chᢉ𐭩rry. @pleuviors - Tumblr Blog

𖥻 CHERRY’S NAV.

⊹ hi, i’m cherry! twenty one. she/her. scorpio. occasional editor.

ֹ ꯭᯽ ּ

WRONG NUMBER - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - You receive a message from a random number and you two begin texting frequently. However, you accidentally figure out who it is.

CONTAINS - banter (crack to a point), aerion is aerion, modern AU, peep the small details!!

A/N - i keep getting vague modern aerion requests soo!

Your phone vibrated against your mattress late at night.

You rolled over, the glare of the screen hitting your eyes in your dark room. It was an unsaved number.

UNKNOWN: where the fuck is the link for davis’s class

pleuviors

don’t perceive me. i have the avoidant gene.

wait this is so sexc im obsessed with them,,,, the tension is INSANE!!!!

#when u get the fatherly instinct to ignore twin

the-darklings

OKAY WAIT YOURE THE RIGHT PERSON I HAVE TO TELL THIS TO: Coraline AU x Backrooms AU for Bobby Franklin x reader

Okay so Bobby and reader are together but he’s grown brasher, ruder and arrogant these past few months. Long story short, he’s grown tired of you and he treats you like shit. But he hasn’t really broken it off yet. He can’t bring himself to. He’s grown used to you and he doesn’t wanna go through the whole process of breaking up and moving out and whatever whatever. And you love him too much to do anything, so you just deal with it. Hoping that one day he’ll be how he used to when you first got together.

So one night at the store when you’re pulling a night shift alone, (Bobby had left early, he wasn’t gonna stay and do night shift with you asshole) you hear thumps coming from the lower level. You’re scared but you grab a hardware knife and keep it close as you quietly go down to explore the noise.

Once you reach the extra storage level, you hear it: Bobby’s voice calling from inside the wall. At first you’re convinced that you’ve gone crazy. But no, it’s him. And he’s gently luring you in, “babe, I can see you. gosh you look so cute with that scared look on your face. come here.” You look around in confusion, but a tiny thump from behind the wall grabs your attention. “Yes. Here. C’mere babe.”

You stop in front of the wall. And when you lean in close to press your ear against the wall, poof you stumble into the room and fall on your ass. Your head spins as you blink awake, and immediately you’re hit with ugly neon yellow wallpaper. You look around the room before your gaze locks on … Bobby?

You freeze in surprise. There he is, same white shirt and denim shorts, same camera dangled over his shoulder, and a sickeningly charming smile on his face that you haven’t seen since the beginning of your relationship. Something isn’t right. He doesn’t smile at you like that anymore.

But before you can say anything, he’s walking closer to you until he’s gently cupping your face in his hands. “Hello babe, missed you. You are NOT going to believe this place!” Slowly, with an arm draped over your shoulders, he’s guiding you further and further away from that spot on the wall that you came in here from. You look around. Something makes your stomach churn with unease. It’s yellow everywhere, hallways everywhere. Yet ‘Bobby’ seems to know this place like the back of his hand.

When you finally snap and ask him who he is, he simply smiles that sickening smile again before cupping your cheeks and pressing a tender kiss on your lips. “It’s me, Bobby. Better Bobby.”

Now he just has to convince you to never leave him again. To never go back the ‘other Bobby’. To a dull life where ‘other Bobby’ can’t love you as best as he can. That he’ll never neglect you like ‘other Bobby’ that he can be better. That the only condition is that you stay in here with him forever.

The thing that makes Better Bobby so dangerous is that he's not a bad time at all.

He's not some obvious monster wearing Bobby's face wrong. He doesn't glitch. He doesn't flicker. He's warm. He's present in a way real Bobby hasn't been in months. Maybe longer, if you're honest with yourself, and Better Bobby makes you honest because he makes you feel safe enough to be.

The first few days—hours? time is slippery here, the fluorescent lights don't change and there are no windows and Better Bobby just shrugs when you ask how long you've been here, says does it matter, baby? and the worst part is you can't think of a good reason why it does.

The first stretch of time is almost easy. Dangerously, seductively easy.

He finds rooms for you. Not just any rooms, the good ones. Quiet ones, with carpet instead of that damp yellow tile, where the humming of the lights isn't quite so loud.

He sets up a little nest of blankets he found god-knows-where and pulls you into his chest and plays with your hair and talks to you in that low, lazy voice. The one real Bobby used to use on Sunday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. He asks you questions about your day. Your day. When's the last time real Bobby did that? When's the last time real Bobby looked at you while you were talking instead of at his pager or through the viewfinder or at literally anything else?

Better Bobby looks at you like you're the only thing in the room. Which, technically, you are. But still.

And he keeps you safe. That's the part that really gets its hooks in.

pleuviors

yall drink white monsters i apparently date them!

holy shit. probably the best thing to hit my dashboard im SO hooked. prettylittething u did ur big one cause now im afraid i need more of this universe 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

#don’t ever let your boyfriend #stop you from finding your husband #i love coraline #im screaming

iicarusflew

poison drips through

Scared of the intensity of Aerion Brightflame's love, you break off your betrothal and choose his cousin, Prince Valarr instead. Aerion finds you alone in a King’s Landing alleyway to demand an answer, determined to find the truth or burn everything that comes in between.

The night air is cold enough to chill your bones.

It is pitch dark in here, so devoid of light that you fear if you could take a step, outward, out into the capacious path… you would dissolve. The darkness would swallow you like a thing. As you stare, standing here on the edge of the alleyway, willing the darkness to form shapes—a pillar there, a hedge bush, the path that leads to another tavern. The sounds from the street—laughter, quarrels, screams—are more muffled than ever. You do not know what you were hoping for when you detached yourself from your betrothed, but you know it wasn’t anything good.

The cold does not bother you now, not as it did when you first came into the Red Keep. Little by little, the foreign air has made its home inside you. Why would it not? you think. After all you are marrying into it—King’s Landing, Red Keep, the Iron Throne.

The Targaryens.

The night air swirls around you and there’s a burst of scent, sudden and strange—of roses and dandelions. The sleeves of your gown flow behind you. You are just about to walk toward the darkness of the alleyway, when a voice—rough and callous and familiar —stops you in your tracks.

“Running away, sister?”

You still—every part of you stops. Your lungs do not draw breath, your heart does not pump blood, your skin, cold and goose-fleshed, crawls at the sound. There is only one man who can elicit such cursed response. And you close your eyes before you answer to him.

“Aerion.”

pleuviors

oh yeah, iicarusflew!aerion is exactlyyy what i needed tonight… there’s just something so undiagnosed about him 😍😍😍

100% scratched an itch i didn’t even know i had.

xobunni0

quickie bobby franklin x f!reader

ur boyfriend doesn’t care about your shitty retail job.

backrooms movie spoiler free!!. part 2 . smut. wc 5k

you sat behind the large reception desk, surrounded by endless corners of untouched furniture. sofas untouched beneath faded promotional banners, dining tables gathered dust in perfect rows.

being promoted to assistant manager by Clark, the store’s owner, should have felt like an accomplishment. instead, it felt like a joke. no one ever came in and the store was always quiet, but lately the silence felt different. ever since Clark had claimed he’d found ‘something’.

you still remembered the excitement in his eyes that day. Clark had burst through the front doors. he’d been talking so fast you could barely keep up.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“found it in the basement.”

“everything’s going to change.”

then, somehow, everything had. not in the way he’d promised. instead of expanding the business or finally paying for decent advertising, Clark practically vanished downstairs. days would pass without seeing him. when he did emerge, he looked exhausted and distracted. and every time you asked what he’d found?

the answer was always the same, “Not yet.”

so, that left you in charge of the entire store. not that there was much to manage. you glanced at the front windows. the parking lot was empty except for your car and Clark’s beat up honda, which hadn’t moved in three days.

another thrilling shift. your chin rested in your palm as you half heartedly counted inventory sheets scattered across the reception desk. not that it mattered much. the numbers never changed, the furniture never moved. the customers never came.

you were halfway through recounting a stack of end tables for the third time when unexpectedly, the front door opened. the bell above it gave a cheerful ding

“There she is.” the familiar voice instantly pulled you out of your boredom.

you looked up, and your entire expression brightened

“Bobby?”

your boyfriend stepped through the showroom, hands tucked casually into his pockets. a warm smile spread across his face as he spotted you behind the desk.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to hide the grin tugging at your lips

“I could ask you the same thing” Bobby teased as he approached.

he stopped at the reception desk and leaned against it, resting his forearms on the countertop. his gaze wandered across the nearly empty showroom, taking in the endless rows of untouched couches and dining sets.

then he glanced back at you. “You’ve got this whole place to yourself again?”

“Looks that way.”

“Where’s Clark?” bobby hesitantly asked.

you let out a long sigh, dropping your pen onto the desk. “Clark? I don’t know. somewhere.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“I saw him for about ten minutes and then he disappeared somewhere downstairs.”

“sounds like Clark.” Bobby chuckled, but his smile softened when he noticed the tired look in your eyes.

“Rough day?”

you slumped further into your chair, your brows now furrowed.

“Rough month.”

his expression immediately turned sympathetic noticing the visible frustration.

“hey” he said softly, your eyes closed for a moment as bobby’s thumb brushed gently across your cheek. the simple touch melted away hours of boredom faster than anything else could.

when you opened your eyes again, he was smiling at you.

“better?” he said softly.

you rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips ruined any attempt at looking annoyed.

“look.” his elbows rested on the reception desk as he leaned closer. then he reached across the desk and gently squeezed your hand.

“For what it’s worth” he said, “I think you’re doing a better job running this place than Clark ever has.”

you rolled your eyes. “That’s an incredibly low bar.”

“Still counts.” bobby laughed.

the sound echoed pleasantly through the empty showroom. And with that Bobby pushed himself away from the reception desk with a dramatic groan and began wandering through the showroom.

his sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he looked around at the endless rows of furniture.

“fuck” he muttered, letting out a low whistle. “This place is creepy.”

you laughed, following after him

“Creepy?”

“Yeah.” he gestured broadly at the empty store. “look at it. nobody’s here, half the lights are buzzing, and you’ve got all this shit here”

“You don’t actually get scared in here?” he asked.

“nope”

you stepped closer, folding your arms. “Why?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You scared?”

Bobby’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he fought a grin.

“Not even a little.”

“Oh, you definitely sound scared.” you pressed

“I do?”

you hummed softly, you took another step forward until barely any space remained between you.

Bobby’s eyebrows lifted. “Funny” he said quietly. “I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

you huffed, “I’m not scared.”

“No?”

“No.”

his gaze flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

the corner of his mouth twitched. “Then why’s your heart beating so fast?”

“It’s not.”

“Sure.”

“I swear”

“yeah?” his head tilted slightly as he leaned in, eyes softening.

you knew exactly what he was trying to do and absolutely not. the moment he got close enough, your palm landed squarely against his face.

Bobby stopped mid motion.

“I’m at work Bobby!” you pushed him back with a laugh.

he groaned dramatically, stumbling backward.

“you’re practically all alone here.” he rubbed the spot where your hand had blocked him and shook his head. Bobby sighed heavily and wandered off toward a display bedroom set, he dropped onto one of the beds dramatically, the cushions sank beneath him.

a second later, he bounced slightly, the foam springing back with a satisfying recoil.

his face lit up. “Oh.”

“What?”

“This bed is incredible.”

he thrust his hips upward, bouncing rhythmically on the mattress, his hands positioned in front of him as if he were holding an imaginary body ontop of him.

“This would be great in our bedroom” he spoke honestly

the sigh of seeing your boyfriend practicing his thrusts in the middle of a public retail store was enough to send an embarrassing warmth down your neck.

“Bobby please!” you whined, in a breathless plea. you stepped forward, grabbing his arm and tugging firmly, refusing to look him in the eye. “Get off.”

Bobby didn't get off. instead, he leaned into the tug, “Baby cmonn.”

he used the momentum to roll onto his back and pull you down with him.

“Bobby-“

the unexpected pull threw off your balance. with a surprised yelp, you stumbled forward and landed beside him on the mattress. he laughed a sound that echoed in the quiet showroom.

“you're such a-" before you could finish, he kissed you, not a peck, it was a deep, slow kiss, mouth open against yours, tongue warm and coaxing, a kiss that made you forget about your boss right below you two.

"im working" you mumbled against his lips, but you didn't push him away

"I know” he said, teeth brushing your lower lip, breath coming faster now. and then he kissed you again, harder this time. his thigh nudged between yours, pressing up till your hips shifted instinctively against him, betraying yourself in the needy way your body wanted more.

his hand slid down, fingers grazing past your shorts and down your inner thigh as your breath caught, mouth parting just as a door creaked somewhere down the hall.

you both froze, his body still flush against you, your chest rising and falling fast against his.

they were just casual, wandering footsteps. Bobby didn't move. his hand still gripped your ass, and when your eyes widened, he just gave it another squeeze and murmured

"just Clark doing bullshit" he reassured.

you gave his chest a hard smack, he looked so good like this. sprawled across the bed, his shirt had ridden up, exposing the ridge of his hipbones. one arm was tucked behind his head, the other lazily fiddling with his belt, metal clinking soft and slow. click, tug, loosen.

your hand moved, fingertips brushing along his stomach, just above the waistband.

"we shouldn't. he’s ..."

"in the basement" bobby murmured, pushing up just a little, rising onto one elbow so he could press his mouth to your partially exposed collarbone.

“can't see us here. won't hear us either"

he wasn't wrong. his hand slid beneath your shirt, warm palm flat against your ribs, pushing the fabric up slow inch by inch

"Fuck" he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on your chest like he was starving for it "come closer. let me taste."

and you knew better. you knew how easily he could undo you. but your body moved anyway, breasts right at his mouth's reach as he sat up fully, his mouth dragging across your skin just below the neckline before his lips closed around you. he pulled the fabric upward, bunching it over your bra again, exposing the soft curve of your belly. his lips followed, kisses slow and open mouthed, tongue flicking over the dip of your bellybutton

you bit your bottom lip, trying not to moan when his tongue flicked across your breast, then beneath it as his hand tugged your bra down rough and needy. the cool air on your wet skin made you shiver, his mouth quickly sucking on your skin, sucking the chill away

"Bobby" you whispered, half scolding but already breathless

"Mmhm?" he said, not stopping for a second, lips wrapped around the swell of your breast, one hand cupping your ass and pulling you against him till you felt his growing bulge.

you slid your hands into his hair, you felt him groan low when your fingers tightened, his mouth sucking harder in response.

his hand dropped back to his belt buckle again, metal clinking. Bobby’s fingers pulled at the hem of your shirt. your shirt and bra eased down together, your own fingers curling, tugging until both cups peeled free, your breasts spilling out just inches from his face

he looked up at you, grinning. boyish, yes. but there was nothing innocent in the way his eyes looked at you, his lips were already wrapping around your nipple before you could say anything

"Mmm" he groaned low against your chest, tongue curling over your nipple, sucking deep and slow. his free hand came up to pinch and roll your other nipple between his fingers, teasing until it stiffened under his touch. you head dropped back, a gasp catching in your throat. you bit down hard on your lip, trying to stay quiet, but with the way his tongue flicked and swirled, switching between lazy flicks and sharp little flicks you couldn't help it.

then, pop. he released your nipple with a loud, wet sound, his lips glossy and parted as he sat up moving between your legs, his hands gripped your hips, tugging you against him. his belt brushed your thighs as he settled in between .

you gasped, a surprised little sound escaping as your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"bobby..." you moaned, not even sure what you meant to say. "my boss-"

he grunted against your neck, hips grinding forward just enough to make you whimper again "he’s not fucking here."

that was all he said, like it settled everything. and in a way it did

"just lay back for me" he said and you did.

you got comfortable on the plush mattress, your legs stayed around his waist, spread just enough to cradle him in between your thighs, your breasts still out and glistening from his mouth.

Bobby moved closer, hands smoothing up your legs, pulling your shorts lower as he went. his belt came undone with a rough clink, then in one eager motion, his pants and boxers were shoved down, caught halfway down his thighs as his cock sprang free, thick and veined, tip glistening.

he spread your legs open around his hips as he leaned in between. his hands ran up your thighs, rough palms skimming over your skin.

he reached your waistband, kissing just above the elastic of your shorts, then slowly dragged them down, inch by inch, mouth trailing behind his fingers as he exposed your hips, your lower stomach, the fabric of your panties already slightly damp, clinging between your thighs

he pressed one last kiss just below your bellybutton, then looked up at you as he dragged your panties right along with them until both were bunched around your ankles. and then he saw you wet, aching, from nothing but kissing and friction and his fucking mouth on your tits. he stared for a second, his lips parting, chest rising harder

he stood between your legs, cock flushed, already brushing against your folds. he rubbed himself through your pussy slowly, letting the head glide along your slickness, sliding between your lips without pushing in, but just enough friction to make your breath hitch. he nudged at your entrance and then pulled back, teased you again and again, just grinding with that curve in his cock that rubbed your clit each time

"Bobby" you gasped, hips jerking forward

"Fuck" he muttered, then finally, finally he aligned himself with your entrance and pushed forward.

the stretch was slow and deep, your sweet pussy welcoming him. your mouth fell open, lips parted in a silent cry. no sound came out. you couldn't afford it not with Clark still somewhere nearby, maybe just behind this thin wall

Bobby's jaw clenched tight, his eyebrows furrowing as he bottomed out inside you. he exhaled long through his nose, his hips flush with yours now, every inch buried deep

"Fuck" he mouthed silently, eyes closing shut, his hands tightening on your hips

you both lay still for a second, trying to breathe through the fullness and the thrill of getting away with it, of doing this, fucking like this, with your boss in the room right below.

he moved first. small, slow strokes, careful not to let the bed creak beneath you. his cock dragged through your tightness, his cock brushing every sweet spot inside you as his hips moved slowly, without noise

you pulled him down, hands fisting in the front of his shirt until his face was buried against your shoulder, your mouth brushing his ear now with every soft moan that slipped

"Baby your moans" he groaned, voice cracking and hushed against your skin

"You can't fuck me like this and expect me not to" you whispered back, breath catching at the end of your sentence

his lips found your shoulder, kissing it, biting it gently to muffle his own groan, his hips pressing harder now, movement still slow but deeper

then, he couldn't take it anymore. "Shit, I can't" he whispered against your shoulder, and suddenly his mouth was on your breast again. he latched onto your nipple, sucking hard, moaning around it like it was the only thing keeping him quiet.

your fingers were in his hair, holding him there, cradling his head as he sucked your tits with those wet, open mouthed sucks

your back arched, mouth open again but silent, the pleasure building up with every thrust of his cock

the room was filled with quiet slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out and Bobby groaning into your chest, cock buried to the base, arms trembling from holding himself back, he looked up at you and whispered

“you feel so fucking good baby. gonna cum just from this tight little pussy around me. fuck"

"Don't cum" you breathed, voice shaky, your mouth against his temple as his cock fucked deep and slow inside you, barely keeping rhythm anymore. "we have nothing to clean it up with."

you felt his smile, the curve of his lips pressed against your breast

"And?" he mumbled around your nipple, his tongue flicking lazily before he kissed the soft underside of your breast again, lips sticky with spit. that single response told you everything. because you knew bobby, knew exactly what that smug little word meant

he didn't give a fuck. if he could fuck you full of him right now, raw and messy, and walk away without wiping a thing, he would. he wanted to. you could feel it in the the tremble in his hips, the twitch of his cock throbbing inside your wet pussy.

he was holding back with everything he had, but barely. and then with one full hard thrust. his hips slammed his cock into you, knocking the sound right out of your mouth. the bed creaked loudly and your moan shot out before you could stop it, loud and needy, echoing out into the open space.

you exhaled hard, pressing your hand to his shoulder.

"Baby..” you whined, quiet and pleading, even though your pussy clenched around him just for being inside you like this "please."

Bobby groaned softly, head dropping into the crook of your neck. his breath was ragged now, his cock twitching as he slowly rolled his hips once more.

“i’m gonna-” you started, but the words turned into a sharp moan as he shifted his angle, hitting that sweet spot inside you. your legs shook harder, your body arching off the bed despite the ache in your muscles

“gimme one” he groaned as he picked up the pace

“Fuck.” you whimpered, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes

“let me feel you” and that was all it took as your orgasm came over you, your walls pulsating around him, pulling him deeper.

Bobby groaned loudly, his thrusts becoming messy as your release triggered his own. “baby fuck” he gasped, his cock twitching inside you as he cummed into you, adding to the sticky mess between your thighs.

for a moment, the two of you stayed like that, panting, clinging to each other as the aftershocks rolled through you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

pleuviors

omg he’s such a perv!!! what is wrong with him?!!

….it’s so attractive.

the fics are starting to roll out and i am SAT. this was so hot im gonna need a minute.

#wait yes keep bothering me #ill get on the same freakquency eventually

st4ssealdente

I was not even aware Stubble Valarr was an optionnnnn!!

pleuviors

he’s so beautiful. i NEED to get on his nerves.

rockinglikemotley

Fuck you Finn Bennett for perfectly capturing that white trash attitude and looking so beautiful while doing it

#hes so lana del rey americana in this movie #but speaks cheerio like HUHH

valarrtheyoungprince

The Water Lily of Sunspear

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Dornish Reader Word Count: 12.7K Synopsis: A dornish princess grows up in King's Landing besides Prince Valarr Targaryen, believing his devotion means something true.

pleuviors

putting away my crystals and picking up a gun.

this genuinely hurt my feelings but the writings so good it was a pleasure to have my heart broken by you :’/

#the dialogue is just soooo #🚬🚬🚬🚬#he is so stupid #i love him #that being said #may the gods continue blessing him with misery

saint-orment

oh my fucking word

pleuviors

wait. sorry. backrooms or backshots?

borgialucrezia

nowadayz

FINN BENNETT as SHAWN HEARD EYE FOR AN EYE (2025) dir. Colin Tilley

nowadayz

FINN BENNETT as PETER PRIOR 4.06, TRUE DETECTIVE

#waitttt #thoughts being Thunk

the-darklings

Would you be willing to share some more trailer trash!Aerion thoughts please?? 🥺👉👈 bc personally I haven’t stopped thinking about him and LS like they changed my brain chemistry fr

⧽ in case you missed it !!!

oh GOD yes okay because they’ve been living rent free in my head too and I need to get these fucking thoughts OUT—

The thing about them is that they never actually stop being enemies even when they’re lovers, and they’re never really strangers even when they part ways because you can’t un-know someone who’s seen you that raw, that honest, that fucking desperate. It’s intimate in the worst way—the kind of intimacy that comes from knowing exactly where to cut to make it hurt, from having catalogued every weak spot and scar and still coming back for more.

The first time he shows up at your dorm it’s 3 AM on a random Thursday and you have an exam in six hours and you haven’t seen him in four months. You’re in your pyjamas (some expensive cotton thing your mother bought you that’s supposed to make you look like the kind of girl who has her shit together) and he’s standing in the hallway in his work jacket smelling like motor oil, cigarette smoke and the particular desperation that comes from driving five hours on impulse because he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss, because your roommate is asleep ten feet away and because looking at him hurts in ways you’re not prepared for.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and his voice is rough like he’s been smoking too much or not talking enough, and you should slam the door in his face but instead you’re already reaching for him, your hand fisting in his jacket, yanking him closer even as your mouth forms the word “no.”

He catches your wrist (too tight, always that like he can’t bear you slipping away, thumb pressing into your pulse point) and his eyes are dark and hungry and too mean.

You grab your jacket and your keys and twenty minutes later you’re fucking him in the back of his truck in the parking lot behind the science building, your expensive pajamas bunched around your waist and his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, and it’s angry and desperate, both of you clinging to each other. He bites your shoulder hard enough to leave marks, your nails rake down his back hard enough to draw blood, and when you come it feels like losing and coming home and losing again.

pleuviors

feeling like a prostitute of feelings rn 🚬🚬🚬🚬

wow.

i’ve come across several trailer trash aerion fics but none are on par with yours for me personally… i have so much praise for u but im so high off ur work i genuinely can’t even formulate proper thoughts rn….

im obsessed with the push and pull between them. they’re nauseating in the most beautiful way,,, call them what you want but it’ll never be boring!!

#writing so good u can HEAR their tension #they’re a symphony of pain #and a ballad of longing

luvmaekar

husband!Aerion x wife!Reader (Headcanons)

summary: A glimpse into the marriage between Aerion and you, except he’s sick and cruel.

p.1, p.2

cw: 18+ (mdni), dark!Aerion, strong language, manipulation, power imbalance, mentions of cheating, abusive relationship, emotional and physical abuse, public humiliation, intoxication, fluff and angst,

wc: 1.1k

Husband!Aerion, who provides the kitchen staff with your fabrics and commands them to use them right in front of you during dinner, to clean dirty spots on the table and on the floor. Your noble material, which you bought yourself, being used for filth.

It takes you a moment to look Aerion in the eyes— it is clear that he is behind this action, your eyes already tearing up and your lips sorrowfully pressed together.

"Well, I thought your fabrics could be used for something better, no?" he says as he puts food into his mouth, his eyes smiling along with his grin. Everyone at the table is looking at you—Maekar, who already has a headache just looking at his son; the two girls, who don't know what is going on and the brothers, who are too deep in conversation to pay you any attention.

You only nod and look back down at your plate, your only task now to hold back the tears as you feel how warm your face is becoming and how dry your throat is getting.

·༻𐫱༺·

Wife!Reader, who sometimes sneaks into the kitchen and sends the servants away when she thinks Aerion is out hunting. Hoping to bake in peace and alone, making a pastry her mother taught her—wearing an apron to keep her dress clean from stains.

Your hair is pinned up high, and your hands are covered with flour and bits of egg as you slide the pastry into the brick oven.

Husband!Aerion, who has been standing there for ten minutes, watching you peacefully decorate your cake with strawberries and cream.

Husband!Aerion, who cannot help but stand there as if hypnotized, his heart growing warmer and beating faster at the sight of his wife looking like this. This feeling confuses him inside and stirs up a strange anger.

Wife!Reader, who turns around to the other counter to reach for the honey, only to see Aerion standing by the door. Jumping back in fear, Aerion giving you small heart attack. Freezing on the spot, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"So this is what my wife does when I turn my back for a few hours? Playing the kitchen maid?" Aerion says in a dangerous voice as he walks down the short steps, coming closer and closer to you.

In fear and panic, you try to fix the situation by offering him a piece of your pastry. Aerion takes it from your hand, brings it to his mouth, and takes a bite. You wait anxiously for his reaction, wondering how he will like it—after all, you have received many compliments for this recipe. But the piece does not stay in his mouth for long, he spits it onto the floor and says, "It tastes of ash and desperation." The rest he throws to the ground.

Husband!Aerion, who forces you to clean up everything all by yourself while he watches you. He makes you scrub the floor of the entire kitchen on your hands and knees. The cake, of course, he threw into the trash. Yet Aerion cannot help but still feel the delicious taste of the pastry on his tongue.

·༻𐫱༺·

Wife!Reader, who sometimes catches herself watching Aerion as he trains down in the courtyard. Aerion, sensing her presence, puts extra effort into fighting impressively—delivering extra hard strikes with his sword and bringing every single knight to the ground.

You see him sweaty and out of breath after the training session, and you simply cannot help yourself from staring. At the very end, he unexpectedly lifts his sword in your direction and points the blood-stained tip right at you—meaning to say, I know you were watching me, without ever speaking a single word.

·༻𐫱༺·

Husband!Aerion, who wakes you up in the dead of night to make you search for the lost ring of his late mother. Wife!Reader, who has never seen him in such a panic before, Aerion being on the verge of tears and hyperventilating.

Everything in your room is turned upside down, all the furniture, blankets, and papers left in complete chaos. "Did you perhaps leave it in the courtyard?" you suddenly ask, but Aerion, trapped in his panic, looks at you with angry, red eyes. "No!" he screams out. After a while, he sits down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. "I had it on right here last," he whispers softly now.

Slowly, you step toward him with caution. When you stand before him, you place your hand on his shoulder. Aerion takes his face out of his hands and looks up at you, his eyes filled with tears. You press his face against your chest—Aerion's arms find your waist and pull you tightly against him, holding you like he never has before as he sobs his heart out in your arms.

·༻𐫱༺·

Husband!Aerion, who secretly tries to ply you with drinks one day, giving you an extreme amount of wine to get you drunk. By the time you walk back to your bedroom, he practically has to carry you, holding you up so you do not crash to the floor. Aerion deeply enjoys your loose manner and the things you blabber out while intoxicated. "One would think Lord Ronnel had a stick up his arse," you say between gibberish and groans as Aerion lays you onto the bed.

Husband!Aerion, who cannot help but grin at your state and the things coming out of your mouth. He sits on the edge of the bed and starts pulling off his boots when your arms suddenly find his neck, wrapping around him from behind. "You smell sooooo good," you say happily, burying your nose into his neck and peppering it with soft kisses. Aerion’s grin widens even more at the feel of your gentle lips.

"You must tell me your secret, I want to smell like that too," you keep rambling, while one of your hands slips into his hair, gently scratching his head.

Husband!Aerion, who turns his whole body around to face you and pins you down onto the mattress with full force, making you let out a loud laugh. He begins to place a flurry of soft kisses all over your skin, moving from your face down to your chest. Wife!Reader, who feels far too tired because of the heavy drinking and closes her eyes under his gentle touch. When Aerion sees you closing your eyes, he lets out a sigh but shows understanding, moving over to his side of the bed.

Wife!Reader, who cuddles up close to him and pulls her head down to his chest. "I love you," she lets out as a final whisper before falling into a deep, comatose sleep. Aerion, looking at her in genuine surprise, presses a tender kiss against her head, wrapping his arm securely around her body.

The next morning, you wake up with a terrible headache and cannot remember a single thing— but Aerion remembers everything.

Taglist: @mommyoftwoo @1yoko-j @heywtvsss @soyvanepino @kravitzwhore

pleuviors

feeling like a dog coming back to eat it’s own throw up 🚬🚬🚬

each part of ur husband!aerion series lands me in scenarios i wouldn’t even go with a gun…. but i still want him……

#cherry’s fic recs ♡.⊹

libraryofaladybird

a swan's scorn, a dragon's promise. ~ aerion targaryen. 🦢

pairing: aerion targaryen x fem!reader, slight daeron targaryen x fem!reader

WC: 2k+

synopsis: You are married to Daeron, yet being the wife of a drunken prince does not make your life easy. Certainly not when Aerion tries to make you question your position. An encounter, blood is spilled, secrets are formed. What does a dragon do to a swan? It devours.

find chap 2 here!

warnings: blood, violence, suggestive???, aerion, drinking (daeron), my writing!

notes: hi...i know he's EVIL pls don't hate me...but he's got potential okay??? ummm this was inspired by the infamous scene in isolation by bexchan and there's also a little intertextual ref to king lear...idk if i will make this a series but yeah! ALSO my first time writing for asoiaf so pls bear with me! i have watched akotsk and read it, but this takes place after it okay? okay. pls lmk if you like it and if you spot any mistakes!!

love, a.

Aerion is bored.

Aerion is a prince of the blood, a dragon and he is oh so bored.

The scrawny squire across from him shifts uneasily in his chair, his bony shoulders curved inwards. Aerion eyes him with disinterest, hand flicking out to incite him to make his next move. The squire startles, eyes blinking quickly shut, as though the minute movement of Aerion’s hand caused him great fear. Cowardly creature, Aerion thinks. The keep seems to be full of cowards these days, cowards who keep clear of Aerion with the dedication of men knowing to fall into his path is akin to falling into the maw of a dragon.

His mouth twists in quiet, indulgent amusement. Fear, he finds, makes men most useful. Like that of the squire, whose trembling hand inches the Cyvasse piece forward. A predictable move, one only made to appease him. Not challenge him. Aerion sighs, a puff of hot breath escaping his lips. The squire, whose gaze is cast downward, looks up, sees Aerion’s displeasure and retracts the piece, lips turned inward in thought. Aerion sprawls deeper in his seat, the cushioned back scratching against his red doublet, and stares out of the balcony, the dusk sky painted a deep orange.

Footsteps echo down the corridor to the side of him, soft enough to confirm it is not a lord or gods forbid, his father coming to scold him for terrorizing the staff. No, these are steps he knows, ears sharpening to the familiarity of the footfalls. He swings his gaze to the corridor, the low light of the flames in the lanterns aligning the stone walls doing little to illuminate the approaching figure. The squire follows Aerion’s attention and also turns in his seat, peeking down the corridor with the hopeful look of a man eager to escape the clutches of an apathetic Aerion.

An outline of a woman comes into view, scarlet skirts deepened by the warm glow of the firelight. Aerion recognises that silhouette. The clasped hands, perfect posture, hair that trails down her back and is adorned with rubies to match her dress. A dress he saw when he broke fast with his family this morning, seated across from him, next to a drooling Daeron dozing on the wooden table, snores escaping his gaping mouth.

He sits up.

“My lady Swann, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He drawls to her approaching figure, which seems to have quickened pace, turning into a flurry of skirts. Her face, now in the light, is thunderous, brow furrowed in fury and her lips are pink and pouted. She does not even regard the squire, who swivels his head between dragon and swan, wondering who will strike first.

She stops in front of them, chest heaving. Her eyes shine in the warm glow of the balcony, and her hair, curled and unruly for once, seems to halo around her head - an embodiment of the Mother’s grace and the Stranger’s promise. The squire rises from his seat, which scrapes back noisily against the stony floor - of which he lowers to in a deep bow as he utters a meek greeting. Her gaze wavers and settles on him.

“Leave us. I would like to speak to the Prince - alone.” She utters with all the courtesy of a lady, though her demeanour begs otherwise. He nods quickly, bows to them both and scuttles out of the room like a rat. Aerion has not looked away from her once, waiting for her careful restraint to give. She swings back towards him, chest still heaving, the necklace around her throat glinting.

Most likely a gift of Daeron’s from when he actually deigned to put effort into being a husband. He opens his mouth, a question of why she sent his squire away or what has ruffled her feathers so when she raises her hand and strikes him boldly across the face, ringed hand catching on his carved cheek. At once he tastes the familiar tang of metallic blood on his tongue, coating his teeth and painting his mouth red.

He smiles.

~~~~~~

You have just struck a Prince.

Albeit it is not the first time you have done so. Yet, the first time you did it had been a different one. Daeron. Your husband, by law but not love. He had returned to your chambers, stumbling and bumbling on about nothing. Muttering about his dreams of dragons and fire and you, as he unlaced his breeches and threw his shirt across the back of a chair. You were sitting in front of the fire, reading a book you had read a million times over, for you had so much time to yourself here in the keep and had exhausted the library for all it had to offer.

He had come to you, dropping to sit by your knee, right in front of the flames. Being a dragon, perhaps the warmth bothered him little. He smelled of wine, sour and pungent, and his hair was matted with some sort of substance. Looking up at you, he read your face - the quiet exhaustion of appearing to lords and ladies as a thriving lady wife to a prince and, underneath, a wretched inkling of contempt for him. The man who had been promised to you since you could remember. The prince who you had left your home for, abandoned all that was comforting and familiar - for the cold court of the keep who saw you as nothing more than an extension of the failing prince. The unlikely heir. And the man who has all but abandoned you after the ceremonies and court appearances, in favour of his cups and whores.

As he stared up at you, his lilac eyes distant and misty with wine or dreams. The fire in front of you highlighted the curve of his jaw, the white of his hair, the slope of his nose. And also, the faint mark on his neck, purple and still glistening with spit. You stood, turning from him as tears filled your eyes and your breath hitched. You had given him your all, and he comes back to you like this? Devoured by some whore and too drunk to talk to you, ask about your day, debate some silly topic that interested you both.

Behind you, you heard him struggle to his feet and groan as he did so. He came up behind you, cold hands sliding around your waist, chin nuzzling into your hair and exhaling hot puffs of air. He was not stupid, despite what others thought. He knew that you knew.

“I only fuck them if they look like you.” He confessed to the back of your head, hands sliding against the thin fabric of your shift, pressing into you. You whirled around, tears finally spilling free, dragging down your cheeks. You slap him, palm connecting harshly with his pale cheek. His head had snapped to the side and he stumbled back, clutching his face. He looked back at you with something like an apology in his eyes, and turned and collapsed onto the bed.

Aerion did not stumble. Nor did he turn his cheek or run from you. Instead, he stared at you with something unreadable in his eyes, and slowly came to stand. You were already looming over him, so the distance between you two is almost nonexistent. You did not step back. Neither did he. He smiled, which should have unnerved you - but it just infuriated you more. Inciting you to swipe the cyvasse board from the table, his unfinished game scattering across the floor. He did not react but dragged his gaze across you, as if you were the most interesting thing to happen to him in days.

“Come now, you needn’t resort to such childish measures. Tell me, what displeases you so?” He queries, an almost belittling lilt to his voice, head tilted as he licks his teeth clean of the blood that has gathered there. You go to grasp his collar, angered by his calmness. He has taken hands for less. He seems to realise this, because his own snap up to encircle your wrists, grip bruising. You struggle against him, hissing under your breath and only drawing closer, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath. His smile vanishes, replaced by something much less patient.

“Childish? I heard what you said, to those lords. About the inferiority of my house, how you think your father was mistaken in his decision to make the match between me and Daeron. What right do you have to question that, let alone in front of others?” You counter hotly, watching as realisation dawns on his face. His frown deepens as he sighs.

“Is that it? I make a passing comment and your insecurity takes it as a slight? Are you really so weakened by the opinion of others? I thought you had more pride than that, little swan.” He drawls, pushing your hands from him, fixing his ruffled collar. You push back into his space, teeth bared.

“It matters when it is an opinion I have had to earn! I came here and faced their judgements and comments for weeks before I got even a fraction of the respect I deserved. And you! That insulting name and your comments and looks - all of it - I will not take it any longer.” He seems taken aback, looking between your eyes like he can find the answer there.

“You married into the house of the dragon, of course you had to earn it. Daeron is a prince of the blood, as am I. Surely you realise that no matter what, you will never be one of us. No matter how many ladies you flatter or lords you impress. You can coddle Daeron all you wish, play his nurse, but even that will not save you.” He sneers, face twisting in that familiar fire of his. You watch as his hands come up to grasp your throat, his stare unflinching. Scratching at his hand, you struggle against him.

“Coddle him? How can I coddle someone who is not there? I do not need saving. What I need is for you to keep your opinions to yourself, and stop calling my position into question when I have earned it!” You say roughly, his hand tightening as you spit your fury at him.

“I never wanted to be one of you! Why would I? Would I have my pick from the litter - madman, drunk, kinslayer-” Your tirade gets cut off my Aerion slamming you into the balcony wall, holding your upper half over the edge. His body presses into yours, all hard lines and hot skin beneath layers of finery. You scramble for his shoulders, digging your nails in.

“Now, now, little swan. That insolent tongue of yours will be the death of you. I am a dragon made flesh, a prince. How dare you speak to me in such a way? You want to know what your problem is? You hide behind your caution, all poised and perfect - the pillar for Daeron to lean on. But I know what you truly are, beneath it all. You are nothing.” He utters, mouth brought close to your ear. He pushes you bodily into the balcony, hands still fastened around your neck. You screech in rage, pushing his chest with all your might, sending him stumbling back from the ledge, landing on the floor.

You drop to the floor, pick up a jagged edge of the broken cyvasse board. You crawl over to him, settling over him, your hips pinning him with all your weight. He tries to surge upwards, face flanked by fury but is stopped in motion by the sharp stick of the broken piece nestled right over his jugular. Your chest heaves, in thrill or fear you cannot know, as you level your face with his. He growls, mouth still stained with his own blood, a deep red that makes an idea take form. You take the broken piece from his neck and bring it to your palm, slicing it forcefully into the flesh. Aerion watches you, watches the blood pool in your palm and drip down your wrist, licking his own bloody lips.

“You have finally gone mad, then. Was I too harsh in reminding you of your place, I wonder?” He heaves out, eyes glistening with a sort of mad delight, which flickers as he feels you snatch his hand and bring the same piece of wood across his own palm in a line. He roars, tries to wrestle his hand from you. But you keep a tight grip, tossing the piece of wood away and bringing your palms together with a wet smack! He feels the warmth of the fresh blood, and cannot decipher whether it is his own or yours. He watches as you stare at it, the grotesque collision of your hands. You feel a faint sting, but it matters little in the moment.

“See! Our blood is the same, we bleed the same! I see no flames in yours, nor do I feel the heat of fire from it! If I am nothing, then so are you!” You screech, pushing your conjoined hands to his face, which he turns, allowing for blood to smear across his cheek. He nods once, like something has clicked into place. And for a moment, you think he has accepted it, accepted you.

He surges upwards, knocks his forehead into yours, and whilst you are dazed - flips the two of you over. Slamming you soundly into the stone floor, the coolness of it a contrast to your still connected hands that have grown sticky with blood slotting between your fingers. He snatches his bloody half, grabbing your chin and coating it with blood. You snarl in his face, feeling blood drip down your head from when he hit it with his own.

“I am the blood of the dragon! A little cut changes nothing. My soul, my heart is that of the dragon. And do you want to know what dragons do to swans?” He asked, tilting his head like a predator examining its prey.

“Is your flesh scales? Do you breathe fire or huff smoke? Can you take flight? No! I do not see a dragon before me but a man trying to make up for his failures as a son, as a prince by pretending to be a dragon. A childish farce!” You say, watching as his face transforms from anger into something quieter, colder.

“I will have your tongue for that.” He vows, reaching for the dagger on his belt. You battle against him, but he gets the dagger notched right at your pulse. Can feel it hammer against the blade. Sees your eyes, filled with fear and something he cannot name, reflected in the blade. Looks at your undone hair, the sweat that shines on your skin, the blood from your head mixing with the material of your dress. And your lips, parted, tiny breaths huffing out of them.

“Aerion?” A voice hedges from behind him, a shadow falling over their huddled forms. Your breath hitches, and your eyes glimmer with recognition. Aerion glances at you as your eyes meet and a silent promise passes between the two of you. He sits up slightly, the moment his weight shifts you scurry out from under him, brushing against him.

He glances over his shoulder, and there at the entrance, is Daeron. You do not approach him immediately, instead fixing your hair and smoothing down your dress, hiding your palm behind your back. Daeron’s gaze is still locked on Aerion, the blood that marrs him and the blade he wields.

“What the fuck is going on?” He asks incredulously, hand coming out towards you. You step closer to him, watching as he glances at the cut on the side of your head and the small scratch on your neck from Aerion’s dagger. You smile at him, and pat his chest with your free hand. He is not drunk, for once.

“Aerion and I got into…a disagreement. Over cyvasse of all things! How silly of us! You know how competitive I can be.” You explain, laughing stiffly. Aerion puts the dagger away, and slouches back into his chair.

“Yes, your lady wife is right, brother. We got quite carried away, as you can see.” He utters tonelessly, twirling a rouge cyvasse piece on the table, gaze flickering between the two of you. It settles on you, though, and his eyes are ablaze. He has also hidden his hand under the table.

“You drew blood over cyvasse? Do you think I am a fool?” Daeron questions, glancing between the two of you. Your smile wobbles, and Aerion watches as you calculate the best way to get out of this situation.

“Come, husband. It is late and I am tired, let us go to bed. Aerion and I merely disagreed on who won, that is the truth of it, I assure you!” You reassure smoothly, grabbing on to Daeron’s arm, pulling him towards the end of the corridor that led to your joint chambers. As you drag him down the path, Aerion hears Daeron ask you more questions, reaching up to prod the wound on your head. You swat his hand goodnaturedly, and whisper something in his ear that makes him laugh uneasily.

Aerion watches the two of you retreat, fingers smoothing down the laceration on his palm. He also feels the tightness in his breeches and the excitement stirring in his stomach. He has not felt this invigorated, this wound up since he was merely a boy. Aerion swore he would have your tongue. He intends to have it.

After all, only a fool comes between a dragon and his wrath. And you, you were the most foolish of them all.

pleuviors

when we match each others freak and almost kill each other….