Hello! So, few things to go over. Firstly, please always be reading the warning labels in my posts. This is an 18+ blog so there will be mature content! Keep this in mind a be mindful of what you read.
Also, I only do Female reader/Oc! I will also do gender neutral. I am a girl, and I just find this easier for me.
Always be respectful to others and mindful. Otherwise, you will be blocked or ban.
A personal goal I set my self is to post something at least two times a week. However, I wonât force myself to publish something that feels mediocre because Iâm going through writers block. That being said, hopefully I reach that goal; but I wonât always.
REQUESTS HAS REACHED ITS LIMIT!
WORK SCHEDULE THIS MONTH.
Hazbin Masterlist.
ASOIAF
Aerion Targaryen
Ormund Hightower
Hazbin Taglist
(To be added to tag-list comment on a post and ask!)
i don't have time to write a full fic for this yet but i'm thinking thoughts about ormund hightower x targtower!reader. she was sent off to ward in oldtown to accompany her little infant brother daeron. first being mentored by lord hobert, she was raised upon the faith and everything holy.
by the time lord hobert passed, her attentions had already been occupied by him. ormund was her second cousin, though that hardly mattered when you were a targaryen. her glances and stares were not as subtle as she thought them to be, nor were the touches she tried to disguise as mere bumps and brushes, her fingers lingering too long when passing him tomes, her hips grazing his when passing in a corridor that was too spacious to require such things. despite himself, her poorly hidden affections did not deter him. she was beautiful in the way valyrians always were: cunning and tempting. but lord ormund was a man of the faith, and she was his ward. if he were to forget his morals for a day, he still would not give in, for her blood was tainted, and not worth breeding with.
she, however, was not content with the way ormund (pretended to) ignore her. the very gods she prayed to had bestowed dreams upon her, dreams of a future with the only man she had ever desired. lord ormund would be her husband, one way or another. odd trinkets were slowly left behind: a new handkerchief with initials embroidered in emerald thread, a fresh vial of perfume that smelled like her, little things to make her love known obvious. but ormund never acknowledged them. he never acknowledged her aside from when duty required it with the upkeep of her lessons or prayers within the sept. it angered her, truly, that a man could be so devout to the gods that seemed to have less and less mercy as time passed. they often mocked her now; during feasts with other houses, the ladies all giggly and bashful, with their eyes pointed towards the man that was hers.
mayhaps a more blunt approach would prove to be what was needed. she had no need to steel her nerves, for surely ormund wouldn't deny her. in her dreams, her visions, ormund belonged to no one but her. he would be his. she merely had to make it happen.
dressed in a gown fit and cut in all the right places, she went ormund in his solar. only upon entering the chamber did she realize that he was not there. but her eyes, too sharp to miss any details when it came to the man she loved most, noticed a small scroll on his desk by the hearth. curiosity (and a bit of jealousy) peaked, and she crossed the floor to pick it up, and took note of the rose wax seal. the words were written in a hand that was unfamiliar to her, but signed off at the bottom, was the signature of a lady tyrell. rage boiled, quick and overwhelming, like dragonfire swallowing a city whole. she read the lines. again, and again. and the parchment is ripped into pieces in her hands with a shout. lady tyrell had no business writing to her ormund. she could never love him like she did, she could never care for him as she would, he would never belong to lady tyrell like he did to her.
her time was running out, but she would have lord ormund by force if she must.
Thinking about Defense Lawyer Aerion and Prosecutor ReaderâŠ
DefenseLawyerAerion! who works at his familyâs firm â Targaryen, with their motto being âWeâll win your case with fire and Blood.â
DefenseLawyerAerion! who is called Brightflame with a 90% win rate, and is one of the most skilled lawyers to go up against.
The only names he remembered and cares about are the favors he can cash in. So when you, a new Prosecutor for the people, beat him â he remembers the smile on your face.
ProsecutorReader! who made a mark for herself in beating Aerion Targaryen on their first case.
ProsecutorReader! who gets slammed by DefenseLawyerAerion! in the next case they went up against each other.
The two always kept things right at the line of professional in the court room. Glares and snark remarks always being reprimanded by the judge.
ProsecutorReader! who loses a case (that wasnât against Aerion) and gets drunk at a bar that night, feeling responsible for letting a criminal go.
DefenseLawyerAerion! who was walking to his usual bar, papers in suit case, ready for a late night session of review when he sees Reader slummed at the bar.
DefenseLawyerAerion! Who decides to get her a hotel for the night, and carries her, both their suit cases into the room.
ProsecutorReader! Who grabs his tie and yanks him onto the bed, on top of her.
DefenseLawyerAerion! Who musters all his strength and hurries to leave the room and get back home. Not knowing he left his suit case in his haste.
ProsecutorReader! Who wakes up at first thinking it was a dream and dying in embarrassment when she finds his suit case.
ProsecutorReader! Who when gives it back to DefenseLawyerAerion! Is trying her best to keep professional when all he is doing is trying to make her relive the feeling of his body on her with the deep looks heâs giving her.
Description: Ormund once had his chance with you, but at last things changed. Time changed and you along with it. Now both widowed you are brought together again â though even as man and wife only your bodies seem to agree.
Description: Ormund once had his chance with you, but at last things changed. Time changed and you along with it. Now both widowed you are brought together again â though even as man and wife only your bodies seem to agree.
Tags: scent kink, public sex-ish, p in v, riding/cowgirl, breeding kink, hate fucking (?), arranged marriage, widow reader and widower Ormund, second chance
Paring: Ormund Hightower X F!Reader
3.7K WC
This would be the death of you. Or so you thought.
Your ears had ringed against the words your father had just spoken. âYou will marry Lord Ormund Hightower.â He said it so casually. He didnât even look to you and just continued signing scrolls. Surely you should have expected it, and you did, you just never would have thought of him.
Ormund Hightower was a man devoted. At least those were the words spread about him. You knew him to be different. Back when you were younger you chided yourself for being so besotted by him. He charmed you, secretly pulled you for long walks in the privacy of gardens, and would push the hair on your crown so he could be âblessed by your faceâ. To then weeks later proclaim his marriage to Samantha Tarly. It was a slap.
You loved the man. Prayed to the seven for hours, learned as much as a septa, dressed most modest, and pranced with a grace made from the mother. None of it mattered. He didnât want you. He used you to get her. The woman you confided in, Sam, she was your friend, and then she married the man who caused a tear in your bones.
You declared then you hated them. Both could rot in the pit of a dragon's gut.
âHe already has a wife.â Even at your words your father still did not raise his head. âSamantha Hightower is dead.â
âSamantha Tarly is dead?â Mayhaps all those cruel wishes were heard. Mayhaps the stranger took revenge in the name of your anger.
âIn the labor bed. Now seeing as your own husband died, itâll be a fine match between the two of you.â
Ah. Your husband. The man who preferred to adventure with his squire rather than spend time with you. The man was declared dead by a heart attack, officially.
âYou wish to pair us because of our similar grief?â Your scoff finally got his glance. âI assure you; me and Lord Ormund are everything but a match.
Just look at us. While he is a âdevotedâ man to his faith, I never pray. While I like to dance, he is always furthest from the floor. He loved his wife, I couldnât care for my husband. He is a man respected, and I show more skin than a lady should ever.â
Your father's smile matched your own. âI had no idea you knew so much of your husband-to-be already.â He rested his quill into the jar of ink. âYou are right, you arenât suitable but I remember a time when you werenât so cold. A time you were more like your mother. Play that act again if you must.â
Cocky bastard, you bitterly thought.
No matter how much you protested against the union it would come to fruition. That much was clear when the man himself marched up the steps of your castle.
He wore green. Like he was off to war, and intended to conquer. However, you were quite convinced this would be a battle you will win.
He spoke your name in confidence. For the first time in years. You remember the flutters in your gut when he spoke it so long ago, it was dead now â you killed it or was it him?
âLord Hightower,â you greeted back. âSorry to hear about the wife.â Rather answering or giving thanks he fell quiet.
His eyes racked your frame, pleased. You wore a black dress, the color of mourning, it hugged your hips tightly. Ormund, while he appreciated the view of your waist, his mind filled with the sight of your chest. Your black attire did not cover the trail of skin showing from the hollow of your throat down to the smooth of your stomach. You have much changed since he last saw you, to that he will agree.
âDo not feel sorrow, brighter days greet us soon.â
âIâm in a sorrow filled mood, I confess.â And it had nothing to do with the death of her husband nor Ormundâs wife.
The rest of his time spent there was filled with the same bitter, distasteful, different you. You werenât the shy girl that would blush every time he complimented you. Now, your eyes rolled at whatever advancements he made. You no longer found every flirtation a scandal, but rather now sought to make others tremble under your pretty smile and watchful eye. No longer was the girl who loved him, now it was a cruel woman with the same face. Like a fool it made him seek you out more. A desperate need not only for your approval but for your breaking.
Officially he was courting you. However, with one look at the two of you and anyone would know it is a failing more than victory. Something he hated, but he had patience. A hunter must have a steady hand on the bow and know the perfect time to release its string.
âYou donât smile anymore.â Like those years ago, he managed to get you to the gardens. Only this time you sauntered with pride rather than secrecy.
You let go of the magnolia that hung from its stem. âOf course I do.â
âNot really,â his head shook in his denial. âYou smile with a plot in plan. When before, you smiled in joy.â
âWell, I confess I havenât been joyful as of recent times.â You didnât deny his first statement. Everyone had a plot.
âAh,â his finger snapped. âYou speak of your prior husband.â He couldnât control his smile. âI heard you had no love for him.â
Once again your pretty eyes rolled. âNeed I have love in order to mourn?â You asked him, and finally turned to fully face him. âIs care not enough?â
âMayhaps if you had care.â
âYou insult me.â
His neck rolled in a pop before his voice spoke back. âI have never insulted you.â
Your hand ached to reach out and slap him. âShould I remind you of what happened with Samantha Tarly â Hightower? That claim in itself is insulting.â The familiar rage quelled in you. If only the stranger took the man before you with that woman.
âHow is my marriage to her insulting?â His eyes searched your own ferocious ones.
âYou made me believe a lie, the same as her. You made me look a fool.â
âYou made yourself look the fool.â
This time you did let your palm hurl at him. Smacking down against his cheek his head forced to the side. The metal of your ring leaves a harsh bruise, with red drips forming from the cut made. âWhy are you here?â You seethed.
âBecause I intend to marry you.â He didnât look at you. His head remained turned.
You wanted to strike him again. And again, again, and again. If only. âGo home, Ormund. For I will never be your wife.â You gave him one last look. âYouâre unwanted here.â
With that you left.
Left him alone in the gardens you once so often snuck away to. With a stinging cheek that ached. Hesitantly his finger raised to the cut and brushed the blood away. His smile felt like madness.
Unwanted. You think him a liar when it is you.
He spoke to your father that night. He demanded his betrothal become public that week. That the courting comes to an end, and he shall finally have you as his wife.
Nights he spent awake haunted by the memory of you. Heâd lay with his wife with his sleep tainted by the thought of you. Samantha Hightower was nothing compared to you. She was the better choice on paper, but the night of his wedding to her he knew. He knew his mistake was choosing her. You were the one that got away â but not this time. This time he would fix his mistake.
Even now, when you change so much, he still desires you.
He could be patient, he told himself. He could wait and stalk the prey. But that line wore thin when you laughed with another, danced with another, smiled at another. Heâd rather be slapped again by your hand than watch another lord steal your attention. Though granted he had his own justice in mind at the memory of your ring striking him.
Your hair flew in the wind before the lord Lannister pulled you back against him. Disgraceful. Dancing so provocatively with another man on the night of your betrothal. You would need to be taught and bent into the woman befitting him. Obedient â like before.
The chair beneath the Lord Hightower scraped against the stone floor. Creating a screeching sound followed by the thud of his boots. He stalked up to you, his intended, and cut off your dance with the golden blonde. Filthy lion mutt, he bitterly thought.
He pushed in between the two of you, and twirled you into a dance of your own with him.
Annoyance flamed in you. Its fire burns hotter and hotter the longer Ormund hands hold you. âYou are becoming a nuisance,â You told him.
âYou wound me so deeply, my lady.â His voice gravelly.
âI am not your lady.â
âYou will be.â A fact that you hated to admit held truth. No matter how much you protest, the wedding will go off.
Your back turned against him, hitting against the chest of his leathers. âIn name only.â As if antagonizingly slow, Ormund leaned down. Your hair brushed against the bridge of his nose while he took in the scent of you. âMayhaps name only is all I need.â Ridges rose along your skin in the path of his breath. He was so close. His hands rocked your hips with the pitch of the violins.
In an instant, while still in his arms, your waist twisted. Your arms wrapped around his neck, locking where his hair brushed his skin.
âItâs all you could handle.â You too whispered, like in worship to him. His throat tightened. âYour tongue is sinful.â
âYes, it is.â The violins stopped, and with the music gone you walked away, back to the feast.
The wedding could not come sooner. When your father shook Ormund's hand with the toast to your and Ormund's future wedding bells were being planned that night. It all gave you a headache.
For every single thing workers would come to you with every question about the wedding. What colors should be the napkins, where should lords and ladies sit, what fabrics should be used for your wedding gown. Your lack of care was soon noted by all. âAsk my father or my intended. This is their plot after all.â Would be all youâd say.
And so, it all led to this moment. Your wedding. Your second wedding. This one would be harder to kill off than the first. The reality of it all settled the moment you waited outside the doors of the starry sept.
You will be bound together, forever.
Once you would leap for joy, now all you could think is how you are walking down an aisle filling the role of your treacherous best friend. You would never be the perfect Samantha Tarly. Surly Ormund knew that, but if he did then why. Why did he ask for your hand? This won't end, it will be dragged on. Unwanted and unsatisfied is all that would become the two of you.
âAre you ready, My lady?â
No.
âYes.â
Your dress train ran against the sept floor. Flowers laid out in your path, and at the end of the line stood him. Ormund Hightower. Every smile, every private conversation, every tear shed all came rushing to you.
By your side was your father. He walked you down, each step in sync with your own.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Your heels clicked against the floor, a contrast against the watching silence. Eventually your steps fell silent, you were at the end of the line. Ormund shook your fathers hand and nodded before offering up his arm to you.
You hesitated. You thought of not grabbing him, and instead running out. It would not be the first time for a bride to run. However the longer you hesitated the more weakness was shown to him.
So you took in. Your arm locked with his, while the other rested over your conjoined arms. And turned to face the high septon together. Walking up the stairs, side by side. In union.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three steps.
âYou may cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection.â
Ridiculous, you thought. If I need protecting, it is from him, whom I should shield myself from.
Nevertheless, his cloak fell from his shoulder and the green shroud took in his hands before laying bare on your shoulders. It was warm from the heat of him.
The white ribbon in the Septonâs hands was next.
Together Ormund raised both your hands to him, letting the ribbon to wrap and surround yourselves. Sealing you together.
âLet it be known these two lords and ladies are both one heart, one flesh, one soul. Curse be he who would seek to tear them apart.â
The ribbon fell. It was done.
You turned to face your now husband. Encased in his colors, in the starry sept of old town, under his watchful gaze.
He looked handsome. It felt sickening; the desire in your belly.
His hand raised to your cheek, tracing, before pushing into your hair and using his other hand to pull you closer.
âWith this kiss,â He whispered along your lips. To then push against you, at long last tasting you. He scorned the air he needed for tearing you apart â you would never admit to the guilt of feeling the same. âI pledge my love.â Claps surrounded you both.
âIâll ruin you, husband.â You told him, and shamefully let him kiss you once again.
Thus your marriage to Lord Ormund Hightower began.
Your honeymoon wasnât so loving. In fact the two of you drove the other mad, with look and sneering remarks. Neither of you wanted to back down. There was only one thing that brung you together every day.
Ormund needed an heir.
Many would describe your days of marriage to be passionate.
Not loving, not careful, not even graceful. It was in the kindest word passionate.
However, if you were to ask a woman or man less faithful they would call it savage. Every night your bodies would collide, tear at the other.
You both called it the marital duty. A lie. It was a savage need that tied the bind between the two of you.
The room was filled. Servants lined to the side of the long table, one end seated you, and the other your lord husband.
You tried to ignore him, truly you did. However in that endeavor you failed. His knife continuously screeched against his plate. It would stop, then start again the moment you slightly relax.
Screech.
Screech.
Screech.
Screech. Screech. Screech. Screech.
âENOUGH!â
For a moment you thanked the woman who spoke out. For one moment, until you realized it was you. You lost your edge, and brought a satisfied smirk to his face.
âPardon me?â He questioned.
With a sigh heavy on your shoulders. âMust you constantly irritate me?â
âWell my apologies for having my existence be an annoyance for you.â
âYou should be sorrowful.â
âAnd you should be more loving.â
Your cup of wine slammed against the oak table. âI would have been better off with my first husband.â
His chair groaned against the floor as he pushed back and stood tall. You yourself followed the gesture. His footsteps sounded in the hall.
He crowded you, not caring for the on lookers. His hand seized your arm, as if staking control over you. âI will not hear of these atrocities.â
âYou should have married a silent woman then.â Your voice rasped. Feeling a heat striking your core, he was close â too close.
âI should have, instead my desire laid and you and my mind torments me for nothing has changed.â
Before a quick witted reply could bite back at him he silenced you with a wanton kiss. Nothing holy in the way his arm snaked around you, and pulled you flush against him.
Admittedly you return his enthusiasm.
Your hands curled his hair, and pulled. Hard. Pulling a lewd groan from him as well.
It was at this moment some servants realized what was happening. While others remained in shock. None expected this from their faithful lord.
You had always managed to make him wither in his resolve.
The hand on your arm fell and instead found use in pulling your skirts up. His lips burned down the hollow of your throat, biting every now and then.
Moans flowed from the two of you, and with a shocking gasp he lifted you onto the table. His hand feels the arch that lies in your spine.
At the ripping of your corset, men and women hurried to leave the hall. Rushing out and closing the large doors of Hightower behind them.
âWhy must you wear me down so?â His question was muffled with his lips pressed against the plush of your lips.
âBecause I want you to ache,â you confessed. âJust like I do.â
Your body trembled against his warm hand that grazed your cunt. His ring is a cool contrast.
âOrmund,â your chest rose and fell in a broken whine. âTouch me.â
âWhat a whorish thing to say, my wife.â But he did not deny you. He never could. His nose brushed behind the shell of your ear, and you could hear him breathe you in.
A deep breath taken, âyou smell divine.â Soft kisses pressed to your skin. Until he reached to your chest, more exposed than ever with your loosened corset.
A green cloth was found in between your tits, it was the blow to Ormundâs stomach. His hand plucked it from you, silently staring at it â only the sounds of both your labor breathing heard, before pushing it against his nose and taking a deep breath.
His cock strained in his trousers.
âYou are a vixen sent to ruin me.â
âAnd you are a chain that weakens me.â
The rest of your clothes fell off hurriedly after that. His doublet, your corset, his shirt, your dress, his trousers.
Surprise encased him when your hands pushed him back, sending him into the chair you once took hold. Willingly he fell and watched you.
Slowly your foot raised and trailed down his carved chest, stopping at the cock that laid harder than ever.
âMy, Ormund Hightower, you look so desperate to please me.â And he was. He took your foot, glazing kisses until you shook him away.
Your arms pushed you up while your knees bent around him on his chair. Trapping him under you, though he would say he is a willing captive.
Your arms wrapped around his head once again and pulled his eyes straight to your own rather than letting him to boldly stare at the tits on your chest.
Leaning down you whispered in his ear, âSo please me.â Before nipping the shell.
His rough hands pulled at the flesh of thighs and waist. âYes, my lady.â His fingers brushed against your folds, circling them across your cunt. An unwilling moan left you, it was a song to Ormundâs ears. As much as you claimed to hate him, you were falling apart on him. It was his fingers that caused such delicious sounds from your mouth â if a septa were to hear you now sheâd fall faint.
âHurry it up.â
âSo demanding, my wife.â
He gripped his cock, pumping it once, twice, before aligning himself to you. âPlead for me,â He whispered. His tip rubbed against your folds, dragging over your peal, and slightly falling into you before doing it again. The longer it went on, the more your desire grew.
For one moment you thought of giving him what he wanted, however, he did not marry a weak willed woman. âIf you donât do your duty and give an heir to me, shame will be your only ally in the future.â You pushed his hand away, and wrapped your own around him in his place âNow I will take what is mine, what is owed.â
Slowly you sank down upon him. He held no protests. Only a lewd groan left his mouth. âGods be good,â he muttered in a broken voice. âYouâre so warm.â
He filled you so right every time. Your body flushed red at the familiar stretch. Mayhaps this was the only good thing to come from your marriage, the marital duty.
You pushed yourself on him. Your hand gripped his shoulder, while the other used his thigh for balance. Rolling your hips like a whore in flea bottom, pushing up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down.
Ormund moaned your name in aching need.
Your teats hardened into pebbles, which drew his mouth to them. Mouth sucking one, flicking his tongue across it, while his hand held the other, flicking and twisting the nipple.
Your peak grew closer and faster. Every combined moan, every thrust, every flick, bringed you nearer.
Ormund also shared that rising finish. His hands fell from your tit and went between the two of you. His finger finding your pearl and lashing on it, slapping, pulling, circling. Each pass causes a louder moan and another step to the end.
âDo it,â his voice rasped. âCum on my cock. This pussy is begging for my seed to take.â
Your warm cunt tightened around him, sucking him dry until he went over the ledge with you. He came with a blaring cry, his seed filling you.
And slowly the high came to an end. He softened in you, while your chest heaved finding your breath. Your eyes felt heavy, and his fingers soaked in your juices raised to his nose and he breathed it, you, in â before sucking them dry.
âI hate you,â Your mumble had no weight. The lie was a black sheep.
âThe more I spend with you, the more I fall for every uncharted part of you.â His confession stabbed you through your broken heart. Like stitches tightening a weeping wound close.
Should I edit my âUnwantedâ Ormund fic? Currently it is at 3.7k words and unedited. I feel like itâs fine to release now but is it best to just spend more time to do it?
robert franklin, aerion targaryen, & f!reader
đïž series masterlist / moodboard
-> aerion makes his presence more known, along with his developing interest in youâ mere hours before you find out the reason for bobby's very sudden absence in your life.
The library is creating its own symphony as usual. With the subtle buzz of fluorescent lighting, the sound of pencil on paper and typing, pages being flipped through. Itâs at the heart of one of the newer buildings, full of sprawling hallways that feel too bright and empty, reeking of cheap antibacterial you can buy by the gallon and thousands of books full of yellowed paper hidden between beaten hard or soft covers. All while your rough draft sits in front of you. It mocks you as it lays on top of the smooth desk, covered in lead and eraser marks that have eaten away at the paper.
You rub your face. Your fingers swipe under your eyes, like you believe you can physically remove the exhaustion off of your features and toss it into the bin along with your mess of crumpled sticky notes.
Youâve written the same line over and over. Youâve used a different syntax each time, playing with the phrasing and putting your all into one odd sentence that anyone would most likely overlook and leave in. This is burnout, you realize. This is a mix of no rest, high anxiety, and cheap dining hall coffee that could very well send you into cardiac arrest if it goes on for another two days.Â
Days. You also realize havenât seen Bobby in days.
Youâre aware that heâs just as frustrated as you are lately, you know heâs slowly but surely cracking under academic pressure like you. Filming sessions for his projects that run late, hours of editing, make-or-break exams. There hasnât been much time for party hopping or getting high at his place until you canât keep your hands off of one another ⊠but not even a check-in? He hasnât bothered to see where youâve been, let alone how you are. He hasnât offered to bring you more caffeine or give up a few minutes of his company so you have someone to lean into while you write away. Nothing.
Itâs unlike himâ
But footsteps approach, a shadow looms over the table youâve taken over. Youâre so sure itâs Bobby until that cold, cunning accent meets your ears instead of his smooth and relaxed drawl.Â
âYou look like youâre going to kill someone.â
You purse your lips. Youâre visibly weighing your options, youâre trying to decide if engaging with Aerion when youâre already having an ugly day is the smartest decision. He seems to notice your trepidation and clearly takes offense to it, if youâre reading the furrow in his brow correctly. You sigh, then you turn to face him fully and swing your arm over the back of your chair as you peer up at him through your lashes.
He looks exactly how a professorâs son with old money would. Expensive shoes, slacks, a black sweater that may very well be around as much money as your monthly expenses combined. The light reflects off of a silver chain that dips below his dark knitwear.
The way he immediately meets your eyes almost makes you flinch.
âMost likely myself,â you breathe out. Your gaze travels over his features and your own brows pinch together at his calculating silence ⊠and the suggestion of a grin that he seems to swallow down before it can grow, but you still catch it.
âDid you need something?â Â
âNo.â
He seems like he canât be bothered, and it takes everything in you to not remind him that he was the one who kickstarted this unnecessary interaction. His lips part once more, and you follow the motion. They move gracefully as he speaks, âWell, actuallyâ my cousin says youâre with that boy everyone has been going on about ... which is rather intriguing considering you ran into me the other day.âÂ
âBobby and I arenâtââ You stop yourself, because why does it matter? Why does Aerion of all people need to know the specifics of your current entanglement? You shake your head, âI didnât run into you. You were ⊠you were in my way.âÂ
âIâm not wasting my breath arguing over your clumsiness of all things,â Aerion more or less snarls, sneering down at you but leaning closer to examine you all in the same breath. One hand moves to rest on the desk, while the other holds the back of your chair. His knuckles strain as his grip tightens and he threatens to crowd your space, âBobbyâ I donât really care what he is to you, all I know is that our resemblance has become quite a nuisance for me.âÂ
âI didnât think the chatter would be on your radar if Iâm being honest.â You murmur, unable to pull your gaze away from him.Â
âItâs quite difficult to ignore.â
He sounds bored again.Â
âYeah,â you agree softly, but Aerion isnât fooled. Thereâs a gleam in your eye and the next string of words out of your mouth is, âIâm sure itâs very hard with an ego like yours.â
At that, Aerion studies you. He pulls back just enough to fully clock the mirth hidden below your fatigue. His gaze takes in the tired pout of your lips, only to flicker back up to your eyes in a split second. You canât decide if heâs checking you out or if heâs trying to come across as intimidating, but you truthfully donât care all that much.Â
âYouâre enjoying this,â he concludes, voice low and not as mean as youâre expecting.Â
âI can promise you that Iâm not,â you sigh, turning back to your work despite him looming over you. Enough is enough. You have something worth more than youâre fuck-buddy becoming a hindrance in the campus nepo babyâs life to worry about. You huff with subdued annoyance that Aerion cannot believe he finds charming, âYouâre distracting me from my writing.âÂ
Aerion reaches over you, and you turn your head to look at him once more. The curve of his jaw, the perpetual tension in his face, the storm thatâs brewing in his eyes even in mundane moments. Heâs insane, you fear. However he takes in the mess of words youâve created. He picks up your pencil, his cologne invading your senses and making you sigh quietly to yourself. Itâs spicyâ a mix of leather and cloves and cardamom. He taps the pencil over a line, then he erases, and then he scribbles in his own perfectly practiced handwriting.Â
The crucial sentence flows into its surroundings now. Itâs no longer clunky or awkwardly placed out of necessity. All it took was a pair of fresh eyes that arenât burning from being open for so long, and the mind of someone that you havenât quite formed an opinion on yet.Â
He mutters one last vague insult that blurs the lines between teasing and hurtful before removing himself from your impromptu work station entirely, âHm ⊠Youâll at least get a passing grade now, I hope.âÂ
Then heâs walking in the direction he came from, his hands in his pockets and his stride purposefulâ you hate him, and the way you can still smell his cologne for the rest of your cursed time in the library.Â
You're buzzing when you finish your work.
It's a short walk to Bobby's apartment, one that youâve taken many times. Showing up announced is nothing new. If Bobby doesnât want to reach out, then youâll do what youâve always done. Appear and annoy him a little until he gives you that grin that makes your heart flutter in your chest. Because you just have to see him. You have to tell him everything. Youâll start with how elated you are over wrapping up your draft and end with each detail about Aerion cornering you in the library.
Maybe heâll be jealous, maybe heâll pin you down and nestle himself between your thighs and you can put a label on whatever this little game you two have been playing is. Your nervous habits bubble to the surface as you wait for him to get to the door. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, you pull your jacket around your self a bit tighter.
And when it opens, the first person you see isnât Bobby.
Noâ Itâs Kathrine Taylor, and sheâs as irritatingly beautiful as ever.
You notice when Bobby does come to the door, her hand reaches for his forearm. Sheâs clinging to him in a way that tells you a lot has happened within the last five days, and youâre just there. Youâre on the outside, looking in on something that you mistakenly thought was yours after months of unspoken devotion, with wide eyes and parted lips. You hear him say your name except it doesnât feel real. Not at all.
His eyes are wide as if the absurdity of the moment is shocking him also. He doesnât know what his grand plan was aside from being selfish, really. But none of it seems worth it now as he watches the gears turn in your head and sees your already tired features melt with melancholy.
Youâre sure youâre delirious after the day youâve had, but you realize Kat is perfect for Bobby now that youâre looking directly at them. They have similar majors, they have mutual friends, they hang out in the same spots around campus. And now sheâs in his space. You're sure she's been sitting on his bed, the spot where you review your notes together and study ⊠amongst many other things. Sheâs always been around, and maybe he was too caught up dealing with you to take the time to consider her.
The thought makes your heart sink. All it took was a weekâ less than a weekâ apart to see that thereâs better out there, and that itâs been right in front of him for weeks. You press your face into your scarf. Youâre shrinking in on yourself and Bobby is watching. Watching and unable to say something because his throat wonât stop constricting.
He notes how your usually playful eyes go sullen as it dawns on you.
You force yourself to speak.
âI was just seeing if youâre alive. Thatâs all.â
You donât have the right to be angry, you know that better than anyone. Not when he never belonged to you fully. Yet the bitterness on your tongue and the fury that blooms within you doesnât want to listen to reason. All of your late nights and mornings together feel like nothing but borrowed time and stolen moments youâll never get back. You know that he knows. He knows that you had a promise beyond words, and now itâs torn to shreds, leaving behind the very seams that were holding it together.
Robert Franklin became the worst man you know within a matter of two minutes, and thereâs nothing you can do about it.
âYou told me you two werenât dating.â
Kat is the first to speak after you leave.
âWeâre notââ Bobby says quickly. Itâs clipped but oddly quiet.
âThen you should tell her to stop acting like sheâs your girlfriend if you want to keep having your fun.â
Sheâs not saying it to be rude. Itâs more of an observation about your dynamic that he doesnât quite appreciate regardless of how true it may be. Yet he doesnât utter something in your defense or his, and he doesnât shake her off of his arm because her touch suddenly feels strange either. Thereâs anxiety coursing through his veins, it keeps him stuck in one spot and nauseates him for more than just a fleeting moment.
He palesâ he doesnât expect her to understand how bad heâs just fucked up. He canât explain that even if youâre not together, itâs been you and him for months. Since the day you two met at orientation, completely lost and wandering around the school because you both decided to stray away from your original group.
Boundaries are a tricky thing. You both should have set more for yourselves, but he doesnât regret a single moment of it even if itâs amounted to this nightmare he's constructed. Not one touch, not one kiss, not one sleepy whisper. And he doesnât know that someone already has their eyes on you. He doesnât know that someone has already started to lay the groundwork at the right place and time.
He simply stands there, blissfully unaware that the man heâs been so thoroughly annoyed by already has his claws sinking in to you. He lets out a stuttering breath while you walk away with an air of indifference that heâs not used to seeing or feelingâ
Summary: You arrive at Summerhall with Rhaefyre⊠and Aerion caught within her claws. Or are you caught in his?
Word Count: 5.7K
Warnings: no use of y/n, swearing, canon divergence, lowkey violent behaviour, Aerion lol (kinda ooc but he still mean asf), typical GOT-verse things, Reader is described with Silver hair and purple eyes but nothing else specific, sprinkles of fluff and angst and a sprinkle of smut at the end, there will be SMUT in future parts!
Author's Note: MINORS DNI!!! Hi lovelies!! this blog is new so please be kind lol I havenât written any fics in a long time but this idea was so stuck in my head. any comments, reblogs and feedback are appreciated, thank u! lmk what you guys think of part 2 <3
Part 1 , Part 2
âThatâs not fair!â Egg shouted through his pouty lips. âAerionâs going to ruin it!âÂ
The young prince was thoroughly stressed, with frustration etched onto his childish face. And you could not help but fail at suppressing your light laugh. He had returned to Summerhall with his large friend, The Hedge Knight who he squired for, only this morning.Â
âI want to see the Ladyâs dragon! If Aerion stays, heâs going to try and shove me in front of it with a few sheep so it mistakes me for a sheep and EATS ME TOO!â Little Aegon was howling at his father, pleading to send his cruel older brother back to Kingâs Landing so he could meet your dragon in peace and with utmost safety.Â
You had come to learn that Aerion âBrightflameâ Targaryen, was a mad menace amongst his family. The arrogant, entitled young man was continuously attempting to provoke you after what you had put him through at your initial meeting. It was clear to you that whilst he had a cruel and vain nature, his behaviour towards you must have stemmed from some feelings of inadequacy. You also knew that your refusal to yield before him, only spurred his rage on which you took slight satisfaction from knowing you were also getting under his own skin.  Â
Maekar was beyond his limits, after years of herding his unruly flock of children. He was tired. So tired and lonesome. And itching to keep his disorderly children contempt so that he may find some peace for himself. And it was going well⊠until you dropped his second eldest son into the gardens of Summerhall by the foot of Rhaefyre.Â
Out of all the Houses in the Kingdom, of course the mysterious silver-haired lady and her dragon showed up to his home first. Fifty-six years of extinction and the first Dragon to be alive, swoops down near the grounds of Summerhall with one of his fuming sons caught between its sharp, gigantic, white claws.
You were having a marvelous time, you admit. Seeing the fear and chaos that flew around you and your dragon, did elevate your internal pedestal. You couldnât help but enjoy the power that came with your dear Rhaefyre and your pure Valyrian blood.
A few days had passed since you met Aerion and dropped him into his home gardens. The memory of his vexed shouts echoing through your memories. Of course, you werenât going to kill a Targaryen princeling you had just met, you had authority and power to inflict. To ensure the stability of House Alaerys. To ensure that your House does not die with you. To ensure that Dragonâs once roamed this world again. To have a home. Â
âDoes this satisfy you for âreal enoughâ, My Prince?â Your taunting flowed through the winds as Aerionâs shouts bursted out like a shipâs cannons.Â
âPUT ME DOWN YOU BASTARD! FUCKING NOW!!!â He was thrashing and wriggling between Rhaeyfyreâs large, sharp, white claws. His strong arms held tightly at Rhaefyreâs claws as he looked down at the soil of Westeros from the height above.Â
This was incredibly amusing. You couldnât help but giggle along the ride to Summerhall. What a sight this would be to those already on the castle grounds. What an enjoyable entrance for you to make!Â
âPlease!â Aerion shouted, frustration and something along the lines of embarrassment bubbling up his throat.Â
âOnce you are well reassured that I am in fact, no witch and that I possess the only living Dragon with the roots of Old Valyria in my blood, then we shall return to your palace.â Your voice was firm but teasing and it was driving his outrage like nothing else. Rhaefyre circled the grounds of Summerhall four times after that.Â
You sat pleased on your great She-Dragon with a swirl of emotions running around your chest. Ignoring the curses which the Targaryen Prince spewed towards you, it was a rather nice evening-fall. The sun was setting over The Red Mountains near the palace grounds and the warmth of it was refreshing. Summerhall was quite a beautiful place. At least, from the outside you assumed so. Floralâs bloomed within the surrounding gardens and water fountains and ponds were scattered around the property.Â
âAlright!â Aerion huffed out, enraged and tired from everything that occurred within the past few hours, finally gave in. âI will introduce you to my family, Lady Alaerys!âÂ
âPykÄs (Let go/Release)!â The Valyrian word, softly spoken from your plush lips, brought relief to Aerionâs struggling body before panic quickly rushed over him. Rhaefyre was still too high from the ground. Before he could rectify anything, Rhaefyreâs large claws loosened their grip around him. He had attempted to cling on, however the sheer force of Rhaefyreâs flight had him quickly stumbling down through the air straight towards the ground.
You werenât stupid. It just seemed as if this rude, arrogant Prince was in need of a reality check. It is laughable that this Dragonless Prince dared to insight his entitlement over you.Â
Your Father has taught you to be strong. He had taught you that you would be able to grow yourself and resurrect House Alaerys into something mighty and utterly compelling. Mayhaps not in the same manner as House Alaerys was before The Doom, but certainly exceeding the majority of the Houses in Westeros. But, you needed The Crownâs aid for that. And The Crown needed you too. You just needed to express your potential in a somewhat less violent and hostile way than you had heard of King Aegon âThe Conquerorâ and his Queens. You were one with Rhaefyre, not three with three dragons. There was only so much you could do with no formal title in Westeros, yet.Â
So, Rhaefyre was above a small pond in the gardens of Summerhall when you made the command and Aerionâs yells rang through your ears.Â
Aerionâs body was enveloped by the cool waters with a colossal splash that shot water droplets in all directions. Spent and exhausted, he hauled himself out of the pond. He was groaning in pain as his body ached from the movements. He was drenched, dripping everywhere with water running down him and through his soaked clothing.Â
He screamed your name, lividness consuming him as he limped through the once peaceful gardens. He saw Rhaefyre land and perch on the expanse of grass nearby. He watched as you elegantly slid down your She-Dragonâs shimmering wing and stroked her scales, muttering something that he couldnât hear before you dropped your bags and began to walk in his direction.
He was storming over to you, red faced, drenched and breathing harshly.Â
âDid you enjoy the ride?â The question rang through the air amongst the sloshing of his wet steps and heavy breaths. You approached him with a small grin, Rhaefyre now far back in the distance from you with her attention turned to the trip of goats residing near the Red Mountains.Â
Even after the treachery which he had endured from you, you were still smiling lightly. Silver hair flowing with the evening breeze, skin radiating under the golden glow of the sun setting, lilac eyes darkening to match his lavender ones, and a certain gracefulness with your body language. Something dark, destructive and desirable stirred within him. Who the fuck does she think she is?
You awaited his response, lips in a slight tilt as his visible outrage.
Unexpectedly, Aerion surged forward. Despite his injuries, he was still incredibly fast. Gripping your wrists with his large hands and pushing you back into the nearest wall of the Castle which extended around, blocking Rhaefyreâs vision of you. A choked gasp escaped you as the Targaryen Prince caught you within his strong grasp. The strength he exuded, muscular arms powering over your smaller form, as your back hit the stone wall was nearly enough for you to forget where you were.Â
âDo not,â he seethed through pointed teeth, his tight grip crushing you further against the wall with your own arms. Your elbows were bent and your wrists were being roughly pushed against your heaving chest. âDo not ever do that again! Putting a Prince of the Realm in harmâs way is treason.â His arms flexed as he spoke, his body was feeling heavier on yours as his wrath fuelled him further into you. His words spat at you like flames. âPlay like that again and I will take your pretty little Valyrian head myself, Lady Alaerys. Learn your place here or I will teach you.âÂ
You inhaled sharply, heart jittering in anticipation. You didnât yet know what he was capable of right now. His lavender eyes were set alight with fury.Â
âOne word,â you muttered, chest rapidly rising and falling against your arms and Aerionâs weight. âOne High Valyrian word and Rhaefyre will come and turn you to ashes to protect me. Threaten me and you threaten her also. She will not take kindly to anything happening to me.âÂ
His hard grip loosened slightly at this. The rest of his wet clothes were starting to seep onto your own due to the close proximity of his body nearly flush against yours. The strength and heat radiating off him mimicked your own Dragon and it was becoming too much.Â
At his loosened grip, you raised your leg and your boot went straight into his shin, effectively kicking him away from you. He groaned and grunted as the pain hit him, releasing your wrists from his hold, nearly folding over until he steadied his stance. The corners of his lips quirked up and low chuckled left his mouth. His tongue dragged along his inner cheek, then darted out across his lips, slowly swiping across his lower lip. His silver wet hair dripped down his forehead and he swiped some drops away with his damp doublet sleeve. His lavender gaze focused on you, burning with flames. He breathed deeply, torso expanding with each breath as his soaked clothing clung tightly to his form.
âYou need to be humbled.â You explained with venom laced between your teeth, rubbing your sore wrists, in an attempt to sooth them. âToo much fire and not enough Dragon in you.â
Since then, you have been staying in Summerhall. The poor staff were petrified once they saw Rhaefyre on the grounds and over these few days, you had met Aerionâs Father, Prince Maekar, his brothers and sisters and even the Heir to the Iron Throne.Â
Prince Baelor was evermost kind, yet he remained apprehensive which you ultimately understood. You assured him that you were only here to raise your great ancient house back up. A high and noble place in court is what you wanted for now. And a property where you can live comfortably with Rhaefyre. However, you can not receive in this world without giving too. You offered yourself and your Dragon to aid any battles or political matters in the name of The Crown. You swore fealty to The Crown and were now a guest at Summerhall until your own future home was to be established, after much debate.Â
You offered coin to the Iron Throne Heir and his brother to help pay for your stay at Summerhall which Baelor politely refused, expressing his appreciation for that to be of your concern. Honestly, you had two pouches of gold dragons and silver stags filled to the brim with the circular metals, stashed away in the same satchel that you stored your dragon eggs in.Â
They couldnât have Rhaefyre in the capital so suddenly without official announcements first. So you were to stay here until the Kingâs Small Council prepared some arrangements for you⊠they couldnât really say no to a Valyrian girl and her living Dragon. They needed you. They needed Rhaefyre. Having you there with Rhaefyre benefitted the Targaryenâs, this you knew well and werenât ignorant to. Everybody was playing to get what they wanted.Â
You knew why they were keeping you there and being a âguestâ was a kinder word for it. Baelor assured that he had no plans to discourage your wishes of residing in Westeros, yet he wanted you to remain in sight, with his family and away from plenties of the smallfolk. You were told that the King was sick and dying and that is why he did not come to Summerhall with his sons. But the King still wanted to meet you and your darling She-Dragon. After the public announcements are made, of course. Baelor appeared for a day and then disappeared back to Kingâs Landing.Â
Egg was still moaning about not wanting to meet Rhaefyre with Aerion near.Â
âNobody is feeding anybody to Rhaefyre.â Your lilac eyes narrowed towards Aerion as he sat, opposite of you, across the dining table. He had boredom plastered on his Valyrian features and you fought the urge to roll your eyes before you faced his younger brother next to you. His stubbly silver-haired head was reflecting the candlelight. Youâd have to ask him why he wished to be rid of his Valyrian hair. âIâll introduce you after dinner if your Father allows it, Egg.â
Maekar paused the movement of his knife and fork scraping across the fine plate. He raised his brows. âIf he must.â He straightened himself, posture tight as he loomed over the head seat of the table before proceeding to announce. âNow, this goes for all of you, my children. Do not step a single fucking foot near Lady Alaerysâ Dragon without her present. Do you hear me?â
To approach a dragon without its rider was a near death sentence. As magnificent and loyal as Rhaefyre was to you, she was still wild and unpredictable around others like every Dragon can be. Or at least, thatâs what you were told by your Father. And it seems that knowledge was well known as Maekar ordered his children not to go near your dragon, unless they were with you.Â
A murmur of excited responses rippled through the dining hall from the younger children. Aerion turned, leaning down to his youngest sister beside him and whispered. âMaybe the Dragon will eat you first because your name is like hers.âÂ
Rhae, the youngest Princess, panted and let a small shriek fill the room as she shoved her small arms onto her larger brother in an attempt to push him away. Aerion barely shifted.Â
âAerion, enough!â Maekarâs raspy voice commanded. âOr youâre coming back to the Red Keep with me, boy!âÂ
Aerion sighed. He did not wish to go back to Kingâs Landing now. Perhaps a few days ago, but now? He didnât want to even consider having you out of his reach. Purely tactical, he reassured himself. Somebody had to keep a watch on you. You could betray his Family and the Realm at any time!
âMy apologies, Father.â Aerion tucked his head back onto the high back of the dining chair, his eyes dancing around the sight before him. Your silver hair was braided up, leaving your jaw and neck bare and the new dress which adored your figure was rich and deep with red and black. The neckline dipped slightly into your cleavage but he did not stop himself from staring. The colours of His House. The last dragonrider of an ancient Valyrian House, wearing his colours.Â
Your lilac irises caught his lavender ones and the tip of his tongue swept across his lips like a serpent. Like he was tasting the air. Like he was trying to taste you.Â
âLady Alaerys,â Daellaâs sweet voice interrupted your thoughts. âWhat was it like in Asshai?â
âWell, I was the only babe ever born there. Living in hiding was easy until Rhaefyre grew bigger. The Shadow Lands are exactly as they seem. Lawless and filled with many magics, chaos and somewhat scary at times. I had never been around children until you and your siblings, My Princess.â Addressing the Princess, you looked towards her younger siblings too, Egg and Rhae. A smile graced your lips.Â
There were still lots which Baelor and Maekar did not know about you. Of course, you enlightened them with the vague story. They still did not know that you had three dragon eggs within your possession or the extent of the full prophecy which your ancestor dreamt of. There were certain things you had to keep close to you, for your own self preservation. You were still unsure whether to fully trust these dragonless dragonlords or not.Â
But sitting here, amongst this dysfunctional family, this was the first time in your life where you were surrounded by an actual family and you didnât know any difference. You never knew what it was like to have siblings, to grow up with someone around your age. You never interacted with children until these past days at Summerhall.Â
The Princess listened to you, purple eyes growing wide with your words. âAre there sweet cakes over there at least?âÂ
âAlways about the cakes.â Egg huffed at his older sister as he stuck his fork into the cooked vegetables on the sharing platter in the middle of the table.
âOnly if you find the right person to whip some up for you.â You grinned at the older Princess.
âAnd who was that for you?â Aerion interjected, his stare heavy on you. Unsettling.Â
âMy late Father,â exhaling calmly, your gaze lifted to meet him. He was watching you. Waiting. Looking for a point to crack between. A point of weakness. A point where he could get under your skin, just where you were consistently getting under his. âMy Mother taught him before I was born⊠It was a family recipe.â
As if Daeron felt you trying to strongly, not falter in front of his cruel brother as you spoke about your deceased parents, he joined the conversation. âOur Mother used to bake us sweet treats from Dorne. She was Dornish.â
Daeron went on to swallow his cup of wine, whole. âIf it wasnât a day for Dornish treats then it was sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a midnight feast in the gardens.â
The mention of Prince Maekarâs dead wife and the childrenâs Mother, made the table grow silent. Maekar and his children, visibly not over the loss, all lowered their heads or shifted anxiously. Grief was a strange thing, but Aerion kept his sight steady on you.Â
Your expression softened. âIâm sure that you all miss her dearly.â
âHow would you know?â Aerion scoffed, rolling his shoulders casually as he played with the slab of bloody steak on his plate with his knife. âYou cannot miss something you never had.âÂ
SMACK!
Before you even had time to react, Maekarâs hand met the polished wooden table in a fist with a loud thud, shocking everyone at the table..Â
âAerion, I have fucking had enough of your behaviour! She is of Old Valyria and has a bloody Dragon! And dragon or not, you will respect and show honour to Lady Alaerys. Unless you suddenly raise The Black Dread from the dead to claim him yourself, then we can dismiss your fucking manners!â
Biting your lip, you now lowered your own head.Â
Maekarâs defence of you made something swell within your chest despite the beration of his son. The latter was well needed and supposedly an ongoing concern that has only grown in recent years, you had gathered. Maekarâs gaze moved onto you, easing off as he gave you an apologetic look. He knew how his son could be and he knew that you had been the one to put up with it in recent days.Â
Maekarâs words rung through your ears loudly. As they also did through Aerionâs.Â
A long couple hours later, post dinner, after taking Little Egg, Daella and Rhae to meet Rhaefyre in the Gardens, you excused yourself once you had safely made sure of their return to their bedchambers.Â
Sighing, your sore feet carried you through the grand halls of Summerhall. You had grown so used to wearing your boots that these new slippery turnshoes were uncomfortable. The hallways were dimly lit now as night had fallen. Flickers of candle flames danced along the walls in shadows, over paintings and many various extravagant household objects.Â
There were few guards littered around the halls as if patrolling but one stood out to you in particular. He was not dressed like the other Knights and serving guards. He was also absurdly tall and large, but his face was kind. His nervous gaze fixated on you as you drew further down the hall until you reached him.
âM-my Lady.â He greeted you and fumbled to bow with his large build.Â
âI think the young Prince told me about you. Ser Dunc, is it?â Your tired expression passed over to a small smile as you looked up at the man.
He nodded, nervously shifting on his legs. âItâs an honour to meet you, My Dragon Lady.â
A small laugh escaped you. Maybe that is why he was nervous. He knew of you and your dragon. âI believe the honour is mine, Ser Dunc. Egg has told me of some of your adventures together.â
The hedge knightâs face flushed with warmth. âOnly the good ones, I hope.â
A small giggle escaped your mouth. âThey were all good! Worry not, Ser Dunc. My favourite in particular is when you met at the Ashford Tourney.â
âO-oh! But, My Lady, that was a mess.â He gazed down at his shoes, shame and embarrassment consuming him.
âNot from how Egg tells it,â you grinned. âAnd I enjoy that you beat Aerion at his own game. May the Gods bless us for no tremendous injury that day.â It was true. How a Trail Of The Seven left all participants alive, you could not believe. Surely, it would have ended with at least one death.Â
Dunc let out a small, awkward chuckle. âYes, it was a blessing.â He paused for a moment, lips faltering as he hesitated on his next words. âMy Lady, I hope this is not too forward in asking b-but P-prince Aerion⊠is he not harming you? I have noticed the way he talks to you, it is not nice nor how a Lady should be spoken to.âÂ
This you had grown accustomed to since you met Aerion. You had learned of his brooding and cruel temperament. He yearned for his own dragon for many years only to start believing that he himself is a dragon. And when Dragons are raised in royalty with everything but one thing at their spoon, entitlement and arrogance ruled over. It was just him. Some of his Father you could see but other parts of him remained enigmatic. Aerion had you in a constant state of whiplash with his moods already and it hasn't even been a full week since you arrived at Summerhall.
âHe can be cruel, Iâm aware. But I can handle myself,â You began smirking up at the tall knight. âAnd I have a Dragon. I know how to tame them.âÂ
Dunc flushed further, his cheeks now bright red at the insinuation of your tone.Â
âSer Duncan!â A deep, smooth voice rippled through the near empty halls.Â
Dunc quickly jumped back into a well-postured stance, away from you. You fought off rolling your eyes at Aerionâs interrupting voice but stilled, watching as Duncâs easygoing expression fell. His heavy steps appeared closer, louder. And suddenly, they stopped behind you.Â
âI think our Lady has gotten lost, I shall escort her back to her chambers.â Aerionâs presence loomed over you, the warmth radiating onto your back. His breath, hot by your ear.Â
âI am quite fine conversing with Ser Dunc. Thank you.â Holding your ground, you stepped forward and turned to face the Targaryen Prince.Â
Aerionâs gaze floated between the large hedge knight and you. His eyes were scanning over your Targaryen dressed figure and then a distasteful expression appeared on his features when he stared at Dunc. Clearly, a grudge was still held.Â
âI have been waiting for you, Lady Alaerys. You must come.â Aerion lifted his chin, catching the curiosity in your lilac irises as he waited for your response.Â
A sigh escaped you before you turned to the kind knight and bid him goodnight. You wished that you could keep speaking with him. There was something endearing surrounding him and you felt his good heart. He flashed you a quick smile and waved goodbye after Aerion began walking away, to which you quickly waved back at the large man before following the Targaryen Prince. You didnât want to follow Aerion right now but as you were in his home, under his familyâs care until you had your own home, you were obliged.Â
Although, there was an intense burning within you, wondering what this was leading to.
The hallways became larger as Aerion stalked through Summerhall, heading for your chambers which were located in a separate section of the Palace. Children in the North Wing, adults in the East Wing, guests in the West Wing and staff in the South Wing. Your chambers were in the Guests wing of course, to the West. Opposite to where Maekar, Daeron and Aerion resided.Â
As of now, Rhaefyre was currently lurking around the grounds of Summerhall, resting in the expanse fields next to the Palace and feasting upon the goats of The Red Mountains.
âWhat is this regarding?â You asked, anxiety beginning to bubble through your veins at being alone with him. He was too unpredictable, you had learnt over these last few days and it set you on edge.Â
âI have a gift for you, My Lady.â The latter words tasted mockingly to you.Â
âA gift?â You questioned him, his pace still slightly ahead of you.Â
âYes, which I had been waiting for hours in your chambers with.â His tone was irate, dark and dripping with irritation. âOnly for me to later find you giggling away with that stupid hedge knight.âÂ
âAerion, I apologise. I did not know.â
âNo!â His sudden outburst had stunned you as he spun around to face you with a hard expression. Your legs stopped moving and you froze. His shout echoing off the stone amongst the soft fabric of the house banners hung along the walls. âYou will call me, My Prince.â
âWhen you earn it, Alberzeys (Brightflame).â You calmly repeated your words from when you met, holding your head upright as you stared up at him. His lavender gaze darkened further as he clenched his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck rippling as he moved toward you.
âYou are insufferable,â he sneered, taking another step closer. âZaldrÄ«zÄ«tsos (little dragon).â
âAnd you are nothing but a vengeful Dragonless Prince,â frustratingly, you huffed out whilst placing your hands on your hips. His face flashed through something unidentifiable for a mere moment before he was clenching his jaw again and his fists were balled up at his sides. âIt is pitiful that your ancestors would ruin such great creatures with your own fanciful family affairs. And I will not continue to entertain you with the idea that I will simply bend the knee to you because you are a Prince in this realm. You claim yourself a Dragon Lord but you have no Dragon. I will not bow to a lesser Dragon Lord who consistently disrespects me.â
It felt like fire was coursing through your body. The heat, about to make you succumb to something much less tamed. You hadnât realised how much anger had been pent up within you these last few days.Â
Aerion was eerily still, listening to your words. His focus was sharp as you stood there, eyeing you through narrowed brows. Your chest was heaving from the words which shot out of your mouth. You hadnât realised how loud you were either.Â
His fists relaxed and his jaw went slack, providing the perfect escape of his serpent-like tongue to slowly stretch across his lips. His long, muscular legs stalked over to you like a Dragon would swoop down to catch its prey between its claws. And you were between his claws.
Aerionâs large hand lifted to your face, fingers resting under your jaw whilst his thumb steadied your chin. You tried to shake your head away from his hot grasp but it only tightened as he forced you to look at him.Â
âI may have no dragon,â he began, vocals low and scarily calm. âBut I am The Dragon. And dragons do as they please. The blood of old Valyria runs through me.âÂ
âBut more so in me,â you spit out, swatting his hand away from your face. He only gripped your forearms instead, manhandling you to stay in position in front of him as you squirmed under his hot touch. His hands burned on you, like fire dancing with smoke. And it was illuminating. âYou are jealous of that, Aerion. Yes, I will call you so. Aerion. You wish to be of blood as pure as mine and you wish to ride with your own Dragon. But you were dealt in the wrong path. And now that Iâm here, you will constantly be reminded of that as if you werenât already before.âÂ
Aerion sighed dramatically, fanning your face as he still held you close. It was as if he was expecting some of those words on your part to be spoken. âWhat a sad evenfall this has become.âÂ
âIâm glad you see it too,â you exhaled deeply, responding to his latter words. His expression only hardened with his grasp on your arms. You attempted to pull away, eyebrows furrowing as he refused to release you.
He opened his mouth, poisonous words on the tip of his tongue before you cut him off.Â
âDo not make me kick you again, I will aim higher this time!â
Aerion begrudgingly released you from his hold. The loss of warmth from your body, striking him back into the cool air of the night. He pivoted on his foot, contemplating his next steps. You expected him to raise his voice again, in a fury at the words you had spoken to him, spat at him. But instead of fighting with you, he stood back, elegantly gesturing down the hall to your chambers. Like a noble prince would if escorting a Lady.  Â
âThe gift is on your bed, Lady Alaerys.â
Your eyes drifted down the dark, dimly lit hall. And when you turned back, Aerion was gone.Â
You felt like you wanted to hit your head against the stone walls of the hallway as you strode through, heartbeat bouncing against your ribcage. Why would he just disappear like that? Why was he so cruel and mean? And why is he always still so composed after such outbursts?
His behaviour made your head spin. Head pounding from the questions you had and the heightened emotions you just experienced, your body shook with relief as you swung the door open to your chambers.Â
It was a large space, a huge four-poster bed, luxurious furnishings scattered around, a marble wash basin, a lounging area and a dressing area. At the edge of the bed, nestled a big chest with a lock, holding your possessions inside. And on top of that bed was a small stack of three very old books, wrapped together neatly by a piece of string and a piece of parchment beside it. The gift.
Sitting into the soft, comfortable edge of the bed covered in various fur blankets, you reached for the books and untied the string.
âHouse Alaerys of Old Valyriaâ
âThe History of Westerosâ
âA Dragon Lordâs Claimâ
It was happening before you realised it. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Hot, salty and unforgiving. Your fingers drifted over the syllables etched onto the leather binding of the first book. It was written in High Valyrian and about the history of your house before The Doom. The second book was written in Westerosâ native tongue, revolving around Westerosi history. And the third book was something that you had never expected. A Romance, written in High Valyrian, about a Dragon Lord in Valyria who falls in love with an already betrothed Princess. A tale of passion and affairs.
You wiped your tears away with the backs of your hands and picked up the note which was left next to the books. You unfolded the small piece of parchment and began to read.Â
â For you, zaldrÄ«zÄ«tsos (little dragon).
One for your birthright.
One for your new home.
Another for your own pleasure.
Your Prince, Aerion Brightflame â
His voice rang through your brain as you read his words and for some reason, you found yourself wishing to rectify your recent argument despite everything. Empathy began to seep through you. You couldnât imagine being born into this, being promised a life with a bonded dragon and the greatness of your House ruling over Kingdoms, only to be left a dragonlord with no living dragons due to ancestral fighting. You suppose that must have been some motivation for his unstable temperament, which you certainly were not helping. A small part of you began to regret your words spoken to him.Â
Groaning in annoyance, you fell back onto the overwhelmingly soft bed. Has he really picked these books out for you? Where did he find them?
âAnother for your own pleasure.â Shivers went down your spine. A romance book? What in the world was he thinking? You couldnât help but wonder if there was some secret implication until you flicked through the pages to land on some very vulgar and inappropriate High Valyrian language that made heat rise to your cheeks.Â
A woman moaning, a man burying himself inside her as he bent her over a balcony overlooking the Old City of Valyria where Dragons constantly roamed the skies. Whimpers and pleasured grunts filling the air.
âHis hands were gripping my hips tightly, pulling me back onto his thick length as a mixture of wetness met us both where we connected. âYou will take what I give you, little dragon.â He whispered heavily, panting between thrusts.â
ZaldrÄ«zÄ«tsos. Little Dragon. What he had begun to call you⊠You slammed the book shut, flushing at the heat pooling between your thighs.Â
Now personally I would love a Aerion x reader type of fic (because I literally love him)
Where itâs starts the OG couples with the men being: Dunk, Valarr, Raymun, maybe yall can throw an a few OC in the feature.
For the OG girls; Tansell, Reader, Rowan (red)
For bombsellssss: you already know Aerion is THE bombshell. Heâs not afraid to step on toes; and he dosent care who feeling he hurts. Honestly he is there for a good vibe.
Next bombshell; Kiera YESSS PINK HAIR BADDIEEE. SHES turning heads. SHES mysterious. And she easily becomes fan favorites.
Bombshell Lyonel Baratheon! Heâs sassy, heâs fun, and heâs stealing your girl. Better look out!
Nowww itâs a plot twist because everyone is soon let in on the secret between Aerion and Valarr â they are cousins. Fans quickly find out that they are essentially nepo babies who work for grand dadâs company.
Aerion likes reader but heâs a little shit and when he and Valarr signed up for love island Aerion already decided to fuck with him. So he sees you and Valarr coupled up and he already has his eyes set on you.
Thereâs tension, drama, Valarr thinks youâre really cool. You like Valarr. But something about Aerion from his entrance to the way he kissed you, bitting you and nipping at down your neck. It was steamy and the looks he sends you makes you interested.
However when in one challenge he teases Valarr about how good of a kisser you are it puts you on edge. Cause you not about being some leverage between whatever that is. So once the challenge is done you confront Aerion but he sees opportunity to kiss you again in front of Valarr. SO YOU BREAK THE KISS AND SLAP HIM. Walking away like a bad bitch.
You decide Aerion isnât for you, but there is still looks across the rooms. Tension, hand brushing when he brings breakfast for the girl sitting next to you.
You guys are a fan favorite couple. Everyone loves the drama and toxicityâitâs delicious. However what really makes them love the two of you is when Aerion defends you against one of the other guys. Taking accountability for the love triangle and how you werenât leading anyone on.
You have no idea about this.
At this point things are tense between you and Valarr â and when Kiera walks in you know things are over between the two of you.
So you are left vulnerable and you refuse to have anything with Aerion. However despite your wishes he chooses to couple up with you. âI told you, I want nothing to do with you or whatever game youâre play.â âBut I did choose you, and you can hate that or even me, but if I didnât you wouldnât be here. I want you here.â
Aerions jealously would hit its peak when Lyonel shows up. He sees the two of you laughing, and having so much fun. So he pulls you away not âcan I pull you for a chat.â Itâs âI need to talk to you,â and pulls you up from your seat.
When he has you alone he just lets it all out. Finally the tension snaps. âI want you to choose me. Not him. I can be everything you need. Just donât pick him.â He doesnât care about cameras now. âIâll give you twice the amount of money you win here if you just leave with me now and give me a chance.â
And for that comment production pulls you apart for a few days and wouldnât let you chat. You get one chat with him before the re-coupling and itâs enough for reader to choose him.
Ends with final couples your choice (mine is Aerion and reader, Valarr and Kiera Raymun and Rowan [red])
You could even do spin off series of your life after the villa.
Fighting myself tooth and nail about this idea I have. Itâs been a long while since Iâve written a long fic with chapters but Iâd love to write a Zuko x Reader where reader had a crush when she was younger, then fell out of love and into adulthood fire lord Zuko gains a crush and tries to earn her affection backâŠ
Thinking reader was the type to have crushes that were never reciprocated (with Zuko being her biggest one), and into adulthood growing numb to the idea of being loved back. Thus being hella confused and not thinking about Zukos actions much when he openly tries to show his interest.
