valarr targaryen II the rejection of a prince is fraught with danger
"What have you done, Valarr?"
"Only what I should have done years ago. You are mine... you always have been. I should never have let you run wild in a misguided attempt at freedom. Your place is by my side."
"What? So you told the world that we were getting married? Valarr! We aren't even dating."
Valarr paused, looking at her in confusion. "Of course we are. Don't be silly."
She stilled, looking at the prince with wide eyes. "Valarr, we have never dated. What are you talking about?"
He inched closer towards her as if approaching a spooked deer. "You told me years ago, at the lake, that you were mine – that I was your person and you were mine."
Valarr said those words with such sincerity that her heart hurt, realising that it had all been a great misunderstanding. They had been best friends for 20 years, well, from birth, really. They had grown up together, spent birthdays, Christmases, and holidays together, but to her, best friends were all they had ever been. She supposed that Valarr had a different idea of their relationship, but for how long, she didn't know.
"Oh, Valarr, you are my person, bu–but not in that way. You will always be my best friend, but I– I don't like you in that way. I don't want to become a princess, you know this! I want to get an internship, a career – not to be stuck dealing with royal politics!"
The prince moved quickly, crowding into her personal space. He shook his head rapidly back and forth, as if it would stop her words from reaching him. They had always been together; she had attended public events with him for years, sitting politely by his side as they talked to foreign dignitaries, letting the public see them together. To him, it meant she was accepting her place by his side.
"No, no! You do! You and I are meant to be together!"
At his frantic words, she tried to take a step back, only to hit the wall behind her. It was then that panic began to hit her, watching as Valarr followed her body, now pressing himself up against her.
"Valarr, stop it! You are scaring me!"
"You are mine, and you always have been. Don't you understand?" He murmured lowly, now far too close to be called proper. "My family love you... Matarys calls you his big sister. Father likes you too, you know this. He's happy for us, darling. And you'll learn... you're smart. You've always done so well at the events; it won't be much different. I promise."
Valarr gently stroked his fingers over her cheek, watching as a single tear escaped her eye. Immediately, he leant forward, his kiss intercepting the tear. Before she could even comprehend his action, his mouth moved over a touch, and his lips were on hers. They were firm and plush, insistently moving against hers. He grew annoyed as she stood frozen, pinching firmly at her hip. The sharp pain caused her to gasp and Valarr grinned, letting his tongue invade her mouth. She could only rest against the wall helplessly, letting her best friend take what he wanted.
When Valarr pulled away, he grinned down at her. His fingers moved from her waist to play with the strands of hair framing her face, letting out a pleased hum when she didn't flinch against his touch.
He began to drag her towards the door. "Good. Come on, we must go see my father. He has been keen to talk about the wedding."
"Valarr, please. Let's not do this!"
He paused, turning around to face her again. The expression on his face was one she had never seen before – cold, calculating, still.
"You are mine. Even if you don't understand it today, you will one day. I have waited 20 years... a few more weeks won't hurt. But you will come around," he told her, giving her no wiggle room to argue. "And you'll realise that those silly dreams you have? They'll mean nothing. Only the life we'll have together will matter to you - the family we will have."
Barely processing his words, she could only let the prince tug her behind him, his firm grip on her hand indicative of the dangerous situation she was now in. In what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring tone, Valarr attempted to soothe her once more.
"It's all going to be ok, darling. We have each other."
An angst heavy modern!Valarr fic where you break up with him because the high society life makes you want to jump off a bridge, half his family hates you and if you have to attend another fuckass polo game where Aerion „accidentally“ messes with you in any kind of way, you’re going to punch his teeth in and that really wouldn’t serve you kindly. You love him so much, but some differences just can’t be overcome.
Valarr is in shambles and it’s gotten so bad that everyone (yes really ALL of them) are worried and one family member after another BEGS you to take that literal embodiment of Victorian melancholy back. He feels like half a person without you and has never spoken more to his family about you. They truly are astonished at the many ways he’s found to describe the kindness and color of your eyes, how melodic yet genuine your laugh is, how bright and witty you are and how he’s counted every single ridge of your callouses that protect your soft soft hands. Astonishing, yes really. Yet most of them still want to vomit at the thought of him attending family dinner and hearing all of that stuff again. Pls take him back and make him stfu.
idk just a thought. I’ve got some fics in the works and I WILL be writing a part 2 to that dunk fic promise 🤞 I’ll start next week when I have my urgent assignments done.
Morning was normally you waking up alone, the room in that Goldilocks zone of not too warm and not too cool, blankets tangled around you from the restless night of dreams and fears resurfacing and dancing across your mind. Morning was never…this.
It was never waking up beside someone else, waking up in someone’s arms with their head nuzzled into your neck, pressing sloppy kisses to your skin, hickeys forming because they nip at your skin. It was never remaining beside someone, held tight, feeling safe and loved and warm. It was never Valarr Targaryen and his sleep-glazed wolf’s eyes and mussed dark hair with a single silver streak, strands tangled together through the dark.
It was never anyone’s voice murmuring good morning, love. It was never anyone doing anything remotely loving, just you. Alone.
You hadn’t realized how empty mornings really were for you until now, until this moment, until this morning waking in the warm circle of someone else’s arms.
“Morning, love,” whispers Valarr again as you shift in his arms, wriggling to face him, your chest now pressed against his, his one hand coming up to twine in your hair, curling the strands around his fingers while he smiles at you, a lazy sleep-hazed smile.
“Morning. Can you get off of me?” you ask him and his face falls just slightly, his arms tightening around you almost imperceptibly at your words. “I kind of need to get ready for class. It’s Monday,” you add, noting the way he tugs you closer to his body, unrelenting in his grip.
“Oh,” he whispers and then his grip loosens and you smile at him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips before rolling out of bed, feet landing on the hardwood floor. You stand, shuffling out of the bedroom, opening the door and stepping out into the library you and Dunk built outside of your attic room to house the entrance—a way to make it feel more like a normal house floor.
You pull the hatch of the attic, the staircase descending and the sounds of morning drifting up to you. “TANSY!” you call out, the yell accompanied by a crash and bang, a muffled curse and then your best friend’s head poking out of her bedroom door, looking up at you, a mascara wand held aloft like a knife.
“What?!” she snaps, irritation layering her tone, hiding the fear that lingered there. “What do you need?” she asks, her voice softer this time as her eyes meet yours.
“Are you done in the bathroom? I wanna have a shower.” She rolls her eyes at you and gestures with her mascara wand at you, the gesture violent and dramatic—just like her.
“Duh,” she answers and then slams her bedroom door shut again while you stand and step back into your room, a shock still running through your body when you see Valarr laying in your bed, covers only half-up, part of his bare chest exposed, arms behind his head as he watches you cross the room to your closet.
“Mornings are loud here,” he says, voice raspy with sleep yet at the same time conversational.
“Mornings should be loud, only you and your funeral house are quiet,” you tell him as you pull open the white particle board closet door, snagging your RKU hoodie and a pair of cargo pants, closing the door and turning to your dresser. “Can you stop watching me?”
“Why would I do that?” he asks you, rising from the bed, walking towards you, steps slow and languid, full of a grace that should not exist so early in the morning. “You’re my favourite thing in the world to look at.”
“I am not a thing,” you counter, tone angry and irritated as you slip past him, opening a dresser drawer choosing a bra and underwear, adding them to the stack of clothes. “And it’s weird to pick my clothes with you watching me. It’s so…strange.” His hands come to rest on your arms, rubbing up and down in a comforting movement.
“Why? You stayed the night with me before,” he says, stepping closer to you, his body almost flush with yours, your clothes a barrier between you two.
“That was at your place and this is mine. This is the place I’ve lived for like three years, it’s strange,” you say and his eyes darken just slightly, the look in his eyes sending that same feeling of wrongness through you, the same way his little murmurs in the night do. The same way everything with him does, that feeling that something is amiss.
The feeling you ignore, push past. Shove aside.
“So, your place is more important than mine?” he asks you and you understand—or think you do—the look in his eyes now. He’s angry that you’ve undermined the importance of his home to him, that you’ve made your place seem more, just more.
“No, but yes,” you tell him and the dark expression lifts, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
“What?”
“Your house is more important to you and my house is more important to me. I mean…Dunk and I fucking builtthis room and I’ve been the only person to sleep in here. I’ve literally never had anyone sleep over before so…you know. This is…this is my place so it’s a little strange to wake up to someone in my place.” He smiles then at you, a proud smile, a greedy smile, a desirous smile. The kind of smile that threatens to make you late for your morning class—maybe miss it entirely.
“I’m the only one who’s stayed here before?” he asks you, voice low and slightly husky, body pressing closer, pressing your clothes flat against you.
“You’re getting weird,” you sing-song, stepping back, his arms falling to the sides, letting go of you as you sidestep around him, heading towards the door, to the hatch and the bathroom you share with Tanselle on the floor just below you.
“Weird? How am I being weird?” he calls after you, his footsteps pounding behind you as he jogs to catch up, stepping up beside you and following you down the stairs to the bathroom. “How am I being weird, love?” You stop just outside the bathroom door and turn to him, one eyebrow raised, your hand resting on the knob.
“Why are you following me?” you ask him and you watch his smile grow and shift, mismatched eyes gleaming with a predator’s light.
“Do you really think I’m letting you shower alone?” he asks and you roll your eyes at him, twisting the knob and stepping in, letting him follow you in and close the door behind him, his hands finding your body as soon as the lock clicks into place, your clothes set on the counter.
“You’re impossibly horny,” you say as he pulls you to him by your oversize shirt, pressing his lips to yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, tongue flicking out against yours, claiming it, his lips swallowing the gasp that leaves your lips as he lets his hands drift to your ass, palming it through your sleep shorts.
“Only for you,” he whispers, pulling back and smacking your ass just slightly causing you to let out a scandalized gasp, your cheeks flushing while he lets out a small laugh, his hands drifting over your body, over your curves before settling on the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, tossing it to the side of the room as he drops to his knees before you, his mouth settling on your left breast, his tongue flicking against your nipple causing you to arch and gasp in response, the heat in your body growing and coiling and drifting lower and lower.
“I need. To. Get ready for. The. Day,” you breathe out, voice husky as he looks up at you, his eyes pupil-blown, mouth hovering just over your skin.
“This isn’t getting ready?” he asks you, his voice low, playing with you, toying and so you reach your hand down, hooking it in his collar, pulling him up to you just to crash your lips against his. You’re in control this time, pushing him back to the bathroom wall as you bite his bottom lip in return, a bite for the one he gave you, your hands rising, one resting on the side of his neck and the other twining in his hair before you pull back abruptly, a line of saliva still connecting the two of you as you reach a hand up, wiping at your lip as you step to the shower.
“No,” you answer, slipping out of the rest of your clothes until you’re standing completely naked in the shower, completely exposed for his gaze which heats as it traces the curves of your body. “But you can help me get ready.”
And he needs no more encouragement than that, stripping and stepping in with you, his cock already hard as he closes the shower door, you flipping the dial on, water streaming down around you, the temperature hot, steam rising around you while he pushes you against the walls, the porcelain tiles digging into your back, water needling your skin while his mouth finds your neck, his hands finding the spot of warmth between your legs, the touch both a surprise and not, causing you to buck your hips against his hand while he toys with your clit at the same time that one finger slides inside, causing you to gasp, your head falling onto his shoulder, his mouth trailing a line of hickeys down the column of your throat.
“You’re. Toying with. Me,” you grit out, one hand flying to your mouth, stifling the noises that threaten to escape when he slides a second finger inside you, the extremities pumping in and out, the feeling good but not good enough.
“Maybe,” he whispers, lifting his head from your neck, his gaze meeting yours. “Just say the words and I’ll stop.”
“What? Ah, words?” you ask, voice hitching as his fingers hit that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars, conscious thought difficult.
“The ones you said the first time,” he answers and you find it extremely unfair that he can talk in full sentences, that he’s capable of thinking coherently right now as the water falls around you, steam thickening the air, bodies slick, everything ready.
“Fuck me,” you breathe and he doesn’t hesitate, removing his hand and forcing himself inside of you, the stretch exquisite as he pushes in at once, sheathing inside of you, moving in and out with a rhythm torturous and ecstatic at the same time, his hands gripping your waist, your hips, fingers curling in hard enough to leave marks behind, his mouth moving against yours, the sounds the two of you make, swallowed between the two of you.
“God. You’re so—so perfect. Love,” he groans, his thrusts sloppier as the two of you are close, so close and he looks at you with desire-filled eyes, mismatched gaze hazy and dark but filled with a question.
“I’m on. The. Pill. We’re fine,” you grit out and he nods, thrusting one last time and hitting that spot inside of you hard enough that you come around him while he comes inside of you, the feeling that of hotness inside of you while he groans, his head falling against your shoulder while he pulls out, hands still gripping you tightly.
“What now?” he asks you and you shake your head at him, chest still heaving with the exertion of the activity just finished.
“Now we get ready,” you tell him, the water still falling around you and all he does is smile, turning you around, your back to his front while he asks you which shampoo is yours, finding it amid Tanselle’s many products, his hands coming up, fingers massaging it into your scalp and the domesticity of the act, the gentleness makes you feel more than sex ever could. Because this is the effort.
Fuck, you think as he murmurs sweet nothings like “my love”, “my precious” to you, it’s going way too fast and you don’t really care. You’re so screwed.
***
“The prodigal friend returns from her interlude in the shower!” Tanselle cries when you step out into the kitchen, your hand in Valarr’s, the two of you dressed, ready for the day. You roll your eyes at Tansy, heart-warming at the familiar sight of morning in Central Perk—as you four have dubbed your house.
Dunk’s at the stove, flipping pancakes while Raymun hovers over the coffee machine, Tansy setting the table, an additional place already set up for Valarr. Dunk turns from the stove to glance at you and your hand that is interlaced with Valarr’s, his grip tightening on you.
“Nice to see in daylight, Mr. Targaryen,” Dunk says, attention drifting back to the task at hand, to the breakfast he’s responsible for like always—since the first year living together when you and Tansy found that he was skilled in the kitchen, that all his years of watching Food Network had paid off.
“Call me Chandler,” Valarr says, his tone smooth and neat, even and calm, voice conversational, light but with an undertone of steel. You know he just wants to be seen for himself, not his name. You see him and you want for your friends to too. Because they’re your family. The one you chose.
“That’s not what you want her to call you,” Tansy says, her tone high-pitched, innocent while her eyes glimmer with mischief and delight as she watches your face darken with a blush that’s impossible to hide. “I mean, you were quitevocal last night. And this morning.”
“You shut your mouth, child!” you snap, letting go of Valarr’s hand and stepping into the fray of the kitchen, grabbing the plate of pancakes from the counter by the stove as Dunk moves the pan off the burner. You skirt around Raymun as he pulls the carafe of coffee from the machine, setting the plate on the chipped round wooden table.
“Make me!” Tanselle cries, her face twisted in an expression of mock rage and you respond in kind by sticking your tongue out at her while you dart back to the fridge, snagging the maple syrup, Cool Whip and jam, stacking them together and stepping back to the table, falling into your seat dramatically, Valarr sitting down cautiously beside you. A caution that has you reaching your hand out to him, taking his and squeezing it for reassurance. He glances at you then, his eyes questioning but lips curving in a smile at your touch.
“Don’t forget,” Dunk says as he sits down finally, the pan in a sink full of hot water, his apron hung-up because yes he is the type to wear a frilly apron while he cooks—simply because it works best, “it’s Monday movie night tonight.”
“Whose turn to pick is it?” Raymun asks as he snags the plate of pancakes, taking three before passing it to Tanselle.
“Dunk’s,” Tansy answers, placing two on her plate and passing it over to Valarr before snagging the Cool Whip from the centre before Raymun has a chance to.
“You know what that means,” you say, tone rising and lilting as your gaze settles on Dunk, on your closest friend, your brother for all intents and purposes—blood runs thicker than water but both feel the same when your eyes are closed.
“It means…” Raymun announces, his tone growing loud and performative. Dramatic. Valarr passes you the plate and you set two on your plate, handing it over to Dunk who rolls his eyes when Tansy joins in crying, “drumroll please!”
“We see,” you respond, nodding once with Raymun and Tansy, the three of you all drawing in a breath and then crying, “A Knight’s Tale!” Valarr looks at you, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed, pressing back a smile as he watches you, sees you in your element—your home.
“See, Chandler,” Raymun starts, a smile on his face as he looks between you and Valarr, the smile that of an annoying brother, noting something he’ll tease you about later while Tansy passes the whipped cream to you and Dunk hands you the jam without you even having to ask. “Every Monday, one of us picks a movie and we all watch it. We work it into our schedules and Dunk here,” Raymun slaps him on the back, his grin growing wider as Dunk coughs, the cough sounding more like a muffled curse than anything, “only ever chooses between like two movies.”
“A Knight’s Tale,” Tansy says, “or Brokeback Mountain. We think he just has a crush on the late Heath Ledger and, I mean, we’re not complaining.”
“What time did we decide on this week?” you ask, squeezing Valarr’s hand one last time before letting go and grabbing your fork.
“10:00,” Dunk answers, his voice soft, gaze darting between you and Val, noting the way your posture drifts towards his and the way his eyes focus on you and you alone, the gaze soft and warm and a million other things. “You’re happy,” he says to you and you look up from your plate, meeting his gaze, noticing the soft smile and a bloom of warmth fills your chest.
It was his reaction you were worried about. Because he knows you, all of you. He knows your past and your fears and if anything was wrong, you believed he would see it.
“He makes you happy,” he continues and you nod, watching as his posture relaxes and he nods at Val. “Welcome to Central Perk.”
***
Valarr didn’t like the morning, the closeness and ease of your life with your friends—the life he wasn’t a part of. He knows you like no one else did. He knows you better than those idiots ever would. He’s more important to them. He didn’t like how you were around them, how you talked more to them than him.
He thought you understood. He thought you knew. Knew that it was the two of you and the two of you alone against the world. Not them, never them. He thought you understood, but apparently being near them meant you needed a reminder.
It was why he was the one who offered to grab your bag and his before the two of you went off to the Red Keep campus, letting you remain with your friends, his smile that of convincing you he was giving time with them without him, but in reality he had a call to make, an order to place. A cameraman to place just outside your house with a telephoto lens for the up-close shot of the two of you, his hand on you, the image of a relationship.
He needed the world to know that you were his and for you to remember that it was you and him against the world. He needed you to have that reminder, that knowledge.
He needed you to know what you had understood.
What your friends made you forget.
“Got them,” he calls out as he descends the stairs, landing in the hallway between the kitchen and living room. He sees you then, waiting by the door, your coat done up and a beanie settled on your head, contrasting yet matching with your hair, the look so effortless that he feels weak for just a moment as he remembers.
Remembers why he fell for you in the first place three years ago.
It was three weeks into the first semester. He was walking alone down the cobbled paths, his steps hurried, bag over his shoulder and a paper cup of coffee searing his hand, formulas running through his head, things he would have to tell his father, ideas. He was so in his head that he hadn’t noticed you, not until he literally bumped into you. You hadn’t remembered in the coffee shop, which had hurt, but wasn’t unexpected. He remembered that your eyes were shadowed, darkened, the apologetic smile you gave him broken and sad, but there was something in your eyes, those beautiful eyes that drew him in.
“I’m so sorry,” he’d said to you and that was when you smiled at him, eyes on him but hazy, focus elsewhere looking through him. You were the first person to look through him, not at him or to him. You looked at him like he was nothing and that made you everything.
“Don’t be. Happens all the time. You get in your head and can’t see outside of it. No one got hurt, don’t stress,”you’d said and nodded at him, shoving your hands in your pockets, ducking your head and walking off. To you, that had been a single moment, one of many, unremarkable.
But to Valarr? It was the first time in his life that he had someone who saw a person not a name or a fortune or a future. And he wanted to know why. That’s how it started: why didn’t you know him? Why did you look through him? And then it became that he wanted you by his side because you would always see him not a fortune or a name or a future or potential. But him, the person. Him, entire.
And he promised to do the same for you.
And he has. Always will.
“Thank god!” you reply, stepping forwards, taking the bag from his outstretched hand and slinging it over your shoulder. “I was about to go see if you were alright. You took forever.”
“Yeah, I called us a car,” he tells you, amused by the way your face knits together in horror while you toss him his jacket, your other hand straying to the door.
“You know I have a car, right?” you ask him and he knows, of course he knows, but that’s not the point. The point is that the car is the first domino to be knocked down in establishing you and him not you and your friends. He needs to have that proof of you and him everywhere and that won’t happen if the two of you take your car to the campus.
“I do now,” he says, voice carefully neutral, expression playing at the emotion of confusion and embarrassment, ones that will make it seem like he didn’t know. Couldn’t possibly know because this is new.
For you.
That was why when he left to grab your things, your friends had cornered you, Raymun complaining that you were rubbing his single nose in it—despite his fwb with Red—Tansy, worried and Dunk, quiet.
“It’s way too fast,” Tansy had said, shaking her head, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. “I mean, yeah he’s hot but this is what? Two dates? And he’s staying here while you paint his room. It’s weird.”
You’d had no answer for her, nothing to tell her to wipe those worries from her mind because you had the same. You did worry it was too fast, that you were being too much and that he was just going along with it. You did worry about him staying over, of the way he sometimes was, those moments when you knew something was wrong but also not because your feelings can’t be trusted—not after Brendan.
“You like him,” Dunk had said, eyes solemn as he nodded at what he saw on your face, in your interactions. “It’s like that poem you love. Time isn’t a measure of love—you might never feel it in a relationship of years but feel it in an instant with someone new. As long as you’re happy, Monica-slash-Rachel.” That’s how you knew he meant it, him calling you by the nickname, by the idea the two of you had constructed. Him using that instead of your name meant more because it was the creation the two of you had made to create a community—and he was welcoming Valarr into it.
“The car you called is definitely nicer than mine,” you say now, shaking your head and pulling open the door, “so it’s cool. Come on, Val.” And you reach for him, tugging him after you out the door, away from your friends, your family. The life you’ve welcomed him in.
“Fancier,” he corrects. “The car I’ve called is fancier, but I have feeling yours is nicer. It probably has stickers and a style of its own.” You glance over your shoulder at him with a smile, one that only grows when you look at him, the way his grey coat looks pristine and perfectly straight lines, everything perfect—except his eyes. God, you love his eyes, those perfectly imperfect, mismatched eyes.
“You know, for only two dates, you know me pretty well,” you tell him and he smiles a small smile, his lips curving up just slightly as he closes the distance between you two, one arm snaking around your waist, the other brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze focused solely on you, capturing your gaze with his, unrelenting as the sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of your house.
You never noticed the camera flash.
Not that it would have mattered if you did.
***
I don’t like her friends; the life she’s built with them. Not because of her, no never her. She’s perfect. I don’t like them, that there’s no room for me. I need her to notice; I need to break them apart.
I need her to choose me over them, but those bonds have been cemented. I’m new as she reminded me this morning, reminded me after they told her. I need to break them apart.
I need her to know the truth—that I am the only one for her. The only one who knows her, understands her.
This article should be a start.
It will be.
I always get my way after all.
—V.T.
“Did you see this?” he hears you call, hears your footsteps in the hallway, your head poking around the doorway of his office as he tucks the black notebook back in its home, its proper place.
“See what, love?” he asks, his mind already spinning, the headline emblazoned on his mind, the image of the two of you lovestruck and happy together something he wants to see forever, the headline TARGARYEN HEIR SEEN WITH MYSTERY GIRL: AFTER THREE YEARS OF SINGLEHOOD, VALARR TARGARYEN APPEARS TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP, SO…WHO IS SHE? Flashing before his eyes as you step into the room, expression shocked and slightly stricken.
But that can’t be. This is good. This is the first sign of the two of you, of your family, of the future you’re building together.
“The world hates me,” you whisper and then he knows what you’re talking about, the comments on the news article, the haters and the freaks. The people obsessed with him.
“The world doesn’t matter,” he says, tone fierce as he crosses the room to you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight to him, your head resting on his chest, arms around him. “All that matters is us. And don’t we have a movie to go watch, love?”
He can play the game.
He will play the game and win—because you’re the prize.
You’re everything.
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Dear, if you are taking requests… i desperately need modern Valarr x reader x Aerion, where boyfriends are boyfriends too 😉Thank you!!!
Mind the Gap
✧:·. ۪۪۫۫ ༄ modern!aerion x f reader x valarr
rating: sfw
cw: just fluff, banter, strong language, suggestive flirting, kissing, polyamory, the bfs are bfs
wc: 2.2k
a/n: not written as targcest (no mention of relation) but up to reader discretion ig. anyone want an nsfw part 2?? apologies for how late this is my life has been busyyy
Your foot tapped impatiently against the wheels of your chair as you stared down the minute hand on the clock across from your desk. Just a few more moments, you thought.
Although on any given day you eagerly awaited the end of your shift, today was especially exciting because it was one of the first truly warm and sunny evenings of spring. And a sunny evening in London was too good an opportunity to waste. After a seemingly never-ending winter of dreary grey skies, you intended to soak up all the sunshine you could.
Of course you wouldn’t be alone.
You didn’t even need to send them a text to organize the meetup. They knew the plan.
Any sunny day was cause to spend the evening celebrating at The Dragon’s Stone, your favorite pub. No exceptions.
You packed up your things and made your way inside the densely packed elevator. Peeking through the glass window, you spotted a familiar figure standing poised and dignified. Ever the gentleman, Valarr waited outside your office building’s main entrance for you.
He looked like something straight out of a Ralph Lauren collection, sporting a double breasted jacket with matching pinstriped trousers. As you pushed your way through the revolving doors you couldn’t fail to notice how some of your coworkers ahead of you lingered their gaze in his direction.
Not surprising.
Valarr was everything refined and groomed, the picture of grace as he sauntered through the streets of Canary Wharf. It was as if his very presence enhanced the surroundings.
You could guess the thought no doubt running through their minds: how did you pull such a catch?
You smiled inwardly.
Oh they only knew the half of it.
“Give us a good look then darling.” Valarr reached out for your hand and held it above your head, prompting you to perform a small twirl for him. You fought the blood that rushed to your cheeks, feeling equal parts sheepish and smitten. He had a way of always making you feel like a princess.
You obeyed of course, and when you completed your spin and faced him head on again, he used his interlaced fingers to pull your body forward and meet you midway for a light kiss. It was sweet and juvenile, but he didn’t pull away directly afterwards. Instead, he stayed pressed against you a moment longer, his bottom lip brushing your cheek as he whispered, “I think your boss knows better than to ask you to work overtime now.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot you know that,” but you welcomed his arm as it wrapped around your lower back and maneuvered you beside his hip. Side by side, you began your walk through the golden light of the day, sharing details of your mundane days and laughing over alleged workplace gossip.
The easy conversation and casual intimacy made quick work of the journey, and before you knew it your feet delivered you to the front steps of The Dragon’s Stone. Only, the wooden tables lined out front were filling up quickly. It seems you weren’t the only ones with such a great idea.
“Save us a spot will you? I’ll be right back.” Valarr spoke gently, before adorning your temple with another soft kiss. At his instruction, you turned towards the beer garden in search of empty space along the benches.
After confirming with other customers that the empty spot were not reserved for anyone, you sat down on the plank of wood and laid your jacket to the side.
A few minutes later Valarr returned with the drinks. He held three pints between his two hands, gripping the glasses with outstretched fingers. He carefully made his way over to you, his brows twisting in an effort to not accidentally drop a glass. You smiled at the creases that formed on his forehead, finding his concentration endearing.
Even though you had a career of your own and a decent salary to match, you couldn’t remember the last time you paid for any food or drinks when you went out with Valarr. He simply wouldn’t allow it. He lived to serve those close to his heart.
He set the glasses on the table with a gentle thud and took his seat opposite you.
“I thought he’d be here already. I know he didn’t have any work today.” Valarr huffed, his voice dripped with disappointment.
“Well we won’t have to wait long,” you answered, a smile making it’s way to your lips as you eyed the spiky head of silver hair approaching your position.
Before Valarr had a chance to shift in his seat and follow your field of vision, two lanky arms slithered around his front and pinned him to his spot. Aerion rested his elbows on Valarr’s shoulders as he addressed the both of you, “Miss me?”
Valarr didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of telling him he did in fact miss him already, and just groaned at his arrogance.
“You’re lucky you came in the nick of time. We would’ve finished ours by now,” you countered trying to appear nonplussed about his arrival.
He gave you his shit-eating grin, “Bollocks. You would’ve waited until it was as warm as piss I tell you.”
That’s all it took to break your mask. You couldn’t help but laugh at his self-assuredness. And well-he was correct.
Aerion dragged his hands back up Valarr’s chest and gave his shoulders a squeeze before making his way to the bench on the other side. He wore a cropped shirt and low-waisted black jeans, revealing a fair part of his abdomen-and underwear. Life as an entrepreneur meant that he needed never succumb to the formality of boring office wear. You picked up your jacket- which had been instrumental as a reservation tactic-and wrapped it around your waist to make space for him.
As he settled in you handed him his pint, and the three of you toasted together, “CHEERS.”
After a few sips, Aerion fixated on Valarr once again, “Gods you look stiff you know that.”
Valarr just huffed out of his nose, his eyes half lidded. He had grown accustomed to Aerion’s signature style of flirting, which was of course: hurling out insulting jests.
You hummed in agreement with Aerion, “Too right. You’d best take some of that off.”
Valarr looked across the table with one eyebrow cocked. The people seated opposite him were acting like anxious puppies, all to see him start stripping. If he squinted he could almost imagine their tails wagging.
He took another swig of his drink and then leisurely took his suit jacket off, gently folding it and laying it across his lap.
Aerion reached across the table and grabbed the end of Valarr’s red tie in one swift motion, pulling Valarr flush against the table, “Hmm still look like a proper git to me.” Valarr narrowed his eyes in annoyance but Aerion stayed strong, boring into his eyes in contest.
Seeing as there was no way around it, Valarr used his fingers to elegantly undo the cufflinks near his wrist, and pushed the fabric of his dress shirt up to his elbows. On both arms.
Feeling satisfied with the display of skin, Aerion played with the tie like a long piece of ribbon in the hands of a child and finally released it, letting it flop atop the table.
“Not quite,” you added, and pointed to his collar.
Valarr scoffed but obliged. His ring-adorned fingers crept their way inside the Windsor Knot at the center of his collar. You could make out the veins on his exposed forearms now as he tugged on the fabric and loosened the constraint. To top it all off, he made quick work of unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, deciding to beating you two to the punch of what would most likely be your next demand.
At the sight of his of the exposed collarbones you gave a low catcalling whistle and you could’ve sworn you saw the tip of his ears tinge with red.
The next half hour passed in a blur. Soon enough, you needed another round to cool down from the full sun. Valarr-once again-paid.
As he returned with the latest refreshments, Aerion piped up “Ooh daddy’s money over here.”
“I think you mean a banking career, mate.”
“Ah I’m your mate now, is that it?” Aerion gave him strained look.
“Like you’re one to talk.” You dipped your head towards Aerion. “Isn’t your father also a man of big importance or some such?”
Aerion lifted his chin up in a dignified manner, like he hadn’t heard what you just said. “I like to think of myself as an independent purveyor of artistic insights. A real grassroots movement of truth,” he declared, somehow with no shame or embarrassment. You bit your tongue to stop from laughing.
“Seven hells.” Valarr muttered under his breath.
“See now that’s what every Eton-educated prick would say.” You teased in a light-hearted manner.
Valarr looked over his left and right shoulder before inching closer towards you. With his hands covering his mouth in mock discretion, he egged you on. “You know he only bought that flat in the East End for the grunge edge it gave his personal brand. He actually stays at one of his father’s homes in Mayfair most weekdays!”
You made an over-exaggerated and theatrical gasp, “No!”
Aerion still pretended not to hear you both. But his jaw seemed tighter somehow.
Valarr tried to get Aerion’s attention focused on him again. “What even is a creative director?”
Aerion decided to entertain his train of inquiry. “It’s a valued contribution to society,” he asserted and cocked his head to the side.
A devious smirk plastered Valarr’s face as he continued, “Ah is that what they’re calling taking half nude portraits nowadays.”
Aerion didn’t rise to the bait this time, and coolly responded, “I could fit you two into my schedule some time if you like.”
Valarr just smiled and replied, “I think you have enough portraits of us at home.”
“Maybe a special video of us then…”Aerion let the suggestion hang in the silence between you three. You began to consider what he proposed. A homemade movie of the three of you-maybe even shot on some of Aerion’s artsy 35mm film. Imagine. The rolls and rolls of miniature frames of your bodies enmeshed together. It would probably measure from one hallway to the next. Talk about one hell of a trophy.
Aerion’s voice snapped you back to the present, “Oi this one’s looking about as red as her knickers.”
You gave him a hard shove at his side but he only laughed louder.
“So you are wearing those ones. No doubt with the uh matching…” He made a motion in the air circling your nipples from afar and you slapped his hands away.
Your body felt physically hot from all the embarrassment.
And the arousal.
“Alright enough of that. We need to address the really important world events happening soon, like my birthday! You lot better have the most perfect gifts ready for me.” You put on your best smug look as your head swiveled between the two.
“Why else do you think I was running late?” Aerion mentioned offhandedly, more into his pint than anything else, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Although he tried to put on a tough exterior, you knew he was a deeply attentive and passionate person. No doubt he was making you a gift by hand, some original piece of art that he had spent weeks on.
Aerion was everything Valarr was not: spontaneous, impulsive, and temperamental. He brought out a daring side in you, one you thought you had buried long ago. They tempered each other; the heat against the cool.
“Everything will be ready for this weekend,” Valarr added.
“Perfect! I’ve been thinking about it and I want to throw a little party this Saturday to celebrate with all my favorite people.”
“But we’re your favorite people?” Aerion rebutted. Valarr mimicked his mannerisms, so both of them were laying their heads against their fist, their eyebrow raised in your direction.
“Well you’re the top two,” you reassured them, “but I mean my other favorites as well! Tanselle is coming early-”
“Ughhhh.”Aerion let out a guttural groan.
“Hushhhh,” you slurred trying to refocus the conversation once more. “Tanselle is coming over early on Saturday to help with the decorations. Aerion, I know how you two fancy a good debate but please, maybe we can dispense with the verbal jousting, just for this weekend.”
“So long as she doesn’t insult me first.”
“That was ONE TIME. Also I’m inviting Duncan so get your disapproval out of your system now while-”
Before you could even finish that sentence you were overpowered by two obnoxious wails. To be expected honestly.
“Stop this whinging. I’ll have you know he’s very sweet! You two might try to get to know him better. At the very least, try to carry a civil conversation with him.”
“A whole conversation? With the oaf?” Aerion pondered, genuinely perplexed.
“He is a bit thick,” Valarr murmured.
“Hard to believe he’s from the same Galway that birthed my glorious KETTAMA.” Aerion sighed, with a sort of longing and adoration that you couldn’t tell if he was taking the piss or not.
You shook your head at all the dramatics displayed before you.
I imagine actor! Valarr would definitely exploit when actress!Readers having marital problems because of the public. He would definitely made her husband look like the villain while making sure he'll be in every movie and show reader would be in—preferrably acting in a role of reader's character significant other in those projects.
He would be all-over reader until she gave him an opening—a fun get together with all of the cast that end up with her being drunk asf. Easy to seduce, Valarr finally get to fuck his would-be wife.
Imagine if reader got pregnant with it—her who never got pregnant with her husband now pregnant with her costar's baby. She's trying so hard to hide it, trying to distance herself from him while trying to make her pregnancy looked like her husband's. Valarr knew of course and he would seething with what she's doing. He would post anonymously their video internet (because I believe actor!Valarr would be one of those guys who film the moment he finally get to fuck the woman his been obsess with. For some entertaining purposes and blackmail.)
Everyone knew it, reader's marriage crumble and Valarr swooping in as the wronged baby daddy that would save a cheating woman's image.
free my man he did it all but i don’t care. the way this would work on me, i’m so sorry to reader’s man 😭 getting dragged to hell and back because people ship her and valarr.
actor!valarr is so evil i’m living for this!!!!!!!!
