POV: Asking them to leave the room while you change
You saw it on social media first, a silly little trend where women ask their partners to leave the room while they change clothes, just to see how they'd react. Some boyfriends got flustered. Some got confused. A few refused outright.
You watched video after video, laughing at the chaos, until a terrible, wonderful thought crossed your mind:Ā What would your partner do? So you decided to try it. No warning. No context. Just a casual, "Hey, can you leave for a minute? I need to change." And then you waited, holding back a smile, to see what would happen next.
Warnings: None except Maekar's is slightly suggestive obviously
AKOTSK Men x Reader
Aerion Targaryen;
My Cruel Prince (completed)
āIs that all I am to youā¦a womb to fill when it suits you?ā
No other man knew the sound she made when pleasure crested. No other man knew the way she whispered his name in the dark, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way she tasted of wine and honey after a feast.He would watch the world burn before any man could.
Warnings: miscarriage, HEAVY angst no comfort, grieving, marital issues, mentions of annulment, mentions of targcest, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Aerion Targaryen (heās his own warning)
Prince Aerion! x Wife! Reader
GirlDad!Aerion
Girldad! AerionĀ who refuses to put her down for the first three days. He holds her while she sleeps, while she eats, while she opens her eyes and studies the world with a focus that reminds him of no one so much as himself. When Valerion asks to hold her, Aerion says wait. When Vaegon asks to hold her, Aerion says later. When his wife raises an eyebrow and holds out her arms, Aerion pretends not to see. She takes the baby anyway. He stands beside her for an hour, watching, waiting for her to give her back.
The PR Stunt [Fridays]
"You're staring," she said, not looking up from the menu
"I knowā
"You should probably stop." He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher, stripped of the teasing edge he always carried
"Unfortunately," he said, "it seems like I can't."
Warnings: criminal! Aerion x peoples princess!Reader, Baratheon! reader, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Fake dating, Modern AU, SMAU, Violence, suggestiveness, political corruption, Manipulation, semi-slow burn, cheating (not Aerion or reader dw), infidelity accusations, insecurity, Aerion Targaryen (heās his own warning)
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader
The number you have dialled...
Aerion Targaryen accused you of cheating. Again.After one too many jealous rages, you finally end it, blocking him on everything and walking away for good.
But you're not done.
Now you're out at bars every night, flirting with strangers and handing outĀ hisĀ number like candy. Every text he gets is a reminder of what he lost. Every "hey, you up?" drives him a little closer to the edge.He thinks you're merely throwing a fit surely your weren't actually entertaining all those guys, right? So when he arrives at your apartment after a particularly enraging text the last thing he expects is a shirtless stranger to open the door.
Warnings: VIOLENCE, suggestive, possessiveness, toxic relationship, jealousy, cheating accusations, mentions of Therapy, Aerion (he's his own warning), SMAU, afab!reader, no mentions of y/n, slight slut shaming (lmk if i missed anything)
Modern!Toxic! Aerion x Reader {SMAU}
HockeyPlayer!Aerion
Hockeyplayer!Aerion Ā who makes you sit as close to the penalty box as possible, right on the aisle, first row, directly in his line of sight. Because heĀ knowsĀ he's going to get sent there. It's not a matter of if, but when. And when he does, skating off the ice with his helmet off and his silver-gold hair plastered to his forehead, he wants the first thing he sees to be your face. He'll sit on that narrow bench, jaw still tight, and mouth three words to you across the divider:Ā Worth it. Every time.
Love, Bites.
There is no intimacy more sacred or more damning than a vampire's love. To bare your throat is to offer mortality itself, trusting their fangs will take only what you are willing to lose. To be turned is to be unmade by devotion: to die in their arms and awaken eternal, bound by blood and hunger and a choice that was never truly yours. That is the terror. That is the gift. Aerion gave you both. You have never been more alive than the night you died for him.
Warnings: Manipulation, Yandere themes, possessiveness, non-con turning , blood , slight gore, suggestive towards the end
Vampire!Aerion x Human!Reader
F1 Ferrari Driver!Aerion x Totoās daughter!Reader
Forbidden fruit has never tasted sweeter than when it belongs to your rival's daughter. Aerion Targaryen, Ferrari's brilliant and brooding star, has spent his entire career despising everything about the Mercedes empire, except for you. When he boldly approaches you in the heart of enemy territory, he sets off a chain of events that forces him to balance his ruthless ambition on track with a devotion off it that shocks everyone, including himself.Ā Because Aerion Targaryen has met his matchāand she wears silver.
Warnings: Mercedes slander š
Valarr Targaryen
Hung by a Thread (completed)
āDo not seek my fire if you canāt bare its burnā
Valarr's betrothed cannot resist the temptation to test him, pressing at his patience, dance with danger, and discover just how jealous a dragon can become. Each tease a spark thrown on dry straw.
Warnings: slight insecurity, jealousy, possessiveness, slight suggestiveness, mentions of infidelity, Aerion Targaryen (he's his own warning) Valarrās patience being tested by his family.
Valarr Targaryen! x Betrothed! Reader
Chivalry Updates Mondays
His hands did not leave her waist. If anything, they tightened, pulling her a fraction closer.
"That's all I ask," he murmured. She felt his breath against her temple before his lips pressed there. Soft. Brief. Possessive.
"Princess," he said, the word barely a whisper. Then he released her.
She stood alone in the small office, the blinds still drawn, her heart racing, her skin warm where his hands had been. She had not noticed how close they had been. Had not noticed that anyone walking past would have seen the blinds closed and drawn their own conclusions. She thought she had just had a difficult conversation.
She did not know that she had just been marked.
Warnings: Power imbalance, slight manhandling, forced proximity, Manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, stalking, Modern AU, bratty! but intelligent! Reader, Lannister! Reader, Jealousy, possessiveness, slight yander!Valarr, political corruption, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of cheating, suggestiveness, Violence
Modern!Manipulator! Valarr x Brat! Reader
HockeyPlayer!Valarr
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who never asked you to wear his jersey. He just left one in your closet one day, folded neatly, with a note that said:Ā Only if you want to.Ā You wore it to the next game. He saw you from the tunnel and, for the first time all season, missed his pre-game stretch because he was staring. He didn't mention it. But you caught him tracing his name on your back during the post-game hug, and you felt his heart hammering under his pads. He doesn't need you to wear it. He needs you toĀ chooseĀ to wear it.
Sir Duncan the Tall
Boxer!Duncan Headcanons
Boxer!DuncanĀ who always kisses you before a fight. Itās not a quick peck. Itās a ritual. He finds you in the chaos of the tunnel, smelling of liniment and sweat, and he cups your face with hands the size of dinner plates, so impossibly gentle. He pulls you in, eyes closed, and presses his forehead to yours. āOne more,ā he whispers, a low rumble you feel in your chest. When your lips meet, itās soft, deliberate, a silent conversation. He pulls back, thumb stroking your cheekbone, and murmurs, āMy guardian angel.ā He genuinely believes your kisses are the only thing that makes his fists invincible. Without one, he swears heād be walking into the ring blind.
u alive sage? I hope u goodā¹ļøā¹ļøā¹ļø ur busy i guessā¹ļøā¹ļøā¹ļø
Hello Anon!!
I'm soo sorry i wasn't posting it was results week and I'd been sooo anxious about my results, i couldn't even think of writingšš (they would determine whether or not i got into my dream university)
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6, Part 7
Aerion Targaryen returned from Lys with a reputation he couldn't outrun: violence, cruelty, whispers of a murder no one could prove. Three years abroad hadn't fixed him. Some things just canāt be fixed. She was everything he wasn't. Beloved by millions, the people's princess, the one person in Westeros with nothing to hide. When their families struck a deal, a marriage, her smile to polish his image, his family's money to fund her fatherās growing network, it seemed simple. A transaction. A performance. A lie they were both willing to tell. But in a world where perception is everything, the most dangerous thing they could do is fall for each other.
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader [Fake Dating]
The screen flickered to life, a familiar face filling the frame. Raymun Fossoway leaned back in his chair, his headset tilted at an angle, his eyes scanning the chat as it scrolled past in a blur of emojis and caps-locked speculation.
"Okay, okay," he said, holding up a hand. "I know we're all losing our minds. I know. But let's just- let's take a breath. Let's look at what we actually know."
The chat exploded again. He grinned, pulling up a second window on his monitor, the King's Landing Herald's breaking news banner, the headline in bold black lettering:Ā
AERION TARGARYEN RETURNS TO WESTEROS AFTER THREE YEARS IN LYS.
"Breaking news," Raymun read aloud, his voice slipping into a mock-serious newscaster tone. "The prodigal son has returned. Sources confirm Aerion Targaryen landed at King's Landing International this morning, accompanied by private security and what witnesses describe as 'a significant amount of luggage.' No word yet on why the Targaryen Industries heir has returned after his mysterious three year absence." He dropped the act, leaning forward. "Mysterious. That's the word they're using. Not 'exile.' Not 'hiding.' Just... mysterious."
The chat buzzed:
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā he killed someone.
InSevenHells:Ā 100% he killed someone
SirenSupporter:Ā my uncle works at TI he said the family sent him away after the Summerhall thing
TheStranger:Ā SUMMERHALL?!!?
SilverPrince:Ā what happened at Summerhall??
Raymun read a few aloud, nodding slowly. "Yeah, the Summerhall rumors are... they're a lot. I've been digging. There was a body. That much is confirmed. But whether Aerion had anything to do with it? No one's ever been charged. No one's even been named. It's all whispers."
He pulled up another tab, a grainy photograph of Aerion stepping off a private jet, his silver hair unmistakable even from a distance, his face unreadable behind dark glasses. Three men in suits flanked him, their expressions blank, their hands empty but ready.
"Look at him," Raymun said. "Look at that face. Does that look like a man who's happy to be back?"
Raymun snorted. "I mean, yeah. Genetics lottery. But let's not forget-"
He pulled up another headline:Ā
AERION TARGARYEN: A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE.
"Old news," he said, scrolling past. "But the new news? The real news? Is that his father didn't come to get him. His brothers didn't come. Baelor Targaryen was at a charity gala last night and when reporters asked him about Aerion's return, he said-"
Raymun tapped a key, and a clip played: Baelor, composed and smiling, stepping away from a microphone, saying,Ā "My nephew's return is a family matter. I'm sure you understand."
Raymun paused the clip. "That's not a yes. That's not a no. That's a 'I'm not touching this with a ten-foot pole.' "
The chat had already moved on, the comments scrolling fast enough to blur.
TargaryenTea:Ā baelor said 'that's not my problem' in corporate LOL
GoldenBoyFan:Ā Bro wants NOTHING to do with this šš
StormlandsLoyalist:Ā tbf would YOU want to be associated with the family murderer
FreeMyManAerion:Ā he didn't even say his NAME AHAHA
FireAndBlood_92:Ā baelor heard 'aerion' and chose peace š
Raymun scanned the chat, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Okay, okay, the Baelor discourse is- yeah, it's valid. He really said 'my nephew' like they're distant cousins who see each other at weddings"
ThreeHeadedDragon:Ā baelor practicing that line in the mirror for weeks
TheStranger:Ā Ik that family group chat is going OFFF right now
SirenSupporter: imagine the family dinner after this šš
HotPieEats:Ā 'so how was Lys' 'don't' š
Raymun laughed, shaking his head. "I mean, look, we don't know what happened between them. But if my nephew got sent to Lys for three years and I was the one who stayed, I'd probably keep some distance too." He paused, reading another comment. "Yeah, someone says 'baelor didn't visit once.' Is that true? I- actually, I don't know. But the optics aren't great."
TargCrime:Ā 'i was in the area' energy
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā baelor: 'praying for your journey š'
HoldMeBackFromDaeron:Ā baelor: 'thoughts and prayers'
AerionStepOnMe:Ā aerion watching that interview like šļøššļø
Raymun scrolled, still laughing. "You guys are ruthless. We don't even know what happened. For all we know, Baelor's been fighting to bring him back this whole time."
The chat was immediate:
StormlandLoyalist:Ā why didn't he go to lys
MoonteaConnoisseur:'family matter' = i am not touching that
TheLastDragonrider:Ā uncle of the year award goes to... NOT baelor
Raymun held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Fair points. But let's not pretend any of us would be lining up to defend Aerion Targaryen either. The man has-" he glanced at the chat, reading the latest comment, and snorted. "Someone says 'he has the energy of a guy who's killed someone and would do it again.
Raymun opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. His eyes caught something else in the chat; a link, posted and reposted, spreading faster than the speculation. His eyebrows went up.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, this is good."
He clicked the link. A different headline, from a different outlet, Baratheon News Network. The font was sleeker, the tone more polished, but the words were unmistakable:Ā
EXCLUSIVE: PRINCE AERION'S FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE ALONGSIDE A VERY SURPRISING DATE.
Raymun's eyebrows went up. He clicked the video.
The footage was shaky, phone quality, clearly shot from across a crowded restaurant. Aerion Targaryen sat at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a glass of something dark. And across from him, half hidden by the angle, was a woman. Dark hair, a profile that could only belong to one person.
The chat went absolutely silent for three seconds. Then:
FreeMyManAerion:Ā NOO!!! NOT MY MANN
HoldMeBackFromDaeron:Ā THERES NO WAY IN SEVEN HELLS
StormlandLoyalist:Ā IS THAT THE PEOPLE'S PRINCESS?!?
Stagflation:Ā LYONEL BARATHEONS DAUGHTER???
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā THEE SIREN????
Raymun let the video play. The woman, the Siren, the people's princess, the one person in Westeros with a reputation cleaner than fresh snow, leaned forward, said something to Aerion that made him almost smile, and then the video cut out.
Raymun turned back to the camera, his face caught somewhere between disbelief and glee.
"Well," he said. "That's not a PR stunt. That's a PR nuclear weapon."
SirenSupporter:Ā siren girlbossing too close to the sun i fear
FreeMyManAerion:Ā she's gonna fix him
WessyWatch:Ā no she's gonna get murdered
The chat was already on fire. He read the first comment that caught his eye, his voice barely containing his laughter:
TheStranger:Ā they're either in love or about to murder each other. Either way, I'm watching.
Raymun pointed at the screen. "Same, chat. Same."
He leaned back, folding his arms, his eyes still on the frozen image of Aerion and her sat across a candlelit table.
"This is going to be a disaster," he said. "And I am absolutely here for it."
Notes:
Iām was itching to write this, so glad itās finally happening! I tried to make the chats funny guys but Iām not the best š
The first chapter will be out on this coming Friday :) Although I may need to put the 'Hung by a Thread' sequel on hold </3
Preview , Part 1 , Part2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
"I should go," he said, his voice rough.
He pulled back, his hand falling from her hair. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the war he was waging with himself.
"No, you're not."
Her hand found his tie, fisting the silk, pulling him back toward her. He went still.
His hand came up, pressing against her lower back, pulling her closer. His forehead was against hers, his voice a low, rough
murmur.
"Don't start something you can't handle, princess."
She felt her heart pound. Her eyes met his, dark and dangerous.
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate.
"Is that a warning? Or a promise?"
Warnings: Power imbalance, slight manhandling, forced proximity, Manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, stalking, Modern AU, bratty! but intelligent! Reader, Lannister! Reader, Jealousy, possessiveness, slight yandere!Valarr, political corruption, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of cheating, suggestiveness, Violence, misogyny, Targaryens are oil tycoons, SMAU
Modern!Manipulator! Valarr x Brat! Reader
WC: 7k
She woke up with the kind of hangover that should probably qualify as a medical emergency.
Her head felt like someone had installed a construction site behind her eyes; jackhammers, drills, the whole operation. Her mouth tasted like she'd eaten drywall and chased it with regret. Every single one of her organs had filed a formal complaint.
Never drinking again.
The thought floated through her consciousness like a half-hearted promise she knew she wouldn't keep.
(An obvious lie.)
She cracked one eye open. Immediately regretted it. The sunlight was aggressive, invasive, personally attacking her. She squeezed her eye shut again, groaned, and burrowed deeper into her pillow.
Then she noticed the jacket.
It was draped over her legs like she'd tucked it in before bed, neat and deliberate. The fabric was dark, heavy, expensive-looking. It was definitely not hers.
She frowned. Her brain was moving slowly, processing information through a thick layer of fog.
That was... not her jacket.
She frowned at it.
This was not her jacket. This was not anyone she knew's jacket. This was the kind of jacket that screamedĀ old moneyĀ in the most offensive way possible.
Actually...
Not old money.
Oil money.
The fabric was too new. The cut was too sharp. Old money bought things that looked like they'd been inherited. This looked like it had been purchased yesterday with a credit card that had no limit.
She stared at it.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
She knew this jacket.
She knew this stupid, expensive, unfairly nice jacket.
She lifted it to her face before her brain could stop her. The fabric brushed against her cheek. She inhaled.
Cedar.
Clean cologne.
Something faint and woodsy and distinctly, unmistakablyĀ him.
Valarr.
She immediately dropped it like it had personally offended her.
"Nope."
The jacket lay on the bed, innocent and damning. She stared at it. It stared back by existing.
"No, actually." She pointed at it. "We're not doing this today."
The jacket, unfortunately, remained extremely Valarr-shaped. It didn't move. It didn't apologize. It just sat there, being expensive and smelling like him and reminding her that she had apparently done something very stupid last night.
She pressed her palms against her eyes.
"This is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me."
It wasn't. It was definitely top ten, though. Definitely top five.
She took a deep breath. Then another.
Against every instinct she had, she picked the jacket back up. The fabric was so soft. Impossibly soft. Why was it so soft? What kind of person owned a jacket this soft?
She held it to her chest and immediately regretted it because it smelled like him and now she was thinking about him and that was the last thing she needed to be doing right now.
She launched it onto the chair across the room.
"Stay over there."
The jacket did not move.
Coward.
She rubbed her temples, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. She remembered the bar. She remembered the bass vibrating through the floor. She remembered Ormund saying something about a bat. After that, everything was a blur of alcohol and bad decisions.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it with all the grace of someone who'd consumed approximately eighty-seven tequila shots. The screen was too bright. She squinted at it.
Ormund:Ā u alive???
She typed back slowly, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative.
You:Ā unfortunately
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
Ormund:Ā LMAOOOOOO
Ormund:Ā u were actually insane last night
She stared at the screen. Her stomach dropped.
You:Ā what happened
You:Ā i remember tequila
You:Ā i remember someone talking about bats
You:Ā after that i got NOTHING
There was a pause. A suspiciously long pause. She could practically hear Ormund laughing on the other end of the phone.
Ormund:Ā wait
Ormund:Ā u fr don't remember??
She looked at the jacket on the chair. A cold feeling crept down her spine.
Oh, no.
You:Ā ormund.
Ormund:Ā ššš
Ormund:Ā okay so
Ormund:Ā you drunk called valarr
She blinked. The words didn't make sense. She read them again. They still didn't make sense.
You:Ā i WHAT
Ormund:Ā you literally said "come get me"
Ormund:Ā and HE DID
Ormund:Ā bro showed up in like ten minutes
She sat bolt upright. Her skull immediately punished her for it. The room tilted. She didn't care.
You:Ā shut up
Ormund:Ā i'm being so serious
Ormund:Ā he picked u up
Ormund:Ā carried u to the car
Ormund:Ā i almost started clapping
She covered her face with one hand. The embarrassment was physical, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks.
No. No. Absolutely not.
You:Ā i don't believe you
Ormund:Ā that's crazy because i watched it happen
Another message appeared.
Ormund:Ā also
Ormund:Ā you cried
She stared at the screen. Her heart stopped.
You:Ā i absolutely did not
Ormund:Ā girl you were SOBBING
Ormund:Ā you kept telling him he had "really nice hands"
She threw the phone onto the bed. The screen went dark. She stared at the ceiling, her face burning.
Really nice hands.
She had told him he had really nice hands.
She was never going to be able to look him in the eye again.
She grabbed the phone and typed furiously.
You:Ā delete this conversation
Ormund:Ā can't
Ormund:Ā memories ā¤ļø
She stared at the screen. Something didn't add up.
You:Ā wait
You:Ā how do you know about the hands thing if you weren't in the car?
Ormund:Ā ...who said anything about a car?
Her stomach dropped.
Ormund:Ā you said it to me. multiple times. after he left.
Ormund:Ā you wouldn't stop talking about his hands
Ormund:Ā it was honestly a little concerning
She closed her eyes. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She had apparently spent the night waxing poetic about Valarr Targaryen's hands.
To Ormund.
Who would never let her forget it.
You:Ā i hate you
Ormund:Ā no you don't ā¤ļø
She set the phone down and looked at the jacket again. It was still lying on the chair, dark and elegant and completely out of place in her messy apartment.
She should give it back. She would have to give it back. She would have to see him again, look him in the eye, hand him his jacket, and pretend she didn't remember him holding her legs while she slept in his car.
Wait.
She frowned.
She remembered that. She remembered the feeling of his hands on her legs. The warmth of his palm against her bare skin. The way his thumb had traced slow circles on her calf.
She had been half-asleep, but she had felt it. She had felt every single second of it.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were burning.
She had put her feet in his lap. And he had let her. He hadn't pushed her away, hadn't told her to stop. He had just... held her legs. Like it was normal. Like it was something he wanted to do.
She picked the jacket up again, against her better judgment. She pressed it to her chest and closed her eyes.
"This is a crisis," she said to the empty room. "This is a full-blown crisis. I have a jacket that belongs to the most infuriating man in the realm and I don't want to give it back."
The jacket did not respond.
She looked at her phone again. There were no messages from him. Nothing. Not a single word.
She didn't know if that was a relief or a disappointment.
She pressed the jacket to her face one more time.
She was going to have to see him again. She was going to have to face him. She was going to have to pretend she didn't remember the way his hands had felt on her legs.
She was going to have to pretend she didn't want to feel them again.
She hated that. She hated that she wanted it at all.
But she couldn't stop the thought.
She stared at his contact for a full five minutes before she typed anything.
Then she wrote:Ā I have your jacket.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it. Then she threw the phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, her heart pounding.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then his reply:
T. Heir:Ā I know.
She stared at the screen.
T. Heir:Ā I put it there. You were cold.
She closed her eyes. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She could feel the ghost of his hands on her legs. She could feel everything.
You:Ā I don't remember any of it.
T. Heir:Ā I know.
You:Ā Stop saying that.
T. Heir:Ā Stop saying what?
You:Ā "I know." It's annoying.
T. Heir:Ā I know.
She laughed. She hated that she laughed. She hated that he could make her laugh even when she was mortified.
You:Ā I'll return it tonight.
She paused, then added:
You:Ā If I decide to show up.
T. Heir:Ā You'll show up.
You:Ā How do you know that?
T. Heir:Ā Because you're a Lannister. Lannisters don't miss the biggest event of the season
You:Ā You're infuriating.
T. Heir:Ā I've been told.
She set the phone down and pressed her palms to her eyes. She was going to have to see him tonight. She was going to have to look him in the eye. She was going to have to pretend she didn't remember him holding her legs while she slept in his car.
She had no idea what she was going to do.
But she had a jacket to return.
And she was a Lannister.
So she was going to show up.
She walked into the Lannister Tower with her head held high, her shoulders back, and a headache that was still waging a war against her existence.
The jacket was in her bag.
She had brought it. She hadn't planned on bringing it, but it had been sitting on the chair, looking at her, and she couldn't just leave it there. That would be weird. That would be admitting that she wanted to keep it.
She didn't want to keep it.
She had to give it back. Obviously.
She also had no idea when or how she was going to do that.
The elevator ride was mercifully short. She stepped out onto the executive floor and immediately regretted everything.
"Lady Lannister!"
A cluster of board members descended upon her like vultures. Mr Marbrand was beaming. Mr Serrett was nodding approvingly. Mr Brax actually clapped her on the shoulder like she'd just won a championship.
"Congratulations," Mr Marbrand said, his voice warm. "We heard the news. The board is thrilled."
"Your uncle made the right choice," Mr Serrett added. "We're all looking forward to working with you."
She smiled. She nodded. She said the right things. She was a Lannister. She knew how to do this.
But her eyes were scanning the room.
She didn't know what she was looking for.
She was definitely not looking for him.
The board members drifted away, replaced by a stream of well-wishers, and she worked the room with practiced ease. She shook hands. She accepted congratulations. She made jokes and laughed at theirs.
The jacket was heavy in her bag. She could feel it, a constant reminder of everything she was trying not to think about.
Then she saw him.
Valarr was standing by the windows, surrounded by a cluster of executives she vaguely recognized. He was wearing a suit. Dark charcoal, perfectly fitted. Expensive.
He wasn't wearing his jacket.
She froze.
The jacket in her bag was suddenly very, very conspicuous.
He was in the middle of a conversation, but his eyes found hers across the room. He smiled. It was a small, almost imperceptible thing, but she saw it. She saw the way his lips curved, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She saw the way his attention shifted from the man speaking to her, just for a moment.
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned back to his conversation.
She looked away. Her face was warm. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.
"What's wrong?"
She turned. Her uncle was standing beside her, his expression amused. His eyes were bright, knowing.
"Nothing," she said. "Everything's fine."
"I don't believe you." He followed her gaze to Valarr. "Ah. I see."
"You see nothing."
"He's been looking at you all morning." Her uncle's voice was light, weary, almost , although she was too embarrassed to notice. "Quite impressive. A Targaryen admirer."
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "He's not- we're not- "
Her uncle nodded sagely. "My old age must be making me see things. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Nothing," she repeated. "It's definitely nothing."
Her uncle's eyes hardened ever so slightly. "If you say so."
He walked away before she could argue.
She took a breath. She was fine. Everything was fine. She was going to get through this day without making eye contact with him again.
Then a man approached her. A businessman she recognized from somewhere, maybe the Iron Bank, maybe the Tyrell negotiations. She couldn't remember. He was tall, middle-aged, with the kind of smile that suggested he was very pleased with himself.
"Lady Lannister," he said. "Congratulations on your appointment. I've been looking forward to meeting you."
She smiled. "The pleasure is mine."
They talked. It was fine. It was normal. She was being normal.
Then Valarr appeared.
She didn't see him coming. One moment she was alone with the businessman. The next, Valarr was there, sliding into the conversation as smoothly as if he'd been part of it all along. He stepped into the space beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"The terms are favorable," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I've reviewed them myself. I'm sure Lady Lannister would agree."
The businessman blinked. " Mr Valarr. I didn't realize-"
"Always a pleasure." Valarr smiled. It was a polite smile. It was also a smile that saidĀ leave now.
The businessman hesitated. She saw the moment he understood. His eyes flickered between them, and something clicked behind his gaze. He nodded, his smile slightly strained.
"I should- of course. We can continue this another time."
He walked away.
She stared at Valarr. "What was that?"
He tilted his head, his expression innocent. "What was what?"
"You just- you just made him leave."
"I didn't make him do anything." His voice was soft, amused. "He made a decision. Probably had an important meeting."
"He didn't have an important meeting."
"You don't know that."
"I definitely know that."
He smiled. It was the same smile from earlier. Small. Amused. But now it was directed at her, and she felt the full weight of it. She felt her stomach flip.
"What do you think you're doing, avoiding me?"
The words hit her like a splash of cold water. She felt her face flush.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said. Her voice was too high. She hated it. "I'm just...busy. I have things to do. People to see."
"You have my jacket."
She blinked. "What?"
"My jacket." He gestured to her bag. "I assume you brought it."
"I-I did. I was going to-"
She stopped. She didn't know what she was going to say. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She could feel the weight of the jacket inside, a physical reminder of everything she was trying to forget.
He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. Amused. Curious. Something else she didn't want to name.
"You're very red," he observed. His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
"I'm not red."
"You're definitely red." He said it like he was stating a fact.
"My face is warm."
"Your face is warm," he repeated, his lips twitching. "That's why it's red?"
"Exactly."
He leaned closer. She felt the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath against her skin. "How's your head? I thought you'd have more of a cold. It was very cold last night."
He reached out, his hand brushing her forehead. His fingers were warm against her skin.
The touch sent a shock through her. She felt her breath catch, felt her heart stutter in her chest.
"I don't have a cold," she managed.
"I'm glad." He let his hand drop. His fingers lingered for just a moment, brushing against her hair. "I wouldn't want you to get sick."
"I don't get sick."
"Everyone gets sick."
"Not me."
He smiled. It was a real smile, soft and warm. She felt it hit her like a wave.
She looked away. "I should- I have to- "
"See you tonight," he said.
She blinked. "Tonight?"
"The gala." His voice was patient. "The Starks' winter gala. You remembered, didn't you?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I forgot," she admitted. She said it to the floor, because looking at him was suddenly too much.
"You forgot the event that half the realm is attending."
"I was busy."
"You were drunk." His voice was warm, teasing.
"I was celebrating."
He laughed. It was a low, quiet sound. She felt it in her chest.
"I'll see you tonight," he said again. "Don't forget my jacket."
She held his gaze. She didn't look away. She didn't give him the satisfaction of watching her crumble.
"Fine," she said. "I'll bring it."
Then she turned and walked away. She didn't look back. She didn't let him see the way her hands were trembling.
She was going to see him tonight. She was going to face him. She was going to give him back his jacket and pretend she didn't remember anything.
She had no idea if she was ready for that.
But she was a Lannister.
And Lannisters didn't run.
She was certain that this seating plan was arranged in hell. It was so well crafted she almost wanted to commend the Starks for their god given ability to stir caos.
After all, only they could think to seat; a criminal (Aerion), said criminals fake girlfriend (her best friend), Ormund, 2 of the criminals ex's, her current whatever the fuckuationship, and Prince Trystane Martell all on the same table.
Truly the Starks were wicked, all the intelligence in the world wouldn't have figured out that such an absorb combination of people was possible, yet here they where.
As soon as everyone was seated, the animosity began, something she had anticipated and the first to tap out was Aerion.
The silence that followed Aerion's departure from the table was heavy, thick enough to choke on.
She sat at the table, her hands flat on the polished wood, her eyes fixed on the empty space where her best friend had been. She could still see the way her friend's shoulders had straightened as she followed Aerion, the quiet determination in her stride. She knew that walk. That was the walk of someone who had made a decision and wasn't going to be swayed.
She wanted to follow. She wanted to go after her friend, to make sure she was okay, to be there for her the way she had always been there.
But she couldn't. He friend had caught her wrist before she left, had squeezed once, firm and final.Ā Stay, that squeeze had said.Ā I'll be fine. Stay.
So she stayed.
And now she was stuck at a table with the two exes, Ormund, Trystane, and Valarr.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. She could feel the weight of their attention shifting, could feel the moment the exes realized their primary target had fled and they needed a new one.
Lysa leaned forward, her smile sharp and practiced. "Well," she said, her voice smooth as poisoned honey. "That was dramatic. Do you think he'll come back, or has he finally decided to spare us his brooding?"
She didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Mira tilted her head, her platinum hair catching the candlelight. "I always wondered how she puts up with him. He's so... intense." She paused. "But I suppose some women like that. The brooding type. The ones who keep secrets."
She felt the barb land. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass. She kept her face neutral.
Lysa's smile widened. "Speaking of secrets...Lady Lannister, you've been quiet all night. I hope we're not boring you."
She looked up. Her voice was cool, unhurried. "Not at all. I was just admiring the company."
Lysa's smile faltered, just slightly. "How kind."
"I wasn't being kind."
The words hung in the air. The table went still.
Ormund snorted into his wine. "I love this," he said. "You should insult her more. It's very entertaining."
"Ormund," she said, her voice flat.
"I'm just saying. It's a gift."
Mira recovered quickly. Her smile was sharper now, more practiced. "I heard you've been spending a lot of time with a certain Targaryen heir lately. Tell me, is it true, or is it just a rumour? I'd love to hear the details."
She opened her mouth. She was going to say something cutting, something that would end this conversation.
Valarr spoke first.
"Careful."
The word was quiet. Controlled. It landed like a blade.
Mira's smile flickered. "I was just asking-"
"You were fishing." His voice was pleasant. A warning wrapped in silk. "I'm not a fan of fishing. It's tedious."
The table went still. She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Mira with an expression that was almost bored, the kind of boredom that was more dangerous than anger.
"You don't get to speak about her like that," Valarr continued. "You don't get to pry into her life, or her relationships, or anything else that isn't your business." He paused. "I think you've forgotten who you're speaking to."
Mira's face had gone pale. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She had nothing.
Lysa's hands were frozen on the table. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the words.
Valarr smiled. It was a polite smile, the kind he wore to board meetings. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Good," he said. "I'm glad we understand each other."
The silence that followed was absolute. She could hear the distant music from the main hall, the hum of conversation from other tables. She was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the warmth of his body, the strength of his silhouette, the way his hand rested on the table next to hers.
She wanted to thank him. She couldn't. The words were too heavy.
Instead, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his, just for a moment. A silent thank you. A brief touch.
She felt him still at her touch. His hand turned over, his palm opening toward hers. She pulled away before she could take it.
Ormund, seated a few chairs down, had been watching the whole exchange. He raised his eyebrows, his expression amused. "Well, well, well. That was impressive. I didn't know you had it in you, Targaryen."
Valarr's eyes flicked to Ormund. "I have a lot of hidden talents."
"I'm sure you do." Ormund's grin was wide and insufferable.
She shook her head. "You're impossible."
"I'm a delight," Ormund corrected, raising his glass in a mock toast.
She almost smiled. Almost.
Valarr was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her skin, warm and steady. She looked up, meeting his eyes.
"You're worried about her," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"She'll be fine," she said. "She always is."
"But you're still worried."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
"She'll be okay." Valarr said with nothing but certainty.
The word was strange. It sounded like him. She didn't know what to do with the quiet certainty in his voice.
"I know," she said. "I know she will be. It's just-"
She stopped. She didn't know how to finish.
Valarr was watching her. His gaze was steady, unwavering. He didn't look away.
"Come," he said. His voice was low, quiet, meant only for her. "Come with me."
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm asking you to dance." His voice was patient. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what a dance is."
She stared at him. "I know what a dance is."
"So come with me."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"But-" She gestured vaguely at the table. "The exes. Ormund. Trystane. Everyone is looking at us."
"Let them look." He held out his hand. "You're not running away from me this time."
The words hit her like a splash of cold water. She looked at his hand. Strong. Steady. Waiting.
Ormund leaned over, his voice a stage whisper. "Oh, this is good. You have to go. For the sake of my entertainment."
"Ormund," she said, her voice flat.
"I'm just saying. This is the most interesting thing that's happened all night."
She shot him a look. He grinned back, unrepentant.
Valarr was still holding out his hand. His expression was patient, amused.
She didn't know why she said yes. She didn't know why she took his hand.
But she did.
The dance floor was crowded. Bodies pressed together in the warm, candlelit space, the music a slow, sweeping waltz. She felt out of place. She felt like she was stepping into a dream.
He led her to the center of the floor, his hand steady on her waist. She felt the warmth of his palm through the fabric of her dress, felt the strength of his grip.
"Try not to step on my toes," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You're already looking nervous. I can feel it. You're stiff as a board."
"I am not stiff."
"You're very stiff. Loosen up."
"I don't know how to loosen up."
"I know," he said. "That's why I'm helping."
He pulled her closer. She felt the heat of his body, the solid press of his chest against hers. She felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Stop overthinking," he murmured. "Just move."
She tried. She really did. She tried to follow the rhythm, to let her body relax, to stop thinking about the way his hand felt on her waist, the way his thumb was tracing slow circles on her lower back.
She stepped on his foot.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
She stepped on his foot again.
"Sorry."
"Princess."
She stepped on his foot a third time.
"Okay," he said, and there was a smile in his voice. "I think we need to work on your coordination."
"Shut up."
"You're always at clubs. You dance in clubs all the time."
"That's different."
"How is it different?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She didn't have an answer.
He laughed. It was a low, quiet sound, warm and genuine. She felt it in her chest.
"I skipped all my lessons as a child," she admitted. "Formal dances. I was supposed to learn, but I refused. I thought it was boring. I thought I was above them."
"And now?"
She stepped on his foot again.
"And now I'm paying for it."
He laughed again. His grip on her waist tightened.
"You're a terrible liar," he said, his voice warm.
"I'm not lying."
"You're definitely lying. You said you skipped lessons. You said you thought they were boring. That's a lie."
She stared at him. "How do you know?"
"Because you're too proud to admit you were bad at something." His eyes met hers. "You skipped lessons because you were afraid you'd fail."
She opened her mouth to argue. She closed it. She had nothing to say.
He was right.
"I hate you," she said.
"No, you don't."
"I definitely do."
"Liar."
"I hate that you know me this well."
He smiled. It was a soft thing, a quirk of his lips that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"No."
She laughed. She couldn't help it.
"You're impossible," she said.
"So I've been told."
They kept dancing. She kept stepping on his toes. He kept not complaining.
"So, what was it like?" she asked, a little more comfortable now. "You as a student. You must have been the worst. The teachers probably sighed when they saw you coming."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you were probably a teacher's pet. The golden boy. Always getting perfect marks, never causing trouble."
He paused. For a moment, his expression shifted. He looked almost confused.
"I don't understand," he said. "That's not an insult."
She blinked. "Iā¦ what?"
"I was an excellent student," he said, his voice honest. "I paid attention. I did the work. I earned my marks." He tilted his head. "Why would I be ashamed of that?"
She stared at him. Her chest did something strange.
He was proud of it. He was genuinely, openly proud of being a good student.
There was no calculation here. No manipulation. Just a simple, honest pride.
"I'm quite proud of it, actually," he said, meeting her gaze. "It's one of the few things I've done that doesn't have any strings attached."
She didn't know what to say.
She was caught off-guard. His quiet honesty unsettled her. She had been expecting a game, some carefully measured defence. Instead, he had given her something real. A rare glimpse of the man beneath the mask.
"It's oddly endearing," she admitted.
"Oddly?"
"For someone who's usually so controlledāI don't know. It's nice."
Something in his expression shifted. A faint surprise, a softening around his eyes.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She didn't know what to do with that.
The music swelled. He pulled her a little closer. Her hand came up to his shoulder as he guided her through a slow turn.
"You called me first," he said.
Her breath caught. "What?"
"In the car. That night. You called me first."
"I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing."
"You knew exactly what you were doing. You just won't admit it to yourself."
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Valarr, don't-"
"Be honest with me." His voice was quiet, steady, his hand firm on her waist. "Please. Just be honest with me."
She looked up at him. The world blurred around her. The music, the lights, the other dancers, they all faded into nothing. There was only him.
"I don't know why I called you," she admitted. "I don't know why I-" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know why I feel like you're the only thing in my head. Like no matter what I do, you're there. Like I can't escape you."
His hand tightened on her waist. His thumb pressed into her lower back.
"I don't want to escape you," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I don't want to stop thinking about you. I don't want to stop-"
She stopped. Her throat was tight. Her eyes were burning.
She looked down at his chest. She couldn't meet his eyes.
"I called you first," she said. "I called you first because I wanted to. Because I wanted to hear your voice. Because I wanted you to come get me. Because I knew you would."
The words hung in the air between them.
She finally looked up at him. She saw his jaw tighten. Saw his throat work. Saw something shift in his eyesāsomething raw and vulnerable and real.
"I'm glad you did," he said. His voice was rough. "I'm glad you called me. I'm glad you trusted me. I'm glad you knew I would come."
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to feel.
"I will always come," he said. "No matter what. No matter when. I will always come."
She felt her chest tighten. Her eyes burned.
"I don't know how to-" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know how to let anyone in."
"I know." His hand came up to her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "You don't have to figure it out tonight."
He pulled her into a slow turn. She stumbled, her heel catching on the hem of her dress. Her ankle buckled.
She felt something snap.
"Ow-"
She looked down. Her heel had broken. Completely.
"Of course," she said. "Because tonight wasn't dramatic enough."
Valarr looked down, then back at her. He was trying not to laugh. He was failing.
"Don't," she warned.
"You stepped on my foot so many times," he said. "I think the shoe just gave up."
"You're laughing at me?"
"Absolutely not." He was definitely laughing. "I would never laugh at you."
"Liar."
"Maybe a little."
She smiled despite herself.
He guided her off the dance floor, away from the crowd, his hand steady on her back. He led her to a quiet alcove, his thumb pressing into her spine. There was a low velvet bench near the window.
"Sit," he said.
She sat. He knelt in front of her, lifting her foot, examining the broken heel.
"I'll get you another pair," he said. "Stay here."
He walked away. She watched him go.
He returned a few minutes later with a pair of simple satin flats. They were elegant. Pale gold, with a small pearl at the toe.
She stared at him. "Where did you get those?"
"Stark had them. I borrowed them."
"You borrowed shoes from the Starks."
"It's a gala. There are extra shoes. It's a thing." He knelt again. "I'll pay for them later."
She stared at him. "You're going to pay the Starks for a pair of shoes you borrowed for me?"
"Yes."
"You're ridiculous."
"I prefer devoted."
He held her foot in his hands, sliding the new shoe onto her foot. His thumb brushed her ankle, his fingers working the strap into place. He adjusted it carefully, making sure it fit.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded, a little breathless. "Better."
He stood. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.
She swayed slightly, her hand finding his chest to steady herself. Her palm pressed against the fabric of his shirt. She felt his heartbeat beneath her fingers.
She felt the heat of his body, the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of him.
She looked up at him. His face was so close. She could see the flecks of gold in his violet eyes. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.
He didn't step away.
"Princess," he murmured.
"Don't call me that."
"What would you prefer?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't find the words.
"I called you first," she said again. "Why do you think that is?"
He didn't answer.
She took a breath. She stepped closer.
"Tell me," she pressed. "Because I don't have an answer. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I keep doing it."
"Because you trust me," he said. "Because you know I'll protect you. Because you know I'll always come."
"I don't know if I can let myself trust you."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said. "I'm asking you to let me earn it."
She didn't know what to say. She just watched him.
She looked down at his chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"I have to go see to something, I'll catch up with you soon"
He stepped away from her. He walked back toward the main hall.
She stood there, watching him go.
She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected any of it. She hadn't expected him to kneel in front of her, to hold her foot in his hands, to slide a shoe onto her foot, to say he would always come, to ask to take her home.
She touched her chest. Her heart was beating hard and fast.
She needed to find her friend. She needed to know if she was okay.
She walked toward the balcony where she had seen her friend disappear.
She found her friend in the shadows of the balcony, her back to the wall, her eyes red-rimmed but dry.
She knew that look. She had worn it herself.
"You okay?" she asked.
Her friend's smile was brief, hollow. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I will be." She reached out and squeezed her friend's hand. "Come. Let's get out of here."
They walked back to the main hall together. Her friend's steps were measured.
Ormund met them at the edge of the ballroom. His face was unreadable.
"Family's leaving," he said. "You coming?"
Her friend nodded. She squeezed her hand once, twice.
"Get home safe," she said. "We'll talk tomorrow."
She watched her friend walk away, Ormund's hand steady on her back.
She walked toward the valet stand, her heels clicking against the cobblestones, the cold air biting at her cheeks. The Stark estate loomed behind her, all ice and candlelight, the distant hum of music still drifting through the frozen air.
She pulled out her phone. She was about to call her driver when she heard the low purr of an engine.
A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. She recognized it immediately.
The window rolled down. Valarr leaned across the passenger seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on her through the open window.
"Get in," he said.
She blinked. "Valarr, I have a driver."
"I know." He smiled, soft and unhurried. "But let me take you home. Let's make it a tradition."
"A tradition?"
"Me, driving you home after you've had too much to drink. You, pretending you're not glad to see me."
"I'm not-" She stopped. "I don't want to make it a situation."
"Too late. It's already a situation." He tilted his head. "Get in the car."
She stared at him for a long moment. The cold air bit at her skin. The lights of the estate glittered behind her. His eyes were steady, patient, waiting.
She walked around the car and opened the passenger door. She slid inside.
The drive was quiet, warm. The heater hummed softly. The city lights blurred past the windows.
She kept her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. She could feel him glancing at her, the weight of his attention settling over her like a blanket.
He pulled up in front of her building. He cut the engine. The silence was sudden.
He turned to her. His face was half-lit by the streetlamp outside, his eyes soft.
"Goodnight, princess."
She looked at him. The warmth of the car, the quiet of the moment, the softness in his voice, it all pressed against her chest.
"Goodnight," she said.
She reached for the door handle. She paused. She turned back.
She leaned across the center console and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
He went still.
She pulled back, her face warm. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel. His breathing was shallow, uneven. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. She watched his pupils darken in the low light.
She leaned in again. This time, she pressed her lips to his.
His hand came up, tangling in her hair. He kissed her back, slow at first, then deeper, his mouth parting beneath hers. She felt his other hand find her waist, pulling her closer across the console.
The kiss deepened. His hand slid from her waist to her lower back, pressing her against him. She felt the heat of his body, the solid strength of him, the way his breath caught against her lips.
They broke apart, gasping for air. His forehead pressed against hers. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers, feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself back.
"I should go," he said, his voice rough.
He pulled back, his hand falling from her hair. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the war he was waging with himself.
"No, you're not."
Her hand found his tie, fisting the silk, pulling him back toward her.
He went still.
His hand came up, pressing against her lower back, pulling her closer. His forehead was against hers, his voice a low, rough murmur.
"Don't start something you can't handle, princess."
She felt her heart pound. Her eyes met his, dark and dangerous.
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate. "Is that a warning? Or a promise?"
Something snapped behind his eyes. He moved fast. His hands found her waist, lifting her across the console, settling her onto his lap. Her knees pressed against the center console, her thighs framing his hips.
She felt the heat of his body, the solid strength of him beneath her. His hands gripped her waist, his thumbs pressing into the fabric of her dress.
She felt the warmth of his breath, the pressure of his hands, the weight of the moment pressing down.
He kissed her, his mouth urgent, her hands finding his shoulders. She felt his grip tighten on her waist, felt him pull her closer, felt the tension in his body.
He pulled back. His eyes were dark, his voice rough.
"We're taking this inside"
She didn't argue.
Notes:
Things are moving quickkk with these two šš Can't blame two hot ppl for wanting each other tho š¤·āāļø
Anywayss, next part will be out soon although I think its like 2 am for most of you guys already, Next two chapters are going to conclude the series probably, I'm going to focus on finishing the plot (still deciding on what to do with the Uncle sub plot any suggestions are welcome cuz I've got way too many draftsšš)
Also I've found the motivation to finally finish editing all my drafts so expect those all to come out soon (there's like 15 but im probs only going to post the requested ones as well as the best written one shots but we'll see in the next few days)
Preview, Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
"I must have rolled off the bed." Her voice was defensive, higher than usual. "I don't remember doing it. I was asleep."
He raised an eyebrow. "You rolled off the bed." he let the words settel : "Accidentally, onto me"
"I was asleep!"
He let the silence stretch. His arm was still around her waist. He
made no move to let go.
"You're still holding me," she said.
"I'm aware."
She waited, yet he didn't move.
"You could let go," she said.
"I could."
Another pause. She was watching him, her expression caught between embarrassment and something that looked almost like curiosity.
"Are you going to?" she asked.
He considered the question. "No."
Warnings: ANGST, criminal! Aerion x peoples princess!Reader, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Fake dating, Modern AU, Violence, suggestiveness, political corruption, Manipulation, semi-slow burn, cheating (not Aerion or reader dw), infidelity accusations, insecurity, Aerion Targaryen (heās his own warning), Streamer!Raymund
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader
WC: 7.3 K
Raymun Fossoway looked like he'd seen the Stranger himself.
His hair had completely given up. His eyes were bloodshot, the rhinestone mug abandoned in the corner of the desk beside what looked suspiciously like an espresso martini, and he'd been pacing for so long the camera kept losing autofocus every time he walked past.
He stopped dead in front of the webcam.
"Okay." A breath. "Nobody panic."
The chat immediately panicked.
InSevenHells:Ā TOO LATE I'VE ALREADY CALLED MY THERAPIST
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā RAYMUN I AM IN ACTIVE DISTRESS š
Stagflation:Ā MY SCREEN TIME TODAY IS YOUR FAULT
TheStranger:Ā BNN COUNT YOUR DAYS
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā MY APPLE WATCH THINKS I'M EXERCISING
Raymun pointed accusingly at the chat, a manic energy in his movements. "This is why none of us know peace." He dropped into his chair, already pulling up the image on his screen. "I've refreshed the article sixty-two times. It has not become satire."
The photograph filled the frame; this one not grainy or taken from across the street, but crisp, clear, and devastatingly intimate. Morning light filtered through the apartment building's entrance, casting long shadows across the pavement. And there, walking toward a sleek black car, were two figures.
Her, wearing an oversized coat that was clearly not hes, her hair still tousled from sleep. Him, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other reaching for the car door. Both of them looked like they had just rolled out of bed. Both of them looked like they had not slept at all.
Raymun leaned in slowly. The chat was already losing its mind.
TheStranger:Ā WAIT...
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā HOLD ON WHY ARE THEY LEAVING TOGETHER??
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā IN THE MORNING???
GoldenBoyFan:Ā GOOD MORNING?????
BaelorsToe:Ā OH THEY HAD A SLEEPOVER SLEEPOVER š
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā THEY DIDN'T EVEN PRETEND
Raymun zoomed in on the coat. His voice was barely a whisper. "Is that..." He stopped. "That's his coat."
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā IS THAT HIS COAT???
FreeMyManAerion:Ā GIRL STOLE THE MERCH
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā SHE'S WEARING THE BOYFRIEND DLC
TheLastDragonrider:Ā HE LOST THE COAT IN THE DIVORCE
BaelorsToe:Ā GIVE HIM HIS JACKET BACK š
Raymun was already laughing, his hand covering his mouth. "She stole his coat. She stole his coat and he's just letting her wear it. In public. With cameras everywhere."
Then he noticed something else. His laughter faded. His eyes narrowed.
"...Wait."
He zoomed in on the hand resting on her back.
"Since when does Aerion Targaryen touch people gently?"
The chat went still for half a second.
InSevenHells:Ā WHO TAUGHT HIM THAT???
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THAT MAN USED TO COMMUNICATE THROUGH PROPERTY DAMAGE
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā THE HAND ON HER BACK???
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā HE'S GUIDING HER LIKE SHE'S PRECIOUS š
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā BRO INSTALLED CHIVALRY
Raymun was staring at the screen, his expression caught between disbelief and something softer. "He's guiding her. Like she's..." He stopped. "Like she's precious."
He shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge the thought.
Then he zoomed in further.
On his neck.
On her neck.
His mouth fell open.
"Inciders."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"...Are those hickeys?"
TheLastDragonrider:Ā SHE PUT HIM IN LOST & FOUND
FreeMyManAerion:Ā "IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO OWNER"
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā THAT MAN HAS BEEN INVENTORIED
BaelorsToe:Ā BARCODED šš
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā QR CODE HIM
Raymun stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His hands were gripping his hair like he was trying to physically contain his own brain.
"No."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"You cannot expense THIS."
He pointed violently at the screen.
"No PR team on earth signs off on matching hickeys."
He dropped back into his chair, staring at the image with the expression of a man who had just witnessed something he would never recover from.
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THEY SWAPPED INVENTORIES š
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā BRO THEY LOOTED EACH OTHER
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā SHE STOLE HIS COAT HE STOLE HER SLEEP
TheStranger:Ā SHARED WARDROBE UNLOCKED
Raymun was still staring at the screen. "They left together. In the morning. Wearing each other's clothes. With marks on their necks."
He looked directly into the camera.
"They did taxes."
He paused.
"They skipped six relationship stages."
The chat was in complete shambles.
FreeMyManAerion:Ā THIS ISN'T MY GOAT
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā WHO MODDED HIM
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā THAT MAN USED TO BITE REPORTERS
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THEY TOOK MY WAR CRIMINAL
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā GIVE HIM BACK
Then a single message cut through the chaos.
LysExileTruther:Ā guys what if they're cousins
The chat went silent for half a second.
Entire Chat:Ā ?????
Raymun stared at the message. Then he spoke, his voice flat.
"Ban them."
The chat erupted.
Raymun was about to move on, when another message caught his eye.
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā WAIT
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā LOOK AT HER
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā SHE'S SMILING
Raymun froze. He zoomed in on her face. The morning light caught her expression; soft, unguarded, genuinely happy.
He stared at the image. His voice was quieter now.
"...She is."
The chat slowed. The energy shifted.
SirenSupporter:Ā ā¹ļø
TheLastDragonrider:Ā stop making me feel emotions
InSevenHells:Ā she looks so happy
FreeMyManAerion:Ā they're gonna be okay
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā THEY HAVE TO BE
Raymun nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on her face. "I don't know if they're back together. I don't know what happened behind that door. I don't know if they argued, if they cried, if they-" He paused. "But she's smiling. And he's looking at her like she's the only thing in the world."
He leaned back, his voice quieter now. "I don't know what this is. But I know it's real."
The chat was quiet for a moment. Then it erupted again, but this time with something different.
Raymun laughed, shaking his head. "You guys are unbelievable."
He reached for the rhinestoned mug and held it up for a moment before a grin spread across his face.
"Oh-" He laughed, genuine and bright. "We are so back."
Stagflation:Ā WE ARE SO BACKKKKKKKKKK
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā NEVER DOUBTED THEM (DELETE MY OLD MESSAGES)
BaelorsToe:Ā GOD IS GOOD šš
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā WE USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS
TheStranger:Ā CLOCK ITTTTTTTTTTT
FreeMyManAerion:Ā CLOCK IT INTO THE MUG š£ļøš£ļøš£ļø
Raymun raised the rhinestoned mug like it was the Holy Grail, his grin widening.
"...Clock it."
He took a long sip.
Then a notification popped up.
BNNOfficial:Ā Comments have been disabled.
Raymun choked on his coffee.
The chat lost its mind.
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā WE WON ššš
Raymun was wheezing, slapping his desk as he tried to catch his breath. "They disabled-" He gasped. "They disabled the comments-" He pointed at the screen, his voice barely coherent. "BNN gave up-"
He finally recovered, grinning at the camera.
"We did it, Inciders."
"We broke the news."
He raised the mug one last time.
"...Clock it."
He woke first.
The awareness came slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling, the grey morning light filtering through the curtains, the faint hum of the city waking up outside. Then the warmth pressed against him registered. The weight of her arm draped across his waist. The soft tickle of her breath against his neck.
Aerion went very, very still.
His eyes opened fully, staring at the ceiling as his mind raced through the possibilities. The floor beneath him was hard. The blanket was tangled around them both. And she was pressed against his side like she had been there all night.
He didn't remember pulling her close. He didn't remember her rolling off the bed. He didn't remember any of it. And now they were tangled together in a way that felt intimate and unguarded and terrifying.
What the hell happened.
He should move. He should wake her up. He should gently disentangle himself before she woke up and made this awkward. He was supposed to be a gentleman. He was supposed to give her space. This was the opposite of space.
He didn't move.
He lay there, frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing through a hundred different scenarios. She shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and her hand curled into the fabric of his shirt. Her breath was warm against his neck.
He closed his eyes.
He should get up. He should end this before it got more complicated. He should-
He didn't.
He lay there, his arm still wrapped around her, and told himself it was just for a moment. Just a few more seconds. Just until he could figure out how to escape without waking her.
A few seconds turned into a few minutes. The minutes stretched. The light outside grew brighter, casting long shadows across the floor. Her breathing was slow and even, her body relaxed against his. He felt the steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft warmth of her skin.
He was losing his mind.
She stirred.
He felt it before he saw it; the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her fingers twitched against his chest, the soft sound she made as she began to surface from sleep. He kept his eyes closed, forcing his breathing to stay slow and even. He wasn't ready to face this. He didn't know what to say.
She opened her eyes.
He felt her go still. Her body tensed against his. She was taking in the situation: the floor, the blanket, his arm around her, his chest beneath her cheek. He could almost hear the calculations running through her head.
Then she started to move.
Slowly, carefully, she began to pull away. Her hand pressed against his chest as she tried to lift herself up without waking him.
He opened his eyes.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She froze. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide and startled, her cheeks already flushing a deep pink. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, his arm still wrapped around her waist. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"I-" She swallowed, her throat moving. "I don't know."
"You don't know." His voice was flat, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He wasn't smiling, but he was close.
"I must have rolled off the bed." Her voice was defensive, higher than usual. "I don't remember doing it. I was asleep."
He raised an eyebrow. "You rolled off the bed."
"Accidentally."
"Onto me."
"I was asleep!"
He let the silence stretch. His arm was still around her waist. He made no move to let go.
"You're still holding me," she said.
"I'm aware."
She waited.
He didn't move.
"You could let go," she said.
"I could."
Another pause. She was watching him, her expression caught between embarrassment and something that looked almost like curiosity.
"Are you going to?" she asked.
He considered the question. "No."
She stared at him. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his face. He held her gaze, his expression unreadable, but his thumb was tracing small circles against her hip through the fabric of her shirt.
"I don't regret it," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
He looked away. His jaw was tight, his voice rougher than he intended. "I don't regret any of it. That's all."
She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something. He didn't meet them. He couldn't.
"I don't either," she said softly.
He finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, guarded, but there was something else there too, something careful, something almost tender.
"I know this is complicated," he said. "I know there's a lot we still have to figure out. But I'm not- " He stopped. His jaw worked. "I'm not going anywhere."
She stared at him. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her touch through the thin cotton, the slight tremor in her hand.
"Okay," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was a softness in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "I'm going to hold you to that."
"Please do."
She finally sat up, disentangling herself from his arms. He let her go. He didn't want to, but he let her. The absence of her warmth was immediate and sharp.
She looked down at him, her hair a tangled mess, her cheeks still flushed. Her shirt was rumpled, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She looked a little ridiculous.
"You have bed head," he said.
She made a small sound of protest. "I do not."
"You definitely have bed head."
She reached up, patting her hair self-consciously. "That's- Well I just woke up."
"Exactly."
She glared at him, but there was no heat in it. "You're impossible."
"I know."
She stood, pulling the blanket with her. The movement was unsteady, a little clumsy. He watched her from the floor, his head propped on one hand, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Are you going to get up?" she asked.
"Eventually."
"Eventually?"
He stretched, letting the movement draw out. "I'm considering my options."
"Your options."
"Staying here is very tempting."
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "The floor is not comfortable."
"I'm aware."
"Then get up."
He didn't move. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. She looked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked softer like this; unguarded, stripped of all the careful composure she wore in public.
He stood slowly, unfolding himself from the floor. The distance between them was small. Close enough to touch.
"I'm going to need coffee," she said.
He almost smiled. "I can do coffee."
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
She turned and walked toward the door, the blanket trailing behind her like a makeshift cape. He watched her go, his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Hey," he called.
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
He hesitated. His jaw worked. The words seemed to cost him.
"Thank you," he said. "For not running."
Her expression softened. She didn't say anything. She just nodded once, then slipped out the door.
He stood alone in the room, the morning light soft around him, the ghost of her warmth still lingering against his skin.
He exhaled slowly.
This was going to be hard.
He had never wanted anything more.
The morning air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-washed pavement and the distant hum of the city waking up. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, the clouds still heavy with the memory of the night's storm. She stood in the doorway of her building, her arms wrapped around herself, wearing his oversized coat; the one he had draped over her shoulders before they had even made it to the door.
He walked ahead of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze scanning the street with the careful vigilance of someone who had spent years learning to spot threats before they spotted him. The black car sat where he had left it, sleek and polished, its dark surface catching the morning light.
He opened the passenger door for her. She paused, her eyes flicking to his face, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"You're being very gentlemanly today," she said.
He didn't smile. "Don't get used to it."
She laughed softly, a sound that was still rough with sleep but genuine. She slid into the passenger seat, and he closed the door behind her with a soft click.
He walked around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat. The interior was dark and sleek, all black leather and polished chrome, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. He started the engine, and the car hummed to life beneath them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, but loaded, heavy with everything that had happened the night before, everything that had been confessed, everything that still hung between them.
She looked out the window, her reflection faint against the glass. "I need to see my father," she said.
He didn't ask why. He already knew. "Where is he?"
"The Lannister Dome. Duncan's fighting today. He'll be there."
He nodded once, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "I'll drive you."
The car pulled away from the curb, gliding through the quiet morning streets. The city was still waking up, the streets mostly empty, the shops still shuttered. The radio was off. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the soft rustle of her shifting in her seat.
She broke the silence first.
"I'm going to tell him the truth," she said. Her voice was steady, but he could hear the edges of uncertainty beneath it. "I'm not marrying Trystane. I don't want his funding. I don't want anything from him."
He glanced at her, his eyes flicking from the road to her face and back again. "And the expansion? Your charity work?"
"I'll figure it out." She said it with more conviction than she felt. "I'd rather start from nothing than accept money from someone who wants to own me."
He was quiet for a moment. His hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight. He didn't look at her.
"I'll come with you," he said.
She turned to look at him. "What?"
"Inside." He glanced at her, then back at the road. "I'll come with you. To see your father."
She shook her head. "No. I'd rather do this alone."
He was quiet for a moment longer. The car hummed beneath them. The streets were beginning to fill with traffic.
"Do you think this is the right time?" he asked.
She blinked. The question caught her off guard. It was usually her who asked the hard questions, her who was practical, her who made the sensible decisions. The fact that he was asking her, that he was questioning her, felt strange.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But the sooner I do this, the better. He'll probably be in a good mood right now anyway. Duncan's fighting today." She paused. "Plus, he has an office there. We can talk privately."
He nodded slowly. He didn't argue. He didn't push.
"Okay," he said. "I'll wait here."
She watched him. His profile was sharp against the light, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the road. He looked tired. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. But he was here. He was still here.
She reached out and touched his hand. Just briefly. Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, warm and soft.
"I'll be fine," she said.
He turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "I know."
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then pulled her hand back. The car was slowing. The Lannister Dome loomed ahead, its massive structure rising against the pale morning sky.
He watched her walk toward the entrance, the oversized coat still draped over her shoulders, her hair still slightly tousled, her steps steady and determined. She didn't look back.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud. He was alone.
The silence in the car was heavy. He sat there, his hands still on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the entrance where she had disappeared. The engine hummed beneath him. The city hummed beyond him.
He thought about everything she had said in the car, everything she had done. She was about to end her engagement to Trystane. She was about to walk away from the funding she had been working toward for years. She was about to risk everything, for him.
He didn't know if he deserved it.
He thought about Trystane. He thought about Lys. He thought about the journalist. He thought about everything he had done, everything he had failed to do. She knew about some of it. Not all of it. But she knew enough, and she was still here.
He didn't know why.
He pressed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. The guilt was a low, constant ache in his chest. He had spent years learning to live with it, to push it down, to pretend it didn't exist. But she made it hard to pretend. She made him want to be better.
The thought of her ending the engagement with Trystane made his stomach turn. He tried to imagine it: her father's face, her own hesitation, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. He tried to imagine her walking out of that office having done it; having chosen him over everything else.
He didn't know if he was worth it.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again. The familiar ping of the group chat, the one he had been added to against his will.
He reached for it, unlocked the screen, and saw that Aegon had sent a photo. His younger brother was grinning, holding up a drink, the crowd roaring behind him. The caption read: I'M HERE. I'M ACTUALLY HERE. DUNCAN IS FIGHTING TONIGHT.
He exhaled slowly. He should have known. He should have remembered the deal she had made; the deal she had made with Aegon in the hallway of Summerhall, the promise of tickets in exchange for a high grade on his test.
He looked back up at the entrance of the Dome. She was still inside. He didn't know how long she would be.
He set the phone down and waited. He would wait as long as she needed him to.
His phone buzzed again.
Aerion ignored it. He was still staring at the entrance of the Lannister Dome, his jaw tight, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. The silence in the car was heavy, pressing in from all sides.
His phone buzzed again.
And again.
And again.
He reached for it, his jaw tightening as he unlocked the screen. TheĀ Maekarlings + AemondĀ group chat was already exploding with messages.
Waste of Wine:Ā I AM INSIDE
Waste of Wine:Ā THIS PLACE HAS FREE FOOD
White Rat:Ā I'M HERE TOO
White Rat:Ā DUNCAN'S FIGHTING TODAY
Resident Witch:Ā He bribed his way in with academic achievement.
White Rat:Ā IT WASN'T A BRIBE
White Rat:Ā I GOT 92%
HR Department:Ā Against all statistical expectation.
Last One:Ā i'm proud of u egg
Waste of Wine:Ā i'm not
Waste of Wine:Ā stay humble
Aerion pinched the bridge of his nose, a familiar ache settling behind his eyes. He could already feel the headache forming. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he typed.
Aerion:Ā Don't you all have lives.
The response was immediate. Almost too immediate.
Waste of Wine:Ā says the man sitting outside waiting for his girlfriend
Aerion stared at the screen. His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He typed. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too. The words felt wrong. Too defensive. Too much like admitting something.
Resident Witch:Ā OH MY GOD
White Rat:Ā HE DIDN'T DENY THE GIRLFRIEND PART
Last One:Ā HE SKIPPED STRAIGHT PAST IT
Waste of Wine:Ā CASE CLOSED EVERYBODY
HR Department:Ā Interesting.
Aerion's eye twitched. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He typed, his movements sharp and deliberate.
Aerion:Ā Don't start.
Waste of Wine:Ā WE HAVEN'T EVEN BEGUN
Before he could reply, a link appeared.
BNN.
Waste of Wine:Ā well.
Waste of Wine:Ā that's unfortunate.
Resident Witch:Ā ...
White Rat:Ā wait why is everyone typing
Last One:Ā ???
The headline loaded.
AERION TARGARYEN SPOTTED LEAVING SIREN'S APARTMENT THIS MORNING ā MATCHING MARKS RAISE EYEBROWS
Aerion stared at the screen. His stomach dropped. His hand tightened around his phone.
Nobody spoke.
Exactly three seconds later-
Waste of Wine:Ā LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Waste of Wine:Ā BRO GOT WATERMARKED š
Resident Witch:Ā i opened this article in public.
Resident Witch:Ā huge mistake.
White Rat:Ā WHAT DOES MATCHING MARKS MEAN
Last One:Ā WHAT DOES MATCHING MARKS MEAN
HR Department:Ā Hickeys.
White Rat:Ā i regret asking
Last One:Ā DELETE THAT MESSAGE
Waste of Wine:Ā SHE AUTOGRAPHED HIM š
Resident Witch:Ā return to owner if found
White Rat:Ā BRO GOT QR CODED
Last One:Ā scan for more information
Aerion closed his eyes. He could feel the ghost of a headache forming behind his temples. The messages kept coming, each one more chaotic than the last.
Waste of Wine:Ā HOLD ON
Waste of Wine:Ā IS SHE WEARING YOUR COAT
Silence.
Resident Witch:Ā oh my god.
White Rat:Ā THAT'S HIS COAT
HR Department:Ā It is.
Waste of Wine:Ā YOU GAVE HER YOUR COAT??????
Resident Witch:Ā you once made grandfather walk because he forgot his own jacket.
Resident Witch:Ā and now you're sharing.
Aerion typed. His jaw was tight. His thumb moved across the screen with controlled precision.
Aerion:Ā It was cold.
The chat lost its mind.
Waste of Wine:Ā EVERYBODY SHUT UP
Waste of Wine:Ā HE SAID
Waste of Wine:Ā "IT WAS COLD"
White Rat:Ā ššššš
Resident Witch:Ā who hacked my brother
Last One:Ā bring back evil aerion
HR Department:Ā Behavioural drift confirmed.
Aerion rubbed his forehead. He should have muted the chat. He should have turned off his phone entirely. Instead, he kept watching.
Another article loaded.
Another photograph.
White Rat:Ā WAIT
White Rat:Ā IS THAT HER HOLDING YOUR HAND
Waste of Wine:Ā zooming in
Waste of Wine:Ā ENHANCE
Resident Witch:Ā CSI: King's Landing
HR Department:Ā It is indeed hand-holding.
Aerion looked at the photograph. His thumb paused over the screen. He remembered the moment, the brief touch before she had walked away, her fingers warm against his. He hadn't thought about it at the time. He was thinking about it now.
Waste of Wine:Ā YOU USED TO SAY PDA WAS "TACKY"
Aerion:Ā It is.
Resident Witch:Ā YOU ARE PARTICIPATING IN IT
Aerion:Ā That's different.
White Rat:Ā LMAOOOOOO
White Rat:Ā "rules for thee not for me"
Then-
Last One:Ā are you in love with her
Aerion stopped typing.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked at him, waiting. His chest tightened. He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know if he had an answer.
Five people immediately noticed.
Waste of Wine:Ā OH HE'S THINKING
Resident Witch:Ā LOOK AT HIM PROCESSING
White Rat:Ā BRO'S BUFFERING
HR Department:Ā Response latency has increased by 437%.
Aerion:Ā I'm not discussing this.
Waste of Wine:Ā THAT WASN'T A NO
Resident Witch:Ā fascinating.
Last One:Ā i'm telling father you didn't answer
Aerion:Ā Don't.
Waste of Wine:Ā ššš
Resident Witch:Ā HE SAID DON'T
White Rat:Ā OH MY GOD
His siblings were relentless.
Waste of Wine:Ā remember when you said "love is an inefficient allocation of time"
Resident Witch:Ā aged beautifully.
White Rat:Ā like milk.
Waste of Wine:Ā remember when you dumped that actress because she asked if soulmates were real
Aerion:Ā She asked during dessert.
Resident Witch:Ā THAT MAKES YOU SOUND WORSE
White Rat:Ā remember when you said "i'll never carry shopping bags."
Last One:Ā seventeen bags.
Waste of Wine:Ā never forget the seventeen bags.
Aerion rubbed his forehead, the heat creeping up his neck. He could feel the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he refused to let it surface. He typed.
Aerion:Ā You're all unbearable.
Waste of Wine:Ā and yet
Resident Witch:Ā you're still here
White Rat:Ā stockholm syndrome
HR Department:Ā Incorrect.
HR Department:Ā Familial obligation.
Waste of Wine:Ā same thing
Last One:Ā is she coming to dinner
Aerion:Ā No.
Last One:Ā why
Aerion:Ā Because I like her.
The chat froze.
...
Nobody typed.
Waste of Wine:Ā HOLY SHIT
Resident Witch:Ā WAIT
White Rat:Ā DID HE JUST SAY
Last One:Ā SCREENSHOTTED
HR Department:Ā Archived.
Waste of Wine:Ā I'M PRINTING THIS
Resident Witch:Ā framing it
White Rat:Ā sending it to father
Aerion:Ā Don't you dare.
Waste of Wine:Ā too late
Aerion sighed. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his phone still in his hand. The messages kept coming, but he didn't read them. He just let the warmth of his siblings' chaos wash over him.
He had been so alone in Lys. For three years, he had been alone. And now, sitting in a car outside the Lannister Dome, surrounded by the chaos of his family, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
He felt like he belonged.
His phone buzzed one last time.
White rat:Ā btw
White rat:Ā daeron and i are at the fight
White rat:Ā he forced me to bring him
White rat:Ā said there was free wine
Waste of wine:Ā THERE IS FREE WINE
Waste of wine:Ā I'VE HAD THREE
Resident Witch:Ā oh no
HR Department:Ā This will not end well.
Aerion looked at the messages. He almost smiled. Almost.
He typed one last message.
Aerion:Ā Don't embarrass me.
Waste of Wine:Ā no promises
White Rat:Ā sorry buddy no can do
HR Department:Ā Statistically, they will embarrass you.
Aerion pocketed his phone. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the entrance of the Lannister Dome.
She was still inside.
He didn't know how long she would be.
He didn't mind waiting.
The Lannister Dome was a cathedral of noise and light.
The roar of the crowd echoed off the vaulted ceiling, a living thing that pulsed and swelled with every clash of steel and thunder of hooves. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and spilled ale, the press of bodies, the electric hum of anticipation. Duncan the Tall was fighting tonight, and half the realm had turned out to watch.
She moved through the crowd like a knife through water; focused, purposeful, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until she found the one she was looking for.
Lyonel Baratheon stood near the VIP section, deep in conversation with a man she vaguely recognised a sponsor, perhaps, or a business associate. He was laughing at something, his head thrown back, his hand clasping the other man's shoulder with the easy familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime charming people.
She approached.
He noticed her before she reached him. His eyes widened, just slightly, and the laughter faded from his face, replaced by surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
She stopped in front of him. Her chin was lifted, her shoulders straight. She was wearing his coat, Aerion's coat, and she didn't care who noticed.
"I need to speak with you," she said. "Privately."
Lyonel glanced at the man he had been speaking to, then back at her. His expression shifted, calculation flickering behind his eyes.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth, "you know what it's like being a father. Duty calls." He clapped the man on the shoulder. "We'll finish this later."
The man nodded, clearly confused but too well-mannered to ask questions.
Lyonel placed a hand on her back and guided her away from the crowd, through a side door, and into a narrow corridor. The noise of the arena faded, replaced by the soft hum of distant machinery and the echo of their footsteps.
His private office was small but comfortable, dark wood, leather chairs, a decanter of whiskey on the sideboard. A large window overlooked the arena below, the fight still raging, but the glass muffled the sound to a distant roar.
He closed the door behind them.
"Alright," he said, crossing to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't offer her one. "What's so important that you had to track me down in the middle of a fight?"
She stood in the centre of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she forced her voice to stay steady.
"I can't marry Trystane Martell."
Lyonel's hand froze halfway to his mouth. He lowered the glass slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"Excuse me?"
"I can't marry him," she repeated. "I won't."
He set the glass down on the sideboard with a sharp click. His expression was carefully controlled, but she could see the anger flickering behind his eyes.
"You made a deal," he said. "We all made a deal. The funding for your charity-"
"I don't want his funding."
"You don't-" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "You're throwing away everything we've worked for. Everything you've worked for."
"I'm not throwing anything away," she said. "I'm choosing something else."
"Something else." His voice was flat. "What, exactly?"
She met his eyes. "Aerion."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged.
Lyonel stared at her. His hand was still resting on the sideboard, his knuckles white.
"Aerion Targaryen," he said slowly, "is the reason you're here. The reason you're telling me you're throwing away a fortune for-"
"Father."
"He has a reputation-"
"Father."
"People have died-"
"I know."
He stopped. He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back his anger.
"You know," he repeated.
She nodded. "He told me everything. About Summerhall. About Lys. About the journalist."
Lyonel stared at her. "And you still want to be with him?"
"Yes."
"Even though he-"
"Even though."
He was quiet for a long moment. She could see him processing the calculation, the weighing of options, the slow, reluctant recognition that she wasn't going to back down.
"I'm not going to let you do this," he said finally. "I'm not going to let you throw your life away for one of those overgrown serpents."
"You don't get to decide that," she said. "I do."
She stepped closer, her voice softening.
"I know you're trying to protect me," she said. "I know you think you're doing what's best for me. But I can't marry Trystane. There's something wrong with him. I've felt it since the beginning."
Lyonel's brow furrowed. "Wrong how?"
"I don't know exactly." She shook her head. "He's too smooth. Too perfect. Every time I've tried to push, he deflects. There's something hollow about him."
"You're basing this on a feeling."
"Not just a feeling." She paused. "Aerion told me about the governor of Lys. Lysandro Pendaerys. He's been embezzling funds, millions of Golden Dragons. And I have a suspicion that Trystane is involved."
Lyonel stared at her. His expression was unreadable.
"That's a serious accusation," he said.
"I know it is. But I'm not saying it lightly." She met his eyes. "I've had my doubts about Trystane for a while. And now that I know about Lys, about what's been happening there, it all fits. He's been using people, Father. Using them and discarding them. And I can't be part of that."
Lyonel was quiet for a long moment. He was still holding his whiskey glass, but he hadn't taken a sip.
"You're certain about this," he said.
"I'm certain."
He looked at her. She could see the shift happening the slow, reluctant acceptance that she wasn't going to back down. He was a hard man to convince, but she had known him her whole life. She could see him listening.
"I've had my doubts about Trystane too," he admitted quietly. "He's always been a little too eager. A little too quick to offer help. I've always wondered what he was getting out of it."
"I think he's been getting more than we know," she said.
Lyonel nodded slowly. He set his whiskey glass down and crossed to the window, looking out at the arena below.
"Alright," he said. "I believe you."
She exhaled. The relief was immediate, almost overwhelming.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me yet." He turned to look at her. "We still have to figure out what we're going to do about-"
The door opened.
Trystane Martell stood in the doorway, his smile already in place, charming, utterly unreadable. His eyes swept the room, lingering on her for a moment too long, then settling on Lyonel.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said. "I saw you both come in here and thought I'd check in. This looks like an interesting discussion."
His smile widened. It was wrong. Creepy. Calculated.
"Mind if I join?"
Notes:
LETS GOOOOOOO
I've discovered this strange new found motivation to finally edit all my drafts and acc post them (its about damn time) all my oneshots have been collecting dust šš
Its literally almost 6 in the morning idk why I'm awake editing this but oh well sleep if for the weak anyway, on that note if theres typos you'll have to forgive me šš
Also yes i'm still posting Chivalry it'll be out in a bit <3
Synopsis - Aerion Targaryen was the current Formula One champion, few other drivers could compare to him. Though his cousin, Valarr Targaryen, began doing very well and ended up overtaking him on the points standings. After that happened, Valarr took a girl to the paddock for the first time. Aerion felt the need to take it all from Valarr.
Warnings - making out, innuendos, infidelity.
Word count - 12k.
A/N - this took me a long while as it was so difficult to make (at least for me). I hope y'all enjoy it and if you do, likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome. Xx
Based on the edits of a very talented person (@loewergirl on TikTok).
Inspired by the song Backseat by Balu Brigada (and a whole playlist).
"Aerion? Are you even listening to me?" The boy's father asked in a stern tone, while lowering his head to his son's level.
"Yes, father." Aerion replied, trying as hard as he could not to tell him to fuck off and to leave the fucking room.
"It doesn't seem like it. You're too distracted, too in the outside world, it's ridiculous. This is your life." Maekar pointed at the blue car that was waiting for his son, the number one on the nose cone. "You're losing the championship, Aerion. You're losing it." And with that, he left.
That was so typical of his father, scold him in front of everyone as if he was still a child.
He remembered that time when he was six and he had lost a karting final. He had finished second. He could still hear the shouting of his father, telling himself it was his own fault for letting Aerion go to a classmate's birthday party two weekends before. All while the parents of the kid who came third kissed his cheeks and smiled at him.
Of course, that kid wasn't anyone now.
And he was Aerion Targaryen.
He had no time to stick in the past.
After qualifying fifth, he had spent the night with his eyes wide open.
He was losing the championship to nothing less than his cousin.
Valarr and his damn Ferrari.
They had a better car, they had a better team, they were just better. Except for the driver. It was a reality, no one could beat Aerion, no matter what team he was in. He had already proven he was able to win a race even starting twentieth, lining up at the back of the grid. He chuckled two minutes before the alarm went off. He was winning that day.
An hour early, he was already at the garage, talking with the team. It wasn't unusual to see him around earlier than needed. When Maekar arrived with his two younger brothers, Aegon and Aemon, Aerion was watching the rest of the paddock smile and socialize.
"Aerion, did you go see your cousin?" Said his father, as his brothers went to hear the engineers. "You should congratulate him, and try to make it in front of a camera."
"I don't wanna see him, father."
"But I do, so you're going to go and you're going to greet his new girlfriend."
"New girlfriend?" Aerion raised his head from his water bottle.
"Yeah, everyone's talking about him finally bringing a girl to the paddock. It's all over the media. They wonder when you're going to do the same thing. I'll be saying you don't have time for it, which is true. Didn't you see the pictures?"
"I haven't been on my phone since yesterday afternoon. I'm focused, I can't go see Valarr."
"Well, it's just saying hello, congratulations, and fucking smiling so you're fucking going." Maekar determined, looking Aerion in the eyes. "Don't make me get mad."
"Aren't you, already?" Aerion asked, standing up, boring his lilac eyes into his father's deep purple ones. Thought it still felt as if he was staring at his own reflection in the mirror.
Before Maekar could continue talking, the boy walked past him and started making his way to the red garage.
On the way he found his older brother who was just arriving the place in a scooter, being chased by girls and cameras. Daeron smiled widely at them, saying hi and trying his best to appear in the videos. When he strolled past Aerion, Daeron raised his sunglasses and winked at him.
The difference between one brother and the other was noticeable. Daeron grew up with Dyanna. Aerion grew up with Maekar.
He continued to walk, people stopping him in his way. He only smiled with his lips pressed hard and occasionally waved his hand. When interviewers started shouting at him and putting mics in his face, he just limited himself to repeat, like a mantra, "after the race, please".
Entering Ferrari, everyone stepped aside and quieted down out of respect and discretion.
And there it was.
The golden boy.
Listening attentively to his smiling father; Valarr Targaryen.
They both turned to Aerion's direction and shut their mouths.
"Aerion." Said his Uncle Baelor like it was the punch line to a joke. "How are you doing, son?"
Aerion looked around and saw that a camera man and a reporter from ESPN had followed him. Great.
The boy smiled, more broadly now. He puffed his chest and opened his mouth.
"Hi, uncle. I'm doing fine." He said. "Congratulations on pole, Valarr."
"Oh, thank you, cousin." Valarr brought him into his arms, "we're not so far, huh?" He chuckled in his ear, harmlessly.
Aerion forced a laugh out of him.
"Yeah, we're not... Well, I should get going."
"Wait, there's someone I want you to meet. Your father already came by and met her."
"Oh, yes?" He smiled and then muttered, "let's make this quick, Valarr."
"Of course, it's a busy day. But it's early still. C'mon." The younger boy said and took him near the pit wall.
There was his Aunt Jena, as delighted as ever though he could realize how nervous she was by the way she fidgeted with her nails and the skin surrounding them. Beside her, there was you in a summer dress and micro heels. Your skin was as glowy as your hair.
"Baby?" Valarr called.
You turned around.
Your jaw dropped and your pupils dilated, "oh Gods, Aerion, it's such a pleasure to meet you." You said, immediately blushing.
You seemed astonished.
"The pleasure's mine..."
You said your name. Each letter was analyzed by Aerion in his mind.
Resting on your chest, a golden necklace with a V. Valarr had always been quick.
"Why is a pretty thing like you wasting your time on my ugly ass cousin?" He said jokingly.
You laughed. Good.
"I'm lucky, ain't I?" Valarr smiled.
"You are, indeed you are..." He looked at you, from top to bottom. "Well, now I should really go back to the garage. Good luck in the race, Valarr. Aunt Jena, Uncle Baelor." Finally, he acknowledged you in a lower voice, meeting your eyes. You smiled faintly, your heart racing.
He was so winning that race.
Ahead of Aerion, two McLaren's, a Mercedes and Valarr's Ferrari. He took a deep breath and the five red lights went out.
You were watching the race from the garage, playing with the hem of your blouse, as a tight headset hugged your ears. By your side, Baelor was holding Jena from behind, with their hands interlocked.
The race started and hell broke loose behind Valarr.
The three cars behind Valarr crashed.
Two cars that were fighting for 12th and 13th position crashed too.
Everyone expected at least one Safety Car in Dragonstone. It was narrow, there was a corner immediately after pit exit, it was only a matter of time.
Aerion came out from the smoke, unscathed.
A Safety Car was now in front of Valarr, and behind him, Aerion, who gripped the wheel tightly.
After two laps, the Safety Car diverted out of the track. Valarr sped up making you smile.
Though his cousin had managed to stick to Valarr's tail.
You wouldn't admit it in front of your boyfriend's family or even your boyfriend as is, but your favourite had always been Aerion. You had always been a Red Bull girl, and most of all an Aerion Targaryen girl. He was not only talented but also extremely dedicated.
Valarr said his cousin didn't party much or even go out at all, and that he had never seen him with a girl. He knew about the existence of a few but he didn't even know their names. Valarr said that he appreciated privacy and didn't like hanging out with just anybody. Aerion was an enigma even for his own family.
The boy also mentioned to you that his cousin, when he wasn't training or surrounded by engineers, liked to spend a lot of time in his boat. Sometimes with a few casual friends, sometimes with his father and his brothers, but most of the time, alone. Valarr said he liked fishing, but that he always threw the fish back on the water.
Meeting him for the first time was an almost breathtaking experience for you. Much more special than when you had met Valarr, as cruel as it may sound. It was embarrassing to even think about it but seeing his lilac irises and his silver hair in person was a dream come true.
But that didn't matter because you loved your boyfriend, the unique white streak in his hair and his mismatched eyes. And you would now wear the Ferrari colours very proudly.
Though your heart clenched in joy when the Red Bull finally overtook the Ferrari.
The race had been very linear. It was very difficult to overtake so, except for the accidents at the start, everything stayed pretty much the same. Commentators had called it a boring race. Commentators had also called you a bad omen for Valarr; he finished second after having won three races in a row.
But in those three races, Aerion had finished second. So it was only a matter of time, had said Baelor, as Valarr agreed with him and held your hand reassuringly.
Now you were at a new hotel, the Storm's End Grand Prix was next. Some corners showed the mountains, some showed the sea. The weather was always cold, windy and unpredictable. It was a high-speed circuit, with elevation changes. It was definitely a favourite.
Jena had taken you out for a coffee while Valarr trained with Baelor.
"The first time I went to watch Baelor race, he had an accident. I think that's way worse than Valarr finishing second." She said, while she drank from the fine porcelain cup. "Also, Baelor ended up being a champion for the first time that year." She winked at you.
"Yeah, it's just... I don't want him to think I'm a bad omen."
"Oh, sweetie, you're not a bad omen. It's a championship with twenty four races. It's obvious he won't win every one of them. And he knows that, we always told him that even number ones are sometimes number twos or even number twenties."
You nodded, shyly. Your eyes diverted to the steamy coffee cup between your fine hands.
"So he's not... Upset?"
"My son is not stupid. It's not like it's your fault Aerion won."
After the race, Aerion received hugs from everyone. Mechanics shook his hair, engineers palmed his back, the team principal gripped his face and kissed his forehead. His brothers were no exception; Egg hugged his waist, Aemon shook his neck slightly and Daeron pressed him against his chest as tight as he could, while lifting him up the floor a bit.
His father had a proud smile in his face, only to cap it off with a "try to do that every time".
Now he was at the gym. While working on his neck, his mind was racing. Aerion closed his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts only on the race and the new strategy.
But your face would appear, mixed with the track layout and the tires he'd be using if it started raining.
Valarr's girlfriend.
He firmly believed he was the best and thanks to that he had won. But a small thought crept up his mind; it was the first time you came to watch the race. Maybe you were his lucky charm.
He had really liked you. Not only for your obvious pretty looks but you had also seemed so... Interested in him. A genuine thought crossed his mind when you set your eyes on his for the first time. You were not only a fan, but you were infatuated with him.
Aerion had met a lot of people during his relatively short life. He had had a lot of eyes on him and he knew what each meant. Envy, lust, excitement, proud... But the eyes of someone that looked up at him as an idol... were completely different to the rest. That little sparkle, the blush in their cheeks. Some fainted which made it more obvious. But some others were even shy about it. Like they couldn't believe their own eyes.
Your gaze reminded him of that. And he couldn't stop thinking about that little piece of information.
It wasn't the first time Valarr and him shared the same interests.
"Let's move here, Aerion." His personal trainer said, making him open his eyes and divert his thoughts once again.
But his priority was to win the next race. If he won it and Valarr finished second, they'd be head to head right before the starting of the summer break.
Winning was something Aerion was used to. Winning was second nature, winning was who he was. It was in his DNA. His father was a winner, his grandfather was a winner.
The last implying his uncle and his cousin were winners too, but it was different.
He had always thought of it as a way of avenging his father. That prize that was took from him by his own brother. Baelor smiling while his father threw his gloves to the floor and stormed off, nobody seeing him again for a month. All thanks to a Safety Car at the last lap. He couldn't have that, no. The championship was his just like the last year and the year before that. The prize belonged to his side of the family and he'd keep it there like his father taught him.
And that's why he won at Storm's End. That's why he kept winning. Valarr finished second again and they broke records. Disputing the first and second place like there was no other drivers.
While Valarr shot him and the driver who came in third, the giant bottle of Mƶet, Aerion was drinking it. His throat burned a little as his mouth tasted the dry content. He didn't feel glorious. He didn't feel better. He just felt like everything was right where it should be.
From up there he could see his family and Valarr's. With a subtle smirk, he raised the bottle to them, but locked his purple eyes on the beautiful girl with a golden V hanging from her neck. Aerion winked at you just to continue drinking.
You could faintly hear all the cluttering around you, as the semi private alcove was keeping you pretty hidden from the rest of the customers. You turned your head to take in your surroundings once again.
Dim warm lights were cast upon you. Black and maroon were predominant throughout the place. Everything was too refined and extremely expensive. You had never grown up needing money but ever since you had met Valarr, you had seen things you could only have dreamed of before. One of those things was the excessive luxury of the restaurants his family frequented.
Your palms were sweaty against your high-end midi skirt - a gift from Valarr. Your chest had been aching ever since Valarr opened his mouth after stepping onto the balcony to take a call, "mom wants to celebrate that Aerion and I are tied on the championship. She says this is a once in a lifetime occasion."
You had to meet Aerion again. Talk to him. Spend a whole dinner with him. With Valarr by your side.
You felt a squeeze on your knee.
"You okay?" Asked your boyfriend, whispering on your ear.
You turned your head to him and smiled, nodding.
"Yeah, of course."
"You look distracted." He said, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, and leaned in.
"I'm fine. I told you I couldn't sleep much."
Because I was thinking about your cousin, who's casually my idol, you thought.
"Tonight you won't be sleeping much either." He whispered before pulling away.
You felt your cheeks go warm. How could he be so shameless in front of his family?
Just one person was missing in the table. Valarr's grandfather was sitting at the head, with his wife to his left. Baelor was to his right, and next to Baelor, Jena. Then Valarr, then you. In front of you all sat Maekar - beside his mother -, then Daeron, Aemon and Aegon. The only empty seat was by your side, as the one at the other end, facing the patriarch, had been removed.
Aerion would be sitting right beside you.
"Sorry I'm late." Said a voice, interrupting everyone's chattering.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Everyone said hi to Aerion as he greeted one by one all his relatives with two kisses on both cheeks, a custom they had earned from their Dornish grandmother.
"It's very good to see you again." He said, stopping by you. "We greet each other with two kisses in family reunions."
"I know, Valarr told me beforehand." You chuckled, giving him two kisses, while you were on the edge of a heart attack.
The silver haired boy then took place beside you, as the waiters came almost immediately with the menus.
As Valarr helped you pick your food, your nostrils were flooded by Aerion's cologne. It was sweet, vanilla probably, but also spicy and woody, like black pepper and cedarwood, making it imposing and masculine.
After the orders had been taken and the water and wine had been served, a waitress brought a big bottle of champagne, and another one was balancing ten tulip champagne glasses with a golden decoration around the rim. They opened the bottle, making you startle at the explosive sound, and started pouring the drink.
"Dad, can I have some?" Aemon asked Maekar.
"I don't know, Aemon."
"Dad, c'mon, I'm sixteen. I drink at home."
"I let you." Said Daeron, hurrying his younger brother's glass to the waitress before his father could say no.
Maekar didn't say a thing, his chest raised under his tight white shirt only to drop again.
"Don't even think about it, Aegon." He did say when the waitress finished serving Aemon. The youngest of the family was served sparkling apple juice.
What caught your attention was that the waitress walked past Aerion and served you directly. You frowned and didn't know if you should say something.
"I don't drink champagne." Aerion determined with a smirk, after noticing the confused look in your face.
Though that didn't ease your questions, "but you always drink it." You said, in an obvious tone, not thinking it twice.
The silver haired boy understood what you meant, earning a wider smile from him, "I only drink when I'm in the podium." He said and stood up, raising his glass full of wine.
"To Valarr and Aerion!" Exclaimed Jena, raising her glass, now rose gold.
"To Valarr and Aerion." Everyone echoed.
The dinner kept going smoothly for the family.
You felt kind of out of place, especially when Valarr distracted himself talking with his father, grandfather and uncle. As you ate a steak with a fancy name that Valarr had ordered for you, you could see, out of the corner of your eye, Aerion drinking his precious Cabernet. You could still not believe that you were having dinner with Aerion Targaryen.
"Do you like Wagyu?" Aerion asked.
"Sorry?" You replied, taken by surprise that he was talking to you.
"The steak, do you like it?"
"Ah, yes, of course... Though I'd rather it'd be more cooked and less... Alive." You chuckled.
"We can change it if you want." He frowned, his right arm instinctively going up.
"No!" You set your manicured hand on his bicep. "Not at all, it's fine. I've already ate half of it, it's just a preference."
Actually, you were trying not to vomit at the thought of the raw meat going down your throat.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm very sure." You smiled.
Aerion nodded and sat properly again. Meanwhile, Valarr was still absorbed in his conversation, only his hand faintly caressing your knee.
"Where did you two meet?" Asked Aerion, his lilac gaze going from the touch Valarr had on your skin to how you gripped your fork and knife.
"A party." You started. "I live in King's Landing... and I had a friend that knew a guy that could get us inside this important club and... You know."
He nodded subtly, his eyes boring into yours.
"And then I was dancing and Valarr was there, dancing as well. And I had been drinking and he had been drinking. We started talking..." You trailed off.
"You recognized him?"
"Yeah! Yeah, I was so amazed." You giggled, "I love Formula 1."
"And Valarr and Ferrari, I take it?"
"Right, of course." You smiled, your look lowering to your plate again.
"Change plates with me." He said, already grabbing yours.
"Oh no, please, Aerion. I told you, it's fine."
"Every time you send a bite to your mouth, you look like you're eating horse shit. You don't wanna draw attention, okay. But change plates with me. I like it raw." He whispered the last thing.
Why did he have to say it like that?
You shook your head.
"Thanks, Aerion. Really. I thought I was being discreet."
The boy shrugged, "well... Valarr didn't notice."
He had been your saviour that night, saving you from boring yourself to death. He was funny and extremely witty. You also liked how kindly he treated you.
You both said your goodbyes just like everybody else did. You saw him speed off in a custom Audi, just before Valarr got you inside his custom Ferrari, after opening his butterfly doors.
"You talked an awful lot with Aerion, didn't you?"
"Well, he's very charming."
"Charming, huh?"
You chuckled, "yeah, charming. Why, jealous?"
"No, not at all. I know that little heart is mine."
"Don't be so sure." You said teasingly.
He chuckled along, "I'll have to make sure then."
Valarr pulled over at a dark turn and leaned to you, looking into your eyes with his mismatched irises. One blue, but you swore it had a little shade of purple. The other a deep brown, almost black. He held your chin with extreme gentleness and pushed your lips together.
After one week into the summer break, during a lovely morning in Braavos, Valarr received a call.
He went out to the balcony while you drew circles on the empty sheets. You looked at his back, sculpted and smooth under the sun.
You still couldn't believe this was your life from now on. It was so addictive. The private jets, the parties, the fine restaurants, the ridiculously expensive cars, the extreme wealth that everyone seemed to have and that was so commonly treated amongst everybody. Far from feeling like an outcast, you started feeling like this was a world made for you.
Thank the Gods for that sabbatical year your parents had permitted before sending you to university.
Valarr entered the room again and left his phone by the dresser. He threw himself onto the mattress once again. His hands gripped both your thighs as he gave humid kisses to them.
"Aerion called."
You lifted his head by the hair on his nape, "what did he want?"
"To invite us to his yacht."
"He's here?" You meant Braavos, where all of the millionaires lived - specially the Formula 1 drivers.
"No, he's in Sunspear."
You nodded. "We going?"
"Sure, why not? It's just a weekend. After that we can go party with Daeron to Lys. Sounds good?"
"Definitely." You smiled and the boy dived again into your legs.
"Aerion!" Valarr shouted, coming closer to his cousin who had already boarded the yacht.
"Morning." He said, making a gesture for you to come to him. A deckhand helped you step into the yacht and took your bags, disappearing inside.
"I was thinking of something completely different." You admitted, staring at your surroundings, still holding Valarr's fingers.
"You were thinking of a sailboat?" Aerion chuckled.
You laughed with him, "not a sailboat, but definitely a smaller yacht."
"Well, I also have a sailboat for when I wanna go on my own. If you ever wanna come..." Aerion offered with a smile. He then signed to a woman in a modern uniform, "anything you need, ask Laura." The woman bent slightly, acknowledging you. "Make yourselves at home."
"Is Daeron here already?"
"Yeah, he came with... One of his girls." Aerion nodded, sending his hands to his pockets.
"Cousin!" You heard someone sing from behind you. You all turned around and saw Daeron, holding a tall slim girl in a sundress that showed the lack of underwear or bikini. Her hair was pink and her dark skin shone under the sun. The blonde boy let her go so he could kiss Valarr and you in both cheeks. "Lovely to see you again." He said to you.
"Will we tell her the same?" Valarr leaned his head to Daeron's companion.
"Let's not think about the future, shall we?" The eldest winked at his cousin.
The sun was striking your body. After those vacations you'd for sure get a nice tan. Your eyes were closed but you could hear Valarr laughing with Daeron. Daeron's Tyroshi girl, Kiera, was laying beside you, tanning her back with her bikini top untied.
"Want a drink or something?" You heard, after the sun had been blocked from you skin.
You opened your eyes and sent a hand to cover the sunbeams that were seeping into your gaze.
Aerion was standing in front of you. Hands on his hips. Sunglasses on. No shirt. Crimson coloured swim shorts.
"I'm good, I just finished an Aperol."
He nodded and looked away into the horizon.
You were already in the middle of the Dornish sea, deep blue water beneath them, that made the yacht slightly rock. You could see Sunspear's coastline, now almost miniature in your sight. A large mountain grew behind it.
Aerion looked down at you again.
"May I?" He pointed at the lounge chair by your side.
"It's your yacht."
He chuckled and sat down.
"First time in Sunspear?"
"Yeah. It's beautiful. You live here?" You straightened yourself in your chair, hugging your knees.
"Sometimes." He said. "I like the sea and this is one of my favourite places to be. It's calm."
"It's a dream."
Aerion shrugged.
"You are not used to this?"
"Not at all, no. I mean... I have been to yachts before but... Not like this one. Not with a planned trip to Lys after it. Not after coming from Braavos in a private jet, no."
"It's all I know." He chuckled. "You come from King's Landing, you said?"
"Yeah. I'm from there. But my family is not rich, rich. Like... Dad owns an old BMW but nothing more than that."
Aerion nodded. "Is Valarr making your dreams come true?"
"Definitely. On our fourth date he took me to the Vale because I once said I'd love to ski in those mountains."
"My cousin is a very... Captivating man."
"Indeed."
"He gifted you that necklace, I take it?"
Your hand went instinctively to it. "Uh-huh. Pure gold. So I always have him with me, he said."
"Ah, romantic too."
You laughed.
"What about you? Are you romantic and captivating with someone?"
His lilac eyes wandered to your surroundings. "I don't have time for that."
"So no lucky girl?"
"No. Never has been."
"You're very dedicated to what you do, aren't you?"
"It's my whole world. It's what I was born to do. Me, the circuit, my car. The rest is just blur."
"Just blur."
"Yeah."
"Okay, so I'm blur too, I'm guessing."
"Well, I'm liking you. Maybe you're more of a buzz?"
That made you laugh which earned a deep chuckle from him too.
"You're easy to talk to." Aerion said.
"Thanks."
"You sure you don't want another Aperol?"
"I'm sure. Thanks though."
"Of course. Anything you need..." He pointed at himself, "I'm your man... Uh, wanna get into the water?"
"Oh, I'd love to."
"Boys?" He raised his voice. Valarr and Daeron looked in his direction. After a sign, Daeron smiled and ran to the edge. He turned around and did a messy backflip into the water.
You laughed while Valarr was already scooping you up.
"No! No! Wait!" You squeaked.
But, it was too late, Valarr had already made up his mind. He jumped into the water with you in his arms, while you begged for mercy. Aerion nodded and then performed the same messy backflip his brother had taught him when they were younger.
After dinner, they had all started drinking. Kiera had made cocktails for everyone and put on some music after having slept all day. "I'm like a vampire." Kiera told you.
The night had fallen already. The moon and the stars were shining brightly upon them. The heat hadn't eased much, in fact it felt as if it had increased; light warm breezes embraced you from time to time.
Valarr was laughing drunkenly with you in his arms, both dipped into the jacuzzi. Aerion was in front of you, staring. Daeron and Kiera were long gone to their cabin.
"I think I'm gonna... Go to bed." The boy with mismatched eyes said behind your ear.
"Okay, I'll be right there." You answered. Valarr licked your cheek, "ew!" You laughed, wiping off your skin.
"Don't take too long."
When he was out of sight, Aerion and you stayed in silence. You could feel his intense gaze on you, just like you had felt it the entire day. It was obvious, unavoidable. Not discreet at all.
With your eyes fixed on the sand dunes, the mountains and the distant lights of the city, you saw out of the corner of your eye, Aerion getting closer. The water moved inside the jacuzzi, a subtle wave got to your chest, home to your heart that was racing as fast as it could.
He stopped right beside you and sent his elbows to the edge of the tub.
"You make a good couple." He muttered, having drank more than usual.
"I know." You replied.
"He gives you everything you want and more."
"I know."
Your teeth caught your lower lip. You knew exactly where Aerion was going.
"He really loves you, you know?"
"I know."
"Yet you... You've been looking at me all day." His voice got deeper, as he neared his head to yours. You could smell his alcoholic breath, feel his warmth. "It's like you like me more than you like him."
"Shut up." You said, turning around for the first time.
He chuckled. "Don't worry. You don't have to lie to me. I know."
"What? You're seeing things that are not there."
"Am I? I bet I'm the reason you started watching Formula 1. I bet you have to retain the smile from escaping your face when I win, because you now stand amongst the Tifosi. But you were always a Red Bull girl."
You shook your head, but your words wouldn't actually deny it.
"It's okay. I won't tell."
"Good night, Aerion." You said, about to stand up. A hand on your leg stopped you.
You finally looked him in the eye.
And you couldn't help it. His sparkling bloodshot eyes were your weakness. The purple irises you had dreamt of since you were seventeen years old. And then his cheekbones, dangerous and sharp, dying on his jaw. His pink wet lips that were coming closer and closer to you...
It happened as if you couldn't even control it.
His hands grabbed your waist firm but also kind of chaotic, while his lips tried to devour you instead of just kissing you. You hunted his silver hair, releasing all your feelings. His scent was intoxicating.
Nothing more happened. When Aerion's hands flew to the knot of your bikini top, you pushed yourself off of his lap, got up and left.
You entered to the cabin you shared with Valarr, wondering what you were going to say to him to get out of it, but there was no need, as Valarr was already asleep, wetting the sheets with his swimwear. You grimaced at that.
You laid down after taking a quick shower and putting a light dress on. You turned to your boyfriend, who was sleeping like a baby, in peace and quiet, oblivious. The easing rocking of the yacht made you fall asleep quickly, with your hand holding Valarr's open one.
In the morning you all had a display of fruit on the table. As you ate a piece of watermelon, you ignored the intense gaze that seemed magnetically drawn to you. Valarr had claimed you that morning, under the context of making it up to you for the night before. You had insisted on hiding your face in his neck while he did so.
The guilt was unbearable.
The guilt of doubting your own love for him.
"We're going to Lys tomorrow morning, when we arrive." Valarr mentioned.
"Yeah, Daeron told me." Said the silver haired boy, drinking his hibiscus lemonade.
"You coming?"
"You know I don't like it very much." He dismissed.
"I thought I'd give it a shot." Valarr chuckled. "But you have no remedy. You were born bitter like Uncle Maekar."
Aerion smiled, his lips pressed against each other. "Can't argue with that."
It had been a difficult day.
You were tired and had been drinking Aperols since you got up. Before dinner, all the boys were together in a booth next to a fire. Kiera was taking a shower. Valarr had your head laid on his lap, his soft hands braiding your hair just how you had taught him.
"I think I'm going to take a shower too." You muttered, raising your eyes to him.
The boys were talking about engines and your head ached too much to even think, so you weren't really listening to them.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I just... My head hurts."
"Go easy on those Aperols then. The night hasn't even started."
"I know, dad." You rolled your eyes.
"I'm just looking out for you."
"Whatever." You kissed him quickly in his cheek and walked away to your cabin.
After shutting the door, you rubbed your face with your hands and sighed. You then went to the wardrobe, choosing a dress for the night - obviously a gift from Valarr. The robe was already in the bathroom, dry and ironed.
Before starting to get undressed you realized you forgot your bikini.
You sighed before walking into the bedroom again, and went to the closet again. While choosing a bikini, the door was opened and closed behind you.
"If you come here to lecture me again..."
"It's me." A voice said.
A voice that wasn't Valarr's. A voice you could recognize anywhere, anytime. Valarr's voice had always been very generic, always getting mixed up with other voices. But that one... You could never mistake it.
You breathed in, "is there something you need?"
"Maybe."
You exhaled now and held onto the closet's shelf.
He got closer, you could tell.
His hands on your waist made you shut your eyes and clench your jaw. Aerion set his head in between your shoulder blades, breathed you in and then dragged his mouth to your ear.
"Want some company?"
In your mind you had shaken your head no.
In the end, Aerion had gone with you to Lys. He told his cousin and his brother that it had been a long time since he didn't go to a party, and that it may be fun.
It was fun. Lys was great. The music, the drinks, the people. In there, it all got blurry. Noon, sunset, night... The party never seemed to stop.
You kissed Valarr under the sun, kissed Aerion in the shadows.
It was so wrong.
So wrong you weren't even sober.
Just making stupid decisions without thinking them through. It was obvious Aerion and Valarr had been drinking too. You had even seen Valarr take some shit into his mouth. Or maybe you hadn't, the club lights made you dizzy.
You hadn't seen Daeron in a whole day. And now you had lost Valarr somewhere. Meanwhile, Aerion was holding you by the waist as you danced with him, your bare back pressed against his chest.
"Come with me."
Suddenly, Aerion dragged you out of the club. The street lights blinded you and your eardrums were buzzing. The sun was about to go out.
The silver haired boy got you into a car you didn't recognize and then got into the driver's seat.
It was a red convertible; the wind was hot but liberating all the same. You smiled while your head and your right arm dangled out of the car.
He was at full speed through the coast. Some song was blasting from the stereo.
You looked at him for a second.
He was focused, eyes exclusively on the road, but kept a hand on top of yours.
A sharp turn made you straighten up. He chuckled and you started laughing too, your fingers on your beating chest.
"You were never Valarr's." You heard him say.
"It was always you who I really wanted."
"I know."
Being back in Braavos felt empty.
While Valarr was on the phone, you were drinking water by the balcony. You had decided not to contact Aerion again. You didn't reply to his texts, calls or anything. Though you had caught yourself looking through the pictures in your gallery more often than you would've liked.
Valarr stepped out to the balcony and stood beside you, gripping the railing.
"Aerion." He pronounced. "Called to invite us to his yacht again."
That almost made you chuckle.
You pressed your lips together before replying, "I'd like for us to spend more time together." You whispered, looking back at him.
He nodded, "where do you wanna go? I have a couple of days before going back to work." His left hand brushed your hair away from your face.
"Anywhere with you."
"I could take you to Summerhall. My parents are there most of the time. I can't believe how I didn't take you there before."
"That'd be perfect, baby." You gifted him a soft smile and then leaned in to kiss him gently.
Valarr held the low of your back before you laid your head on his chest, facing the view of the coast.
The holidays happened pretty quickly. After giving you everything you could even think about wanting, Valarr had to return to his car.
That time it was the The Fingers Grand Prix. Difficult. Risky. Unpredictable.
You had always loved this circuit. It was probably one of the most entertaining ones. But right now, you could only think of your boyfriend not getting hurt. You knew the history of the place.
And of course, Aerion's safety was on your mind too. Hidden, in denial, but it was there.
Baelor and Jena were hugging each other, ready to watch the race just as always. The red headed woman turned to you and smiled.
"Everything will be okay with Valarr." The older woman had told you while you were being drove there.
The red lights went out, and the cars shot out of their places. It had been a clean start, with only one minor crash but no DNFs.
There was no rain, but it was said it'll come later.
Valarr was fourth, which wasn't great, keeping in mind Aerion was second, but he was doing good, at a nice pace. Also Jena said everything would be okay with him, so it would. It was mother's instinct, somehow she knew.
Rain started at some point, which made your heart beat go faster than usual. Everyone started changing their tires. Some didn't though. Like Aerion, he stayed on slicks.
It was an awful day, the sky was dark. There was an eerie feeling in the air. Something felt wrong.
It must be the anxiety.
You looked away, trying to calm yourself down. Your fingers never left the golden V hanging from your neck.
All of a sudden... Everyone went quiet. You had been hearing engineers and the team radio talking nonstop... Why was everyone so quiet?
People around you stopped doing what they were doing and started staring at the screens. Some sent their hands to their mouths.
You frowned deeply, your nostrils slightly widening. You immediately sent your eyes to the screen.
"Yellow flag. Sector 2." You faintly heard in your headset.
A car was shown on the screen. It was upside down against the barriers. Another car was near, out of the track too. Its driver got off easily and ran towards the overturned car.
"Oh Gods... Baelor?" Asked Jena. Her turquoise eyes got teary as she looked at her husband.
"I don't know." He said.
Jena went outside, not wanting to see the screens. Baelor, on the other hand, was watching attentively; you had never seen him that serious.
It was their nephew after all.
"Red flag. Box, box." A robotic voice spoke in your ear.
"Who is it? " You heard Valarr ask.
"Red Bull."
"Aerion? "
"Uh..."
"Is it Aerion, man? " He interrupted.
Silence.
"Yes, it's Aerion."
"Is he okay? "
"We're not sure."
"Oh, fuck me! "
"Return to the pit lane, please. Remain calm."
Your eyes filled with tears.
The Medical Car appeared and its crew was quickly deployed. With your fists clenched and your cheeks wet, you saw how they took out an unconscious Aerion.
The race was stopped right there, though drivers had already slowed down.
His brother had stopped his green car and had ran towards Aerion. Daeron screamed at him in his face but his little brother didn't respond. The medical crew took him out of sight.
"He's breathing." Baelor informed his family, after his wife and you had taken your headsets off.
You hated hospitals. You hated them since you had gotten a panic attack inside the MRI machine once when you were a little kid.
The trauma remained and, thirteen years later, you would still despise stepping inside any hospital.
Their odd smells, their deafening silence. And why were the walls always white? It was uncanny.
Valarr held your hand as you waited. Maekar was inside Aerion's room.
Aerion had suffered a concussion and he was going to stay there for a few days for observation. He had also had a hairline fracture in his wrist and bruises all over him. A medical helicopter had taken him to King's Landing, to a private clinic that his father had always trusted.
Maekar came out of the room. "You can go now." He told his nephew as he went to the other hallway where his other sons and brother were waiting.
"Wanna come in?" Valarr asked you.
"Uh..."
"He'd like to see you."
"Sure."
Valarr grabbed your waist and guided you to the room. As he pushed the door open, Aerion came into your field of view.
He had an IV line buried in his arm and a pulse oximeter clipped to his index finger. A splint hugged his wrist. He didn't look like he was well rested and he seemed extremely uncomfortable.
"Hey, cuz." Valarr said as he closed the door.
"Hey."
You smiled, mindlessly caressing your own bicep. "Hi, Aerion. I'm glad you're fine."
He looked you in the eye. Violet bags matched the purple in his irises. "Thanks."
"Man, you scared the shit out of us." Valarr chuckled nervously, sending his hands to his pockets.
"I'll be more careful next time." He winked an eye.
"They should've given you intermediates right away."
"It's not their fault, I would have had to continue the lap either way to go to pits."
The younger cousin nodded, "does it feel as bad as it looks?"
"Not with painkillers." He chuckled.
"When will you be out there again?"
"Racing? I'm hoping two weeks. I gotta be there for Lannisport. Can't let you win the championship." He let out a tight laugh.
They continued talking.
You just stood like decor behind your boyfriend, your teary eyes fixed on the floor. If you opened your mouth and pronounced just one word, you'd burst into tears.
Finally, Valarr ruffled his cousin's hair and said his goodbyes after kissing him in both cheeks just to tease him. You also said goodbye to him, to which he replied with a weak wave.
Second time that day that you were in the hospital.
Great day.
You had told Valarr you were going to meet a friend. You were at King's Landing after all, your whole life was there. You had already gone to see your family, and even Baelor and Jena had come along. Your dad had always been a big fan of Baelor during his racing days. The Hammer they used to call him. An infamous nickname; during a race, Baelor had crashed another car against his brother's car - that's why Maekar was the Anvil. It was a second name for them now.
As you walked through the hallways, you wished no one else was there. You knew his family was not coming back for the day but... What if they were?
Once in front of that room, you knocked on its door and waited, chewing on your lower lip.
"Come in."
You took a deep breath in and opened up. None of you said anything when you walked in and closed the door. You stood still, your hands clasped together behind you.
For a moment, the only thing you could hear was the beeping of Aerion's heart rate, which began to quicken.
"Does Valarr know you're here?" He asked.
You shook your head.
"Figured."
"I'm sorry", you started.
"What for?"
"Ignoring you..." You felt your eyes get itchy. "I just... I'm so confused." A gasp escaped your throat to which you covered your mouth with the back of your hand.
Aerion opened his arms. You dragged your feet to the hospital bed and you gently laid down with him. Aerion winced slightly when you hugged his waist.
"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"
"It's fine." He said and embraced you properly. "Just don't press too hard."
You looked up at him, though he was blurry in your sight. Aerion saw inside your eyes. They seemed hurt, puzzled.
"You won't like my proposal." He determined.
"Tell Valarr?"
"What else could you think of?"
"It won't fix anything. It'll make things worse."
Aerion wiped the tears off your cheek.
"Don't think about the press. Think about him, about you. About me."
You nodded briefly before nuzzling your head against his neck.
"Valarr?" You asked, as soon as you got in. You looked at the empty penthouse. The lights were all on but there was an atypical silence. Maybe he was asleep.
You made your way to the bedroom with soft steps. On the bed, there he was with his headphones on.
"Oh, hey." He said, freeing his eardrums.
"Hey." You said leaving your designer purse on the stand.
"How was Elayna?"
"Good... Missed me."
"I bet she did. What do you wanna eat?"
"Whatever you want is fine."
Valarr raised to his feet. He walked up to you and touched your elbow. "You okay?" He frowned his beautiful eyebrows.
"Yeah, I'm just..." We should talk. "... Tired. It's been a long day."
"Sure. Relax, I'll tell Ron to make us something."
"Okay."
"Go take a bath, I bought you some salts and oils and all that. Mango scented, as you like." He kissed your hand.
"Thank you, baby."
"Anything for you."
With that, he left. You did as he told you, took a bath and used every product he had bought for you. Because that was Valarr, always gifting you stuff you wanted, stuff you didn't even know you wanted. But that was his love language, right? He had a hard time recognizing your feelings but he sure did recognize if you stared at a pair of earrings for a second longer than usual.
The warm robe hugged your body. You didn't deserve all of this. He was giving you everything, and you were giving it all to someone else.
In your silk pajamas now, you walked to the living room where Valarr was scrolling through his phone.
"Hey." You said, leaning on the wall.
The city landscape in front of them showed a sleepy King's Landing, cloudy even during the night.
"Hey." He echoed, straightening.
He then patted his lap.
You dragged yourself to him but sat by his side.
"What? You wanna sleep?"
"No, I..."
"Did you not like the products? I can get you new ones."
"No, Valarr, it's not that. I... We should talk."
"That can't be good." He chuckled.
"No, it's not."
His face hardened. You heard him gulp, just as he crossed his arms on his chest and lifted his chin.
"What?"
"I... There's... There's no easy way to say this or even make it better. I'm sorry and I always will be but that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change anything to you. It doesn't make it better, but it's the least you deserve. Apart from me leaving; I'll leave and I'll leave you everything you've given me..."
"Hey." He interrupted, setting his hands on your shoulders, "what happened?"
"I... I..." You looked up at him. His eyes didn't want you to pronounce the words, "I cheated."
Valarr didn't move an inch. You weren't even sure he was breathing.
A pout started to form on your face as your lower lip trembled. "I'll leave right away... Just let me take my things..."
"Wait."
"Wait?"
"H...how? Were you drunk? Did they force you...? Was it a boy, a girl? Girls don't count." He asked like he was talking about the weather.
You frowned. "It was Aerion, Valarr."
"What?" He smiled, confused.
"I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. Don't bring him into this..."
"This is so typical of him." He chuckled bitterly and got up.
"No, Valarr, you don't get it. It was me. My fault." You tapped your chest.
"It was not. He is a manipulator. It's typical of him, he always gets what he wants. He can't see other people happy. Did you know that? My parents have taught me the right amount of competitiveness, but no one ever taught Aerion. This is what he does. It was a matter of time he got himself a girlfriend, I guess."
"Valarr, it was my fault too. Mainly my fault."
"If I say it's not, it's because it's not." He stated, raising his voice, turning around. "He manipulated you, he probably lied to you. He probably made me look like a bad boyfriend. That was it, wasn't it?"
"I..."
"Gods, of course. Of course he did that."
"Valarr..."
"I'm going to talk to him. Don't leave. You love me and I love you. Isn't that right?"
"Yeah, but..."
"No buts, baby. That's how it is. You'd never do that to me. I know you."
This was not how you pictured this would turn out.
"But I did do it."
"But it wasn't your fault."
"No, Valarr, let me talk."
"What?! It was a mistake, people make mistakes. You continue to love me."
"Maybe I don't." You muttered, your shoulders slumping.
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm confused. I wanna go home."
"I'm your home."
"You've been my boyfriend for two months, Valarr."
He frowned, "what does that even mean?"
"We're going so fast! Can't you realize? I don't wanna marry at twenty! And I need more than just gifts! I love each and every gift, and I cherish it and I am thankful for them. But just a minute ago you still thought I was just sleepy. If you would stop booking us flights and buying me designer boots for a second, maybe you'd realize how I actually feel."
"You sound like Aerion. Saying shit about spending money... He really got into your head, you know?" He massaged his temples. "I buy you what I buy you because... that's how I show love. If you say you like mango, I'll buy you a mango field. That's me."
"Well maybe that's not what I need. It's fun and it's great but it's not okay. I don't need all this."
"So?"
"I should go to my parents' house."
He shrugged, "I can't do anything about it, can I?"
"Not really."
Valarr nodded, "take everything I gave you. Don't leave it here, I want you to have it."
"That would make me feel so guilty..."
"I enjoyed giving you those gifts. I don't need them, I don't need the money. Keep them. Maybe you don't need them but you sure liked them. Or maybe you didn't... Suddenly I don't know anything."
"I did. Every one of them."
"Well, then..."
Valarr insisted on driving you home, carrying most of the gifts in the Ferrari's backseat. He dropped you at your house, but not before asking you for a kiss. When you pulled away, he whispered, determined, "I'll get you back."
Immediately after you closed the front door, Valarr's tires squealed. He got out of there at full speed, he was decided to confront his cousin for this. He wouldn't wait a second longer.
At the hospital, he quickly announced himself in the reception and gave the nurse a little money as it wasn't visiting hours. He opened the door and found Aerion watching TV.
"What are you doing here?" The older knitted his brows.
"I know."
Aerion shut up. He turned his face back to the TV.
"Look me in the eye, Aerion. Don't be a coward, and look me in the eye!"
The silver haired boy turned to face him. "I didn't think she'd tell you."
"Well, she did. I know it was you. I know you got into her head and manipulated your way inside her. You were always such an envious guy."
"I'm not arguing with you. Go home, calm down and we'll talk another day. For now, I'm sorry, man, okay?"
"Yeah sure... I bet you're sorry. You probably got her drunk, didn't you?"
"I'm not arguing with you."
"Of course. Big man you are. Getting her drunk, saying shit about me. You probably even brought up your daddy issues, didn't you? So she could feel pity for you."
"Shut the fuck up, Valarr. You pushed her aside every time! It's not my fault she got bored of you not paying attention to her!"
"Why can't you just mind your own business, Aerion? We were fine. Why do you have to take everything from me? Why can't you see other people happy? You are probably going to win the championship, because things always turn out so good for you. You are the pride and joy of the family. And now her? I love her, you don't."
"What do you know? And don't get me started, Valarr, you have everything. You've always had everything. Can't you realize? The only thing I have is the championship and I'm already watching it slip away. I'm not the pride and joy of the family, I'm just the winner. Don't mix those up. Nobody but me likes it when I win. Grandpa loves you and your dad best." Aerion clenched his teeth, "You are the golden boy, you are the pride and joy. The media loves you, the fans love you, your daddy loves you, everyone loves you. I just have my fucking car. But you can't bear the thought of your girlfriend not loving you and loving the one that you always wanted to beat."
Valarr stood still, his face serious after his cousin's monologue. He seemed much more collected than when he had first entered the room.
"You think she loves you? That because you fucked her once or twice, she loves you? You're very wrong, Aerion."
"Am I?"
"Goodbye. Get well soon."
Valarr stormed out of the hospital and called some of his friends to see if they were in town. He just wanted to forget everything for at least one night before having to fly to Winterfell.
Aerion was back on the races after the Winterfell GP. This one hadn't worked very good for Valarr, who finished in the eighth place. That had earned him several reproaches and talks with the team and his dad that never seemed to finish.
Meanwhile Aerion had fully returned. He looked as unpolluted as always. He smirked at everyone as he walked to the paddock, ready to win at Lannisport.
Valarr didn't even say hi when he walked past him and all of the reporters wrote that down. In addition to that, Valarr's girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. And of course not, you were hidden with Maekar at Red Bull's garage. You were sitting in Aerion's private room. You would be given a headset and would leave the paddock with a hat and sunglasses on. Just another rich girl at one of the fanciest Grands Prix on the calendar.
It wasn't what you wanted. You would've preferred to stay at home, but Aerion insisted on needing you there for his comeback.
Aerion entered the room and you jumped over him.
"Hi, beautiful."
"Hi. I feel like a prisoner here." You chuckled, holding his cheeks.
"I know... Everyone's talking."
"Don't mind them. Just focus on the race."
"Did you buy that now?" He pointed at your shirt. A Red Bull shirt tightened around your torso. It had a number one in bright red on your chest, next to the team's logo, and underneath it an Aerion Targaryen.
"No, I have this since I was seventeen."
He laughed and grabbed your waist, "I love it. Should've shown me it before."
"I was busy wearing other colours."
"Don't even remind me. You look way better in blue."
"No, but seriously. Focus on the race, Aerion. Your father already hates me being here."
"My father hates everyone, don't take it personal."
Someone knocked impatiently on the door. He was being needed.
"Coming!" He exclaimed, before going to his bag. He took a box out of it. "I was thinking your neck lacks something." He said, handing the box over.
"Oh, Aerion." You said.
"C'mon, open it."
"What did we say about gifts?"
"I know, but I really felt the urge to give you this."
You slowly took the lid off. A thin silver necklace with an A charm was resting there.
"It's rhodium plated platinum. It'll never break or tarnish, and it'll always shine."
You looked him in the eyes, your lips slightly parted. Your arms surrounded his neck as you leaned into his embrace.
Aerion then put you the necklace, kissed you and left.
The race went good, Aerion won. Everyone said the accident had only sharpened him. Valarr came fourth. Everyone said he had already lost the championship.
Aerion and his new girlfriend continued the same mechanism for the next three Grands Prix. You'd wait for him in his private room, and enter and leave in disguise.
Few races were left so you were resisting. Though you still weren't happy. Aerion noticed and tried to calm you down. But you weren't calm and you could never be calm again. Aerion kept saying everyone would forget about you being Valarr's girlfriend but the truth was that people were all asking about you. They had even ask Aerion about it, to which he replied that he only talked about the championship right now.
People don't forget.
And even if most of them did, someone wouldn't. Someone would remember you and the scandal would unleash either way. You knew you were the villain of the story, but you didn't need the whole world turning against you.
After the next race, it's over, you told yourself.
Aerion had been winning each and every race. The others didn't stand a chance. Valarr was somewhat between second and fourth. But there was no discussion that Aerion would definitely win again.
After finishing first for the fourth time in a row, Aerion rejoined his girlfriend at the hotel in Pentos.
"I missed you." He said as soon as he saw you. He threw himself to you, kissing you and lifting you up in his arms. He was directly taking you to the bed.
"Aerion?" You called, in between wet kisses.
"Yes, my love?" He grunted. "Did you see how I was one lap ahead of all of them?"
"Yeah, baby, you've always been the fastest. And the most talented of them all."
Aerion laid you down on the bed. He took in you features, you looked bewildered. "I know. What's wrong with you? The secret thing again?"
You nodded, earning a sigh from him. He pulled you to the feet of the bed and kneeled in front of you, his hands on your hands.
"We'll find a way..."
"I don't think so."
"I do."
"Aerion..."
"Goddamn it!" He shouted, getting up.
You stayed in silence.
You knew this was your fault.
You hated yourself for it.
"I'm sorry." You whispered.
"You still love Valarr?"
"What?"
"You told me I'm the one you wanted. But it doesn't look like it. You don't love me like I love you. You're always finding a but. Can't you just enjoy this for a second?"
"Aerion, you don't understand what this will mean for me. And for you. You don't care about what people say, you never did, but I do."
"Fine. Thing is you care more about them than you care about me."
He turned around and almost flew to the door. He grabbed his keys and his sunglasses.
"Aerion! Don't be selfish, Aerion!"
He stopped at the door, the side of his throat throbbing. But he ended up opening it and leaving.
Tears gathered in your soft eyes, now filled with rage and despair. He was no better than Valarr. There was no case in talking with him. A gasp escaped your throat and you started sobbing fiercely, as if you'd throw up tears.
You felt so lonely. So far from home, in a place where you didn't speak the language. How could Aerion do that?
You didn't wanna stay in your suite. All his stuff was around and his smell was impregnated in every corner of the room. You quickly grabbed your key card, a coat and got out of there. Some air would do you good.
As you walked to the elevator, you could see out of the corner of your eye people around you. The crying had ceased to silent tears running down your cheeks. You only hoped that nobody recognized you.
What were you doing there if you weren't anywhere near Valarr?
It was getting dark outside. You could see the Bay from the hallway. The warm colours of the sky were reflected on the water. Purple, pink, orange, red. You turned your head when the elevator opened, and got in.
After pressing the button that would take you to the terrace, you leaned onto the mirror panels. You avoided seeing your reflection in them; you would be met by a depressing version of yourself.
The elevator stopped at the 25th floor and you quickly turned your face away. A man got in but you didn't look at him very well. His cologne felt familiar though.
Suddenly, his voice called your name. You raised your face; you did recognize his voice after all.
"Valarr." You muttered, in shock.
"What's happened? Why are you crying?"
"Uh... Nothing. I didn't know you were staying here... I knew Alpine was here but..."
"Yeah, I always stay in this hotel. It's my favourite." He interrupted.
"Ah, yes, it's very nice."
"I thought you were staying at home."
"No, I've been... I've been around since Lannisport."
He snorted in surprise. "You're quick."
"Aerion wanted me around..."
"Of course he did, who wouldn't?"
"Valarr..."
"I know, I'm sorry. You going to the terrace too?"
"Yeah, you are going?" You asked, before your eyes diverted to the button panel. He was also going there. "Oh."
"I needed some air, I was thinking too much."
"You're having a rough time with the car."
"Can you blame me?"
"I'm sorry, Valarr."
"It's not your fault, I already told you."
You stayed in silence, it was tiring.
The door opened at the terrace. Valarr signed at you so you could step out first, as he kept a hand on the censor. After you, he got out. The hot air hit you in the face. The only reason you had taken you coat out with you was to cover your face with its hood.
You went to lean on the railing. Valarr followed you.
"Why are you crying? You came to realize how much of an asshole Aerion is?"
Of course.
"It's nothing."
"C'mon, you can tell me." He whispered, lowering his head to the level of your eyes. "We were very close friends once."
You clicked your tongue. "I... We had a fight with Aerion because he wants us to make it public and I don't. And I... Don't wanna break up, but I think we have no other choice." You explained, with a bitter smile.
"What do you see in him?" Valarr extended his hand and caressed your chin. You just looked away. "Honestly... I don't wanna be harsh but I really think he's using you to make me upset."
You chuckled, frowning your brows. "What?"
"I don't know... It's just... Is he really who he said he was? He's not. It's like he just wants to provoke me. He clearly doesn't care about what you think. But with me... I promise to be better than before."
You pushed away. "Stop."
"It's probably the truth, I'm sorry..."
"No! I'm sorry, Valarr." You interrupted him. "I'm sorry that you have to be so narcissistic. It was my fault. It was Aerion's fault and it was your fault. But mostly mine. Get that shit inside your head, Valarr. I chose him. I don't know how to tell you this anymore. I tried being soft but it didn't work. Do you understand it now? I don't like you. I like Aerion. I love Aerion! He's exactly as I always dreamed he'd be!" You started pouting as you felt more tears coming to your eyes again. "I love him! And I really think he loves me! So stop it. I'm sorry about what I did, but I never meant for this to happen. I was blinded by you showering me with gifts. But now I opened my eyes. Aerion gets me! Aerion is like me. He listens to me, like you never did. And I made a mistake and now I can't ever be with him." You finally burst out into tears.
The boy stared at you with his mismatched eyes flooded. He nodded and got closer. You let yourself be embraced by him as you continued to bawl your eyes out on his shirt.
"I'll always be here for you..."
You pushed him apart again.
No, Aerion was nothing like Valarr. Aerion was way better than that spoiled child.
"Get away from me." You said before getting inside the building.
Back at your room, you took a bath. Your head ached from crying and you felt sick. After being inside the cold water for thirty minutes, you got out of the tub and enveloped yourself in a robe.
You finally looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes had swollen up, you felt awful.
Once inside the bed, you curled up beneath the cold sheets.
You really didn't know what to do.
Valarr had proven to you the kind of person he really was. How the only one that was manipulative - and bad at it - was him. How he didn't care about you in the slightest.
After some minutes you felt the door open and began hearing steps. You quickly shut your eyes as the steps got closer and stopped near you. They quickly resumed, and then you felt the other side of the bed sinking.
A hand snaked around your torso and stayed underneath your side. Aerion's breath established in the back of your neck and inhaled you softly.
How could you resign to him?
In the morning you woke up to the sound of the shower. His side of the bed was somewhat warm though.
You rubbed your cheeks with your palms and got up. You went straight to wash your face on the small but lavish kitchen sink. The shower went off as you dried off your skin.
You didn't want to face him.
While preparing yourself a cup of coffee, his voice sounded behind you.
"Morning."
"Morning." You replied.
"Mind making me a cup?"
"Sure."
You handed him a steamy mug.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
After taking a sip, he opened his mouth, "sorry for... Last night."
"It's okay."
"No. No, it's not. You were concerned and I was an asshole. And I left when you were probably feeling lonely. So, I'm sorry. I get it if you think I'm stupid, I am."
"You're not stupid. You're human... You are impulsive. Thanks for understanding me."
"It's the least I gotta do."
You chuckled sadly, "right..."
"Hey..."
You raised your head and looked him in the eyes.
"I went for a drive last night. It gave me time to think too. I don't want you to leave. And I've never felt this way. It's different to losing a tournament. It's not rage, it's... unfulfillment. Without you, I'm just... Undone. And I know you don't want this, but I'm willing to defend you from anyone who dares even look your way wrong. I'll protect you. If you let me, I'll protect you. But don't ask me to leave you, I'm too selfish for that."
"Aerion..."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
You hugged him as you weeped softly.
"Okay." You muttered.
"Yeah?" He pulled you away and searched honesty in your eyes.
"Yes."
Aerion was right; people do forget. By the last race of the championship, no one seemed to be bothered anymore. People liked the couple you made, people said both seemed happier. Valarr had tried to get you back a few more times and was very insisting with his phone calls, but he ended up giving up.
Now here they were. In Highgarden. The final race. Aerion was first on the championship but his place wasn't completely secured. He still had to finish this last Grand Prix.
"Is it normal how nervous I am?" You asked your boyfriend.
"I think you're more nervous than me." He replied with a chuckle.
"I can't believe how calm you are right now. Seriously, I barely ate today because my stomach was so upset."
"Today we'll have a feast then."
"Don't say that! You're jinxing it!"
He laughed robotically under his helmet, his lilac eyes narrowing.
"You sound like Darth Vader."
"You sound like a siren."
"Shut up and drive."
He laughed once again.
"I love you too."
"I love you." You smiled and gave him a kiss through his helmet. "Good luck."
You got separated from him before he was sent to the pit lane. You saw Maekar with his two kids, one by each side. Aegon came to you and brought you to where they were.
"None of you went to see Daeron?" You asked.
"We don't even know if his car will drive today." The youngest said.
"I guess you're right."
"It wasn't because of that, Egg. It's the final, Aerion could become a two-time champion. That's why."
"Daeron said he would crash his car on purpose so that Aerion has one car less to dodge." Egg said with a big smile.
"If he does that, I kill him." Maekar stated, receiving his headset.
The Highgarden Grand Prix was known for being pretty easy and relaxed if you had a balanced car. It had long corners and a pair of straights to overtake. The rhythm was smooth with a landscape to match it.
When the race started you found yourself toying with your necklace. Your hands were trembling but you had a good feeling. He couldn't fail now. And he wasn't going to.
By your side, there Maekar was staring attentively at the screens. He was such a closed book to you. He always had the same face. Every time Aerion won, he would smirk a little but then he'd go back to its stoic features. It was kind of funny, even more when Aegon was fooling around and you'd hear Maekar sigh.
"Do you trust in him?" You asked.
"Excuse me?" He lifted one side of the headset and looked at you with an arched white eyebrow.
"Do you trust in Aerion? I know I do."
The older man turned his face to the screen before going back to you. He seemed to think his answer for a second.
"He is the best driver in the world right now. Since the day he was born, he was better than anyone else. What do you think?"
You nodded, smiling.
"He is everything I failed to be. Of course I trust in him."
Aerion's teammate, his crew, his superiors, his fans, everyone was cheering him up. When he climbed out of his blue car, all of them threw themselves to him. Suddenly he was up in the air, surfing his crowd.
As soon as they put him down, you ran into his arms. He lifted you up from the floor and spun you around. You took his helmet off and kissed him deeply, though the smiles in your faces were hindering the kiss.
He seemed really happy this time. It was different to the last championship, where he had won out of obligation.
HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET THE WHOLE TIME
Also the parallels?? Daerons carefree and chilled personality being cuz he was primarily raised by Dayanna and Aerion being so competitive and fierce cuz Maekar was the one who brought him up, you ate with that!!
And the subplot of Baelor beating Maekar during their racing days being what drives Maekar to push Aerion so much harder, and Aerion seeing his win against Valarr as being a way to avenge his father's lost title??? GAGGED
Ontop of that the level of detail you put into decide the race locations and fitting them into Westeros as well as all the details about the individual tracks MIND BLOWING DEDICATION!!
This was such a fun read as an F1 Fan!! You did amazing twin<333
Girl yk what came to my mind maybe it would be good to have something like a spin-off of chivalry and pr stunt when they end. Something like a family vacation together. I don't want to ask for too much tho
Omgg??? First though TRANSCENDING THE GAMEE!!!
This is an amazing ideaaaa I genuinely love it, like can you imagine how chaotic both of them would be togetherš and if itās a family Vacation I promise you the whole Targaryen lineage will be there ššš
Just think about the amount of chaos that would ensue with 10 Targaryen at a resort somewhere in Westeros or Lys, Iām acc itching to right it!!
All the memes that would be spamming in the Targaryen family gc š
The pranks the maekarlings would pull, the level of stress Maekar would be in, I can see Rhae or Egg getting lost as well and Baelor cutting the trip short because having to mange everyone would genuinely shave years of his life š
Youāre not asking for too much at all!! Thank you smmm for the idea anon <3
Preview , Part 1 , Part2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
"I should go," he said, his voice rough.
He pulled back, his hand falling from her hair. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the war he was waging with himself.
"No, you're not."
Her hand found his tie, fisting the silk, pulling him back toward her. He went still.
His hand came up, pressing against her lower back, pulling her closer. His forehead was against hers, his voice a low, rough
murmur.
"Don't start something you can't handle, princess."
She felt her heart pound. Her eyes met his, dark and dangerous.
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate.
"Is that a warning? Or a promise?"
Warnings: Power imbalance, slight manhandling, forced proximity, Manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, stalking, Modern AU, bratty! but intelligent! Reader, Lannister! Reader, Jealousy, possessiveness, slight yandere!Valarr, political corruption, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of cheating, suggestiveness, Violence, misogyny, Targaryens are oil tycoons, SMAU
Modern!Manipulator! Valarr x Brat! Reader
WC: 7k
She woke up with the kind of hangover that should probably qualify as a medical emergency.
Her head felt like someone had installed a construction site behind her eyes; jackhammers, drills, the whole operation. Her mouth tasted like she'd eaten drywall and chased it with regret. Every single one of her organs had filed a formal complaint.
Never drinking again.
The thought floated through her consciousness like a half-hearted promise she knew she wouldn't keep.
(An obvious lie.)
She cracked one eye open. Immediately regretted it. The sunlight was aggressive, invasive, personally attacking her. She squeezed her eye shut again, groaned, and burrowed deeper into her pillow.
Then she noticed the jacket.
It was draped over her legs like she'd tucked it in before bed, neat and deliberate. The fabric was dark, heavy, expensive-looking. It was definitely not hers.
She frowned. Her brain was moving slowly, processing information through a thick layer of fog.
That was... not her jacket.
She frowned at it.
This was not her jacket. This was not anyone she knew's jacket. This was the kind of jacket that screamedĀ old moneyĀ in the most offensive way possible.
Actually...
Not old money.
Oil money.
The fabric was too new. The cut was too sharp. Old money bought things that looked like they'd been inherited. This looked like it had been purchased yesterday with a credit card that had no limit.
She stared at it.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
She knew this jacket.
She knew this stupid, expensive, unfairly nice jacket.
She lifted it to her face before her brain could stop her. The fabric brushed against her cheek. She inhaled.
Cedar.
Clean cologne.
Something faint and woodsy and distinctly, unmistakablyĀ him.
Valarr.
She immediately dropped it like it had personally offended her.
"Nope."
The jacket lay on the bed, innocent and damning. She stared at it. It stared back by existing.
"No, actually." She pointed at it. "We're not doing this today."
The jacket, unfortunately, remained extremely Valarr-shaped. It didn't move. It didn't apologize. It just sat there, being expensive and smelling like him and reminding her that she had apparently done something very stupid last night.
She pressed her palms against her eyes.
"This is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me."
It wasn't. It was definitely top ten, though. Definitely top five.
She took a deep breath. Then another.
Against every instinct she had, she picked the jacket back up. The fabric was so soft. Impossibly soft. Why was it so soft? What kind of person owned a jacket this soft?
She held it to her chest and immediately regretted it because it smelled like him and now she was thinking about him and that was the last thing she needed to be doing right now.
She launched it onto the chair across the room.
"Stay over there."
The jacket did not move.
Coward.
She rubbed her temples, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. She remembered the bar. She remembered the bass vibrating through the floor. She remembered Ormund saying something about a bat. After that, everything was a blur of alcohol and bad decisions.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it with all the grace of someone who'd consumed approximately eighty-seven tequila shots. The screen was too bright. She squinted at it.
Ormund:Ā u alive???
She typed back slowly, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative.
You:Ā unfortunately
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
Ormund:Ā LMAOOOOOO
Ormund:Ā u were actually insane last night
She stared at the screen. Her stomach dropped.
You:Ā what happened
You:Ā i remember tequila
You:Ā i remember someone talking about bats
You:Ā after that i got NOTHING
There was a pause. A suspiciously long pause. She could practically hear Ormund laughing on the other end of the phone.
Ormund:Ā wait
Ormund:Ā u fr don't remember??
She looked at the jacket on the chair. A cold feeling crept down her spine.
Oh, no.
You:Ā ormund.
Ormund:Ā ššš
Ormund:Ā okay so
Ormund:Ā you drunk called valarr
She blinked. The words didn't make sense. She read them again. They still didn't make sense.
You:Ā i WHAT
Ormund:Ā you literally said "come get me"
Ormund:Ā and HE DID
Ormund:Ā bro showed up in like ten minutes
She sat bolt upright. Her skull immediately punished her for it. The room tilted. She didn't care.
You:Ā shut up
Ormund:Ā i'm being so serious
Ormund:Ā he picked u up
Ormund:Ā carried u to the car
Ormund:Ā i almost started clapping
She covered her face with one hand. The embarrassment was physical, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks.
No. No. Absolutely not.
You:Ā i don't believe you
Ormund:Ā that's crazy because i watched it happen
Another message appeared.
Ormund:Ā also
Ormund:Ā you cried
She stared at the screen. Her heart stopped.
You:Ā i absolutely did not
Ormund:Ā girl you were SOBBING
Ormund:Ā you kept telling him he had "really nice hands"
She threw the phone onto the bed. The screen went dark. She stared at the ceiling, her face burning.
Really nice hands.
She had told him he had really nice hands.
She was never going to be able to look him in the eye again.
She grabbed the phone and typed furiously.
You:Ā delete this conversation
Ormund:Ā can't
Ormund:Ā memories ā¤ļø
She stared at the screen. Something didn't add up.
You:Ā wait
You:Ā how do you know about the hands thing if you weren't in the car?
Ormund:Ā ...who said anything about a car?
Her stomach dropped.
Ormund:Ā you said it to me. multiple times. after he left.
Ormund:Ā you wouldn't stop talking about his hands
Ormund:Ā it was honestly a little concerning
She closed her eyes. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She had apparently spent the night waxing poetic about Valarr Targaryen's hands.
To Ormund.
Who would never let her forget it.
You:Ā i hate you
Ormund:Ā no you don't ā¤ļø
She set the phone down and looked at the jacket again. It was still lying on the chair, dark and elegant and completely out of place in her messy apartment.
She should give it back. She would have to give it back. She would have to see him again, look him in the eye, hand him his jacket, and pretend she didn't remember him holding her legs while she slept in his car.
Wait.
She frowned.
She remembered that. She remembered the feeling of his hands on her legs. The warmth of his palm against her bare skin. The way his thumb had traced slow circles on her calf.
She had been half-asleep, but she had felt it. She had felt every single second of it.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were burning.
She had put her feet in his lap. And he had let her. He hadn't pushed her away, hadn't told her to stop. He had just... held her legs. Like it was normal. Like it was something he wanted to do.
She picked the jacket up again, against her better judgment. She pressed it to her chest and closed her eyes.
"This is a crisis," she said to the empty room. "This is a full-blown crisis. I have a jacket that belongs to the most infuriating man in the realm and I don't want to give it back."
The jacket did not respond.
She looked at her phone again. There were no messages from him. Nothing. Not a single word.
She didn't know if that was a relief or a disappointment.
She pressed the jacket to her face one more time.
She was going to have to see him again. She was going to have to face him. She was going to have to pretend she didn't remember the way his hands had felt on her legs.
She was going to have to pretend she didn't want to feel them again.
She hated that. She hated that she wanted it at all.
But she couldn't stop the thought.
She stared at his contact for a full five minutes before she typed anything.
Then she wrote:Ā I have your jacket.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it. Then she threw the phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, her heart pounding.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then his reply:
T. Heir:Ā I know.
She stared at the screen.
T. Heir:Ā I put it there. You were cold.
She closed her eyes. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She could feel the ghost of his hands on her legs. She could feel everything.
You:Ā I don't remember any of it.
T. Heir:Ā I know.
You:Ā Stop saying that.
T. Heir:Ā Stop saying what?
You:Ā "I know." It's annoying.
T. Heir:Ā I know.
She laughed. She hated that she laughed. She hated that he could make her laugh even when she was mortified.
You:Ā I'll return it tonight.
She paused, then added:
You:Ā If I decide to show up.
T. Heir:Ā You'll show up.
You:Ā How do you know that?
T. Heir:Ā Because you're a Lannister. Lannisters don't miss the biggest event of the season
You:Ā You're infuriating.
T. Heir:Ā I've been told.
She set the phone down and pressed her palms to her eyes. She was going to have to see him tonight. She was going to have to look him in the eye. She was going to have to pretend she didn't remember him holding her legs while she slept in his car.
She had no idea what she was going to do.
But she had a jacket to return.
And she was a Lannister.
So she was going to show up.
She walked into the Lannister Tower with her head held high, her shoulders back, and a headache that was still waging a war against her existence.
The jacket was in her bag.
She had brought it. She hadn't planned on bringing it, but it had been sitting on the chair, looking at her, and she couldn't just leave it there. That would be weird. That would be admitting that she wanted to keep it.
She didn't want to keep it.
She had to give it back. Obviously.
She also had no idea when or how she was going to do that.
The elevator ride was mercifully short. She stepped out onto the executive floor and immediately regretted everything.
"Lady Lannister!"
A cluster of board members descended upon her like vultures. Mr Marbrand was beaming. Mr Serrett was nodding approvingly. Mr Brax actually clapped her on the shoulder like she'd just won a championship.
"Congratulations," Mr Marbrand said, his voice warm. "We heard the news. The board is thrilled."
"Your uncle made the right choice," Mr Serrett added. "We're all looking forward to working with you."
She smiled. She nodded. She said the right things. She was a Lannister. She knew how to do this.
But her eyes were scanning the room.
She didn't know what she was looking for.
She was definitely not looking for him.
The board members drifted away, replaced by a stream of well-wishers, and she worked the room with practiced ease. She shook hands. She accepted congratulations. She made jokes and laughed at theirs.
The jacket was heavy in her bag. She could feel it, a constant reminder of everything she was trying not to think about.
Then she saw him.
Valarr was standing by the windows, surrounded by a cluster of executives she vaguely recognized. He was wearing a suit. Dark charcoal, perfectly fitted. Expensive.
He wasn't wearing his jacket.
She froze.
The jacket in her bag was suddenly very, very conspicuous.
He was in the middle of a conversation, but his eyes found hers across the room. He smiled. It was a small, almost imperceptible thing, but she saw it. She saw the way his lips curved, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She saw the way his attention shifted from the man speaking to her, just for a moment.
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned back to his conversation.
She looked away. Her face was warm. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.
"What's wrong?"
She turned. Her uncle was standing beside her, his expression amused. His eyes were bright, knowing.
"Nothing," she said. "Everything's fine."
"I don't believe you." He followed her gaze to Valarr. "Ah. I see."
"You see nothing."
"He's been looking at you all morning." Her uncle's voice was light, weary, almost , although she was too embarrassed to notice. "Quite impressive. A Targaryen admirer."
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "He's not- we're not- "
Her uncle nodded sagely. "My old age must be making me see things. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Nothing," she repeated. "It's definitely nothing."
Her uncle's eyes hardened ever so slightly. "If you say so."
He walked away before she could argue.
She took a breath. She was fine. Everything was fine. She was going to get through this day without making eye contact with him again.
Then a man approached her. A businessman she recognized from somewhere, maybe the Iron Bank, maybe the Tyrell negotiations. She couldn't remember. He was tall, middle-aged, with the kind of smile that suggested he was very pleased with himself.
"Lady Lannister," he said. "Congratulations on your appointment. I've been looking forward to meeting you."
She smiled. "The pleasure is mine."
They talked. It was fine. It was normal. She was being normal.
Then Valarr appeared.
She didn't see him coming. One moment she was alone with the businessman. The next, Valarr was there, sliding into the conversation as smoothly as if he'd been part of it all along. He stepped into the space beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"The terms are favorable," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I've reviewed them myself. I'm sure Lady Lannister would agree."
The businessman blinked. " Mr Valarr. I didn't realize-"
"Always a pleasure." Valarr smiled. It was a polite smile. It was also a smile that saidĀ leave now.
The businessman hesitated. She saw the moment he understood. His eyes flickered between them, and something clicked behind his gaze. He nodded, his smile slightly strained.
"I should- of course. We can continue this another time."
He walked away.
She stared at Valarr. "What was that?"
He tilted his head, his expression innocent. "What was what?"
"You just- you just made him leave."
"I didn't make him do anything." His voice was soft, amused. "He made a decision. Probably had an important meeting."
"He didn't have an important meeting."
"You don't know that."
"I definitely know that."
He smiled. It was the same smile from earlier. Small. Amused. But now it was directed at her, and she felt the full weight of it. She felt her stomach flip.
"What do you think you're doing, avoiding me?"
The words hit her like a splash of cold water. She felt her face flush.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said. Her voice was too high. She hated it. "I'm just...busy. I have things to do. People to see."
"You have my jacket."
She blinked. "What?"
"My jacket." He gestured to her bag. "I assume you brought it."
"I-I did. I was going to-"
She stopped. She didn't know what she was going to say. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She could feel the weight of the jacket inside, a physical reminder of everything she was trying to forget.
He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. Amused. Curious. Something else she didn't want to name.
"You're very red," he observed. His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
"I'm not red."
"You're definitely red." He said it like he was stating a fact.
"My face is warm."
"Your face is warm," he repeated, his lips twitching. "That's why it's red?"
"Exactly."
He leaned closer. She felt the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath against her skin. "How's your head? I thought you'd have more of a cold. It was very cold last night."
He reached out, his hand brushing her forehead. His fingers were warm against her skin.
The touch sent a shock through her. She felt her breath catch, felt her heart stutter in her chest.
"I don't have a cold," she managed.
"I'm glad." He let his hand drop. His fingers lingered for just a moment, brushing against her hair. "I wouldn't want you to get sick."
"I don't get sick."
"Everyone gets sick."
"Not me."
He smiled. It was a real smile, soft and warm. She felt it hit her like a wave.
She looked away. "I should- I have to- "
"See you tonight," he said.
She blinked. "Tonight?"
"The gala." His voice was patient. "The Starks' winter gala. You remembered, didn't you?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I forgot," she admitted. She said it to the floor, because looking at him was suddenly too much.
"You forgot the event that half the realm is attending."
"I was busy."
"You were drunk." His voice was warm, teasing.
"I was celebrating."
He laughed. It was a low, quiet sound. She felt it in her chest.
"I'll see you tonight," he said again. "Don't forget my jacket."
She held his gaze. She didn't look away. She didn't give him the satisfaction of watching her crumble.
"Fine," she said. "I'll bring it."
Then she turned and walked away. She didn't look back. She didn't let him see the way her hands were trembling.
She was going to see him tonight. She was going to face him. She was going to give him back his jacket and pretend she didn't remember anything.
She had no idea if she was ready for that.
But she was a Lannister.
And Lannisters didn't run.
She was certain that this seating plan was arranged in hell. It was so well crafted she almost wanted to commend the Starks for their god given ability to stir caos.
After all, only they could think to seat; a criminal (Aerion), said criminals fake girlfriend (her best friend), Ormund, 2 of the criminals ex's, her current whatever the fuckuationship, and Prince Trystane Martell all on the same table.
Truly the Starks were wicked, all the intelligence in the world wouldn't have figured out that such an absorb combination of people was possible, yet here they where.
As soon as everyone was seated, the animosity began, something she had anticipated and the first to tap out was Aerion.
The silence that followed Aerion's departure from the table was heavy, thick enough to choke on.
She sat at the table, her hands flat on the polished wood, her eyes fixed on the empty space where her best friend had been. She could still see the way her friend's shoulders had straightened as she followed Aerion, the quiet determination in her stride. She knew that walk. That was the walk of someone who had made a decision and wasn't going to be swayed.
She wanted to follow. She wanted to go after her friend, to make sure she was okay, to be there for her the way she had always been there.
But she couldn't. He friend had caught her wrist before she left, had squeezed once, firm and final.Ā Stay, that squeeze had said.Ā I'll be fine. Stay.
So she stayed.
And now she was stuck at a table with the two exes, Ormund, Trystane, and Valarr.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. She could feel the weight of their attention shifting, could feel the moment the exes realized their primary target had fled and they needed a new one.
Lysa leaned forward, her smile sharp and practiced. "Well," she said, her voice smooth as poisoned honey. "That was dramatic. Do you think he'll come back, or has he finally decided to spare us his brooding?"
She didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Mira tilted her head, her platinum hair catching the candlelight. "I always wondered how she puts up with him. He's so... intense." She paused. "But I suppose some women like that. The brooding type. The ones who keep secrets."
She felt the barb land. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass. She kept her face neutral.
Lysa's smile widened. "Speaking of secrets...Lady Lannister, you've been quiet all night. I hope we're not boring you."
She looked up. Her voice was cool, unhurried. "Not at all. I was just admiring the company."
Lysa's smile faltered, just slightly. "How kind."
"I wasn't being kind."
The words hung in the air. The table went still.
Ormund snorted into his wine. "I love this," he said. "You should insult her more. It's very entertaining."
"Ormund," she said, her voice flat.
"I'm just saying. It's a gift."
Mira recovered quickly. Her smile was sharper now, more practiced. "I heard you've been spending a lot of time with a certain Targaryen heir lately. Tell me, is it true, or is it just a rumour? I'd love to hear the details."
She opened her mouth. She was going to say something cutting, something that would end this conversation.
Valarr spoke first.
"Careful."
The word was quiet. Controlled. It landed like a blade.
Mira's smile flickered. "I was just asking-"
"You were fishing." His voice was pleasant. A warning wrapped in silk. "I'm not a fan of fishing. It's tedious."
The table went still. She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Mira with an expression that was almost bored, the kind of boredom that was more dangerous than anger.
"You don't get to speak about her like that," Valarr continued. "You don't get to pry into her life, or her relationships, or anything else that isn't your business." He paused. "I think you've forgotten who you're speaking to."
Mira's face had gone pale. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She had nothing.
Lysa's hands were frozen on the table. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the words.
Valarr smiled. It was a polite smile, the kind he wore to board meetings. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Good," he said. "I'm glad we understand each other."
The silence that followed was absolute. She could hear the distant music from the main hall, the hum of conversation from other tables. She was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the warmth of his body, the strength of his silhouette, the way his hand rested on the table next to hers.
She wanted to thank him. She couldn't. The words were too heavy.
Instead, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his, just for a moment. A silent thank you. A brief touch.
She felt him still at her touch. His hand turned over, his palm opening toward hers. She pulled away before she could take it.
Ormund, seated a few chairs down, had been watching the whole exchange. He raised his eyebrows, his expression amused. "Well, well, well. That was impressive. I didn't know you had it in you, Targaryen."
Valarr's eyes flicked to Ormund. "I have a lot of hidden talents."
"I'm sure you do." Ormund's grin was wide and insufferable.
She shook her head. "You're impossible."
"I'm a delight," Ormund corrected, raising his glass in a mock toast.
She almost smiled. Almost.
Valarr was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her skin, warm and steady. She looked up, meeting his eyes.
"You're worried about her," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"She'll be fine," she said. "She always is."
"But you're still worried."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
"She'll be okay." Valarr said with nothing but certainty.
The word was strange. It sounded like him. She didn't know what to do with the quiet certainty in his voice.
"I know," she said. "I know she will be. It's just-"
She stopped. She didn't know how to finish.
Valarr was watching her. His gaze was steady, unwavering. He didn't look away.
"Come," he said. His voice was low, quiet, meant only for her. "Come with me."
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm asking you to dance." His voice was patient. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what a dance is."
She stared at him. "I know what a dance is."
"So come with me."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"But-" She gestured vaguely at the table. "The exes. Ormund. Trystane. Everyone is looking at us."
"Let them look." He held out his hand. "You're not running away from me this time."
The words hit her like a splash of cold water. She looked at his hand. Strong. Steady. Waiting.
Ormund leaned over, his voice a stage whisper. "Oh, this is good. You have to go. For the sake of my entertainment."
"Ormund," she said, her voice flat.
"I'm just saying. This is the most interesting thing that's happened all night."
She shot him a look. He grinned back, unrepentant.
Valarr was still holding out his hand. His expression was patient, amused.
She didn't know why she said yes. She didn't know why she took his hand.
But she did.
The dance floor was crowded. Bodies pressed together in the warm, candlelit space, the music a slow, sweeping waltz. She felt out of place. She felt like she was stepping into a dream.
He led her to the center of the floor, his hand steady on her waist. She felt the warmth of his palm through the fabric of her dress, felt the strength of his grip.
"Try not to step on my toes," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You're already looking nervous. I can feel it. You're stiff as a board."
"I am not stiff."
"You're very stiff. Loosen up."
"I don't know how to loosen up."
"I know," he said. "That's why I'm helping."
He pulled her closer. She felt the heat of his body, the solid press of his chest against hers. She felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Stop overthinking," he murmured. "Just move."
She tried. She really did. She tried to follow the rhythm, to let her body relax, to stop thinking about the way his hand felt on her waist, the way his thumb was tracing slow circles on her lower back.
She stepped on his foot.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
She stepped on his foot again.
"Sorry."
"Princess."
She stepped on his foot a third time.
"Okay," he said, and there was a smile in his voice. "I think we need to work on your coordination."
"Shut up."
"You're always at clubs. You dance in clubs all the time."
"That's different."
"How is it different?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She didn't have an answer.
He laughed. It was a low, quiet sound, warm and genuine. She felt it in her chest.
"I skipped all my lessons as a child," she admitted. "Formal dances. I was supposed to learn, but I refused. I thought it was boring. I thought I was above them."
"And now?"
She stepped on his foot again.
"And now I'm paying for it."
He laughed again. His grip on her waist tightened.
"You're a terrible liar," he said, his voice warm.
"I'm not lying."
"You're definitely lying. You said you skipped lessons. You said you thought they were boring. That's a lie."
She stared at him. "How do you know?"
"Because you're too proud to admit you were bad at something." His eyes met hers. "You skipped lessons because you were afraid you'd fail."
She opened her mouth to argue. She closed it. She had nothing to say.
He was right.
"I hate you," she said.
"No, you don't."
"I definitely do."
"Liar."
"I hate that you know me this well."
He smiled. It was a soft thing, a quirk of his lips that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"No."
She laughed. She couldn't help it.
"You're impossible," she said.
"So I've been told."
They kept dancing. She kept stepping on his toes. He kept not complaining.
"So, what was it like?" she asked, a little more comfortable now. "You as a student. You must have been the worst. The teachers probably sighed when they saw you coming."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you were probably a teacher's pet. The golden boy. Always getting perfect marks, never causing trouble."
He paused. For a moment, his expression shifted. He looked almost confused.
"I don't understand," he said. "That's not an insult."
She blinked. "Iā¦ what?"
"I was an excellent student," he said, his voice honest. "I paid attention. I did the work. I earned my marks." He tilted his head. "Why would I be ashamed of that?"
She stared at him. Her chest did something strange.
He was proud of it. He was genuinely, openly proud of being a good student.
There was no calculation here. No manipulation. Just a simple, honest pride.
"I'm quite proud of it, actually," he said, meeting her gaze. "It's one of the few things I've done that doesn't have any strings attached."
She didn't know what to say.
She was caught off-guard. His quiet honesty unsettled her. She had been expecting a game, some carefully measured defence. Instead, he had given her something real. A rare glimpse of the man beneath the mask.
"It's oddly endearing," she admitted.
"Oddly?"
"For someone who's usually so controlledāI don't know. It's nice."
Something in his expression shifted. A faint surprise, a softening around his eyes.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She didn't know what to do with that.
The music swelled. He pulled her a little closer. Her hand came up to his shoulder as he guided her through a slow turn.
"You called me first," he said.
Her breath caught. "What?"
"In the car. That night. You called me first."
"I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing."
"You knew exactly what you were doing. You just won't admit it to yourself."
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Valarr, don't-"
"Be honest with me." His voice was quiet, steady, his hand firm on her waist. "Please. Just be honest with me."
She looked up at him. The world blurred around her. The music, the lights, the other dancers, they all faded into nothing. There was only him.
"I don't know why I called you," she admitted. "I don't know why I-" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know why I feel like you're the only thing in my head. Like no matter what I do, you're there. Like I can't escape you."
His hand tightened on her waist. His thumb pressed into her lower back.
"I don't want to escape you," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I don't want to stop thinking about you. I don't want to stop-"
She stopped. Her throat was tight. Her eyes were burning.
She looked down at his chest. She couldn't meet his eyes.
"I called you first," she said. "I called you first because I wanted to. Because I wanted to hear your voice. Because I wanted you to come get me. Because I knew you would."
The words hung in the air between them.
She finally looked up at him. She saw his jaw tighten. Saw his throat work. Saw something shift in his eyesāsomething raw and vulnerable and real.
"I'm glad you did," he said. His voice was rough. "I'm glad you called me. I'm glad you trusted me. I'm glad you knew I would come."
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to feel.
"I will always come," he said. "No matter what. No matter when. I will always come."
She felt her chest tighten. Her eyes burned.
"I don't know how to-" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know how to let anyone in."
"I know." His hand came up to her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "You don't have to figure it out tonight."
He pulled her into a slow turn. She stumbled, her heel catching on the hem of her dress. Her ankle buckled.
She felt something snap.
"Ow-"
She looked down. Her heel had broken. Completely.
"Of course," she said. "Because tonight wasn't dramatic enough."
Valarr looked down, then back at her. He was trying not to laugh. He was failing.
"Don't," she warned.
"You stepped on my foot so many times," he said. "I think the shoe just gave up."
"You're laughing at me?"
"Absolutely not." He was definitely laughing. "I would never laugh at you."
"Liar."
"Maybe a little."
She smiled despite herself.
He guided her off the dance floor, away from the crowd, his hand steady on her back. He led her to a quiet alcove, his thumb pressing into her spine. There was a low velvet bench near the window.
"Sit," he said.
She sat. He knelt in front of her, lifting her foot, examining the broken heel.
"I'll get you another pair," he said. "Stay here."
He walked away. She watched him go.
He returned a few minutes later with a pair of simple satin flats. They were elegant. Pale gold, with a small pearl at the toe.
She stared at him. "Where did you get those?"
"Stark had them. I borrowed them."
"You borrowed shoes from the Starks."
"It's a gala. There are extra shoes. It's a thing." He knelt again. "I'll pay for them later."
She stared at him. "You're going to pay the Starks for a pair of shoes you borrowed for me?"
"Yes."
"You're ridiculous."
"I prefer devoted."
He held her foot in his hands, sliding the new shoe onto her foot. His thumb brushed her ankle, his fingers working the strap into place. He adjusted it carefully, making sure it fit.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded, a little breathless. "Better."
He stood. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.
She swayed slightly, her hand finding his chest to steady herself. Her palm pressed against the fabric of his shirt. She felt his heartbeat beneath her fingers.
She felt the heat of his body, the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of him.
She looked up at him. His face was so close. She could see the flecks of gold in his violet eyes. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.
He didn't step away.
"Princess," he murmured.
"Don't call me that."
"What would you prefer?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't find the words.
"I called you first," she said again. "Why do you think that is?"
He didn't answer.
She took a breath. She stepped closer.
"Tell me," she pressed. "Because I don't have an answer. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I keep doing it."
"Because you trust me," he said. "Because you know I'll protect you. Because you know I'll always come."
"I don't know if I can let myself trust you."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said. "I'm asking you to let me earn it."
She didn't know what to say. She just watched him.
She looked down at his chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"I have to go see to something, I'll catch up with you soon"
He stepped away from her. He walked back toward the main hall.
She stood there, watching him go.
She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected any of it. She hadn't expected him to kneel in front of her, to hold her foot in his hands, to slide a shoe onto her foot, to say he would always come, to ask to take her home.
She touched her chest. Her heart was beating hard and fast.
She needed to find her friend. She needed to know if she was okay.
She walked toward the balcony where she had seen her friend disappear.
She found her friend in the shadows of the balcony, her back to the wall, her eyes red-rimmed but dry.
She knew that look. She had worn it herself.
"You okay?" she asked.
Her friend's smile was brief, hollow. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I will be." She reached out and squeezed her friend's hand. "Come. Let's get out of here."
They walked back to the main hall together. Her friend's steps were measured.
Ormund met them at the edge of the ballroom. His face was unreadable.
"Family's leaving," he said. "You coming?"
Her friend nodded. She squeezed her hand once, twice.
"Get home safe," she said. "We'll talk tomorrow."
She watched her friend walk away, Ormund's hand steady on her back.
She walked toward the valet stand, her heels clicking against the cobblestones, the cold air biting at her cheeks. The Stark estate loomed behind her, all ice and candlelight, the distant hum of music still drifting through the frozen air.
She pulled out her phone. She was about to call her driver when she heard the low purr of an engine.
A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. She recognized it immediately.
The window rolled down. Valarr leaned across the passenger seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on her through the open window.
"Get in," he said.
She blinked. "Valarr, I have a driver."
"I know." He smiled, soft and unhurried. "But let me take you home. Let's make it a tradition."
"A tradition?"
"Me, driving you home after you've had too much to drink. You, pretending you're not glad to see me."
"I'm not-" She stopped. "I don't want to make it a situation."
"Too late. It's already a situation." He tilted his head. "Get in the car."
She stared at him for a long moment. The cold air bit at her skin. The lights of the estate glittered behind her. His eyes were steady, patient, waiting.
She walked around the car and opened the passenger door. She slid inside.
The drive was quiet, warm. The heater hummed softly. The city lights blurred past the windows.
She kept her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. She could feel him glancing at her, the weight of his attention settling over her like a blanket.
He pulled up in front of her building. He cut the engine. The silence was sudden.
He turned to her. His face was half-lit by the streetlamp outside, his eyes soft.
"Goodnight, princess."
She looked at him. The warmth of the car, the quiet of the moment, the softness in his voice, it all pressed against her chest.
"Goodnight," she said.
She reached for the door handle. She paused. She turned back.
She leaned across the center console and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
He went still.
She pulled back, her face warm. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel. His breathing was shallow, uneven. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. She watched his pupils darken in the low light.
She leaned in again. This time, she pressed her lips to his.
His hand came up, tangling in her hair. He kissed her back, slow at first, then deeper, his mouth parting beneath hers. She felt his other hand find her waist, pulling her closer across the console.
The kiss deepened. His hand slid from her waist to her lower back, pressing her against him. She felt the heat of his body, the solid strength of him, the way his breath caught against her lips.
They broke apart, gasping for air. His forehead pressed against hers. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers, feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself back.
"I should go," he said, his voice rough.
He pulled back, his hand falling from her hair. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the war he was waging with himself.
"No, you're not."
Her hand found his tie, fisting the silk, pulling him back toward her.
He went still.
His hand came up, pressing against her lower back, pulling her closer. His forehead was against hers, his voice a low, rough murmur.
"Don't start something you can't handle, princess."
She felt her heart pound. Her eyes met his, dark and dangerous.
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate. "Is that a warning? Or a promise?"
Something snapped behind his eyes. He moved fast. His hands found her waist, lifting her across the console, settling her onto his lap. Her knees pressed against the center console, her thighs framing his hips.
She felt the heat of his body, the solid strength of him beneath her. His hands gripped her waist, his thumbs pressing into the fabric of her dress.
She felt the warmth of his breath, the pressure of his hands, the weight of the moment pressing down.
He kissed her, his mouth urgent, her hands finding his shoulders. She felt his grip tighten on her waist, felt him pull her closer, felt the tension in his body.
He pulled back. His eyes were dark, his voice rough.
"We're taking this inside"
She didn't argue.
Notes:
Things are moving quickkk with these two šš Can't blame two hot ppl for wanting each other tho š¤·āāļø
Anywayss, next part will be out soon although I think its like 2 am for most of you guys already, Next two chapters are going to conclude the series probably, I'm going to focus on finishing the plot (still deciding on what to do with the Uncle sub plot any suggestions are welcome cuz I've got way too many draftsšš)
Also I've found the motivation to finally finish editing all my drafts so expect those all to come out soon (there's like 15 but im probs only going to post the requested ones as well as the best written one shots but we'll see in the next few days)
Preview, Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
"I must have rolled off the bed." Her voice was defensive, higher than usual. "I don't remember doing it. I was asleep."
He raised an eyebrow. "You rolled off the bed." he let the words settel : "Accidentally, onto me"
"I was asleep!"
He let the silence stretch. His arm was still around her waist. He
made no move to let go.
"You're still holding me," she said.
"I'm aware."
She waited, yet he didn't move.
"You could let go," she said.
"I could."
Another pause. She was watching him, her expression caught between embarrassment and something that looked almost like curiosity.
"Are you going to?" she asked.
He considered the question. "No."
Warnings: ANGST, criminal! Aerion x peoples princess!Reader, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Fake dating, Modern AU, Violence, suggestiveness, political corruption, Manipulation, semi-slow burn, cheating (not Aerion or reader dw), infidelity accusations, insecurity, Aerion Targaryen (heās his own warning), Streamer!Raymund
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader
WC: 7.3 K
Raymun Fossoway looked like he'd seen the Stranger himself.
His hair had completely given up. His eyes were bloodshot, the rhinestone mug abandoned in the corner of the desk beside what looked suspiciously like an espresso martini, and he'd been pacing for so long the camera kept losing autofocus every time he walked past.
He stopped dead in front of the webcam.
"Okay." A breath. "Nobody panic."
The chat immediately panicked.
InSevenHells:Ā TOO LATE I'VE ALREADY CALLED MY THERAPIST
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā RAYMUN I AM IN ACTIVE DISTRESS š
Stagflation:Ā MY SCREEN TIME TODAY IS YOUR FAULT
TheStranger:Ā BNN COUNT YOUR DAYS
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā MY APPLE WATCH THINKS I'M EXERCISING
Raymun pointed accusingly at the chat, a manic energy in his movements. "This is why none of us know peace." He dropped into his chair, already pulling up the image on his screen. "I've refreshed the article sixty-two times. It has not become satire."
The photograph filled the frame; this one not grainy or taken from across the street, but crisp, clear, and devastatingly intimate. Morning light filtered through the apartment building's entrance, casting long shadows across the pavement. And there, walking toward a sleek black car, were two figures.
Her, wearing an oversized coat that was clearly not hes, her hair still tousled from sleep. Him, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other reaching for the car door. Both of them looked like they had just rolled out of bed. Both of them looked like they had not slept at all.
Raymun leaned in slowly. The chat was already losing its mind.
TheStranger:Ā WAIT...
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā HOLD ON WHY ARE THEY LEAVING TOGETHER??
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā IN THE MORNING???
GoldenBoyFan:Ā GOOD MORNING?????
BaelorsToe:Ā OH THEY HAD A SLEEPOVER SLEEPOVER š
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā THEY DIDN'T EVEN PRETEND
Raymun zoomed in on the coat. His voice was barely a whisper. "Is that..." He stopped. "That's his coat."
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā IS THAT HIS COAT???
FreeMyManAerion:Ā GIRL STOLE THE MERCH
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā SHE'S WEARING THE BOYFRIEND DLC
TheLastDragonrider:Ā HE LOST THE COAT IN THE DIVORCE
BaelorsToe:Ā GIVE HIM HIS JACKET BACK š
Raymun was already laughing, his hand covering his mouth. "She stole his coat. She stole his coat and he's just letting her wear it. In public. With cameras everywhere."
Then he noticed something else. His laughter faded. His eyes narrowed.
"...Wait."
He zoomed in on the hand resting on her back.
"Since when does Aerion Targaryen touch people gently?"
The chat went still for half a second.
InSevenHells:Ā WHO TAUGHT HIM THAT???
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THAT MAN USED TO COMMUNICATE THROUGH PROPERTY DAMAGE
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā THE HAND ON HER BACK???
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā HE'S GUIDING HER LIKE SHE'S PRECIOUS š
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā BRO INSTALLED CHIVALRY
Raymun was staring at the screen, his expression caught between disbelief and something softer. "He's guiding her. Like she's..." He stopped. "Like she's precious."
He shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge the thought.
Then he zoomed in further.
On his neck.
On her neck.
His mouth fell open.
"Inciders."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"...Are those hickeys?"
TheLastDragonrider:Ā SHE PUT HIM IN LOST & FOUND
FreeMyManAerion:Ā "IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO OWNER"
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā THAT MAN HAS BEEN INVENTORIED
BaelorsToe:Ā BARCODED šš
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā QR CODE HIM
Raymun stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His hands were gripping his hair like he was trying to physically contain his own brain.
"No."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"You cannot expense THIS."
He pointed violently at the screen.
"No PR team on earth signs off on matching hickeys."
He dropped back into his chair, staring at the image with the expression of a man who had just witnessed something he would never recover from.
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THEY SWAPPED INVENTORIES š
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā BRO THEY LOOTED EACH OTHER
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā SHE STOLE HIS COAT HE STOLE HER SLEEP
TheStranger:Ā SHARED WARDROBE UNLOCKED
Raymun was still staring at the screen. "They left together. In the morning. Wearing each other's clothes. With marks on their necks."
He looked directly into the camera.
"They did taxes."
He paused.
"They skipped six relationship stages."
The chat was in complete shambles.
FreeMyManAerion:Ā THIS ISN'T MY GOAT
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā WHO MODDED HIM
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā THAT MAN USED TO BITE REPORTERS
GoldenBoyFan:Ā THEY TOOK MY WAR CRIMINAL
SmallfolkWithWifi:Ā GIVE HIM BACK
Then a single message cut through the chaos.
LysExileTruther:Ā guys what if they're cousins
The chat went silent for half a second.
Entire Chat:Ā ?????
Raymun stared at the message. Then he spoke, his voice flat.
"Ban them."
The chat erupted.
Raymun was about to move on, when another message caught his eye.
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā WAIT
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā LOOK AT HER
MoonteaConnoisseur:Ā SHE'S SMILING
Raymun froze. He zoomed in on her face. The morning light caught her expression; soft, unguarded, genuinely happy.
He stared at the image. His voice was quieter now.
"...She is."
The chat slowed. The energy shifted.
SirenSupporter:Ā ā¹ļø
TheLastDragonrider:Ā stop making me feel emotions
InSevenHells:Ā she looks so happy
FreeMyManAerion:Ā they're gonna be okay
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā THEY HAVE TO BE
Raymun nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on her face. "I don't know if they're back together. I don't know what happened behind that door. I don't know if they argued, if they cried, if they-" He paused. "But she's smiling. And he's looking at her like she's the only thing in the world."
He leaned back, his voice quieter now. "I don't know what this is. But I know it's real."
The chat was quiet for a moment. Then it erupted again, but this time with something different.
Raymun laughed, shaking his head. "You guys are unbelievable."
He reached for the rhinestoned mug and held it up for a moment before a grin spread across his face.
"Oh-" He laughed, genuine and bright. "We are so back."
Stagflation:Ā WE ARE SO BACKKKKKKKKKK
DrunkOnDornishRed:Ā NEVER DOUBTED THEM (DELETE MY OLD MESSAGES)
BaelorsToe:Ā GOD IS GOOD šš
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā WE USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS
TheStranger:Ā CLOCK ITTTTTTTTTTT
FreeMyManAerion:Ā CLOCK IT INTO THE MUG š£ļøš£ļøš£ļø
Raymun raised the rhinestoned mug like it was the Holy Grail, his grin widening.
"...Clock it."
He took a long sip.
Then a notification popped up.
BNNOfficial:Ā Comments have been disabled.
Raymun choked on his coffee.
The chat lost its mind.
ChaosIsMyLiege:Ā WE WON ššš
Raymun was wheezing, slapping his desk as he tried to catch his breath. "They disabled-" He gasped. "They disabled the comments-" He pointed at the screen, his voice barely coherent. "BNN gave up-"
He finally recovered, grinning at the camera.
"We did it, Inciders."
"We broke the news."
He raised the mug one last time.
"...Clock it."
He woke first.
The awareness came slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling, the grey morning light filtering through the curtains, the faint hum of the city waking up outside. Then the warmth pressed against him registered. The weight of her arm draped across his waist. The soft tickle of her breath against his neck.
Aerion went very, very still.
His eyes opened fully, staring at the ceiling as his mind raced through the possibilities. The floor beneath him was hard. The blanket was tangled around them both. And she was pressed against his side like she had been there all night.
He didn't remember pulling her close. He didn't remember her rolling off the bed. He didn't remember any of it. And now they were tangled together in a way that felt intimate and unguarded and terrifying.
What the hell happened.
He should move. He should wake her up. He should gently disentangle himself before she woke up and made this awkward. He was supposed to be a gentleman. He was supposed to give her space. This was the opposite of space.
He didn't move.
He lay there, frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing through a hundred different scenarios. She shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and her hand curled into the fabric of his shirt. Her breath was warm against his neck.
He closed his eyes.
He should get up. He should end this before it got more complicated. He should-
He didn't.
He lay there, his arm still wrapped around her, and told himself it was just for a moment. Just a few more seconds. Just until he could figure out how to escape without waking her.
A few seconds turned into a few minutes. The minutes stretched. The light outside grew brighter, casting long shadows across the floor. Her breathing was slow and even, her body relaxed against his. He felt the steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft warmth of her skin.
He was losing his mind.
She stirred.
He felt it before he saw it; the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her fingers twitched against his chest, the soft sound she made as she began to surface from sleep. He kept his eyes closed, forcing his breathing to stay slow and even. He wasn't ready to face this. He didn't know what to say.
She opened her eyes.
He felt her go still. Her body tensed against his. She was taking in the situation: the floor, the blanket, his arm around her, his chest beneath her cheek. He could almost hear the calculations running through her head.
Then she started to move.
Slowly, carefully, she began to pull away. Her hand pressed against his chest as she tried to lift herself up without waking him.
He opened his eyes.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She froze. Her face was inches from his, her eyes wide and startled, her cheeks already flushing a deep pink. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, his arm still wrapped around her waist. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"I-" She swallowed, her throat moving. "I don't know."
"You don't know." His voice was flat, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He wasn't smiling, but he was close.
"I must have rolled off the bed." Her voice was defensive, higher than usual. "I don't remember doing it. I was asleep."
He raised an eyebrow. "You rolled off the bed."
"Accidentally."
"Onto me."
"I was asleep!"
He let the silence stretch. His arm was still around her waist. He made no move to let go.
"You're still holding me," she said.
"I'm aware."
She waited.
He didn't move.
"You could let go," she said.
"I could."
Another pause. She was watching him, her expression caught between embarrassment and something that looked almost like curiosity.
"Are you going to?" she asked.
He considered the question. "No."
She stared at him. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his face. He held her gaze, his expression unreadable, but his thumb was tracing small circles against her hip through the fabric of her shirt.
"I don't regret it," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
He looked away. His jaw was tight, his voice rougher than he intended. "I don't regret any of it. That's all."
She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something. He didn't meet them. He couldn't.
"I don't either," she said softly.
He finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, guarded, but there was something else there too, something careful, something almost tender.
"I know this is complicated," he said. "I know there's a lot we still have to figure out. But I'm not- " He stopped. His jaw worked. "I'm not going anywhere."
She stared at him. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her touch through the thin cotton, the slight tremor in her hand.
"Okay," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was a softness in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "I'm going to hold you to that."
"Please do."
She finally sat up, disentangling herself from his arms. He let her go. He didn't want to, but he let her. The absence of her warmth was immediate and sharp.
She looked down at him, her hair a tangled mess, her cheeks still flushed. Her shirt was rumpled, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She looked a little ridiculous.
"You have bed head," he said.
She made a small sound of protest. "I do not."
"You definitely have bed head."
She reached up, patting her hair self-consciously. "That's- Well I just woke up."
"Exactly."
She glared at him, but there was no heat in it. "You're impossible."
"I know."
She stood, pulling the blanket with her. The movement was unsteady, a little clumsy. He watched her from the floor, his head propped on one hand, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Are you going to get up?" she asked.
"Eventually."
"Eventually?"
He stretched, letting the movement draw out. "I'm considering my options."
"Your options."
"Staying here is very tempting."
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "The floor is not comfortable."
"I'm aware."
"Then get up."
He didn't move. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. She looked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked softer like this; unguarded, stripped of all the careful composure she wore in public.
He stood slowly, unfolding himself from the floor. The distance between them was small. Close enough to touch.
"I'm going to need coffee," she said.
He almost smiled. "I can do coffee."
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
She turned and walked toward the door, the blanket trailing behind her like a makeshift cape. He watched her go, his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Hey," he called.
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
He hesitated. His jaw worked. The words seemed to cost him.
"Thank you," he said. "For not running."
Her expression softened. She didn't say anything. She just nodded once, then slipped out the door.
He stood alone in the room, the morning light soft around him, the ghost of her warmth still lingering against his skin.
He exhaled slowly.
This was going to be hard.
He had never wanted anything more.
The morning air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-washed pavement and the distant hum of the city waking up. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, the clouds still heavy with the memory of the night's storm. She stood in the doorway of her building, her arms wrapped around herself, wearing his oversized coat; the one he had draped over her shoulders before they had even made it to the door.
He walked ahead of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze scanning the street with the careful vigilance of someone who had spent years learning to spot threats before they spotted him. The black car sat where he had left it, sleek and polished, its dark surface catching the morning light.
He opened the passenger door for her. She paused, her eyes flicking to his face, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"You're being very gentlemanly today," she said.
He didn't smile. "Don't get used to it."
She laughed softly, a sound that was still rough with sleep but genuine. She slid into the passenger seat, and he closed the door behind her with a soft click.
He walked around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat. The interior was dark and sleek, all black leather and polished chrome, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. He started the engine, and the car hummed to life beneath them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, but loaded, heavy with everything that had happened the night before, everything that had been confessed, everything that still hung between them.
She looked out the window, her reflection faint against the glass. "I need to see my father," she said.
He didn't ask why. He already knew. "Where is he?"
"The Lannister Dome. Duncan's fighting today. He'll be there."
He nodded once, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "I'll drive you."
The car pulled away from the curb, gliding through the quiet morning streets. The city was still waking up, the streets mostly empty, the shops still shuttered. The radio was off. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the soft rustle of her shifting in her seat.
She broke the silence first.
"I'm going to tell him the truth," she said. Her voice was steady, but he could hear the edges of uncertainty beneath it. "I'm not marrying Trystane. I don't want his funding. I don't want anything from him."
He glanced at her, his eyes flicking from the road to her face and back again. "And the expansion? Your charity work?"
"I'll figure it out." She said it with more conviction than she felt. "I'd rather start from nothing than accept money from someone who wants to own me."
He was quiet for a moment. His hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight. He didn't look at her.
"I'll come with you," he said.
She turned to look at him. "What?"
"Inside." He glanced at her, then back at the road. "I'll come with you. To see your father."
She shook her head. "No. I'd rather do this alone."
He was quiet for a moment longer. The car hummed beneath them. The streets were beginning to fill with traffic.
"Do you think this is the right time?" he asked.
She blinked. The question caught her off guard. It was usually her who asked the hard questions, her who was practical, her who made the sensible decisions. The fact that he was asking her, that he was questioning her, felt strange.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But the sooner I do this, the better. He'll probably be in a good mood right now anyway. Duncan's fighting today." She paused. "Plus, he has an office there. We can talk privately."
He nodded slowly. He didn't argue. He didn't push.
"Okay," he said. "I'll wait here."
She watched him. His profile was sharp against the light, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the road. He looked tired. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. But he was here. He was still here.
She reached out and touched his hand. Just briefly. Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, warm and soft.
"I'll be fine," she said.
He turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "I know."
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then pulled her hand back. The car was slowing. The Lannister Dome loomed ahead, its massive structure rising against the pale morning sky.
He watched her walk toward the entrance, the oversized coat still draped over her shoulders, her hair still slightly tousled, her steps steady and determined. She didn't look back.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud. He was alone.
The silence in the car was heavy. He sat there, his hands still on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the entrance where she had disappeared. The engine hummed beneath him. The city hummed beyond him.
He thought about everything she had said in the car, everything she had done. She was about to end her engagement to Trystane. She was about to walk away from the funding she had been working toward for years. She was about to risk everything, for him.
He didn't know if he deserved it.
He thought about Trystane. He thought about Lys. He thought about the journalist. He thought about everything he had done, everything he had failed to do. She knew about some of it. Not all of it. But she knew enough, and she was still here.
He didn't know why.
He pressed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. The guilt was a low, constant ache in his chest. He had spent years learning to live with it, to push it down, to pretend it didn't exist. But she made it hard to pretend. She made him want to be better.
The thought of her ending the engagement with Trystane made his stomach turn. He tried to imagine it: her father's face, her own hesitation, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. He tried to imagine her walking out of that office having done it; having chosen him over everything else.
He didn't know if he was worth it.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again. The familiar ping of the group chat, the one he had been added to against his will.
He reached for it, unlocked the screen, and saw that Aegon had sent a photo. His younger brother was grinning, holding up a drink, the crowd roaring behind him. The caption read: I'M HERE. I'M ACTUALLY HERE. DUNCAN IS FIGHTING TONIGHT.
He exhaled slowly. He should have known. He should have remembered the deal she had made; the deal she had made with Aegon in the hallway of Summerhall, the promise of tickets in exchange for a high grade on his test.
He looked back up at the entrance of the Dome. She was still inside. He didn't know how long she would be.
He set the phone down and waited. He would wait as long as she needed him to.
His phone buzzed again.
Aerion ignored it. He was still staring at the entrance of the Lannister Dome, his jaw tight, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. The silence in the car was heavy, pressing in from all sides.
His phone buzzed again.
And again.
And again.
He reached for it, his jaw tightening as he unlocked the screen. TheĀ Maekarlings + AemondĀ group chat was already exploding with messages.
Waste of Wine:Ā I AM INSIDE
Waste of Wine:Ā THIS PLACE HAS FREE FOOD
White Rat:Ā I'M HERE TOO
White Rat:Ā DUNCAN'S FIGHTING TODAY
Resident Witch:Ā He bribed his way in with academic achievement.
White Rat:Ā IT WASN'T A BRIBE
White Rat:Ā I GOT 92%
HR Department:Ā Against all statistical expectation.
Last One:Ā i'm proud of u egg
Waste of Wine:Ā i'm not
Waste of Wine:Ā stay humble
Aerion pinched the bridge of his nose, a familiar ache settling behind his eyes. He could already feel the headache forming. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he typed.
Aerion:Ā Don't you all have lives.
The response was immediate. Almost too immediate.
Waste of Wine:Ā says the man sitting outside waiting for his girlfriend
Aerion stared at the screen. His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He typed. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too. The words felt wrong. Too defensive. Too much like admitting something.
Resident Witch:Ā OH MY GOD
White Rat:Ā HE DIDN'T DENY THE GIRLFRIEND PART
Last One:Ā HE SKIPPED STRAIGHT PAST IT
Waste of Wine:Ā CASE CLOSED EVERYBODY
HR Department:Ā Interesting.
Aerion's eye twitched. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He typed, his movements sharp and deliberate.
Aerion:Ā Don't start.
Waste of Wine:Ā WE HAVEN'T EVEN BEGUN
Before he could reply, a link appeared.
BNN.
Waste of Wine:Ā well.
Waste of Wine:Ā that's unfortunate.
Resident Witch:Ā ...
White Rat:Ā wait why is everyone typing
Last One:Ā ???
The headline loaded.
AERION TARGARYEN SPOTTED LEAVING SIREN'S APARTMENT THIS MORNING ā MATCHING MARKS RAISE EYEBROWS
Aerion stared at the screen. His stomach dropped. His hand tightened around his phone.
Nobody spoke.
Exactly three seconds later-
Waste of Wine:Ā LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Waste of Wine:Ā BRO GOT WATERMARKED š
Resident Witch:Ā i opened this article in public.
Resident Witch:Ā huge mistake.
White Rat:Ā WHAT DOES MATCHING MARKS MEAN
Last One:Ā WHAT DOES MATCHING MARKS MEAN
HR Department:Ā Hickeys.
White Rat:Ā i regret asking
Last One:Ā DELETE THAT MESSAGE
Waste of Wine:Ā SHE AUTOGRAPHED HIM š
Resident Witch:Ā return to owner if found
White Rat:Ā BRO GOT QR CODED
Last One:Ā scan for more information
Aerion closed his eyes. He could feel the ghost of a headache forming behind his temples. The messages kept coming, each one more chaotic than the last.
Waste of Wine:Ā HOLD ON
Waste of Wine:Ā IS SHE WEARING YOUR COAT
Silence.
Resident Witch:Ā oh my god.
White Rat:Ā THAT'S HIS COAT
HR Department:Ā It is.
Waste of Wine:Ā YOU GAVE HER YOUR COAT??????
Resident Witch:Ā you once made grandfather walk because he forgot his own jacket.
Resident Witch:Ā and now you're sharing.
Aerion typed. His jaw was tight. His thumb moved across the screen with controlled precision.
Aerion:Ā It was cold.
The chat lost its mind.
Waste of Wine:Ā EVERYBODY SHUT UP
Waste of Wine:Ā HE SAID
Waste of Wine:Ā "IT WAS COLD"
White Rat:Ā ššššš
Resident Witch:Ā who hacked my brother
Last One:Ā bring back evil aerion
HR Department:Ā Behavioural drift confirmed.
Aerion rubbed his forehead. He should have muted the chat. He should have turned off his phone entirely. Instead, he kept watching.
Another article loaded.
Another photograph.
White Rat:Ā WAIT
White Rat:Ā IS THAT HER HOLDING YOUR HAND
Waste of Wine:Ā zooming in
Waste of Wine:Ā ENHANCE
Resident Witch:Ā CSI: King's Landing
HR Department:Ā It is indeed hand-holding.
Aerion looked at the photograph. His thumb paused over the screen. He remembered the moment, the brief touch before she had walked away, her fingers warm against his. He hadn't thought about it at the time. He was thinking about it now.
Waste of Wine:Ā YOU USED TO SAY PDA WAS "TACKY"
Aerion:Ā It is.
Resident Witch:Ā YOU ARE PARTICIPATING IN IT
Aerion:Ā That's different.
White Rat:Ā LMAOOOOOO
White Rat:Ā "rules for thee not for me"
Then-
Last One:Ā are you in love with her
Aerion stopped typing.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked at him, waiting. His chest tightened. He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know if he had an answer.
Five people immediately noticed.
Waste of Wine:Ā OH HE'S THINKING
Resident Witch:Ā LOOK AT HIM PROCESSING
White Rat:Ā BRO'S BUFFERING
HR Department:Ā Response latency has increased by 437%.
Aerion:Ā I'm not discussing this.
Waste of Wine:Ā THAT WASN'T A NO
Resident Witch:Ā fascinating.
Last One:Ā i'm telling father you didn't answer
Aerion:Ā Don't.
Waste of Wine:Ā ššš
Resident Witch:Ā HE SAID DON'T
White Rat:Ā OH MY GOD
His siblings were relentless.
Waste of Wine:Ā remember when you said "love is an inefficient allocation of time"
Resident Witch:Ā aged beautifully.
White Rat:Ā like milk.
Waste of Wine:Ā remember when you dumped that actress because she asked if soulmates were real
Aerion:Ā She asked during dessert.
Resident Witch:Ā THAT MAKES YOU SOUND WORSE
White Rat:Ā remember when you said "i'll never carry shopping bags."
Last One:Ā seventeen bags.
Waste of Wine:Ā never forget the seventeen bags.
Aerion rubbed his forehead, the heat creeping up his neck. He could feel the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he refused to let it surface. He typed.
Aerion:Ā You're all unbearable.
Waste of Wine:Ā and yet
Resident Witch:Ā you're still here
White Rat:Ā stockholm syndrome
HR Department:Ā Incorrect.
HR Department:Ā Familial obligation.
Waste of Wine:Ā same thing
Last One:Ā is she coming to dinner
Aerion:Ā No.
Last One:Ā why
Aerion:Ā Because I like her.
The chat froze.
...
Nobody typed.
Waste of Wine:Ā HOLY SHIT
Resident Witch:Ā WAIT
White Rat:Ā DID HE JUST SAY
Last One:Ā SCREENSHOTTED
HR Department:Ā Archived.
Waste of Wine:Ā I'M PRINTING THIS
Resident Witch:Ā framing it
White Rat:Ā sending it to father
Aerion:Ā Don't you dare.
Waste of Wine:Ā too late
Aerion sighed. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his phone still in his hand. The messages kept coming, but he didn't read them. He just let the warmth of his siblings' chaos wash over him.
He had been so alone in Lys. For three years, he had been alone. And now, sitting in a car outside the Lannister Dome, surrounded by the chaos of his family, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
He felt like he belonged.
His phone buzzed one last time.
White rat:Ā btw
White rat:Ā daeron and i are at the fight
White rat:Ā he forced me to bring him
White rat:Ā said there was free wine
Waste of wine:Ā THERE IS FREE WINE
Waste of wine:Ā I'VE HAD THREE
Resident Witch:Ā oh no
HR Department:Ā This will not end well.
Aerion looked at the messages. He almost smiled. Almost.
He typed one last message.
Aerion:Ā Don't embarrass me.
Waste of Wine:Ā no promises
White Rat:Ā sorry buddy no can do
HR Department:Ā Statistically, they will embarrass you.
Aerion pocketed his phone. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the entrance of the Lannister Dome.
She was still inside.
He didn't know how long she would be.
He didn't mind waiting.
The Lannister Dome was a cathedral of noise and light.
The roar of the crowd echoed off the vaulted ceiling, a living thing that pulsed and swelled with every clash of steel and thunder of hooves. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and spilled ale, the press of bodies, the electric hum of anticipation. Duncan the Tall was fighting tonight, and half the realm had turned out to watch.
She moved through the crowd like a knife through water; focused, purposeful, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until she found the one she was looking for.
Lyonel Baratheon stood near the VIP section, deep in conversation with a man she vaguely recognised a sponsor, perhaps, or a business associate. He was laughing at something, his head thrown back, his hand clasping the other man's shoulder with the easy familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime charming people.
She approached.
He noticed her before she reached him. His eyes widened, just slightly, and the laughter faded from his face, replaced by surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
She stopped in front of him. Her chin was lifted, her shoulders straight. She was wearing his coat, Aerion's coat, and she didn't care who noticed.
"I need to speak with you," she said. "Privately."
Lyonel glanced at the man he had been speaking to, then back at her. His expression shifted, calculation flickering behind his eyes.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth, "you know what it's like being a father. Duty calls." He clapped the man on the shoulder. "We'll finish this later."
The man nodded, clearly confused but too well-mannered to ask questions.
Lyonel placed a hand on her back and guided her away from the crowd, through a side door, and into a narrow corridor. The noise of the arena faded, replaced by the soft hum of distant machinery and the echo of their footsteps.
His private office was small but comfortable, dark wood, leather chairs, a decanter of whiskey on the sideboard. A large window overlooked the arena below, the fight still raging, but the glass muffled the sound to a distant roar.
He closed the door behind them.
"Alright," he said, crossing to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't offer her one. "What's so important that you had to track me down in the middle of a fight?"
She stood in the centre of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she forced her voice to stay steady.
"I can't marry Trystane Martell."
Lyonel's hand froze halfway to his mouth. He lowered the glass slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"Excuse me?"
"I can't marry him," she repeated. "I won't."
He set the glass down on the sideboard with a sharp click. His expression was carefully controlled, but she could see the anger flickering behind his eyes.
"You made a deal," he said. "We all made a deal. The funding for your charity-"
"I don't want his funding."
"You don't-" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "You're throwing away everything we've worked for. Everything you've worked for."
"I'm not throwing anything away," she said. "I'm choosing something else."
"Something else." His voice was flat. "What, exactly?"
She met his eyes. "Aerion."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged.
Lyonel stared at her. His hand was still resting on the sideboard, his knuckles white.
"Aerion Targaryen," he said slowly, "is the reason you're here. The reason you're telling me you're throwing away a fortune for-"
"Father."
"He has a reputation-"
"Father."
"People have died-"
"I know."
He stopped. He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back his anger.
"You know," he repeated.
She nodded. "He told me everything. About Summerhall. About Lys. About the journalist."
Lyonel stared at her. "And you still want to be with him?"
"Yes."
"Even though he-"
"Even though."
He was quiet for a long moment. She could see him processing the calculation, the weighing of options, the slow, reluctant recognition that she wasn't going to back down.
"I'm not going to let you do this," he said finally. "I'm not going to let you throw your life away for one of those overgrown serpents."
"You don't get to decide that," she said. "I do."
She stepped closer, her voice softening.
"I know you're trying to protect me," she said. "I know you think you're doing what's best for me. But I can't marry Trystane. There's something wrong with him. I've felt it since the beginning."
Lyonel's brow furrowed. "Wrong how?"
"I don't know exactly." She shook her head. "He's too smooth. Too perfect. Every time I've tried to push, he deflects. There's something hollow about him."
"You're basing this on a feeling."
"Not just a feeling." She paused. "Aerion told me about the governor of Lys. Lysandro Pendaerys. He's been embezzling funds, millions of Golden Dragons. And I have a suspicion that Trystane is involved."
Lyonel stared at her. His expression was unreadable.
"That's a serious accusation," he said.
"I know it is. But I'm not saying it lightly." She met his eyes. "I've had my doubts about Trystane for a while. And now that I know about Lys, about what's been happening there, it all fits. He's been using people, Father. Using them and discarding them. And I can't be part of that."
Lyonel was quiet for a long moment. He was still holding his whiskey glass, but he hadn't taken a sip.
"You're certain about this," he said.
"I'm certain."
He looked at her. She could see the shift happening the slow, reluctant acceptance that she wasn't going to back down. He was a hard man to convince, but she had known him her whole life. She could see him listening.
"I've had my doubts about Trystane too," he admitted quietly. "He's always been a little too eager. A little too quick to offer help. I've always wondered what he was getting out of it."
"I think he's been getting more than we know," she said.
Lyonel nodded slowly. He set his whiskey glass down and crossed to the window, looking out at the arena below.
"Alright," he said. "I believe you."
She exhaled. The relief was immediate, almost overwhelming.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me yet." He turned to look at her. "We still have to figure out what we're going to do about-"
The door opened.
Trystane Martell stood in the doorway, his smile already in place, charming, utterly unreadable. His eyes swept the room, lingering on her for a moment too long, then settling on Lyonel.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said. "I saw you both come in here and thought I'd check in. This looks like an interesting discussion."
His smile widened. It was wrong. Creepy. Calculated.
"Mind if I join?"
Notes:
LETS GOOOOOOO
I've discovered this strange new found motivation to finally edit all my drafts and acc post them (its about damn time) all my oneshots have been collecting dust šš
Its literally almost 6 in the morning idk why I'm awake editing this but oh well sleep if for the weak anyway, on that note if theres typos you'll have to forgive me šš
Also yes i'm still posting Chivalry it'll be out in a bit <3
hello darling, how are you? hope youre doing good. i wanted ask if thereās gonna be new chapters for chivalry?
sorry girl but im obsessed with them
Hello my love!
Iām sooo sorry for not updating Chivalry I wish I could tell you guys all the things that have been happening this week šš
I realise that Iāve not been consistent with updating for the past few weeks but I promise new chapter is coming out tonight š«¶š» as well as another tmr, cuz Iāve written them but I just need to get to editing the chapters which takes the longest cuz I usually end up rewriting the whole thing šš
Thank you so much for still being so invested despite my constant inconsistency it means the world <33
Preview, Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
"Say it again," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. Say it again."
She looked at him. Her eyes were searching his face, her gaze moving between his
eyes, his lips, his eyes again. He could see the love in them, raw and unguarded.
"I love you," she said slowly. "Aerion Targaryen. More than I know what to do with."
He exhaled. A shaky, unsteady breath that seemed to carry the weight of everything he had been holding in.
"I'm trying so damn hard to be patient," he said, his voice cracking. "To go slow with you. But you- " He shook his head. " The way you look at me. It makes it so hard to be patient."
He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. His grip on her face was tight, almost desperate.
"You have to stop testing me like this," he whispered.
Warnings: ANGST, criminal! Aerion x peoples princess!Reader, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, Fake dating, Modern AU, Violence, suggestiveness, political corruption, Manipulation, semi-slow burn, cheating (not Aerion or reader dw), infidelity accusations, insecurity, Aerion Targaryen (heās his own warning), Streamer!Raymund
Modern Aerion! x Celebrity! Reader
WC: 6K
"What are you doing here?" she said. Her voice was flat. Tired. The words of someone who had already said goodbye.
"I needed to see you."
She rolled her eyes. A small, dismissive movement that said more than words ever could. "That's not an answer."
She started to close the door.
He moved before he could think. His foot slipped between the door and the frame, stopping it just before it could close completely. The wood pressed against his shoe, and he felt the pressure of her trying to push it shut. She was strong, but he was stronger.
She looked at him. Her eyes were hard.
"Aerion-"
"Forgive me for this."
He pushed the door open. It swung wide, and he stepped inside. She stumbled back, caught off guard, her eyes wide with shock. He closed the door behind him.
The click of the lock echoed in the silence.
She stared at him. He stared back. The only sound was the rain against the windows and the steady drip of water from his jacket onto the floor.
He was soaked. His hair was plastered to his forehead, dark strands clinging to his skin. His shirt was translucent with water, pressing against the hard lines of his chest, the curve of his shoulders, the defined planes of his stomach. His jacket was heavy, dripping water that pooled at his feet. His jaw was sharp, his eyes burning, his lips slightly parted.
She tried to keep her focus. She tried to remember why she was angry, why she had pushed him away, why she had tried to close the door in his face.
She tried to forget the way the rain made him look untouchable. The way the water traced the lines of his arms, the way his breath came steady and deep despite everything. The way he filled her doorway, her apartment, her entire field of vision.
She forced herself to look away. She forced herself to remember why she couldn't let him in.
"Don't do anything you can't undo," she said. Her voice was steadier than she expected. But her hands were trembling. She tucked them into the sleeves of her sweater to hide it.
He held her gaze. His eyes were dark, his face pale. He was dripping water onto her floor, and he didn't seem to care.
"I don't think things can get any worse than they are now," he said.
He stepped closer. The water from his jacket pooled on the floor between them. He didn't notice. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room.
She could see the exhaustion in his face now. The dark circles under his eyes. The tight set of his jaw. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. He looked like he had been running for hours.
And still, he was looking at her.
"I came here to tell you the truth," he said. His voice was rough, scraped raw. "So let me tell it."
She opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to tell him to leave. She wanted to protect him from what was coming.
But he had locked the door. And she was tired. And she didn't want to fight anymore.
She nodded. Just once. A small, almost imperceptible movement.
She turned away from him, her shoulders hunched, her hand coming up to brush at her face as if she could hide it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her nose slightly pink. She had been crying for a long time. Maybe all night.
The sight of it hit him like a physical blow.
He stepped closer. She stepped back, instinctively, her back hitting the wall behind her. She didn't have anywhere else to go.
He raised his hand to her face. His palm was cold from the rain, but his touch was gentle. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped before she could stop it. She flinched at the contact, but she didn't pull away.
"You've been crying." he said. His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
She looked away. "It's nothing."
He opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. His hand was still on her face, and she could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. He was struggling. She could see it in the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes searched her face for something, permission maybe. Or forgiveness.
"I don't-" He stopped. His throat moved as he swallowed. "I don't know how to do this."
She blinked. "Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely between them with his free hand.
"Talk. Explain. Say the things I should have said weeks ago." He laughed, short and sharp, but there was no humor in it.
"I've never been good at this. I've never had to be. I just-" He stopped again. His jaw tightened. "I've spent my whole life making sure no one got close enough to need explanations. And now I'm standing here, dripping water on your floor, trying to find words I don't have."
She stared at him. She had never seen him like this. She had seen him angry, cold, dismissive. She had seen him vulnerable in flashes, brief moments that he quickly covered up. But this, this was different. This was him fighting through it. Him forcing himself to stay in the room, even when every instinct was telling him to run.
"Aerion," she said softly.
He shook his head. "I need to say this. I need to-" He stopped. His hand dropped from her face, and he turned away from her. He stood there for a moment, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched at his sides. The water was still dripping from his jacket, pooling at his feet. He didn't seem to notice.
She watched him. She didn't speak. She didn't move.
When he turned back to her, his face was raw in a way she had rarely seen. He looked tired. Exhausted. Like he had been fighting this battle for longer than he wanted to admit.
"I don't know what you're thinking," he said. His voice was quieter now, rougher. "I don't know if you hate me or if you're just- " He stopped. His jaw worked.
"I don't know if there's anything left to save. But I need you to know that I'm sorry. For everything I did. For everything I didn't do. For the way I made you feel like you were the problem when the problem was always me."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.
"Let me finish." His voice cracked, just slightly, on the last word. He cleared his throat. "I let you walk away because I was scared. I let you push me away because I thought you were better off without me. And maybe you are. Maybe I'm not the person you deserve. Maybe I'll never be that person." He paused.
His eyes met hers. "But I can't pretend I don't care about you. I can't pretend this doesn't matter. I can't-" He stopped again. His jaw was so tight she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "I can't let you go without telling you the truth. All of it."
He dropped his gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. The only sound was the rain against the windows and the steady drip of water from his jacket.
She looked at him. At the effort it was taking him to stay in this room. At the way he was forcing himself to speak even when every instinct was telling him to shut down. At the rawness of his face, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his hands were still trembling at his sides.
Something in her chest shifted.
"Okay," she said softly. "Say whatever you need to say."
He looked up. His eyes met hers, and she saw the relief in them. The gratitude. The fear.
Three years ago.
The car moved through the city like a shadow, sleek and silent, its black exterior absorbing the streetlights rather than reflecting them. The interior was a study in quiet luxury; rich wood paneling inlaid along the doors, soft leather seats that seemed to cradle whoever sat in them, polished chrome accents catching the faint glow of the dashboard lights. The air smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, clean scent of money.
A man sat in the back seat, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. His suit was immaculate: dark, tailored, the kind that cost more than most people made in a year.
His hair was perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, his hands resting loosely on the tablet in his lap. He looked like a man who had everything he wanted and was bored by the fact.
Across from him sat his secretary. His suit was also expensive, though slightly less flashy, a subtle distinction that spoke volumes about the hierarchy between them. He held a leather portfolio in his lap, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on his employer with the careful attention of someone who knew better than to look away.
The man scrolled through his tablet with lazy, unhurried movements. The glow of the screen illuminated his face as he read, his thumb flicking across the glass with practiced ease.
He stopped on a headline.
"UNIDENTIFIED MAN KILLED IN SUMMERHALL SECURITY INCIDENT."
The article beneath it was brief but damning:
"A man, whose identity has not yet been released, was shot and killed late last night at Summerhall, the ancestral estate of House Targaryen. Sources confirm the man was not a member of the household staff nor a known associate of the family. He was discovered in a restricted area of the estate and shot by security personnel. The investigation is ongoing, and the Targaryens security detail, The King's Guard, has declined to comment on the specifics of the incident. Questions are already being raised about the nature of the man's presence at Summerhall and the circumstances surrounding his death."
He scrolled to the next article.
"AERION TARGARYEN SENT TO LYS AMID SUMMERHALL MYSTERY."
The article detailed Aerion's sudden departure:
"Aerion Targaryen, the second son of Prince Maekar, has been sent to Lys on what sources describe as 'an extended business trip.' The timing of his departure, coming just hours after the Summerhall security incident, has raised eyebrows across the realm. Aerion has long been a controversial figure; known for his explosive temper, his history of violent outbursts, and his open contempt for the press. Critics have pointed to Incident 203, as well as incidents in which Aerion was accused of assaulting a reporter, as evidence of pattern behavior. The family has remained silent on the matter, and speculation is mounting that Aerion may have been involved in the Summerhall shooting. Neither the Targaryen family nor the King's Guard has issued a formal statement regarding his departure or the incident itself, which has left many to question his involvement in the shooting."
The man read both articles slowly, his lips curving into a smile. He set the tablet down and looked out the window.
"Fools," he murmured. "They have no idea."
Tymond,the secretary, glanced up from the leather portfolio in his lap.
"Sir?"
The man gestured at the tablet. "The Targaryens. They think they've buried the Summerhall incident. They think sending Aerion to Lys will make it all go away." He laughed softly. "They have no idea who they're dealing with."
Tymond hesitated. His grip on the portfolio tightened slightly. "It's a shame about the journalist," he said carefully. "He had a wife. Children, I believe."
The man's smile did not fade. If anything, it sharpened.
"He was a loose end," he said. "Loose ends need to be cut off."
Tymond's expression flickered in a brief, barely perceptible shift that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the sentiment. He knew better than to argue. He nodded once and looked down at his portfolio.
The man's smile faded, replaced by something more contemplative. He picked up his tablet again, scrolling back to the first article.
"Tymond," he said.
"Sir?"
"Does it not strike you as curious...how a journalist with no known connection to House Targaryen ended up at Summerhall?"
Tymond hesitated. "I assumed he was investigating them."
"He was," the man said. "But he wasn't investigating the Targaryens. Not at first."
Tymond looked up. "Sir?"
The man's smile returned. It was not a warm smile.
"He was investigating us."
Tymond's face went pale. "The journalist-"
"Ethan Storm." The man said the name slowly, as if tasting it. "He was getting close. Too close. I needed to eliminate him, and I needed to do it without leaving a trail."
Tymond swallowed. "How did he end up at Summerhall?"
The man's smile widened. "I sent him."
Tymond stared at him.
"I tipped him off," the man continued, his voice smooth and unhurried. "An anonymous message, carefully crafted. I told him there was something hidden at Summerhall...something the Targaryens didn't want anyone to find. I knew he would follow the lead. I knew he would walk straight into their trap."
"And the Targaryens, they-" Tymond was interrupted before he could finish:
"Did exactly what I expected." The man's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "They killed him. Aerion Targaryen, I assume, pulled the trigger and they buried the story. Now Aerion is in Lys, the Targaryens are scrambling, and no one is looking at us."
Tymond was silent for a long moment. His face was carefully neutral, but his hands were gripping the portfolio a little too tightly.
"You planned this," he said quietly.
The man leaned back in his seat, his expression calm. "I orchestrated it."
Tymond nodded slowly. He understood now. This was not just a man, this was a predator. And the Targaryens had been used as pawns in a game they didn't even know they were playing.
The man's smile faded, replaced by something more businesslike.
"And what about that Lysene fool, Lysandro Pendaerys?"
Tymond straightened. "The Magistor has collected the funds, sir. The full amount has been transferred to the accounts you designated."
"How much?"
"Eighteen million Golden Dragons. As you requested."
The man leaned back in his seat, a look of satisfaction settling across his features. "Excellent. The things people do for their children."
Tymond's jaw tightened. He knew what that meant. He knew the Magistor was being blackmailed; threats had been made against his family, against his children. He knew the man across from him had planned it all. He also knew better than to comment.
He kept his face neutral and said nothing.
The man returned to his tablet, his expression shifting from satisfaction to something more calculating. "And the charity event?"
"It's all arranged, sir. The press will be there. The mayor has confirmed attendance. Your speech has been prepared."
"Good." He set the tablet aside and adjusted his cuff. "I want the world to see how much I care about the orphans of Lys."
A pause.
"Of course, sir."
The car slowed. The man looked out the window and saw the lights of the venue ahead: a grand building, its entrance flanked by reporters and photographers. The flashes of cameras reflected off the wet pavement like scattered stars.
His demeanor shifted instantly. The cold, calculating expression melted away, replaced by a warm, charming smile. His shoulders relaxed. His eyes softened. He became someone else entirely, a public figure, a philanthropist, a prince of the people.
The car stopped.
The door opened.
He stepped out into the glare of the cameras, his smile wide, his posture open and inviting. A reporter called out to him.
"Prince Trystane! Prince Trystane, over here!"
He turned toward the voice, his smile unwavering.
"Prince Trystane, how are you feeling about tonight's event? You've done so much for the orphans of Lys. What inspired you to get involved?"
He paused, letting the moment stretch. The cameras flashed. The crowd waited.
He smiled, warm and genuine, and began to speak.
"Thank you. I've always believed that those of us who have been blessed with privilege have a responsibility to give back. The children of Lys deserve a future. They deserve hope. And I am honored to play a small part in giving that to them."
The reporter nodded eagerly, scribbling notes. The cameras flashed again.
Trystane Martell smiled for the cameras, his eyes bright, his expression unreadable.
And somewhere in the shadows, Tymond watched, his face carefully neutral.
He had learned a long time ago not to let his discomfort show.
The Present
"Three years ago," he began, "a journalist died at Summerhall."
She didn't move. She just watched him, her eyes fixed on his face.
He paused. His jaw tightened. He was already struggling, already fighting through the words.
"He wasn't supposed to die," he said. "I didn't mean to kill him."
She blinked. "Then what happened?"
He dragged a hand through his wet hair, water dripping from his fingers. "He was investigating something. I don't know what. He got too close to a restricted area. I confronted him. There was a struggle." He paused. His voice dropped lower. "I aimed for his leg. I wanted to stop him, not kill him. But he tripped. The shot hit something vital. He bled out before anyone could help him."
She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes were searching his face, looking for the lie. He let her look. He had nothing left to hide.
"Did anyone else know?" she asked.
"My father. Baelor. A few others." He laughed, a hollow sound. "They buried it. Made it look like an accident. Sent me to Lys to hide from the scandal."
She processed that. Her fingers were still wrapped around her own arms, her posture still guarded.
"Who was he?" she asked. "The journalist."
"I don't know his name. I never knew his name. He was just a man who got too close to something he shouldn't have."
She nodded slowly. "And you've carried that guilt for three years."
He didn't answer. Instead, he looked away, his jaw tight.
"I found out something else while I was in Lys," he said. "About the Magistor. Lysandro Pendaerys."
She tilted her head. "The Magistor?"
"He was embezzling funds. Millions of Golden Dragons, funneled into private accounts. I discovered it while I was there."
He continued. "I was sent there to negotiate an oil deal. My father wanted me to make myself useful while the scandal died down. I found out about the embezzlement. I thought- " He stopped momentarily as is weighing the words he was about to say next.
"I thought I could use it. I thought I could prove myself."
She blinked. "And how did you find out about the embezzled funds?"
"His daughter," he said. "Her name was Lysara." he turned away from her.
She blinked. "The Magistors daughter?"
"She discovered her father was embezzling funds," he said. "She was trying to expose him. She came to me, trusted me, confided in me." He paused. "I used her. I used her trust to get the documents I needed. I let her believe I cared about her."
She was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"Did you?" she asked hesitant, clearly fearing his reply. "Care about her?"
"No." He said it immediately, without hesitation. "I used her. I'm not proud of it. But I did what I had to do to survive."
She studied his face. "And the oil deal?"
"I used the documents to negotiate with the governor. I reduced the tax from twenty-two percent to four percent. I got what I needed, and I left as soon as it was over."
His tongue moved over is dry lips.
"I'm not proud of what I did," he said. "I know it was wrong. I know I used her. I know I manipulated her. But I was desperate. I was trapped. I needed that deal to secure my family's future,"
He looked at her now, his eyes locked with hers as he continued "and I before you ask.... no I don't regret it, I did what I had to in order to survive, and I'd do it again."
She was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she stepped closer.
"Aerion," she said.
He looked up.
"I believe you."
He stared at her. His lips parted. He looked like he was trying to process what she had just said.
"You believe me?" he repeated.
"Yes." She held his gaze. "I believe you."
He exhaled. It was shaky, unsteady, like he had been holding his breath for three years and was only now allowing himself to let it go.
"I knew you would," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"
"You lied at the dinner," he said. "When you said the rumours about me were true. I knew you were lying."
She paused, slightly amused. "How could you possibly know that?"
He smiled. It was a small, almost shy smile, the kind she had never seen on his face before.
"You have a habit," he said. "When you lie-" He reached out and touched the tip of her nose gently. "Your nose scrunches. Just slightly. It's barely noticeable. But I noticed."
She stared at him. Her cheeks flushed. "You noticed that?"
He nodded. "I notice everything about you."
She was quiet for a moment. Her heart was pounding. He noticed. He noticed things about her that no one else noticed. He paid attention to her in a way that made her feel seen.
"You're the only one who's ever noticed that," she said softly.
He didn't answer. He just looked at her, his eyes dark, his gaze steady.
She looked at him. Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. Something shifted in her expression.
"I think I might love you," she said. "Aerion Targaryen."
The words hung in the air.
He stared at her. His lips parted. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears.
"Say it again," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. Say it again."
She looked at him. Her eyes were searching his face, her gaze moving between his eyes, his lips, his eyes again. He could see the love in them, raw and unguarded.
"I love you," she said slowly. "Aerion Targaryen. More than I know what to do with."
He exhaled. A shaky, unsteady breath that seemed to carry the weight of everything he had been holding in.
"I'm trying so damn hard to be patient," he said, his voice cracking. "To go slow with you. But you- " He shook his head. "The way you look at me. It makes it so hard to be patient."
He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. His grip on her face was tight, almost desperate.
"You have to stop testing me like this," he whispered.
She reached up and grabbed his collar. Her grip was firm, her eyes fierce.
"The least you can do after everything you've done to me," she said, "is kiss me."
He stared at her. His jaw tightened. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her she deserved better than a frantic moment in her apartment. He wanted to be the man who could give her the romance she deserved.
She didn't give him a chance.
She pulled him down and kissed him.
It was fierce and desperate, a kiss that said more than words ever could. He was so shocked by her directness, he was so used to being the one in control, the one who made the first move, that he didn't react for a moment. He just stood there, frozen, his lips against hers.
Then he kissed her back.
She pushed him back onto the sofa. He fell onto the cushions, surprised, and she was on top of him, straddling his lap, her hands in his hair, her lips against his. He reached for her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.
She broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark.
"Don't you ever keep anything from me again," she said. "Do you understand?"
He nodded. "I understand."
"Good." She leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time. "Good."
"Fuck," he breathed against her lips. "I love you. You're so fucking perfect."
She smiled, a real smile, the first one he had seen all night and then he flipped them over, pressing her into the cushions.
"My turn," he said.
He kissed her. Hard. Passionate. The kind of kiss that felt like they were trying to press their very souls into each other. Their lips moved together like they were trying to fuse into one person, like they were terrified that if they stopped, the moment would shatter.
Clothes began to fall away in the heat of the moment. A jacket. A sweater. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the heat of their bodies, the urgency of their touch.
Then he stopped.
He pulled back, breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against hers.
"Wait," he said. His voice was rough, barely controlled. "We need to sort everything out first. Then we'll do this."
She blinked. Her eyes were still dark, still hungry. "Do you not want me?"
"Only the Seven know how badly I want you," his hoarse with the barely held back desire. "But I want to do this properly. I want to do this right."
She stared at him. She was still breathing heavily, her body still pressed against his.
"I've never met a woman like you," he said softly. "I've met plenty of women. Trust me, plenty. But none like you. None who looked at me like I was worth saving. None who saw me and didn't flinch."
She reached up and touched his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said. "I've never been afraid of you."
"I know," he said. "That's why I love you."
The apartment was quiet now, the only sounds the soft patter of rain against the windows and the distant hum of the city beyond. The intensity of the confession had faded into something softer, something more fragile. They had moved from the sofa to her bedroom, the weight of the evening pressing down on both of them.
She led the way, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. He followed, his wet jacket discarded somewhere in the living room, his shirt still damp and clinging to his skin. He paused in the doorway, taking in the space.
Her room was warm, intimate in a way he hadn't expected. The walls were painted a soft cream, the furniture simple and elegant. A large bed dominated the centre of the room, its sheets rumpled from the night before.
There were books stacked on the nightstand, a half-empty glass of water, a small vase with a single dried flower. A delicate silver frame sat on her dresser, holding a photograph of a younger her, maybe sixteen or seventeen, her hair loose and her smile wide and unguarded, arms wrapped around a man who must have been her father. Lyonel looked younger too, his arm around her shoulders, both of them laughing at something off-camera.
Aerion's eyes lingered on the photograph for a moment longer than necessary. He had never seen her like that; so free, so unburdened. It made his chest ache.
She noticed him looking. "I was sixteen," she said softly. "Before everything got complicated."
He didn't respond. He just looked at her, his eyes dark.
She moved to her wardrobe and pulled out a blanket and a spare pillow, tossing them onto the floor beside her bed. "You can sleep here," she said. "The floor's not as comfortable as the bed, but it's better than the sofa."
He looked at the makeshift bed, then at her. "I'll take the floor."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're being a gentleman."
"I'm being practical. You need the bed more than I do."
She smiled. It was a small, tired smile, but it was real. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Neither did I."
She climbed into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. He lowered himself onto the floor, the blanket rough against his palms, the pillow thin beneath his head. The ceiling was unfamiliar, the room unfamiliar, but the sound of her breathing was grounding.
The minutes stretched. The rain continued to fall. He stared at the ceiling, his body tense, his mind racing. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about everything she had said, everything he had revealed.
"You're like a restless dog down there," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "What's wrong with you?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Are you still going to marry Trystane?"
She sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed to look at him. Her hair fell forward, framing her face. "Aerion, I just kissed you. What makes you think I'm still marrying Trystane?"
"I don't know." He rolled onto his side to face her. "I just needed to be sure."
She studied his face. "Why wouldn't you be sure?"
He hesitated. He had already said too much. But he couldn't stop himself. "Because you had a history. Before me."
She blinked. "How do you know about that?"
He didn't answer. His jaw was tight.
"You've been doing research on me," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I wanted to know who I was dealing with," he said finally. "I needed to understand what I was walking into."
She stared at him. Her expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, she laughed.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I know."
She lay back down, her head still hanging over the edge of the bed, her eyes still fixed on him. "I used to think Trystane and I were aligned," she said. "We both cared about charity work. We both wanted to make a difference. He seemed genuine at first. Like he actually cared about the causes he supported."
He listened. He didn't interrupt.
"But then something happened," she continued. "I can't even tell you what it was. A moment where the mask slipped. A comment he made. A look in his eyes that didn't match the words coming out of his mouth."
She paused. Her voice dropped lower.
"After that, I couldn't unsee it. He felt hollow. Like everything he did was for show. Like he was performing, and I was just part of the audience."
He was quiet for a moment. He thought about himself; about all the things he had done, all the ways he had failed. He wasn't like Trystane. He was the opposite of the man she had described. He wasn't good. He wasn't kind. He wasn't genuine.
He didn't know why she was choosing him.
"I'm not the man you want," he said quietly. "I'm not the person you thought Trystane was."
She looked at him. Her eyes were soft, unflinching.
"I know," she said. "You're not him. And that's why I trust you."
He stared at her. Something in his chest shifted. He didn't know how to respond.
"I can tell by the way your eyes crinkle when you see your siblings laugh," she continued. "I can tell by the way you hesitated before kissing me...like you were afraid you'd hurt me. I can tell by the fact that you're sleeping on my floor instead of in my bed, even though I know you want to be there."
She paused. Her voice was softer now.
"You're not the same kind of good as Trystane. You're better."
He was quiet. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe.
"About the earrings," she said softly, changing the subject. "I know they were your mother's."
He sat up slightly, turning to look at her. "How did you know?"
"The portrait," she said. "At Summerhall. She was wearing them in the painting."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her hand. She let him. He pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering against her skin.
"They were hers," he said. "She wore them every day. I took them after she died. I couldn't bear to look at them for years."
She watched him. She didn't interrupt.
"There's a tradition in my family," he continued, his voice rough. "The earrings are passed down. They're meant to be given to someone you want to marry."
Her eyes widened. "Aerion-"
"I didn't mean to give them to you the way I did," he said quickly. "I wasn't thinking. I just; I saw you in them, and I knew they belonged with you."
He laughed, a hollow sound. "I didn't even tell you what they meant. I just handed them to you like they were nothing. Like they were just a prop."
She stared at him. Her heart was pounding.
"Have you ever given them to anyone else?" she asked.
"No. Never. I've never even wanted to."
She was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers were still interlaced with his.
"Aerion," she said softly. "How long have you liked me?"
He stiffened. "That's-"
"Be honest."
He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced absent patterns on the back of her hand.
"Do you want me to be honest?" he asked.
"Always."
"Ever since our first dinner," he said quietly. "When you called me out for being late. When you smiled at me like you already saw through everything I was trying to hide. I knew then. I knew you were the one."
She stared at him. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. "You've liked me this whole time?"
"Every single moment," he said. "Every single day."
He looked at her, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. "Now it's your turn. When did you start liking me?"
She blinked. "That's not fair."
"I just told you everything."
"I didn't ask you to."
He let out an exasperated laugh. "That's not an answer."
She smiled, a slow, teasing smile. "That's a secret."
"Seriously?"
"I'm not ready to tell you yet."
He stared at her. "You're impossible."
"I know." She pulled her hand back and settled deeper into her pillows. "It's late. We should sleep."
Aerion layed back down on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the ghost of her touch. He could still hear the echo of her voice saying you're better.
"Don't think I'll forget about this," he said quietly. "I'll ask you again in the morning."
She didn't answer. But he heard the soft, muffled sound of her smiling.
The rain continued to fall outside. The city hummed in the distance. And in her bedroom, on the floor beside her bed, Aerion Targaryen finally allowed himself to close his eyes.
For the first time in three years, he felt like he was home.
Notes:
GUYS PLEASE TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND THE PLOT ššš
like Trystane set up the whole incident at summerhall with the journalist (which got Aerion banished) and he was also involved with the magister who Aerion caught embezzling funds (which Aerion used to negotiate the Lys Oil Trades from the OG 22% down to 4% which happens in the first scene of part 1).
Also I think this ending sets up well for the next pt which will probably be the ending
