit, slip some f-fingers inside? I’d want it so bad,” she whimpered shakily. The priest panted and popped the button so he could fist himself easier, moaning shamelessly, scrunching his eyes closed.

The blonde’s voice was muffled, “Mmm- I’d take such good care of him, he could e-eat me out but I’d ride his cock until he couldn’t cum anymore, F-father please!” Criston could hear her squeal and his dark hair fell into his face as he curled inward. He babbled uselessly, rubbing himself as spurt after spurt of seed wetted his briefs.

There was a heavy feeling in the confession booth. The pair panted, sitting in silence. Shame poured over Criston like a bucket of ice. He quickly rearranged himself to not look like someone who just had the most intense orgasm of his life. The priest wanted to talk, truly, but he had no words.

So he bolted, ignoring her calls of his name. Criston kept moving, heading toward the rectory, he’d have to call out. Everything was spinning and he needed to just, just, he didn’t know. The stickiness in his pants was worsening the horrid feeling of being a pervert, he should’ve just sent her away. He will end this immediately tomorrow, for both of their souls if he hasn’t doomed them.

She didn’t appear for lunch. Did appear for class, eyes blazing into Criston’s head. Daeron even coughed and shoved her. She was glaring, not writing a damn thing as he lectured about the battle of Lepanto. The priest’s palms began to sweat. He wished the clock would go quicker.

“I’ll get a ride home, don’t worry about me Dare,” she said after the bell rung, students packing up their bags. Daeron raised an eyebrow but shrugged, moving on. One girl attempted to approach Criston with some papers in hand.

The dragon hissed something and shoulder checked the girl— Criston reluctantly scolding the blonde. Like it mattered, the other girl hightailed it out of his classroom. Pale eyes landed upon his own dark orbs, a strange look on her face.

“Office,” she said. Cole wasn’t in the position to deny. He tossed and turned all night, fighting whether to say fuck it and hang up the cassock or dismiss her and never speak of it again. When she was in his presence it leaned toward the former.

Criston walked in first, closing the blinds while she followed him. The man’s head jerked up when he heard the sound of the door locking. Little Miss Targaryen was wearing a particularly form fitting version of the school uniform, tits pushed up under the white button-down. Suddenly Criston was swallowing drool.

She snapped, “Sit down.”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook the senior a bit, leaning down to growl, “Do you even know what the hell you’re getting into? This could ruin us both! You aren’t going to order me around, I’m the damn adult here, I swore to your mother!” He sounded desperate, weary.

She sneered up at him, unphased, “Sit down or I’ll leave and pretend this never occurred. I know you want it, you want me,” she yanked at his white collar, “Mommy doesn’t have to know, Father.”

Why Criston was like a dog at a damn eighteen year old’s commands? He wasn’t quite sure. His tongue was glued down anyways, only huffing as he perched on the chair. She padded closer, smelling of vanilla and some other perfume. He bit off a whine when she sat on his desk, thighs spreading, giving the priest a view of her lacy skimp of underwear.

“Fucking hell baby,” he pled, hands aching to touch.

“What? You sure were enjoying yourself yesterday.”

He moaned, “We shouldn’t— this could cost us our souls. The deceiver is manipulating us, a test. I lost my wits yesterday.” Criston’s fingertips dug into his leaner thighs, eyes flicking between her pretty smirk and the peak of baby pink panties. The girl hummed sadly, faux pout setting his heart to aching something fierce.

“What if it isn’t the devil? What if I’m just a gift, for you, just for you Father,” she leaned in to his face, “Think outside your little imposed box. Don’t you feel this?” She snatched one of his hands, pressing it upon her beating heart, her soft breast.

He looked guiltily to the side. Criston whispered, “If you were a gift then why is are my feelings so wanton and lustful?”

Purple eyes rolled. She hiked the skirt up, exposing pale thighs and her cute underwear. Criston whimpered under his breath, hand still on her breast, squeezing. The girl moaned, “Chaste love, no, I think he sent me just for you, maybe you had the wrong calling?” Criston threw caution to the wind— the festering in his head grew, rotting away his senses.

He’d already fucked up. Her points were making more sense by the second. Why not enjoy life before he spent the afterlife in torment? He peered at his favorite and rasped, “Show me what to do, putting my mouth on you. Can I touch you?” The brunette internally cringed at his whiny tone. She smiled victoriously, breath delightfully hitching, manicured hands unbuttoning her top.

Criston grabbed ahold of those pretty thighs, marveling at how smooth they were as he pulled them forward until her ass was the only thing perched on his desk. She squeaked and grabbed onto his dark hair, cheeks going blotchy with pink spots. The priest figured he’d have a little instinct, something long denied festering along with his sinful thoughts.

Right now he was face to face with her cunt and Criston had lost his bravado, brown eyes peering up at her. She smirked knowing she had the upper hand again. The Targaryen laughed, “Alright, panties off first Father. Do you even know female anatomy?”

He blushed darkly, ignoring the comment and yanking down those pretty panties. They matched her bra, her breasts spilling out of the push-up with heavy breath. He stuffed the lace underwear selfishly in his pocket. Criston gritted his jaw, cock pressing painfully hard against the fly of his pants. She was glistening, swollen, something he could only conjure up and still get it wrong.

“The clit is the nub at the top,” she breathed.

Criston searched her eyes with his own, abashed at the lack of knowledge before delving his face between silky thighs. He moaned pitifully, embracing the natural scent, her hand in his curls. The man lapped at her sopping hole, excitedly delving his tongue inside, already obsessed with the sweet nectar.

“Fffuck,” she whined, thighs tensing around his neck. Criston’s nose bumped against her clitoris, reminding him of the ‘magic spot’ he’d heard girls giggle about between class changes. He licked his way upward, moaning, ignoring his own need. Pink lips sealed around her button, tentatively suckling.

The blonde jerked and mewled, “Criston, Criston, yes Father!”

He flicked his tongue against the button, big hands keeping those strong thighs from closing. She was trying to scoot away from his onslaught on her, whining and shivering. Criston pulled back to rumble, “All that talk and you’re running from my tongue now little girl?”

“M’gonna fucking cum,” she half-sobbed.

The priest wasn’t going to give up. He kept his attentions on that bundle, even slipping two fingers inside her pussy, exploring until she keened again. More and more slick covered his chin and fingers, utterly lost in this divine feeling. The blonde’s legs were shaking now, breath coming in short sobs. She babbled something, one hand white knuckling the desk, the other knotted into Criston’s hair.

He wished he could have saved her shrill cry of his name as Criston pushed the younger woman over that edge. She gushed and spasmed, finally pushing him away to settle down. Her makeup was smudged, hair a fucking mess. Cole thought she never looked prettier.

He was goddamn insane over her and he knew it. The devil long had his claws gripped into the priest. The man just lied and ignored until he couldn’t. Criston grabbed her and placed her on his thighs, cock pulsing, him reaching down to relieve pressure.

The blonde wrapped her arms round his neck, pretty pink nipples exposed now, the push-up doing nothing to help. She plastered herself to his body, lips mouthing across his neck, murmuring, “You learn quick, s’good.” Criston rubbed at her back, slipping a hand down to her a handful of her cute ass.

She pulled back, pale eyes roving Criston’s face. He stared in a daze as she spoke in a sultry, raspy tone, “You’re so hard, wanna fuck you, lemme fuck you Father.” He couldn’t help but moan long and low at her desperate plea. His cock was fit to burst, straining his briefs now.

“I want it, I want it,” he gasped.

In a flurry of movement he yanked off the collar, it would sicken him to have it on. She pulled at the buttons, pausing to unhook her bra, Criston shoving down his pants and underwear. She moaned, placing hands on his chest and sliding down trim stomach until a little hand grabbed his ruddy cock.

He made a strangled noise, eyes rolling up in his head. No wonder people did this— sin was utterly sweet. Criston panted her name, about to guide her hips onto him. He paused, brows furrowing. The deceiver himself spoke through her voice, “I’m on birth control, doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he needed to hear, roughly lifting her to guide his cock into that slick pussy. Criston made a gutted noise as she slipped onto him. Warm, wet, so goddamn snug and gently ridged. He whined, straight up whined, “Don’t move, don’t move, baby baby oh— haaah!”

She purred and pressed soft tits against Criston, their shallow breathing intermingling. The female whispered softly, petting his shoulders and arms, “S’okay, breathe, relax.”

Criston shook from head to toe, exhaling sharply, pitiful noises escaping a raw throat. He pressed his swollen lips to her forehead, forcing rapid breathing to a calmer state. Still, still, the brunettes balls throbbed and twitched.

He was gonna fuck her dammit. He’d gotten this damn far, his darkest desire to fuck and fill her up after more than two pumps would kill Cole. She teased, hands back on his chest, playing with his medals, “You can do it Father, you’re not so twitchy.”

He shook his head silently, focusing on the task at hand. Father Criston Cole could never deny his sweet little dragon. She’d started squirming and whining on his lap, slick soaking his loins. He took a tentative thrust upwards, lashes fluttering.

The dam broke loose.

Criston fucked and groped, lips messily smacking against her pretty plump pout. She rode him in earnest, meeting him thrust for thrust. The chair squeaked, they moaned, grunted, cried out, a feral quality to the sacred act. He was soaking in the slaps of skin, her hitches of breath, chanting his name like a damn litany.

Criston grabbed onto her hips, planting his feet on the floor, biting his lip and scrunching eyes tight. He was moaning and moaning, drool slipping out between searing kisses. His balls were drawing tight— pounding with the need of his release.

He shoved her upwards onto the desk, thrusting brutally as she cried in ecstasy. Criston pled, “M’gonna cum, c-can’t stop, oh fuck.” She cried, “Yesyesyes don’t you dare stop, m’close!” The older man felt his balls slapping against her ass, eyes rolling up again.

His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, Cole mouthing at perky tits, moaning as his release soaked her pussy. It was like he was floating. She bit down on her hand to muffle a wail, arching into him, cunt convulsing and wetting him further.

But Criston couldn’t stop. He kept fucking through the oversensitive pain, sounding like he was in agony as he pounded into her. Their mixed releases made everything slide easier, his turgid cock not softening. He babbled, “Not done, another baby, take it for me, take me please.”

The blonde’s only response was clinging to his tan body, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist. She sobbed harder, “Do it do it— oh my God!” Criston whined her name through his nose, drunk off the feeling, not even aware of the blasphemy.

The office grew hot, noises of flesh and high sounds filling the small space. He couldn’t shut the fuck up either, rambling, “Wet baby, can’t help myself, gotta do it, fuck it all! M’still full up, gotta stuff you baby, how can I hngh not?” He reached down between them to circle haphazardly at her abused clit, the pretty thing writhing on his dick.

Another peak was approaching, he was already leaking, ready to empty another load deep inside her eager pussy. She tightened around him as he pinched her clit, crying real tears now, his name on her tongue like a broken record. Criston wetly cried into her fragrant neck, shoving himself deep inside to give her that last load.

He made a noise, she made a noise, everything growing foggy and distant.

Next thing he recalled was his demon, angel, twisted boon cuddled in his lap, tits still out. They were a sticky mess and he hoarsely asked, “How, ugh, long?”

“A couple of minutes. You went a little dumb there and I had to get your limp ass back into this chair,” she pressed her head into his chest, Criston naturally setting his chin on her head. His hands were slowly moving up and down her flanks. He still felt a bit dumb, dazed from the intense situation.

“You,” he swallowed, “Are a gift…I believe.”

She smiled softly, pecking his lips. The Targaryen mumbled, “We need to get ourselves together, I need a ride home.” Criston nodded, clinging tighter to her frame. He stammered, “O-okay, discuss this another time?”

“Sure, but after I show you what a blow job feels like.”

He didn’t object. The collar sat out of his sight, anything he once cherished gone from his mind. She took that place. He was irrevocably, obsessively infatuated. “I’ll have to leave my position after this year,” he murmured. She looked at him, a concerned look on dainty features.

“I think I’ll be around, will you?”

He remained silent, answer obvious in the air. He’d get down on his knees again and beg to never lose this gem. Fucked up from the get-go. For once, Criston Cole didn’t care. He kissed her instead.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #priest!criston #ser criston cole imagine #ser criston cole smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader

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kckt88 · 10 months ago

Text

Moth to a flame.

Summary:

Aemond has always had a thing for his older brother’s best friend.

Warning(s): Language, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Smut – Fingering, Oral sex (M & F Receiving), P in V, Safe Sex, Multiple Orgasms.

MODERN AEMOND x Y.N

INSPIRED BY THE SONG - SWEDISH HOUSE MAFIA FT THE WEEKEND - MOTH TO A FLAME.

Word Count: 2915

Taglist - @zeciex

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond groaned in frustration as his brothers groans of pleasure grew louder, the rhythmic sound of the headboard banging against the wall.

“Selfish prick-“ muttered Aemond the jealousy bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

Aemond had always had a thing for his brother’s best friend, ever since they’d been introduced, she lived in the apartment across from them and Aegon being the more confident of the brothers had spoken to her first, with the pair of them becoming firm friends.

She was currently studying a degree in English and History at the local university in the hopes of becoming a teacher someday, all whilst working at a grocery store.

Aside from the fact that she was intelligent, kind, generous, and funny, Aemond also liked the fact that she was immune to Aegon’s garish attempts at seduction, politely declining his repeated advances until he finally gave up his pursuit.

But they struck up a firm friendship nonetheless and from then on Y.N had become a regular fixture in both of their lives. That was two years ago and every day since then had felt like torture.

In a way he was slightly envious of Aegon when it came to matters of the opposite sex, his older brother never had any issues charming the pants off literally every woman that took his fancy whereas he was still a virgin at the age of twenty one.

Gods it was so embarrassing, of course he wanted to have sex, but he just couldn’t get past his own shyness and insecurity over the scar on his face and his missing eye, that he never reciprocated any woman’s advances, not that there were many anyway.

He was convinced they were doing it out of pity or simply an attempt to mock him, and he didn’t want to feel vulnerable in that way, so he simply stayed away and guarded his heart and his feelings.

He liked to imagine all the ways he would please Y.N, with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock, he wanted her in every way possible, but he was too damn shy to even try so he resigned himself to fucking his fist whenever the urge got too much.

And now he’d missed his chance, Y.N was next door fucking his brother and it made him angry, gods Aegon was such a prick, he knew of his feelings for Y.N and still he’d pursued her and fucked her. How many times had they done it? How long had it been going on for? And by the gods Aemond would kill Aegon if he discarded Y.N like she was nothing.

Aegon wasn’t the best when it came to dealing with the aftermath of his pursuits, he enjoyed the chase, did what he had to in order to get what he wanted and then threw them away as if they were nothing.

Aemond had lost count of the amount of women who would come banging on their door, looking for Aegon after he had ghosted them, it was actually exhausting.

“For fuck sake” muttered Aemond as he rubbed his eye and stared at the alarm clock on his nightstand.

After figuring out that trying to sleep was a pointless endeavour Aemond got out of bed, not like he could sleep with that racket going on next door anyway.

Slipping on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, Aemond left his room and walked into the kitchen, perhaps a drink and a smoke would dampen his ire, or maybe he’d finally check out that series on Netflix that Aegon kept insisting he watch.

After running a hand through his dark hair, Aemond opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap and taking a large gulp as he turned around.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST” shouted Aemond as he spotted Y.N sitting at the table, her face illuminated only by her laptop screen.

“Sorry -I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Y.N softly.

“W-What are you doing here?” gasped Aemond.

“My WIFI is out so Aeg said I could use yours-I have an assignment due at the end of the week,” said Y.N motioning to her laptop and the mountain of books beside it.

“No-I meant what are you doing out here, I thought you was in Aegon’s room”.

“Why would I be in Aeg’s room?” asked Y.N

“Well, I-I heard him with someone and-“

“-So you just naturally assumed that it was me?” muttered Y.N frowning.

“N-No-it’s just he said earlier that he’d asked you to come over” replied Aemond.

“He did ask me, but I had a shift at the shop, and then he said something about Cassandra”.

Aemond could feel his cock stirring in his trousers at the sight of Y.N sitting at the table in her short p.js, with one leg raised.

The material of her shorts rid higher on her thigh, exposing her creamy flesh.

“Oh, so that’s who’s in his room” muttered Aemond the feeling of relief washing over him.

“I guess so, he’s been trying to get in her knickers for a while, so his questionable attempts at flirting have finally paid off,” said Y.N shrugging.

“I guess” mumbled Aemond.

“You honestly thought that I was with him?” asked Y.N her eyes lingering on Aemond’s bare chest, her teeth catching on her lower lip at the sparse chest hair and the silver cross chain he wore.

“Yeah-sorry about that” whispered Aemond.

“I had hoped that you would think better of me” replied Y.N.

“I don’t think about you at all” lied Aemond his tone a little sharper than he intended.

“Oh really?” asked Y.N as she slowly rose from the chair.

“N-No” gasped Aemond, his face suddenly feeling very hot.

“I see the way you look at me-“ muttered Y.N

“I-I don’t-“ stuttered Aemond, his eye focused on the thin strap of Y.N’s top that had slipped down her shoulder.

“I like the way you look at me-“ whispered Y.N

“Y.N-“ exclaimed Aemond as she reached forward and gently cupped the scared side of his face.

“So beautiful” whispered Y.N.

“N-No I’m not” muttered Aemond lowering his head.

“Yes, you are-“ said Y.N as she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his scared cheek.

Aemond’s heart was pounding in his chest, he could smell the sweet scent of Y.N’s perfume and feel the heat from the proximity of her body.

Y.N seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move, she smiled softly as she reached down to take his hand, squeezing it gently.

Aemond stood mute, his mind screaming at him to lean forward and kiss her, the girl of his dreams was standing in front of him in her short p.js looking at him expectantly.

He wasn’t aware of how much time had passed but the heat of Y.N’s body suddenly moved away from him, taking his silence as a rejection of her advance.

“I’m sorry-“ muttered Y.N her cheeks tinged pink.

Aemond could only stand there as he watched Y.N rapidly collecting her things, she was clearly embarrassed.

“Tell Aeg thanks for letting me use the WIFI-“ said Y.N as she rushed towards the door, her breath hitching in her throat as she struggled with the door handle before pulling it open and running across the hall to her own flat.

Aemond blinked and slowly he came back to himself.

Y.N had propositioned him, and he’d just stood there like a complete twat and now she’d fled the apartment and would likely never return for fear of running into him.

No, that just wouldn’t do. Y.N was different from other girls; she didn’t look repulsed at the sight of his scar or pretend it didn’t exist.

She had called him beautiful, and he’d just stood there, and not said a word.

He could have been kissing her right now, and yet he was still standing there.

With a huff of annoyance, Aemond stalked forward and wrenched open the door, he didn’t care that he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, he just wanted to make things right with Y.N.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

She didn’t answer, so he knocked again and again.

“Please Y.N-Open the door” begged Aemond as he pressed his forehead against the wood.

He internally cursed his own stupidity and was about to give up when he suddenly lurched forward as the door flew open.

“Aemond-“ muttered Y.N.

“-Y.N” replied Aemond as he gently cupped her face with both hands and pressed his lips against hers.

He pulled away for a moment so he could quickly kick the door closed and then his mouth descended upon Y.N’s again.

Aemond couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his lips as Y.N’s pierced tongue slid against his.

Y.N slowly slid her hands up the back of Aemond’s neck and into his hair and pulled it slightly, delighting in the little moan he made.

Aemond slowly moved his hands down Y.N’s body before roughly grasping her ass and hauling her up against the door.

Not having any clue at all where this bravado came from, but he was more than content to roll with it.

Y.N whimpered, gripping at Aemond’s shoulders as he slots himself between her legs, his tongue still invading her mouth.

Aemond presses himself against the apex of Y.N’s thighs, and he growls like an animal when she reaches down and palms his hard cock over his sweatpants.

“Fuck-“ groans Aemond as he begins grinding his clothed cock against her.

“Someone’s eager” whispered Y.N as she flicked her tongue against the corner of Aemond’s mouth.

“Oh-baby girl you have no idea” rasped Aemond.

“Bedroom” muttered Y.N.

Aemond nodded eagerly as he lowered Y.N to the floor and took her hand, his heart pounding in his chest.

Of course, he’d been in Y.N’s flat plenty of times for movie nights and game nights, but this night was totally different. It was the night that he would lose his virginity.

As they entered her bedroom, Y.N gently cupped his face and pressed her forehead against his.

“Are you sure?”

“More than anything-I want you” replied Aemond.

“If things get too much for you-We can stop” whispered Y.N.

“I know”

Y.N smiled as she stepped back from Aemond and reached down to pull off her strappy top.

Aemond stared open mouthed as he gazed at Y.N’s bare breasts, he reached out with a shaking hand and gently ran his fingers over her nipple that had hardened in the cool air of the room.

“You are so beautiful” exclaimed Aemond, of course he’d seen breasts before, but none as exquisite as Y.N’s.

“As are you my dragon”.

Aemond blushed as he watched Y.N hook her fingers into the waistband of her p.j shorts and pull them down.

His mouth watered as he gazed at her naked body, she was indescribably beautiful. Her pale flesh, her rosy nipples, the rose tattoo on her hip and the neatly trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Y-You are perfect” muttered Aemond as he leaned forward and pressed a series of gentle kisses to Y.N’s neck.

“Aemond” whimpered Y.N.

Suddenly coming to the realisation that he needed to be naked too, Aemond reached down and began to push down his sweatpants and boxers but Y.N stopped him.

“Allow me” muttered Y.N as she sank to her knees and pulled his sweatpants down.

Y.N’s eyes widened slightly as his hard cock sprang free and slapped up against his abdomen, sure she’d felt it over his sweatpants but to actually see it, was another matter entirely. Aemond had truly been blessed, he was very well endowed.

“C-Can I take you in my mouth?” asked Y.N.

“Yes” whispered Aemond, his chest heaving.

Gods it was like heaven, the moment Y.N’s warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock, Aemond knew he was done for.

The metal of her piecing rubbed against his shaft as she moved her mouth up and down his length.

“F-Fuck” groaned Aemond as his cock throbbed, his seed spilling inside her mouth.

Y.N hummed around his cock before she looked him in the eye and swallowed every last drop.

“Shit-shit, I-I’m sorry” exclaimed Aemond his cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s ok-really” replied Y.N wiping the corners of her mouth.

“I wanted it to last longer” whispered Aemond as he helped Y.N to stand up.

“Don’t worry. There are other things we can do whilst we wait for you to be ready again” replied Y.N as she took Aemond’s hand and led him to bed.

“I-I want to k-kiss you down there” said Aemond shyly.

“Ok” said Y.N softly as she laid back on the bed and opened her legs.

Aemond groaned as he gazed at her glistening folds, gods she was beautiful there too.

“Let me guide you-“ muttered Y.N.

Aemond nodded eagerly as he climbed onto the bed and laid down between her open legs.

“You can use your tongue, your fingers or both at the same time-let me show you”.

Aemond observed intently as he watched Y.N’s fingers encircled what she called her ‘pearl’ soon his insides were squirming, and his fingers were itching for him to take over and bury his face into her cunny and bring her to peak.

“P-please let me, I-I want to” begged Aemond as he pressed forward.

“Oh-“ moaned Y.N as she felt Aemond’s tongue gently run along her slit.

“Hm, are you always this wet” rasped Aemond.

“Only for you” moaned Y.N as Aemond’s mouth slowly descended on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into Y.N’s core with his tongue, in and out.

Y.N clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric, gods he was a fast learner.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Y.N ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“Are you going to come for me?” asked Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Y/N arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Y/N’s inner thighs.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y/N.

Aemond rose from the bed, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then put them in his mouth, savouring the delicious taste of Y/N.

“W-Was that alright?” asked Aemond nervously.

“You were amazing”.

Aemond blushed furiously as Y.N directed him to lay on her bed.

“I’m on the pill, but I have condoms” asked Y.N gesturing to the draw of her nightstand.

“No-I want to feel you” replied Aemond.

Y.N smiled as she moved over Aemond’s body, her slick folds rubbing against his cock.

Gods he was so hard, it was bordering on painful.

Y.N reached down and Aemond groaned as he felt her warm hand wrap around his cock and guide it to her wet entrance.

“A-Are you sure?” asked Y.N.

“Yes-Please Y.N I want you” exclaimed Aemond.

Y.N took a deep breath as the tip of his cock pressed inside her.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck, Aemond" moaned Y.N as she slowly sunk down on his cock.

“Please” begged Aemond his fingers digging into her hips.

“I’m going to move now” whispered Y.N as she rolled her hips against his.

“Yes” moaned Aemond as he began to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of Y.N squeezing his cock.

“Aemond-“ whimpered Y.N as he began teasing her pearl with his fingers, his cock throbbing inside her.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Y.N" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

If this was heaven, then Y.N was at the centre of it, and he never wanted to leave.

Aemond looked at where they were joined, and he groaned at the sight of his cock shiny with her slick, this was everything he’d hoped it would be and he was glad that he got to share this with her.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Y.N.

Y.N looked amazing as she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her skin shining with sweat.

Y.N clamped down around Aemond’s cock so hard he could hardly move. That, combined with how glorious Y.N looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Y.N” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside her wet heat.

Y.N collapsed on top of Aemond for a moment, her chest heaving.

Aemond gently moved his hands up and down her back, savouring the feeling of his softened cock still nestled snugly inside her.

After a few minutes, Y.N slowly moved off Aemond and flopped onto the mattress next to him.

Basking in the after glow of his orgasm, Aemond moved onto his side and pressed his face into Y.N’s neck.

“Does this mean that your my girlfriend now?”

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #hotd

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florisbaratheons · 5 months ago

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Jesus Christ, at least Rhaenyra has Jace in her corner.

Aegon has no one. That was not ambiguous. Aemond is a traitor.

#And NO Aegon being a bitch in the brothel is not reason for Aemond to kill him #wtf #Aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers

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annes-andromeda · 5 months ago

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“I hate Alicent!”

“I hate Aemond!”

HATE THE WRITERS!

Jesus Christ, the fact that so many people are falling for this weird narrative that the writers have spun of the greens hating each other 24/7 to the point where people are being criticized for still liking Aemond and Alicent even after episode 4.

Yes, I still like Alicent. Yes I still like Aemond. Because guess what? All of the greens are being fucked over, not just Aegon. All of them are being mistreated, ignored, and overly vilified to the point where it’s comedic. You won’t catch me acknowledging season 2’s existence besides shitting on it.

Like cmon guys, we’re better than this🫤

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #pro team green #team green #anti ryan condal #remember who the real enemy is #hotd critical #anti hotd

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bbygirl-aemond · 1 year ago

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aegon: *breathes* aemond: it's rotten work. especially if it's you. aegon: aemond: i mean i'll do it but jesus fucking christ

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon #aegon the elder #aegon ii #quotes #fire and blood #fab #incorrect house of the dragon #incorrect fire and blood #incorrect hotd

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: We are back with another chapter after Aemond has left and Aegon has been a seedy little cunt. Someone help the reader because Jesus Christ. I needed a bit of a brain rest so thank you all for your patience. I really don't want to rush this story or the plot, so as I have said from the beginning, this is slooooow (and realistic) haha! Thank you all so much for you constant love and kind words.

Enjoy! <3

Chapter 73: Surrounded

When you had reached your chambers, the world around you blurred, and your skin felt cold.

It felt like you weren’t in your body anymore.

It was an odd feeling of watching yourself that washed over you, body on autopilot as it moved about the chambers. You (though it did not feel it) sat on the chaise and stared into space, not moving, even as the maids came to check on you and offer you lunch.

You had shrugged them off, body feeling as though it was moving through a thick sludge, limbs heavy and finding resistance in the air. Every limb felt simultaneously weighed down by stones and light as a feather.

When the sun fell from the sky and the moon had risen to its peak, the girls had urged you to sit at the table, guiding you with caring, gentle hands, until you sat in your seat. You ate what you could as encouraged to by the girls, who seemed to worry for your wellbeing.

Bread and bits of meat was all you found you could stomach as you sat at the table, mind reeling from the interaction as you felt yourself slowly come to your body again.

As though you sunk down from the corner of the room where you had been floating in the corner, and slid back into your casing, threading yourself into your arms and legs like a coat or gown.

Slowly, but surely, you became present in the chambers.

And that was when the dread settled in.

Sleep well this evening.

The girls had readied you for bed, and you had paced the room when they left, desperate to keep yourself awake as anxiety loomed over you at his words, eyes darting over to the chamber doors constantly in wait of a head of wavy silver hair to enter.

You paced the chambers until you slumped in the chaise by the fire, feet aching and legs warm, stoking the flames with a fire poker to keep it alive and distract yourself.

Where was Aemond now?

Would he be in Harrenhal already?

Was he awake with the anxiety of what his brother could do in his absence?

Was he awake in the arms of Alys?

Or was he asleep? Uncaring and unbothered?

The thoughts kept coming as you spiralled in the chambers, their only purpose was that they served to keep you awake. The never ending streams of anxiety and ‘what if’s’ prolonging your evening.

You moved to sit at the windowsill and watched as the sun slowly began to rise.

The sky turned a soft purple and then pink, the room glowing warmly from the light. It was only then that you felt safe enough to retreat to your bed, climbing beneath the sheets and pulling them up to your shoulders tightly.

You kept your eyes on the doors, waiting for any sight or sound of entry until your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open, and they drifted shut from fatigue.

You did not dream, and your sleep was shallow and broken.

Noise in the chambers jerked you awake, and your eyes immediately darted over to the chamber doors.

They were closed.

You sighed a breath of relief, resting your head back against the soft down of the pillows, steading your racing heart. Your mind felt foggy and your body ached from your lack of sleep.

“A fine morning.” Came a purr from beside you.

Your heart jumped in your chest, body shooting up from the pillow as you scrambled against the back of the bed.

Two violet eyes watched you as you clutched the sheets to your chest.

He was here.

Aegon sat lazily in the chair beside Aemond’s side of the bed.

Watching you.

He smiled widely as you dragged the sheets up to your neck, brain reeling at seeing him in your chambers.

How long had he been here?

How long had he been watching you?

It was like Aemond all over again. How he had been in your chair in your chambers. How he had watched you sleep.

You notice the similarities between the two men.

The two brothers.

Your two uncles.

Cut from the same cloth.

Your breath held in your chest as you felt panic rise in your throat, freezing as he smiled widely at you. Aegon was dressed for the day; green robes and the Conquerors Crown already sat atop his head.

One leg sat lazily over the other as though he was comfortable watching you. Lounging as you slept.

As though he had been for some time.

As though he had no cares or troubles for being in your shared chambers at all.

“You whimper in your sleep.” The King mused, smirking at you.

Words were trapped in your throat, not able to break free as you stared at him.

Aegon waited for you to respond and sighed when you didn’t. He suddenly stood, hands pushing on his thighs to help himself up lazily as he straightened his back with a hum. Violet eyes drifted over where your body was hidden behind the sheets before he spoke again.

“Enjoy your day.” He grinned, leaving your chambers through the doors he came in.

A breath broke free from your lungs, followed by a sob of fear.

He had watched you sleep.

How long had he been there?

Did the knight let him in?

Your mind raced as you thought of it.

You were never safe.

But now with Aemond gone, you were unprotected.

Exposed.

He could come whenever he wished.

Aegon was King.

And there was nothing you could do, lest you endanger the treaty and yourself.

You did not leave your bed that day, moving between panic and shock, crying and spiralling. Your stomach turned and you felt your mind reel from lack of sleep and anticipation of what was to come.

You felt yourself slowly begin to crumble beneath the new pressure of Aemond’s absence, the only thing that was keeping Aegon away from you.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the cold stones of the cell beneath your back. You felt the skin that had pulled away as he dragged you towards him. You felt the way he had looked at you, feasting on you with his eyes. The way he had leant over you. The smell of his breath.

It unnerved you.

It terrified you.

It crushed you.

And all you could do was wish that Aemond was with you.

The soft echoes of Lucerys and Helaena rose and whispered in the back of your mind as shadows began to hide in your periphery, causing you to snap your head to see who was there, only to find the space empty.

It was as though your thread was unravelling and at a pace faster than you could grasp or slow it down.

The maids had come to the chambers and brought you food, though you refused it. They had placed your tea beside your bed with the honey and had insisted for you to just drink that, and that having something in your stomach was better than nothing.

The eldest of maids had even stayed behind and ensured that you had drunk the last of the tea from the cup before she left the chambers, leaving you alone with your immeasurable fear.

The day moved slowly, and nightfall came quicker than the last. You struggled to stay awake, sitting yourself upright in bed as you stared at the chamber doors, willing yourself to not sleep again. To not be bested by a man who drinks himself to piss the bed.

Sleep came in small bursts, yet as soon as you found yourself sinking beneath the surface of it, your body would jerk itself awake, eyes frantically scanning the room.

It was empty.

Another day flew by, and you refused to leave your chambers, instead sitting and thinking of what you could do, mind jumbled from lack of sleep, and the maids insisting that you ate at least some fruit and drank your tea.

You listened to the girls and drank the brew, adding two spoonfuls of honey as always, and nibbled on some freshly baked bread that steamed on the plate, and the juicy flesh of a star fruit. It weighed heavily in your stomach, and the meal only served to make you sleepy.

When the girls had left the chambers and begged that you call for them should you need anything at all, you had paced the room, feeling like sand that had been scattered amongst a shore. Thoughts moving forward, yet never quite moving in the right direction.

Do you send for the star fruit now? Whilst Aemond was gone?

You had no access to Vermithor which would come as a disadvantage.

You had no weapon or way out, and if your family did come to your call, the Greens would no doubt use you as a bartering tool.

A hostage.

And then you thought of Aemond.

How much longer would he be gone?

Do you send word to Harrenhal? Do you send a letter urging him to return? Would he receive it? Would he respond?

Would he even care?

There was no way of knowing.

And so as you paced the chambers sluggishly, you thought of the purple flowers again.

“My pretty head of flowers.” Helaena whispered in your ear, and you fought to not flinch.

Your aunt and brothers presence becoming more constant than before. Whether they be mere shadows in the corner of your eyes, silently standing amongst the chambers, or whispering words and secrets to you.

"Dracarys, mandia." Sister.

Dracarys.

Star fruit.

Vermithor.

If you sent word to your family came now, you could go to the garden before their arrival and take some of the Monkshood, hiding it up your sleeve, or in a napkin to hide in your chambers.

If they came now, armoured on the backs of their dragons, and the Greens came looking to use you, you could eat the flower, root and stem, just to be sure, and die a cowardly death for your family.

But you did not want to die at the hands of poison.

You wished to fight.

You wished to succeed in what you had come here to do.

Secure the throne.

“Pretty head of flowers. Pretty head of flowers.” She continued to whisper in your head, her voice unnerving you.

You shook your head violently, trying to dispel Helaena's repetition, yet she did not stop, voice only quietening in the back of your mind, repeating the same thing, over and over.

Merely sounding like the gentle whispers of a breeze.

The sun was at its peak when you decided to sit upon the soft cushion of the chaise, to give yourself a moment as you struggled to stop your body from swaying, exhaustion beginning to take over.

You felt dizzy and rattled, weakened from the days gone by and the constant chatter of your mind.

The moment you sat on the chaise your body sagged, head leaning back against the hard wood of the lounge as the rest sunk into the soft cushions.

You turned your head upwards and looked at the ceiling.

“Please Gods, give me the strength to do what I have to do.” You quietly prayed, hoping they would hear you. Hoping they would give you a sign, any sign, that what you were doing was right.

But the room stayed still, and you feared your absence to the Godswood had turned their favour.

Your eyes slid shut, and you told yourself that you could rest them, if only for a moment, and then go back to pacing. You just needed to rest them for a moment, and then you would get up once more.

But what if you couldn't get back up again?

How long could one survive their own mind without rest or food?

You supposed you would likely find out very soon, as you made a promise to not sleep until Aemond had returned.

You drifted into a chaotic dream, mind so exhausted and jumbled that it followed you to your sleep.

You were sat atop a dragon, soaring high amongst the clouds, the world around you tiny and dark, shrouded by large storm clouds. The robes on your body weighed you down, wet from the rain as you soared higher, dragon growling out into the rain.

You felt your hands be tugged and you looked down.

In your hands were reins.

Large thick rope pulling at your palms, burning them as it was tugged away from you. You gripped the rope to pull them back, using your entire body weight to slow the beast. A crack of lightning lit across the sky and the scales beneath you became illuminated.

Green.

A smaller dragon flew higher up into the sky as your dragon chased after it, your heart racing in your chest. The tiny dragon disappeared into a break of light and you yanked the reins back, trying to stop the dragon from its course.

“Keligon!” Stop, You screamed yanking the rope, feeling it rip through skin of your palms.

But the dragon did not listen and instead, you emerged from the clouds and watched in horror as Vhagar opened her jaws and bit the smaller dragon and the small boy atop it in two.

You began to scream, looking at Arrax fall to the earth below yours, horrified by what you had done.

You killed him.

You killed Lucerys.

You killed your-

“Y/n.” A voice called from behind you, your head snapping behind you in the sky.

The sky fell away and was replaced with the darkness of a cave, scarce lighting around you.

You were in the Dragon Pit, torches crackling against the walls, the air damp and cold. The sudden change in space making your heart jump in your chest.

You looked around, spinning in a circle, feeling familiarity from the dream.

You turned once more and there he was.

Lucerys.

The boy was wet with rain, hair slicked to his head, and covered in blood. His mouth opened, and from his lips poured a small rivulet pf blood that trailed down his chin to drip on the floor below. Brown eyes blinked tears of blood, staining his cherubic cheeks red.

His little hand lifted and you watched in horror as he pointed beside you.

A sob came from where his finger stopped.

Slowly you turned your head, eyes not blinking.

A woman stood beside you, her back turned to you, with silver hair matted and braided behind her head. Her body heaved as she cried loudly in the pit, dressed in a chemise and robe.

Lucerys stepped closer to move on the other side of you as you were rooted to the spot, not moving, and stared. But then your body had a mind of its own and leant forward, lifting a foot up to place it towards the woman.

You stepped forward as she continued to cry, body rocking back and forth, little hushed breaths of air falling from her lips as she swayed.

Lucerys followed beside you, the soft dripping of blood and water on his robes echoing in the space beside her sobs and the crackling torches.

A scream tore from your lips as you looked at her.

Helaena, pale and eyes red, rocked back and forth not looking at you as she cooed into her arms, where she clutched a small bundle to her chest.

A bundle which had small arms and legs, that were covered with pale yellow pants and a matching yellow jacket. But crimson stained the front of the clothes, spreading outwards like a flower in bloom.

Blood soaked Helaena's front where the stump of its neck sat raw against her as she continued to coo the body in an attempt of comfort. Tissue and muscle sat exposed to her chest, which continued to pump slow and steady streams of blood down onto its stained jacket.

The headless body of a child.

Jaehaerys.

You scrambled backwards horrified by the scene, trying to get away from them both.

Helaena’s head finally looked up to you, eyes rimmed with tears that flowed down her cheeks.

“He is coming.” She whispered.

Lucerys moved to stand beside her as they both watched you stumble over your feet, tears pouring down your face as you fled backwards on unsteady feet.

“Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” Fated to burn together, Heleana spoke.

“A crown forged of blood.” Lucerys replied, blood falling from his lips as he looked at the child in Helaena’s arms blankly.

“He is coming.”

You woke with a jerk, a scream escaping from you.

Your eyes were wet with tears and your heart rattled in your chest. You stiffened in the chaise as you looked about the room in search of Aegon.

The room had darkened and it was nightfall again.

Then, you saw them.

A head of silver and a head of brown.

Staring at you as they had a moment before, except this time, dry and unbloodied, body of Jaehaerys missing from Helaena’s arms. A sob flew from your lips as you brought a hand to your throat.

The chamber doors swung open and the knight stormed inside, the sound causing you to jump, gasp flying from your lips as you whipped around to see him.

“What is wrong?” He asked, hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked around the chambers in search of an intruder or whatever had spooked you.

The pair began to whisper in the corner of the room as they looked at you, their voices causing you to wince as you stared at the knight.

“A crown of blood.”

“Dracarys.”

“Pretty petals-“

The knight took in your appearance; The tear stained cheeks, disheveled hair and crinkled clothing, but most importantly the fearful eyes which widened at every hushed word uttered by two people he was not aware were in the space with them.

“I shall fetch the Maester.” He said slowly, looking at you.

“No... need.” Your voice broke, “All is fine.” You took a steeling breath, “I thought I saw a spider.” You used the back of your hand to mop the tears from your cheeks and neck.

The knight looked at you for a moment more before bowing hesitantly, as though he thought better of himself and would perhaps stay or send for the Maester despite your reassurance, but the look was short lived, and the man left the chambers with a turn of his heel.

The whispers of Lucerys and Helaena became louder as the doors shut, the knight unknowingly leaving you with them.

A silent sob filled the room as you stared at the two in your chambers, their whispers never stopping. Looking as though they were speaking to each other, the words hard to discern beside the odd familiar whisper here or there.

You sucked in a sharp breath and whimpered, forcing yourself to rise and move to the side of the chambers where the pair followed you like a shadow, standing at your side as they continued to whisper prophesies and commands at you.

Prophesies of what has happened, prophesies of what was to come. Commands to act.

To do.

Dracarys.

You poured yourself a large goblet of wine, throwing it back, basking in the sharp burning it brought to you as it slid down your throat. Another tear fell down your cheeks as you stood there, eyes trained on the goblet so that you did not have to turn and face your brother and aunt.

“Sister.” Lucerys called, and you whimpered at the sound.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

“Sister.” He whispered again.

Slowly you raised your head to look at him and Helaena, both watching you with impassive faces.

“Dracarys. A crown forged from blood.”

“Spool hen Kasta, spool hen Zōbrie.” Spool of Green, spool of Black, Helaena muttered.

“Another eye will close.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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rhaewnyra · 4 months ago

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honestly i was trying to trust the process when i ignored some of the huge changes they made in the majority of hotd but the season finale got me a bit confused as to what was the purpose of this season. while they gave jace a lot more character development (as they should), i feel like all the other characters were left behind or thrown in the middle of a plot that made no sense at all.

it took daemon five episodes to realize he didn't want the crown and it was rightfully rhaenyra's; something he already knew by the end of season 1. he orders jaehaerys' death and then he's tormented with the burden of his choice for the rest of the season meanwhile helaena gets only a few minutes of grief and anxiety. then on the last episode it seems like helaena can see daemon through his vision and she's not even a little bit enraged.

alicent goes to dragonstone after aemond told her to do the dishes. while yes she could have realized that things were never different for her, this portrayal of her being just an innocent woman with no ambitions and just a silly little brain that doesn't understand prophecies is so annoying. she did everything she could to put aegon on the throne, wanted to take luke's eye for aemond and now she just gives her children away that easily? very poorly written unfortunately. writers kept pushing the rhaenicent agenda so far they forgot some things need to make sense in order for something to be genuinely good.

rhaenys and meleys died. meleys, rhaenyra's biggest dragon that had a rider. rhaenys, one of rhaenyra's biggest supporters who died trying to fight this war between siblings. and then we have one scene a few seconds long of corlys almost crying and the same one of rhaenyra looking up at the sky. WHERE is the grief? the same can be said about luke. yes, the first episode had rhaenyra trying to find his remains and going through an immense amount of pain during the whole thing but shouldn't his death linger and haunt the narrative for the rest of the season? it was a son for a son.

corlys only walked around his ship and pretended alyn and addam weren't his sons. rhaena and baela had very limited screentime and rhaena still hasn't claimed the dragon. (spoiler ahead) jace literally dies for his brothers and when they're parting ways they don't show much of them. are the writers addicted to never exploring the depths of the characters and their relationships? jesus christ

overall, it was a season with huge flaws and no development at all. it's very obvious it's an adaptation and it's gonna have some changes, but things need to at least make sense when you watch. and i love hotd! but how can a piece of media be good enough if it's afraid of showing the nuances of the characters? for me, i honestly think i kept coming back for hotd because i love the actors, they are incredibly talented. and to be fair enough, the battle and dragon scenes were very great.

#house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon

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alicentswife1 · 7 months ago

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Rhaenyra’s and Alicent’s sides.

I hope people understand the symbolism of this. Imma explain anyway. So right side is obvious alicent. I chose the first picture (snake one) to symbolize her relationship with the men around her (Otto, Viserys) who are the snake ready to bite her and poison her should she not do what they want. So she does what they tell her to do, but she gets poisoned anyway which leads us to the next pic where I wanted to show her sadness and melancholy for lost innocence and all the grief she carries with her (her mother, rhaenyra, her youth, innocence, life, etc.). She lives in a prison now. Next one is lady of sorrows (because alicent is a strong follower of the faith) she looks very similar to her on driftmark too! The expression, the eyes, eyebrows, everything. She knows she’s lost and it’s too much for her. Her son literally lost an eye and is blinded for life and no one will do anything about it!? Rage, despair, grief, anger, guilt all bottle up and explode. I also think the similarities of show!alicent and Mary are huge. The Lady of sorrow represents the grief for her child Jesus Christ and Alicent does the same in ep 7, aemond isn’t gone but she still grieves for him. I also think which made it ten times worse, is that it was Aemond who was harmed, her favorite (you cannot convince me otherwise) Aegon was for the throne, Helaena for Aegon, but Aemond was for her.

Alicent’s was very much like “can’t you see!? Why I did this? I had to!” She was forced to. ‘I? What have I done but what was expected of me?! Where’s duty? Where’s sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again! And now you take my son’s eye and to even that you feel entitled!’ She’s right. Compared to her, Rhaenyra had to sacrifice much less, which doesn’t make her any less of a victim! Stop hating on my women and start on the men. They are right there, openly doing the most vile shit! Otto, Viserys, Daemon, Aegon. Otto who manipulated and used his own daughter, Viserys who groomed and manipulated her. Daemon who groomed Nyra, Viserys who neglected his daughter.

I choose a Joan of arc painting because Rhaenyra ‘I will never be a son’ aka ‘girls when they aren’t their father’s number one boy’. Then we have the next which shows us a man with his back turned. Nyra felt betrayed by Alicent so she turned her back. The dog symbolizes Rhaenyra’s sadness turned anger. The dog is her guard, her protector, it will lash out as not to get hurt again. She built a wall around her. And lastly I chose Lucifer because of their shared hunger for revenge, thirst for vengeance (after Luke’s death). Mary for Ali because she can only pray, but she know the path only ends in death. While alicent has only sadness left, rhaenyra is full of wrath.

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

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Down in Flames (modern!HOTD) 3

previous ~ next ~ series masterlist

pairing: modern!Aegon x Reader & modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: Tensions rise with the band as Otto Hightower runs them ragged with recording the album. You and Aegon come to a breaking point (no like for real this time you swear).

rating: Explicit

warnings: spicy stuff below the cut, choking, p in v, language, physical fighting, y'all if this isn't your thing I beg you just scroll past

word count: 4.8k

note: what an innocent lil gif for this part lmao hope you enjoy it!! loving writing this story and reading your reblogs & comments 💚

masterlist

You text Cregan when you get back to the apartment. You received an eager text from him almost immediately after entering your Uber. Baela egged you on, Rhaena laughing maniacally as she did. Truly a menacing pair the two of them can be.

“He liiiiikes you,” Rhaena slurred, shaking her hips, “seriously you should have seen him watching while we were dancing. Practically drooling”

Heat floods to your cheeks as you remember Aemond’s gaze, the way he was watching you. The feeling of his hand on your arm.

Jesus Christ. The drinks have gone to your head tonight because there is no way you’re blushing, no way your thighs are clenching together at the thought of Aemond Targaryen.

“Text him this! Text him this,” Baela says, holding her hands out for dramatic effect, “please Cregan, fuck me till I can’t remember the name of my shitty ex.”

You throw a pillow at Baela who catches it with ease, stuffing it under her elbows.

“Bae you are in rare form tonight!” you accuse, laughing all the same. Baela groans, stuffing her face into the pillow.

“I just want my girl to get some!” she says, voice muffled by the pillow. Rhaena laughs, reaching into a bag of chips you all have been sharing. Baela lifts her head, eyes wide.

“When is the last time you were fucked?” Baela demands to know, pointing a finger at you.

You remember. A few weeks ago. After a heated argument, of course. You and Aegon had made up, leading to angry sex in his room.

“Couple weeks ago I guess-” you begin to answer but Baela shakes her head.

“No no no,” she says, “when was the last time you were fuuucked.”

You glance at Rhaena who is stifling a laugh, watching her buzzed sister speak her words of wisdom.

“Bae, we are not following,” Rhaena says snickering. Baela rolls her eyes, and takes a sip from the water bottle she keeps on her nightstand.

“You know what I mean,” Baela continues, “like really fucked, like the kind of sex that makes your brain leak from your ears. Earth shattering. Mind blowing.”

You understand what she means. Maybe in the earlier days of your relationship with Aegon it had been like that. Passionate, raw, love making. But you hate to admit, it hasn’t been like that in a while. Even with the anger.

“I don’t know,” you tell her, a nervous smile on your lips, “a while, I guess.”

Baela nods, like she already knew the answer.

“So text this burly, beefy man,” she begins, “and get, fuuucked.”

“Okay crazy!” you tell her, snagging a chip from Rhaena, “I will, not tonight though.”

Baela reaches for the chips, Rhaena holds the bag out to her.

“Thank you! Finally,” Baela says.

The rest of the night is spent giggling and sharing stories until the sun begins to peek through the clouds. Only then do you find sleep, and for the first time in weeks it is utterly blissful.

It was Baela who found herself at the studio early before the rest of the band arrived. Lounging on the couch she helped herself to an old issue of Cosmopolitan, flipping through the glossy pages. Snickering she dogeared a page to show you when you arrived.

The doors open Aemond strutting through them. Even his walk is arrogant.

“Found him,” Aemond said.

Aegon trails behind him, looking disheveled.

“Where was he?” Baela asks.

Aemond glances around the room.

“Y/N here?”

Baela shakes her head, not looking up from her magazine.

“Not yet, she’ll be here soon.”

“Silk Street,” Aemond says.

Baela’s head snaps up. The fucking strip club. She meets Aemond’s eye, his expression nonchalant. Baela’s mouth twists into anger as she turns her head to look at Aegon, who now sits on the edge of the stage with his head in his hands.

Baela rises from the couch, moving towards him.

“You piece of shit,” she says, curling her magazine and reeling backward, ready to strike him.

Aemond is quicker. He sprints forward grabbing her wrist, and twisting her away from his brother.

“I know,” Aegon moans looking up, eyes glassy, “you should fucking let her.”

“Let me go!” Baela says, tugging free from Aemond.

Luke enters from the other room, hearing the commotion. His eyes widen as he sees Aegon and takes in the scene in front of him.

“Leave her alone!” Luke says, moving to stand between Baela and Aemond.

Aemond looks at Luke incredulously.

“Fuck off,” Aemond says pushing Luke away from him.

Jace enters next with Helaena, watching as Luke stumbles backward. Helaena’s face crumples in confusion at the scene, as Baela grabs a vase attempting the launch it at Aegon. Helaena dashes forward, hands around the glass as Baela struggles against her grip.

“Stop!” Jace says coming to his brother’s aid, and pushing Aemond in the chest.

Aemond smiles at him, as though he was waiting for an excuse to release his frustration on the brothers. He pushes Jace who falls to the floor.

Luke moves to get towards Aemond once more, and Aegon leaps from the stage, grabbing Luke by the scruff of the neck and slamming him against the body of the piano.

“Aegon, stop!” Rhaena says as she enters the room amidst the chaos.

Baela stands between Jace and Aemond, as they continue to taunt each other.

You are the last to arrive, hurrying faster down the hallway at the sound of yelling. Your eyes widen at the fighting.

“Aegon!” you yell, running over to pull him off of Luke.

“Stop! Everyone stop it!” Baela shouts, as Otto Hightower enters the room and everyone falls silent.

Otto has that energy about him, his presence like a soothing balm on a burn. Aemond stands straighter immediately, Aegon backing up a few paces. Luke rubs his jaw which now glows red.

“Hardly the behavior of professionals,” Otto says in a chilling voice, “let alone a family.”

“Sorry,” Jace mutters, looking towards the floor.

Rhaena grabs your hand, directing you towards the sofa. Helaena is the only one who approaches Otto, arms open to embrace him.

“Thanks for coming,” she says, voice dreamlike, holding none of the stress that the room holds.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Otto tells her, “and it needs to be done quickly. I don’t want any more fighting. Nothing that delays this being completed, is that clear?”

Aegon cracks his jaw, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. Aemond jerks his head in a quick nod. Jace is glaring at Aemond, but nods as well, his younger brother following his example.

“I need you to be perfect,” Otto says, putting a finger under Helaena’s chin.

She smiles at him, a whimsical expression on her face. Her smile isn’t a happy one, it is rather melancholic.

“Of course,” Helaena murmurs, and Otto walks by her, to stand in front of Aegon.

Aegon does not meet his gaze, looking anywhere but Otto. Otto looks down at him, taking in Aegon’s disheveled state. He can smell the lingering booze, see the glitter that speckles his flesh like small diamonds catching the light. Even from across the room you notice the fresh hickies that adorn Aegon’s neck causing your stomach to turn.

Otto makes a face of disgust before speaking.

“And you,” he says, looking at the man in front of him.

Aegon lifts his red-rimmed eyes towards his grandfather. Otto reaches a hand out, fingers brushing against Aegon’s swollen cheekbone. Aegon winces at his touch.

“I need you to be perfect,” Otto says, his voice eerily calm. Aegon’s lower lip trembles, but he nods all the same.

“Aegon, Helaena, come with me,” Otto says, starting towards the door, “I want recordings of isolated vocals, and the rest of the band ready to record in two hours.”

He stops at the door.

“707 King’s Road. Two hours,” Otto finishes, signaling to Aegon and Helaena.

Helaena hurriedly collects her notebooks and pens, shoving them into her canvas tote. Aegon looks towards you, his eyes glassy as he meets your furious expression. He’s cheated. Again. Well is it really cheating at this point?

In your mind you have broken up, but Aegon was still running around under the impression that you are still a couple. Do you even have a leg to stand on? You did give Cregan your number. You don’t even know what to say at this point, but luckily you don’t have to. Helaena moves toward her brother, lacing her fingers through his.

“Okay?” she asks, searching the face of her elder brother.

“Uh-huh,” Aegon says, as she begins to lead him from the room. And then they are gone.

The room is silent for a moment. Baela looks at you, as Rhaena moves towards Luke.

“Shit, Luke, your face,” she says, bringing a hand to touch his swollen jaw. Luke flinches, but lets her examine him.

“His fucking fault,” he snaps, glaring at Aemond.

Aemond tilts his head to the side, as though waiting for a reason to continue fighting.

“He was attacking Baela!” Luke continued, and Aemond moves towards him.

“Stop it!” Baela shouts, commanding the attention of the room, “no one attacked me. I attacked Aegon if anything.”

“Aegon?” you say, speaking for the first time since arriving, “why?”

Baela looks at you, before her eyes briefly glance at Aemond. You turn to face him.

“What?” you question.

You hate feeling like there is a secret in the room that everyone is aware of but you. Aemond meets your eyes but doesn’t say anything. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“He was at Silk Street,” Baela says reluctantly, “that’s where he was all night.”

Your heart sinks in your chest, an aching numbness settling deep within your bones. You can’t do this. You can’t do this anymore.

“I’m going home,” you announce, heading for the door.

“I’ll come with you,” Baela says, hurrying after you.

“No, Bae its okay,” you tell her, “go help them get ready. I’ll just be at the apartment.”

“Are you sure? Rhae and I-”

“I just need some time alone,” you tell her, “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Baela nods, but lets you go. Jace comes up behind her as you leave through the door.

“She’ll be okay,” Jace says, rubbing her shoulders.

Baela nods, pressing her lips together in a tight line. Aemond is still glaring at Luke who now sits on the stage as Rhaena presses an icepack against his chin.

You don’t speak to Aegon for a few days. Not that you’d get far. Otto probably has him locked in the recording box until getting the perfect take.

You always knew the feud was serious when Rhaenyra went solo, but now with an actual album in the works blood was bound to be spilt. Otto would keep Dracarys in the studio all night if it meant getting the song recorded before Rhaenyra.

It wasn’t all bad. You needed some time to think, to really wrack your head for what you wanted. It was good to spend time at your old apartment, your old room. It made your head clearer. So when Aegon finally texted you, you knew what you had to do.

The studio was quiet when you arrived, save for the soft strumming of a guitar. You found Aegon sitting on the couch, fingers strumming his guitar, softly singing to himself. His eyes lit up when you walked into the room.

“Hey,” he says, placing the guitar to the side.

“Hey,” you answer, coming to sit beside him.

You suddenly wish you had changed your mind about what to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you had settled with a dress, with black tights covering your legs. The weather was getting colder and you were grateful for the warmth they provided. But you notice Aegon’s eyes roam up your legs, and worry for a moment you’ll simply forgive him, straddling him on the couch.

“How’s the album coming?” you ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“A fucking nightmare,” Aegon laughs, “but we did it, we recorded it all. Without killing each other.”

You smile at that. You always wanted the band to succeed.

“Otto’s throwing a party to celebrate, at the Dragonpit,” Aegon tells you.

Your eyes widen at that. The Dragonpit is a huge club, for really fancy patrons. Rich mafia dudes, as Baela would say.

“That’s really cool, Aeg,” you tell him and you mean it. You truly are happy for him.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N),” Aegon says with tears in his eyes, “I don’t know why I keep fucking up, but I do.”

Your eyes fill with tears. At least Aegon knows where this is headed.

“I really did love you,” Aegon tells you, his smile half-hearted.

You find your lip trembling.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love someone properly,” he admits, slowly finding the words, “but I tried my best.”

You run your hand through his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. Aegon closes his eyes at your touch.

Now is the moment. You could stay. You have done it before. You could lean into the man in front of him, soothing him. Wipe the tears from his face. Hold him in your arms and cradle him until he falls asleep.

But you are tired. And you want to go home. The resistance falls from your limbs, a tension you were only partially consciously aware of leaves you. You sigh deeply, giving him a sad smile.

“I know you did,” you tell him. Aegon’s eyes are glassy as he studies your face. As you step away from him. You are diverging from the path he is familiar with.

“I loved you too,” you whisper.

Aegon nods, his lips downturned.

“Do you want to come with me?” you ask, more out of courtesy than thinking he will agree.

He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, forcing a smile, “I think I’m gonna crash here for the night. Don’t want to be late for rehearsal in the morning.”

“Okay,” you tell him, getting up from the sofa to leave.

“Friday night,” he calls, “you’re still my date. For the party.”

You smile sadly at him.

“You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I do. You’re a part of this too.”

“Okay. I’ll be there,” you tell him, causing him to smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Bye Aegon.”

You cry the entire ride home. You didn’t think you would, but as you sat behind the wheel it was as though a dam broke lose and everything came crashing down. But at the same time, the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

You don’t know what made you drive to Aegon’s apartment.You just want this to be over, grab what remains of your things and quietly disappear from his life. You stayed in your car several minutes after you parked before heading up the apartment.

The lights are off when you enter the apartment, save for the light above the stove that is seemingly always on. There are muffled voices from down the hall, a giggle. As you close the door behind you, you hear the voices from Aemond’s room go silent.

Shit.

You had hoped he wasn’t home. You don’t need more humiliation that comes with packing what little things you have left here.

You walk slowly, the baseboards creaking under your foot. You hear Aemond’s bedroom door open.

Fuck.

You look up from the floor, wincing. Your embarrassed expression soon fades to one of shock as Rhaena walks towards you from the hall.

She is smiling brightly, wearing one of Aemond’s shirts. You know it's his, you’ve seen him wear it. It falls past her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs bare.

“Hey Y/N,” she says, voice shaking, trying to appear nonchalant. She bites her bottom lip, widening her eyes as if to say finally.

You can’t seem to find your voice as she collects her purse and slips on her shoes.

“I’ll call you later, yeah?” she says, tossing her locs over her shoulder. Her cheeks are rosy, lips bruised. She places a hand to her mouth, blowing you a quick kiss before scurrying out the door. You watch the door close behind her, lips still parted in shock.

You turn back towards the hall. Aemond has exited his room, standing shirtless in the hallway. His dark gray sweats hang low on his hips, displaying the sharp v-line that disappears below his waistline.

“Seriously?” you tell him, finding your voice at last, “Rhaena? Aemond come on.”

His tongue pokes at his cheek, as he watches you. His sapphire eye catches the light from the kitchen, sending geometric shapes on the wall.

“She really likes you, you prick,” you tell him, anger coursing through your veins, heating your face.

The sadness and hurt that had been in your entire being moments ago has been replaced with white hot rage.

“So?” he says, strolling into the kitchen, and grabbing a glass. He fills it with water and takes a sip before meeting your eyes.

“So?” you imitate him, head tilting to the side, “so this is going to crush her.”

You can’t believe the nerve he has, to stand there so calmly. He exhales, lips turning into a smile as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, silver hair cascading down his back.

“She’s single, I’m single,” he says, no growls, at you, “it's not a big fucking deal.”

“It is a big deal Aemond,” you say, voice increasing in volume, “Fuck. Why would you do that?”

You always knew Aemond wasn’t the nicest person, but part of you hoped deep down he had some sense of empathy. Especially since he brushed Rhaena off all these years. You thought he understood her feelings for him. A thought rushes to your mind.

“You did this because of Luke,” you told him, and he placed his glass on the counter, resting his hands against the edge. The muscles in his back ripple as his hair falls over his face.

You felt your shoulders relax, knowing your realization is correct. What an asshole.

“You’re gonna mess with Rhaena’s head, just to fuck with Luke?” you ask him, running a hand through your hair. Aemond says nothing, just taps his long fingers against the counter.

“Fuck, Aemond,” you want to keep yelling at him. You want a reaction from him, some remorse, something besides that cold look, “you really are heartless.”

Aemond turns his head to you, purple and sapphire eye aglow with anger. He pushes off the counter, striding towards you.

“Go to bed, Y/N,” he says in a voice dripping with disdain, “you’re not my friend, you’re not my girlfriend. Stop acting like one.”

Your nostrils flare with anger and you swear you see red. You step closer to him, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. You can feel the heat radiating from him, your chests almost touching.

“Rhaena is my friend,” you tell him, voice low in warning.

You stare at each other for a beat, neither moving nor backing down. Gods you fucking hate him. At least ending things with Aegon means you never have to interact with Aemond Targaryen ever again.

“Go to bed,” he repeats, voice dripping with hostility, as you shake your head.

“I’m not staying.”

A flicker of confusion dances across his sharp features.

“Why?”

“We broke up,” you tell him, and continue before he can argue, “really. Like for good this time.”

Aemond stays eerily still. His eye searches your face, taking in the look of acceptance that follows the words you speak.

“So after the party, you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” you tell him, the bitterness evident in your voice.

You look away first. Who cares about this stupid stalemate anymore? You’re so done with Targaryen men. You turn on your heel prepared to leave the kitchen when Aemond speaks.

“You know what I think?” he says softly, and you look at him once more.

He wets his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wait for him to speak, anticipation causing your skin to blossom with goosebumps.

“I don’t think you’re mad I fucked Rhaena,” he tells you and you shake your head, opening your mouth to argue, your eyes narrowing.

Of course that’s why you are mad, what is he talking about?

“I think you’re mad I didn’t fuck you,” he says slowly.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry as all the air evaporates from your lungs. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Aemond’s eyes light up as you fail to answer, the beginning of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re jealous,” he practically purrs, as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, flooding them with color.

The air in the kitchen feels so hot, it’s as though it is melting the flesh from your bones. You’re not jealous, why would you be jealous? No, no that doesn’t make any sense. He’s just saying that to mess with you, to make you confused.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, still frozen to the spot.

Your chest heaves with your breath. There is a look in Aemond’s eye, reminiscent of a rabid dog.

“I didn’t sleep with Rhaena,” he tells you and you blink in surprise.

Your heart nearly stops beating.

“What?”

“We made out,” he admits, grinning smugly as he shrugs, “she wanted to be more comfortable so I gave her my shirt.”

The nerves you felt a moment ago are replaced by fury yet again. He tricked you, and now he has humiliated you. In the neverending battle between you and Aemond, it appears Aemond has finally won. His smile is triumphant as he takes in your reaction.

You clench your jaw, preparing yourself for being the butt of the joke, before rolling your eyes at him.

“You are such a dick,” you tell him, your tone defeated as you turn away from him in surrender.

Aemond reaches out, grabs your arm, and forces you to face him.

“Oh, fuck off-” you begin to say when he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is brief and sears your lips. You pull away immediately, staring at him, eyes wide. Aemond stares back at you, not releasing your arm.

Holy shit.

Your lips tingle and you don’t let your thoughts catch up with you as you lean forward, crashing your lips to his again. You throw your hands around his neck, pulling him towards you as he molds his mouth over yours.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You scrape your nails against the nape of his neck, securing his mouth to yours. Aemond turns his head, deepening the kiss as his hot tongue enters your mouth. He pushes you against the counter, caging you against it with his hips.

A soft wine leaves your throat, swallowed by Aemond’s pouty lips, as you feel the hardness between his legs push against you. Aemond’s hands move to cup under your ass, squeezing harshly as he lifts you with ease onto the counter.

He brings his hands between you both, slender fingers pushing your thighs open. You wrap your legs around his waist as he does, your legs a vice around him. His fingers stroke the fabric of your tights, right against your most sensitive spot, before hooking onto the material and tearing them at the seam.

He fucking ripped your stockings holy shit.

Aemond continues kissing you relentlessly as he does so, its a desperate mess of clashing tongues and teeth. You nip at his lower lip earning a groan from him that only encourages you further. You move your hands from his hair, pulling down his sweatpants at the waist. You feel his freed cock, hot and heavy against your hand.

Your eyes flutter open then, as you take him in your hand, shamefully impressed at the generous length and girth. Aemond meets your eyes, violet eye half-lidded, lips bruised from kissing. He releases a moan as you pump your hand around him, stroking his thick length once, twice.

You barely think, mind clouded with lust as you guide him towards your throbbing center. Aemond’s nimble fingers loop through your lace underwear, pulling it to the side. You feel the fat head of his cock kiss between your slick lower lips, before he pushes into you.

A strangled moan escapes your lips at the delicious stretch Aemond’s cock gives you. Delirious with the feeling of him splitting you open, you choose to ignore the smug grin that appears on his face as he bottoms out in your warm cunt. You can’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction in the way his mouth drops open as your cunt pulsates, clenching around him.

The way Aemond and you fuck is just like when you’re fighting one another. There is no time for being gentle. After a moment of adjusting Aemond pulls out, snapping his hips back into you again, again, and again. All you can do is hold onto him as he pounds into you, the edge of the counter biting into your lower back. Your fingers claw at him, surely drawing blood with how hard they scrape against the planes of his shoulders. Aemond’s mouth finds the junction of your shoulder and neck, and he sucks harshly on the skin.

You can’t help the pathetic whimpers and cries that leave you at his merciless pace, at the way he keeps one hand wrapped around your thigh keeping you spread open against him. He keeps his other hand around your neck, long fingers curling around your throat. He lifts his face from your neck, watching his cock slide effortlessly in and out, coated in your arousal. Aemond blinks to look up at you, drinking in the hedonistic expression on your face.

Every drive of his hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot within you that makes stars appear in your eyes. Holy fuck you hadn’t been fucked like this in forever. Maybe ever at all.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Aemond growls, hand squeezing against your throat.

The loss of air makes your head spin, as Aemond continues his vigorous strokes. The apartment is silent aside from the lewd, wet slapping noises that echo throughout the kitchen.

His pace never relents, even as he releases your throat and forces his fingers through your parted lips into your warm mouth. He groans as you suck the lengthy digits, before removing them from your mouth and bringing them to rub slow, lazy circles around your clit. A pleasurable juxtaposition to the brutal pace of his cock.

You feel your lower stomach tighten, a wave of pleasure beginning to crest within you. Your fingers desperately claw at his bicep.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you squeak, a breathy desperate moan. You bite your lip, stifling the next moan that manages to slip through; it comes out as a broken sob. Aemond raises an eyebrow at you, a cocky lopsided grin appearing on his face.

“You gonna cum for me?” he asks, his voice rough as gravel.

God, you want to smack that stupid self-indulgent look off his face.

But he feels so fucking good inside you, working you closer and closer toward your orgasm. It's like he knows exactly how to touch you like he’s been thinking of touching you like this and preparing for the moment he does. His free hand tangles in your hair, tugging your neck backward and making you look towards the ceiling. Aemond licks a hot path up your throat, before biting harshly on your ear.

With a strangled cry, your pussy clenches around his cock, and the world around shatters, bathing you in white hot pleasure. Aemond hums against your neck, as his thrusts become sloppier. As his pace begins to slow, you feel him release inside of you, hot spurts of his cum painting your inner walls as you clench around him, milking him for all he’s worth. Thank god you're on birth control.

You feel Aemond’s hand release from your hair, your neck relaxing. You drop your hands from his back as he rests his forehead against yours. You swallow, trying to regulate your breathing that leaves your lips in pants. Aemond releases his hands from you, pulling his softening cock from within you, clutching the counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

You feel despairingly empty as he unsheaths himself from your warmth, breath catching when he is fully parted from you. Aemond and you lock eyes, your cheeks beginning to flush as you come down from your respective highs. Warmth trickles down your between your thighs, as your place your shaky legs on the ground.

You just slept with Aemond Targaryen.

Shit.

Aegon’s fucking brother. Your heart drops.

Shit.

Rhaena.

note: what did i say about things getting messy??? 😱 I hope you enjoyed ily ily ily

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