*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ aerion 'brightflame' targaryen x amnesia!reader
ੈ✩‧₊˚summaryੈ✩‧₊˚ waking from an accident, you're told you've married into a family you have no recollection of
ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note✩‧₊˚ final part T-T ngl i did not read this over so sry if it's wonky... also i'm open to requests or inspo for future fics! thank you to everyone who has been supporting my writing, i love you all <3
“Fuck me,” Maekar muttered under his breath, releasing a sharp sigh. His father had never been one for patience. The bride, his cousin, was taking an exceptionally long time getting ready. Or perhaps she had decided to make a grand escape.
It was tradition for the male members of the family to ride ahead of the bride’s carriage on their journey to the Great Sept of Baelor. To Aerion, it felt more like a spectacle for the small folk than anything else. A chance for them to see House Targaryen in a warmer light.
“Enough, Maekar,” Uncle Baelor mounted his horse and settled next to his father. “Let the girl enjoy her last moments of peace.”
“What peace?” Maekar snaps back. “It would have been wiser to marry her off for alliance, instead of her twin fucking brother. Who allowed this marriage to go through?”
“Our father?”
“Rhaegals madness seems to have infected him—“
Their banter continued, but Aerion had tuned it out. To him, his family was a shadow of the glory they once held. To his left sat his drunkard brother. Aerion’s expression hardened as he took in Daeron’s appearance, the remnants of a late night written plainly across his face.
Aerion himself had spent his fair share of time in Silk Street, but that had all ceased once he was married. When he first heard of the arrangement, Aerion was vehemently opposed. He spent days in his father’s solar, arguing, demanding, begging him to reconsider. However, the decision was made by his grand sire, and King Daeron refused to go back on his word.
They claimed it would strengthen ties with the Vale, though Aerion strongly doubted it. The news came suddenly after his grandsire and uncle had attended a tourney there. From the moment you had arrived, the King had taken a peculiar interest in you. He would summon you to his solar or the library at all hours to discuss matters Aerion neither followed nor cared for.
Why didn’t he just marry you himself if he would take up all your attention? Aerion hadn’t given much attention to you until an explosive argument the two of you had in the gardens.
His family had arranged for the two of you to break fast in the garden that morning. A way to acquaint yourself before the ceremony. The summer heat added to the already tense atmosphere. There were small insects swarming around them, trying to get a piece of the sweets displayed in front of them.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the summer season, but instead preferred to be at his family’s private estate at Summerhall. The air was much more fresh and everyone felt relaxed being away from court.
“— and I’ve grown quite fond of the library. The scrolls your family holds contains knowledge much more in depth than—“
Truthfully he hadn’t been listening to a word you were saying. A droplet of sweat rolled down his back. His heavy doublet felt stuck to his skin.
“I am uninterested in your ramblings. If you want to go on about history, then you should've become a septa.”
A silence filled the air.
“Unlike you,” her voice slowed, “I was taught to value knowledge over arrogance.”
“Oh?” His teeth grit at her remark, “I thought a lady is taught to speak only when spoken to?”
“And here I thought your feeble-mindedness prevented you from speaking.”
Their voices began to grow louder as they continued to banter. Around them, servants slowed and ladies of the court began to whisper.
Aerion placed his hands on the white tablecloth and leaned forward, he seethes “you speak boldly for someone who has only just arrived at court.”
“If boldness unsettles you, then perhaps you are less suited for court than you believe,” the chair scraped against the cobblestone as you rose. “And might I remind you that I was brought here on your family’s request, not my own.”
You’d stormed out without allowing him to reply. From then on, Aerion relished in getting a rise out of you. He wanted to fight, wanted to break down your perfect demeanor.
He’d start out small. Stepping on your toes during your obliged dances, ripping out pages from your current read, and interrupting you when you spoke at dinner.
After marriage, it became worse. A hand innocently placed on your thigh would trail upwards. He’d lean down to whisper only to bite down on the cartilage of your ear. Once, Aerion had removed all your nightwear from the dresser in your shared chambers.
To his chagrin, you had slept in your evening gown that night.
Finally, Aelora had stepped out from the main gate, the courtyard quieting as all eyes turned to her. She made her way towards the end of the procession, where her carriage lay. Her long train, dragging against the dirt, slowed her. Aerion settled himself onto his black mare, readying himself to march along with his family when a commotion caught his attention.
A coachman leapt from his saddle. A saddle? Why the fuck–
“My Prince–” the man called out breathlessly, “t-the c-carriage.”
“Out with it.” He snapped.
“We were ambushed on our way to the Sept.” A heaviness started to grow at Aerion’s chest. “And afterwards, I checked the carriage and it was empty.”
“Empty?” Aerion stilled.
“Three men were surrounding us, my prince. We were forced to halt and they killed the guard stationed with us.”
“I thought the princess remained inside, but when I checked, it was empty.”
Aerion wasted no time, he maneuvered his way out of the procession, towards the main gate.
A jolt pushed him to a stop. His father had grabbed onto his reins, stopping him.
“For fuck’s sake, Aerion! You don’t know where she has gone. Think before you act.” his voice stern, laced with worry. “The assailants may still be out there.”
His grandsire was already shouting orders. A group of white cloaks were gathered and ready to search the city. Another group sent to the docks, stopping any ships from leaving King’s Landing.
Aerion’s vision started to blur, his heart was racing and he felt light-headed.
“I must join the search.”
“No. It’ll do no good if you are harmed.”
He wrenched the reins out of his fathers grasp, trying to pull his horse forward before Maekar could reach him. He didn’t get far because his Uncle Baelor was already waiting at the gate, blocking his path.
“Aerion,” his tone calm, but unyielding, “they will find her.”
“Move.”
“Go back inside,” Baelor continued. “The wedding is off. We will wait for word.”
“You fucker.” Aerion snapped. “You expect me to sit and wait?”
He urged his horse forward, but Baelor did not move.
He swung down from the saddle, abandoning the horse entirely. He decided he would make the journey by foot.
But he barely got a few steps in when the world started to tilt. His vision blurred at the edges and sensation drained from his limbs.
His steps faltered and his hand came up to his face instinctively.
Maekar stood behind him, one arm steadying his son and the other holding a cloth firmly over his nose.
He angled his head to look back at his father, betrayal shone in his eyes. ”Fuck you,” he muffled against the cloth.
~
“Where the fuck is she?”
You crouched deeper into the bush trying to mold yourself into the dirt as Ser Ronnel continued to shout.
“She couldn’t have gone far, search the area.” He commanded.
The guard who was tasked to escort you lay dead near the front of the carriage. The coachman was gone, and you had seen him mount a horse and ride off. You didn’t know if he had gone for help or simply taken the chance to escape.
Your mind raced trying to come up with a plan.
There were two options: you could walk the gravel path back to the Keep or make your way through the woods. The gravel path would make you too vulnerable to another attack, but it would be the fastest way back.
Carefully, you shift your weight, easing off the bush without causing too much noise. You cut through the trees in a zigzag pattern, making your path difficult to follow. Every snapped twig felt like a death sentence, but behind you, the shouts grew fainter.
You had been walking for what felt like hours, weaving through the trees with no true sense of directions. Every step felt like you were just heading deeper into the woods than out of them.
You weren’t sure how much longer it would take to get back to the Keep. Initially, you were under the assumption that you could be back by nightfall, but the sky was already turning a deep shade of orange.
Eventually, your legs gave out, and you sank down to the base of a tree. Your back against the rough bark as you tried to steady your breathing. The forest was so quiet, every sound stood out.
A wave of nausea hit you without warning and you bent forward, bracing yourself against the damp soil.
You had decided that you would close your eyes for just a moment. Curled up against the moss, you couldn’t bring yourself to keep your promise.
~
It was past sundown when Aerion finally stirred awake. His throat felt like sand and he instinctively tried to swallow.
He lay there for a moment, still disoriented on what was going on. He was in his chambers, that part was evident. But why his entire family lineage gathered in the lounge was beyond him. There was a dull ache in his wrist, his arm was tingling and numb.
He was tied to the fucking bed.
“You motherfucking– mmpf”
His father, sitting on the settee next to the bed, stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth.
“Enough, boy.”
Aerion’s eyes burned and his chest was rising and falling with uneven breaths as he strained against the bindings. The rope dug into his wrist with every tug.
“Let me know when you are ready to talk civilly."
Aerion snarled against the gag, jerking again. The frame of the bed creaked beneath his efforts. He started thrashing, and he managed to get a kick to his father's upper thigh.
Aemon stood off the side, “He’ll hurt himself.”
“Good,” Maekar replied without looking at him. “Perhaps he’ll learn to think before acting.”
Aerion’s gaze snapped to him, wild.
Think?
He finally managed to force the cloth forward with his tongue.
“You–”
Maekar was on his feet in an instant, shoving it back in with little patience.
King Daeron stepped forward, his voice calmer.
“We have men searching,” he said. “The City Watch has been alerted. And riders have been sent along the kingsroad and into Kingswood.”
He leaned forward and removed the cloth from his grandson’s mouth.
“And Maekar, this is no way to discipline your son. I have never done such a thing to you. I don’t know where you learned this.” He said, giving a sharp tug at Maekar’s ear.
“That is not enough. I need to go out there and find her.”
“Aerion, we don’t know who is behind this.” Baelor started, “If you go out there, there is a chance you could be hurt.”
“If you fuckers hadn’t–” the gag was shoved back into his mouth.
This time, he started screaming, muffled by the cloth. He landed a blow against Baelor’s stomach.
Maekar seized him by the neck, pushing down into the pillow, while Baelor held down his legs. It would be great treason if he ended up assaulting his grandsire.
“If you want to speak,” Maekar’s voice was low and dangerous. “You’ll do so without raising your voice.”
Aerion’s chest heaved beneath him. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red, angry tears welling up in his eyes.
“Do you understand?” Aerion only managed to give a small nod.
Maekar removed the gag from his mouth, and Aerion twisted immediately, attempting to bite down on his hand in retaliation, with no luck.
“If you hadn’t drugged me,” Aerion spat, “I could have told you who the assailants were.”
“How would you have that information?” King Daeron interjected.
Aerion explained the whole situation to his kin. About your memories returning and the guard who caused your initial accident.
“Why hadn’t you informed us?” Maekar demanded.
“I was handling it myself.” Aerion snapped back.
“We could have provided more help. We could have prevented this.”
“There’s no need to place the blame on him,” Baelor cut in. “What’s done is done, but now we must act.”
~
Hours had passed by the time you had woken. Above you, the sky stretched dark and endless.
You lie back, staring up at the stars. Willing them to guide you home. You were stuck in the middle of the woods with no knowledge of which way would take you to the Red Keep.
Your stomach twisted from hunger, but you may as well die of starvation before you hunt down a poor animal.
A soft breeze stirs the trees above you, but the feeling is not soothing.
You sit up against your body’s wishes. Your muscles are stiff from being curled up in the same position. Your fingers press against the dirt beside you, pushing up onto your feet.
You freeze when you hear the sound of a twig snapping. You instinctively move back from the sound, but a branch catches at your gown.
You hear another step, but you’re uncertain of which direction. Running would put you at a disadvantage. Your body hurts so bad that your slowness would give away your position, instead of getting you further from the attacker.
Your eyes drift towards a fallen log, hollow enough to conceal you.
You drop low, forcing yourself to slow your breathing despite the panic clawing at your chest. Reaching the log, you crawl inside. Thankfully, you had ripped the skirt of your gown long ago to prevent it from giving you away. It would not have fit in the tight space.
“Come out, mousy.” Ser Ronnel drawls.
How had he found you? You were so deep in the woods. You put your forehead down, trying to slow her breathing as much as possible.
Your hands trembled against the wood. Peeling your eyes open, you could see the back of his heel against the opening of the log.
After a long pause, the heel disappears.
Your lungs burn as you keep still, forcing yourself not to gasp for air. Instinctively, your fingers curl around your knife– the one you always keep on you. The one you had attacked him with on the day of your accident.
A hand slams against the opening. You jerk back as his arm forces its way inside, fingers grasping blindly.
“Found you.”
You lurch the knife forward, embedding it within the palm of his hand. His loud scream pierces through the quiet night.
You scramble backwards, forcing yourself out the other side of the log, ignoring your limbs protest.
Branches tear at your clothes as you start running.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he calls.
Every turn you made, you could hear him advancing close behind you. How did he know these woods so well?
Ser Ronnel grabs hold of you before you even notice how close he was.
“Enough, sweetling.” His rancid breath brushes against your ear.
“Why are you doing this?” you whisper.
A beat of silence passes, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on you.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You were never meant for them,” he continues. “Not for him.”
Aerion.
The name hangs unspoken between you.
“You don’t belong there,” he presses, his voice lowering and more coaxing.
“What do you speak of?”
“Have you never thought of it? Your family holds little power in the Vale, compared to the greater houses, and you are their last child. You were not meant for royalty.”
What? You knew that your marriage had been sudden…
“Our fathers were in talks for marriage for years,” he continues. “You were to be handed to me when you turned nine and ten years.”
What the fuck? It was not unheard of for less noble houses to betroth their daughters to established knightly families, but her father never mentioned any potential suitors before Aerion.
While he continued rambling, you reached back for the knife tucked safely between your forearm and sleeve.
“But then that bastard King came along–”
Bastard? Was he a supporter of the Blackfyres?
“-- and wanted you for his grandson. And who could say no to them?”
His grip was slowly loosening. “And I never wanted to hurt you. I simply wanted to take you back, so we can marry in front of The Faith of the Seven, not those Valyrian Gods.”
With enough room, you turn and lodge the dagger deep in his chest.
“My love?”
“I’m not your fucking love.” You extract the dagger and give another deep stab to his shoulder.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you leave my family and me alone.” Another stab.
“I came all the way to King’s Landing to be close to you. I love you.” He whimpers.
He falls to his knees, and you take the opportunity to grab a large boulder and smash his head. A small indent appeared on the base of his skull.
His unconscious body lay face down on the ground. You were unsure if he was dead, but did not want to risk checking.
Once again glancing upwards, you locate the North Star Polaris and make your way home.
~
It was the dead of night when you finally reached the keep.
The city had gone quiet, and the usual noise was replaced with soft murmurs and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Most of the torches along the outer walls of the Red Keep had burned low, making it hard for you to navigate the entrance of your home.
You found an entrance that was tucked along the base of the wall, half-hidden behind creeping ivy and shadow. You had never seen it before, and it led you straight to the city.
With a soft creak, the door opened. Before you was a narrow staircase spiralling upwards. The air was stale and untouched by the Keep above. This passage had not been meant for lords or ladies, but mayhaps servants' quarters?
You moved slowly, your fingers brushing along the stone wall as you crossed the space, more out of instinct than thought.
Then, you noticed a sliver of light from the smallest crack seep through. Pressing your face against it, you could make out a bedchamber and voices. Was that… your husband’s grandsire?
You walk further down the corridor to another crack in the stone. And there lies another chamber of a royal member.
You realized that these passages ran through the Keep, behind the walls, and were not meant for any servants or guards. An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Could these passages be used by assassins? Who else knew about them?
You hurried along the corridor, peaking through each crack, until finally you found your own chambers.
Pushing the panel open, you almost trip entering the room. The scene in front of you is surreal. Your father-in-law sits slumped in a chair, his eyes drifting shut, while your husband lies on your marital bed, bound to the bedpost.
Through open doors, you can see the rest of your family gathered in the lounge. The younger children are sprawled across the settees, half-asleep, their small forms curled into one another.
“Sister?” Aemon is the first to notice you.
At that, Aerion’s head snaps up.
“Untie me,” he grits out to his brother. “Now.”
“Call for a maester,” Baelor instructs, already rising.
Only then does it hit you what you must look like. Strands of your hair were in knots with twigs tangled within, your dress was torn and blood-soaked, and there was dirt covering your clothes, face, and hands.
“You’re going to snap your wrist,” you rush towards Aerion as he keeps tugging at his restraints, Aemon beside you, undoing his other hand.
You barely have a moment to protest before you’re surrounded.
Are you hurt? No.
Whose blood is on you? Ser Ronnel Darklyn
Where is he now? In the Kingswoods
Were there others? Yes, two others.
The interrogation continues as the Maester examines you. You explained in great detail how you had escaped the carriage through the hidden compartment at the base, made your way through the forest, had become fatigued and fell asleep, woke up to Ser Ronnel Darklyn confessing his love and devotion to you, proceeded by you stabbing him multiple times, and finally making your way to the Red Keep through a hidden passage.
“Well then,” Baelor says after a moment, “we’ll send men to retrieve his body.”
You were relieved at the sight of your handmaids beginning to prepare a basin. You could not stand the feeling of grime for another minute.
Your husband was silently watching you from the corner of the room.
“I was terribly worried,” Aegon whispered, his arms around your neck, giving you a gentle hug.
“Don’t worry, my love. I can care for myself.” You gave him a tight squeeze.
“I cannot believe you killed him.”
“I am a better fighter than your brother,” you jest, trying to get a rise out of Aerion. You just wanted him to acknowledge the situation. Tell you he was worried, that he was scared, anything really.
“I don’t doubt it,” Aegon whispers with a knowing grin.
Suddenly a loud thud as Aegon was pushed to the ground.
“Stop hogging her,” Daella exclaimed, climbing onto your lap.
“No need for violence, there’s enough of me to go around.”
“I was more worried than Aegon. Who would do my hair in the morning? The maids are terrible at it!”
You coddled the children for a few more minutes until their nursemaids ushered them to their chambers. It was late enough, and they needed rest, or they would be nodding off during their lessons on the morn.
Entering the water, a soft quiet settled over the room. You leaned your head back in the basin, eyes closed. The lavender oils soothe you to sleep. It was just you, Aerion, and the maids left.
“Leave us,” Aerion stays, rising from the settee.
“My Prince” the maid pauses her scrubbing, “we’re not finished washing the Princess.”
“Leave.” He grabbed the cloth from her hands.
The maid turns to you, and you give a reassuring nod.
Aerion lowers himself onto the stool beside you, as he resumes their task.
“My husband,” you murmur, eyes barely open, “do you have something to say?”
“I thought you were dead.” His voice was just barely a whisper. “They had to restrain me from going out for you.”
“No need to dwell on it. I am very much alive.”
“It’s my fault”
“How?”
“I should have gone after him the night you told me about your memories. I should have brought it to my father’s attention. My grandsire attention.”
You reach out to grab this free hand, leaning your cheek against his palm.
“He’s gone now,” you turn your face to kiss his open palm. “Do not mull over it.”
He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. The movement is slow and intimate, and you couldn’t remember a time when he had been so loving.
Your hand rests on the base of his neck, twirling a strand of his hair.
“I’m tired,” you confess, when his hand travels up your inner thigh.
“I care not,” he says, before lifting you from the tub.
Your body is still dripping water as he places you upon the furs of your bed.
“My wife,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, your breasts, your stomach.
“My princess,” you let out a moan when his lips reach your inner thigh.
“A better knight than me?” he pauses, head tilted and watching you.
“Shut up,” you tug at his hair, urging him to come back up.
Lifting his chemise over his head, you let your palms trace his body. His muscles are soft against your skin.
He shoved his pants down and kicked them away. Aerion positioned the head of his cock against your entrance and lowered himself into you. You cried out at the feeling of utter fullness.
He didn’t allow you time to adjust as he dropped his palms beside your head and began to increase the pace of his thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure coursed through you with blinding intensity. Aerion’s face twisted with concentration as he kept his rhythm. You leaned up to give him a gentle kiss, trying to slow the pace.
He sharply pulled out, grabbed onto your hips, and flipped you onto your stomach. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, and you felt his chest lower to your back. His cheek pressed against your shoulder as a wave of pleasure began to build in your lower stomach.
“It’s too much,” you gasped, gripping onto the sheets.
He didn’t grace you with a reply as he slammed even harder, his hands snaking around you and cupping your breast. Stars erupted in your vision as you clenched around him, causing him to let out a low grunt.
His thrust became uneven and jerky as his release spilled into you. The heavy weight of his body collapsing onto yours.
Exhaustion from the day's incidents hit both of you as sleep took over.
~
The bells tolled at dawn.
By the time the city stirred, Ser Ronnel Darklyn’s body had already been strung up in the square, left to sway beneath the rising sun.
A reminder of what becomes of those who defy the blood of the dragon.
just wanted to let yall know that i'm probably going to put out the 4th chapter for forget me nots sometime this weekend... I've just been super busy with exams and my last exam is this Thursday (apr 30)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ moder au oxford!aerion x fem!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary*ੈ✩‧₊˚ After years of unspoken feelings for Aerion Targaryen, you finally decide to confess your feelings.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ based on this post by @ynnlvrs (but I kinda took my own turn to it...)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ drop dead - Olivia Rodrigo
Warnings - unrequited love trope, a bit of angst, mentions of public/media scrutiny
Word Count - 1997
You had been staring up at the ceiling of your dorm room for the past hour. The high arch above you, all aged stone and soft shadows, was untouched by the chaos of campus life. Tonight, they kept you in a trance, the moonlight peaking through your window. You kept replaying the interactions between you and Aerion Targaryen today.
Your hands lay intertwined on your stomach, and you had your retro-style on-ear headphones on with soft pink cushions. The lyrics to “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure filtered through. Shifting to your side, the soft fabric of your silk pyjama set caught against your skin.
Your gaze flickered toward the window, then back at the ceiling. The melody drifts through you, hazy and distant.
“Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you”
Your hand drifts lazily out towards the nightstand, grabbing your phone. You clicked on his Instagram profile, which was already at the top of your recently searched.
You had met Aerion Targaryen during your first year at Oxford. You were both in the same Introduction to Microeconomics class. As a Psychology major, you had no business being there, but you wanted to prove you could handle something unfamiliar. The professor had assigned partners early on for the final project. When he had called out Aerion’s name, you had no immediate reaction. When your eyes met, he had simply nodded, but you became fascinated by his lilac-blue eyes and silver hair, wondering if it was dyed that colour.
You had worked together for four months– late nights in the library, sharing lecture notes, and he had a practiced cool to him even when you asked him to explain a certain concept for the third time. He had been patient and attentive to you.
Back then, he had only been Aerion.
You hadn’t a clue what the Targaryen name entailed. You came from Edinburgh and knew little of the big tycoons in London, the kind of people whose influence stretched quietly through industries you’d never had to think about. Your family was comfortably middle class and you got into Oxford through your own ambition and discipline. Nothing had ever been handed to you and no doors opened by your surname.
Your thumb slows as you scroll, your gaze catching on a photo of him in a sharp, perfectly tailored suit, his expression cool and distant. He’s standing next to his father, Maekar Targaryen, at some formal business event. The Targaryen Corporation deals in private equity, infrastructure, energy… the list could go on.
Your eyes squeeze shut, your hand tightening slightly around your phone as a wave of embarrassment washes over you. It settles heavy in your chest, something tangled between humiliation and heartbreak.
Before closing the app, you catch one of his earlier posts. It was a picture of the two of you from the summer after second year, when he took you to one of his family's many estates on the outskirts of Paris.
You often thought back to that summer. Just you and him, running through the endless halls of that estate, your footsteps echoing against the polished floors while the moonlight spills through the tall windows, stretching across marble and gold. You used to try and get lost on purpose, turning down corridors at random just to see where it would lead, laughing when the two of you realized you had no idea how to get back.
You remember the gardens in the morning, the air crisp and clean, hedges trimmed to perfect lines and flowers arranged so deliberately. You would sit across from each other with coffee and pastries. He took his coffee black, and yours was always way too sweet. He would feign reading the daily news as he glances at you, your head lying back, soaking in the sun.
It had been three long years of friendship and unrequited love. You’d learn how to exist beside him without asking for more. You tried to ignore the way your eyes would search for him in every crowded room. The way your attention always seemed to find its way back to him no matter where you stood.
Tonight, you had ruined everything.
The thought sits heavy in your chest as you stare at the screen, the memory of it replaying with a clarity you can’t escape. The two of you joined your mutual friends at a pub in the heart of Oxford. It was filled with loud cheers and laughter.
Earlier that day, you had convinced yourself of something dangerous. That maybe he had felt the same. It didn’t feel unrealistic. You were the closest of friends, closer than you had ever been with anyone. The way he treated you felt different; you couldn’t quite explain it. He was always harsh and straightforward with others, even if he didn’t hold any true malicious feelings, but with you, he was always patient. And Aerion never showed interest in another woman the way you saw many other young men do so carelessly.
You had even met his parents, which had to count for something.
This past winter break, the trains back to Edinburgh had been cancelled overnight, the sudden snowstorm shutting everything down. You were going to spend the holiday season alone in Oxford, as all your friends living in England were able to get out earlier.
“Come with me,” he’d said so casually, as though offering to pay for coffee. His family’s cabin was a few hours outside of London. The drive up, he hadn’t spoken much, just the occasional comment, the low hum of music filling the space between you.
The cabin itself had been nothing like you expected. Much larger than anything you could have imagined, stretching across three stories of dark wood and stone, with high beamed ceilings and wide glass windows. A grand staircase curved through the center, and every room seemed to open into another. The soft lighting cast a golden glow, and the faint scent of smoke from the fireplace curled through the air.
His parents were incredibly welcoming, warmer than the pictures online had seemed. His mother had taken to you instantly; her attention was warm and almost overwhelming as she asked you questions. His younger siblings had gravitated towards you just as easily, pulling you into board games and conversation, like you had been a part of the family.
When it came time to head back to campus, his parents urged you to visit them more often, even inviting you to spend the summer with them.
Your group had just finished their last round of drinks, laughter still lingering in the air as chairs scraped softly against the floor. The clock was creeping towards 2am, the pub was slowly emptying, and it became much quieter. You watched him finish his beer and pay for your tab before standing and walking out with you.
Earlier, you had decided to tell him at the end of the night when he would walk you back to your dorm room. And you had truly believed that, when the moment came, everything would finally fall into place.
“Aerion,” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through the quiet streets of Oxford ahead of you.
“Mmh,” he hums in response, not looking back at you.
“I need to tell you something.” Your steps slow, then stop completely.
Ahead of you, he stops, tilts his head and gives an inquisitive look.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you say quickly, fingers fidgeting behind your back, “but I just wanted to discuss something.”
“Out with it.”
His words aren’t harsh, but they’re direct.
“I-” you start, “I just… I’ve been thinking about us.”
His expression doesn’t change, so you continue.
“We’ve known each other for so long, and I just– I don’t think I can pretend it’s nothing–”
“Don’t.” The words cut through you before you can finish.
Your breath falters, the rest of the sentence dying in your throat as your eyes snap up to his.
“Don’t finish that,” he says, his voice low, even.
Your chest tightens. “Aerion–”
“We can pretend this didn’t happen.”
A pause stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, as the weight of his words settles in. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“Go back,” he adds quietly. “Say something else.”
“I think I should walk back alone.”
“No,” he always walked you back at the end of the night because of your safety, although he lived in a private apartment close to campus.
“I can manage,” you reply, trying to keep your voice even. “It’s not far.”
“I know exactly how far it is.”
You convince him not to follow you, expressing that you need some time alone and that you’d see him tomorrow. With some luck, he listens.
That brings you to now, lying on your bed, the music too loud. Your eyes burn as tears well up despite the way you press them shut, your chest tight with that feeling you can’t quite push down.
A sharp knock against your door jolts you out of your current state. Your heart jumps, your body goes still for a moment as you glance toward the door. The clock on your phone reads just past three in the morning.
Another knock follows, firmer.
Crossing the room, you reach for the handle and pull the door open.
“What–” your brows knit in confusion.
Aerion stands in front of you, breath uneven and hair dishevelled. You don’t get to finish as his hands come up suddenly, firm against your face. He closes the distance in a single movement, and his lips are on yours.
The kiss is warm and overwhelming. Your mind short-circuits under the sheer shock of it. He smells of mahogany and familiarity.
His grip doesn’t falter as he walks you backwards into the room and shuts the door behind him. Your pulse is loud in your ears, and the music still plays faintly behind you. His tongue brushes against yours, and a moan escapes you.
You try to push back, to question him. But his grip was firm and unrelenting. You bit his lip hard, the iron taste of blood seeping over your tongue.
“Fuck, why’d you do that?” His words are low and strained, pulling back just enough to look at you. His expression is wild, and his pupils are unnaturally dilated.
“What are you doing here?” Your voice is unsteady, your chest rising fast.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like an apology.
“In the street,” he continues. “I wasn’t going to let you say it out there.”
Something in your chest twists.
“Things like that don’t stay private for me,” he adds, quieter now.
Your stomach drops, the weight of it settling in.
“And, I wasn’t going to let you put yourself in that position without knowing what it means.”
There’s a pause, his gaze fixed on you like he’s trying to read how much of that you actually understand.
“What are you talking about?”
“The Targaryen name comes with attention, and if we had that conversation out there, it wouldn’t be between us.”
He pauses, like he doesn’t like the direction this is going.
“There’s press and cameras everywhere I go”
“They would know who you are,” he adds, his voice quieter now, but more serious. “Where you're from. Who your family is. You wouldn’t get to just be a student anymore.”
“That’s the price that comes with being with me, and I wanted you to know what it would cost you before pursuing anything.”
You take a breath.
“I know,” you say quietly.
“I didn’t know all of that,” you admit. “But I knew… it wouldn’t be normal.”
“If that’s the cost…” you add, slower this time, “then I’ll deal with it.”
Something in his expression finally cracks, a small grin pulling at his lips before he leans down again. This time, the kiss isn’t urgent. His mouth is warm, steady, and in that moment, you think you might just drop dead.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ aerion targaryen x amnesia wife!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary*ੈ✩‧₊˚ waking from an accident, you're told you've married into a family you have no recollection of
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ mother has served! This took me longer than expected lol... there's probably going to be one more chapter of this... but if you have any requests for future fics, please send them my way!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Come As You Are - Nirvana, Afraid - The Neighbourhood
“I’m telling you,” Aegon leaned forward across the dining table, “it was bigger than a horse.”
Maekar did not look up from his plate. “You were chased by a goat, Aegon.”
“It was not a goat,” Aegon snapped. “It had horns”
“Goats have horns.”
Daella giggled into her cup, nearly spilling it in the process. “You ran from it,” she added quietly.
“I did not run,” Aegon said, clearly offended. “I retreated strategically.”
“Into a tree,” Aemon supplied.
“You weren’t even there.”
“I didn’t need to be”
“You would’ve run too”
“I wouldn’t have climbed a tree and screamed for father,” Aemon replied smugly.
“I was not screaming,” Aegon’s voice lost some of its confidence. “And none of you were in danger, so I don’t see why it matters.”
Maekar glanced up. “The only danger was to the dignity of this family.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. You involuntarily glanced towards Aerion, sitting across from you, to see he was already watching you. He held a relaxed expression with the faintest hint of amusement, quickly hidden the moment you noticed it.
Aegon, however, was not finished. “If I had my sword–”
“You don’t own a sword,” Daeron's voice startled you. You hadn’t even noticed he had risen from his drunken slumber.
“That’s not the point.”
Maekar set his fork down with deliberate patience. “Enough, eat your food.”
Aegon obeyed, thought not without muttering under his breath.
The conversation soon drifted towards Aemon’s studies with your cousin-in-laws, Valarr and Matarys, chiming in.
You take the distraction as your opportunity.
“If you’ll excuse me,” you say quietly, rising from your seat before anyone can question it.
It had been a moon since the accident that left your memory fractured, and you had begun to recognize the signs.
A tightness behind your eyes. A distant ringing in your ear.
You move quickly through the corridors, your hands brushing along the cool stone walls to steady yourself as the sensation builds.
You hadn’t told anyone about these small bursts of memories that would come without warning. Sometimes multiple times a day, something only twice a week. Most of them were insignificant– memories from your first meeting with the family, random literary discussions with your husband’s grandsire, Aegon demanding you accompany him into the city, mostly fragments of conversation.
You reach a quiet alcove beyond the main passage, the noise of the hall fading behind you.
The pressure sharpens at your temple, your breath catching as you press your fingers against it, willing it to pass.
It eases slightly and you take the opportunity to make it back to your shared chambers. The path is no longer unfamiliar to you.
The door closes with a soft thud. You barely make it halfway to the bed before the pain strikes again, sharper this time.
Your hands catch the bedpost, fingers tightening around the wood as you hunch forward. Your knees give out and you collapse to the floor as your head rests upon the mattress.
The room tilts and then your world shifts.
Aerion leaned forward, firmly pressing his lips to yours. You eagerly kissed him back as your hands reached up, tugging on his hair. His hands trailed down your sides, settling on your hips.
You sat onto the bed, tugging off your nightdress. He’d seen you naked many times by now, but never seemed to grow tired of the view. He climbed onto the bed, crawling on top of you.
“You’re eager today,” he murmured.
“Can you blame me?” You bit your lip, a small smile forming.
He nudged your thighs apart, slotting himself between them. Lowering himself onto his elbows, he braced himself on either side of your head.
“Aerion,” you whined, feeling his cock nudging your entrance. “Enough of the teasing.”
Aerion grabbed his cock and slid it through your wet folds before easing himself into you. “Your cunt is so fucking tight. It feels like the first time again and again.”
You whimpered, arching up into him. “My dragon, please.”
A manic grin twisted his lips as he pulled out slightly before he thrusted back in, watching your expression closely. You let go of the sheets to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He buried his face in your neck, his breathing sharp against your skin. Another moan tore through you when he started to pound into you faster, his excitement getting the better of him. He used one hand to hike your legs up higher onto his waist, allowing him to hit deeper.
Parting your lips, he kissed you roughly, allowing his tongue inside your mouth. His pace was relentless and the room filled with the sound of the headboard banging against the wall and skin slapping. You moaned into his mouth, the pleasure growing more intense.
Neither of you cared who might hear.
“Aerion–” you panted. “I’m going to–”
“Come for me, wife,” he rested his forehead against yours, his pace unwavering. “Milk my cock, baby.”
Your hands gripping his shoulder, your nails forming crescent moons onto his skin. You repeated his name again and again. You cried out as your orgasm hit, clenching around him.
He continued to pound into you as his own high approached. His body shuttered and he stilled, coming inside of you.
Burying his face into your neck, you could hear him muttering absolute nonsense.
“My little dragon… taking place… I’m sure of it.” He turned his head, looking down as he withdrew from you.
You basked in his warmth. The two of you holding onto each other as the exhaustion settled in.
The memory began to warp.
Aerion’s warmth lingered, but it was flickering, like a candle struggling. The weight of him shifted, the sound of his breathing began to echo.
The sheets beneath you no longer felt soft, but rough and cold.
You blinked and the ceiling above you was no longer there. Instead, you could see the tangled branches stretching overhead, blocking the sunlight.
The warmth vanished all at once and cold air rushed against your skin.
The bed was gone and you were standing.
You were back in the memory of your accident, the one you had the day after waking. You couldn’t move, reliving the memory but more aware.
In flashes you could feel the man’s grip tightening around your mouth. Your elbow driving back. You grabbed the dagger, embedding it into his side. Your vision was blurry, you could not make out the face clearly.
Startling awake, your skin is damp with sweat, the sheets clinging uncomfortably to your body.
Heat rises to your cheeks at the vivid memory that lingered, an outlier from the others you mind has resurfaced over the past moon.
Glancing around the room, something immediately feels off. It is completely dark. Normally, a few candles would be lit or the low burn of the hearth. You feel around next you and Aerion is not there.
As if conjured, his voice breaks through the room. “What were you dreaming of?”
You couldn’t make out his figure, your eyes still adjusting to the darkness, but his voice was coming from the foot of the bed.
“Where is the light?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.
“Don’t change the topic,” his voice is sharper now. “What were you dreaming of?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
A long pause filled the room. Even in the darkness, you could feel Aerion’s anger seething off him.
You knew your husband had a short fuse and was often aggressive with his younger siblings, the servants, or anyone who tests his patience, but never directed to you.
“After abandoning me at dinner, I return to our chambers,” his voice low and controlled, “to find you writhing in pleasure.”
He continues, “I thought to myself that you had finally come to your senses.”
He steps forward “Instead to hear you calling out another mans name”
Your stomach drops, “What are you–”
“Don’t fucking cut me off.” His voice snaps. “So tell me- have you been warming another man’s bed?”
He takes another step, closer to you.
“A White Cloak, no less” he adds. “Ser Ronnel Darklyn? So below a dragon.”
“Ser Ronnel Darklyn?” The name hangs in the dark. You shake your head instinctively, even if he cannot see it.
“No,” you say, voice tightening. “No, that’s not–”
“I didn’t call out his name” you say carefully. “I don’t even remember doing that.”
Silence follows, thick with disbelief.
“Then explain it,” he says, his hands landing on your calves.
The motion was so sudden and unexpected that you let out a gasp. You could feel his body hovering over you.
“I have been seeing things,” you admit. “Like memories from before and I can’t control them. It starts with a pressure to my head and then I’m reliving the memory without any control.”
He doesn’t say anything so you continue. “Most of them are insignificant like random conversations.”
“But there is one that keeps returning.” A pause. “The woods the day of the accident. I keep seeing pieces of it and they don’t match with what I’ve been told.”
You continue. “I remember someone grabbing and threatening me. And tonight I remembered more details but it wasn’t clear.
You swallow. “But I remember the attacker wearing a white cloak.”
His palm shifts higher beneath my gown. At first, it is subtle and you barely register it, too caught in the weight of your words.
Your breath stutters as his fingers reach beneath your small clothes.
“Then why,” his voice low, “are you so wet?”
The question lingers in the air.
“Before… before the memory of the woods.” Your voice was unsteady, “After I excused myself from dinner. I had a different memory return, one I hadn’t seen before.”
His fingers kept stroking you, almost lovingly.
“It was.. It was us. Our coupling.” The words felt strange on your tongue. You didn’t know how to go about addressing this.
His fingers enter you without warning and he begins thrusting at a snail-like pace.
You gasp, “... and then it slipped away, and the woods came back.”
“Describe it to me.” He curled his fingers, eliciting a moan from you.
“It was daylight,” your voice shook, “And we were in this room. And afterwards you were muttering about a little dragon… about it taking place.”
He paused, withdrawing his hand abruptly. Through the darkness you could make out him sucking at his finger– the fingers that were just within you.
Aerion leaned back against the bed, pulling you with him, his arm wrapping around you as though nothing had happened.
“You always do that,” you snapped, wrenching yourself out of his grasp. “You use my pleasure as a manipulation tactic.”
He caught you again just as quickly, dragging you back down. His grip was tighter, preventing you from slipping away. “I told you,” he said, his voice low, “you have to beg.”
You huffed at his insistence, turning towards him, though the darkness still kept his expression hidden from you.
“I would never betray you. That isn’t who I am.”
“I know, little wife.” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “That memory happened right before the accident.”
“What?”
His fingers lightly tracing patterns against your lower back.
“We fucked the morning before the accident.”
His vulgarness startling you, he continued “You left for a walk in the Kingswood after I departed for a council meeting.”
“Rest assured, little wife,” he voice fading as sleep began to take over, “He won’t live long, but first I’ll cut off his cock and–.”
You lay awake, mind in shambles. The soft snore from beside you is a comforting distraction.
~
There was a feast the following evening in honour of Aelora Targaryen. It was the eve of her wedding and King Daeron had arranged a grand feast in honour of her union to Prince Aelor. On the morrow, the family was to attend a private ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in the city.
You wore a blood-red velvet gown that accentuated your figure, the bodice structured but comfortable enough to breath. There were golden embroidered dragons towards the shoulder of the gown. It was handpicked by Aerion, as most of your more formal attire was.
He was fond of dressing you in the house colours and showing you off.
You were seated on the opposite end of the table with Aemon and Aegon. They were rattling off about some elaborate retelling, Aegon’s hands moving wildly as he spoke.
“I’m telling you,” Aegon insisted, “if they let me ride tomorrow, I could reach the sept faster than any of them.”
“They won’t let you ride through the city at full speed,” Aemon replied, with practiced patience. “It’s a wedding, not a race.”
“You just don’t want me to win,” Aegon huffed.
“It’s not winning if you’re the only one competing.”
You glance towards the other end of the table, catching Aerion’s gaze for a brief moment before looking away again. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as though he had been watching far longer than you realized.
He is in no better position, surrounded by his father and uncle, most likely discussing diplomatic issues. You’d much rather be in the company of the little ones.
A shadow fell behind you.
“May I have this dance, sister?”
You turned, finding Daeron standing just behind your chair, his hand already extended.
You placed your hand in his, it was nice seeing him sober; he was much kinder than Aerion. “I would be delighted, Daeron.”
The rhythm of the dance was lively and chaotic, the hall filled with lords and ladies laughing as they stumbled through the steps. It was a nice change to dance without precision.
His hand settled lightly at your waist, spinning you around the room and easily shifting through the crowd.
“You seem more yourself tonight,” he remarked quietly, a soft smile gracing his face.
You laughed at that, “I’m not sure I know what that means anymore.”
You had been dancing for many minutes when the music began to slow. Without thinking, you rest your head against Daeron’s shoulder, swaying in time with the music.
You felt another pair of hands brush your waist.
“Brother, allow me to steal my wife back.” Aerion’s voice was smooth.
He twists you around, his hand resting at the base of your back, inching towards– you grab his hand moving it higher on your back.
“Behave yourself,” you seeth.
“You should behave yourself,” he murmurs back, his breath brushing against your ear. “You didn’t even save your first dance for me.”
“You didn’t ask me to dance,” you reply coolly, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “Plus, Daeron is a better dancer than you.”
You hiss as his foot comes down on yours, his full weight landing your toe without apology.
Your grip tightens on his shoulder, “What was that for?” Shooting him a sharp look.
Aerion only smirks faintly, entirely unbothered as he continues the dance.
“You’re right, little wife, I am no good of a dancer.” he murmurs, his voice low and pleased with himself. “Should we retire for the evening?”
Something malicious sounded in his voice.
He started to guide you towards the corridor, you stopped abruptly, forcing him to halt with you. “Wait, I need to congratulate Aelora.”
“You can do that on the morrow.”
When you refuse to move, his patience snaps.
In one swift motion, he hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you clean off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder as though you weigh nothing.
“Aerion!” you gasp, startled more than anything. Your hands instinctively brace against his back. “Put me down!”
He doesn’t slow, making his way to your shared chambers.
“Release me, Aerion!”
Upon arriving at the room, Aerion tosses you onto the settee with a thud.
He stands before you, his fingers undoing the front of his breeches.
“Open your mouth.”
“What happened to making me beg?”
“This is about my pleasure, not yours.”
“I won’t repeat myself.” He fists his cock, the tip nudging at your mouth.
Keeping your mouth tightly shut, you look up glaring at him.
His pupils blown and seething, he grabs your jaw, prying your mouth open and forcing your attention onto him.
With the smallest opening, he shoves his cock down your throat, the force pressing you against the back of the chaise. His knee braces against the edge as he leans forward.
A groan escapes him. “You test me too often,” he murmurs.
His thick length fills your mouth and you gag, trying to move upwards.
“Gods you feel so good,” fingers running through your hair, loosening the pins.
When your movements turned sloppy, he grabbed a tight hold of your hair, moving your head up and down. His pace quickened as drool dripped down the edge of her mouth.
Your moans and his echoed inside the room. Your hands wrap around him, gripping his ass. With one final thrust, he pushes your face completely against him until your nose reaches his pubic bone.
Your eyes locked onto him, he murmurs, “Swallow all of it. Don’t waste a drop.”
You collapse on the chaise as he releases your hair and tucks himself back into his trousers.
“Good girl,” his evil smirk plastered across his face.
Lifting you from the chaise, he carries you to the bed and lays you down more gently than expected. You turn onto your stomach, your face nuzzling into the pillow as exhaustion begins to settle in your limbs.
You could feel Aerion’s fingers at your back, working at the laces of your gown with practiced ease.
As the fabric loosens and slips away, cool air brushes against your skin, raising a fault shiver.
“That cunt left the castle last night,” Aerion murmurs.
“Which cunt?” your voice muffled in the pillow.
He turns you onto your back, pulling your nightgown over your head.
“Ser Ronnel Darklyn.”
Fatigue escapes you instantly.
“What do you mean?” you ask, blinking up at him, “Where did he go?”
“I’m not sure, yet. But I have people searching for him.”
~
You wake with Aerion’s weight pressed heavily against you, his arm slung possessively across your waist.
“Get off,” you mutter, your voice thick with sleep. “You’re crushing me.”
He only responds with a low, half-asleep growl, burying his face deeper into the curve of your neck.
You chomp down on his shoulder with no response.
Rolling your eyes, you pinch his pink nipple and twist sharply.
“FUCK!” Aerion jerks away, his hand reaches up to your breast, grabbing tightly in retaliation.
“Stop it, Aerion!”
“Next time I won’t be so kind,” he mutters, loosening his grip.
You dress quickly, the morning already in motion as servants hurry through the halls. Outside, a line of carriages waits before the Red Keep, prepared to escort the royal family to the Sept.
Aerion’s younger siblings are being ushered toward one of the larger carriages, their Septa hovering nearby, fussing over cloaks and ribbons as the children chatter amongst themselves. Aegon lingers at the steps, clearly uninterested in being hurried along, though he offers little resistance as he’s finally pushed inside.
You already know Aerion and the other men will ride ahead on horseback, so you don’t wait for him.
Stepping forward, you move to follow Aegon into the carriage, lifting the hem of your gown slightly as you approach.
“My Lady”
The Septa’s voice cuts in gently but firmly as she steps into your path.
“There is not enough room,” she explains. “You will need to take the carriage behind.”
You pause only briefly before nodding, turning without argument.
The second carriage waits just a short distance away and is much smaller.
Grasping the handle, you lift yourself inside, settling onto the cushioned seat as the door shuts behind you with a soft click.
The carriage jolts forward with a sharp snap of the reins, wheels grinding against stone as the procession begins its slow descent from the castle.
Through the small window, the Red Keep begins to fall away behind. For the first time in a long while, you are alone.
You let your head fall back against the cushioned seat, eyes slipping shut as sunlight filters through the narrow window, warming your face.
Then, the faint sound of shouting reaches your ears. Your brows knit together as your eyes open, the sound growing sharper.
The carriage jolts slightly and your hand grips the edge of the seat.
You lean forward, peering through the small window used to speak to the driver.
Your breath catches when you see a small group of men, maybe three, coming towards the carriage. None of the other royal carriages were around.
Without a second thought, you drop to your knees and rip back the velvet carpet lining the floor and lift the hidden hatch beneath it. The wood creaks softly as it opens, revealing the narrow space below.
You slip through without a second thought, lowering yourself carefully until your boots meet the ground beneath the carriage.
You could hear the clash of swords, but you already knew you were outnumbered as you were only assigned one knight.
You dart out from beneath it, keeping low as you put distance between yourself and the wheels. The last thing you need is for the horses to bolt and crush you where you stand.
You push forward, slipping behind a cluster of hedges, then drop into the thick brush of a nearby bush, forcing yourself still despite the pounding of your heart.
Branches scrape against your arms, leaves catching in your hair as you press yourself deeper into the shadows.
You planned to make your way back to the Red Keep, you couldn’t have been too far. Turning back for a final glance, the man you see opening the carriage door, where you should have been, makes you falter in your step.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ aerion targaryen x amnesia wife!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary*ੈ✩‧₊˚ waking from an accident, you're told you've married into a family you have no recollection of.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ here we go! I hope you're hungry... for nothing. guys i have a final tomorrow and the day after, but expect something (hopefully) more exciting sometime next week. ALSO, y'alls comments made me tweak the fuck out guys now I need TO SERVE.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ did i tell u that i miss u - adore, Fireside - Arctic Monkeys
Your light footsteps against the makeshift cobblestone path was the only audible sound, softened by the chatter of the crickets in the Kingwood. Although mid day, the trees stretch high above you, their branches weaving together to dim the light.
Beside you, a small pond lies still with fish swimming eagerly to the grain you toss in. The air is cool as you breathe in the scent of damp earth and moss.
You’re never allowed the luxury of going out without the white cloaks trailing close behind you. However, you snuck out through the secret passage near the back of your shared chambers. Your life in the castle is constantly being watched and measured by the knights, the court, your new family, the list goes on.
But you weren’t entirely foolish. You were skilled in combat, taught to you by your older brother. And you made sure to leave a note for your husband in the case of an emergency. You wouldn’t be surprised if the Kingsguard were already surrounding you at this moment, unseen but present.
Aerion was aware of the suffocation court held and allowed you this small freedom.
The snap of a twig makes you freeze. The guards don’t typically announce themselves when you’re at the pond, allowing you a dream-like bliss of solitude.
Before you could turn, a hand clamps over your mouth. You twist instinctively, your elbow drives back, but the grip only tightens.
“Dont,” a voice hisses low against your ear.
You shift your weight, your fingers curling against the weapon tucked in your sleeve. With just enough strength, you twist free and imbed the dagger into him.
Without looking behind you, you run for the treeline, trying to lose your captor.
Your ankle twists, pain shooting up your leg as you lose balance. Stumbling over a fallen trunk, your head strikes a large stone.
The trees above blur, their branches twisting together into something unrecognizable.
The last thing you register is the sound of distant shouting and the white cloaks breaking through the trees as your vision darkens.
~
Gasping for breath, your eyes snap open.
Your chest rises and falls unevenly, a thin layer of sweat clinging to your skin. Lying there for a minute staring up at the ceiling, you wait for your heartrate to calm.
Could that have been real? Could it have been the moment that led to your injury?
Surely not. The Targaryen family would not take kindly to one of their own being harmed. They would have questioned you as soon as you woke up.
Unless whoever attacked you had slipped through unnoticed.
Through the heavy velvet curtains, you could make out the bright sunshine attempting to seep into the darkened room.
You shift slightly and a strong arm tightens around you.
Twisting around, you lay face to face with Aerion. Warmth from his bare chest reaches you through the fabric of your thin nightgown. The steady rise and fall of his breathing brushing softly against your skin.
His grip was not harsh, but not loose either. Even in sleep, he wasn’t able to let you go.
In sleep, you’d never be able to imagine the stories whispered about his manic cruelty. Ruffled silver hair falls messily against his forehead. His face was relaxed in deep sleep and he looked closer to a kitten than a dragon.
Your eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you back under.
It does not last long as a hand closes around your throat.
Your eyes snap open, you see a flash of silver hair before his lips are against your, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could gasp.
Pressing his thumb against your jaw, he forces your mouth open. His body above you pressing you into the mattress. As if instinctively, you fall into the rhythm as your tongues brush against one another.
Something hard presses against you–
You shove hard against his chest, wiping the back of your hand against your lips in disgust.
“Good morning, wife.” his tongue darts out swiping over his lips.
“Don’t look so upset,” he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed. “I had to wake you for breakfast. My father doesn’t take kindly to tardiness.”
“Don’t ever do that again.” Your chest is still rising too quickly. “I don’t want your dirty mouth on mine.”
“Never bothered you before,” he stands now, birthday suit on display.
Heat rises to your cheeks as you look away. You don’t need to avert your eyes for long as the large oak doors open, a flurry of maids rushing in.
“My lady–” one begins, before faltering mid-step, her eyes darting between you and Aerion.
Aerion does not so much as glance towards them.
Instead, he lazily pulls on a pair of lounge trousers as his own valet de chambre file in, not a care in the world for the display he just put on. His gaze flicks towards you briefly, and it's clear through his satisfied look that he wanted them to see. He wanted their whispers about your relationship to travel beyond these chambers.
You are both dressed in silence, the quiet between you uneasy and broken only by the shift in fabric and murmur of servants. Still, his gaze burned into the back of your head, but you refused to acknowledge him.
You murmur, “Was that necessary?”
One of the servants offers him a shirt, which he takes without comment as he pulls it over his head. Only then does his attention return to you.
“You are my wife,” he says simply.
“That doesn’t mean you get to parade me around.”
You could feel the anger seeping through his bones, but he doesn’t grace you with a reply.
He finishes dressing and leaves the room without another word.
The dress sat off your shoulders, the neckline cut straight, holding its shape rather than softening to you. The fabric was black with red threads that caught the light when you moved. Along the top, fine gold gems detailed into dragon scales. Large rubies draped over your next, set in ornate gold.
You were escorted by a knight, Ser Ronnel Darklyn, to the main hall, after being left behind by your insufferable husband, who was painfully aware of your memory loss (after warning you about how Maekar would be displeased with lateness).
You were in the clear to make the assumption that the two of you did not get along through your marriage so far.
The main hall was filled with chatter as the Targaryen family filled the long wooden table that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the high ceilings. At the head sat King Daeron with his son Baelor at his side and Myriah at his other. Other members of the family filled the middle of the table, their conversations blending into a low hum. At the far end sat Maekar with his gaggle of children surrounding him, their presence far louder.
You took the empty chair next to Aerion, reluctantly.
“Good Morrow, sister.” Aemon greeted you with a kind smile, only to receive a death glare from his brother.
“Good Morrow, Aemon. I hope you slept well.”
Breakfast continued around you, the table filled with conversation that moved easily from one topic to the next. You focused on the food in front of you, cutting into it with more attention than necessary. Not yet certain with what you should know or what you were expected to say.
The chatter dims when the King turns his attention towards you.
“I trust you are recovering well.”
You stare at him for a moment longer than you should, scrambling for the appropriate response.
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Very well, I await your thoughts on the book I lent you.” he continues. “Perhaps you could join me in my solar this afternoon.”
Your grip tightens around your utensils. Before you respond, Maekar’s voice cuts in.
“Father,” he says firmly. “She has suffered a bout of memory loss. The Maester assured us she will recover in due time.”
“I see,” The King says after a moment. “That is… unfortunate.”
“And you remember nothing?” he continues.
Setting your fork down carefully, aware of all the many pairs of lilac eyes focused on you.
“Very little, your Grace,” you answer, keeping your voice steady. “Only what I have been told.”
Beside you, Aerion sighs only loud enough for you to hear, laced with impatience and irritation.
The King nods slowly, already shifting the conversation elsewhere.
~
You decide to spend your afternoon strolling through the gardens, keeping close to the castle walls where the paths are familiar enough. The air is calmer here, quieter than the main halls, and for a moment it almost feels like you can breathe without being watched.
Even so, you can feel them.
Hidden along the edges of the garden, just out of sight, lies the Kingsguard silently watching every movement for a sign of a threat.
Not far from you, the sharp sound of steel cutting through air draws your attention.
Aerion stands in the training yard just beyond the hedges, already deep into his morning practice. His movements are controlled, each strike deliberate. So opposed to his reckless nature.
You slow without meaning to. Your gaze lingers longer than it should, watching as the droplets of sweat trail down his naked chest. His broad back flexing with each swing of his sword. His trousers hanging low on his waist, revealing a deep V trailing down…
As if sensing your gaze, his eyes turn in your direction. When he catches your eye, a smug grin spreads over his face.
The moment ends abruptly as a small hand tugs at your wrist.
“You must come with me” You barely have time to react before Aegon is pulling you along the path, his energy bouncing off him.
As you reach the stables, he begins introducing you to each stallion. And there are many.
The stables are large, as expected from a dragon dynasty, filled with the low sounds of shifting hooves.
“And this is Nightshade,” he says, patting the neck of a dark mare. “And this one is Maekar Jr, this one– You must pay attention.”
“Come on,” he says, already turning away. “You can feed them.”
He presses a small handful of grain into your palm before you can protest, closing your fingers around it.
“You have to hold it flat,” he adds. “Otherwise they’ll nip you and Aerion will be upset.”
You let out a quiet breath, more amused, and follow his instructions. Nightshade leans forward, her breath warm against your skin.
You almost pull back, but Aegon’s voice cuts in. “Don’t move, she’ll think you’re nervous.”
“She remembers you,” Aegon adds casually. “This is Aerion’s mare.”
Before you can respond, a smaller figure darts between the stalls.
“Aegon!” Daella’s voice is bright and breathless as she comes to a stop, her hair half-done, ribbons already slipping loose.
Rhae follows more quietly behind her, clutching a small basket to her chest.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Daella continues, though her attention quickly shifts to you. “Oh! You’re here.”
Rhae steps closer, peering up at you with careful curiosity.
“You didn’t come this morning,” she says softly. You hesitate, unsure how to answer.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” you settle on.
Aegon scoffs lightly. “She forgot everything.”
“Aegon,” you warn, without real heat.
Daella’s eyes widened immediately. “Everything?”
Rhae doesn’t speak, but her hand slips into yours without hesitation, her grip small but firm.
“It’s alright,” she says quietly. “We can show you again.”
Aegon nods, “Yeah. We’ll teach you the important things.”
“Like braiding hair,” Daella adds quickly.
“And the horses,” Aegon insists.
“And which servants sneak us lemon tarts,” Rhae says, almost conspiratorially.
A shadow stretches across the ground in front of you.
You turn, as Ser Ronnel Darklyn steps forward.
“My lady,” he says with a slight bow, “His Grace has requested your presence.”
There is no urgency in his voice, but no room for delay either.
Aegon crosses his arms. “You can come back after,” he says, “We’re not done.”
~
It was late when you returned to your chambers. What you expected to be a brief pleasantry stretched far longer than you would assume between a King and his grandson’s wife.
The King began with careful questions circling your conditions, testing what you could recall (a whole lot of nothing). The topic shifted to books which he spoke animatedly about. Halfway through, you got the hint that you had already had this conversation before and that he was taking advantage of your memory loss to talk your ear off about his passions.
King Daeron and the Queen Consort, Myriah, insisted you dined with them privately in their solar instead of the three of you joining the family in the main hall.
When you step into your chambers, the fire has burned low, casting a dim glowing across the room.
You exhale slowly, reaching up to loosen the weight of the necklace at your throat, the rubies warm against your skin.
“It’s late,” a voice cuts through the silence. “A wife ought to dine with her husband.”
Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you cross the room until you stand directly before him.
“A husband ought to escort his wife to breakfast,” you reply evenly. “Especially when she has no memory of where she is going.”
“A wife ought to fulfill her wifely duties.”
“A husband ought–”
Before you could finish the sentence, his hand catches your wrist and he pulls you forward. The sudden shift in balance sends you straight into him, his other arm wrapping around your waist as he settles you into his lap.
“What are you doing?” you demand.
“Reminding you of your duties.”
His mouth lands on yours, taking advantage of your shocked expression. But before he can repeat the morning activities, you push at his chest.
“Enough of this–”
“The Maester said you must continue your routine,” he interrupts, tone eerily calm.
You stare at him, incredulous. “My routine?”
“Yes.” His grip tightens slightly at your waist, enough to keep you from pulling away completely. “Familiar habits. Familiar patterns. It is supposed to help your memory.”
Your brows knit together, the explanation settling poorly. “And you decided what, exactly?”
“I decided,” he says quietly, “that I will not have you treating me like a stranger in my own chambers.”
“That’s because you are a stranger to me,” you shoot back, “I don’t remember you or this.”
“And yet, you responded this morning”
“It means nothing. My body reacted.”
He doesn’t argue further. Instead, his hands tighten around you, he lifts you and carries you to the bed. You land against the mattress with a soft thud, the cushions shifting beneath you as you push yourself up.
His arms circle around you, undoing the laces of your dress with expertise. The fabric loosens, slipping from your shoulders, the cold air causing goosebumps to spread over your skin. You did nothing to stop him as he haphazardly threw the gown somewhere across the floor. His gaze travels along your naked body, taking every inch of you in as he begins to unbuckle his belt.
Dampness pooled between your legs as you greedily soaked in his figure.
Instead, he turns away, walking towards the dressers. Aerion grabs a sheer nightgown, and pulls it over your head with far less care, the fabric settling lightly against your skin.
You stare at him confused, “What–?”
“I won’t touch you until you beg for me.” His gaze meets yours, “And, my love, you will beg for me.”
He moves around the room, extinguishing the candles one by one until the room is left in near darkness, only the glow of the dying fire remains. When he returns to the bed, he pulls you back against him, his arm settling around your waist.
Sleep would not come easily tonight. Your mind was racing and the ache between your thighs persisted.
The dryness in your throat is the first thing your notice as your eyes slowly peel open
Where am I?
You lie in the center of a large feather mattress, the sheets too soft, too heavy against your skin. The room is unfamiliar, adorned in black and red tapestries, their patterns woven in thick velvet that swallows the light.
A fire crackles low in the hearth, its glow flickering against the stone walls, casting shadows that seem to shift when you stare too long.
Your head throbs.
Wincing, you try to sit up–
And freeze.
This isn’t your room. The realization settles slowly, as your hands grip the sheets. You look around again, searching for something– anything– familiar.
With a soft creak, the door opens.
A maester steps inside, his eyes widening the moment he sees you awake.
“My Lady, you’ve awoken,” he says, startled, moving towards you.
“Where am I?” your voice is hoarse.
“Lie back, allow me to examine you”
His hands are gentle as he presses his palm to your forehead, checking your temperature. He examines the wrapping near your temple, where a medium sized gash lies, clearly cleaned and tended to with precision.
“Your wound seems to be healing properly,” he murmurs. “Your husband is occupied in a council meeting, but we’ll send for him once it concludes.”
Husband?
You don’t get to question him further as he steps out of the room.
You swallow, your thoughts scrambling.
The last you could remember was walking through the rocky lowlands of your home in The Vale. Your siblings beside you, daring each other higher and higher along the cliffs, your boots slipping against damp stone as rain begins to fall. Your room in The Vale was simple, decorated in blues and greys, nothing like the suffocating richness of velvet and shadow that surrounds you now.
Has your family travelled for a feast? A tourney?
The word husband lingers like a bruise yet to develop to dark mauve and sickly yellow.
No, that couldn’t be right. Surely you would remember your wedding. Perhaps the maester had confused you for another lady, and in his rush, was not able to confirm your identity.
You’ll wait for this lord husband to come by and discuss the mistake at hand.
Your eyes flicker to the door. As if summoning someone, the door creaks open, almost unnoticeable.
A small boy, no older than ten and three, peaks his head through. His silver hair falls messily into his lilac eyes. As soon your eyes meet, he rushes inside with a wide grin.
“Sister!” he blurts, before slipping in.
Another smaller boy, trailing behind him. “Wait for me–” rushing towards you, he clambers onto the mattress, settling comfortably beside you.
Sister? Something must be wrong because these boys were not your brothers. Studying them closely now. The pale hair and lilac eyes. Looking eerily similar to a house of dragons. Slowly, the pieces fall together and your gaze drags around the room once more.
The red and black velvet furniture.
Gold thread woven into the heavy drapes.
The furs draped across your limbs, far beyond anything you’ve ever known.
This was no noble house of the Vale. Could not be a house of any prominent lord.
Your string of thoughts snipped as the little boy rests his head on your clavicle. The older boy rests his palm against your forehead.
“Hmmph.” He hums softly, brows knitting together in thought. “Yes indeed your fever has broken.”
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. “I must examine you further, sister,” he adds. “As any good maester.”
Before you can react, he turns toward the small table beside the bed, vials arranged carefully.
“A maester?” you echo.
Glancing towards you, he blushes. “Well not yet obviously, but as you know, father intends to send me to the Citadel this summer to see where my interests–”
“Who is your father?” you question.
His hand on the vials froze, turning to you slowly, “What?”
The younger boy lifts his head from where it rests against you, blinking up at your face.
Your pulse began to race, “Who is your father?” You repeated.
“That isn’t funny.” Uncertainty creeping into his voice.
“I’m not joking.”
The younger one pushes himself up fully now, no longer relaxed, his small hands gripping the fabric of your nightgown.
“Why are you talking like this?” he asks.
You open your mouth–
Wood crashes against stone with a force, making the three of you flinch.
“My wife!” a voice rings out, sharp and theatrical. “What a dreadful time I’ve spent with my uncle and grandsire–” The man’s manic smile fades as he takes in the two boys– one in your arms and the other standing beside you with a vial.
Aerion Targaryen. He stands tall in the doorway, silver hair catching the firelight, pale violet eyes sharp and burning with something volatile. There is something almost beautiful about him, in the way a blade is beautiful just before it cuts.
His expression darkens.
“You little fucking wretch. Why are you bothering my wife?” His voice seethes with venom. “Put those fucking vials down, Aemon.”
Aemon’s hands tremble as he sets the vials down with the rest.
“Get off the bed now!” he shouts towards the boy in her arms as he yanks at Aemon’s ear.
The younger boy startles, scrambling back. Your arms tighten around him, holding him close.
“Stop it!” your voice trembling. “Stop shouting at them. Leave us.”
Aerion stills, silence floods the room.
You recognize him from the many tourneys you had attended with your family. Dark banners with a three-headed red dragon snapping in the wind. Notably at the last tourney in Ashford, Prince Aerion had called for a Trial of Seven against a knight of no great standing.
The whole ordeal had unsettled you deeply.
He releases Aemon’s ear, a look almost close to remorse washes over. It vanishes quickly, replaced with something neutral and bored.
His mouth opens to speak–
“Brother,” Aemon’s voice cuts in suddenly, “I think there is something wrong with her.”
“Enough Aemon, you’re no maester yet.” Aerion scoffs, shoving him lightly aside. “Go fetch some water.”
“I’m serious,” his eyes fixed on you. “She doesn’t remember Father’s name.”
“Enough of these games wife,” Aerion turns towards you, head tilted and an unsettling grin graces his face, “you’ve been out for days and I wish to bed you.”
Heat rises to your neck and face. How could he say these words in front of his young brothers?
“Call for the maesters,” Aemon tugs the sleeve of his jacket, voice rising. “Call for Father.”
Aerion doesn’t look away from you. And in that moment you realize he doesn’t believe you.
Aemon runs out of the room, you could hear his shouts from the hallway.
~
The idea of being wed to Aerion Targaryen rattled you greatly. You could not imagine how this match had even been put into place, how your family had allowed it or how you had agreed. Your eyes flicked towards him. Witnessing his cruelty to his own kin had deeply unsettled you.
You wondered about many things. You wondered what your own relationship with him must be like. And how long you had been married for. Did you have children already? The Targaryens were known for their herds of offspring.
You must have been together long enough for his family to feel comfortable around you. Egg, who must be about seven, still rests his head on your chest.
Across the room, Aerion lounges in a chair facing the bed, one arm draped lazily over its side. His gaze is fixed, not on you, but the boy in your arms. And something close to possessiveness in his dilated pupils makes your pulse quicken.
“And can you tell me which year we are in?” the maester questions.
“I’m not sure.”
A pause.
“And who do you recognize in this room?”
“I am.. aware of everyone in the room,” you choose your words carefully, “but I had not recognized Aemon and Aegon upon their visitation earlier."
“You recognize them–”
“I know of them, but I am not familiar with them.”
“Convenient.” Aerion’s voice cuts through.
“Silence, boy.” Maekar Targaryen stands near the foot of the bed now, his presence demanding obedience.
“I’m telling the truth.” You insist.
The maester interjects, “and what do you remember of the accident?”
“I remember nothing”
A beat.
“Then what do you remember last?”
“I was with my family,” you begin slowly, “In the lowlands of the Vale. The weather had turned and began to rain so we rushed inside.”
“Then you mean to tell me you don’t remember anything from your time in King’s Landing? Our marriage?” Aerion rises slowly from his chair.
You shake your head, “No.”
“My Prince.” The Maester steps forward, “This is not uncommon.”
“Head trauma, particularly one severe enough to render a person unconscious for several days, can result in memory loss,” he explains. “It is not unusual for the mind to retain older memories while losing more recent ones.”
“And her recovery?” Maekar asks, voice firm. “Will this condition.. persist?”
“In most cases, no,” he replies. “With rest and proper care, the mind often restores itself. Memories may return gradually, triggered by familiar places and experiences.”
Aerion exhales loudly, “and if they don’t return?”
“Then we must prepare for that possibility as well, Your Grace,” he admits carefully. “But it is… unlikely.”
Maekar reaches for Aegon’s sleeping form, carefully lifting the boy from your embrace. The sudden absence of weight leaves you feeling cold.
“You’ve overstayed,” Maekar says, shifting his gaze towards Aemon.
“But-”
“Now.” Leaving no room for argument, Aemon follows his father through the threshold, pausing to look back at you.
The door shuts behind them, leaving you alone with your husband.
Husband. You could not believe this cruel, spoiled Prince was your husband.
“You’ve exhausted me with this… excursion.” His voice was flat and bored. “I expect your memories back swiftly. For now, let’s sleep.”
*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing*ੈ✩‧₊˚ grunge modern!aerion targaryen x fem!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary*ੈ✩‧₊˚ maekar forces his kids to spend time with him (he's lowkey a boomer)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ just a quick story off of this headcanon(teenage dirtbag)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Heavenly - Cigarettes After Sex, Sweet - Cigarettes After Sex
Warnings - 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual intercourse, oral sex, mention of breeding kink, light drug (smoking) use,
Word Count - 1239
“And, what are you studying?” Daeron asks you.
Maekar demands that his children attend family dinner every Sunday. As of now, you’ve been to six, yet Daeron continues to ask the same questions.
Your attention is pulled away when Aegon drops into the chair beside you.
“Last week, Dunk and I went into Kingswood with his horses and camped there for a couple of nights. I learned how to start a fire and catch fish with my bare hands! And I saw this huge bear, almost as big as Dunk. So we lay on the ground and pretended to be dead, because it was a brown bear, but if it was a black bear–”
You blinked, your gaze fixed on him but unfocused. You’ve come to learn not to listen too closely to Aegon’s stories. You don’t believe half the things he mentions and Aerion doesn’t confirm if he truly has a tall friend named Duncan that takes him on these adventures.
“Right,” you cut in gently, “Why don’t we head to the solar to see what your father is up to?”
Dinner had ended long ago, but Maekar had pulled Aerion into the solar, muttering something about needing help with his phone, leaving you alone with the younger children and… Daeron.
Aerion said you made family dinner more bearable.
But truthfully, you didn’t do it for his comfort. Growing up, your parents never had family dinner, instead, opting to all have dinner separately at different times.
You liked the noise and familiarity his siblings brought and the way they orbit around you like second nature. Even if Aegon rambles and Daeron never quite remembers you (he really should get that checked out).
You loved doing Daella and Rhae’s hair in the morning before school the next morning, sitting them down in front of the mirror while they argued over ribbons and braids.
And yes, Maekar insists you both stay the night, claiming he doesn’t trust Aerion to drive after dark. You’re not entirely sure he’s wrong.
Tonight, you opted for a light, loose white dress, ribbons hanging from your hair. A gold chain around your neck, with Aerion’s name engraved in it.
Trailing behind the younger ones, you step into the solar. You stifle your laugh, overhearing the conversation.
“L-M-A-F-O” Maekar spells.
“Oh, that’s not a name–”
“He’s a spy,” Maekar insists, “A Blackfyrean spy. Trying to intercept our data. LMFAO is working for them, isn’t he? You’ve heard of him.”
“No–”
“You have!”
“I promise you I don't. It stands for laughing my ass off”
Maekar frowns.“What about the ‘F’?”
“It’s just– emphasis. Like laughing my bloody head off.”
“BLOODY? L-M-B-F-A-O.”
“NO–”
“Is that his brother?”
“You can use it without the ‘F’.”
“LMAO? His sister–?”
“Aegon has an amazing adventure to share with the family!” You interject smoothly, trying to save Aerion from his father’s spiral.
Aerion turns toward you immediately, his expression softening, and something grateful flickering before it disappears. He’s dressed simply tonight, wearing baggy jeans, a white tee with lettering across, and a silver chain draped across his neck.
“Let’s call it a night,” Maekar announces when the younger children begin to nod off.
You guide Daella and Rhae to their room, reading them a short bedtime story. When their voices fade into soft breathing, you quietly shut the door as you step out.
You barely take two steps before you’re pushed back against the wall. You smile softly as you feel Aerion's lips against yours, your tongues brushing against one another. His hands go to the hem of your dress and you push him off of you.
“Not here,” you whisper. “Your sisters could hear.”
“I don’t care. I need you.” He says rushed.
Rolling your eyes, you drag him down the hallway to his room.
As soon as the door shuts, his fingers are tangled in your hair and his kiss is feral. Trying to consume you.
Music is already playing in the background. Light and romantic. He removes his shirt and pulls the dress over your head. Leaving you in your light pink panties and matching bralette.
“You wore this for me?” He smirks as his fingers trace the underside of your breast.
“No,” you breathed out. “I wore it for Maekar.”
The smirk leaves his face immediately as he sends a glare your way. Pushing you onto the bed, he climbs on top of you with his knees on either side of your head. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he grumbles.
You began undoing his jeans, taking out his cock. His face strained with lust as you stroked him. You take his head into your mouth, teasing him with your tongue.
“Enough playing,” he grips the back of your head, pushing himself into your mouth. The sound of you choking as his fucks your mouth fills the room. Drool and precum dripping down the sides of your mouth.
Your hands reach up to his hips, trying to take control. You pause as your nose hits his pubic bone, staring up at him, swallowing.
He quickly gets off the bed and starts removing his pants.
“What are you doing? I wasn’t done with you,” you propped yourself on your elbows, blonde hair coming undone from the ribbons.
“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” you roll your eyes at that comment. You’ve been on birth control since you were a teenager, but Aerion has this obsession with coming inside of you.
With a low growl, he ripped away the flimsy barrier of your lingerie, exposing your full, creamy breasts. He lowered his mouth onto your pink, perky nipples and his cock nudging insistently at your entrance.
His hands kneading your ass, he whispers, “let me in baby.”
You guide the head of his cock into you, both you moaning of relief. His hands grip your waist as he enters you fully, your inner walls clamping down on him. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasp.
He set a deep, driving rhythm, each snap of his hips pushing him impossible deeper. The obscene sound of skin meeting skin filled the chamber, mingling with your shared moans and panting breaths. He grabbed your hand, pulling it to your lower abdomen and pressing down.
“You feel me there, baby?”
“More, Aerion, more,” you moan out. Sweat slicked both your skin, sliding down deliciously with every thrust and roll of hips.
“I’m close,” he grunts, his pace becoming erratic, driven by the coil of tension building at the base of his spine. “I want to feel you come. Want to hear you scream my name as I fill you.”
You could only moan in response, too far gone into pleasure to form any coherent words.
Aerion angled his hips, changing the way his thrusts hit that special spot with every stroke. Your muscles start to flutter and clench around him.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop!” You babbled, nails digging into his shoulder and back as a second wave hit you. With a hoarse grunt, Aerion buried himself to the hilt, his release overtaking. Thick ropes of hot cum painted her inner walls.
Collapsing on top of you, he peppered your face with gentle kisses. The soft music is still playing in the background. He sits up and lights a cigarette as he pulls you against his chest. The soft rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you to sleep.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚pairing *ੈ✩‧₊˚ modern!aerion targaryen x oc fem!reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary *ੈ✩‧₊˚ alt aerion and fem imagine
*ੈ✩‧₊˚author's note*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kinda bored so i wrote this... send me requests for anything aerion targ related T-T (lowkey haven't written in 6 years, so maybe the writing is ass)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚playlist*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hayloft - Mother Mother, The Rat - The Walkmen
modern!aerion is a grunge party boy. He wears punk rock tees and chain smokes in his father's basement with his friends.
modern!aerion doesn’t care about his grades because he knows he’ll have a position at his family’s firm after graduation.
modern!aerion meets you at an underground show. The half-abondoned venue and air thick with smoke was not your scene, but you were dragged by your friend and her boyfriend.
modern!aerion notices you first, sticking out like a sore thumb. You wore a baby pink tee with loose ribbons hanging from your hair. He watches you as you move through the crowd.
modern!aerion lets the crowd work for him, waiting until you’re pushed against him by accident. His hands come up to your biceps automatically, steadying you. And he doesn’t let go of you immediately, watching you deliberately as if already deciding you belong to him.
modern!aerion tests you with cutting remarks, watching to see if you’ll push back or shrink away. “You don’t belong here,” he muttered. But he doesn’t wait for your response as he turns and walks away.
modern!aerion doesn’t ask for your phone number that night. Doesn’t even acknowledge you for the rest of the show. Even when you find out he’s the cousin of your friend's boyfriend, Valarr, he acts like you've never met.
Next time, your friend drags you to a house party.
modern!aerion’s house party isn’t what you expected. No crowded rooms, no strangers spilling drinks, just a handful of people scattered around his father’s expensive furniture.
The music is low, the kind that hums through the floor instead of blasting. modern!aerion barely acknowledges you when you walk in, even though his eyes flick to you immediately. He’s sprawled on the couch with his friends, cigarette in hand.
modern!aerion starts showing up where you are with no explanation. In the Faculty of Business lounge scrolling through his phone, the parking lot where his car is a couple slots down, the library with a cigarette behind his ear, even in your classes (even ones he has no reason being in), sliding in the seat next to you, but never starts up a conversation.
His energy shifted one night at another one of his “house party’s”, when he dropped down next to you on the couch and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, lazily. He started up a conversation as though you’ve known each other for years. He asked about your fourth year capstone project, how your latest read was going, even asked what piece you’ve been practicing for your upcoming piano competition. You never told him about any of your hobbies but you knew he was always watching you.
From then on, modern!aerion became more blatant about his stalker-ish behaviour. Finding you wherever you were on campus. He starts inviting you personally to his parties, joining you and your mutual friends at nightclubs, coming up behind you on the dancefloor with his hands around your waist.
He’d pull you away from the crowd at parties, drag you to a dark hallway and push you against the wall. His hands explored your body and his mouth leaving marks to remember him by. To remind others. You weren’t sure what kind of relationship this was– friends with benefits?
But you never questioned it. You heard the rumours about him. How no girl had lasted more than a week before he got bored, he’s ruthless and cutthroat to everyone (including his friends and family members). You couldn’t let a man trample over your heart and use you for his physical needs. He wasn’t supposed to get this far into your head, but he does. And he began to possess your mind. You constantly wondered where he was, what he was doing when you’re not with him.
You lay there, staring at the ceiling, as his fingers brushed across your skin. His breath tickles your skin as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. You start to get up, searching the dark room for your discarded clothes. This had been going on for a couple months now and, to no surprise, modern!aerion knew exactly how to please you, where to touch you, what to call you.
“What are you doing?” he asked, propping himself against the headboard.
“I can’t do this anymore,” a pregnant pause filled the room.
“What the fuck are you on about?” His voice got lower, agitated.
“This is getting too real. And I'm not stupid enough to think this'll last,” you say and walk out. Your pace increases, trying to get out of this maze of a mansion. Tears clouding your vision.
Just as you get to the main door, he shows up behind you, now fully dressed.
“I don’t want this to end,” his voice shaking. “We can be serious,” the words don’t come easy, “Or whatever you want.”
modern!aerion is an obsessive boyfriend. Constantly texting you and watching your location on FindMy. modern!aerion loves showering his girl with gifts. He has you wear a golden chain with his name engraved on it.
When modern!aerion introduces you to his family, they all have varying reactions.
Egg loves to yap your ear off about his long list of adventures (but you’re confused on why a ten year old is allowed to leave the house for long periods of time alone). You’re not sure if he still has imaginary friends as he runs your ear about some tall man named Duncan that he spends all his time with? modern!aerion tells you to ignore his little wretch of a brother.
Maekar is just glad someone is able to tame his reckless son. He loves to tell you stories about his childhood and how Aerion believed he was a dragon. He often sat in front of the fireplace for hours, whispering to himself. Maekar is a proud daddy and loves to show you pictures of baby Aerion fishing and as he shows off his biggest catches.
Daeron is kind of confused about what you’re doing here. He’s too inebriated to understand that you’re Aerion's girlfriend. You’re half convinced he thinks you’re a new girl each time because he keeps asking the same questions.
modern!aerion would buy a condo for the two of you to live in together. It would be a skyscraper with an incredible view of King’s Landing. He’d have everything ready for you at the drop of a hat. He even hired a chef for every cuisine because you never knew what to eat (meal planning stresses you tf out, and you never know how much will be enough for the week).
You told him not to waste money because you could cook for both of them. To your dismay, the chefs remained.
modern!aerion and your passion would never cease, even after years of marriage.
