"Caught in Flames"
Chapter 2
Aerion Targaryen x Named Blackfyre!reader
⚠️Trigger warnings: Smut, non-consensual sex (thigh fucking), dark themes, choking/breath play, physical abuse, degradation/humiliation, verbal abuse, forced submission, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, arranged marriage, canon-divergent content, original characters.
Summary: Two months after the Trial of Seven and Prince Baelor's death, Vaelyra Blackfyre arrives at the Red Keep as a symbolic bride to secure peace.
Chapter 1
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It had been two months since Ashford, since her secret was uncovered, since Prince Baelor had fallen in the Trial of Seven, and Vaelyra Blackfyre had understood with terrible clarity that no one stood between her and the fate that awaited. Baelor had been steady, restrained, almost gentle in his authority; his death had shaken the realm and stripped away the last fragile shield she had never dared acknowledge. Now she stood within the walls of the Red Keep, the pale red stone fortress towering above King’s Landing like a monument to conquest, and the truth settled into her bones: this was no mere visit, no courtesy stay for a wedding. It was surrender. She was the price of peace.
Her family had arrived only three days earlier, escorted beneath banners stripped of their former dragon sigil, a sign of submission that snapped in the sea wind. No longer did the colors of both houses mingle as equals. Every step through the halls felt unreal. Servants bowed. Guards watched. Courtiers whispered. The Blackfyre girl. The Brightflame’s bride. Poor girl. The words hung in the air even when no lips moved.
Her chamber overlooked the city, but she had barely glanced at the view. The Red Keep itself overwhelmed her, vaulted ceilings, long torchlit corridors, walls that had witnessed generations of power struggles and bloodshed. This was the seat of the Iron Throne, where conquerors ruled. And she, a daughter of the rival branch, had been brought here to be bound. As a symbol of peace.
Her wedding gown had arrived the morning after their arrival. She had not chosen it; it had been selected for her, ordered by someone else, a reminder of the power she no longer held over her own life.
The seamstresses carried it in with careful hands. The neckline plunged lower than any gown she had ever worn. The waist cinched tighter. The embroidery sprawled larger, more ostentatious. The dragons were unmistakable. “His Highness was very specific,” one woman murmured as they began fitting the heavy velvet around Vaelyra’s body. “He inspected the design himself.”
Inspected. Heat crawled up Vaelyra’s throat at the word.
The gown was thick black velvet layered over stiff brocade, structured to hold its shape with regal severity rather than softness. It molded her torso firmly, the corset drawing her waist inward and forcing her shoulders back. Crimson dragons stretched across her bodice, wings unfurled over the curve of her breasts, tails winding down toward her hips. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the pale swell she usually kept concealed.
When she quietly asked if it might be raised slightly, the seamstress shook her head.
By the time the final hooks were fastened, Vaelyra barely recognized herself. Her silver-gold hair fell in soft waves down her back, her violet eyes shadowed by sleepless nights. She looked regal. She looked displayed.
The knock came without courtesy. The door opened before Vaelyra could respond.
Aerion entered as though the chamber already belonged to him.
“Out,” he said curtly. With one glance, the room emptied, leaving her alone with him.
He wore black and red, sharply cut and fitted to his frame. His pale hair caught the light, his expression composed, until his eyes fell on her.
They moved slowly: from her hair, down her throat, to the exposed curve of her chest.
They lingered there, making her discomfort sharpen even more.
Her breath tightened as his gaze traced the embroidery across her breasts—the dragons he had ordered stitched there. No attempt to hide the heat in his eyes. It was sharp, possessive, almost satisfied.
He stepped closer.
“Turn around”
The command was harsh, stripped of pretense.
Vaelyra obeyed at once, She felt him behind her now, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed the bare skin above her corset.
He drew a small velvet box from his coat and opened it without flourish. In the mirror, she saw the necklace: a slender silver dragon coiled in elegant loops, its tiny ruby eyes gleaming like embers. Delicate in shape. Almost graceful.
Delicate like her.
Majestic and dangerous like him.
“Hold still” he said quietly.
She did.
His fingers fastened the clasp at her nape, brushing her skin deliberately. The metal settled against her throat, cool and light, yet heavier than the gown itself.
He did not step back.
Instead, he leaned in, mouth hovering near her ear, breath warm against her skin.
“This...” he murmured, voice low and steady, “will show them what you are now.”
Her pulse thundered.
“You will walk beside me in my colors, my sigil, my name. Every lord who looks at you will see that Blackfyre blood kneels, that you belong to a true dragon now”
His hand rose slowly, fingers curling around the front of her throat, not crushing, but firm enough to carry warning.
“You belong to the dragon” he whispered. “You belong to me.”
His grip shifted, tightening into something closer to a choke.
“Say it,” he whispered, dangerous.
“Yes, my prince” she breathed.
His fingers pressed harder.
“Yes what?” His tone sharpened as he forced her to swallow.
“I belong to you. I’m yours” she whispered again, more urgently, desperate to end this.
“Please…I can’t breathe.”
He studied her reflection, her wide eyes, her soft lips, and something dark flickered across his face. Slowly, deliberately, his mouth brushed the side of her neck. A kiss, but not tender. A claim.
Her breath shook.
His grip tightened until she gasped.
He leaned closer, teeth grazing her ear before biting down sharply.
“I’ll wait to take your maidenhood on our wedding night” he snarled, voice low and vicious. “The sept full of staring fools, the bedding ceremony where they strip you and watch me claim what’s left. That will be sweeter.” His fingers dug into her hip like claws. “But I won’t wait to remind you what you are. A Blackfyre bitch given to me as tribute. Your body is mine to use however I please.”
Vaelyra’s eyes filled at once. Hot tears spilled as the full horror sank in, he meant to violate her now, here, with no pretense of care. A sob broke from her throat, quiet but uncontrollable.
Aerion laughed, short and cruel against her neck.
“Crying already? Good. I like the taste of fear.”
He wrenched her skirts up in brutal handfuls, bunching the velvet carelessly at her waist while taking care not to tear or crease the bodice that would be on display tomorrow. The fabric scraped her thighs as he forced her legs together with a rough shove of his boot between them.
“Keep them closed, whore.”
His hand shoved between her thighs from behind without warning or mercy, yanking her smallclothes aside so roughly they tore.
She heard the clink of his belt, the harsh rasp of laces. His cock sprang free, hot, rigid, already weeping at the tip from his twisted excitement.
He forced it between her clamped thighs, the thick shaft scraping painfully along her unlubricated folds. No ease, no slickness, just raw, chafing friction that burned with every thrust.
Vaelyra sobbed harder, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the table’s edge. She hated him, hated the press of him, hated his breath on her neck, the casual brutality. Disgust roiled in her gut; her stomach heaved as his precum smeared sticky trails across her inner thighs, turning into crude lubricant and creating wet, obscene sounds.
He began rutting, hard, fast, selfish jerks of his hips that slammed her forward against the wood.
His mouth attacked her neck, biting savagely, sucking bruises into the pale skin with wet, ugly sounds. Teeth scraped and tore; he growled between bites.
“Filthy Blackfyre cunt. Look at you, crying like a child while your prince fucks your thighs. You think tears will stop me? They make it better. Cry louder, slut. Let the guards outside hear what a pathetic, obedient hole you are.”
One hand stayed fisted in her skirts, keeping them pinned. The other slid up, careful around the embroidered bodice, to seize her breast in a crushing grip. Fingers dug into the soft flesh through the velvet, twisting and kneading with punishing force. Pain lanced through her chest; she cried out, a broken sob.
He switched to the other breast, same vicious squeeze, thumb grinding into the tender underside, yet never disturbing the gown’s perfect lines. Tomorrow the court would see only flawless crimson dragons; tonight, beneath, her skin would bloom with his fingerprints.
“You hate this, don’t you?” he hissed, teeth sinking into her earlobe until she yelped. “Hate me touching you. Hate my cock rubbing against your dry little slit.”
Her sobs came in ragged gasps now, fear choking her, revulsion twisting her insides. Every slide felt like violation; the sticky warmth of his arousal only deepened her nausea.
He sped up, hips snapping brutally, chasing his peak with animal grunts. His grip on her breast tightened until she thought the flesh would bruise black.
When he came, it was with a harsh groan. Hot, thick spurts erupting between her thighs, coating her legs in messy, claiming ropes that dripped down in cooling trails. He ground against her once more, forcing her to feel every twitch, every pulse.
Then he pulled away abruptly.
He stepped back, refastening his breeches and belt.
Vaelyra collapsed forward against the table, skirts still hiked, body shaking with sobs. Her neck throbbed with bite marks; her breasts ached fiercely beneath the bodice; sticky spend cooled on her skin. Tears blurred the mirror’s reflection.
Aerion adjusted a cuff and turned for the door.
“Do not weep in front of the sept tomorrow. Or I’ll make tonight seem gentle”
The door closed.
Vaelyra stayed there, sobbing quietly, chest heaving, the silver dragon necklace cold against her bruised throat.
Tomorrow she would stand before the realm.
Tomorrow she would be bound to him.
And every mark he had left would burn beneath the gown like a promise of more cruelty to come.
A/N: I tried something darker with this one, so I’d really love to hear your opinions.