SUGURUS ┊ 18 ┊she/her ┊jjk writer
꒱ hey there! i'm sugurus ༊·˚, here you will find some of the THIRSTIEST fanfics i can think of. this blog includes 18+ content so beaware while exploring. don't be shy to ask any questions and feel free to interact!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MASTERLIST ┊ ABOUT ME┊
requests: open, so don't be shy!
want to request something? dm me!
Sorry I know I said weekly updates or that I would do it soon but I got hit by a bus because i was on shrooms and i was convinced adam levine was chasing after me (intense game of kissy chase) and am now in a full body cast. I’m writing this through text to speech but I don’t think the nurses would like it if I started describing intimate ways of smut
A part 2 to Flames and the Morning After to explore their dynamic would be sooooo delicious. I absolutely love hate-love relationships because when it comes to the love part, it is just the immense, intense realization that they do in fact love each other and maybe they don’t hate each other as they used to.
I also love the fierce denial when it comes to love as well. I can just imagine reader coming to her senses about her feelings towards Aerion and that sickening what-if feeling if Aerion doesn’t reciprocate her feelings. Aerion would also feel the same, and it would drive him absolutely insane. I feel like reader/Aerion would be soooooo sneaky towards each other when it comes to their feelings for another and it would take forever for them to admit how they feel.
Later on, when the tensions are too high, I imagine something tragic or terrible happening to reader and it makes Aerion go mad with rage and he absolutely does something heinous/unhinged to whoever decided to hurt his wife. It’s then that they admit that they indeed love one another, but their love, would be a sick and twisted sort of love. One that really isn’t the fairytale type of love, but more of an all consuming and pernicious love that drags them down and makes them commit atrocious acts.
Ohhh it’s soooo delicious, the possibilities.
love-hate relationships u will always be famous <3 the intense realization that they both do love each other can be soo intense if i manage to write it well enough LOL
i think the denial is such an important part to aerions character, i just believe that denying his feelings is soooo him. as his love grows i think he would start to spiral because he continues to believe it is not reciprocated and it causes him to hate the reader the more he loves her. i think that aerion would be sneaky with his feelings, as you said, while also not being so subtle all the time. imagine him openly threatening men who get too close to his wife, or simple mannerisms that reader would mistake as him 'claiming' his property, but in truth it's just that hes a completely jealous brat !! I LIVE FOR THIS
i love the idea you came up with something tragic happening to the reader, and i can totally see it happening. i think aerion is already unhinged enough, but witnessing his wife hurt? yeah. would be so exciting to see.
and they commit atrocious acts? in the name of love? yepyepyep. u cooked with that one. i always had imagined them being intentionally cruel to each other while denying their feelings because they can't deal with the fact they think their s/o doesn't love them the way they do.
Part 2 of only over you was soooo yummy scrummy!!! Her interactions with Daeron are so good I need him so bad 😋
THANK YOUUU. like literally i love daeron so much fanfics aren't enough i need to physically become a hedge knight and pledge my undying love for him and lose my life fighting for his honour and beauty.
#NEEDTHISMANSOBAD
I usually never ask this but I really can’t help myself because I really love you writing.
Would you ever consider a part 2 or even a little oneshot for Flames and the Morning After? I’m soooo intrigued with their relationship dynamic.
Reader so clearly detest Aerion but also comes to the jarring realization that she can’t escape him and just accepts the fact that she’s tied to him forever. Aerion first sees her as a little meek thing but then later realizes that she’s just waiting in plain sight to make her move.
I really wonder what their later interactions consist of. Do they ever find common ground afterwards? I imagine that it would take quite a while but I feel like after some time, they would grow to greatly care and love and respect each other (in their own ways of course). I also feel like after spending some time with him, reader would develop some sort of wolf in sheep’s clothing demeanor and the two would be an unstoppable force together—obviously the toxic one where it’s “only we can be toxic with each other” and “if you disrespect reader/aerion, die” sort of thing. Also the one ups they would do to try to out toxic the other would be soooo delicious, in a morbid, romantic way lol.
first off, wow i really appreciate this ask, it means so much to me that you put so much thought into my fanfic i'm genuinely so honoured and grateful!
i would definitely be willing to make a part two, especially after this ask. i think that there is so much that can be built on in their relationship dynamic and how it continues to progress.
originally i thought the relationship between aerion and reader is something that was built on the foundations of bitterness and rejection, but they slowly do become closer over the fact that they have to continue a life where they have to be together - and that there is absolutely no denying that they will ever be free of each other.
aerion sees the reader as meek and as a burden at first, and i think he will continue to hate her for it HOWEVER i think that love and hate are often one of the same thing! for hate, aerion's character is stubborn and he refuses to deem anything as 'worthy' of his attention and believes he is completely indifferent to her, yet as time progresses and reader grows confident within herself and finds her own ground to stand i think there will be a complete switch in dynamic.
for love, i think aerion won't even be aware he is in love with her and confuses it with hate - but perhaps he will figure it out through the fact that he realizes that life just won't do without her and thats when he's like oh OH he loves you and tries to reject it
i think this is where things could get inherently interesting - reader has grown fond of him and knows of his tempers and has accepted him (while also playing the wolf in sheeps clothing) for who he is BUT aerion is grasping with the fact he's in love with reader which leads to extreme possessiveness
like can u imagine jealous and toxic aerion?? YES PLEASE. he definitely could not standing seeing reader laugh along with other lords, it would just drive him mad. while i don't think their relationship could ever be delicate and tender , i do believe they would have a strong bond where they're 'it' for each other and nobody else could ever do. they're toxic af but in love so who can blame them
Synopsis ── 𖤓 ˚｡⋆ You are to marry a prince of dragon blood. Fearing for your life as your wedding night approaches, what happens when a fierce dragon wraps his sharp claws around you, leaving you nowhere to escape?
Tags / warnings: 18+ content, arranged marriage, cruel aerion, enemies to enemies, hurt no comfort, smut, stabbing oops, blood play, biting, rough sex, reader is scared of marriage, loss of virginity, aerion gets off on antagonizing the reader, aerion likes to be in control, toxic romance, angst, female reader insert, readers appearance is not mentioned, the usual targaryen weirdness, choking, the reader is not as helpless as she seems, reader is from house dayne, notes available at the end of the chapter, extreme slowburn
Word Count: 10.1k
You do not like King’s Landing.
It is dark, cold, and nothing at all like Dorne. Your body does not feel the comforting warmth of Starfall hug around you in a soothing embrace, instead it is met with inky clouds that smother any ray of sunlight that dares try to cut through the ghastly sky. Your body is not yet used to it, and you suspect it never will be, your mind is too fixated on the memory of glassy waves and sunlit stone.
Standing on the balcony, you delicately angled your gaze enough that your eyes could slip down into the small cramped and crooked streets rather than lingering in the torchlit halls behind you. The firelight feels rather ghostly, like a whisper of stone and flame. Draped in the finest silks that are perhaps too soft and easygoing for a place that smells of leather steel and smoke pale purples spill from your shoulders in gentle folds. The gold folds over your body, catching the last of the weak daylight it gleams at your throat, a quiet proclamation of your Dayne blood.
Your fingers curl around the dainty rings at your hands, turning the cool metal against your warm skin, focusing on the familiar weight of them before you let your quiet thoughts circle back to the reason you are here— which is marriage. Since young, it has been imprinted into you that it is a woman’s duty to marry and bring honor to her house. You are no fool, you have known this since you were old enough to watch brides ride away from Starfall trembling in the wind.
Aerion Targaryen is a prince, and to wed a prince of Westeros is more than simply duty, it is the highest honour you could lay at your family’s feet. The blood of the dragon runs through his veins, and your kins would be fools not to seize that. Binding fire and blood to your bloodline, silver hair and sharp imperious features, along with violet eyes would never allow tongues to cease whispering. People fear him, and you do not need to question why, the fact that they once were dragon masters was enough for you to understand.
You know you ought to feel a swell of joy and pride, yet you cannot help but want to weep, fear sitting heavier in your chest than any sense of honour. The ‘Brightflame’ is a stigma dressed in chains, a dragon with his wings torn off but its claws left sharp, and the thought of standing at his side makes your stomach fold and tuck in horror. And you are so very far from home, all that is left with you are the rings that sit on your fingers and the knowledge that you are being given to something made of fire.
You hear your fathers soft voice call your name from behind, and you cannot bring it upon yourself to turn and face him.
“It is time,” he says.
It feels as though all the time in the world has slipped away, like sand through open fingers, yet you are only eight and ten. Time was the one thing you had thought endless when you ran through the sunlit halls of home, but now it has narrowed to this single corridor as you follow behind your father. Feet falling into perfect rhythm with his, each tread is swallowed by the echoing of stone, you feel insubstantial, nothing more than a pawn on a board built by men.
“I love you, my daughter,” your father says, pride swelling in his chest, you swear you can almost see it. “You are doing the realm a great service.” He glances down at you and offers you a gentle smile you have always been used to, the one that meant safety, stories and long arms opening to catch you. Now it means nothing such.
To you, the words feel like mockery. You want, with an aching desperation, to be a child again in his arms, to bury your face in his chest and ask him not to make you stray so far from home, not to give you to a dragon and to keep you in Starfall until you become grey and old. Instead, you swallow back the heavy weight in your chest, blink back the sting of tears that threaten to fall and continue to walk beside him in silence. The words you do not voice turn bitter on your tongue.
Standing small at your father’s side, your spine remains straight and hands are folded in mirror to etiquette that was drilled into you since childhood. Even though you hold yourself in place with perfect posture, you cannot ignore your heart beating too fast against your ribs. You assumed you would have been prepared for this moment, or so your ladies-in-waiting had told you, but the nerves rising in your throat made a liar of every lesson.
The dragon prince, Aerion “Brightflame” Targaryen stands opposite you, milky hands tickled neatly behind his back before his violet eyes sweep over you in idle disinterest. There is something about him that does not feel entirely human, you tell yourself it is only the Valyrian cast of him, the handsome lines of his face, the sharp bone, silver hair and inhuman calm. You find his presence to be heavy, as though it presses against your lungs with intentions to make them collapse, and you find yourself breathing a touch too quickly for a lady who is meant to be composed.
The embers in his eyes glow like the flickers of flame as he looks at you, and his calm expression shifts, disinterest becoming irritation. He has not yet said anything, but behind his glimmering daze you can see him thinking. Gaze lingering on you, unfocused, in a sudden flicker of candlelight he turns his head towards his father.
“I have no desire to take someone so plain-looking,” He says at last, and his voice is smooth and steady, and almost silky enough that for a second you do not register the words that slip out his lips.
Prince Maekar’s expression curdles and he lifts his chin up high in sharp irritation while his lips curl into something close to a snarl.
“Boy,” the Prince bites out, “do not try to be clever with me. You are to wed her.”
Aerion clicks his tongue to this, making a loud and disdainful sound. His purple eyes drag over you from head to toe in a slow and assessing manner. They are striking, you must admit, such eyes are not common in Westeros, and this is the first time you have seen them so closely. For all his cruel words, you cannot deny he is pretty in a cold, Valyrian way. Yet, his satisfying appearance does not help to ease the tightness in your throat. You decide to swallow hard, watching the two of them like some small thing caught between, absolutely insignificant.
“It is tradition,” he replies, his tone sounding bored, “for a prince of the dragon to take a wife of pure blood. It is tradition. She is no pureblood.”
“Pure blood or not, you’ll do as you’re told and take what is given. The matter is settled.” Maekar grunts out, beyond tired of his son's disobedience, then he gives your father an apologetic look. Aerion does not respond but you do see the jaw his skin tightens as he clenches his sharp jaw, the lids of his violet eyes growing heavy in what you suppose is anger at rejection.
The thought settles in your chest as you take slight offence to the young prince’s words. You are a Dayne of Starfall, not some nameless girl that was plucked from a crowd, but his words make it clear that you are not what he desires. In his eyes, you are not pure enough nor worthy enough, and certainly not what he believes he was promised.
Mind circling back to the same inevitable truth, you remember he is a dragon. It does make sense that a dragon would want fire and blood, and dragons do not bear disappointment well, they would prefer to scorch it from the world. Your shoulders stiffen as you wonder with a cold creeping dread if he will lose his tempter and spill his anger on you.
A light tap between your shoulder blades signals your father’s silent command and you know it is time to perform your duty. Lowering your head at once, silk whispering as your pretty purple skirts sway forward, your hair slips forward like a curtain which veils the side of your face. You school your features into something that’s gentle and obedient, the way you were taught, the way a prince would prefer a lady.
“I hope I will prove… acceptable to you, my prince,” you speak, voice soft, the royal title scraping your throat. My prince, the words feel wrong in your mouth, it is a vow that does not belong to you, like you are bending the knee to the edge of a blade, swearing undying loyalty to it. You are expected to play the dutiful pride, to smile and obey a man who can air his displeasures as openly as he breathes, while it is looked down upon if you so much as flinch.
His expression tightens further, as though the gods above are mocking him, as though you are mocking him. To him it must seem like your very presence is a cage to be fitted around him, link by link.
“I will judge that for myself,” he says at last, each word precise. “Soon enough.”
The words feel like a threat. He licks his lips in a quick, unconscious motion, and for the first time his piercing gaze truly settles on you. It drops from your face to the line of your collarbone, to the way the slightly sheer Dornish silk clings to your body. It is modest enough beneath the sun of Starfall, perhaps, but here it feels suddenly too light and too revealing under a dragon’s scrutiny.
With a sudden shiver, you realize that he hadn’t properly looked at you before you spoke. Now he is, and his gaze lingers a heartbeat too long before he catches himself, haunting eyes snapping back up to your face. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek and he clicks it again, creating a small, irritated sound that feels like a final verdict.
The anger painted on his face does not fade. You have a sinking feeling it will not leave for some time, if it ever does. You can only hope he chooses not to sink his sharp claws into you the way a dragon might into a lamb, that he will not prove more cruel in marriage than he has already shown himself to be in court.
──
Aerion is aware of exactly who he is, the second son of a fourth son. In his family's eyes, he is too far removed from the line of succession to be given the honour of a sister or a cousin, too valuable to waste entirely, a convenient piece to trade. His father speaks of great alliances and the strength of the old blood as though that should soothe the insult. His late-mother had been a Dayne, he already paid the price of that through the blood that ran through his veins. Then why must a prince of dragon blood take a wife whose blood does not burn, whose hair does not gleam silver in the light that will not promise him babes with the right look?
During these thoughts, his mind inevitably slips to you. You seemed timid and shy, eyes lowered and shoulders held perfectly tight. A dragon can smell blood, and Aerion had smelt your fear the moment your eyes gazed upon him and you opened your mouth. Perhaps you will provide him with some entertainment in this dreary visit to King’s Landing. The whores of the Street of Silk had begun to bore him, there is no sport in flesh that yields far too easily, and definitely no thrill in maids who tremble on command. He supposes you will be different, untouched, untried yet already flinching. Your face is not entirely displeasing either, fear will suit you he thinks. A scared look on your delicate features might even be pretty.
The pre-celebration of your marriage bleeds into the evening, the last light of the sun dying over King’s Landing as lords and ladies murmur and laugh around you. You notice the sun sets much earlier here than it does in Starfall. You are dressed to be seen, Dayne’s prettiest colours draped over your frame, your gown mirroring the soft purples of the setting sky just before the darkness wraps Westeros in a black cloak.
Ladies stop you with gentle hands and sweeter smiles, offering kind congratulations as if they are gifts, mentioning what an honour it is to be marrying a prince. What a blessing it is to find such a compelling husband, asserting what a lucky lady you are. You do as you’re taught, smiling and nodding as you let the words wash over you like cold water. The idea of drowning yourself and letting the night blur into nothing slips past you, yet you cannot afford to make a fool of yourself. You cannot risk forgetting the last scraps of freedom you have before you stand beside a dragon at the sept tomorrow.
Your gaze drifts away from the cluster of smiling girls in front of you, still giggling over some lord who had just entered the hall. Your face morphs into a pleasant neutrality before you spot your beloved, Aerion Targaryen sitting alone at one of the long tables, one pale hand wrapped around a golden goblet. His fingers are restless against it, tapping it irately. If the goblet were not forged of the finest gold by the finest hands, it would already be crushed to splinters under his grip, and there is intent in the way he holds it, as though he is imagining the breaking. The lords near him cast him sidelong glances, eyes widening warily before they turn away, choosing the safety of polite ignorance over the flames of a dragon's temper.
Then, intense violet eyes find yours, and for a second you forget how to breathe. You try to shake off the fragile, trembling feeling that crawls up your spine as his gaze rakes up your face, like a hand turning a blade to catch the light. Something flickers in his Valyrian eyes, an unknown flame that sets you further on edge, then the edges of his lips curl upwards, mouth forming a sly smile.
It somehow manages to unsettle you more than his scowl ever did.
Suddenly, he hurls the goblet in his hands to the floor beside him, the crack of the metal on stone splits the room, sharp enough to pierce through the upbeat music and laughter. The sweet, dark wine spills out in a syrupy pool, sliding across the floor, soft and cloying, everything he is not. The serving girl nearest to him flinches violently as she drops to her knees beside his boot to clean up after the fallen cup with trembling fingers. When you look back, his smile drops from his slips yet he continues to stare at you, not with idle curiosity, but with the fixed and hungry focus of a predator who has chosen its victim.
You tear your gaze from his, feeling your pulse jump and stomach twist, the hall feels too small, too loud, too full of eyes. Slipping away from the intimidating grey of the dining hall, skirts whisper as you weave between lords and ladies, pushing through a door onto the wide terrace that overlooks the dark smear of the sea.
A sob catches halfway up your throat as you drag in a breath, wheezing it out in a shudder. You had not realized how long you’d been holding your fear tight inside your ribs until it started spilling over. The glass clanking against the floor may have been something he had meant to show you, perhaps it was a promise of how easily his temper shatters or a suggestion of what he might do to you when nobody is watching.
You tip your head back, forcing your gaze up to the sky, dragging in a sharp breath and holding it in, willing the tears to stay where they are. It is a star-dusted night, a faint echo of the heavens above Starfall. You fixate on them, the quiet and the distance , letting their shine stand between you and the horrors waiting for you back in the hall.
Your fists clench at your sides, silk biting into your palms as you try to hold yourself together, because tomorrow you are meant to marry Aerion Targaryen, and you are not sure how much of you will be left once you do.
The sound of boots on stone drags you back from the stars, and you see the dragon prince step out onto the terrace like a storm crossing a threshold. His dark cloak snaps in the wind and anger clings to him as tangibly as the scent of wine and smoke. His jaw is tense and his pale hair catches onto the torchlight behind him, violet eyes already fixed on you with a furious disbelief, as though your very presence here is an insult carved into the night.
“You dare,” he says, voice low and threatening, “to run from your to-be husband?”
The prince looks angry, annoyed and most of all offended, so offended it is as if the emotion has sunk into his bones. You can see it in the tight line of his mouth and the way his hands flex at his sides, as though he's restraining the urge to break something just to hear it shatter.
“No— never, my prince,” you blurt out, the words almost tumbling over one another in your haste. “I only needed some air.” Your mouth parts as you let out a breath, eyes wide with concern as you meet his violet eyes with fear racking up within your body.
“Air?” he repeats, as though finding the words and finding them rather bitter. “Tell me, little bride, are you trying to insult me, or are you merely stupid?”
Heat crawls up his spine, settling hot and ugly between his shoulder blades. He can feel everything in him tense along with it, his jaw, hands, and the muscles in his neck pull tight as your excuse echoes in his mind. What utter insolence he thinks, to leave him sitting alone before half the court, like some unloved fool, while his bride wanders off to stare at the stars.
In his eyes, it is complete disrespect. Do you not understand the insult, to walk away from a dragon prince in a hall full of lords and ladies, to turn your back on him as though he is nothing.
Your mouth opens to answer, to apologise, to say something or anything, but the prince does not give you a chance.
“Are you always in the habit of abandoning your betters whenever you please?” He cuts in, voice silk over steel.
He steps forward, and in response your body takes a step back without thinking, the movement small but unmistakable. His eyes flick down, catching your action, the retreat and the fear behind it. You cannot tell whether the sight of his eyes glimmering means he likes it, or simply files it away as something to use in the future.
“I am so sorry,” you quickly apologize, shame crawling up your throat. You suppose it is better to apologize rather than face the wrath of the dragon, “I did not mean to—”
“First I am given a bride I do not want, but must endure, and now you make me look a fool.”
You have no answer for him, the words dry up on your tongue. You are suddenly certain if you dare to say anything more, you will pay for it. When you still say nothing, Aerion shifts under his weight, tilting his head to regard you from above, like something curious caught under glass.
“Is this some little game of yours?” he asks, voice low and intentional. “Standing there mute, waiting to see when your dragon will finally lose his temper?”
He moves to close the distance between you with another measured step, the hem of his cloak whispering over the stone. This time, you force yourself to stay rooted where you are, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.
“No, my prince. That was never my intention.”
“Then why do you run from me?” he asks, head tilting slowly, eyes narrowing. “Afraid, perhaps?”
He watches the way your throat works as you swallow, the small stiffening of your shoulders. He can smell the nerves on you, they are sharp and thin, like smoke before a fire, it is instinct. You look as though you are about to murmur another sad little apology, and he almost turns away, growing bored at the sight. Instead, you lift your chin a fraction,
“No, my price,” you say in trained softness. “It is the highest honour to wed a prince of the blood.”
You fight the horrible urge to tremble, and for a fleeting moment it almost feels as though you are standing up for yourself. Aerion says nothing at first, only studies you in silence, eyes raking over your face. Whatever interest your answer had sparked fades quickly before his gaze fools and he peers down at you with an unimpressed look.
“You lie poorly.” He says. “What a shame. If you were not so bound by duty and virtue, you might almost be interesting.”
“Interesting how, my prince?” you find yourself asking quietly and suddenly. “For smiling when you insult me?”
You think you hate him. He feels like everything made of ash and ember, all heat and hurt and sharp edges, while you are of calmer waves and glassy tides that he would only try to pierce. You know you are pushing too far that you are prodding at a dragon’s temper with bare hands but you cannot bring yourself to be more careful. Everything is too much, the hall, the stares, and the weight of tomorrow, and you are not the only one being dragged into a marriage you do not want.
“Is that not a wife’s duty?” he drawls, deciding to humour you. “To smile and bear what her husband gives her?”
Aerion thinks he hates you. You pretend to be obedient, frail and soft-spoken, but the words you dare to offer him are anything but meek. Your words bite and push, his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as his lips curl into a smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Perhaps you would find me interesting if I worshipped you as devoutly as you worship yourself.”
You meet his gaze as you say it, violet eyes on yours, steady and unflinching. Neither of you move before his eyes widen a fraction, and you see something catch a fire beneath them, a flash of raw, burning fury that makes your stomach drop, regretting your words at once.
His breathing shifts, and rage seems to ripple through him like a shudder passing down a tethered beast. His shoulders tighten, fingers flex at his sides, even the line of his throat goes taut as if the anger is something barely held inside skin and bone. The prince looks as though he is vibrating with rage, every muscle in his body straining in order not to lash out.
You wish with sudden, sick clarity that you had kept your mouth shut, that you had not let your frayed emotions drive you to prod at a dragon’s pride.
The space between you closes as his pale hand is suddenly at your throat, fingers closing hard enough that the breath stumbles in your chest. His grip is iron and unforgiving, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of the side of your neck as his thumb presses against the hollow of your throat. Your back hits the cold white stone of the balustrade with a dull jult, the remaining air leaving you in a strangled gasp.
Your hand flies up on instinct, fingers donned with golden rings wrapping around his wrist, trying to pry him away, however he is far too strong. He peers down at you through dark narrowed eyes, watching the way you struggle, the way your mouth parts endlessly, the way your pulse flutters frantically beneath his palm.
His other hand almost lazily settles along your jaw, long fingers curling against your cheek, the heel of his hand pressing against the edge of your jaw as he forces your face up, angling you to meet his gaze. You try to protest, but you are pinned, held open beneath him, throat in his grasp and eyes locked onto his.
The world narrows to the burn in your lungs and the heat of his rage wraps around your neck like a collar.
“You will not shame me,” he grinds out, grip tightening. “You are mine to endure, whether you wish it or not, and you will learn your place.”
He leans in, closing the space between you until you can feel his breath hot across your face. He tilts his head, studying you, and his gaze drops to your lips— parted and struggling for air. There is a dark gleam in his eyes as he watches you struggle, something ugly that makes your skin crawl.
Your vision begins to blur at the edges and black creeps in, just before you think you may faint, you swear you see your to-be husband's lips twitch, almost forming a smile before his hand loosens.
You drag in a ragged breath as his fingers slip from your throat, but one hand remains on your sensitive skin, resting almost lightly now at the curve where the neck meets the shoulder. The contrast makes you shiver, a moment ago he was all violence and fire, but now he is close and still, leaned over you, refusing to move away— it feels almost possessive.
He looks at you as though he is taking in art work, gaze lingering on your exposed throat. You can feel the ache blooming there, the tender skin throbbing where his grip has marked you. His fingers trail over the bruising skin in a slow brush, as if he is tracing the outline of something he has carefully crafted before he finally lifts his hand away.
“Know who you belong to,” he says at last, voice low and unhurried, as though he is in no rush. “And do not forget it tomorrow.”
Your chest heaves as you fight to steady your breathing, each inhale sharp against your bruised throat. His gaze drops, following the rise and fall of your purple silks as they shift with every desperate breath, before sliding back up to your face.
It is a shame, really, you used to love the colour violet, the evening-kissed skies over Starfall, the wild flowers that clung to the cliffs. Now you find yourself growing to hate it, it is everywhere, in the dress that draped fluidly around you, in the shadowed bloom that has begun to form on your neck, in the sharp and piercing violet of Aerion’s eyes that refused to leave you.
You find yourself fearing tomorrow, after it, you will be alone in this world and only your husband’s, bound to a dragon’s temper for the rest of your life. And you cannot help but think that the colour you once adored is already beginning to dull for you.
──
The bells of the city had already begun tolling at dawn, their chime threading through the stone of the keep. The soft ringing serves as a reminder that by sunset, you will no longer be the only daughter of starfall, by sunset, you will be Aerion Targaryen’s wife.
The maid fusses with the clasp of your necklace, her cool fingers brushing the nape of your neck as you stand before a mirror, this is the last time you will see yourself as you are now, you think. Silk falls over your shoulders while the jewels catch the pale morning light, yet your gaze finds the faint purple shadow blooming at your neck. Your fingers trace the edge of the bruise, you know you are meant to be thinking of your vows, but all you can think of is the mark of his hand around your neck.
“You look beautiful, my lady.” The maid says as she finishes with the clasp and meets your eyes in the mirror, offering you a small smile.
“Thank you,” You say, yet you cannot bring yourself to fake excitement, all you can think about is the dragon prince and the work of his hands.
“Do you wish for me to cover it, my lady?” She asks quietly, almost hesitantly, her gaze following your eyes, hesitating before she shuffles a step closer.
Of course, her gaze lands on your throat. After all, what else could she possibly mean with the ugly mark sitting so brazenly on your neck, impossible to ignore despite the necklace that has been carefully placed. The thought of him, your prince, soon-to-be husband, causes tension to ripple through you, a slow tightening in your shoulders as you can almost feel his fingers there again.
“No,” you say after a moment of thinking. “It is well. Leave it as it is.”
Your eyes remained fixed on the bruise in the glass. If he can lay his hands on you before you are even officially his, then he can live with the evidence. You decide that you will let him see it, let his family see it. You want him punished in the only way left to you, you want the dragon to feel a sliver of the shame you have felt burning since arriving in King’s Landing. If you are meant to endure him for the rest of your life, you may as well make a spectacle of him before he convinces himself he is untouchable. Dragons may be fireproof, but he certainly isn’t, you think.
Your gaze drifts, heavy and unwilling, to the large bed that rests against the wall, and you can feel fear strike clean through you. Your breath grows thick in your chest, harder to pull in, harder to push out. You know exactly what you are feeling, and you would be a fool to call it anything but fear. If he is this cruel to you before the vows are even spoken, you cannot imagine how cruel he will be when the night is his by right.
The maid catches your expression and her face softens, giving you a sad, almost knowing smile. It is a look of a woman who has seen what men can do, who knows cruelty first hand. When you glance back at her, she meets your eyes and gives you a steady nod. It is an entirely fragile thing, but you almost feel comforted to know at least one other soul in this kingdom can feel sympathy for you.
“I would like to be alone for a moment.” You say as you suck in a steadying breath.
Without protest she dips into a curtsey and slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
The reality of today settles on you like lead, in heavy and uneven breaths you cross the room and sink down at the edge of the bed, curling towards it. Tears string your eyes as you stare at it, you try to imagine some way to keep yourself from further harm, some way to defend yourself and remain in slight control when the doors close and there is no one but your husband at your side.
A tear slips down your left cheek and you find yourself reaching for the drawer beside the bed, pulling it open to the familiar sight of jewellery chests wrapped in velvet. Your fingers fumble past them until they find one particular box, and you draw it out, sitting on the bed as you settle it on your lap. Swiping the back of your hand across your eye you suck in a breath, reminding yourself you are strong, and must be strong.
Opening the box, inside, Valyrian steel catches the light. A slim, beautiful blade inlaid with the crest of your house remains within, the pale metal taking on a faint white sheen where the morning sun touches it. Your brother had given it to you when you were children, a secret hidden away like a treasure, half forgotten until now.
For a moment, you wonder what your prince would do if his throat ever met its edge, would he scramble in fear, whimper like a dragon who has lost its wings? You decide that this will be your last resort, if he tries anything with you, you will not be entirely defenceless.
You tuck the blade beneath your pillow, angling it so your fingers can find it easily. It is hidden but close, close enough that if you need it you can reach for it in an instant.
──
“I trust you won’t be as defiant tonight as you were yesterday, wife.”
His words roll easily off his familiar tongue, smooth and casual, and you do not like how binding it sounds. You try to bite back every answer that tries to rise, and he seems to savour it, the taste of your shackling. You cannot help but wish he would find enjoyment in anything other than tempting your anger by simply standing in front of you.
Aerion stands before you in the reds and blacks of his house, colours cutting sharp against his pale skin. His violet eyes linger on you with a kind of idle entertainment, as if he can hear the way the word ‘wife’ grates inside your skull. He rolls the title again in his mind, you’re sure he is savouring it like a mouthful of rich wine. Stepping a little closer, his gaze drifts lower, skimming over the fall of your gown before noticing the bruise on your throat. There is a slight pause and faint narrowing of his eyes as he takes in the mark you chose not to hide.
“Why do you choose to disgrace yourself like this?” His gaze continues to linger on your throat, voice smooth as silk.
You pull yourself together and offer him an obedient smile, your head tips, lolling slightly to the side, baring more of your throat to his gaze. “Something made by your own hand could never be a disgrace, my prince.”
“I do not know where this sudden nerve is coming from,” he says, voice dropping. “But do not toy with me, woman.” His eyes narrow at you, the faint glimmer in them sharpening.
The threatening edge in his voice cuts through whatever sudden spine you had found. You take a small step back, lashes lowering, smoothing your features into practiced obedience. “I do not toy, my prince.” You say, tone soft and careful. “It is not my place to trifle with you.”
He watches you as you finish speaking, gaze flickering down to your mouth, to the way your lips tighten around the words. A quiet huff escapes him, half irritation, half something else, and he lets the silence stretch a moment longer than comfortable. Then he clicks his tongue in a sharp, dismissive sound before finally deigning to speak again.
“You know what is expected of you, do you not?”
The thought of your wifely duties alone makes you shudder, a cold tremor running down your spine while fear coils in your gut. However, you smooth over your face and force your shoulders not to quake, you nod.
“Of course, my prince.” You say, voice barely above a murmur.
He tilts his head at that, considering your words before a low hum curls from his throat. The golden light of the hall catches on his Valyrian features, gliding against his cheekbones. For a moment, you can’t help but notice how beautiful he is, like a blade forged to be admired before it spills blood.
“Good. Since you are so eager to please me, then you will do your duty and give me heirs worthy of dragon blood.” he muses before continuing, “Real heirs, not some bland little half-bloods.”
His tone is light, edged with condescension and something disturbingly similar to amusement as his gaze lingers on you. It drifts slowly down the line of your bruised throat, falling over the creases of your silks, and settles at your stomach, as though he’s already picturing it swollen with his seed.
“If the gods bless us so, my prince,” you say, eyes lowered, “I will bear you the heirs you desire.”
Your fingers move before your mind can catch up to the words that have just spilled from your lips, crossing your hands over your stomach in a swift yet awkward fold. It is as if you are trying to hide that part of you from his gaze, the gesture feels small and foolish but you try and cling to it. Dislike coils hot inside you, bitter as you continue to gaze at the dragon prince.
He seems almost pleased by your answer, as though he hadn’t quite expected you to agree. He nods once, pouting his lips before he falls into thinking as you murmur again,
“If I may be excused, my prince.”
He regards your presence for a heartbeat longer, then inclines his head. “Very well.”
You leave the hall with your head lowered, the roar of conversation and music dimming behind you in every step. He torches throw wavering shadows over your face as you bite hard on the inside of your cheek to keep another sob from clawing its way out, blinking fast to prevent your vision blurring.
Fear sits heavy in your gut as you make your way into the bedding chambers, a cold knot tightens and presses at your ribs as you are walking away from the girl you will not be again. Yet, beneath it all, you think of Aerion in an unwelcome thread of curiosity, you wonder what he will be like when the door shuts and there are no witnesses.
You slip inside and close the chamber door behind you, the room is quieter than you remembered, the candlelight pooling soft and golden over the bed. Turning towards the mirror, your fingers find the clasp of your cloak, sliding the fabric from your shoulders, leaving only silk, skin, and jewels staring back at you. It is duty, you think as your gaze stays to the bed behind you in the glass, searching over the pillow where a blade lies hidden beneath, a secret waiting for your hand.
Moving towards the bed in slow steps, your fingertips brush the carved post as the door opens, and Aerion steps inside, shrugging off his cape in a smooth motion before his gaze finds you at once. The space between you seems to narrow as his violet eyes lock with yours, and that strange feeling coils in your chest again. You refuse it as curiosity, deeming it as nerves as you know you hate him, or you should hate him. Yet, your breath comes quicker and your chest rises and falls as the two of you hold each other’s stare in quiet intensity.
“Waiting for me already, wife?” He speaks as he slowly crosses over to you, eyes unmoving from yours. Your gaze tracks over him, to the pale fall of his hair and the way the lamplight falls over his face, in this light, he looks attractive. Swallowing as he draws nearer, you feel your throat tighten with every inch he closes between you.
Retreating on instinct, the back of your knees collide with the mattress and it takes you off balance. You drop onto the edge of the bed with a thud, fingers catching in the blankets as you look up at him. Aerion steps into the space you’ve surrendered, boot brushing your leg as he presses his knee forward. He parts your legs with an easy, unhurried nudge, sliding his thigh between yours until you’re forced to open around him.
You feel heat seep through the thin layers of silk as his chest looms in front of you, and your breath stutters. His gaze drags down over you, your bare face, your bared throat, and the rise and fall of your purple silks where his knee is bracketed between your legs. Then slowly, his eyes climb back up, pinning you in place.
His hand rises as you feel every inch of its approach, and it rests along the edge of your jaw. His fingers are careful this time, the pad of his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw rather than digging into it, slender fingers warm against your skin. He exhales, breath ghosting over your lips as he leans down, lids lowering as his gaze roams your face.
“You’re not so bad up close,” he murmurs at last.
His fingers tighten, just enough to remind you who is in control. “On the bed,” he commands quietly, and you obey him.
Shuffling back, silk whispering as you crawl up against the pillows until they cradle your spine. The mattress dips as he sits at the edge to pull off his boots before he follows you, knees sinking into the mattress, the frame creaking softly under his weight as he looms over you. His hands go to fasten his top, one by one he works the buttons loose before the sharp line of his throat and collarbones appear, pale in the lamplight.
You watch, unable to look away while he shrugs the garment off his shoulders until he tugs the shirt away completely and reveals lean muscle painted with shadows of old bruises or training scars that rise and fall of his chest. Heat crawls over you, prickling beneath your skin and you are not sure if it is fear, shame or something else you cannot name. He tosses the shirt aside before looking back at you, hair spilled on pillows as silk draped over you, it is as if he’s cataloguing every inch of you laid out before him.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He suddenly asks, eyes lingering where the silk hitches up your thighs.
You pause, chest heaving a little too fast, fingers knotting in the sheets. “Yes,” you breathe, “I am.”
“Good,” he says, running his tongue through his teeth. “They’re always easy to get wet.”
He moves in and a startled breath slips from you as his hand finds your face again, fingers curling more gently this time along your jaw as his finger rests beneath your cheekbone. Holding you there steadily his violet eyes lock with yours before he lowers his head. His mouth finds the crook of your neck, feeling your pulse beat against his warm lips that move slowly, as if he is tasting something that he now owns. A small whimper escapes your throat before you can stop yourself, and you feel his mouth curve against your throat, a small smile pressed into your skin. His eyes open and his gaze darkens as he lifts his head upward back towards your face.
Heat pools low in your belly, and it feels shameful the way your body betrays you. You can’t help but look at him, eyes wide and full of something that feels much like guilt, as if he’s caught you in a sin you never chose.
“Enjoying this now, are you?” he asks as something shifts in his gaze, tone going cool as he inhales slowly. His eyes track over your face then inevitably down to the bruise at your throat. Like flames flickering beneath skin, his hand slides from your jaw to that mark, fingers tightening suddenly as he grips your throat and presses your head deeper into the pillow. You feel panic slam through you as the mattress seems to swallow you whole.
Your lungs burn, his fingers brand your throat, and your vision narrows to the dark blur of Aerion’s face above you.
“M…my prince—” You try to reason, but he does not hear you, only leaning in further as his eyes remain fixed on yours, and you see his other hand rising, fingers tensing as it comes towards your neck.
In fear, your body decides for you as your arm snaps sideways, diving beneath the pillow. Your fingers close around the cool steel, the familiar shape of the hilt fitting into your palm as you rip it free and drag it up in a sharp and desperate slash. The blade flashes in the candlelight and meets the flesh of his hand in a wet resistance, parting his skin a fast gash. Heat splatters across your knuckles as Aerion jerks back both of his hands with a snarl,
“Fuck—!” He yells as blood spills from the gash, dark and bright all at once, running in quick rivulets down his palm and dripping onto the sheets between you.
The dagger slips from your fingers and falls onto the mattress, your hand recoiling as though burned. Scrambling backward, your spine presses hard into the headboard while your husband stares at his hand, blood splattering onto the sheets in soft drops. His palm curls, flexes, crimson welling fresh with every twitch as you watch it trail down the line of his wrist, staining his pale skin. Aerion lifts his head, fury in his eyes blinding, violet eyes gone dark, burning straight through you. Your stomach lurches at the sight, gaze trapped onto his bloody figure.
“You whore,” he spits, low and vicious. “You dare to shed blood of the dragon?”
“No— no, my prince, I—” The words die in your throat as he looks at you through half-lowered lids, rage simmering just beneath the surface. His injured hand reaches for the dagger and his blood smears over the hilt as his fingers wrap around it.
Bringing it up, you whimper a small and broken sound as the blade comes closer, glinting in the low light. His face follows, leaning in as a warm drop of blood falls from his wrist onto your bare skin, then another, sliding hot and sticky over your collarbone as he lifts the knife toward your throat. You suppose this is the end, you’ve laid steel against the prince of the realm, there is no taking that back.
“You spill a dragon’s blood, wife,” he says, studying you with the length of the blade, voice low and calm when it comes. “And you think there will be no price?”
His gaze drops from your eyes to your collarbone, to where his blood makes a trail over your skin. He stares at it with a terrible, intentional hunger, like a man eyeing a feast laid out before him, watching each red line crawl over the sharp jut of bone.
“You must be taught the cost of that.”
Slowly, he moves the dagger that shines in the candlelight toward your collarbone, pressing the cold edge against your warm skin. His violet eyes watch intensely as your skin splits apart, blood sweeping through the slash like sweet wine dripping from a goblet, your blood swelled and mixed with the crimson already staining his hands. His thumb smeared through both as though ready to taste the liquid, his and your own mingling over your skin in a glistening streak.
“H—haah…” You whimper out at the stinging pain, a broken sound caught in your throat. At once the sweet noise you make catches his attention as he lolls his head up to your pained expression with an unnamed satisfaction.
“I was right,” he murmurs, nails dragging slowly against your neck, voice low and almost thoughtful, “You do look pretty with fear on your face.”
He leaned down again, slower this time as the heat of his mouth brushed against the bloodied trail along your collarbone. The touch made you suck in a deep breath, your whole body going taut against him as he shifts closer, closing the space between you. It feels wrong. It feels disgusting. And yet, your body betrays you as your legs tense and a restless heat gatherers low inside you, it is dark and shameful and impossible to ignore.
The warmth of his mouth traces at the thin red line at your collarbone and you feel a sudden drag of his tongue against you. You try to catch your breath, but it is of no use as the heat of his mouth is lingering and unhurried, and he continues to lick away the blood as though he is savouring the taste of it. A dark warmth pools low in you, feeling humiliating throbs between your legs, the satisfaction is so dirty you feel it makes shame rise hot beneath your skin. You do not want it, you think you do not want it, but your body answers differently as you press your hips into his thigh, aching cunt trying to press against him in some hope of friction.
His nails drag slowly where they rest against you and your breathing turns uneven, leaving you in a trembling rush. You tip your head back to look at him breathlessly, lashes heavy and mouth parted as your eyes find his, and he looks up at you in terrible focus, listening to every little hitch in your breathing. You suddenly feel him pressed against the heat of your cunt, his lips parting faintly as he pushes himself closer, almost like he’s refusing to let you grind onto him.
“You enjoy it,” he says, breath caught in a sharp hiss when he feels you move against him once again.
“I do not,” you manage, breathless as your chest rises and falls, trying to pull in another breath under the heat of his gaze.
His mouth curves upwards without warmth, taking in your ruined figure. “No?” he continues, thumb pressing against your neck before it tightens, which forces you to arch subtly towards him. “Then why are you pressed against me like a bitch in heat?”
He pulls your head back slowly as his gaze drags over your tired face, forcing your gaze up at him. You try to pull in another breath, but it only seems to amuse him as he leans closer, inhaling sharply through his nose.
“No, you do not get to move against me like that and pretend innocence,” he begins, staring you down with his violet lidded eyes before he drags them over your throat, to your jaw and then to your lips. “You must taste the blood you’ve spilt.”
Aerion leans in slowly as you feel the heat of his breath as blood continues to stain his lips, smeared at the edge of them before his mouth presses to yours and stains your lips with red. His lips move against yours as though he wishes to claim all of you, below you his hand tightens just enough to keep you in place while his lips continue to drag against yours slowly. Your lips part slightly as you let out a shaky moan into his mouth and he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes of metal and rust, and the blood continues to drip into your mouth, smearing your lips with red.
He pulls back only a small fraction, just enough to free you and see the red that is now smeared across both your mouths, branding you of him. It all feels wrong, tastes wrong, like the memory of claws biting into flesh, but the realization steals through you all the same, you want him. You want to feel the heat, you want the fire, and you want to burn.
A single dark drop of red gathers at the curve of your lip, trembling before it begins to slip down your parted lips, trailing lower to the line of your chin. His gaze follows as it falls, then his hand rises and once slowly, his thumb catches it before it can fall any further, smearing the red across the pad of his skin. His violet eyes stay fixed on your face with terrible calm before he draws his hand back, gaze locked with yours as he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it with infuriating slowness. He sucks his thumb clean without looking away, as though your reaction is the truly satisfying thing.
His hand slides down your thigh, fingers settling there before they drag a little higher, slow enough to make your breath hitch. “Your legs tremble, wife,” he murmurs, his eyes remaining on your face as his mouth curves, “Are you growing restless for me?” His voice is mocking, but you cannot find it in yourself to deny him.
You drag in a shaky breath and tilt your chin up at him, trying to gather what little pride you have left. “You speak as though it displeases you,” your breath shudders against him, lashes fluttering before you push your head back onto the pillow behind you.
Aerion tilts his head at you, and his hands move to grab your hips without bothering to reply. He forces your back further against the bed before he presses you down into the sheets before you can move. The mattress dips beneath you and the silk twists at your legs as his grip tightens, full of possessiveness before his mouth curves faintly,
“I will not be displeased so long as you remember to obey me.”
Then he shifts closer, slow enough to shake you until the space between you begins to vanish again. His slender fingers then reach for his pants, fastening his clothes, undoing them with slow hands as you can only watch as he shoves them aside, his face does not soften before he looks at you once again, and his lips are on yours again.
You taste him and feel the heat of his body as his hands pull on edges of your dress, pulling it over your stomach, revealing your trembling cunt dripping with pain before him. Aerion hisses, hips jerking toward your soaked cunt as you feel the tip of his cock brush against your slit. You latch onto his sweaty shoulder, nails digging into his pale skin before he lets out a heavy breath.
“You weep for me, wife.” he says as you let out a whimper and brush your hips further into his hard cock, silk beginning to flatten against your stomach as he moves closer, wrist flicking as he grabs the base of cock, giving it a light stroke.
“Aerion— please,” you find yourself speaking in desperation, head lolling to the side as he lets out an amused huff and his lips brush against yours again.
“There, there,” he says softly, almost mockingly. “That is better. You should remember how to speak with me.”
Aerion then curls his slender hand around your waist, jerking his hips forward before he begins to push himself into your warm cunt. Unable to handle your bodyweight, your head slips further into the pillow as you feel him penetrate you entirely, your gaze blurs before you feel a sting, trying to adjust to his sheer size.
You gasp, throwing your head back as you feel a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, his cock stretching your walls. Aerion slips his dick in you further and your nails dig into his shoulders as you whimper, trying to bury your head into his shoulder. He snaps his hips forward, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as you gasp, “Hah—” it's so deep in you, you swear you feel yourself seeing stars.
Aerion lets a grin out at the sight and continues to rut into you while breathily grunting, “You belong to me,” be begins, drawing out the sentence with quick huffs while he continues to thrust into your wet cunt, “all of you belongs to me.” His hand begins to trace your thigh shakily as he grunts out a quiet “fuck!” when he feels you clench around him, pressing his face closer to yours.
Tears well up in your eyes as he hurries his pace, chasing a high both of you seem to be reaching before he begins to suck at the crook of your neck where the mix of your blood begins to dry, “Tell me you belong to me.” he commands, hips dipping further into you as he continues to lick the blood dry, you can only moan in response as he drags his tongue
When you don’t respond immediately his abdomen tenses and he removes himself from the crook of your neck, earning a needy whine from you. “Say it,” he bites the words out, eyes lingering on yours with the embers of flames glimmering behind them, and you can almost see the frustration build up within him as he grips your neck, forcing you to look at him as he continues to thrust into you with slowed movements.
“I’m yours,” you say, biting your lip as tears well up in your eyes as you feel his thrusts begin to fasten again, his cock once again buried deep inside you. Your thighs burn with pleasure as his cock continues to push into your gummy walls, and his chest flushes against yours in satisfaction before you feel breathless.
He settles against you fully, skin to skin and the heat of him wraps around you like flesh giving into flame. It feels like you are being burned, it is cruel and consuming but you find yourself wanting more of it, you think this must be how a dragon leaves its mark, where you cannot tell the difference between warmth and burning.
Your hand slides into the silver of his hair, gripping it tightly before he snarls at you and moves to give you an open-mouthed kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back with similar intensity. You lewdly moan into his mouth before he speeds up again at the sound of the soft melody leaving your throat, and he suddenly bites down on your lip and you let out a choked noise.
Suddenly you find yourself slipping your arms around his shoulders and bringing his body closer to you as you feel your belly grow warmer and pleasure coils through you, “Aerion,” you breathe out, hands sliding to cradle him as his slightly watery violet eyes meet yours.
His head falls forward toward you as he ruts into you fast, like a territorial animal, and you suppose it is because dragons are territorial creatures after all, but you do not mistake the way he lets out a huffed groan. You squirm under him, feeling that coil in your stomach intensify before you desperately cling to him, rolling your hips into him slowly.
Aerion’s pace grows sloppy as he feels your cunt spasm around him and he grinds his teeth together, “Fuck— Don’t move.” Instead, you do the opposite and jerk your hips upwards earning a lewd moan from him before he throws his head back with a clenched jaw and his veins bulging in sudden strain.
Locking your legs around him you mutter his name over and over and with one last roll of his hips he spills his seed deep inside your cunt, thrusting forward once more in order to make sure a drop of it doesn’t leak. Your lips brush the side of his shoulder before the coil within you snaps and you find yourself cumming around his cock, whining while your hips stutter.
Neither of you move and Aerion makes no attempt to slip out of you, remaining where he is with heavy breaths as your bodies press together in marital bliss. The room around you remains swallowed in candlelight as his hand does not leave you. Instead, his fingers drift slowly to the bruised skin at your neck, tracing the mark, as though admiring something he has made. The touch is light, but it makes your breath hitch nevertheless.
His eyes stay fixed on the darkened shape before they lift to yours, lips curling into a small smirk. A dragon has laid claim to you, and you feel it like the claws buried beneath your skin. There is nothing more you can do now except be held here and burn.
“You are mine to endure now.” he says at last, voice unhurried. “Do not forget it, wife.”
divider made by me (please credit if used)
woahhhh this one shot was long aff hahahah and it took so long to write. i love my aerion so much he deserves all the love but at the same time he is a complete evil man!!
all reblogs and comments are so so so appreciated and loved <3
i had so much fun writing this and i love house dayne so much i thought it would be rlly interesting to write about it and i lowk forgot that aerion is a dayne while beginning to write it but we continue MOVING FORWARD. this was originally supposed to be a daeron fanfic actually because of the Dayne's having correlation to the dragon dreams and being of old blood (idk if this is accurate but its something like that LOL) but i might write a daeron one about that MAYBEEE lmk if u guys want it. anyway i've had an aerion hyperfixation this week so he gets the spotlight today ! this was also supposed to be uploaded saturday night but i lowk got tired and couldn't bring myself to finish it rip but its here now so ENJOYYY
Synopsis ── 𖤓 ˚｡⋆ You are to marry a prince of dragon blood. Fearing for your life as your wedding night approaches, what happens when a fierce dragon wraps his sharp claws around you, leaving you nowhere to escape?
Tags / warnings: 18+ content, arranged marriage, cruel aerion, enemies to enemies, hurt no comfort, smut, stabbing oops, blood play, biting, rough sex, reader is scared of marriage, loss of virginity, aerion gets off on antagonizing the reader, aerion likes to be in control, toxic romance, angst, female reader insert, readers appearance is not mentioned, the usual targaryen weirdness, choking, the reader is not as helpless as she seems, reader is from house dayne, notes available at the end of the chapter, extreme slowburn
Word Count: 10.1k
You do not like King’s Landing.
It is dark, cold, and nothing at all like Dorne. Your body does not feel the comforting warmth of Starfall hug around you in a soothing embrace, instead it is met with inky clouds that smother any ray of sunlight that dares try to cut through the ghastly sky. Your body is not yet used to it, and you suspect it never will be, your mind is too fixated on the memory of glassy waves and sunlit stone.
Standing on the balcony, you delicately angled your gaze enough that your eyes could slip down into the small cramped and crooked streets rather than lingering in the torchlit halls behind you. The firelight feels rather ghostly, like a whisper of stone and flame. Draped in the finest silks that are perhaps too soft and easygoing for a place that smells of leather steel and smoke pale purples spill from your shoulders in gentle folds. The gold folds over your body, catching the last of the weak daylight it gleams at your throat, a quiet proclamation of your Dayne blood.
Your fingers curl around the dainty rings at your hands, turning the cool metal against your warm skin, focusing on the familiar weight of them before you let your quiet thoughts circle back to the reason you are here— which is marriage. Since young, it has been imprinted into you that it is a woman’s duty to marry and bring honor to her house. You are no fool, you have known this since you were old enough to watch brides ride away from Starfall trembling in the wind.
Aerion Targaryen is a prince, and to wed a prince of Westeros is more than simply duty, it is the highest honour you could lay at your family’s feet. The blood of the dragon runs through his veins, and your kins would be fools not to seize that. Binding fire and blood to your bloodline, silver hair and sharp imperious features, along with violet eyes would never allow tongues to cease whispering. People fear him, and you do not need to question why, the fact that they once were dragon masters was enough for you to understand.
You know you ought to feel a swell of joy and pride, yet you cannot help but want to weep, fear sitting heavier in your chest than any sense of honour. The ‘Brightflame’ is a stigma dressed in chains, a dragon with his wings torn off but its claws left sharp, and the thought of standing at his side makes your stomach fold and tuck in horror. And you are so very far from home, all that is left with you are the rings that sit on your fingers and the knowledge that you are being given to something made of fire.
You hear your fathers soft voice call your name from behind, and you cannot bring it upon yourself to turn and face him.
“It is time,” he says.
It feels as though all the time in the world has slipped away, like sand through open fingers, yet you are only eight and ten. Time was the one thing you had thought endless when you ran through the sunlit halls of home, but now it has narrowed to this single corridor as you follow behind your father. Feet falling into perfect rhythm with his, each tread is swallowed by the echoing of stone, you feel insubstantial, nothing more than a pawn on a board built by men.
“I love you, my daughter,” your father says, pride swelling in his chest, you swear you can almost see it. “You are doing the realm a great service.” He glances down at you and offers you a gentle smile you have always been used to, the one that meant safety, stories and long arms opening to catch you. Now it means nothing such.
To you, the words feel like mockery. You want, with an aching desperation, to be a child again in his arms, to bury your face in his chest and ask him not to make you stray so far from home, not to give you to a dragon and to keep you in Starfall until you become grey and old. Instead, you swallow back the heavy weight in your chest, blink back the sting of tears that threaten to fall and continue to walk beside him in silence. The words you do not voice turn bitter on your tongue.
Standing small at your father’s side, your spine remains straight and hands are folded in mirror to etiquette that was drilled into you since childhood. Even though you hold yourself in place with perfect posture, you cannot ignore your heart beating too fast against your ribs. You assumed you would have been prepared for this moment, or so your ladies-in-waiting had told you, but the nerves rising in your throat made a liar of every lesson.
The dragon prince, Aerion “Brightflame” Targaryen stands opposite you, milky hands tickled neatly behind his back before his violet eyes sweep over you in idle disinterest. There is something about him that does not feel entirely human, you tell yourself it is only the Valyrian cast of him, the handsome lines of his face, the sharp bone, silver hair and inhuman calm. You find his presence to be heavy, as though it presses against your lungs with intentions to make them collapse, and you find yourself breathing a touch too quickly for a lady who is meant to be composed.
The embers in his eyes glow like the flickers of flame as he looks at you, and his calm expression shifts, disinterest becoming irritation. He has not yet said anything, but behind his glimmering daze you can see him thinking. Gaze lingering on you, unfocused, in a sudden flicker of candlelight he turns his head towards his father.
“I have no desire to take someone so plain-looking,” He says at last, and his voice is smooth and steady, and almost silky enough that for a second you do not register the words that slip out his lips.
Prince Maekar’s expression curdles and he lifts his chin up high in sharp irritation while his lips curl into something close to a snarl.
“Boy,” the Prince bites out, “do not try to be clever with me. You are to wed her.”
Aerion clicks his tongue to this, making a loud and disdainful sound. His purple eyes drag over you from head to toe in a slow and assessing manner. They are striking, you must admit, such eyes are not common in Westeros, and this is the first time you have seen them so closely. For all his cruel words, you cannot deny he is pretty in a cold, Valyrian way. Yet, his satisfying appearance does not help to ease the tightness in your throat. You decide to swallow hard, watching the two of them like some small thing caught between, absolutely insignificant.
“It is tradition,” he replies, his tone sounding bored, “for a prince of the dragon to take a wife of pure blood. It is tradition. She is no pureblood.”
“Pure blood or not, you’ll do as you’re told and take what is given. The matter is settled.” Maekar grunts out, beyond tired of his son's disobedience, then he gives your father an apologetic look. Aerion does not respond but you do see the jaw his skin tightens as he clenches his sharp jaw, the lids of his violet eyes growing heavy in what you suppose is anger at rejection.
The thought settles in your chest as you take slight offence to the young prince’s words. You are a Dayne of Starfall, not some nameless girl that was plucked from a crowd, but his words make it clear that you are not what he desires. In his eyes, you are not pure enough nor worthy enough, and certainly not what he believes he was promised.
Mind circling back to the same inevitable truth, you remember he is a dragon. It does make sense that a dragon would want fire and blood, and dragons do not bear disappointment well, they would prefer to scorch it from the world. Your shoulders stiffen as you wonder with a cold creeping dread if he will lose his tempter and spill his anger on you.
A light tap between your shoulder blades signals your father’s silent command and you know it is time to perform your duty. Lowering your head at once, silk whispering as your pretty purple skirts sway forward, your hair slips forward like a curtain which veils the side of your face. You school your features into something that’s gentle and obedient, the way you were taught, the way a prince would prefer a lady.
“I hope I will prove… acceptable to you, my prince,” you speak, voice soft, the royal title scraping your throat. My prince, the words feel wrong in your mouth, it is a vow that does not belong to you, like you are bending the knee to the edge of a blade, swearing undying loyalty to it. You are expected to play the dutiful pride, to smile and obey a man who can air his displeasures as openly as he breathes, while it is looked down upon if you so much as flinch.
His expression tightens further, as though the gods above are mocking him, as though you are mocking him. To him it must seem like your very presence is a cage to be fitted around him, link by link.
“I will judge that for myself,” he says at last, each word precise. “Soon enough.”
The words feel like a threat. He licks his lips in a quick, unconscious motion, and for the first time his piercing gaze truly settles on you. It drops from your face to the line of your collarbone, to the way the slightly sheer Dornish silk clings to your body. It is modest enough beneath the sun of Starfall, perhaps, but here it feels suddenly too light and too revealing under a dragon’s scrutiny.
With a sudden shiver, you realize that he hadn’t properly looked at you before you spoke. Now he is, and his gaze lingers a heartbeat too long before he catches himself, haunting eyes snapping back up to your face. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek and he clicks it again, creating a small, irritated sound that feels like a final verdict.
The anger painted on his face does not fade. You have a sinking feeling it will not leave for some time, if it ever does. You can only hope he chooses not to sink his sharp claws into you the way a dragon might into a lamb, that he will not prove more cruel in marriage than he has already shown himself to be in court.
──
Aerion is aware of exactly who he is, the second son of a fourth son. In his family's eyes, he is too far removed from the line of succession to be given the honour of a sister or a cousin, too valuable to waste entirely, a convenient piece to trade. His father speaks of great alliances and the strength of the old blood as though that should soothe the insult. His late-mother had been a Dayne, he already paid the price of that through the blood that ran through his veins. Then why must a prince of dragon blood take a wife whose blood does not burn, whose hair does not gleam silver in the light that will not promise him babes with the right look?
During these thoughts, his mind inevitably slips to you. You seemed timid and shy, eyes lowered and shoulders held perfectly tight. A dragon can smell blood, and Aerion had smelt your fear the moment your eyes gazed upon him and you opened your mouth. Perhaps you will provide him with some entertainment in this dreary visit to King’s Landing. The whores of the Street of Silk had begun to bore him, there is no sport in flesh that yields far too easily, and definitely no thrill in maids who tremble on command. He supposes you will be different, untouched, untried yet already flinching. Your face is not entirely displeasing either, fear will suit you he thinks. A scared look on your delicate features might even be pretty.
The pre-celebration of your marriage bleeds into the evening, the last light of the sun dying over King’s Landing as lords and ladies murmur and laugh around you. You notice the sun sets much earlier here than it does in Starfall. You are dressed to be seen, Dayne’s prettiest colours draped over your frame, your gown mirroring the soft purples of the setting sky just before the darkness wraps Westeros in a black cloak.
Ladies stop you with gentle hands and sweeter smiles, offering kind congratulations as if they are gifts, mentioning what an honour it is to be marrying a prince. What a blessing it is to find such a compelling husband, asserting what a lucky lady you are. You do as you’re taught, smiling and nodding as you let the words wash over you like cold water. The idea of drowning yourself and letting the night blur into nothing slips past you, yet you cannot afford to make a fool of yourself. You cannot risk forgetting the last scraps of freedom you have before you stand beside a dragon at the sept tomorrow.
Your gaze drifts away from the cluster of smiling girls in front of you, still giggling over some lord who had just entered the hall. Your face morphs into a pleasant neutrality before you spot your beloved, Aerion Targaryen sitting alone at one of the long tables, one pale hand wrapped around a golden goblet. His fingers are restless against it, tapping it irately. If the goblet were not forged of the finest gold by the finest hands, it would already be crushed to splinters under his grip, and there is intent in the way he holds it, as though he is imagining the breaking. The lords near him cast him sidelong glances, eyes widening warily before they turn away, choosing the safety of polite ignorance over the flames of a dragon's temper.
Then, intense violet eyes find yours, and for a second you forget how to breathe. You try to shake off the fragile, trembling feeling that crawls up your spine as his gaze rakes up your face, like a hand turning a blade to catch the light. Something flickers in his Valyrian eyes, an unknown flame that sets you further on edge, then the edges of his lips curl upwards, mouth forming a sly smile.
It somehow manages to unsettle you more than his scowl ever did.
Suddenly, he hurls the goblet in his hands to the floor beside him, the crack of the metal on stone splits the room, sharp enough to pierce through the upbeat music and laughter. The sweet, dark wine spills out in a syrupy pool, sliding across the floor, soft and cloying, everything he is not. The serving girl nearest to him flinches violently as she drops to her knees beside his boot to clean up after the fallen cup with trembling fingers. When you look back, his smile drops from his slips yet he continues to stare at you, not with idle curiosity, but with the fixed and hungry focus of a predator who has chosen its victim.
You tear your gaze from his, feeling your pulse jump and stomach twist, the hall feels too small, too loud, too full of eyes. Slipping away from the intimidating grey of the dining hall, skirts whisper as you weave between lords and ladies, pushing through a door onto the wide terrace that overlooks the dark smear of the sea.
A sob catches halfway up your throat as you drag in a breath, wheezing it out in a shudder. You had not realized how long you’d been holding your fear tight inside your ribs until it started spilling over. The glass clanking against the floor may have been something he had meant to show you, perhaps it was a promise of how easily his temper shatters or a suggestion of what he might do to you when nobody is watching.
You tip your head back, forcing your gaze up to the sky, dragging in a sharp breath and holding it in, willing the tears to stay where they are. It is a star-dusted night, a faint echo of the heavens above Starfall. You fixate on them, the quiet and the distance , letting their shine stand between you and the horrors waiting for you back in the hall.
Your fists clench at your sides, silk biting into your palms as you try to hold yourself together, because tomorrow you are meant to marry Aerion Targaryen, and you are not sure how much of you will be left once you do.
The sound of boots on stone drags you back from the stars, and you see the dragon prince step out onto the terrace like a storm crossing a threshold. His dark cloak snaps in the wind and anger clings to him as tangibly as the scent of wine and smoke. His jaw is tense and his pale hair catches onto the torchlight behind him, violet eyes already fixed on you with a furious disbelief, as though your very presence here is an insult carved into the night.
“You dare,” he says, voice low and threatening, “to run from your to-be husband?”
The prince looks angry, annoyed and most of all offended, so offended it is as if the emotion has sunk into his bones. You can see it in the tight line of his mouth and the way his hands flex at his sides, as though he's restraining the urge to break something just to hear it shatter.
“No— never, my prince,” you blurt out, the words almost tumbling over one another in your haste. “I only needed some air.” Your mouth parts as you let out a breath, eyes wide with concern as you meet his violet eyes with fear racking up within your body.
“Air?” he repeats, as though finding the words and finding them rather bitter. “Tell me, little bride, are you trying to insult me, or are you merely stupid?”
Heat crawls up his spine, settling hot and ugly between his shoulder blades. He can feel everything in him tense along with it, his jaw, hands, and the muscles in his neck pull tight as your excuse echoes in his mind. What utter insolence he thinks, to leave him sitting alone before half the court, like some unloved fool, while his bride wanders off to stare at the stars.
In his eyes, it is complete disrespect. Do you not understand the insult, to walk away from a dragon prince in a hall full of lords and ladies, to turn your back on him as though he is nothing.
Your mouth opens to answer, to apologise, to say something or anything, but the prince does not give you a chance.
“Are you always in the habit of abandoning your betters whenever you please?” He cuts in, voice silk over steel.
He steps forward, and in response your body takes a step back without thinking, the movement small but unmistakable. His eyes flick down, catching your action, the retreat and the fear behind it. You cannot tell whether the sight of his eyes glimmering means he likes it, or simply files it away as something to use in the future.
“I am so sorry,” you quickly apologize, shame crawling up your throat. You suppose it is better to apologize rather than face the wrath of the dragon, “I did not mean to—”
“First I am given a bride I do not want, but must endure, and now you make me look a fool.”
You have no answer for him, the words dry up on your tongue. You are suddenly certain if you dare to say anything more, you will pay for it. When you still say nothing, Aerion shifts under his weight, tilting his head to regard you from above, like something curious caught under glass.
“Is this some little game of yours?” he asks, voice low and intentional. “Standing there mute, waiting to see when your dragon will finally lose his temper?”
He moves to close the distance between you with another measured step, the hem of his cloak whispering over the stone. This time, you force yourself to stay rooted where you are, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.
“No, my prince. That was never my intention.”
“Then why do you run from me?” he asks, head tilting slowly, eyes narrowing. “Afraid, perhaps?”
He watches the way your throat works as you swallow, the small stiffening of your shoulders. He can smell the nerves on you, they are sharp and thin, like smoke before a fire, it is instinct. You look as though you are about to murmur another sad little apology, and he almost turns away, growing bored at the sight. Instead, you lift your chin a fraction,
“No, my price,” you say in trained softness. “It is the highest honour to wed a prince of the blood.”
You fight the horrible urge to tremble, and for a fleeting moment it almost feels as though you are standing up for yourself. Aerion says nothing at first, only studies you in silence, eyes raking over your face. Whatever interest your answer had sparked fades quickly before his gaze fools and he peers down at you with an unimpressed look.
“You lie poorly.” He says. “What a shame. If you were not so bound by duty and virtue, you might almost be interesting.”
“Interesting how, my prince?” you find yourself asking quietly and suddenly. “For smiling when you insult me?”
You think you hate him. He feels like everything made of ash and ember, all heat and hurt and sharp edges, while you are of calmer waves and glassy tides that he would only try to pierce. You know you are pushing too far that you are prodding at a dragon’s temper with bare hands but you cannot bring yourself to be more careful. Everything is too much, the hall, the stares, and the weight of tomorrow, and you are not the only one being dragged into a marriage you do not want.
“Is that not a wife’s duty?” he drawls, deciding to humour you. “To smile and bear what her husband gives her?”
Aerion thinks he hates you. You pretend to be obedient, frail and soft-spoken, but the words you dare to offer him are anything but meek. Your words bite and push, his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as his lips curl into a smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Perhaps you would find me interesting if I worshipped you as devoutly as you worship yourself.”
You meet his gaze as you say it, violet eyes on yours, steady and unflinching. Neither of you move before his eyes widen a fraction, and you see something catch a fire beneath them, a flash of raw, burning fury that makes your stomach drop, regretting your words at once.
His breathing shifts, and rage seems to ripple through him like a shudder passing down a tethered beast. His shoulders tighten, fingers flex at his sides, even the line of his throat goes taut as if the anger is something barely held inside skin and bone. The prince looks as though he is vibrating with rage, every muscle in his body straining in order not to lash out.
You wish with sudden, sick clarity that you had kept your mouth shut, that you had not let your frayed emotions drive you to prod at a dragon’s pride.
The space between you closes as his pale hand is suddenly at your throat, fingers closing hard enough that the breath stumbles in your chest. His grip is iron and unforgiving, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of the side of your neck as his thumb presses against the hollow of your throat. Your back hits the cold white stone of the balustrade with a dull jult, the remaining air leaving you in a strangled gasp.
Your hand flies up on instinct, fingers donned with golden rings wrapping around his wrist, trying to pry him away, however he is far too strong. He peers down at you through dark narrowed eyes, watching the way you struggle, the way your mouth parts endlessly, the way your pulse flutters frantically beneath his palm.
His other hand almost lazily settles along your jaw, long fingers curling against your cheek, the heel of his hand pressing against the edge of your jaw as he forces your face up, angling you to meet his gaze. You try to protest, but you are pinned, held open beneath him, throat in his grasp and eyes locked onto his.
The world narrows to the burn in your lungs and the heat of his rage wraps around your neck like a collar.
“You will not shame me,” he grinds out, grip tightening. “You are mine to endure, whether you wish it or not, and you will learn your place.”
He leans in, closing the space between you until you can feel his breath hot across your face. He tilts his head, studying you, and his gaze drops to your lips— parted and struggling for air. There is a dark gleam in his eyes as he watches you struggle, something ugly that makes your skin crawl.
Your vision begins to blur at the edges and black creeps in, just before you think you may faint, you swear you see your to-be husband's lips twitch, almost forming a smile before his hand loosens.
You drag in a ragged breath as his fingers slip from your throat, but one hand remains on your sensitive skin, resting almost lightly now at the curve where the neck meets the shoulder. The contrast makes you shiver, a moment ago he was all violence and fire, but now he is close and still, leaned over you, refusing to move away— it feels almost possessive.
He looks at you as though he is taking in art work, gaze lingering on your exposed throat. You can feel the ache blooming there, the tender skin throbbing where his grip has marked you. His fingers trail over the bruising skin in a slow brush, as if he is tracing the outline of something he has carefully crafted before he finally lifts his hand away.
“Know who you belong to,” he says at last, voice low and unhurried, as though he is in no rush. “And do not forget it tomorrow.”
Your chest heaves as you fight to steady your breathing, each inhale sharp against your bruised throat. His gaze drops, following the rise and fall of your purple silks as they shift with every desperate breath, before sliding back up to your face.
It is a shame, really, you used to love the colour violet, the evening-kissed skies over Starfall, the wild flowers that clung to the cliffs. Now you find yourself growing to hate it, it is everywhere, in the dress that draped fluidly around you, in the shadowed bloom that has begun to form on your neck, in the sharp and piercing violet of Aerion’s eyes that refused to leave you.
You find yourself fearing tomorrow, after it, you will be alone in this world and only your husband’s, bound to a dragon’s temper for the rest of your life. And you cannot help but think that the colour you once adored is already beginning to dull for you.
──
The bells of the city had already begun tolling at dawn, their chime threading through the stone of the keep. The soft ringing serves as a reminder that by sunset, you will no longer be the only daughter of starfall, by sunset, you will be Aerion Targaryen’s wife.
The maid fusses with the clasp of your necklace, her cool fingers brushing the nape of your neck as you stand before a mirror, this is the last time you will see yourself as you are now, you think. Silk falls over your shoulders while the jewels catch the pale morning light, yet your gaze finds the faint purple shadow blooming at your neck. Your fingers trace the edge of the bruise, you know you are meant to be thinking of your vows, but all you can think of is the mark of his hand around your neck.
“You look beautiful, my lady.” The maid says as she finishes with the clasp and meets your eyes in the mirror, offering you a small smile.
“Thank you,” You say, yet you cannot bring yourself to fake excitement, all you can think about is the dragon prince and the work of his hands.
“Do you wish for me to cover it, my lady?” She asks quietly, almost hesitantly, her gaze following your eyes, hesitating before she shuffles a step closer.
Of course, her gaze lands on your throat. After all, what else could she possibly mean with the ugly mark sitting so brazenly on your neck, impossible to ignore despite the necklace that has been carefully placed. The thought of him, your prince, soon-to-be husband, causes tension to ripple through you, a slow tightening in your shoulders as you can almost feel his fingers there again.
“No,” you say after a moment of thinking. “It is well. Leave it as it is.”
Your eyes remained fixed on the bruise in the glass. If he can lay his hands on you before you are even officially his, then he can live with the evidence. You decide that you will let him see it, let his family see it. You want him punished in the only way left to you, you want the dragon to feel a sliver of the shame you have felt burning since arriving in King’s Landing. If you are meant to endure him for the rest of your life, you may as well make a spectacle of him before he convinces himself he is untouchable. Dragons may be fireproof, but he certainly isn’t, you think.
Your gaze drifts, heavy and unwilling, to the large bed that rests against the wall, and you can feel fear strike clean through you. Your breath grows thick in your chest, harder to pull in, harder to push out. You know exactly what you are feeling, and you would be a fool to call it anything but fear. If he is this cruel to you before the vows are even spoken, you cannot imagine how cruel he will be when the night is his by right.
The maid catches your expression and her face softens, giving you a sad, almost knowing smile. It is a look of a woman who has seen what men can do, who knows cruelty first hand. When you glance back at her, she meets your eyes and gives you a steady nod. It is an entirely fragile thing, but you almost feel comforted to know at least one other soul in this kingdom can feel sympathy for you.
“I would like to be alone for a moment.” You say as you suck in a steadying breath.
Without protest she dips into a curtsey and slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
The reality of today settles on you like lead, in heavy and uneven breaths you cross the room and sink down at the edge of the bed, curling towards it. Tears string your eyes as you stare at it, you try to imagine some way to keep yourself from further harm, some way to defend yourself and remain in slight control when the doors close and there is no one but your husband at your side.
A tear slips down your left cheek and you find yourself reaching for the drawer beside the bed, pulling it open to the familiar sight of jewellery chests wrapped in velvet. Your fingers fumble past them until they find one particular box, and you draw it out, sitting on the bed as you settle it on your lap. Swiping the back of your hand across your eye you suck in a breath, reminding yourself you are strong, and must be strong.
Opening the box, inside, Valyrian steel catches the light. A slim, beautiful blade inlaid with the crest of your house remains within, the pale metal taking on a faint white sheen where the morning sun touches it. Your brother had given it to you when you were children, a secret hidden away like a treasure, half forgotten until now.
For a moment, you wonder what your prince would do if his throat ever met its edge, would he scramble in fear, whimper like a dragon who has lost its wings? You decide that this will be your last resort, if he tries anything with you, you will not be entirely defenceless.
You tuck the blade beneath your pillow, angling it so your fingers can find it easily. It is hidden but close, close enough that if you need it you can reach for it in an instant.
──
“I trust you won’t be as defiant tonight as you were yesterday, wife.”
His words roll easily off his familiar tongue, smooth and casual, and you do not like how binding it sounds. You try to bite back every answer that tries to rise, and he seems to savour it, the taste of your shackling. You cannot help but wish he would find enjoyment in anything other than tempting your anger by simply standing in front of you.
Aerion stands before you in the reds and blacks of his house, colours cutting sharp against his pale skin. His violet eyes linger on you with a kind of idle entertainment, as if he can hear the way the word ‘wife’ grates inside your skull. He rolls the title again in his mind, you’re sure he is savouring it like a mouthful of rich wine. Stepping a little closer, his gaze drifts lower, skimming over the fall of your gown before noticing the bruise on your throat. There is a slight pause and faint narrowing of his eyes as he takes in the mark you chose not to hide.
“Why do you choose to disgrace yourself like this?” His gaze continues to linger on your throat, voice smooth as silk.
You pull yourself together and offer him an obedient smile, your head tips, lolling slightly to the side, baring more of your throat to his gaze. “Something made by your own hand could never be a disgrace, my prince.”
“I do not know where this sudden nerve is coming from,” he says, voice dropping. “But do not toy with me, woman.” His eyes narrow at you, the faint glimmer in them sharpening.
The threatening edge in his voice cuts through whatever sudden spine you had found. You take a small step back, lashes lowering, smoothing your features into practiced obedience. “I do not toy, my prince.” You say, tone soft and careful. “It is not my place to trifle with you.”
He watches you as you finish speaking, gaze flickering down to your mouth, to the way your lips tighten around the words. A quiet huff escapes him, half irritation, half something else, and he lets the silence stretch a moment longer than comfortable. Then he clicks his tongue in a sharp, dismissive sound before finally deigning to speak again.
“You know what is expected of you, do you not?”
The thought of your wifely duties alone makes you shudder, a cold tremor running down your spine while fear coils in your gut. However, you smooth over your face and force your shoulders not to quake, you nod.
“Of course, my prince.” You say, voice barely above a murmur.
He tilts his head at that, considering your words before a low hum curls from his throat. The golden light of the hall catches on his Valyrian features, gliding against his cheekbones. For a moment, you can’t help but notice how beautiful he is, like a blade forged to be admired before it spills blood.
“Good. Since you are so eager to please me, then you will do your duty and give me heirs worthy of dragon blood.” he muses before continuing, “Real heirs, not some bland little half-bloods.”
His tone is light, edged with condescension and something disturbingly similar to amusement as his gaze lingers on you. It drifts slowly down the line of your bruised throat, falling over the creases of your silks, and settles at your stomach, as though he’s already picturing it swollen with his seed.
“If the gods bless us so, my prince,” you say, eyes lowered, “I will bear you the heirs you desire.”
Your fingers move before your mind can catch up to the words that have just spilled from your lips, crossing your hands over your stomach in a swift yet awkward fold. It is as if you are trying to hide that part of you from his gaze, the gesture feels small and foolish but you try and cling to it. Dislike coils hot inside you, bitter as you continue to gaze at the dragon prince.
He seems almost pleased by your answer, as though he hadn’t quite expected you to agree. He nods once, pouting his lips before he falls into thinking as you murmur again,
“If I may be excused, my prince.”
He regards your presence for a heartbeat longer, then inclines his head. “Very well.”
You leave the hall with your head lowered, the roar of conversation and music dimming behind you in every step. He torches throw wavering shadows over your face as you bite hard on the inside of your cheek to keep another sob from clawing its way out, blinking fast to prevent your vision blurring.
Fear sits heavy in your gut as you make your way into the bedding chambers, a cold knot tightens and presses at your ribs as you are walking away from the girl you will not be again. Yet, beneath it all, you think of Aerion in an unwelcome thread of curiosity, you wonder what he will be like when the door shuts and there are no witnesses.
You slip inside and close the chamber door behind you, the room is quieter than you remembered, the candlelight pooling soft and golden over the bed. Turning towards the mirror, your fingers find the clasp of your cloak, sliding the fabric from your shoulders, leaving only silk, skin, and jewels staring back at you. It is duty, you think as your gaze stays to the bed behind you in the glass, searching over the pillow where a blade lies hidden beneath, a secret waiting for your hand.
Moving towards the bed in slow steps, your fingertips brush the carved post as the door opens, and Aerion steps inside, shrugging off his cape in a smooth motion before his gaze finds you at once. The space between you seems to narrow as his violet eyes lock with yours, and that strange feeling coils in your chest again. You refuse it as curiosity, deeming it as nerves as you know you hate him, or you should hate him. Yet, your breath comes quicker and your chest rises and falls as the two of you hold each other’s stare in quiet intensity.
“Waiting for me already, wife?” He speaks as he slowly crosses over to you, eyes unmoving from yours. Your gaze tracks over him, to the pale fall of his hair and the way the lamplight falls over his face, in this light, he looks attractive. Swallowing as he draws nearer, you feel your throat tighten with every inch he closes between you.
Retreating on instinct, the back of your knees collide with the mattress and it takes you off balance. You drop onto the edge of the bed with a thud, fingers catching in the blankets as you look up at him. Aerion steps into the space you’ve surrendered, boot brushing your leg as he presses his knee forward. He parts your legs with an easy, unhurried nudge, sliding his thigh between yours until you’re forced to open around him.
You feel heat seep through the thin layers of silk as his chest looms in front of you, and your breath stutters. His gaze drags down over you, your bare face, your bared throat, and the rise and fall of your purple silks where his knee is bracketed between your legs. Then slowly, his eyes climb back up, pinning you in place.
His hand rises as you feel every inch of its approach, and it rests along the edge of your jaw. His fingers are careful this time, the pad of his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw rather than digging into it, slender fingers warm against your skin. He exhales, breath ghosting over your lips as he leans down, lids lowering as his gaze roams your face.
“You’re not so bad up close,” he murmurs at last.
His fingers tighten, just enough to remind you who is in control. “On the bed,” he commands quietly, and you obey him.
Shuffling back, silk whispering as you crawl up against the pillows until they cradle your spine. The mattress dips as he sits at the edge to pull off his boots before he follows you, knees sinking into the mattress, the frame creaking softly under his weight as he looms over you. His hands go to fasten his top, one by one he works the buttons loose before the sharp line of his throat and collarbones appear, pale in the lamplight.
You watch, unable to look away while he shrugs the garment off his shoulders until he tugs the shirt away completely and reveals lean muscle painted with shadows of old bruises or training scars that rise and fall of his chest. Heat crawls over you, prickling beneath your skin and you are not sure if it is fear, shame or something else you cannot name. He tosses the shirt aside before looking back at you, hair spilled on pillows as silk draped over you, it is as if he’s cataloguing every inch of you laid out before him.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He suddenly asks, eyes lingering where the silk hitches up your thighs.
You pause, chest heaving a little too fast, fingers knotting in the sheets. “Yes,” you breathe, “I am.”
“Good,” he says, running his tongue through his teeth. “They’re always easy to get wet.”
He moves in and a startled breath slips from you as his hand finds your face again, fingers curling more gently this time along your jaw as his finger rests beneath your cheekbone. Holding you there steadily his violet eyes lock with yours before he lowers his head. His mouth finds the crook of your neck, feeling your pulse beat against his warm lips that move slowly, as if he is tasting something that he now owns. A small whimper escapes your throat before you can stop yourself, and you feel his mouth curve against your throat, a small smile pressed into your skin. His eyes open and his gaze darkens as he lifts his head upward back towards your face.
Heat pools low in your belly, and it feels shameful the way your body betrays you. You can’t help but look at him, eyes wide and full of something that feels much like guilt, as if he’s caught you in a sin you never chose.
“Enjoying this now, are you?” he asks as something shifts in his gaze, tone going cool as he inhales slowly. His eyes track over your face then inevitably down to the bruise at your throat. Like flames flickering beneath skin, his hand slides from your jaw to that mark, fingers tightening suddenly as he grips your throat and presses your head deeper into the pillow. You feel panic slam through you as the mattress seems to swallow you whole.
Your lungs burn, his fingers brand your throat, and your vision narrows to the dark blur of Aerion’s face above you.
“M…my prince—” You try to reason, but he does not hear you, only leaning in further as his eyes remain fixed on yours, and you see his other hand rising, fingers tensing as it comes towards your neck.
In fear, your body decides for you as your arm snaps sideways, diving beneath the pillow. Your fingers close around the cool steel, the familiar shape of the hilt fitting into your palm as you rip it free and drag it up in a sharp and desperate slash. The blade flashes in the candlelight and meets the flesh of his hand in a wet resistance, parting his skin a fast gash. Heat splatters across your knuckles as Aerion jerks back both of his hands with a snarl,
“Fuck—!” He yells as blood spills from the gash, dark and bright all at once, running in quick rivulets down his palm and dripping onto the sheets between you.
The dagger slips from your fingers and falls onto the mattress, your hand recoiling as though burned. Scrambling backward, your spine presses hard into the headboard while your husband stares at his hand, blood splattering onto the sheets in soft drops. His palm curls, flexes, crimson welling fresh with every twitch as you watch it trail down the line of his wrist, staining his pale skin. Aerion lifts his head, fury in his eyes blinding, violet eyes gone dark, burning straight through you. Your stomach lurches at the sight, gaze trapped onto his bloody figure.
“You whore,” he spits, low and vicious. “You dare to shed blood of the dragon?”
“No— no, my prince, I—” The words die in your throat as he looks at you through half-lowered lids, rage simmering just beneath the surface. His injured hand reaches for the dagger and his blood smears over the hilt as his fingers wrap around it.
Bringing it up, you whimper a small and broken sound as the blade comes closer, glinting in the low light. His face follows, leaning in as a warm drop of blood falls from his wrist onto your bare skin, then another, sliding hot and sticky over your collarbone as he lifts the knife toward your throat. You suppose this is the end, you’ve laid steel against the prince of the realm, there is no taking that back.
“You spill a dragon’s blood, wife,” he says, studying you with the length of the blade, voice low and calm when it comes. “And you think there will be no price?”
His gaze drops from your eyes to your collarbone, to where his blood makes a trail over your skin. He stares at it with a terrible, intentional hunger, like a man eyeing a feast laid out before him, watching each red line crawl over the sharp jut of bone.
“You must be taught the cost of that.”
Slowly, he moves the dagger that shines in the candlelight toward your collarbone, pressing the cold edge against your warm skin. His violet eyes watch intensely as your skin splits apart, blood sweeping through the slash like sweet wine dripping from a goblet, your blood swelled and mixed with the crimson already staining his hands. His thumb smeared through both as though ready to taste the liquid, his and your own mingling over your skin in a glistening streak.
“H—haah…” You whimper out at the stinging pain, a broken sound caught in your throat. At once the sweet noise you make catches his attention as he lolls his head up to your pained expression with an unnamed satisfaction.
“I was right,” he murmurs, nails dragging slowly against your neck, voice low and almost thoughtful, “You do look pretty with fear on your face.”
He leaned down again, slower this time as the heat of his mouth brushed against the bloodied trail along your collarbone. The touch made you suck in a deep breath, your whole body going taut against him as he shifts closer, closing the space between you. It feels wrong. It feels disgusting. And yet, your body betrays you as your legs tense and a restless heat gatherers low inside you, it is dark and shameful and impossible to ignore.
The warmth of his mouth traces at the thin red line at your collarbone and you feel a sudden drag of his tongue against you. You try to catch your breath, but it is of no use as the heat of his mouth is lingering and unhurried, and he continues to lick away the blood as though he is savouring the taste of it. A dark warmth pools low in you, feeling humiliating throbs between your legs, the satisfaction is so dirty you feel it makes shame rise hot beneath your skin. You do not want it, you think you do not want it, but your body answers differently as you press your hips into his thigh, aching cunt trying to press against him in some hope of friction.
His nails drag slowly where they rest against you and your breathing turns uneven, leaving you in a trembling rush. You tip your head back to look at him breathlessly, lashes heavy and mouth parted as your eyes find his, and he looks up at you in terrible focus, listening to every little hitch in your breathing. You suddenly feel him pressed against the heat of your cunt, his lips parting faintly as he pushes himself closer, almost like he’s refusing to let you grind onto him.
“You enjoy it,” he says, breath caught in a sharp hiss when he feels you move against him once again.
“I do not,” you manage, breathless as your chest rises and falls, trying to pull in another breath under the heat of his gaze.
His mouth curves upwards without warmth, taking in your ruined figure. “No?” he continues, thumb pressing against your neck before it tightens, which forces you to arch subtly towards him. “Then why are you pressed against me like a bitch in heat?”
He pulls your head back slowly as his gaze drags over your tired face, forcing your gaze up at him. You try to pull in another breath, but it only seems to amuse him as he leans closer, inhaling sharply through his nose.
“No, you do not get to move against me like that and pretend innocence,” he begins, staring you down with his violet lidded eyes before he drags them over your throat, to your jaw and then to your lips. “You must taste the blood you’ve spilt.”
Aerion leans in slowly as you feel the heat of his breath as blood continues to stain his lips, smeared at the edge of them before his mouth presses to yours and stains your lips with red. His lips move against yours as though he wishes to claim all of you, below you his hand tightens just enough to keep you in place while his lips continue to drag against yours slowly. Your lips part slightly as you let out a shaky moan into his mouth and he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes of metal and rust, and the blood continues to drip into your mouth, smearing your lips with red.
He pulls back only a small fraction, just enough to free you and see the red that is now smeared across both your mouths, branding you of him. It all feels wrong, tastes wrong, like the memory of claws biting into flesh, but the realization steals through you all the same, you want him. You want to feel the heat, you want the fire, and you want to burn.
A single dark drop of red gathers at the curve of your lip, trembling before it begins to slip down your parted lips, trailing lower to the line of your chin. His gaze follows as it falls, then his hand rises and once slowly, his thumb catches it before it can fall any further, smearing the red across the pad of his skin. His violet eyes stay fixed on your face with terrible calm before he draws his hand back, gaze locked with yours as he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it with infuriating slowness. He sucks his thumb clean without looking away, as though your reaction is the truly satisfying thing.
His hand slides down your thigh, fingers settling there before they drag a little higher, slow enough to make your breath hitch. “Your legs tremble, wife,” he murmurs, his eyes remaining on your face as his mouth curves, “Are you growing restless for me?” His voice is mocking, but you cannot find it in yourself to deny him.
You drag in a shaky breath and tilt your chin up at him, trying to gather what little pride you have left. “You speak... as though it displeases you,” your breath shudders against him, lashes fluttering before you push your head back onto the pillow behind you.
Aerion tilts his head at you, and his hands move to grab your hips without bothering to reply. He forces your back further against the bed before he presses you down into the sheets before you can move. The mattress dips beneath you and the silk twists at your legs as his grip tightens, full of possessiveness before his mouth curves faintly,
“I will not be displeased so long as you remember to obey me.”
Then he shifts closer, slow enough to shake you until the space between you begins to vanish again. His slender fingers then reach for his pants, fastening his clothes, undoing them with slow hands as you can only watch as he shoves them aside, his face does not soften before he looks at you once again, and his lips are on yours again.
You taste him and feel the heat of his body as his hands pull on edges of your dress, pulling it over your stomach, revealing your trembling cunt dripping with pain before him. Aerion hisses, hips jerking toward your soaked cunt as you feel the tip of his cock brush against your slit. You latch onto his sweaty shoulder, nails digging into his pale skin before he lets out a heavy breath.
“You weep for me, wife.” he says as you let out a whimper and brush your hips further into his hard cock, silk beginning to flatten against your stomach as he moves closer, wrist flicking as he grabs the base of cock, giving it a light stroke.
“Aerion— please,” you find yourself speaking in desperation, head lolling to the side as he lets out an amused huff and his lips brush against yours again.
“There, there,” he says softly, almost mockingly. “That is better. You should remember how to speak with me.”
Aerion then curls his slender hand around your waist, jerking his hips forward before he begins to push himself into your warm cunt. Unable to handle your bodyweight, your head slips further into the pillow as you feel him penetrate you entirely, your gaze blurs before you feel a sting, trying to adjust to his sheer size.
You gasp, throwing your head back as you feel a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, his cock stretching your walls. Aerion slips his dick in you further and your nails dig into his shoulders as you whimper, trying to bury your head into his shoulder. He snaps his hips forward, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as you gasp, “Hah—” it's so deep in you, you swear you feel yourself seeing stars.
Aerion lets a grin out at the sight and continues to rut into you while breathily grunting, “You belong to me,” be begins, drawing out the sentence with quick huffs while he continues to thrust into your wet cunt, “all of you belongs to me.” His hand begins to trace your thigh shakily as he grunts out a quiet “fuck!” when he feels you clench around him, pressing his face closer to yours.
Tears well up in your eyes as he hurries his pace, chasing a high both of you seem to be reaching before he begins to suck at the crook of your neck where the mix of your blood begins to dry, “Tell me you belong to me.” he commands, hips dipping further into you as he continues to lick the blood dry, you can only moan in response as he drags his tongue
When you don’t respond immediately his abdomen tenses and he removes himself from the crook of your neck, earning a needy whine from you. “Say it,” he bites the words out, eyes lingering on yours with the embers of flames glimmering behind them, and you can almost see the frustration build up within him as he grips your neck, forcing you to look at him as he continues to thrust into you with slowed movements.
“I’m yours,” you say, biting your lip as tears well up in your eyes as you feel his thrusts begin to fasten again, his cock once again buried deep inside you. Your thighs burn with pleasure as his cock continues to push into your gummy walls, and his chest flushes against yours in satisfaction before you feel breathless.
He settles against you fully, skin to skin and the heat of him wraps around you like flesh giving into flame. It feels like you are being burned, it is cruel and consuming but you find yourself wanting more of it, you think this must be how a dragon leaves its mark, where you cannot tell the difference between warmth and burning.
Your hand slides into the silver of his hair, gripping it tightly before he snarls at you and moves to give you an open-mouthed kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back with similar intensity. You lewdly moan into his mouth before he speeds up again at the sound of the soft melody leaving your throat, and he suddenly bites down on your lip and you let out a choked noise.
Suddenly you find yourself slipping your arms around his shoulders and bringing his body closer to you as you feel your belly grow warmer and pleasure coils through you, “Aerion,” you breathe out, hands sliding to cradle him as his slightly watery violet eyes meet yours.
His head falls forward toward you as he ruts into you fast, like a territorial animal, and you suppose it is because dragons are territorial creatures after all, but you do not mistake the way he lets out a huffed groan. You squirm under him, feeling that coil in your stomach intensify before you desperately cling to him, rolling your hips into him slowly.
Aerion’s pace grows sloppy as he feels your cunt spasm around him and he grinds his teeth together, “Fuck— Don’t move.” Instead, you do the opposite and jerk your hips upwards earning a lewd moan from him before he throws his head back with a clenched jaw and his veins bulging in sudden strain.
Locking your legs around him you mutter his name over and over and with one last roll of his hips he spills his seed deep inside your cunt, thrusting forward once more in order to make sure a drop of it doesn’t leak. Your lips brush the side of his shoulder before the coil within you snaps and you find yourself cumming around his cock, whining while your hips stutter.
Neither of you move and Aerion makes no attempt to slip out of you, remaining where he is with heavy breaths as your bodies press together in marital bliss. The room around you remains swallowed in candlelight as his hand does not leave you. Instead, his fingers drift slowly to the bruised skin at your neck, tracing the mark, as though admiring something he has made. The touch is light, but it makes your breath hitch nevertheless.
His eyes stay fixed on the darkened shape before they lift to yours, lips curling into a small smirk. A dragon has laid claim to you, and you feel it like the claws buried beneath your skin. There is nothing more you can do now except be held here and burn.
“You are mine to endure now.” he says at last, voice unhurried. “Do not forget it, wife.”
divider made by me (please credit if used)
woahhhh this one shot was long aff hahahah and it took so long to write. i love my aerion so much he deserves all the love but at the same time he is a complete evil man!!
all reblogs and comments are so so so appreciated and loved <3
note: i had so much fun writing this and i love house dayne so much i thought it would be rlly interesting to write about it and i lowk forgot that aerion is a dayne while beginning to write it but we continue MOVING FORWARD. this was originally supposed to be a daeron fanfic actually because of the Dayne's having correlation to the dragon dreams and being of old blood (idk if this is accurate but its something like that LOL) but i might write a daeron one about that MAYBEEE lmk if u guys want it. anyway i've had an aerion hyperfixation this week so he gets the spotlight today ! this was also supposed to be uploaded saturday night but i lowk got tired and couldn't bring myself to finish it rip but its here now so ENJOYYY
attention attention, i am currently working on an aerion x reader oneshot while i storyboard ideas for 'only over you'. how are we feeling about an angsty enemies to married couple arranged marriage fanfic?!?!?! and when i say enemies like they HATE each other and of course aerion is evil as usual
anyway chapter 2 of only over u has been out for a few days SO GO READ IT i promise aerion national u will love it <3
Synopsis ──.⟡ Starting college you had heard of the Targaryen family’s reputation, and you certainly had seen it first hand. Somewhere between the parties and stolen packs of cigarettes, you find yourself surrounded by far too many of them.
Part Two: Mariners Apartment Complex
Taglist/warnings: modern!au, college!au, 18+ content, slowburn, alcohol, use of nicotine/cigarettes, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, family trauma, dysfunctional family dynamics, yes there will be future kissing, aerion is rude, lyonel is a flirt, very long chapters, aa mention, recovery, relapsing
Characters: Aerion Targaryen x Reader || Daeron Targaryen x Reader || Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Word count: 7.6k
main masterlist || series masterlist || previous part || next part ➢
The bar in your neighborhood is loud in a comforting way, laughter spills through the crowd followed by the sound of glass clinking together as low music hums beneath it all. You sit in a small booth with your two best friends, with the exception of Duncan and Raymund joining you, spotting you earlier they had invited themselves over sliding into the evening. Drinks scatter over the table as you all laughed at Raymund retelling Dunk’s embarrassing memories.
You take a final sip of your drink and settle down the empty glass as you glance at the dark clock on the wall. Your brows lift in surprise as you realize you had lost track of time, straightening your seat, you look at your friends and murmur, “I’m gonna head out now.” which is met with multiple groans.
“What? You just got here!” Duncan says awfully loudly, leaning his full body weight onto the wooden table.
“I’ve been here for hours, Dunk. And I’ve got an early morning tomorrow so I actually want to get some sleep.” You laugh at his defeated form that's sinking back into his seat.
“At least have us walk you home.” Raymund argues back, already pushing his chair back enough to grab his coat.
Waving your hands, you try and politely decline, after all you didn’t want your friends ruining their night just to walk you back home. Not to mention the streets were still lively at this hour and you had only lived ten minutes away. After a moment of back-and-forth with Kiera who had been narrowing her eyes at you the whole time and Tanselle who simply wasn’t satisfied with any excuse, you had pulled out your phone to share your location which they had begrudgingly agreed on.
Minutes later, you step into the cold air with the noise of the door swinging shut. The streets were fairly quiet, but not completely abandoned. Couples walked back from dinner, friends chatted outside and strangers wrapped up in thick coats strolled past you.
Most bars and restaurants seemed to be closing, and as you pass by another bar a slumped man sits against the brick wall, his head hung low, seemingly struggling to hold it upright. You try not to stare and quicken your pace instinctively, telling yourself to just ignore him.
It’s not your problem.
Yet, your footsteps slow slightly as you notice nobody attempting to help him, groups of people drinking on the street in deep conversation and stepping over him as if he were cluttering the street. Seeing a man standing near him you gently asked them, “Is this your friend?” to which you only received a dirty look and scoff in return. Great.
You hesitate, sighing when you naturally gravitate towards him in slow steps. However much your thoughts wavered in helping this helpless man, you knew it was the right thing to do, it’s not fair on him to be in the freezing cold alone with absolutely nobody helping him.
Leaning in slightly closer your eyes adjust to the dim lights from the bar that cast uneven shadows on the sidewalk. The man's head lolls to the side in uncontrolled movement, strands of dirty blonde hair falling on his sweaty forehead which catches the faint glow, uncomfortably sticking together.
That’s when you realize the carelessly slumped figure is the stranger from the other night, the one that had asked you for a cigarette. To say finding him in a place like this wasn’t that much of a surprise, he hadn’t made the best first impression after all. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worrying for you. His shoulders tremble in the cold and his chest rises and falls heavily like he’s out of breath, his body on the edge of passing out. A surge of concern coils within you, his drunken body is making you anxious.
You’re worried about this stranger.
“Hey… um are you── alright?” You murmur, gently enough that it wouldn’t catch him off guard. Growing unsure of whether he could even hear your voice you continue to stare at him, confused on how to go about this.
Gulping in order to calm your nerves you call out to him again, “Can you hear me?”
This time your voice catches his attention, though he doesn’t look up immediately. Blinking heavily a couple of times, possibly to wash the drowsiness away his pupils flicker slightly. You stand there nervously, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers as you wonder if he will even be able to recognize you, or notice that someone is standing in front of him.
But he does. His gaze shifts slowly and he moves his head upwards, trying his hardest to focus on the person calling out to him. His violet eyes widen in complete shock as realization dawns on his face and his whole body shivers. With unease, he tries to stand but his weak knees don’t allow it as he immediately fails, falling down on the pavement as his head faintly hits the wall and he lets out a groggy hiss, hand moving up in an attempt to rub the back of his head.
Holding your hands out in front of you, you gesture to him to stay down and not move. With a quiet hush you continue, “It’s okay. Just sit down.” Eyes looking at him up and down you sigh at his shaky body, “Are you here with anyone?”
It takes him another moment to focus, eyelids heavy as he throws his head back against the brick wall in complete mental reset. He breathes heavily as he moves his head towards you and mutters a dazed,
“...No.”
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. This stranger obviously had zero awareness of their own well-being if they came to a bar to get drunk on their own. You shake the thoughts away as you could concern yourself with judging him later, for now you had to find a way to get him home.
“Where do you live?” You guess this could be a decent starting point. You’re met with silence, turning around you can see the strangers eyes drooping in exhaustion. “Hello?” You call out, knocking him out of his daze.
“Somewhere.” He responds, only managing to mumble out that without slurring before forgetting what he was going to say in the first place.
You click your tongue in annoyance, questioning whether it was worth being a good person tonight or not. “That’s really helpful.” You grumble, as if you’re talking to yourself. Which you probably are considering the stranger takes no offence to your sarcasm and only rests his eyes, suggesting he didn’t even hear a word you said.
Currently, you have two choices. One, leave him here and most likely feel guilty about it for the rest of your life, or two, help this drunken man out and gain some good karma in return. Pulling out your phone, you open the uber app, only to recall that last time your friend had gotten very drunk, and the uber driver wouldn’t let them in. Shooting a look of irritation at the unaware stranger, you slide your phone back in your bag and sigh while glancing over his faintly shaking body.
Beyond burnt out, you go up to him and crouch down, trying not to slump in frustration. You hold out your hand and glance at him, “Do you have your phone on you?”
Perhaps it’s trust, perhaps it’s not, but the stranger drunkenly hovers his hands over his worn out jean pockets, frail hands reaching for his phone. Despite his earlier sluggish movements he hands you his phone with an unreadable look, as if questioning whether you’re going to take his phone and run. You don’t.
Grabbing the phone off him you unlock his phone, which didn’t need a password to open── you thank the gods that at least something is going right for once. Scrolling through the screen for a minute you find what you’re looking for and manage to pull up his address and you nearly groan loud enough for him to hear. Of course the mysterious man with very obvious problems lives down the same street as you.
“Alright,” You turn towards him, slipping his phone into your pocket, not trusting him enough to not drop it on the floor. “Get up, we're going.”
The stranger only furrows his eyebrows at the sound of your voice, his eyes training on your figure. Letting on a low and confused groan his unfocused eyes dart around his surroundings, to which you reach down and grab him by his arms in an attempt to pull him up. Fuck, he’s heavy.
“Come on,” You insist, rolling your eyes while your feet brace on the pavement, conjuring up all the strength you have in your body.
Taking an embarrassing amount of effort from you, he finally manages to slowly get up, pushing himself upright while swaying uncontrollably for a moment before placing his head on the brick wall behind him, clearly out of breath. A dazed expression paints his face as his eyes flicker towards yours, meeting yours and stopping, as though studying your face with a quiet intensity. You blink a couple of times and turn your gaze away, trying to ignore his obvious staring.
Grabbing his arm you move his arm closer to you, slinging it over your shoulders, to which he makes a surprised noise and takes a step forward, trying to steady himself the best he can.
“Fuck, your heavy.” You repeat your thoughts from earlier out loud, and much to your surprise he lets out a laugh that sounds loose and unsteady. He lolls his head over to the side to take a look down at you. It would be a lie to say you weren’t overwhelmed, he’s really tall after all, towering over you entirely. And, the majority of his body weight seems determined to collapse on you.
He struggles for the first few steps, stumbling and cursing under his breath, for the most part it feels like trying to move a brick wall. Eventually he manages to fall into a slow rhythm next to you, although it’s uneven and wobbly. Just like that, the two of you, complete strangers, begin the slow walk home.
By the time you reach the building you feel completely deflated, shoulders aching in pain from carrying half his bodyweight. Making it in the entrance you sigh in utter relief, kicking the door open as you drag him through the small lobby.
Reaching his apartment, which he groans and points faintly to signal that’s his door, you mutter, “Okay,” and shift his weight, carefully helping him lean back against the wall, stepping away as soon as he’s stable enough to not collapse.
“Keys?” You motion to the door, cracking your knuckles as your arms feel like jelly, glancing over at him.
At first he blinks at you in confusion, and then he straightens slightly as if he remembered something important. “Oh── right,” he fumbles clumsily through the pockets of his jeans, movements uncoordinated. Taking longer than it should, his fingers dip into his back pockets and slide out a pair of keys, holding them towards you.
Taking them before he can drop them you make your way to the door and unlock it, and the door creaks open. Stepping in first you hold the door open so it doesn’t slam into him, he stumbles through, big hands gripping onto the wood of the doorframe as he passes you and practically collapses on the couch, sober enough to not actually pass out.
He sprawls his broad body against the cushions, head falling back on the headrest, his messy blonde hair falls away from his face. Spreading his legs carelessly a long relieved sigh escapes him.
For a second, you watch him breathe, and then your attention darts over to his small apartment. It’s not dirty, or unkept, but it’s completely bare── the walls are empty with no decorations and the curtains hang half open over the windows. Your eyes narrow when they land on the kitchen counter, which has several empty bottles laying on it. You sigh quietly as you turn around from the sight, feeling bad for him.
It must be lonely.
You grab a clean glass from the cabinet and fill it up with tapwater, before walking over to the couch to hand it to his exhausted figure. Holding it out to him you softly say, “Take this.” urging him to drink it.
“I’d much prefer if you offered me wine.” He says, barely lifting his head glancing lazily at the glass before he looks at you, giving you a small self-conscious smile, as if he knows how pitiful he looks right now.
“You’re funny.” You reply flatly, not trying to entertain him. His smile drops at this and he reaches out to take the glass from you, taking a small sip from it.
You can’t seem to scratch the surface of the complicated emotions this man has. It’s not your job to fix it though, you did your part in helping someone that needed it, and that should be enough.
With a quiet breath you turn away from him, walking towards the small balcony that sits opposite the couch. The glass windows are illuminated by the room's light as you reach for the door handle and slide it open, the faint creaking of the door breaking the silence of the room. The cold air drifts in the room silently, and you step onto the narrow balcony, shifting your body to lean against the doorframe as you try to settle your thoughts. Crossing your arms loosely against your chest you look out to glance at the city during the night, the starless sky swallowing what little of the night that remains.
His gaze behind you lingers, and you try your best to ignore it. It’s heavy and thoughtful, as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. Instead of focusing on him, you continue to look away, cold air brushing against your face and neither of you say anything.
“It wasn’t always this bad, you know?”
The words are heavy, they hang in the quiet of the apartment heavily. His words startle you, not expecting for him to explain himself. You turn your head to look at him, but you don’t question him, not yet.
He looks tired, which is normal considering you’ve never seen him be anything but tired, but now it seems heavier than before. In the dim light you can sense the shame that clings to his body, it sits in the way his shoulders slump and his gaze refuses to settle anywhere for too long. But they eventually settle on you.
“Hm?” You hum softly, not in a questioning manner but more so in a quiet acknowledgement. You choose to let him speak, because it seems like he wants to, or maybe he needs to. You try not to dwell on it.
“I was supposed to go tonight.” He hasn’t spoken to you properly before, and in his slightly drunken yet sobering state he looks like he’s still gathering his thoughts. It’s like he wants you to know, and he’s decided he’s going to say it either way. He’s handing the truth over to you── a complete stranger, unsure what you’ll do with it.
“Go where?”
He looks away at first, unable to meet your eyes as they drift along the floor, considering to answer you. The distance between the two of you becomes something real and physical, stretching across the apartment like it’s repelling you both away from each other. The silence continues to press against him and his fingers are restless against the couch as he exhales.
“AA.”
Oh. Your eyes flicker to the empty alcohol bottles spread against the counter even though you don’t mean to look. It’s not hard to tell he knows the confession carries weight to it, exhaustion written over his face as he finally looks at you again, gaze long and heavy.
“I couldn’t do it.” His voice sounds smaller, more fragile, like he’s given you a piece of himself that he fully doesn’t even understand yet. “I tried to, but I just couldn’t bear to.” He continues and the silence grows between you two, thick and intimate.
“Why are you telling me this? I’m nobody to you.” You offer him a way to opt out of the conversation, trying to sympathise with someone who spills their secrets to strangers. His eyes seem glazed from the alcohol as he straightens and answers,
“I dreamt of you.”
You feel like laughing, and for a second you almost do. The words that leave his lips feel so absurd, something that doesn’t belong in his empty apartment amongst the empty bottles and light breeze that continues to brush past you. Glancing down at the floor you shake your head in disbelief,
“Oh, fuck o──” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat as you look up at him, pausing mid-word.
His face is solemn and serious, the amusement from your face drains away instantly as you straighten up, suddenly aware of the quietness of the room. You grapple with your thoughts, unable to tell if he’s joking, but right now, he looks the most serious he has been all night.
“Dreamt?” You can’t help but ask, voice almost wavering because of the shift in his demeanour that makes you hesitate.
“My dreams aren’t like yours,” He says slowly, his brows deeply furrowing, tired eyes now fixed on you with a strange intensity. The dim apartment light catches the edge of his silhouette and you notice his pupils dilate as he continues to stare at you. “They’re bad. I don’t sleep much, well… I try not to.” For a moment you notice something flicker in his expression, something that’s pained and heavy.
“Nightmares?” You ask carefully, trying not to trigger anything. Your shoulders fall and your defense seemingly crumbles, tilting your head towards him.
“Something like that.” He exhales quietly through his nose, looking at you one last time before looking away. You take notice of how his jaw clenches and his expression remains solemn.
Feeling like you’ve overstayed your welcome, the thought that you need to leave before it gets too late settles in, nudging you to move. Pushing yourself off the balcony’s doorframe you step back inside the apartment and walk towards him, which he notices immediately. You stand in front of him, reaching into the pocket of your jeans to pull out his phone. His gaze drags upwards slowly from where he sits on the couch, starting from your jeans before climbing up lazily until it reaches your face. Even in his exhausted state, his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary.
The second he notices that it’s his phone in your hands, not yours he lets out a quiet laugh, “So you’re stealing my phone now?” he asks, voice lingering with slight amusement.
You huff in response, ignoring his comment as you type something into his phone which he can’t exactly make out, he tilts his head slightly, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re doing, which is no use. When you finish he takes the phone back from your outstretched arm, his hand lightly brushing against yours as he does. The contact is brief, but noticeable.
“Me, a thief? Never.” You answer dryly, a light smile on your face as he exhales an amused breath and glances down at his phone screen, his eyes widening when he notices what you’ve done. Your name sits in his contacts, your number saved neatly beneath it, for a moment he just stares at it.
“In case you ever need saving,” You add lightly, words only half joking.
His lips part slightly, the faint humour fading from his expression as his breathing slows. The dim light of the apartment catches the way his eyes linger on your face, like he’s looking at you properly for the first time.
Then he says your name quietly, almost under his breath. It sounds soft, the words falling from his lips in an unfamiliar vulnerability. It feels strange and foreign.
You step back and move towards the door, giving him one last glance before slipping into the hallway, the apartment door falling shut with a quiet click while his gaze continues to linger on the closed door, leaving him alone in the silent apartment. Exhaling softly, you drag a hand over your face as your body hits the cool night air. Halfway down the street your phone vibrates in your pocket,
Unknown Number: Thank you for everything
You: You’re welcome
You changed ‘Unknown Number’ to ‘Stranger’
──
Aerion knew who you were a while before the two of you ever spoke.
It wasn’t exactly hard to notice you, your appearance had almost become familiar. You had a certain way of appearing around campus often enough that he knew you liked to smoke after your tax law lectures. Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t so surprised when you asked him for a cigarette at the party, he had seen it coming. It’s not like he had gone out of his way to notice.
Of course, then there was Valarr, his perfect and insufferably polite cousin who seemed to orbit around you for the past few weeks. Your name had slipped casually into family dinners like it belonged there and Aerion listened to the easy familiarity that slipped past Valarr’s lips from a distance.
However, that wasn’t what irritated him, not really. The thing that irritated him the most was the fact that you hadn’t noticed him at all. Perhaps you did, and chose not to care, it messed with his mind entirely.
The memory of you approaching him at the party still lingered even though it was days ago, Aerion swears the memory should be long forgotten, like you should. You had walked up to him, asking for a cigarette with slight hesitation, he supposed you had balls to do that, but in his eyes it still didn’t give you the right to do so.
And then you had stolen his pack of cigarettes and left before he could even stop you. Leaving him alone with no lingering conversation or second glance. The audacity you had left a strange feeling sitting in his chest, and he didn’t like it.
He tried to respect the nerve you had, treating him like just another stranger standing in the quiet with a lighter in his hand. That’s what had irritated him far more than he liked to admit. You simply took what you had come to get in the first place, like it didn’t matter who he was. The thought lingered unpleasantly in his mind, and it had been clouding his head more often than it should have.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. He shouldn’t be wasting his time thinking about you.
Aerion was certain of one thing currently, the moment he sees you again he’s going to make sure you regret walking away from him like that, just enough to see your calm facade crack. But for now, he frustratedly furrowed his eyebrows as he entered the dining hall footsteps echoing against the quiet hallway.
With the fast thoughts simmering in his mind Aerion pushed open the large doors of the dining hall, frustration still etched onto his face through the scrunching of his eyebrows and the clench of his jaw. The dining hall is lit dimly, his family gathered around the long table under the chandelier.
Maekar sat at the head of the table with a hardened expression wearing an all black suit, his posture strained, most likely due to the worry that had not left him for days. Aegon sat next to him, shoulders slightly hunched over as he pushed the fork idly on the table, heaviness evident on his small face. The chair next to his little brother remained empty, it had belonged to Daeron who had disappeared not so long ago. The drunkard had moved out without saying a word, leaving behind unanswered questions and concerned family members.
Aerion simply huffed at the sight, he didn’t particularly care for the sight, convinced his elder brother would show up when he ran out of money to buy wine. His gaze drifted slowly across the room and his violet eyes landed on his uncle Baelor, who stood at the far end of the table holding the head of a chair while his phone was pressed to his ear. After a moment of silence on his end he puts his phone down and slips it back in his pocket as he turns to his brother, voice awfully calm.
“Still no news of him.” His words hung heavy in the air as Baelor’s mismatched eyes studied his younger brother's distressed expression.
“For fuck’s sake.” Maekar shifted in his chair, sliding lower as he dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his temples, sighing awfully loudly. Lowering his gaze he noticed that Aerion had walked into the room, “Aerion, come sit. Your uncle and Valarr are joining us.” he said, his head gesturing towards the table.
Valarr, of course he has to be here. His cousin had sat comfortably at the table with a bored expression he seemed to carry around at family gatherings quite often. His legs were spread slightly under the table, one arm resting against the armrest and his expression was full of boredom. He doesn’t acknowledge Aerion’s presence, finding the wall he’s glancing at more interesting. Aerion isn’t too surprised, it’s not exactly like he was Valarr’s favorite cousin.
“Aerion,” Baelor looked up at Aerion, offering him a polite smile as he greeted him warmly.
“Uncle,” Aerion feigned politeness, dipping his head slightly as he stepped further into the room. “Glad you could join us tonight.” He continued smoothly, which Baelor nodded and lifted his eyebrows at.
Passing by the chairs Aerion pulled out the empty seat next to Valarr. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor in a rude sound as Aerion leaned against it, not sitting down yet. Turning his head, a smug smile made his way onto his lips.
“Cousin,” He said, almost mockingly, waiting for Valarr to respond.
Valarr turned his head, his expression remaining completely as his eyes set on Aerion, lips drawn in a thin line. Saying nothing, Aerion’s smile sharpened slightly, growing agitated at his cousin's cold shoulder.
“Aren’t you going to greet me?” He asked, although still teasing there was a creep of annoyance that was laced into his tone.
Valarr’s jaw clenched tightly, eyes still showing disinterest. It was obvious he was refusing to rise to it, deliberately refusing to engage with Aerion. Finally after a moment of his mismatched eyes boredly gazing at his cousin's smug face, he spoke. “Good to see you, Aerion.” The politeness was almost insulting.
Aerion’s smug expression shifts immediately, his eyes narrowing before he turns around with a sigh and pulls the chair further back, sitting down as he leaned further back in the chair, fingers idly picking up the fork next to his plate and spinning it between him and his cousin as the metal tapped softly against the table.
Valarr shot him a brief side glance of annoyance before looking away as the servants began to fill the room, placing the dishes carefully along the table.
The dinner sets into a familiar rhythm of forks and knives clinking softly against the porcelain, conversations remain short and quiet as servants occasionally step forward to fill the wine. Aerion doesn’t listen to any of the conversations, leaning back in the chair his arm rests loosely against the table while he plays with his food. Valarr remains entirely silent beside him, focused on finishing his meal with controlled calm.
Aerion’s eyes flick towards his cousin, watching him for a moment before a faint smile tugs on his lips painting the corner of his mouth. “I ran into Y/n at the party,” He says too casually, almost like he’s mentioning the weather, blinking excitedly as he waits for his cousin to respond.
Valarr’s hand holding the fork halts mid-motion before he drops it sharply against the plate which makes a loud metallic clank, the sound cutting through the room. Baelor glances at his son, brows knitting in concern before he quickly resumes speaking to his brother.
Valarr’s jaw clenches, the muscle flexing as he slowly turns his head to Aerion, his eyes hardening as his gaze locks onto him, cold and unmoving. Aerion almost feels himself grinning at the reaction, though he quickly turns away and pretends he has sudden interest in the food in front of him.
“What?” Valarr’s voice strains, asking tightly as his eyes continue to dart towards his cousin, intent on hearing his answer.
“Don’t worry cousin,” Aerion shrugs in response, voice warm and smooth with amusement that he tries to hide. “I didn’t embarrass you.” His eyes dart back to Valarr who still hasn’t looked away and continues to stare at him with furrowed brows.
“She’s quite…” Aerion trails off mid-sentence, leaning forward while he lets the words hang in the air. His gaze lazily travels up Valarr’s tense figure, the pause long enough for his cousin to know it’s intentional, which only irritates the seemingly perfect boy further.
“...fun.” The silver haired man’s lips part, taking in his cousin’s breathing which has grown heavier. His hands tighten slowly as they rest against the table in a tense manner while a vein pulses visibly at the side of his neck. Before Aerion can continue to irritate his cousin, Valarr suddenly stands.
The wooden chair harshly scrapes against the floor as Valarr reaches forward, grabbing the front of Aerion’s shirt as he yanks him forwards. The sudden movement causes Aerion to falter and let out a whiny gasp, his head knocks back against the chair behind him as Valarr stands over him, his large hand clenching around the material while Aerion can only blink up at him.
The rest of the table notices, their conversation dying down, yet no one intervenes yet. Aerion tries to shrug, which seems impossible as his cousin has such a tight grip on him.
“Thats a… big reaction from you.” He says lightly, squirming slightly as he tries to loosen Valarr’s grip── though it only tightens causing Aerion to sigh as he lifts his hands up feigning surrender.
“What?” He says, almost innocently. “We only shared a cigarette.” he adds on, and although it isn’t entirely true the sight of Valarr, the family’s perfect golden boy, standing there practically shaking with anger gives Aerion an unpleasant satisfaction.
It was interesting to him really, you were a way to get under Valarr’s skin. Aerion’s lips curl into a smug smile as he tilts his head up to get a good look at his cousin, meeting his mismatched eyes without an ounce of fear. Aerion’s amusement only seems to anger Valarr more, but before he can do anything Baelor’s voice cuts through,
“Valarr, that is enough.” His command is calm but remains firm, and at the sound of it Valarr only exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening one last time before he harshly releases Aerion’s now crumpled shirt. But before he completely lets go, he uncharacteristically gives Aerion’s a small shove back into his chair, but he barely reacts.
Before stepping away Valarr stills and leans slightly closer, “Stay away from her.” he says almost quietly as he begins to straighten his shirt as if nothing happened. He doesn’t say another word as he steps away, casting Aerion one more harsh glance before turning and walking out of the dimly lit dining hall.
The smug curve on Aerion’s lips falters slightly. The reaction had been satisfying a moment ago, but the odd warning had left him with a dull and strange aftertaste, his amusement being replaced with an irritation he can’t place. His thoughts drift back to you before he can stop them, finding himself thinking of you when he doesn’t want to.
──
Your apartment is quiet as the outside world settles into a serenity that is only possible past midnight. Moonlight spills faintly through the curtains, casting pale streaks of light onto your wet hair, strands clinging to your shoulders as it darkens the fabric of your shirt. A knock at your door echoes through your apartment, causing you to pause as your brows pull together in confusion. But another knock, this time firmer lets the confusion in your chest settle as you move towards the door, hands hovering over the handle in hesitation before you twist it open.
Valarr stands on the other side, simply standing there in the dim hallway light. His tall frame fills the doorway as he locks his gaze onto you with a quiet intensity you’ve never seen from him before. Neither of you speak as you take in his appearance, his hair is slightly disheveled, strands falling across his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it. The tension in his posture is noticeable, his shoulders stand rigid and his jaw remains in a tight line.
You never would have guessed Valarr was the type of person who would show up at someone’s door close to midnight.
Then, your name slips from his lips quietly, like a prayer. Hearing him say that makes you feel strange, like something sharp and sudden pressing through your chest before you even get the time to process it. You blink, trying to understand why he’s here.
“Valarr? It’s late,” you say slowly, shifting your weight across the doorframe as your eyes refuse to leave his. “What are you doing here?”
A part of him looks like he doesn’t even know the answer to that, not fully thinking it through. His shoulders drop slightly as he exhales through his nose, hand clenching where it lays near his jeans. “Yeah,” he mutters, “You’re right.
His gaze flickers down for a moment as you can see him clearly think of something to say before returning back up to you, “I’m just──” He cuts himself off. A breathy sigh leaves his mouth as he steps back slightly from the doorway.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, turning on his heel he looks like he’s about to leave, “Never mind.”
Instinctively, your hand wraps around his wrist, fingers gently curling around it before he can step away. The contact makes him stop immediately and he finds himself turning back towards you, his brows knitting together as his gaze falls to where your hand rests against his skin.
“What is it?” You ask gently.
His mismatched eyes lift again, but there’s something different in them now, something softer. Perhaps longing. He hesitates, and you can practically see the moment where he decides to pretend nothing is wrong.
“It’s nothing important.” He responds, shaking his head once as he tries to compose himself. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
Yet, his eyes drift again and this time they linger for longer. Your damp hair continues to cling to the side of your neck and the moonlight mixes in with the dim hallway light, both framing the side of your face that Valarr can’t help but notice. He swallows, and this time you can't help but notice. It’s typical of him, always trying to be perfect and composed, even if something bothers him deeply.
Continuing to lean on the doorframe you cross your arms over your chest, feeling the dampness of your shirt you loosely tilt your head up to him,
“You can stop pretending.” You say, making his eyes flick up instantly. “You wouldn’t be here right now if it was nothing.”
The words uttered land quietly between you, to which you continue to add more, “You can tell me anything, Valarr.”
He only inhales sharply to that, breath pulling through his chest like something has caught him off guard. It’s not exactly shock, but definitely something close to it. For a moment it looks like he might say it, but his gaze shifts past you as his gaze lingers on the empty apartment behind you. The moment passes, and his jaw tightens.
“Aerion said he saw you at Lyonel’s party.”
You can’t help but blink. “Aerion?” Your head tilts in a questioning manner, “Your cousin Aerion?”
Valarr hums and nods once, but the movement looks fairly reluctant. He shakes his head right after, regret painted on his face as if he wished he never brought it up.
“It’s just──” He pauses, stopping himself. “It doesn’t matter.”
You sigh softly and call out his name which makes him look at you again. “Tell me.” You urge, to which he hesitates before speaking, giving into your request.
“He said you both shared a cigarette.”
“Shared?” Your brows furrow immediately, staring at him for a second. You certainly didn’t share with him, but rather stole from him. You wonder why Aerion would lie about something like that, especially after he had asked you not to tell anyone about his act of “kindness”.
“We didn’t share,” You clarify slowly, “He gave me one.”
Valarr lets out a huff, which you might have mistaken for a laugh if it weren’t for him clicking his tongue right after. He doesn’t respond yet, instead his gaze drops briefly to your lips, the movement is subtle but you manage to catch it. He notices your gaze and quickly drags his eyes back up to you as he straightens his posture.
“You should stay away from him.” He says quietly.
That makes you pause, huffing as you try to study him more carefully. Taking in his tight jaw, the irritation flickering behind his eyes and the way his shoulders seem rigid like he’s trying to keep himself contained, and you hesitantly take a step toward him, slightly closing the distance. You can’t help but think, was he── jealous? The idea flickered across your mind as you continue to study his expression, and it looks like he’s almost offended.
“Why?” You tilt your head slightly, and the question clearly irritates him.
He shifts his weight awkwardly, his stiff expression remaining, like the mere idea of his cousin seeing you at the party has deeply unsettled him far more than he could’ve expected. One of his feet drags slightly against the floor as if he suddenly doesn’t know where to stand.
“He can be dangerous.” He says, as if trying to convince you. “It would be better if you stayed away from him.”
“I can choose for myself.” You say, which makes him exhale sharply through his nose and for a split-second his eyes lock with yours again. Maybe you only asked that to push further, to see what he does next, and he certainly gives you a reaction as his eyes widen.
There’s a flash of something behind his eyes this time, and you’re not entirely sure what it is. Jealousy? Anger? Perhaps both. He straightens, finally forcing his posture back into something more contained and composed. His tall frame looms over you in the hallway as he lets out a slow breath,
“Right,” He says, even as he is visibly frustrated he holds himself back, attempting to soften his gaze which now seems more tired than anything as he continues, “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
You watch him for a moment before answering softly, “You didn’t.” The words settle between you two.
He continues to stand in the hallway, close enough that you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. The hallway casts a dim light on the outline of his shoulders and you can see them relax as his gaze lifts again, drifting across your face towards your damp hair, the faint shine of the water still lingering on your skin.
You realize this is all you're going to get from him tonight. Whatever brought him here, whether it was jealous or pure concern, the restless feelings have already begun to disappear again, folding neatly back behind the careful composure he always hides behind. Even now, standing so close to him you still feel like there’s something separating the two of you.
You can feel it in the way he always holds himself slightly back, like he’s always protecting something. Your bodies are only a breath apart, but you’ve never felt further away from him.
Valarr’s eyes linger on you a bit longer as he looks down at you, his jaw clenches again slightly, like he’s already made his decision.
“Goodnight, Y/n.” The words sound softer than they usually do coming from him, but you try not to get too caught up on it. You only look down from his piercing gaze and nod,
“Goodnight.”
He steps back after hearing that, breaking the fragile stillness that had formed between the two of you. The hallway light falls across him fully now, covering his broad shoulders as he faces the corridor, yet he looks back. There’s something restrained in them, something he clearly isn’t willing to say out loud, then he looks away and walks down the hallway until his figure disappears into the quiet of the night. You’re left in the hallway, standing next to the doorframe as silence slowly settles back into your apartment complex.
──
The next morning is much quieter than you expected, the city feels softer as you stand in front of a cafe, sunlight spilling across the pavement while you wait for Keira outside. Checking your phone once more, you slip it back into your pocket as you sigh, she’s late.
A cigarette rests between your fingers and the smoke curls upwards lazily as you bring it to your lips. Inhaling slowly you don’t take much notice of the people who pass by, but your gaze catches one particular person who crosses the street in confident strides.
Moving like he’s in no rush, Aerion Targaryen approaches you with his hands tucked casually into his black leather jackets pockets. At the sight of him, you feel your stomach sink and you immediately look away, pretending like you hadn’t seen him again. Taking in another slow drag, you attempt to ignore the sound of footsteps approaching you.
Before you can even look up, you feel the quiet shift in space as he steps too close. Lifting your gaze, he stands in front of you, closer than he needs to be. He tilts his head as he looks at you, the corners of his mouth curling into the same irritating smile you remember from the party. There’s something amused in his eyes as they settle on your face, like he had been expecting this moment.
“Smoking from the pack you stole, hm?” His voice is slow, full of smugness. You only stare back blankly before you roll your eyes at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To that, for a split second his smug smile halts, faltering you see his eyes drop. Though, it’s not to the cigarette, but rather your lips that hold it. His grin returns, and this time it’s deliberate.
“Why are you here?” You question him, narrowing your eyes at his pale violet ones that still don’t meet your gaze.
“You think you can just take something,” He begins, letting out a quiet breath from his nose like the question amuses him. “And not return the favor?”
You grow even more confused, “What are you──”
Before you can finish the sentence, his pale hand moves. His long and slender fingers slide forward and reach for the cigarette still resting between your lips. His action is smooth and unhurried, close enough that you feel a brief brush of his knuckles near your chin which sends a flicker of surprise through you, and you sharply breathe in as you still.
He takes the cigarette from your mouth, and your lips part as he pulls it away. Aerion doesn’t break eye contact with you, lifting the cigarette to his mouth he settles it between his lips as his gaze stays fixed on yours. He inhales, the tip faintly glowing orange before he pulls it away again and exhales the smoke directly toward your face.
What the hell?
You scrunch your face instinctively before you can utter any words of confusion, turning your head slightly as you wave your hand around in the air. Aerion huffs in amusement, watching for reaction for a moment as you quietly curse under your breath. His eyes trace over your expression like he’s savouring it for later, his eyes linger in entertainment.
After that, he steps back without offering the cigarette back to you. Breaking the strange closeness between the two of you he smiles slightly once again.
“See you soon,” He says lightly, the words sound like a promise, but it feels more like a threat to you.
Before you can come up with a reply he’s gone, slipping away into the flow of pedestrians moving down the street. You stand there completely annoyed and very confused. However, for some reason you feel very aware of the fact that you’re certain this won’t be the last time you'll see him.
divider by: @/cafekitsune
divider by: @/cursed-carmine
the long wait is finally over, sorry this took so long LOL, i'm still adding to the taglist so let me know if you want to be added. I really appreciate the support from everybody so every comment is soo appreciated <3 which team is everyone on? (me personally team daeron and i think my favouritism is showing in this chapter arghh)
i hope u guys enjoy this chapter as much as i loved writing it!
Taglist: @strawberrymangoes @kittyblahhh3000 @owpowjinxlife @sophiaboww @aurora0-0-0 @sinarainbows @dontfuckwithmenow @corpsebride25 @holypartyfantoad @twobluejeans @ladyhesperus @bitchyfestivalpirate @lunampacheco @witchygirl01 @ejmrc @bl00dyfawn
As a current law student I am LOVING this modern AKOTSK fic so much ;;-;;
Your writing is AMAZING!
oh my god im so glad!!! lthe aw student y/n and valarr pipeline is so perfect to me i hope i'm not making any law school inaccuracies LOLL, and thank u for ur kindness <3
