night city - aerion targaryen x male reader, modernAU
"This is a fucking great love story. They'll write books about us and make movies."
aerion targaryen x male - older, dealer - male reader; Aerion loves him. Even if he's a dealer, if he's 10 years older than him, if, if… Aerion simply loves him.
(WARNINGS: mentions of drugs, reader is a dealer )
"Your father will eventually land me in jail," [Name] mutters as Aerion's new McLaren speeds through the streets of New York. "He doesn't like me."
"He doesn't like anyone." Aerion replies indifferently. He shifts gears and the car speeds even faster. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
"Well, if my younger son was dating the dealer who supplies my other, older son, I'd be furious too," [Name] says, his words devoid of any humor. He smiles bitterly, seeming worried. Aerion hates it when [Name] looks like this. Worried. Scared.
"You don't do drugs. That's a big plus for him," Aerion says, a failed attempt at humor. "Daeron's an adult, so he knows what he's doing. You too. That's why you don't do drugs."
"I'm just dealing."
Aerion rolls his eyes, and [Name] snorts. Aerion smiles, broadly, happily. Happily. The car speeds through the streets, between the skyscrapers. Soon they'll be in Manhattan. They will park, and they takes the elevator up to Aerion's apartment, which is on a damn high floor – especially for [Name], who loves standing on the balcony and admiring the view. If he were honest, he'd spent a fortune buying this apartment just to make his boyfriend happy.
Life can be funny, as his uncle used to say. Especially to Aerion's father.
"Will you be in New York long? Before you go back to England?" [Name] stretches in his seat like a cat.
"A few weeks. And I'm not going back alone." Aerion tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He presses the gas pedal. He glances quickly at [Name] before returning to the road. "You're coming, you're coming, with me."
[Name]'s eyes widen. He leans toward Aerion. "What are you talking about? I can't go with you." He laughs hysterically. Like a hyena. A frightened hyena.
"I wish you would come to Europe with me." Again, he only has a second to look at [Name]. His confused gaze, the incomprehension etched on his face like a beautiful painting. "I wish I could take you to a banquet my family is organizing."
Outside the car windows, the lights shift like a kaleidoscope. Shops, people, buildings… everything blends into a colorful mass. He also bought the car to make [Name] happy. His boyfriend—even if he's older than Aerion—deserves every luxury. If he wants to eat edible gold for the rest of his life, Aerion will grant it without question.
"You can't be serious." The disbelief in [Name]'s voice is so intense it could sit in the car with them.
"Why not?" Aerion shrugs. They approach the bridge, slowing down a bit. "He wants to formally introduce you."
"Are you crazy?" He feels [Name's] eyes on him. He's sure he's looking at him like he's an idiot right now. "Me, as your boyfriend or partner? A dealer from New York, and almost ten years older than you? What are you going to tell them? That we met when I was selling drugs to your brother? What a romantic rendezvous, our eyes meeting over the cocaine." [Name] snorts.
"This is a fucking great love story. They'll write books about us and make movies. A billionaire's son and a dealer." Aerion smiles. "I might not tell them the whole truth, but… I'll think of something. You know I love you, right?" Aerion asks seriously.
"I know," [Name] mutters, looking away. Boats float by on the river, illuminated by lights, skyscrapers dimming with lights. He has tears in his eyes, and the whole image blurs a bit. It looks beautiful. Like an impressionist painting. "I know, Aerion, I…"
"I don't care what anyone says, my father won't send you to jail. Everything will be fine."
"You think so?"
"I know. Now fasten your seatbelt."
[Name] smiles and squeals as the car accelerates. They speed through the streets, everything else passing them by like a streak of light.
This text was NOT created using AI.Therefore, the text may contain linguistic, grammatical and typographical errors. English is not my first language. If you notice anything in the text, please let me know :)
daeron targaryen x reader; Daeron meets someone in the north who is worth abandoning everything for
(warnings: erotic content, religious issues, paganism)
It was worth sneaking out in the middle of the night. It was worth freezing and shivering. Because the views were absolutely incredible. The middle of the forest, the middle of the night, and he was sitting on a fallen tree, drinking mead, and watching.
Among the trees, around a fire, people were having fun. It was some kind of festival. A northern, pagan festival. Daeron didn't focus on the details people were telling him. Yesterday at Winterfell Castle, people in the inns where he drank along the way. Daeron knew the North was a completely different place. But knowing and seeing were two entirely different things. The Old Gods were something… that simply was. They still worshiped them in the North, Daeron didn't know more. He had no need to investigate. Daeron wasn't overly religious. Until he reached the North. Here, the air was full of something old. Every creak of the trees sounded like words. His dreams and visions… were peaceful.
A festival. People celebrated, dancing around a large bonfire, strolling in smaller groups with torches. Children ran among the adults, their faces smeared with dough, young people danced around the fire to the beat of a drum, and the air smelled of honey.
Daeron couldn't take his eyes off one person in particular. The boy, a young man. He danced between the fire, between the flecks of fire floating in the air. His body seemed to vibrate. Daeron couldn't take his eyes off him. Their gazes caught every now and then. Neither Daeron nor the boy looked away. The boy's eyes were looking straight at him, and each time, a small, teasing, mischievous smile played on his lips. Daeron had the feeling the boy was calling him, wanting him to join him.
"You like the boy, eh? I see you're watching him." The old woman—Helga—sat down next to him with a groan. He'd met her a few hours ago. She's crazy, in a good way; she gave him honey and sweet cakes.
"Am I that obvious?"
Helga laughed loudly. "Boy, you're looking at him like you want to devour him. Why don't you go to him?" She asked more seriously. "It's the North, the Old Gods don't tell us anything about who can be with whom, you know."
Daeron felt his cheeks flush. He wanted to tell her he couldn't because he was a prince. But he stopped himself. He realized something. No one knew. No one recognized him. Who he was. He could… do whatever he wanted.
He stood up, dizzy from the mead, and walked straight toward the fire and the dancing young people. He was there. He was laughing, and Daeron felt drawn to his loud laughter, the sparks of fire reflecting in his eyes. The boy took a few steps back and bumped into him. He turned, and when he saw Daeron, he smiled.
"Will you finally dance with me? I thought you'd never guess."
Daeron just smiled. And the dance began. "What's your name?" Daeron asks, carefully placing his hands on the boy's hips.
"[Name], and yours?"
Daeron doesn't know what to say. "Ron," he finally says. He's lying. His name is so distinctive that [Name] can immediately guess who he is. And Daeron doesn't want that.
He had the freedom he dreamed of, for the first time, in the far north.
The forest wasn't as dark and gloomy as he'd imagined. It's night, but the moon shines brightly in the sky. The snowy white snow still lingering in the woods makes the forest less dark. He can see [Name]'s face clearly, so the rest doesn't matter.
The silence of the forest is shattered by their rapid breathing. The boy's moans sound in the stillness of the night like the thunder of a mighty storm. [Name] moans as Daeron makes love to him under the tree. The boy's legs wrap around his waist, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. Daeron can kiss and nibble his neck.
They have sex. In the middle of the forest, under a pine tree, snow falls on their heads, icy water running down their backs, mixing with hot sweat. [Name] breathes in his ear as Daeron moves inside him, teasing that sweet spot, and the boy's back arches beautifully.
He won't last long, he thinks; and he comes a few minutes later. [Name]'s nails scratch the back of his neck, stifling a loud groan.
"Why did you do that?" He murmurs, leaning his head against [Name's] shoulder. "I wanted to hear you."
He feels [Name]'s body tremble. He laughs. "Nothing's lost. We can go to my place… for the rest of the night."
Daeron has never agreed to anything so quickly.
It turns out that [Name] lives alone near the forest, on the outskirts of a fairly large village, a little over an hour's drive from Winterfell. He tends to chickens, ducks, a few goats and sheep, and a horse – which they're currently riding on. A young mare, bought with the money he earned. I'am nothing special, he tells Daeron as they ride through dark fields and meadows.
Daeron doesn't remember much of that night. He spent it in [Name's] warm, fur-lined bed, drawing from him the most beautiful moans he's ever heard. He feels like he's in another life. As if Prince Daeron didn't exist. There's only Daeron, Ron, and he's with [Name].
In the morning, he has to leave, but he returns. He sees [Name], spends his days helping [Name]. At night, he sleeps. The nightmares are there, but they've never been so… faint. As if his soul has finally found peace. They make love, tenderly and gently, only to do it quickly and hard the next night. Daeron, with a strange, empty feeling, has no memory of what it was like to live in a castle.
The thought of returning is painful. His family's sojourn in the north is inevitably coming to an end. Preparations are slowly being made to return to King's Landing and Summerhall. He can feel his heart beating frantically as he thinks about returning.
The sun is setting, the day is already gray. The last rays of sunlight have long since disappeared, and it's growing colder. Daeron sits by the henhouse, on a wooden bench, tossing grain to the chickens and ducks. He watches a colorful rooster and a few new hens fight for wheat. Beyond the fence, a mare lazily nibbles hay. Slowly, everything is getting ready for bed.
In two days, they will leave Winterfell. In two days, he will leave [Name] and perhaps never return. He feels a hole in his heart.
"You don't look well… Is something troubling you?" [Name] sits down beside him. "You can tell me, maybe it will make you feel better. Maybe I can even help."
Daeron sighs softly. "I'm just thinking… What should I do?"
"What do you mean?"
"I came to the North, for a while… but I don't know if I want to go back south."
He falls silent, thinking about what he's said. Does he want to go back? To the judgmental glances, to the nightmares, the disappointment in his father's eyes. Being a prince.
"Can't you stay? If you don't want to go back, then stay," [Name] finally says. His voice is a whisper. Daeron can barely hear him. His heart beats harder, like a bell in a tower. [Name]'s hand finds his, and the boy clenches his fingers.
"What? How can I… I have… nothing."
[Name] clenches his fingers. He clasps their hands together. "Just stay with me. If you want to stay in the North, then… stay with me. I… like you."
Daeron feels his breath catch in his lungs. He slowly turns his head. [Name] looks at him, eyes wide. Daeron knows, feels, that I like you, but that might not be quite what the boy wanted to say. But… he sees what's left unsaid. Wide eyes. Red lip from biting. A longing gaze, full of hope.
For years, Daeron had wondered if the letter he'd left his father would be enough. He felt nothing as he watched the royal procession from the forest. His father with a blank expression. His uncle and cousin, smiling, chatting. Aerion with an angry expression… As if Daeron had never existed in their lives. Only Maekar's hands clenched on the reins, that was the only sign.
He didn't have the courage to tell his father. Even years later, he hadn't changed his mind. The letter had been the best option. He left it. He'd written the truth. He'd fallen in love. He'd stay. He'd live… somewhere in the north. He hadn't lied, he simply hadn't told the whole truth.
Sometimes while working, he wondered if he'd ever see his father and brothers again. He never regretted it either.
Perhaps his father found his choice incomprehensible. Maekar would never understand. How he could have chosen the life he wanted over being a prince. How he could have chosen a simple cottage over a castle.
And as Daeron watched [Name] all these years, no matter what he did. Carrying water from the well, chopping sticks and wood for the fireplace, gathering fruit from their small orchard… whatever he did, Daeron never regretted it.
This text was NOT created using AI.Therefore, the text may contain linguistic, grammatical and typographical errors. English is not my first language. If you notice anything in the text, please let me know :)
"The future was under the sign of the wolf and the fox."
jon snow x male reader; Jon grew fond of foxes, especially when his lover was a warg and sometimes a fox
Jon's horse snorted loudly as snow fell from a pine tree a few steps away. The animal pricked his ears and moved on, placing his hooves more cautiously in the snow. Jon patted his massive neck. The saddle creaked under his weight. He didn't have much farther to go. Ghost ran briskly ahead of him, his tail and ears up, listening for the unmistakable eager whistle.
He hadn't seen [Name] in a long time, far too long. Seeing him made life at Castle Black bearable. [Name], a wildling from beyond The Wall, Jon had never expected to find such a person as a support, an almost kindred spirit, like something out of Sansa's sappy books.
The horse stopped in a familiar spot. A soft whistle made him smile. Two foxes with fur as white as snow leaped out of a snowdrift. Ghost wagged his tail and immediately ran after them. "We're left alone… what a shame. I wanted to pet Ghost's soft ears." A whiny voice sounded somewhere above Jon's head, and a moment later, a snowball struck him on the head.
Snow smiled and looked up. In the tree, among the branches and snow, there was him – [Name]; his soulmate, his lover. Someone in whom Jon find family.
"Did you miss me or my wolf?" Jon asks, grinning broadly. Between the snow-covered branches, he sees the glint of teeth, the scattered rays of light reflecting in eyes.
"And aren't they one and the same?" [Name] purrs and jumps from the tree. Foxes are [Name's] animals; he's a skinchanger, a warg. Just like Jon, except that unlike him, he's bonded with foxes. He's raised two pups, and they follow him everywhere, like Ghost follows Jon.
Sometimes they saw each other in the woods. Jon, in wolf form, and the white fox he met, could smell [Name] on him. Sometimes it was the only way they could see each other. It was the only way they could be close, when Jon couldn't leave the castle and [Name] couldn't get too close. The wolf and the fox ran together through the snow and lay side by side, simply being together.
They met by chance, once, in the woods beyond the wall. And that's how they started seeing each other. Until… they were who they are to each other now. Someone important.
[Name] jumps down from the tree in one swift movement. Jon almost envies his agility, despite the fur. He steps onto the snow, barely making a sound, and immediately hugs Jon; Snow immediately hugs him tightly. He wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him close. He inhales his scent of forest and snow. A wild boy, or maybe a man, he couldn't quite place him. As if [Name] were suspended between the snowflakes. Mischievous as a young fox, serious as a wild man, seasoned by the hardships of life.
"I missed you, Jon." He murmurs softly. In the Old Tongue. Jon is getting better at speaking and understanding; he still can't cast runes, but he has many years to learn.
"I missed you too," he murmurs in response, and somewhere between the trees he hears the fox's laughter and the growl of his wolf. "They're probably having a wonderful time." He smiles at the thought of two foxes and a direwolf trying to catch them.
[Name] laughed softly. He pulled away from him, kissing Jon's cheek before doing so. "I have something for you," he said quietly. He returned to the tree, where a bag hung from a low branch. He pulled something out.
"I thought of you." He handed Jon a thick wad of leather and fur. "You can decorate a cloak or… anything you want, basically. It's fox fur, warm."
"Where did you get this?" Jon felt his hands tremble. Two fox furs, quite large. He could feel the soft fur. They were white as snow.
"I found a new charge. A small fox, a pup. His mother and apparently sister were already dead. I took care of him, and their furs… Otherwise, they would have gone to waste. The North doesn't like to waste warm leather and fur." He shrugged. "They're white, but maybe someone could dye them black…"
Jon muttered. "Dying them black is almost a crime. They're beautiful." The fur smelled of forest, pine, ryegrass, and snow. Just like [Name]. "It must have been hard for you. You know, foxes, and you…"
[Name] smiled sadly, just the corner of his mouth. He stood close to Jon, caressing the white fur with his fingertips—Jon only now noticed he wasn't wearing gloves. "A little. It's sad they died, but I have a puppy. And besides… Foxes are close to me; when you wear them, it's kind of like… you know." He looked at Jon. Snowflakes were on his eyelashes.
Jon said nothing. He didn't know if he could, if his voice would tremble.
"Thank you. They're truly beautiful." Jon clenched his fists around the fur. The only thing, the only thorn in his heart, was that he couldn't have [Name] with him all the time. He wished so much that…
Two foxes tumbled out of the snowdrift. They immediately ran to Jon, sniffing him, greeting him, and demanding petting. Ghost appeared right behind them. He rushed in, shook off the snow, and immediately ran to greet [Name].
"My sweet boy, I've missed you." [Name] crouched down, petting the wolf's white fur.
Jon tucked the furs into the saddlebags. The horse snorted, stamping his foot. From behind him came the sound of foxes laughing and a wolf sneezing – I know games, [Name] told him that when dogs sneeze while playing, it's a sign they're having a good time. He looked at him. [Name] was wild, through and through. Surrounded by wolves, foxes, eternal winter, and snow. He was someone Jon's heart simply loved.
The foxes ran after him. Squealing and demanding to be petted. Jon finally gave in and crouched down. The foxes nipped at his fingers, prodded him, nuzzled him, squealing happily. They were so… soft. They adored him, just like [Name]. Just as Ghost loved [Name]. Tormund had once told him that the skinchanger left parts of its thoughts in the creature's mind, and that was why… Jon liked it. He had proof that [Name] loved him as much as Jon loved him. The fox's fur was soft, its tail bushy.
[Name] finally stood up and went straight to the horse. He hugged Jon. Tightly, close. Jon embraced him, as he had done so many times. He kissed his lips, cool and dry from the cold.
"Let's go, I'll show you my new charge. You can even choose a name," he said, a smile playing on his lips.
Jon mounted his horse, helped [Name] sit in front of him, and grabbed the horse's mane, lightly stroking the animal's neck first. Jon grabbed the reins, and the animal set off through the snow, straight for [Name's] small cottage, further north, to one of the several settlements. "I hope you don't have to return to your post soon." He leaned against Jon and purred softly.
Jon released the reins. Jon's hands slowly moved up and down his lover's thighs. "I… can't stay longer."
"You slipped away?" [Name] asked in an amused voice.
"A little. I'm taking advantage of you teaching me how to be a warg." He murmured directly into his lover's ear. The hand tightened on his thigh, near his buttock, and a pleasant shiver ran through [Name].
The foxes and the wolf ran somewhere beside them.
This text was NOT created using AI.Therefore, the text may contain linguistic, grammatical and typographical errors. English is not my first language. If you notice anything in the text, please let me know :)
"Baelor fell in love almost immediately. [Name] is a work of art. A wonderfully colorful bird, playing with fashion, style, and its body."
baelor targaryen x male, model, reader; it doesn't matter what the world thinks about his relationship with the younger model
"We'll be late if you change your clothes a fourth time." Baelor shouts a warning. He's sitting on the leather couch in the living room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, stock quotes, and business news.
"I'm almost ready!" [Name]—his lover, his partner—shouts from inside the apartment, loudly, almost panicked. It was as if he were being flayed. Baelor suspects he might be shedding his skin; anything was possible.
They were supposed to be going to an art exhibition; one of the companies his family works with was organizing an anniversary party or something. Of course, they were invited—he, his brothers, his sons. It just so happened that only Baelor and [Name] would end up going.
"You've been ready for an hour," he shouts back, but he can't hide a small smile. [Name] places importance on clothes, on appearance. After all, he's a model, famous, well-known, and all. Baelor doesn't know anything about that. He has [Name], and that's enough for him. They met at a fashion show; the luxurious suits fit the man like a second skin as he walked the runway.
Baelor fell in love almost immediately. [Name] is a work of art. A wonderfully colorful bird, playing with fashion, style, and its body.
"I have to look perfect. You know the press will make a fool of me later. After every party or event we attend, they write how much they don't fit in with you and your world." [Name] finally ran down the stairs. The city lights streaming through the large windows seemed to reflect on the shimmering satin of his suit.
"You always look perfect," Baelor said almost immediately, studying his partner carefully.
[Name] shifted uncomfortably under his watchful gaze. "You're staring. Why? Is something wrong? I can go change if it's too…"
Baelor laughed. He put down the phone and stood, standing in front of the young man, kissing him on the lips. "You look wonderful, as always. Wait for me, I'll change, and we'll go."
[Name] blinks rapidly and only now takes a good look at the older man. Baelor is still in his pajama pants and t-shirt. "You did it again. We're not late at all." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at his lover, offended.
"Not yet, but I did it as a precaution." He smiles and pulls his partner closer. "You're beautiful, beautiful, gorgeous. Don't worry about what the gossip sites say."
[Name] snorts quietly. "Easy for you to say, you're the billionaire."
"Now you're the almost husband of a billionaire. Don't worry about what those people say. You always look great; you don't have to limit yourself in how you look. I love how you're such a colorful bird. Now sit down and wait."
[Name] smiles, kissing Baelor's cheek. His stubble scrapes against his skin, but he loves the feeling.
This text was NOT created using AI.Therefore, the text may contain linguistic, grammatical and typographical errors. English is not my first language. If you notice anything in the text, please let me know :)
daeron targaryen x male reader; Daeron didn't need to be present at Valarr's wedding feast, the presence of his beloved and the way the fireworks reflected in his eyes were enough for him.
Fireworks lit up the sky. Daeron felt as if the entire sky above the capital had been set on fire. The colorful, twinkling lights created something so incredible that Daeron couldn't even find the words to describe it.
"Your father will be furious with you." A warm body pressed against his side. Arms wrapped around Daeron's waist, head resting against his chest, close to his heart. A familiar scent enveloped him in the warm night. "That you're sitting here, alone with me, and not with your family, not celebrating."
Daeron buried his nose in the boy's hair, inhaling the familiar scent. He embraced him tightly, his hands wrapping around his shorter lover's waist, as if to pull him even closer.
"It's just Valarr's wedding," he said, his head against [Name's] head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
His lover chuckled. "It's the next throne's wedding, and you…"
"I'm exactly where I want to be." He finished for him, kissing the top of his head.
The boy purred. "I don't want your father to be angry with you again."
"I know, I know…" He said softly, inhaling his lover's scent again.
They stood on the balcony of Daeron's chambers, and before them the sky seemed to be on fire. From the large stone balcony, they could look out over the royal gardens where the wedding feast was taking place today, which, despite the late hour, wasn't even close to ending. Laughter, shouts, and music could be heard even on their balcony.
"It's so beautiful. As if the sky were on fire," [Name] said softly. "I've never known anything so beautiful. The prince must love Lady Kiera very much."
"Do you think so?" he asked, looking at the fireworks. They seemed endless. As one faded and disappeared, another appeared in the sky.
"Yes," [Name] said excitedly. "He set the sky on fire for her." Joy radiated from his voice; Daeron was sure [Name] was smiling. "Could you ask for anything better?"
"I don't think so," he replied after a moment. "They like each other, but it's a political marriage."
[Name] snorted. "You don't have a romantic streak in you."
Daeron said nothing, just smiled. He was almost certain his lover rolled his eyes. He slid one of his hands along the body in his arms; a moment later, his hand was on his lover's neck, his fingertips gently caressing the skin. The boy in his arms was warm, alive, and that was what mattered. He was with him on this balcony, in the castle. His father and other troubles could wait.
Valarr loved Kiera, Daeron was certain.
"You're right," he said a moment later. He felt [Name] lift her head and look at him. He looked down. Fireworks, colorful sparks, reflected in the boy's eyes, and the lights created a cortical glow on his face. "Valarr loves Kiera. He loved her the moment he saw her. Just as I loved you the moment I first saw you in this forest."
[Name] opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Daeron kissed him. It wasn't a passionate kiss, not a quick peck. Just a tender touch of lips. Everything he wanted to say, everything he felt.
"You know I love you, right?" Daeron whispered as he tore his mouth from [Name].
"I know." The boy replied in an equally whispered voice. "Just as I love you."
The fireworks seemed to slowly fade, the feast still going on. Daeron suspected the party would begin in earnest once the nannies took the children to bed. He had no desire to go there. He preferred to sit in his chambers with his lover. Like in some love ballad. Alone, on a balcony at night. A prince and a woodcutter's son.
"Daeron, have you ever seen fireflies?"
"Not here. There aren't any in the city, but there are in the gardens at Summerhall."
"I'll show them to you tomorrow. Whole… clouds of fireflies. You can see them best in the forest, at night. Maybe we'll see dragonflies by the stream too."
"Sounds wonderful. I can't wait."
This text was NOT created using AI.Therefore, the text may contain linguistic, grammatical and typographical errors. English is not my first language. If you notice anything in the text, please let me know :)
