#valarr x reader

[wwwinters]

. . . valarr targaryen.

I coming soon...

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ barbad ࿐ྂ "I will burn in your fire. I will ruin myself in your love"

summary: before Aerion there was Valarr. Or no… There was never Valarr. Not for her. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the world.

notes: title + subtitle from barbad. Title literally translates to “ruin[ed]”. Modern au based off real life, lol this might as well be a self-insert. If you recognize some events, no you don't... CAN BE READ AS X READER! oc has no name and is not described past being shorter than Valarr & Aerion and having curly hair. Set in 2021/2022, Canada.

warnings: NOT EDITED, mentions of bullying, harassment, victim-blaming(?), unrequited love, suggestive themes, sexual tension, mixed signals, sex, minor dom/sub themes, slightly ooc Aerion, mean!aerion, slight somnophilia(?), spitting, HAPPY ENDING!

pairing(s): valarr targaryen x f!unnamed!oc, aerion targaryen x f!unnamed!oc

word count: 19k+

Valarr Targaryen was gold.

She met him in 6th grade, back when he was shaggy-haired, awkward, with acne on the nose and chin, no actual style. He was mean to her at first, mostly to impress his friends. She couldn’t understand the reason he had to impress them. He was literally Valarr Targaryen, richer than everyone in her shitty school. But truly, what goes through the head of a 13-year-old boy with too much money and too much pride?

She didn’t understand him then, and understands him less now. 

Because Valarr Targaryen was gold.

Not the pretty kind that people liked to look at, not the kind that sat in glass cases and sparkled under perfect lighting…

No, he was the kind of gold that burned. Molten gold is still hot; molten gold, pretty or not, can still hurt you.

Valarr Targaryen was the kind of gold that looked beautiful from far away, with left scars if you touched it, and she, stupidly, had gotten too close.

Valarr was ugly all throughout middle school. Not super ugly, just… Unremarkable because he didn’t know what to do with himself. Not that she did either. Frizzy hair, undone brows, a moustache which could make boys choke on envy, bad style, bone skinny arms, and a flat chest. It was stupid, but insecurity starts in middle school, where children are the cruellest. 

But she never saw him as ugly. Not really. Maybe because she had met him before everyone else decided what he was supposed to be. Before the sharp jaw, before the expensive haircuts, before the tailored clothes that looked like they had been picked out by someone who knew exactly what kind of person Valarr Targaryen was meant to become.

She knew the boy underneath it.

The boy who used to trip over his own feet when he was trying to walk too quickly. The boy who pretended not to care when someone laughed at him, but went quiet for the rest of the day. The boy who acted like nothing hurt because admitting something did was somehow worse.

She knew Valarr before he was the shiny kind of gold, and maybe that was the cruellest part because everyone else loved him when he became something beautiful.

She loved him when he was just a boy.

A stupid, awkward, irritating boy who would steal her pencil and then deny it while it was literally behind his back. A boy who would make fun of her curls because his friends laughed, then later sit beside her in silence because he noticed she stopped talking.

He was never good at apologies.

Valarr Targaryen had never been good at admitting when he was wrong. But sometimes he tried, and those were the moments that ruined her. Because how was she supposed to hate someone who had once looked at her like she was the only person in the room?

How was she supposed to forget the way he used to lower his voice when speaking to her, like she was something fragile, even though he was the one who broke everything?

—

High school is when things changed.

She got prettier.

Social media and YouTube became instruction manuals for girlhood. She learned how to diffuse her curls instead of brushing them into a halo of frizz. She figured out which earrings suited her face, how to shape her brows, how to dress for a body she'd spent years pretending not to have. It wasn't magic, just discipline: early morning 5-minute lymphatic drainage in your bed right when you wake up, and a 1-week pilates plan to repeat each week. 

It was stupid.

It was all so incredibly stupid, but it worked because suddenly, people looked at her differently. Boys who had ignored her in middle school started remembering her name, girls who used to make comments about her hair suddenly wanted to know what products she used, where she bought her clothes, and teachers who had watched her disappear into the back of classrooms suddenly called on her more often.

The world was kinder when you were prettier.

You weren’t the only one who changed, though. Valarr, after a sudden case of appendicitis in the summer before ninth grade, lost weight and began working out. He grew into his features, styled his hair better, and dressed better. Valarr got handsome over the summer, and suddenly, the boy everyone had overlooked became the boy everyone wanted.

It felt like it happened overnight.

One day, he was just Valarr, the weird rich kid who had terrible jokes and a terrible haircut. Next, he was Valarr Targaryen, the boy all the girls in the grade had a crush on. But they were 14, still young, still childish. Up until 10th grade the following year, no one did anything about their crushes, especially not you. 

Valarr was charming, and he used it well. He had this pretty smile with white teeth, pretty eyes, and brown hair with that white streak going through it. Valarr was charming, and he used it to flirt with just about anyone. He made everyone feel special, or maybe he just made everyone feel like they could be special.

There was a difference, but at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old, she didn’t know enough to understand it.

She only knew that when Valarr smiled at her, it felt different. She knew that was probably stupid. She knew every girl probably thought the same thing, but Valarr had known her before. Before the glow-up, before the confidence, before she figured out how to make herself look like the girls everyone wanted to look at.

He had known her when she was just a girl with unruly curls and oversized hoodies, when she hid her hands because she thought her fingers looked strange, when she hated having her picture taken because she never knew what to do with her face. Valarr knew her before she became someone people noticed, and maybe that was why she let herself believe there was something there. 

But knowing someone first did not mean you knew them best and that was the lesson she learned with Valarr Targaryen. Because the thing about firsts was that they made everything feel more important than it actually was.

She was his first friend in middle school when he was lonely, his first defender when people made fun of him, the first person who looked at him and saw something other than his family name, but she wasn’t the first person he wanted, and maybe that was the difference.

—

Valarr never actually asked her out. That was the worst part. If he had, maybe she could have moved on. If he had kissed her and broken her heart, if he had told her he didn’t feel the same, if he had looked her in the eyes and said, I only ever saw you as a friend…

She could have hated him, could have closed that chapter. But Valarr never gave her something simple enough to hate. He lingered. That was what he did. He lingered in the doorway after class even though his friends were already waiting for him. He sat beside her during lunch even though there were empty tables full of people who would have killed to have him there. He stole her phone just to make her chase him for it, then laughed when she threatened to tell his mother. 

He remembered things and that was what ruined her.

Valarr Targaryen remembered everything.

He remembered that she hated strawberry-flavoured things but liked actual strawberries. He remembered that she always got cold in classrooms and would bring an extra hoodie just so he could steal it from her. He remembered that she twisted her rings around her fingers when she was nervous.

He noticed, and when someone notices you, when someone sees you, it becomes very easy to mistake it for love.

Especially when you are young.

Especially when you have spent years feeling invisible.

Especially when that person was the first one who ever made you feel like you weren’t.

—

She’s never actually dated, nor has she heard of anyone having a crush on her despite how pretty everyone claims she is. Maybe she is pretty but not pretty enough to love? It was a sickening thought. She hated herself for thinking like that. It sounded pathetic, didn't it?

Pretty enough to look at. Pretty enough for compliments. Pretty enough for strangers to hold doors open and teachers to smile a little wider and girls to ask where she bought her jeans. Just…

Not pretty enough to choose.

She'd never been someone's girlfriend, never someone's almost, never someone's "I've liked you for a while." She had never even gotten one of those embarrassing anonymous Valentine's carnations the student council sold every February.

Nothing.

It made her wonder if beauty was only real when someone else wanted to keep it.

Maybe she was a painting.

People admired paintings but nobody dated them.

—

She had been called a painting once. It was a nature walk field trip, and one of the photography kids took a picture of her. That very photo ended up in the year-end school art showcase. She almost laughed when she saw it hanging in the hallway with other paintings and photographs. There she was, cross-legged beneath a willow tree, a library book open in her lap though she hadn't actually been reading it and busy staring at Valarr who was kicking a football around with his friends. Her curls caught the afternoon sun, every loose ringlet outlined in gold. One knee tucked beneath her chin. Head tilted ever so slightly away from the camera because she hadn't known she was being photographed. "You look like a painting."

The photography student, a year younger than her, had sounded so awed she'd almost turned around to see who they were talking to.

She remembered blushing, she remembered mumbling a thank you, she remembered everyone gathering around the display at the showcase.

"That's gorgeous."

"Is that you?"

"Oh my god, you literally look unreal."

She remembered standing there, smiling politely while people admired a version of herself trapped beneath glass. She remembered Valarr standing beside her. “You look good. You looked good that day,” he said, staring at the photograph. “Your hair looked nice”

She looked at him, heart fluttering in her chest. “Really?”

Valarr looked at her briefly, then back at the photo. “Mmh”

Then, he asked the kid who took it to send it to him. It made her feel a little odd. Why did he want the photo? She knew he had multiple photos and videos of her, accumulated over the years but this specific one, one where she looked good, it felt different. “Are you two dating?” the kid asked as he airdropped the photo to Valarr 

The hallway seemed to go quiet. Not actually quiet—someone was laughing near the gym, lockers were still slamming, teachers were still trying to herd people toward the auditorium—but quiet in the way the world does when your entire body waits for one person's answer. She looked at Valarr, and he was still looking down at his phone, watching the photo download. His mouth twitched as he said "No." but also doesn’t look away from the photo 

“Sorry,” the kid said immediately, looking between them. “I just thought—”

“No.” Valarr said it again.

He didn’t laugh as he repeated it, didn’t make a joke, nor did he didn’t say something embarrassing like her? or as if. He didn’t look at her with disgust the way boys did when they wanted everyone to know a girl wasn’t an option. He simply said no like it was the easiest answer in the world. She smiled because she was supposed to. Because that was what you did when someone asked a question that shouldn’t have hurt. “No,” she repeated softly, laughing a little because maybe if she made it casual enough, it wouldn’t feel like anything.

The kid nodded, awkward now. “Oh. My bad.” And then he left and the hallway came back.

The noise returned. The world kept moving. Nobody else cared because nobody else knew that for one stupid second, she had let herself imagine a different answer. She hated herself for that because why had she expected anything? Valarr never promised her anything. That was the thing she hated most about him. He had never lied.

He had never said I like you.

He had never said I want to be with you.

He had never said you’re different.

She had built an entire love story out of scraps he left behind.

A hand on her shoulder when he walked past her desk.

A hoodie he gave her because she was cold.

A look across a crowded room.

A picture he wanted.

A joke only she understood.

Tiny things.

Tiny, meaningless things that became huge because they came from him.

—

The worst part was that after that day, nothing changed. If anything, Valarr got worse. Not worse in the way she wanted him to be. She almost wished he would become cruel again. She almost wished he would go back to being the thirteen-year-old boy who made fun of her curls because his friends laughed. That would have been easier. But no. Valarr stayed soft with her. He was still Valarr Targaryen, still the boy everyone wanted. He still flirted with girls in the hallways, still had people whispering about him, still had girls who looked at him like he was some kind of impossible thing they had been blessed enough to see. 

But with her?

He was different, and that was the problem. He would lean against her locker while she packed her books, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him beside her. “You’re ignoring me,” he would say.

She would look up. “I’m literally talking to you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I answered you.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

She would roll her eyes. “You’re annoying.”

And Valarr would smile that stupid, pretty smile. “You like me annoying.”

Her heart would trip over itself and then, before she could say anything, someone would call his name. Some girl— usually some beautiful girl— and Valarr would turn around just like that like she had never been there.

—

She hated how easily she forgave him. Because there were moments where she saw the boy from sixth grade again— ot the golden boy everyone else knew, not Valarr Targaryen, heir to one of the richest families in the country, with perfect hair and expensive clothes and a future already planned out for him— just Valarr.

The boy who sat beside her when he was upset but didn’t know how to say he was upset, the boy who once admitted, quietly, that he hated when people only liked him because of his last name. “They don’t even know me,” he had said.

She remembered looking at him. “I know you.”

Valarr had gone quiet. Really quiet like she had said something that mattered. That was the problem. He made moments feel important and he made her feel chosen and then he would go right back to proving she wasn’t. 

— 

She thinks, sometimes, that maybe Valarr liked the idea of her. Not her, but the version of her that existed in his memories. The girl from sixth grade who was the only person nice to him when nobody else was. The girl who defended him when people mocked his clothes and his awkwardness. The girl who saw him before he became beautiful. Maybe he loved that she knew him before, maybe he loved that she remembered him.

But maybe he didn’t love her.

Because loving someone was more than remembering their favourite fruit; it was more than saving their pictures; it was more than sitting beside them when you were lonely…

Love was choosing someone, and Valarr Targaryen never chose her.

—

In their final year of high school, things get… interesting. But interesting was a small word. Messy would be a right fit.

Over the summer, Valarr dated a girl a year younger from another school. Things didn’t end well, and she ended up making a bunch of TikToks about him, implying he was a cheater. Valarr was pissed off and out of anger ended up posting screenshots of him and the girl’s messages. The screenshots spread through the school before first period even started. Not because anyone cared about the truth but because people loved watching beautiful people become ugly. She was standing outside her chemistry classroom when someone shoved a phone into her face. "Did you see what Valarr posted?"

She hadn't. She wished she still hadn't. There they were, dozens of screenshots— blue bubbles, grey bubbles, timestamps, read receipts. His ex accusing him of cheating with other girls. Valarr replying with clinical precision, attaching dates, context, entire conversations. He dismantled every accusation one by one until there was nothing left except an angry girl and thousands of strangers realizing she'd lied. It should've ended there; instead, everyone picked sides.

"I always knew she was crazy."

"No, he's definitely hiding something."

"He's too perfect."

"He's literally innocent."

People treated it like entertainment. It got especially messy with the last few screenshots, which included her name. “She was jealous of you,” her best friend, Rowan whispered with a gasp in the back of chemistry class

She hadn’t read through all the screenshots. Mostly because it just felt wrong. She felt bad for Valarr and really didn’t want to invade his privacy even though he posted them on his Instagram story. So hearing this, she felt shocked. “What are you talking about?” She said, pulling off her safety goggles 

Her best friend shoved the phone into her hands, finger already hovering over the last screenshot. "There."

She frowned.

ur phone is full of photos and videos of that girl what kind of bf has pics of other girls on their phone like wtf

Her stomach dropped. She read the next message.

They're memories. I'm not deleting years of my life because you're insecure.

The typing bubbles weren't there, obviously. Screenshots never had typing bubbles. But she found herself staring at the empty space beneath the message anyway. The girl replied almost immediately.

They're not memories. They're pictures of another girl.

A PRETTY girl

She was my friend before you.

she's still another girl.

Valarr's next message was almost painfully short.

I'm keeping them.

Her heart felt a little funny. Part of her felt bad for being the possible reason Valarr and his girlfriend broke up. She’s never actually met this girl now that she thought about. Maybe heard her voice on the phone, seen a picture or two from Valarr showing her his now ex’s Instagram. Other than that, though, nothing. But somehow, this girl had seen her photos enough on Valarr’s phone to cause a fight. Part of her felt bad, but the other, the small dark part of her, was so happy. The happiness lasted exactly four seconds. Four ugly, selfish, impossible seconds, then shame swallowed it whole because what kind of person smiled at another girl's heartbreak? What kind of person read those screenshots three times, not because she cared about the drama, but because buried between accusations and timestamps was proof that Valarr had kept her?

She hated that thought.

Kept her.

As if she were something precious tucked inside a drawer.

She closed Instagram, opened it again, read the screenshots again.

They're memories.

Not she's pretty.

Not I like looking at them.

Not even she's important.

Just—

They're memories.

She wondered which memories. The blurry video he'd taken in eighth grade when she'd tripped over a curb and yelled, "Delete that!"

He hadn't. The picture of her asleep on the bus during their history field trip, forehead against the window, curls flattened on one side. The thirty-second clip of her laughing so hard at lunch that chocolate milk came out of her nose. She'd threatened to kill him for recording it. He'd nearly fallen out of his chair laughing. She wondered if he still watched them. "You know..." her best friend said carefully as they packed up after chemistry. "That's... kind of weird."

"What is?"

"The photos." 

She kept her eyes on her notebook. "I mean..." Her friend shrugged. "If my boyfriend had years' worth of photos of another girl, I'd lose my mind too."

"...Yeah."

"Especially if he refused to delete them."

"...Yeah."

Her friend hesitated. "But also..." she added, lowering her voice, "...it's kind of romantic."

She looked up. "What?"

"I don't know! Just—" Her friend gestured helplessly. "Years, you know? He kept years of memories."

"Friends keep photos."

"They do."

"..."

"..."

"But not usually that many."

She didn't answer because she didn't know how many there were. She'd never seen his camera roll. She'd only known he liked recording things.

Everyone.

Birthday cakes.

Football games.

Teachers saying something ridiculous.

His little brother trying—and failing—to skateboard.

She'd always assumed she was just another face in the collection. Apparently not. Apparently there had been enough pictures of her for another girl to notice.

Enough to become jealous.

Enough to start a fight.

Enough for Valarr to refuse to delete them.

It should not have meant anything.

It meant everything.

—

“Why did you post those?” She asked him at lunch 

Valarr had deleted the screenshots off his Instagram story maybe minutes after she viewed them. “Dunno. Bad impulsive decision I guess,” He said, taking his fries out of the bag

She watched him for a moment. That was the thing about Valarr. He could say something so serious in the most casual way possible. Like he didn’t realize that every little thing he did had consequences. Like the world didn’t move differently around him.  Everyone forgave Valarr Targaryen. Maybe because he was charming, maybe because he was handsome, maybe because people liked having a reason to like him. She stabbed her fork into her pasta salad. “You know she wasn’t completely wrong.”

Valarr looked up. “What?”

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “The pictures.”

His expression changed slightly. Not anger, not exactly. Something closer to confusion. “What about them?”

“You have a lot.”

“Yeah.” The answer came too quickly.

She looked at him. Valarr stared back, chewing slowly. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head. That stupid habit. That stupid little movement that made him look younger. Less like the boy everyone knew and more like the boy she remembered. “You want me to deny something that’s true?”

“I’m just saying I understand why she was upset.”

Valarr leaned back in his chair. The cafeteria was loud around them. People shouting across tables, chairs scraping against the floor, someone laughing too loudly near the vending machines. But somehow, she only noticed him. “I told her before we started dating that I had a lot of friends.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because Valarr…” She sighed. “You have pictures of me from when we were twelve.”

“And?”

“And?”

She stared at him. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

She blinked. “Why?”

Valarr looked genuinely confused by the question. “Because they’re memories.”

What she really wanted to ask next was: Why do you keep pieces of me if you don’t want me?

But she didn’t. She just found herself laughing a bit. “Are you sad?”

“About what?”

“About what happened with her”

Valarr stopped and seemed to ponder for a second. “I don’t think I liked her that much. I mean… She was pretty but I think that’s the only reason I dated her. It was two months anyway. It’s fine”

She stared for a second then shook her head. There were so many things she wanted to say, wanted to ask. But honestly speaking, she wasn’t sure how much truth there was to his words. Valarr didn’t usually talk about how much he liked someone or didn’t with her. So she didn’t know how much truth there was or if he was just saying this to not worry her. She pulled her glasses out of her bag then when seeing something in the distance of the cafeteria. Valarr raised a brow, looking very amused all of a sudden. “Blind” he teased

She rolled her eyes. Just at the beginning of the year, she had gotten glasses. The number wasn’t that high but things were definitely clearer with them on, and she could see far better with them. Further meaning: “That new girl is staring at you,” She told him, looking over his shoulder

The new girl who didn’t have many friends because she sort of put everyone in their grade off, for whatever reason. Maybe it was because in her small town everyone had known each other from middle or elementary school, and new people, especially in the last year of high school, made everyone suspicious, but there was just this… vibe. “Yeah, I know,” Valarr said with a shrug, almost one of annoyance 

She raised a brow. “What?”

He just shook his head and looked back at his food, picking up another fry. “She’s weird.”

“Who?”

“The new girl.”

She frowned. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know enough.”

“That’s mean.”

Valarr shrugged. “You girls always try to see the best in each other. But trust me on this one, not her.”

She raised a brow, grinning mischievously. “Oh~ when have you started to listen to gossip? What’d she do? Tell me!”

But that grin quickly faded when seeing his troubled expression. “What?” she repeated. “Did she do something?”

Valarr fully turned and looked at the new girl. Has she been around for 3 weeks now? It was only September, literally the beginning of senior year. Could someone at school have already done something stupid? Apparently, yes, because Valarr had that look. She knew that look. It was the same one he got when someone insulted his family. The same one he got when someone made a joke about his little brother. The same one he got when he was angry but trying very hard not to show it. The golden boy mask slipping. “What happened?” she asked again, quieter this time.

Valarr didn’t answer immediately. He looked back at the girl, then at her, and something about that made her stomach twist. Because Valarr Targaryen did not look uncomfortable often. He looked arrogant, he looked amused, he looked bored, he looked like he knew exactly what he was doing even when he absolutely did not.

But uncomfortable?

That was rare.

“Valarr?”

He looked back at her. “You remember that one time we went on that school trip in middle school? I science centre?”

Ugh. That dreaded school trip. It was fun in the beginning. The dinosaur bones, the aquarium. The fun came crashing down in the space exhibit where kids from another school decided to use the dark space to harass her. She told them no; they kept on bothering her. Valarr ended up punching the shit out of the boys. He would have gotten in trouble had it not been for her tearful explanation that the boys were bothering her and testimonies of bystander adults who didn’t do a thing but watch. “Unfortunately, yes,” She said

“You know I really hate it when people don’t understand the word no,” He said slowly

Somehow she understood where this was going. “What did she do?”

“She’s bothering me,” Valarr finally said, finger tapping restlessly against the table. “fuck I… Everyone told me to stop overreacting and that she just likes me, but I don’t like her. She’s so fucking weird and annoying, and I told her that I don’t like her. She is straight up not listening” 

The way he said it made her stop. Not because it was surprising and not because she didn’t believe him but because she had never heard Valarr sound like that before. Valarr Targaryen was many things. Arrogant, sometimes. Dramatic, definitely. He had a talent for making every minor inconvenience sound like a personal attack from the universe. She had known him long enough to recognize when he was exaggerating. 

This wasn’t that. This was real anger. The kind that sat low in his voice, the kind that made his jaw tighten. She looked over at the girl again. The girl was still staring. Not casually looking, not the way people looked at Valarr because everyone looked at Valarr. That was different. Everyone looked at him. Teachers, students, strangers. He was impossible not to notice. But this was different. This was someone watching him, waiting for something. Her stomach twisted. “What has she done?” she asked.

Valarr rubbed his thumb against the side of his palm, an old nervous habit he probably didn’t even realize he had. “She keeps trying to get me alone.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Yeah.” His laugh was humorless. “She waits outside my classes. She keeps finding reasons to talk to me. She keeps touching my arm and shit even after I move away.”

Something cold settled in her chest. Because suddenly, the girl wasn’t just some annoying new student. Suddenly, she understood. She understood because she knew Valarr. She knew that despite everything—the flirting, the confidence, the way he walked through the school like he owned it—Valarr hated feeling trapped. He hated people assuming things about him. He hated when people thought they knew him because of his last name. And most importantly…

Valarr hated when someone took away his choice. “I told her no,” he continued quietly. “Like three times.”

Her expression softened. “You told her?”

“Yeah.”

“And she didn’t stop?”

“No.”

The cafeteria noise suddenly felt louder— the scraping chairs, the conversations, the laughter. Everything blurred slightly because she was too focused on the boy sitting across from her, because this was the part of Valarr nobody saw. 

Everyone saw the gold.

The perfect smile.

The expensive clothes.

The effortless charm. 

Nobody saw the boy who got quiet when he was uncomfortable. Nobody saw the boy who looked almost guilty for being upset because he had been taught his whole life that his feelings were less important than everyone else’s opinion of him. “You know what’s annoying?” he muttered.

She tilted her head. “What?”

“Everyone keeps telling me I should be flattered.”

Her face changed because she understood exactly what he meant. She is a girl after all. If anyone knows what not being listened to feels like, she does. He leaned back in his chair. “Like apparently because I’m a guy, I’m not allowed to be uncomfortable. Like if a girl likes me, I’m supposed to just accept it because…” He gestured vaguely around himself. “Because I’m lucky?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

He shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“My friends know.”

“And?”

“They think it’s funny.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Valarr…”

“I know.” His voice softened. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” 

He looked at her. “You always believe me,” he said.

Her heart stuttered. “What?”

“When I tell you something.” 

She frowned slightly. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah.” His eyes dropped to the table. “You’re the only person who does.”

—

She remembers it. The new girl, Ayla. She started off the school year with not having many friends or any at all. She was new, moved to a small town where everyone already knew each other. But things changed because the girls in her grade did not like being cruel. They were nice to a fault as was she. She was cordial to the new girl who eventually made friends with your grade’s later voted Valedictorian, Saoirse. Saorise didn’t want to be mean. Everyone knew that. That’s why everyone liked her. She was nice to everyone, inclusive, and smart. So as a result, people began to include Ayla in things. That of course, made Valarr angry. She understood why. If her friends hung out with a boy who was harassing her, she would be angry too. Maybe that was the problem with her peers. Everyone was nice but too nice. Too nice that they would ignore someone else’s obvious discomfort. So unlike everyone else, she did not go out of her way to make the new girl feel welcome or try and be friends. 

There were unfortunate times when she had to talk to Ayla. Prom committee for an example. Her and the graduating class decided to make Prom a sort of after party for graduation, done on the same day in the same hall to save money. She was Vice President of the committee while Saoirse ended up as President. There was no actual voting, people just put their names down which was sweet. Since it was her final year, she decided to be more involved with the school student activities and her and Saoirse ended up as Vice President and President of the Student Council as well somehow even though both of you barely put in any effort at promoting yourselves. Perhaps pretty privilege was a thing. “My friends told me she’s been talking about asking me” Valarr told her one day

She raised a brow, looking up from the poster she was making to advertise the week long school activities for the students in the week before Winter Break. “It’s only December. Prom is end of June” 

Valarr snorted, though it sounded tired more than amused. "I know."

"You've got six months and the entire second semester to go through."

"I know."

"So why are you acting like graduation's tomorrow?"

He drummed the end of a Sharpie against the table, rhythm uneven. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. "My friends think it'd be funny if I said yes."

She looked up. "...Funny?"

"They've got bets."

She blinked. "They're taking bets?"

"Mm."

"On whether you'll reject her?"

"No." He rubbed a hand over his face. "On how long I'd last."

For a moment she just stared. Then she frowned so hard it almost hurt. "...That's disgusting."

"I know." 

"No, Valarr, that's actually disgusting."

He shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug people did when they wanted to pretend something hadn't gotten under their skin. "They're idiots."

"They're your friends."

"They're still idiots."

Silence settled between them. The art room smelled faintly of acrylic paint and printer paper. Christmas decorations sat half-finished across the tables; someone had left glitter open, and tiny silver specks covered absolutely everything. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked exhausted. Very emotionally exhausted like he'd spent months explaining the same thing to people who refused to hear it. "...What did you tell them?" she asked quietly.

He laughed once. "Told them if they thought it was so funny they could date her."

"...And?"

"They laughed."

"..."

"..."

"They said I was lucky."

She clenched the marker a little tighter.

Lucky.

She hated that word. Girls heard it too.

A boy keeps bothering you?

Lucky.

A stranger asks for your number?

Lucky.

Someone won't take no for an answer?

He's just persistent.

Lucky.

The words changed depending on whether you were a boy or a girl, but somehow the message stayed exactly the same. Your discomfort mattered less than someone else's feelings. She hated that. "...I'm sorry," she murmured.

Valarr looked at her. "For what?"

"That nobody's taking you seriously."

“You’re taking me seriously” He said very very softly 

“Of course I’m going to take you seriously. You’re my friend and your discomfort isn’t funny to me” She told him very sternly “don’t fall for this peer pressure, okay. You don’t owe her your attention.”

Valarr stared at her for a long moment then smiled. “You know, when I started high school, I thought I’d had to worry about being peer pressured into doing drugs or smoking. Instead I am being peer pressured into watching One Piece and going out with a girl I don’t like”

This time she couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t feel bad and say yes just because you think she’ll cry or if she does cry. And don’t just say yes so your friends leave you alone” She told him 

Valarr gave her this weirdly soft look that made her heart stutter. “I’ll figure something out.”

—

On the school announcements, it is announced that Seniors would have received their university and college application numbers to apply. Silence filled multiple Senior classrooms. No one touched their email till they got home, too afraid, too stressed. She sat down with her older sister who was getting her bachelor’s degree this summer she filled out her applications. 

Criminology

Law

Business

Journalism

It was a wide range but she wasn’t very confident in her skills or intelligence to do anything else. She submitted her applications the following week without asking her friends what schools they were thinking of.

It was the first time she made a decision without thinking of Valarr.

—

The week before Winter Break, activities are planned at school. From free lunches, to bounce houses put up in the gym, to the community indoor skating rink booked on the last day before the break starts. None of her friends wanted to go skating. Valarr goes with her instead as none of his wanted to either. The skating rink was loud. Not noisy in the way cafeterias were, full of conversations layered on top of each other, but loud in a brighter way. Blades scratching over ice. Music echoing through old speakers. Teenagers yelling every time someone nearly crashed into the boards. Teachers pretending not to notice people racing each other despite announcing no racing every fifteen minutes. She watched him skate ahead before circling back toward her, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat like balance was simply something he'd been born with. His white streak caught the fluorescent lights every time he turned his head. She was pretty good. Not as good as him but she was good enough. “My uncle got a divorce” Valarr said suddenly 

“Your Uncle?”

“The one with 6 kids” he clarified

She frowned, trying to place which uncle he meant. The Targaryen family was large enough that sometimes she felt like she needed a family tree just to keep track of everyone. “Oh. Him.”

Valarr nodded, skating backwards now because apparently showing off was something he did without even realizing it. “He uh… I don’t know the reason. I thought they really liked each other because unlike my parents, they married for love and not business. Something happened I guess. My cousins split 3 and 3 between them… Sort of”

She thought for a second, shoving her hands into her leather jacket pockets. “Sort of?”

“Their eldest, he’s like a year older than us, 19, so he got a choice who he wanted to stay with. He stayed with my uncle which is absolutely crazy to me because last I remember, Uncle Maekar treated him like shit. While my other cousin, the one who is the same age as us, went with his mom even though he’s Uncle Maekar’s favourite. It’s crazy because he’s always talking about that Targaryen bullshit how we’re all that and stuff. Changed his last name too”

“Maybe something happened and they’re not telling you guys about it?” she offered

“Maybe” Valarr agreed but he didn’t sound convinced.

She knew that tone. Valarr had a very specific way of pretending he didn’t care about something while obviously caring about it. It was the same tone he used when he said he didn’t care that people only liked him because of his last name. The tone that meant he cared more than anything.

They skated in silence for a while. Not an uncomfortable silence. Not with Valarr. That was the strange thing about him. For someone who was so loud, so impossible to ignore, he was also one of the easiest people to sit quietly with. Maybe because she had known him before he learned how to fill every room he walked into. Before he became gold. “You ever think about it?” he asked suddenly.

She looked over. “About what?”

“Marriage.” The question caught her off guard.

She almost laughed because of all the things she expected Valarr Targaryen to randomly ask her while skating around an indoor rink, that was not one of them. “You mean like… getting married?”

He rolled his eyes slightly. “No, I mean dying alone.”

She smiled despite herself. “You’re annoying.”

“You like me annoying.”

She rolled her eyes. “To answer your question. I have thought about it. Not the person though, just about what I’d wear”

“Just about the dress?” Valarr asked.

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“That’s such a you answer.”

She looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means everyone else thinks about the person.” He skated closer, slowing down until they were moving beside each other. “And you’re thinking about the outfit.”

She smiled a little. “The outfit is important.”

“Obviously.”

“It is.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

Valarr laughed. “Anyone would be lucky to marry you”

She froze. Valarr Targaryen had always been good at making her feel special without ever making her feel chosen. She looked away, pretending to be interested in the people skating around them. A group of freshmen were holding hands, trying not to fall. Someone near the boards was laughing because their friend had completely wiped out. The music changed to some old Christmas song that made the entire place feel too warm despite the cold air. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Valarr looked at her. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

Her fingers tightened around the edges of her jacket sleeves. Because she did believe him. That was the problem. She believed Valarr when he said nice things. She believed him when he looked at her like she mattered. She believed him when he remembered little things about her, when he defended her, when he sat beside her when everyone else had somewhere else to be. She believed him.

She just didn’t know what any of it meant.

“I believe you,” she said. 

“Then why do you sound sad?”

The question almost made her laugh because he noticed. Valarr noticed everything except the things she wanted him to. “I’m not sad.”

“You are.”

She looked at him. “You’re really annoying.”

“You’ve said that a lot.”

“Because it’s true.”

He smiled. “You like me annoying.”

Her heart did that awful thing again. That stupid little jump. That stupid little reminder that after all these years, after everything, he could still make her feel like she was thirteen years old again. Like she was sitting beside him in sixth grade, watching him pretend he wasn’t embarrassed when people laughed at his haircut.

Like she was still waiting for him to turn around and realize she had been there the entire time.

—

Winter break passes by quickly and the snow melts as her birthday came around in March. She was turning 18 and unironically it was the same time World War 3 was trending online. Being one of the oldest ones in your class people immediately jumped on the joke that you’d be the first to get drafted. “You won’t” Valarr assured in gym class while the teacher was showing them how to properly do a benchpress “you can barely do a push up. If anything they’ll have you as a nurse in those cute outfits”

She bursted out laughing, nearly dropping the bar on her chest. Valarr is quick to catch it, putting it back in place. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You trying to kill yourself?”

She was still laughing, cheeks warm from both embarrassment and amusement. “You’re the one who said I’d be a nurse.”

“I’m right. You’d look great in a mini skirt and those little hats.”

She laughed even harder. “Valarr!”

“What?” he asked, completely serious.

“You’re such a freak.”

He grinned. “You say that like it’s new information.”

It wasn’t. That was the thing about Valarr. He had changed so much that sometimes she forgot he was still the same boy who used to eat lunch with ketchup packets because he forgot to bring food from home. The same boy who once showed up to school with two different shoes because he had been half asleep getting dressed.

The world saw the gold.

She still saw the boy underneath it.

The boy who was impossible.

The boy who was annoying.

The boy who somehow always ended up beside her.

—

He gifted her two bracelets. Simple beaded ones. “It’s uh…” His pretty face was flushed “My cousin, Aelora is into that weird witch crystal shit. The white one is moonstone and the pink one is rose quartz. I thought you would like it.”

They weren’t ugly. Not at all. They were real crystals. She could tell because other than Valarr, she was the other resident rich kid only lesser known because she and her family didn’t flaunt it like the Targrayens. “Thank you” she said and hugged him 

Later she searched up the meaning of the crystals. 

Moonstone— Intuition. Protection. New beginnings.

Rose quart— Love. Compassion. Emotional healing.

She wasn’t sure if Valarr knew the meaning. Maybe Aelora saw her picture and thought through whatever witchy intuition that these were fit for her. Maybe Valarr knew and got them. Maybe he just thought they were pretty and got them. She never asks. 

—

April comes around. It’s football season. Valarr makes the school football team, earning the coveted number 10. Inter school tournament begins and she traveled around school to school with the team with a camera because she’s on the yearbook committee and the only one that has already earned the 30 credits needed to graduate. She’s also 18 and somehow the teachers trusted her enough to care for herself and the school camera. The school team won their first game 3-0. Then the second game the same day 3-0, then the 3rd, same score. Valarr was grinning wide as he’s thrown up into the air. She took multiple pictures of him with the camera and her own phone. 

Sweaty hair falling into his face.

A bruise forming along his cheek from the game.

A ridiculous smile that made him look exactly like the thirteen-year-old boy who used to trip over his own feet.

She clicked the camera.

Then again.

Then again.

The school team makes it to semi finals against some posh school Valarr was supposed to go to just like her. But her and Valarr grew up in the area the high school was in even though it was considered low income. It was a cozy place. A nice place. That one game made them both realize they made a good decision going to their low income school than the posh one. “Take some pictures of me, baby” Some boy from the other team said as she took pictures of the boys doing warm ups before the game

She flinched back, stumbling into the fence. “W-What?”

The boy laughed. He was tall, wearing the other team’s jersey, number 10 like Valarr, surrounded by his friends. The kind of confidence that came from never having been told no enough times. “Relax,” he said, grinning. “I’m just asking.” 

She stared at him. There was something about the way boys like that said things. They always made it sound like you were the strange one for reacting. Like your discomfort was the problem. She was taken aback. She’s never actually been hit on like this. Maybe because she was usually always in a group, always near her friends because her mother told her that she shouldn’t be by herself in public, that the world wasn’t kind. So being talked to like that, for the first time ever, genuinely took her by surprise. How did the girls in the movies smack catcallers? She doesn’t know. She just felt frozen. “C’mon you—”

“What’s going on here?” Valarr was already in front of her and Raymun was already grabbing her by the front of her Windbreaker and pulling her away from the fence

Raymun was Rowan’s boyfriend. Rowan would probably kill him if she found out he didn’t help. “Dude, relax. I was just talking to her.” the other boy said

“She said no.”

“She didn’t say no.”

She didn’t know what the rest of the conversation was. She was pulled far away from the other school’s team by her own schoolmates, hidden behind broad shoulders. Part of her felt scared for the future suddenly. Not everyone was going to be like the boys at her school. Not everyone was going to pull her out of dangerous and uncomfortable situations. “Hey, what did he say to you?” The coach/gym teacher asks, kneeling in front of her where she sat on the bleachers

“I… He said ‘take some pictures of me, baby’” She repeats uncomfortably as a cold gatorade bottle is pressed into her hands and the camera is taken from her hands by the school principle who was accompanying the team

The coach looked angry. Not at her. That was something she had always appreciated about the adults at their school. They weren’t perfect, but they listened. They didn’t laugh things off. They didn’t tell her she should be flattered. The coach’s jaw tightened. “Did you tell him to stop?”

She nodded slowly. “I didn’t really get the chance,” she admitted. “I just… I froze. I’ve never been spoken to like that before so I… I dunno…”

The coach’s expression softened immediately. “That’s okay.”

She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear that until someone said it. Because she had always thought freezing meant she had done something wrong. That she should have been louder, braver, smarter. That she should have known what to say. But nobody ever taught girls what to do when their brain decided the safest option was to become completely still. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” the coach continued. “You’re here with your team. You’re safe. He will get in trouble. Just stay on this side for the game.”

She nodded. The game was starting and her school’s principal was talking angrily to the other school’s principal. The boy ended up playing anyway but his school loses at a devastating 9-2, Valarr and his friends slide tackling everyone who was near the boy and the boy whenever they could. Everyone was cheering when the whistle was blown, running onto the field, hugging each other. The coach was yelling about staying off the field until the other team cleared out, but nobody listened because teenagers rarely listened when they were happy.

She stayed seated.

She didn't know why.

Maybe because her hands were still shaking.

Maybe because she was embarrassed that something so small had affected her so much.

Maybe because she hated that she had frozen.

She hated that she hadn't said anything.

She hated that someone had looked at her like she was an object and her first instinct was to disappear.

She stood up though, wanting to be strong. Then when Valarr is thrown up into the air by his friends and teammates, she snapped a picture. “That was for you!” Valarr and his friends shouted when seeing her standing

Her hands shook and she smiled weakly. She cried a little on the bus ride back to their school. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Valarr just sat next to her and pulled her head to his shoulder, letting her cry. There were no teasing remarks from the other boys, nothing like that. Just quiet silence despite the win. 

It was so nice and oh did she realize she was not going to survive in the real world. 

—

April comes around, then May. It’s confirmed she was graduating and fund raising for Prom kicks up. Bake sales, those weird drive in car washes. Her own and Valarr’s family end up donating the remaining amount so the ticket sales for your peers end up being about 50 dollars each. With that, came Promposals. She helps her friends make posters, tell her friends’ boyfriends what flowers to get and what not. She lost count after the 4th prom poster. “Fuck fuck fuck” Valarr muttered, pacing in front of her the day of Senior sunset on the last Friday of May

They were still at school, people piling into cars of friends or ordering Ubers to head to the park her and Saorise booked for the Evening to watch the sunset. The bell had just ran and she had just coordinated 4 promposals that very day. “What?” she asked, sitting on the curb in front of the school, waiting for Rowan to bring her car around

Her, Rowan, Valarr, Rowan’s boyfriend Raymun, their friend Hazel, and a few others were going in Rowan’s car. She was a bit too lazy to walk down to the student parking lot and Rowan being the best girl ever, loved to give her princess treatment and was willing to drive up to the entrance for her. “Raymun told me Ayla is going to prompose to me at the picnic” 

The noise of the school parking lot continued around them. Cars pulling out. People laughing, music playing from someone's speaker. Everyone was excited for the evening ahead. Everyone except him. For a second, she thought she had misheard him. The words didn’t immediately register because Valarr had been pacing like someone had told him the school was on fire. He had been muttering under his breath, running a hand through his hair, checking his phone every thirty seconds like somehow a solution would magically appear if he stared at the screen long enough.

She thought maybe someone was sick.

Maybe something happened with his family.

Maybe his car he’d sent to the shop earlier this week because something was wrong with the oil tank or whatever it was called.

Not… Someone about to use public pressure to force him into going on a date. Not that it wasn’t bad obviously. Just the way he was pacing had made her think something catastrophic happened. “She knows I don’t like her,” he continued quietly. “She knows.”

She sat up straighter. “What do you want to do about it?”

It’s been months. 9 in total. It hasn’t been an easy year for Valarr, simply because his friends decided this relentless girl pursing their friend was funny and because everyone thought Valarr should just give her a chance because at least she’s pretty. No one was listening to Valarr and it was sort of interesting with the reversal in roles. She was front row to all those moments of uncomfortable flirting and even listening to Ayla call Valarr hot to just about anyone who would listen. Maybe because Ayla was pretty that no one was counting this as harassment. Maybe because Valarr was too nice to report it nothing was being done besides Valarr’s closer friends icing Ayla out. “I don’t know” Valarr said sitting down on the curb next to her, holding his head in his hands 

She looked at him for a long moment. Valarr Targaryen, who could walk into any room and make people look at him. Valarr Targaryen, who had girls whispering about him in hallways, who had people begging for his attention, who had never once in his life struggled to find someone willing to stand beside him and yet here he was sitting beside her with his head in his hands like he was exhausted like he was tired of being wanted by someone he didn’t want.

It was such a strange thing to witness because for years she had watched people want Valarr. She watched girls stare at him in class, watched people find excuses to talk to him, watched strangers know his name because everyone knew the Targaryens. But nobody ever asked what happened when someone wanted something from him that he didn’t want to give. 

Nobody cared because he was Valarr. 

Because boys were supposed to like attention.

Because boys were supposed to be grateful.

Because a pretty girl liking you was apparently never something you were allowed to complain about.

“I know what she’s doing. She thinks she can use public pressure to make me cave. She’s been trying” Valarr told her “Everyone is going to be there today and while I am amazed by her confidence, she is not understanding me saying no over and over the past few months…”

She gave him a pitying look, patting his shoulder. He’s warm under her hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks

Valarr looks at her. There is this slight look of realization on his face. He just smiles. “I’m going to ask you something later… Will you say yes?”

She wasn’t sure what he was going to ask. But that look of relief on his face melted her doubts. “Yes”

For a second she regretted saying yes. She didn’t even know what he was going to ask. It just felt like such a habit of saying yes to Valarr. He’s never done anything wrong with her permission. Just… For some reason she felt a bit nervous. Rowan drives up before she could ask him what it was. “Get in the car losers, we’re going shopping” She said with a wide grin, sunglasses on 

Valarr laughed a little and rolled his eyes. They stood up and Rowan opened the latch of her trunk so they could put their bags in with the food and plates and cups brought for the picnic. She and Valarr sit in the back with Hazel, music blasting through the speakers for maybe 10 minutes of the total 30 minute drive to the park. Rowan is the one to turn the music off. “Ayla is going to ask you to prom” Rowan tells Valarr

Next to her, Valarr grimaces. “Oh come on” Raymun said rolling his eyes “she’s not that bad. At least she’s pretty. You should say yes, Valarr”

Valarr's head snapped toward Raymun so quickly she almost laughed. Almost because there wasn't anything funny about the look on his face. It wasn't anger or embarrassment; it was exhaustion. The kind that settled into someone's bones after saying the same word over and over until it stopped sounding like language. "No."

Raymun glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Bro—"

"No."

"I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying."

“But she—”

“Shut up” Rowan snapped at her boyfriend “say that shit in my car again and I’m leaving you on the side of the road” 

Raymun raised both hands immediately. "Jesus, okay."

"No," Rowan said flatly. "Not okay."

The car fell quiet. Hazel, who had been absentmindedly looking out the window the entire drive, finally turned around. "He's said no for months."

"I know," Raymun muttered.

"No," Hazel repeated. "I don't think you do."

She watched Valarr from the corner of her eye. He'd gone quiet again. That was becoming a pattern. The louder everyone else got about it, the quieter he became. Rowan sighed through her nose, eyes fixed on the road. "Imagine if some guy kept following me around school for nine months."

Nobody answered. 

"If some guy waited outside my classes."

Silence. 

"If some guy kept touching me after I told him not to."

Raymun rubbed the back of his neck. "...Yeah."

"No," Rowan said again. "Don't 'yeah' me now. Because if it were me, you'd all be threatening to beat him up."

"..."

"But because it's Valarr..." she continued, "...everyone keeps acting like he's supposed to be grateful. Because he’s a dude and she’s conventionally attractive, it’s supposed to be okay. It’s not! It is not okay. Then you guys go on and on about male victims whenever women talk about what happened to them but look at what all of you do to each other! You’re all shitty friends. Your friend is in a bullshit situation, and for the past few months the only people who have been taking him seriously are people who aren’t even his friends or us. Valarr you deserve better friends than this. This is fucked. You have every right to tell her no and in fact, if you report her to the teachers for harassment, I’d be willing to be a witness."

Raymun looked like he wanted to disappear into the passenger seat. "I..." he started weakly.

"No," Rowan cut him off again, one hand lifting off the steering wheel just enough to point an accusing finger at him. "Don't apologize because I yelled at you. Think."

"I wasn't—"

"You were."

"I just thought—"

"Exactly. You didn't."

Hazel snorted quietly. Rowan wasn't finished. "All you boys kept saying she was pretty." Her voice stayed level, somehow making it worse. "Like that changes anything."

"It doesn't," Raymun admitted.

"No. It doesn't."

She glanced at Valarr through the rearview mirror. "You've been saying no since September."

Valarr gave a tired nod. 

"You've avoided her."

"Yeah."

"You've told your friends."

"...Yeah."

"You've told her."

"I have."

"And she's still doing it."

"..."

"So why," Rowan asked, "is everyone acting like you're the problem?"

Nobody had an answer because there wasn't one.

—

The rest of the drive passed in an odd sort of silence. The music never came back on. Outside the windows, spring blurred past in streaks of green. The snow had melted weeks ago, the trees finally full again after months of bare branches. People walked dogs along sidewalks. Someone pushed a stroller across a crosswalk. The world looked painfully normal. She glanced sideways. Valarr had his forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. He looked tired. Without really thinking about it, she nudged her shoulder against his. He didn't look at her but after a second he leaned back. Not much but just enough that some of his weight rested against hers like he trusted she'd stay there.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

—

The park overlooked the river. Blankets stretched across the grass in colourful patches, coolers opened, someone had already started kicking a football, teachers who were given the option to come or not come because the students arranged the whole thing on their own were pretending not to supervise while very obviously supervising. It looked exactly how senior sunset was supposed to look. Like the end of something, like a photograph people would find ten years later. She helped unload the food from Rowan's trunk while Valarr carried the heavy cooler with Raymun. She noticed him scanning the crowd, probably for Ayla. They all set the food and plates up and everyone starts digging in. It would still be a while till the sunset. “I bought sparklers,” Someone said, “for Ayla’s thing…”

Next to her, Valarr goes stiff and goes off to play football with his friends to maybe avoid everything. She takes out her phone and starts taking pictures and videos, red solo cup filled with orange Fanta in one hand. While she’s taking a video of Valarr scoring a goal in a net made by jackets and hoodies, Ayla is suddenly standing right next to her. She lowered her camera and looked at Ayla, who was smiling. Meanwhile, she didn’t notice that the boys on the field had stopped playing and were now whispering frantically amongst themselves. “Yes?” She asked

Ayla looked her up and down. She was wearing jean shorts, a simple t-shirt and overtop was Valarr’s windbreaker he’d thrown at her earlier. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. Ayla stares hard at it but didn’t stop smiling. She wasn’t friends with Ayla. Not at all. Yes she hung out with ehr in group settings but this was high school. You’re stuck in a building with the same people for 7+ hours a day, 5 days a week; you couldn’t necessarily ignore people, could you? She was cordial with Ayla for the sake of others but that was it. They were in no way friends. “I don’t think we’ve ever spoken to each other alone, have we?”

She smiled stiffly. “I guess not”

“No” Ayla agreed 

There was something strange about the way she said it. Not awkward or nervous but almost like she had been waiting for this moment. “You’re really pretty,” Ayla said 

She can only nod. “Thank you…”

“Ayla!” Someone calls from near the river

Ayla leaves right away. She felt very weird after that but because of it, she never noticed a few boys driving off in their cars to get fireworks. 

The sun began to set soon. The 2022 graduating class sat by the river, watching the world light up in orange, yellow, and pink. People sat with their friends or boyfriends/girlfriends. She sat with Rowan and Hazel, heads on each others’ shoulders. “This is great” Rowan said then “I accepted my offer to go to college. I’m going to be a nurse”

“I’m gonna be a teacher” Hazel says

“I’m going to be a lawyer” She said “not yet obviously… Criminology first then law”

Somehow, even though they hadn’t consulted each other, they ended up going to the same university. Sometimes fate was kind. “What do you think she’s going to do it?” Rowan whispers as it begins to get dark “do you think we can stop it?” 

“No,” she whispered.

Rowan frowned. “No?”

She shook her head slowly, watching the river. There were ducks swimming around. “I don’t think we can.”

It wasn’t because she didn’t want to. She did. She wanted to stand up. She wanted to walk over there and tell Ayla not to do it. She wanted to save Valarr from the humiliation of having to reject someone publicly or be peer-pressured into saying yes. She wanted to save herself from watching it happen. But the truth was…

She didn’t know if she had the right. Because that was the horrible thing about situations like this. Everyone always thought there was an obvious answer until they were actually standing in the middle of it. Ayla wasn’t some cartoon villain.

She wasn’t evil.

She wasn’t someone who twirled her hair and laughed about ruining his life.

She was just someone who wanted something and refused to accept that wanting something did not mean you were entitled to have it and somehow, that made everything harder.

Because if Ayla was cruel, if Ayla was obviously malicious, then maybe everyone would have listened sooner.

But Ayla was pretty.

Ayla was nice to people.

Ayla had friends now.

Ayla cried when people were mean to her and everyone loved a girl who cried. Everyone loved a girl who looked heartbroken.

Nobody cared about the person who was being made uncomfortable especially not when that person was Valarr Targaryen because Valarr Targaryen was supposed to be wanted.

That was the rule. That was the story everyone had already written for him.

The beautiful boy.

The rich boy.

The boy everyone wanted.

Nobody ever considered that maybe being wanted by the wrong person could hurt too.

—

The sunsets fully. She could see the girls helping Ayla set up for her promposal. Valarr and most of the boys were nowhere to be seen. She paid no mind. Maybe Valarr was going to be avoiding this as a whole? Not being there at all so he wouldn’t be put in that situation. “Where is he?” She heard Ayla whisper to her friends who had already lit the sparklers up

No one knew. She didn’t either. “Where is he?” Ayla asks her next

“I don’t—”

Before she could finish it, her name is called. Valarr is by the lake, standing up on a rock. The park was lit by lamps and the quickly fading sparklers. Fairy lights had been put by by Saorise and her boyfriend just earlier. It was maybe 11 pm now. “Oh my god…” Rowan muttered, probably realizing what was about to happen before she did 

“What?” she asks

Rowan just shook her head, side-eying Ayla. “Just go. He’s calling you” 

People were already looking. Not everyone knew what was happening, but teenagers were naturally curious creatures. The second someone stood up somewhere and everyone else started turning their heads, people noticed. SHe walked over to where Valarr was. He already got everyone’s attention, including Ayla and her friends who were going to be doing the promposal thing with her were watching to— watching as she walked to Valarr. She doesn’t know what their reactions were. Rowan would later tell her that they were angry. But that would be later. “This is so last minute,” Valarr said, this sort of desperation in her eyes “So, so last minute. But I’ve known you for years, and you’re my best friend. Will you go to prom with me?”

She forgot how to breathe. Not metaphorically. Actually. One second there was air in her lungs and the next there wasn't. "...What?"

Valarr gave a tiny, almost helpless laugh. It sounded nervous. "I said..." He cleared his throat. "Will you go to prom with me?" 

The entire park seemed to freeze. Someone wolf-whistled, someone else gasped. She heard Rowan whisper from somewhere behind her, "Holy shit."

Ayla's sparklers fizzled quietly in the distance. Valarr stood there on the rock looking... terrified. She understood now what he was asking earlier: if she would say yes. Oh, she dreamed of this. Unlike in the USA, Prom wasn’t that big of a thing here. It was something fun, something for the seniors. Her class was treating it more like a graduation after-party than what it typically is, which is the reason it was going to be the same day as graduation. But still, it was a memory for everyone. A good one even for those not going with dates or just going dancing with friends. But still her whole body had spent years rehearsing this moment.

Not like this.

Never like this.

In every version she'd imagined at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old, it had been quieter. Just them. Maybe after school. Maybe while walking home. Maybe at lunch. Maybe sitting on the curb in front of the convenience store.

Never in front of almost a hundred people.

Never while another girl stood ten metres away holding sparklers.

Never while she could feel dozens of pairs of eyes bouncing between her and Ayla.

It felt wrong.

It felt wonderful.

It felt cruel.

"...Yes," she heard herself whisper.

Valarr frowned slightly. "I..." Her throat tightened and she said it louder "Yes."

He smiled. It was all relieved and boyish. "Oh thank God," he laughed under his breath.

The crowd erupted. People cheered, and literal fireworks go off, lit up by the seniors in the football team. Valarr jumped off the rock and is quick to pull her into his arms. She hugged him back almost immediately. The scent of sweat and his cologne and deodorant hit her all at once. “Thank you, thank you, thank you” he murmured into her hair “I’m so sorry. You weren’t going with—”

“No. No, I wasn’t going with anyone else.” She promised and pressed her face to his chest “I can do this for you. I will always do this for you.” 

Valarr went impossibly still. Not because she had agreed but because of what she'd said.

I will always do this for you.

Something flickered across his face so quickly she almost thought she'd imagined it. Relief first. Then guilt. So much guilt. He hugged her tighter for half a second before letting go, almost like he'd forgotten nearly a hundred people were watching. "Thank you," he whispered again, fireworks blooming above them 

She smiled because she didn't trust herself to speak. Behind them, someone started chanting. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Oh my God, shut up," Rowan yelled immediately, throwing a paper plate toward whoever started it. 

Laughter erupted across the field. Valarr rolled his eyes so dramatically she almost laughed. He hugged her tighter, still not letting her go. 

His fingers wrapped around hers just enough to lead her back toward everyone else. 

Just enough that people would assume they were together, just enough that Ayla would understand.

Not enough that she could pretend it meant anything.

—

People would remember different versions of what happened next.

Some remembered Ayla crying.

Some remembered the teachers stepping in before she could ask.

Some remembered one of her friends yelling that it wasn't fair.

Some remembered Valarr calmly explaining that he'd already made plans.

Some remembered Rowan loudly telling anyone who would listen that no meant no regardless of who said it.

Memory was funny like that. Everyone remembered what mattered to them.

She remembered none of it.

She remembered standing by the river.

Valarr's jacket still hanging off her shoulders and her heart beating far too fast.

She remembered looking down at her wrist— Moonstone, Rose quartz, protection, love, emotional healing.

She laughed quietly to herself.

What a joke.

Because she knew if Ayla could have understood the word no, Valarr would have never asked her in the first place.

—

She avoids Ayla for the rest of the month leading up to graduation. She goes out with Rowan and Hazel to buy their dresses for graduation and by the second week all three of them were nominated for different categories for Prom. Rowan for Queen, Hazel and her for Princess. Of course, Raymun was nominated for King, Valarr for Prince. It wasn’t anything anyone actually cared about. It was a popularity contest, and the others who made the top three nominations already said they knew they weren’t going to win— that Rowan or Saorise, who were nominated, would win Queen, that Hazel or her would win Princess. It was a popularity contest; it was who had more friends. She did but then again, it was between her and Hazel and one other girl who was already surprised she’d even been voted for in the initial nominations. 

People didn’t care much about it though as they finished exams and handed in final assignments.

She graduates with honours and the highest grade in English/Literature, walking across the stage, people cheering for their friends. Saorise was valedictorian, her speech coming in last, ending the ceremony as everyone threw their caps up into the air. She remembered tearing up as her classmates dispersed from the rows they were sitting in, finding their families or friends. She couldn’t help stumbling a bit in her heels, throat feeling right. After failing Math twice in the 4 years of high school, trying to get the shitty Chemistry teacher fired, she had done it. She remembers seeing her mom, eyes welled with tears which soon began to fall. Her older sister graduated from University a few days ago, earning her bachelor’s degree and younger brother successfully finished middle school just yesterday. It was the end of June and almost felt like both the end and beginning of everything. “We did it!” Rowan said hugging her tight

Pictures are taken. Boys and girls with strict parents try hard not to look at their lovers, parents cry, siblings cry, some teachers cry as well. 

“Look at us” Valarr said as they stood together while their parents took photos of them

He put an arm around her waist, adjusting the medal she worked hard to earn. Her face flushed. “C’mon smile” Jena, Valarr mom said holding up her phone

Pictures take a while. She ends up crying a little. At that moment she said she was just overwhelmed and happy but years later she admitted she cried because she wasn’t sure how to live in the real world. 

—

A few hours later was prom, held in the same banquet hall as Graduation was. Her sister did her makeup and hair. Her dress was a pink off the shoulder gown with embroidery and little gems. It was beautiful. She looked beautiful and felt very beautiful. After some pictures at home, Rowan came to get her in her car. Hazel was already in the passenger seat. “Oh Valarr is going to hit that tonight” Rowan said very seriously as they started the drive to the hall

“Shut up” her face turned as pink as her dress

“You should tell him tonight” Hazel suggests, turning to look at her

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel!” 

She laughed so hard she almost smeared the lip gloss her sister had spent ten minutes making ‘even’. "What?" she wheezed.

Hazel stared at her like she'd just said the sky was green. "Tell him you like him. At the end of the night. Tell him." 

Hazel said it so simply like it was obvious. Like all she had to do was walk up to Valarr Targaryen, the boy she'd spent seven years orbiting, and say, I've loved you since we were children. As though those words hadn't been sitting inside her chest for years, growing heavier with every almost. But they had and it was terrifying. 

At the venue, they sign in with the teacher in charge of attendance and cast in their votes for the Prom Court. Tables had been separated by friend group, her and Saorise having spent hours upon hours making those google forums so people could submit who they wanted to sit with. Valarr stood near one of the round tables, black suit fitted perfectly to broad shoulders that had once belonged to the skinny thirteen-year-old who used to trip over his own shoelaces. His white streak had been pushed back neatly, exposing his forehead. He looked…

Gold.

Not burning tonight, just bright. He looked over the crowd once, twice— Then his eyes landed on her. He crossed the room before she'd even finished saying hello to Saoirse. "You clean up nice."

She looked him up and down dramatically. "You don't."

He looked down at himself. "Really?"

"No." She smiled. "You look... nice."

"Just nice?"

"...Very nice."

"There it is."

"What?"

"The honesty."

She rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."

"You came to prom with me anyway."

"...For a good cause."

He laughed. "You keep telling yourself that."

—

They took pictures. A lot of them. They took a few in the photo booth set up, took some on the camera for yearbook, on their phones. Valarr stood so close in each one. Part of her wondered if this was how it would be if they dated… If maybe they could. If maybe she should tell him like how Hazel suggested. 

They ate the really bad banquet hall food with overcooked veggies but pretty good pasta which ended up being completely finished with the endless appetites of teenagers. Hazel made a whole video for the graduating class, which for obvious reasons wasn’t played at graduations because it contained videos and pictures from students’ camera rolls. Everyone is in tears by the end of the 20 minute video consisting of the past four years, the background music going from Young, Dumb & Broke, 22, a few more and ending with Night Changes. 

Then came the announcement of who won the Prom Court. No one was taking it very seriously. It wasn’t something serious to anyone. But still, Valarr won Prince, she won Princess, Rowan won Queen and Raymun won King. It was cute. Very cute. The plastic crown sat on her head for maybe a short while till they started to dance. “Oh my god, she’s staring at me” Valarr muttered with a groan, pulling her in closer by her waist

Photograph by Ed Sheeran was playing on the speakers. Couples who she didn’t know where couples were dancing. Some were dancing with their friends, giggling like teens. Some boys were trying to dance three at a time and failing badly. Valarr’s hand stayed at her waist. Not low enough to be inappropriate, not high enough to be accidental, just there, holding tight. His hands warm through her dress.  She followed his gaze. Across the dance floor, through the blur of coloured lights and swaying classmates, Ayla stood near the dessert table. She was watching. Just watching. Not smiling, only watching. "...She's been doing that all night," Valarr muttered even though it was only 9 pm

She looked back at him. He looked exhausted. Her hands on his shoulders twitch a bit before she puts her arms fully around his neck, tugging him closer. Not because she wanted to make Ayla jealous but because he looked tired. Valarr let out the smallest sigh, one so quiet she almost missed it beneath the music. His forehead dipped, pressing against hers. "...Thanks," he murmured.

She blinked, facing flushing the same colour as her dress. "For what?"

"For..." He glanced over her shoulder toward the dessert table, then immediately looked away again. "Making this easier."

She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome."

The song drifted around them, slow enough that nobody really knew what to do with their feet. Most of the boys were swaying more than dancing anyway. Valarr wasn't much better but it was okay. This was okay. This was better than her dreams. “So you can fit me, inside the necklace you got when you were 16. Next to your heartbeat where I should be~” Valarr sang in an almost teasing tone 

Oh… She thought. Maybe… Maybe she could. Maybe she could finally tell Valarr how she felt instead of pining from afar. She laughed despite herself, trying to work up the confidence. "You are such a terrible singer."

"I know."

"You missed the note."

"I know."

"You changed the key halfway through."

"I know."

"And yet you kept going."

Valarr grinned, entirely unashamed. "Confidence."

"Delusion."

"Same thing."

She shook her head, smiling into his shoulder, hugging him tighter. Around them, people were laughing, dancing, taking blurry videos they would one day find buried at the bottom of old camera rolls. The DJ had decorated the hall with fairy lights borrowed from somewhere. Gold ribbons hung from the ceiling. Glitter had somehow ended up on everyone's shoes.

It was beautiful.

It felt borrowed.

Valarr swayed them lazily across the dance floor before spinning her a few times, making her laugh. 

They dance some more and the night goes on. The dessert table is raided by hungry teens, non-alcoholic drinks finished, food finished. More pictures are taken. Rowan breaks up with Raymun after finding out he’d been cheating on her with Ayla. It was a mess but Rowan didn’t go after Ayla despite how badly she wanted to. The night hadn’t ended because Rowan didn’t let it happen. She kept dancing, spinning her and Hazel around. Valarr joined in to help her feel better. 

Eventually at 12 pm, the night ended. Parents waited outside. Her own were coming so Rowan took Hazel home in her car, promising she was okay. Ayla left early of course. No one saw her after the big reveal of what she and Raymun had been doing. “That was a mess” Valarr said, sitting down on the curb outside the Hall with her

The cool summer breeze hit her heated skin. Her heels were on the ground next to her, picked up by Valarr after he sat down. “Yeah” she agreed with a sad smile “I hope Rowan will be okay”

Valarr nodded, elbows resting on his knees. For once, he didn't have some stupid joke ready. "She will be," he said after a while. "She'll just hate him first."

She huffed out a quiet laugh. "Only first?"

"Oh, no. Probably forever."

"...Fair."

Silence settled between them. The banquet hall behind them still glowed with warm lights. Teachers stood near the entrance making sure nobody drove home drunk despite there being no alcohol. Parents chatted together. Graduates hugged each other like saying goodbye enough times might somehow stop tomorrow from coming. Someone cried, someone laughed, someone shouted that they'd all meet up over the summer knowing damn well half of them never would.

She looked up at the stars. Or no. You couldn’t see the stars this far into the suburbs. Only the really bright ones. The big dipper is pretty clear. One of the glowing lights could be Jupiter or Venus. One could just be a satellite. “The moon is beautiful tonight” Valarr said

She turned away and looked at him. He’s shining gold. More like the sun but… “Yeah… It’s beautiful.” She murmured quietly

Valarr looked at her. His gaze faltered for a second. “Hey… No.” 

The words were soft. Too soft. So soft her stomach started to hurt. She looked back at him, confused. “What?” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted it to

Valarr’s hand comes up, holding her face. “No” He repeats 

His hand stayed against her cheek, warm and familiar and somehow more devastating because of that. His thumb brushed lightly beneath her eye, like he was wiping away something that wasn’t there and that was when she understood. He was saying no to her. Her stomach dropped so suddenly it felt like she had missed a step on the stairs because there it was the thing she had spent seven years waiting for— the moment she had imagined a thousand different ways.

Except she had always imagined herself being brave.

She had always imagined telling him first.

She had always imagined Valarr looking at her with surprise, then happiness, then relief.

She had never imagined this.

She had never imagined him seeing it before she said anything. “I know,” he whispered.

Her heart stopped. “What?”

“I know,” he said again, quieter. “I know what you were going to say.”

The worst part was that he sounded sad. Not disgusted, not uncomfortable but sad and somehow that hurt more. She swallowed, trying to laugh because that was what she did when things hurt. She made them smaller. She made them funny. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Valarr gave her a look. A soft, almost exhausted look. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that. I’ve been so selfish tonight” he held her face in both hands now “I’ve been terrible. I’ve always known and I’ve hated myself for stringing you along and using you for it… I… Fuck…”

He let go of her face and looked away. Her chest started to hurt, heart beating so fast it was making her ribs ache. She didn’t say anything though. She kept quiet as Valarr hugged her, warm arms around her shoulders. 

She doesn’t cry that night. 

Or she does but not until she’s at home. 

She never tells Rowan or Hazel about it. Years later when they ask about what happened after they left, she’d tell them nothing. She chickened out and hugged Valarr and parted ways. 

She never repeats the heartbreak, never says that she just wasn’t someone who Valarr would ever choose. 

Because before Aerion there was Valarr. 

Before the moon there was the sun.

Before cooled silver, there was molten gold that left burns across her back.

—

She met Aerion in University. She didn’t know he was Valarr’s cousin. How could she? On his student card, his name was written as Aerion Dayne. His dorm room was right in front of hers, Rowan and Hazel’s. Their university didn’t care much for separating the girls and boys, deciding that they were smart enough to not get into any trouble. 

Aerion had been weirdly nice despite the cold violet eyes. “Looks like he could be related to Valarr” Rowan said one night after coming back to the dorm late, sitting at the dining table

She cooked for her exhausted best friend who was still in her scrubs. “His last name is Dayne though” she points out

Rowan shrugged. 

They don’t talk about it again. 

—

Her and Aerion date. It’s… Interesting. Her first ever boyfriend.  It wasn't anything like she'd imagined. Not because it was worse but because it was so startlingly... uncomplicated. Aerion asked her out on a Tuesday.

No mixed signals.

No years of lingering looks.

No touching her hand and pretending it meant nothing.

No collecting pieces of her while refusing to choose her.

He just asked very clearly, told her what his intentions were. No nonchalant bullshit boys these days liked to do, no mixed signals. So she let him take her hand and guide her back to their dorm building after a few dates, they actually start dating. Hazel and Rowan are happy for her. She doesn’t think of Valarr at all. Not for the next 4 years doing Criminology with a minor in Writing Rowan encouraged her to pursue. Not when Aerion was teaching her to drive. Not when she got her G1 in first years then finally her G2 in her second. Not in the summer of 3rd year as she joined a flight school. Not in 4th year as she walked across stage with her Degree in Criminology and a Minor in writing then the following week her license to fly private planes. She doesn’t end up going to law school the following September despite her near perfect score on the entrance exams. 

And of course, each year like clockwork in August, she wishes Valarr Happy Birthday. 

—

After Valarr there was Aerion. 

Aerion who was silver.

Aerion who knew exactly what he wanted. 

Aerion who took his mother’s last name after his parents got a divorce and she didn’t know until a whole 4 years after meeting him. “What are you looking at?” she asked, coming out of his bathroom

Her hair was damp from the shower and she was in her pajamas. Aerion was on her laptop, sitting in bed. “Looking at your photos from High School” he murmured, sounding almost fond “you were so small”

She rolled her eyes, climbing onto the bed beside him. "I was fourteen."

"You looked twelve."

"I looked my age."

"You looked like someone who'd apologize after bumping into a chair."

"..."

"...Okay, maybe."

Aerion smiled without looking away from the screen. There were thousands of photos. Not many of her, just the world through her eyes. “You were a pretty kid. I bet everyone loved you” He said, clicking through the photos of ninth grade

“Worked for it. I was ugly as hell in middle school”

Aerion rolled his eyes. “Everyone is fucking ugly in middle school, baby, it’s not an unoriginal experience.” He tells her, shifting her laptop so it’s in his lap and himself so she could lay against his chest. 

There was no hesitation with Aerion. Everything he did, he did on purpose. If he wanted to hold her hand, he reached for it. If he wanted to kiss her, he kissed her. If he wanted to tell her she was beautiful, he did. Aerion continued to scroll, pressing the next button on her Mac. He’d stop and laugh at videos of teens being stupid, sneering at the photo of Raymun because Rowan had told him what the piece of shit had done. Aerion would stop a few seconds longer at photos of Valarr, videos of him making shots in the net in the school gymnesium or out on the field. Then came the 10th grade photos. The single one taken by the photography kid that made the school art showcase. “Wow” he muttered and airdropped it to his own phone

She nearly forgot all about that photo. The nature walk field trip, and one of the photography kids took a picture of her. She was, cross-legged beneath a willow tree, a library book open in her lap though she hadn't actually been reading it and busy staring at Valarr who was kicking a football around with his friends. Her curls caught the afternoon sun, every loose ringlet outlined in gold. One knee tucked beneath her chin. Head tilted ever so slightly away from the camera because she hadn't known she was being photographed. She tells him the story of the photo, how it ended up in the art show case. 

She doesn’t tell him that Valarr asked the kid who took it for the photo. She doesn’t wonder if Valarr still had it. “I’m going to get this printed wallet sized” Aerion muttered zooming in then asks “what were you looking at. Do you remember?”

She doesn’t ever lie to him though. “This guy I used to like.” 

Aerion looked at her. Not with the kind of wounded expression someone might make if they were trying to hide jealousy. He just looked.  That was one of the things she had learned about him. Aerion did not perform emotions. Valarr had always been a person who felt like he was constantly aware of how he appeared. Even when he was upset, there was always some part of him that was thinking about how someone else would see him. The golden boy. The charming boy. The boy who could laugh off anything.

Aerion was different.

If he was angry, you knew.

If he was happy, you knew.

If he loved you, you knew.

There was no guessing.

There was no reading between the lines.

There was no wondering if you were imagining things.

“Wow” He muttered and clicked to the next photo “If that’s how you look at a high school crush, I’m going to need a photo of you looking at me”

(Aerion still has the photo printed. She’d find it in his wallet weeks later)

There were a lot of pictures. Not many of her. Just videos of sunsets, of backflips, of goals in football nets, of ice skating, of chemistry labs, of dancing. The world through her eyes. Finally come the 12th grade photos. He doesn’t say much. Just laughs a bit at the makeshift ‘vlogs’ made by her, Hazel and Rowan, stares almost longingly at videos of her and Valarr kicking around a football. “I wish I knew you then” He murmured 

She shifted slightly against his chest, looking up at him. “Why?”

Aerion looked down at the laptop screen. The video was from senior year. Her and Valarr on the football field after school, the sun already beginning to set. It wasn’t even anything special. Just them messing around, trying to kick the ball into an empty net while Rowan yelled from behind the camera that both of them were terrible. “Would’ve treated you better than this piece of shit that’s for sure” Aerion tells her rolling his eyes “I mean I was a piece of shit too but not this kind of piece of shit. Not like Valarr”

That catches her attention because she’s never told Aerion Valarr’s name. Aerion looks away and continues to click through photos and videos. He finds the old promposal videos she’s never deleted. The ones she helped organize, the ones she simply recorded. He finds the Senior sunset photos and that video of Valarr asking her to Prom, fireworks lighting up the sky. She goes sort of stiff in his arms but Aerion barely reacts past looking weirdly amused. He finally makes it to the photos of Prom and full on laughs. “What?” her voice came out a lot smaller than she wanted

“You really went with him? Fuck, I thought he was fucking with me when he said he got rid of the bitch bothering him by getting another girl to go with him”

Her stomach sort of drops. “What?” she says for the second time or maybe the tenth “You know him?”

Aerion doesn’t answer yet. He continues to click through the photos of prom then the whole folder consisting of her high school memories comes to an end. The last photo was one of her and Valarr taken by Rowan. Valarr was looking somewhere off to the side and she was looking at him. “You know my parents are divorced and I took my mother’s name?” he asks

She nods. 

“You know what my father’s name is?”

She shook her head no. 

“Maekar Targaryen.”

Oh… Oh. She did not know that. She does recognize the name though from stories from Valarr. Maekar Targaryen, Valarr’s uncle with 6 children who got divorced four years ago. The youngest of Valarr’s Uncles, the grumpy one. Aerion was Valarr’s cousin. “I… What?”

She sits up, pulling away from him. Panic fills her. She isn’t sure why. Aerion barely moves though. He just watches. That was the thing about Aerion. He never rushed to fill the silence. He let people sit in their own reactions. Sometimes it was comforting, sometimes it was terrifying, especially when she was the one panicking. Aerion doesn’t do a thing except let her panic fester. He just goes through the pictures again and airdrops the ones of herself to his phone. Aerion finally looked up. "...Done?" He put his phone on the side table

She stared at him. "You..." Her voice caught. "You're his cousin."

"Mm."

"You knew."

"Mm."

"You knew this entire time."

"Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me."

"I didn't."

She laughed once. "Why?"

Aerion closed her laptop with a quiet click before setting it on the nightstand. "Come here."

"No."

"Come here."

"No."

His eyebrow lifted. "I'm not asking a third time."

When she doesn’t move, Aerion does. He’s quick to grab her, turning her onto her front on all fours. His chest presses against her back, putting his weight on her. “You never listen the first time, do you?” Aerion murmured with a sigh

Her arms nearly give out but Aerion caught her before they could. "Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"No, you're not."

"I—"

"You've been tense since I said Maekar."

His weight settled against her just enough to keep her from scrambling away, not enough to hurt. He had always been strangely good at that. Aerion liked being in control of situations, of conversations, of plans, but he had never once made her feel unsafe. Pinned wasn't the right word. Anchored was. She let out a shaky breath. "You should've told me."

"I know."

"You lied."

"I omitted."

"Aerion."

"I omitted."

She tried to turn her head to glare at him over her shoulder but he caught her chin lightly between his fingers and turned her face back toward the pillows. "Eyes forward. No moving till I say otherwise." 

She goes still, eyes on the pillow like he told her. Aerion's hand slid smoothly under her pajama top, calloused fingers finding the soft swell of her breast. He kneaded the supple flesh, thumb brushing over her nipple which pebbled instantly at his touch. “Shh, easy now,” he rumbled, feeling her tremble beneath him. “I've got you. You always panic so quick.”

His other arm curled around her waist, anchoring her in place—not to restrain, but to reassure. "I didn’t think it mattered because this—" he gestured vaguely between them, "—was always happening anyway. I didn’t want to ruin something real by forcing words where they weren’t needed."

“Aeri—”

“Calm down first” Aerion said sternly and put more weight on her shoulders, this time forcing her arms to give out under his weight “calm down, then we’ll talk”

She ends up face first in the pillow, a small noise falling from her lips. Both his arms went around her waist, keeping her pressed down and still. This wasn’t anything new. She’s had panic attacks before. Aerion had helped through them before. He knew her panic better than she did sometimes and that was the thing that annoyed her most because she liked to believe she was more composed than she actually was. She liked to believe she had grown since high school, that she was no longer the girl who overthought every glance, every word, every tiny change in someone's voice. But Aerion saw everything. He saw when her breathing changed, he saw when her fingers started twisting together, he saw when her thoughts started running faster than she could keep up with and unlike Valarr, who always tried to soften things, tried to make things easier, tried to make everyone comfortable—even when it meant avoiding the actual problem— Aerion didn't let her run away from anything. "Count." His voice was low. 

She hated how quickly she listened. "One." Her voice was muffled against the pillow.

"Again."

"One."

"You're rushing."

“I’m not” she near whined and used her hands to try and push herself up and him off

Aerion caught her wrists, twisting her arms back. He held them both in one hand against her back. People who didn’t know Aerion would have assumed he was cruel because he liked control. Because he liked telling people what to do. Because he had that sharp tongue and those cold eyes and the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance.

And he was cruel sometimes. He could be.

Aerion Dayne had inherited enough of his father’s sharpness that she knew better than anyone that he was not some gentle, endlessly patient man who existed only to make people feel better. But sometimes, when he needed it, he could be something else and that something else was exactly what she needed all this time. “Count” he repeated sternly 

Her cheek was pressed into the pillow. Her arms were trapped behind her, held firmly but carefully. It was sort of embarrassing sometimes to be treated like this. But it was also weirdly nice… “One”

“There we go, good girl.” Aerion murmured “now keep going till 10. We’ll see if you need to go higher or not” 

"...Two."

"Slower."

She inhaled. "...Two."

"Good."

"...Three."

His thumb rubbed absentmindedly across the back of her wrist. Not enough to distract her. Just enough to remind her he was there. "...Four."

"There you are."

"...Five."

Her breathing stopped sounding so jagged. "...Six… Seven."

The room had gone quiet. Not silent as she could still hear the rain tapping against the residence windows. Someone somewhere down the hall laughed. A door closed. The radiator clicked. "...Eight."

Aerion hadn't moved. He never did once he committed to something. There was a steadiness to him that had taken her years to appreciate. Valarr had always felt like sunlight through leaves—warm, beautiful, constantly shifting. Aerion was bedrock. "...Nine."

His chin rested lightly against the back of her shoulder. "...Ten." 

"Again."

She sighed dramatically into the pillow. "Aerion."

"What?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask."

"..."

"...Again."

She hated him but she loved that he never believed her when she lied about being okay. "...One."

—

By the time she reached ten again, the tightness in her chest had loosened. Aerion finally released her wrists. He didn’t roll off her yet though. Instead he hugged her waist, pressing his face between her shoulderblades. “I didn’t tell you on purpose” he admits “Yes I knew who you were to Valarr… I didn’t care though. I saw you, wanted you, got you. End of story.”

Aerion’s words should have made her angry. Maybe they would have if they had come from anyone else.

I saw you, wanted you, got you.

It sounded possessive and arrogant but it sounded exactly like something Aerion Targaryen Dayne would say and yet her chest loosened because unlike Valarr, Aerion had never made wanting her feel like something he had to apologize for. He had never acted like choosing her was some terrible burden he had accidentally taken on. He had never looked at her like she was a memory he was afraid to hold too tightly.

Aerion wanted her and that was it. “You make it sound like I’m a stray cat you found outside,” she muttered into the pillow.

Aerion laughed quietly. Not the amused little scoff he usually gave people. But the different one only she gets. “You kind of were.”

She gasped and finally managed to turn her head enough to glare at him. “Aerion.”

“What?”

“I’m your girlfriend.”

“Yes.”

“And you just compared me to a stray cat.”

“A very pretty stray cat.”

“That does not help.”

“It was supposed to.”

She stared at him. He stared back. Then, because he was Aerion and apparently had no fear of consequences, he added, “You also had the same habit.”

“What habit?”

“Looking like you were waiting for someone to throw you out. You’re actually more like a puppy at a pound that’s been given away.”

“Okay now that’s just rude”

Aerion laughs, pressing his face to her shoulder blades again. She’s pulled up and made to sit in his lap. For a long while neither say a thing. The room was dim except for the desk lamp still burning beside the bed. Rain tapped lazily against the residence window. Aerion rested his chin on her shoulder, one arm around her waist, absentmindedly drawing circles against the fabric of her shirt. She played with his fingers. "You knew everything?" she asked eventually.

"Most of it.”

"From Valarr?"

"No."

"Then how?"

“Matarys. He’d complain about it. About how you were the nicest person ever, that you’d bring over homemade muffins and hoped you and Valarr would date so you’d keep bringing them.” Aerion said, sounding almost exhausted at the thought then in an accusatory tone said “you’ve never made me muffins”

They both laugh after that and never bring it up again. 

—

Sometimes she’d dream of Aerion, sometimes of Valarr. Of large warm hands on her skin, running up and down. In her hair, her back, her stomach, sometimes sliding between her thighs and making her fall apart. But she hasn’t dreamt of Valarr in a very long time and now, whenever her mind wandered in sleep, it found cool silver instead of molten gold. Aerion’s hands were always warm in her dreams, running up her back, fingers in her cunt. “What’re you dreamin’ of?” Aerion said, sounding amused as she was shaken awake

“I—” a pathetic little noise fell from her lips

“Shhh~” Aerion turns her onto her back “lemme help”

Her panties are pushed aside, shirt hiked up her tummy before he slid in. "You don’t have to rush," he murmured, leaning closer so his breath ghosted across her neck. "I’ve got all night."

She let out a shuddery exhale, her muscles tensing despite herself. Aerion chuckled softly, low and intimate, and shifted slightly to ease the ache building between her legs. His confidence was infuriating, soothing, intoxicating—all at once. He didn’t ask twice; he never needed to. With Aerion, surrender meant everything, and resistance was futile. He took her arms, guiding them to wrap around his neck as he began to roll his hips, grinding into her instead of thrusting. She could hardly think beyond the slow drag of his touch, the intimacy of his presence filling the space between them. It was maddening how easily he played her trust like an instrument, coaxing sounds from her throat that bordered on surrender. Her nails dug into his shoulders, seeking comfort as sensation coiled tight in her core. Aerion watched her face intently, gauging every flicker of emotion, every micro-expression. Aerion's hand gripped tighter on her hair, angling her head so she couldn't avoid his gaze. "Don't avoid my eyes. Keep looking at me."

She blinked rapidly but forced herself to hold eye contact. He hummed in approval. "There you go. Such a good girl when you try." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Now open your mouth. Wide." 

When she hesitated, he tightened his fist in her hair sharply. "I won't ask again."

Her mouth fell open on reflex and seconds later a glob of saliva was spat into her mouth. She does a whole body flinch in surprise but swallows anyway. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the dark, she can see Aerion’s almost satisfied expression before he picks up the pace of his hips, no longer grinding but thrusting his cock into her, slow but hard strokes. The impact of his weight against her sent a jolt through her spine. "That's it," Aerion whispered, his voice dripping with a patronizing sweetness that made her toes curl. 

He increased the tempo, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythmic, wet thud that echoed in the quiet room. "Take it all. Show me how much you need this."

She couldn't answer, couldn't even form words. Sleep had long bled out as he pressed her down into the mattress. "You know," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he drove into her again, "I really can't wait to have you like this every single day…”

She tried to speak, her lips parting, but all that emerged was a broken, breathless whimper. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, rolling back slightly as another wave of sensation crashed over her. “Aer— ahh…” 

Aerion’s hand slipped down between them, rubbing her clit in quick figure eights. “There we go, there we go. Let go” he murmured

The friction of his thumb against her swollen nub combined with the relentless depth of his thrusts pushed her right over the edge. Her back arched off the mattress, her toes curling tightly as a silent scream died in her throat. A violent shudder racked her entire frame, her internal muscles clamping down on him in a desperate, pulsing rhythm that drew a sharp hiss of pleasure from his teeth. As the waves of her orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving her limbs feeling like lead and her brain turned to mush, Aerion slowed his pace. He didn't stop, but the hard thrusts transitioned back into those agonizingly slow grinds. Aerion comes apart seconds later, spilling deep into her. He doesn’t speak. Won’t for the rest of the night. He just holds her tight against his chest and they fall back asleep together. 

—

A year after graduation they get married. Part of her wants to say that she never imagined a life with Aerion. It isn't particularly grand. Not because Aerion couldn't make it grand. He could. His family could have rented out an entire fucking castle if they wanted to. His mother had offered to arrange half of it before she was even asked. His father had opinions despite not being invited to have them. They have a small one just because neither of them wanted to invite the whole world or have press taking a hundred thousand pictures. Weirdly enough, she doesn’t meet Maekar Targaryen until the wedding reception and that was only because Dyanna, Aerion’s mother, was in the corner fighting with him. “Auntie? Is everything alright?” She asks her mother-in-law

Dyanna turns around so quickly that the look on her face softens almost immediately. “Oh, sweetheart.” She sighs, reaching out to fix a piece of her hair that had come loose after dancing with Rowan and Hazel. “Everything is fine.”

“It is not fine,” Maekar says from behind her.

Dyanna closes her eyes. “Maekar.”

“What?”

“You are ruining my son’s wedding.”

“I haven't done anything.”

“You've been arguing with me for twenty minutes because you don’t like the hall.”

She stood there awkwardly, trying to figure out if she should call Aerion or Aemon or not to defuse the argument. He’s off dancing with his own friends, suit jacket taken off. She’s there, barefoot, in her wedding gown. Maekar Targaryen looked exactly like she remembered from Valarr and Aerion’s stories. Grumpy, tall, cold violet eyes, the sort of face that always looked vaguely annoyed even when he wasn't. Aerion had his father’s colouring, violet eyes, white hair. But his mother’s overall face. She can’t really imagine Aerion being like his dad. Grumpy and angry looking all the time. Though, standing there watching Maekar glare at Dyanna, she realizes maybe Aerion had inherited more than she thought. “I’m going to get Aerion” She said stiffly

“No” Dyanna said immediately “It’s fine. He always does this. No need to ruin your day because my ex husband can’t handle things not going his way” 

Maekar scoffed. “I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

“Uncle? Auntie?” A familiar voice makes the hair on the back of her neck rise

The thing is, Aerion wanted his father’s family to be as less involved as possible. They hadn’t been invited to the pre wedding festivities so tonight she was meeting all of them. Including meeting Valarr again after 5 whole years. She turns slowly. Valarr Targaryen is standing a few feet away. For a second, neither of them says anything. He looks older which is the first thing she notices. Not dramatically. Not in some way that makes him unrecognizable. He still has the same golden-brown hair with the white streak through it, though it’s slicked back for the occasion. His face has sharpened. His shoulders are broader. There is something more mature about him now, something quieter. “My dad told me to come and tell you both to not fight” Valaar told Maekar and Dyanna

Maekar rolls his eyes. “Tell Baelor he can f—”

“Maekar” Dyanna scolded

The two start fighting again anyway. “Long time, hm?” Valarr said

He’s standing close but unlike 5 years ago, her heart doesn’t speed up. It remains calm. There is just the slight stutter of nervousness that comes with seeing an old face after years. “Yeah, it has been” she agreed

“Congratulations” He continued after a moment 

“Thank you.”

Valarr smiled. It was the same smile. That was the first thing that nearly unsettled her. Not because it made her heart ache. It didn’t. It was simply familiar in a way she hadn't realized she remembered— the slight tilt of his mouth, the dimples, the way his eyes softened when he smiled at someone. She had spent years remembering that smile. Now it just looked like a nice smile and nothing more. “You look happy,” he said.

She glanced down at herself, her white wedding gown. “I am.”

“I can see that.” There was something strange about the way he said it. 

Valarr looked past her for a moment, toward where Aerion was still talking with a group of people near the other side of the reception hall. “He treats you well?”

She looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Good.” That was it. 

She smiled faintly. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Really?”

Valarr laughed quietly. “Yeah. Really.”

She nodded. There were so many things she could have said after that. She could have asked about university. About his job. About whether he still played football. About whether he still had that stupid habit of tapping his fingers against his thigh whenever he was nervous. She could have asked if he remembered the photograph. She could have asked if he still had it.

She didn't.

Five years ago she would've searched his face for an answer to questions she was too afraid to ask.

Now she didn't need one. “I’m happy you’re happy. You look happy” Valarr said finally “I’m sorry I never reached out though… During the past five years. University was a bitch”

She laughed a little. “Oh don’t worry. I know. Nearly lost my hair from stress”

Valarr groaned. “Oh my god, me too. Took me ages to grow it back”

And that was it. It was like they were back to 5 years ago, only she wasn’t in love with him anymore.

Later, on the empty dance floor as the clock strikes 12, Aerion spins her around to Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Ray. Most people have gone home, only immediate family still here, stuffing their faces with more dessert and food. He kisses her forehead. It’s such a small thing and maybe that's what makes her realize it. There was no grand moment where she stopped loving Valarr, no dramatic morning where she woke up and suddenly felt nothing. There wasn't a final conversation, there wasn't closure, there wasn't even an apology that could neatly tie everything together, there was just time.

Four years of university.

Five years of Aerion.

Learning to drive, learning to fly, learning that sometimes she didn't have to explain herself before asking for reassurance, learning that she could say I'm scared and have someone answer I know.

Learning that being loved didn't have to feel like waiting.

She had spent so much of her life thinking love was supposed to be complicated— that if it didn't hurt a little, it wasn't real, that if someone didn't make her wonder where she stood, then perhaps she wasn't important enough.

Valarr had taught her how badly she could want someone.

Aerion taught her that wanting didn't have to be painful, that being chosen didn't have to be earned, that sometimes someone could simply look at you and decide—

You and never make you question it.

She rests her head against Aerion's chest. His hand moves slowly over her back. “You're quiet.”

“I'm tired.”

“Liar.”

She smiles against his shirt. “You're annoying.”

“I know.”

“Mean.”

“I know.”

“Bossy.”

“I know.”

She lifts her head. “You're supposed to deny that one.”

“Why?”

“Because normal people deny things like that.”

Aerion looks genuinely confused. “I've never claimed to be normal.”

She laughs. Aerion watches her for a moment then his expression softens. “You're beautiful.”

She looks up at him almost in surprise. He says it so easily it almost feels like he’s lying.  “Even with no shoes?”

“Especially without shoes.”

“Even with my hair all messy?”

“Yeah.”

“My makeup is probably ruined.”

“Definitely.”

She smacks his chest. “Aerion.”

He catches her hand. “Still beautiful.”

She looks at him. Really looks at him. Silver hair, violet eyes, that sharp face that always seems vaguely unimpressed with the rest of the world. The man who could be cruel, the man who could be impatient, the man who had once pinned her down against a mattress because she was panicking and told her, sternly, to breathe, the man who never softened himself for anyone… Except that he had learned where to be gentle with her. And she had learned that she didn't need him to be gentle all the time— sometimes she needed him to tell her to stop, sometimes she needed him to take the decision out of her hands, sometimes she needed to hear his voice and know that someone else had the situation handled and Aerion liked being that person.

It worked. Not because either of them was perfect but because they fit into the places the other person left open. Aerion rests his forehead against hers. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

She looks around the empty reception hall. “Already?”

“It's midnight.”

“We're married now. Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Aerion stares at her. “No.”

“Good.”

“I've spent four years dealing with you. I'm not giving you back.”

She laughs again and he takes her hand. They walk across the empty hall together, her wedding dress trailing behind her. At the doors she stops. Aerion looks back. “What?”

She glances over her shoulder— at the empty dance floor, at the flowers, at the tables, at the place where Valarr had stood earlier. Five years ago, she would've stayed.

She would've searched the room.

She would've wondered if he was watching.

She would've wondered if he regretted it.

She would've wondered if he looked at her and thought about that night.

She would've wondered if maybe—

She doesn't wonder anymore. She looks at Aerion instead. He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

She smiles. “Nothing.”

Aerion studies her face for another second then holds out his hand. “Come on.”

She takes it and this time, she doesn't look back because before Aerion there was Valarr. Before the moon there was the sun. Before cooled silver, there was molten gold that left burns on her hands as she tried to take hold. But gold had never been the end of the story. It had only been the thing that taught her what fire felt like.

Silver came later and somehow, after all those years of thinking love was supposed to leave scars she finally learned that it could also be the thing that helped them heal.

end notes: The high school scenes are inspired by very real things that happened at my school. If you recognize it, no, you don't. So yeah, Ayla is inspired by a real person as is Valarr's character. But in real life, the guy I inspired Valarr by ended up taking another boy to Prom instead. Harassment goes both ways, guys! No means no.

Raymun is a bad guy because I said so. He laughed at a boy telling someone he trusted about being SA'd, and that did NOT sit right with me.

Aerion is ooc but who tf cares?

Maekar and Dyanna's reason for divorce is up to interpretation, and the reason why Aerion hates Maekar is up to interpretation as well.

Thank you for reading :)

[eroticanas]

☆ ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚ LECTURES AND LIVITY

( MODERN!VALARR X READER )

☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ Valarr has been pushing boundaries with you for a very long time. he takes it a step further while you’re busy with class.

contains! modern!valarr, noncon, incest. requested material.

— guys i’m so sorry for the wait!! im so super jet lagged right now so don’t bully me if the writing isn’t as good as usual…

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the drone of the professors voice filled the silence of your bedroom, her monotonous tone feeling like a drill trying to bully its way through your skull. you shifted in your chair, trying to tuck your legs beneath you while still looking like you were paying attention to the lecture. the walls of the house feeling more like a prison cell every day since Valarr had convinced your father that campus life was a predators playground.

the door clicked open, which you barely noticed— you were too engrossed in watching yourself through the screen, noting your dark circles and your lazily brushed hair. fuck… you hoped that cute guy from class wasn’t looking at you right now.

“turn the camera off.”

you jumped a little, whipping your head around to see where the voice was coming from. jesus christ. Valarr was always sneaking up on you like this. it was almost freakish for a grown man to be able to make no sound while walking around the house.

“i’m in the middle of a lecture, Valarr. get out.”

he didn’t listen to you. he never did. not when he had put his hand up your skirt during dinner with your family, not when he had groped you while you were trying to help your little brother with his homework. when he reached you, his fingers dug into your shoulders.

“i said turn it off. we need to talk.”

you sighed and clicked the little camera icon. the small green light died. you turned to him, eyes narrowing, blindly turning down the sound and the droning professors voice along with it. “what is so important that you have to interrupt my degree?”

“you’ve been spending a lot of time with Matarys lately.”

you frowned. “he’s my brother, of course i’m spending time with him. and he’s not doing very well in school, you know that. he needs the help.”

“is that what you call it. help?” his voice was soft, as it always was. calm. but his eyes were cold. “are you trying to fuck him?”

you recoiled, chair scraping harshly against the floor as you moved back from him, “what? no! of course not! that’s absolutely disgusting, Valarr! get out of my room, right now!”

“you’re lying.”

before you could fully stand and try to push him out of your room yourself, he shoved you back into your chair, his weight pinning you down. he ripped your leggings down to your ankles in a single violent motion.

“stop it! Valarr, stop it!”

he fumbled with his trousers, freeing a thick, pulsing cock that leaked a bead of precum. he grabbed your thighs, forcing them wide and slamming himself into you without a word of warning. the intrusion was sudden and raw, and you gasped, the air leaving your lungs with a ragged sob.

“you don’t need anyone else,” he moaned, his voice dropping to a rasp, “just me. i’m the only one who knows how to take care of you.”

he drove deeper, head of his cock hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your hips jerk. he reached down, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing against it harshly, forcing a strained moan from your throat. he accelerated, balls slapping hard against your ass, the chair creaking with the movement. he gripped your waist as he hammered into you. he’d surely leave bruises, ones that you’d notice in the shower later on, while you were scrubbing the violation from your skin and your mind alike. reminders.

“i’m the one for you,” he groaned, voice shaking, “only me. forever.”

with a final, violent grunt, Valarr finished, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he flooded your womb with hot, thick seed. he struggled to steady himself, legs shaky with release. he put himself away and zipped up his pants, then ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his pale face, fixing himself back up, as he always did, handsome and precise as ever, nothing but the slight flush gracing his cheeks to suggest what had happened.

[valarrmorghvlis]

y'all i was gone for a while and the marriage contract has almost 3,5k notes?? like wHAT

i'm literally floored🥹 i love love all of you who read my silly little stories that come out of my silly little brain🫶🏻

i've just been really tied up, i took over a new project at my grad school and got a job offer, but when the dust settles i'll be cooking again🍲

the wedding night episode is like 90% done, and i may or may not have finished up a fic where i'm not even sure if i should post it🫠

ALSO if any of you are into x-men and specifically nightcrawler, i made an extra side blog for it and have a grand ass WIP for my sweet, blue fur ball of a man going on right now! i'll repost it here as soon as i have it ready

[localgirltriestosurvive]

To be hated is to be known (Valarr Targaryen) (2)

Valarr Targaryen x f!reader

Part one here

MDNI

description: Academic rivals to lovers, rivals with benefits, kinda enemies to lovers, whipped!Valarr (Love me an obsessed man), basically everyone has a cameo, NO AI was used (fuck ai), smut, p in v sex, reader slaps Valarr, reader is implied to have long hair (but you can ignore that detail idc)

notes: Matarys is gay because it's my story and no one can stop me <3

wc: 6.5k

After that fateful first class, Valarr started popping up in the most unexpected areas of your life. Where it was just physics before, he now mysteriously appeared in your math class, your writing seminar, and your biology class, making use of the university’s flexible schedule policy for the first weeks of the semester. This all was incredibly frustrating given that you knew for a fact that he was studying law in order to better serve the realm, as its Prince, and so had no reason whatsoever to take this many science courses, whereas your major commanded it.

Now, you weren’t so egotistical as to say that he had switched over just for the pleasure it would bring him to irritate you all semester long… but that’s exactly what you thought. There were just too many pieces of evidence against him!

Exhibit A: He always chose the same seat relative to yours. In all classes, he sat at the desk behind you and to the right without fail. The first day of your writing course, you tried to sit in the row furthest in the back as silent retaliation, and a certain blonde haired freakishly-tall man walked up to you and kindly apologized for the disturbance but requested the seat so he could sleep without the professor noticing. He’d looked so disheveled and tired you hadn’t had the heart to say no, and so had moved, and Valarr had been able to claim his rightful place behind you. You’d later found out from Kiera that the blonde was none other than Daeron Targaryen.

Exhibit B: Every. Single. Time. You. Participated. He felt the need to comment on what you’d said, sometimes to add to it but mostly to try to undermine it. And every time you scoffed, or glared, or rolled your eyes, the twinkle in his blue eye grew brighter, and the smirk on his face more pronounced. It was infuriating.

Exhibit C: He tried to talk to you. This happened very seldomly in the three weeks that you’d known him, but when it did it always left you feeling hot all over, in anger no doubt. He had approached you exactly thrice since that fateful day, all on Fridays, all after physics class, as if he scheduled what times to try and aggravate you. The first time, he’d talked about the professor’s midterm, implying he could use a study partner. The second time, he’d casually mentioned- to Kiera, not you- that the Targaryen cousins were hosting a party and everyone was welcome. Neither Kiera nor you went, to her chagrin. The third time, your particular favorite, had been right after lab partners had been chosen. He’d walked up to you with furrowed brows, a few strands of his perfectly styled hair loose from his fingers running through them, and cheeks reddened by a humiliation he’d so often inflicted upon you.

He had looked at you, mouth gaping and open for a few seconds, then had spoken very carefully, words clipped but calm, nonetheless. “You chose Matarys.”

You had smiled innocently “He’s very good. Thinks outside the box.”

His eyes had narrowed as he had opened his mouth again, then closed it, then opened it to scoff, turn away from you and head to his sheepish brother. He knew that you knew that he could not have said anything else without ruining the game. Because, yes, this was all some sort of game, in the end: One of pushing and pulling and rising anger and taunts. To admit to being bothered by the other’s actions would have been admitting defeat, and Valarr Targaryen never lost.

Besides, you hadn’t lied: Matarys wasn’t a half bad lab partner. Presently he was single-handedly setting up your pulleys for the experiment while you were off thinking about his brother again. You hated how he got under your skin. You relished how you got under his.

“Little help would be nice.” The redhead broke the silence.

“Sorry, sorry.” You stepped forward, taking the rope from his hands to get to work. “Just thinking.”

The boy smiled then shrugged. The thing about Prince Matarys was that he never pushed, you’d found out, so you had to make the effort to get closer to him. “If you were curious,” You began teasingly “I was wondering why your brother is in so many of our classes. He’s a second year, and a pre-law. What’s he doing in the science department?”

Matarys smirked, clever hands pausing. “Father always says it is important for Princes to be well-rounded. Perhaps he’s trying to do just that. As heir he has… standards to uphold.”

You hummed in response and focused back on your work. It was a plausible explanation, and perhaps there was truth to it. You told yourself to believe it. You willed yourself to stop thinking about him.

Perhaps it was Valarr’s attitude itself that had you doubting, though. Around you, he didn’t wield the same calm and poise he so perfectly exercised among everyone else. Around you, there was an edge to him, a crack in the mask of the golden boy, a want that he let himself show for once, even if that want was as small as annoying you.

After the lab period was over, you pulled Matarys aside to apologize. “I’m really sorry I didn’t do much. I was distracted.”

Your lab partner shook his head and looked away, biting the inside of his cheek with a small frown. Something was bothering him, you realized.

“What is it? Are you upset with me?” You probed.

“You know how you said that you considered us to be friends?” He interrupted.

You nodded, a small curious smile pulling at your lips.

“Well, friends do each other favors, right?” He continued, then immediately justified. “I know we’re not that close, so you can obviously refuse, and I would totally understand because I mean you met me only weeks ago but-”

“Jeez, where’s the body, Mat?” You giggled at his rambling.

“No! It’s not that!” He reddened, as he so easily did. “Don’t laugh, this is serious!” He exclaimed, but he himself was laughing. “My father and mother are hosting a gala. I, as their spare, obviously have to attend… with a date. The problem is my father has one picked out, but she’s so dreadfully boring and agrees with everything that comes out of my mouth, and thinks she actually stands a chance, so I thought I’d ask a friend instead, so I at least have fun.”

You blinked twice, caught off guard, smile widening. “Are you asking me out? Oh, I’d be honored!” You joked.

“Shut up.” He shoved at you. “I know you somehow guessed the first week of our friendship, but that doesn’t mean I want my parents, or God forbid my perfect fucking brother, suspecting that I… don’t like women.” He said the last part in a whisper, like it was a crime. “Do you know how many gay Targaryens have existed? None! Zero, nothing. If I had a beautiful woman on my arm, not picked by my father, it might… I don’t know, quell the suspicion.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Please.” He added after the speech had already ended.

Your entire demeanor softened. “Of course I will. Sorry about teasing.”

He finally looked back at you, blinding grin resurfacing. “Thank you. I will send over the dress, bags, shoes, everything. Be ready by nine!”

Your smile disappeared. “Wait, it’s today? Matarys!” But he was already gone, and you were left scrambling to get back to your dorm.

Somewhere in the back of the lab, Valarr’s pencil snapped under the pressure of his grip. He’d been watching the exchange and did not like your …familiarity with his brother.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

It was eight fifty-two. Kiera was sat on her bed in your shared dorm room, and she was laughing at you. Eight minutes until Matarys got here, and she was laughing at you!

“Where the fuck did I put the stupid earrings?” You sighed.

“Calm down! You look perfect, you can wear mine.” She giggled and got up, reaching into one of her drawers to pull out her jewelry, then approached you. “You need to breathe. Since when have you been intimidated by the Targaryens?”

“I’m not intimidated.” You assured. “I just don’t like the feeling of being the odd one out, you know? I won’t belong there. I know no one but Matarys.”

“You’ll be alright. You’ll meet people, and if you feel like leaving text me and I’ll come save you. But like, if you see Daeron there…”

“I’ll beat him up for ghosting, I know.” You laughed.

“Good. Final touches?”

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Matarys had sent a silky gown the color of cream. It had a modest neckline, with a halter scarf being the only thing holding the dress to your body since it was entirely backless. You could feel the silk fabric brushing against your bare back every time you moved. You were adorned with so much diamond jewelry that you felt almost afraid to leave the dorm in case you lost a piece, and half your hair had been pinned up by Kiera whilst you did your makeup. All in all, you’d never looked better, and you decided to swallow your nerves in favor of confidence.

Matarys came to pick you up in a suit that complimented your attire, and you two joked all the way to the venue, drinking perhaps too much bubbly in the limo. You blasted music and sang along and ate tiny cheeses off a charcuterie board, and somewhere along the way you decided that maybe being friends with a Targaryen had its perks.

Unsurprisingly, the venue was something out of a movie. It was a giant ballroom filled with bustling servers carrying champagne in crystal glasses, a live orchestra playing classical music in the middle of the room, pairs of perfectly dressed nobles breezing across the floor as if they were a remnant of a forgotten century, and, of course, a massive staircase where only the Targaryens were allowed to stand, overlooking the guests like they were peasants. Matarys stopped you once you reached the bottom of those stairs with a gentle hand to your waist.

“I need to go.” He said, looking up to his father. He made sure the King was looking, then kissed your cheek in farewell. “I’ll come find you, after.”

You smiled and watched him join his family on the stairs, but you couldn’t help but notice the absence of one particular family member.

“You look nice.” The deep voice spoke into your ear from beside you, causing you to jump.

“’Nice?’ Is that the best you can do?” You retorted, just to say something.

Valarr smirked his stupid, tiny smirk, the one you always tried to decipher. Was it genuine kindness or smugness? Was it mockery or admiration? Was it amusement? You weren’t sure Valarr knew the answer himself.

Nevertheless, he slowly dragged his gaze from your face down to the tip of your toes, then back up, taking his time. After what he surely deemed to be an adequate inspection, he gave a small hum. You tilted your head questioningly.

“Better than anyone here. All for Matarys?” The kind expression remained on his face, but his eyes were dark, pupils blown, and his tone was poison.

“We’re here as friends.” You felt the need to clarify, voice gone quiet.

Valarr scoffed in response, slowly raising his hand to brush his thumb over your cheek, then leant forward to kiss the spot Matarys had not so long ago. “I’ll come find you, after.” He chuckled, in a terrible impression of his brother.

He was mocking you, you realized. He felt entitled enough to mock! And yet, even after he’d left to climb the stupid stairs, a faint tingling remained where his skin had touched yours. You grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and took a big drink, closing your eyes to ingest as much alcohol as possible. When you opened them, you spotted Valarr raising his own glass towards you with a grin. He knew what he was doing. Bastard. You weren’t about to let him win this round of the game.

“Lords and Ladies of Westeros, welcome.” Queen Jena began. “It is our pleasure to welcome you to the annual charity fundraiser.”

She continued speaking, but you found your gaze drifting to the princes unintentionally. Matarys winked at you- which earned him a frown from his older brother- and subtly gestured to the far end of the room, to a set of double doors.

You offered him a small smile and a nod, then made your way through the throng of people to where he had indicated. The doors led to a darkened garden, lit only by the reflection of the moon in a fountain’s water and the soft light the stars offered. There was a man there, Daeron, you recognized. He was downing liquid from a flask, and subsequently hiccupped when he saw you.

“Hello” You greeted. “Aren’t you supposed to be in there with the rest of the family?”

He hummed. “Better I stay here, wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.” The statement made you sad.

“Kiera’s been asking about you.” You changed the subject, and that seemed like the right move because his eyes lit up.

“Has she? I thought I ruined it when I drunk texted.”

“No, you ruined it when you stopped responding afterwards.” You raised your eyebrows.

He considered your statement for a moment, then whispered, “…She deserves better than me.”

You were about to reply when the sound of a door opening caught your attention.

“Cousin.” Valarr stepped out, hands behind his back. “Your father requests your presence.”

“Daddy’s calling.” Daeron sighed, but he seemed less weighed down than he had been all night.  

Once he left, you turned to face Valarr. And what a face that was. You disliked the man’s attitude, sure, but you had eyes. He wore a black suit with a black undershirt, and threads of red symbols were sewn onto the jacket, depicting dragons and stars and waves like fire. His clothes were just tight enough to reveal the lean body hidden underneath. It drove you to distraction, to say the least: Between the sleeves pressing onto his biceps very slightly and the shirt hugging his waist so perfectly that you could see the dip of his hips, you were close to losing your mind.

The silence stretched between you too long after Daeron left, until he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, then declared. “I don’t understand you.”

“Excuse me?” You crossed your arms over your chest, defensive.

“You choose him as a lab partner. You laugh with him. You come here, into my world, with him.”

“Oh, get over yourself! Not everything is about you.” You almost laughed and looked away. He took a step forward.

“Isn’t it? Isn’t all of this some big retaliating move for the last time I won our little game?” He taunted.

“Please-” You tried, but he took another step forward, now mere steps away.

“Are you so desperate to get under my skin that you would use my own brother? And poor Matarys. He thinks he stands a chance; he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. I knew you loved attention, but this is pushing it, don’t you think?”

You slapped him, the ring adorning your finger catching the skin of his cheek. The sight of that one drop of red dripping down his sculpted face filled you with a mix of remorse and strange vindication. He had no right to speak to you that way. Still, that didn’t mean you had the right to hurt him. You opened your mouth to apologize, then backed out at the last second. You took a step back and away from him and rushed back into the party without a word. As the double doors swung shut behind you, you looked back to glimpse a stunned Valarr touching his fingers to his bloody cheek, and in your distraction, walked right into someone.

“There you are! I was just about to come find you!” Matarys exclaimed, and you realized a second too late that he was standing with his parents.

“I’m sorry. I was… powdering my nose.” You offered a smile, then dipped into the curtsy you had practiced with Kiera just in case this exact scenario played out. “Your Majesties.”

“Rise, young lady.” King Baelor spoke kindly. You looked up at him; he had the same eyes as Valarr.

“It is so nice to meet you. Oh, you look so good in white!” Queen Jena stepped forward to clasp your hand in hers.

“Forgive my wife’s enthusiasm, we just never thought Matarys would bring a girl to meet us.” Baelor laughed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the boy in question freeze, his grin faltering slightly. You felt your heart break for him.

“It is my pleasure to have the honor.” You responded, squeezing the Queen’s hand, then gently extracting it from her grip in favor of holding Matarys’s arm. You hoped it provided him some comfort to know you were here.  

“How is your first year of university going? Are your parents missing you terribly? Have you met our eldest, Valarr?”

“I-”

“Mother, this is not an interrogation.” Matarys chastised. “Anyway, we are… going dancing! There will be plenty of time for… whatever this is in the future.” He smiled tightly and guided you away, towards the pairs of people arranged in waltzing position.

Though you were glad to be free from the attentions of the King and Queen, a new kind of fear overtook you.

“Mat, I’ve never…” You started, looking at the dancers nervously.

“Please. For me. I can’t stand them anymore. Just follow my lead and if you do mess up, no one will mention it. I am a Targaryen Prince, after all.” The tightness in his face remained but loosened slightly into the more boyish expression you knew so well. In an effort to do what you originally sought out to do, which was help him, you relented and placed one hand on his shoulder and the other against his outstretched palm.

His free hand slipped around your shoulder to stop at the top of your back, and he gave you a nod of gratitude. As the music started, you began dancing. At first, your eyes were glued to your feet, but as the music progressed and you got more comfortable, you felt proficient enough to look up at your partner. Your gaze, however, caught on something else. From the opposite side of the room, Valarr was watching you.

He held a glass of champagne tightly, too tightly, perhaps, if the whiteness in his knuckles was anything to go by, and his cheeks were flushed an angry red, though it wasn’t nearly as rich in color as the shallow cut your ring had left. His muscles were taut, jaw flexing and unflexing every time Matarys twirled you around. And his eyes -God, his eyes- were fixed on you with an expression that was so full of anger it bordered on hunger. There was a storm brewing in that stare.

“Is something wrong?” Matarys inquired.

“No.” Your eyes snapped back to his face, smiling apologetically. “Just nervous.”

Matarys frowned and followed your line of sight. “My brother? Does Valarr make you nervous?”

“No!” You stammered, heat flooding your cheeks. “I’m nervous about dancing.”

“Right.” He sounded unconvinced.

“I’m serious. Valarr is arrogant, and self-centered, way too egotistical, and… weirdly pretty.” You listed in what you hoped was repugnance.

“Pretty?” He repeated, amused.

“It’s uncanny! He’s too fucking pretty, it’s unnatural.” You justified.

“Of course.” He laughed. “I don’t have a problem with it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Problem with what?” You huffed.

He just raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not- We’re not… There’s nothing between us.”

“I didn’t say there was.” He grinned.

“I wouldn’t go for someone like him.”

“That is still my brother you’re talking about, and the Crown Prince.” He sighed, “ Look, Valarr is literally sunshine personified. I’ve never known someone kinder. Are you sure you’re not… exaggerating his behaviors to keep hiding your feelings?”

“Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth? The only feeling I have for him is dislike. Maybe he’s kind around you because you’re related, but I see the truth. I see through his act.”

“He’s watching us, you know?” Matarys interrupted your tirade.

“What?”

“You cannot seriously be this dense.”

You burst out laughing as he pulled you closer, hand falling to your bare back. “Let me kiss your cheek? My mother is watching, after all.”

He was up to something, you were sure, but you trusted him, and so, nodded. The press of his lips was so gentle, barely there, but it was followed by heavy footsteps and sculpted hands landing on Matarys’s shoulders.

“Party’s over for you, hm?” Valarr spun his brother around to look at him.

“Is something wrong?” The redhead smiled devilishly.

“Drunk a bit too much?”

“Fought a bit too much?” He retorted, gesturing to his brother’s injured cheek.

“Just a scratch. You, however, have lost your mind. You’re damaging the family image by-”

“I was a perfect gentleman” Matarys interrupted, closely followed by you.

“Now hold on a second-”

“Go find father. It is time for us to leave anyway.” Valarr spoke, employing a tone more rigid than you’d ever heard from him.

“I won’t leave her.” His younger brother shook his head.

“I’ll take her home.”

There was a charged silence for a moment, and you realized people had stopped in their tracks, and everyone was watching.

“Are you alright with that?” Valarr asked, but he still wasn’t looking anywhere but his little brother’s face.

“Of course.” You said, then smiled, if only for appearances. “Now can you stop whatever this is? People are watching.”

“You’re a natural. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Matarys winked before taking your hand and raising it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. You heard Valarr scoff beside him. “Text me when you get home.”

Your friend walked away with a self-righteous smirk, and then you were alone with the subject of your grievances.

“Come on then.” He huffed, then began walking without bothering to check if you were following.

“Wait.” You tried, pushing through the multitude of people gathered to keep up with him. He was walking fast, too fast. Already you were starting to lose him in the crowd. You reached out a hand and grabbed onto his arm.

He stopped walking altogether. He still didn’t look at you.

“You’re going too fast.”

He nodded once, sharply, then resumed walking. Your hand stayed where it was.

It was a relief once you felt the cold night air against your skin. It had been so hot inside, surrounded by people, that you relished the biting breeze cooling you down. Evidently, Valarr felt the same because as soon as he was away from prying eyes, he ripped his suit jacket off and loosened his tie.

“Fucking suffocating.” He mumbled and huffed.

A sleek black car pulled up to the entrance. A man exited from the driver’s seat to open the passenger door, but the Prince stopped him.

“Hand me the keys, Antonio.” The usual poise in his voice was fraying at the edges, and you recognized the behavior of a person biding his time until he could explode in private. “Dismissed.” He said to the driver as soon as the keys were in his hand.

“Get in.” He spoke, you realized, to you.

You obeyed without protest, buckling your seatbelt.

He drove quietly, hands clenched around the steering wheel, eyes fixated on the road up ahead.

It was the first time all night that you’d had space to breathe, and yet all the air had left your lungs. There was something about him like this: not comfortable or soft, as he usually was, but true. He was unguarded, for once, and uncalculating of every micro-expression that passed over his face. The result was devastating. Shadows covered his face, and yet his brown eye was still kind, his blue one still attentive. His black shirt was unbuttoned, making him look less like a Prince and more like a man. You realized with astounding clarity that he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Will you stop looking at me?” He whined, actually whined, pressing his forehead onto the steering wheel in desperation.

“Well, you won’t look at me at all. It evens out” You whispered, as if that justified the staring.

He pulled over suddenly on the side of a dark road, making you grab at your seatbelt in alarm. He turned the car off, stepped out, slammed the door and pulled out a cigarette. You’d never seen him smoke before, never even seen him drink.

You debated what you should do. After a few minutes of seeing him pace, though, you figured you couldn’t just sit here and wait.

“Valarr”

“Don’t say my name.”

What? Is something wrong?”

“Don’t!” He snapped, turning away from you.

“What is your problem?” you huffed. “I’m trying to help!”

“The most helpful thing you could do for me now is go somewhere far away so I never have to see your face again.” His shoulders raised and his fists clenched.

You stopped in your tracks. You knew he didn’t like you, obviously, but hadn’t thought he hated you that profoundly. For a reason that eluded you, the words stung. “Oh” you managed eventually, barely louder than a whisper.

He turned around at that, and his big eyes were glossy, and he looked so sad your heart clenched. Even now he looked at a spot vaguely above your head but never met your eyes. He took a long drag of the cigarette. “I just need you to… stop.” He murmured.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Look at me” You pleaded.

“No.” He shot you down, staring at the cigarette burning between his thumb and index fingers.

You scoffed. He was stubborn even now, when no one was watching. “If you care to be reminded, you started this. You approached me that day, not the other way around. I was perfectly satisfied ignoring your existence.” You rebuffed, hating how your voice wobbled.

“Perhaps you’d be satisfied but I wouldn’t.” The words seemed to slip past his lips without him even noticing, if the stupefied look on his face was any indication. “Fuck! You need to stop being so…” He trailed off, pressing his palms against his eyes.

“So… what?” You prompted, but he shook his head. “Valarr, finish your sentence.”

“Stop saying my name!” He pleaded, running a hand through his hair.

“Valarr!” You snapped and screamed. “Valarr, Valarr, Valarr, Valarr!”

“Stop!”

“Then look at me!”

“No!” His voice cracked.

In a sudden fit of boldness, you crossed the distance between you, stood up on your tiptoes, and pressed your lips to his.

His shoulders dropped and his muscles relaxed as he practically melted onto your body. His mouth, however, had seemingly not caught up with what was happening because it remained motionless. You pulled away, breathless from the barest contact.

“There. Now you’re looking.”

Something in his face cracked as he pulled you back in. His kiss tasted like nicotine, stale champagne and desperation. He softly bit down on the cushion of your lower lip, prompting a gasp, then licked into your mouth enthusiastically. It was anything but proper, like what you’d imagined he’d prefer. No, it was dirty and rushed and so, so perfect. Even now, it was all a big game of push and pull. He pushed his tongue against yours and you pulled his hair in response.  He pushed you towards the cars, you pulled the door open. He pushed you down to lay on the backseat, you pulled him into your arms. He pushed his hands up your dress and you pulled his tie out of the way.

You gasped into his mouth when he ran his knuckles over your inner thighs.

“Tell me you’ve been thinking about this.” He murmured.

“Valarr,” You whispered as his hands inched upwards with every passing second.

“Tell me you want this.” He repeated.

“I do. I want you.”

He hooked a singular, long finger to your panties and dragged them down and away from your body, then sunk that same digit into you without warning, working you open. Your back arched, head hitting the hard leather of the seat. He licked a stripe up the column of your neck, then found the crook of your jaw and sucked. Your shaking hands found their way to his chest to unbutton his stupid shirt. Evidently, the task took too long for Valarr because he suddenly sat up, pulled his hand away from you, and ripped the shirt away from his body, black buttons clattering everywhere.

You didn’t even have time to appreciate the lean muscles of his body before he dove back in.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” He rasped against your ear as he continued with his trail of kisses.

You reached one hand up to tangle in his hair and the other to touch the dip between his shoulder blades.

“Do you know what it does to me to see Matarys parade you around as if you’re his?”

“Tell me” You whispered into his ear and relished the shiver it elicited from him.

“I’d rather show you.” He pulled away from your neck to look into your eyes as his right hand reached down to unbuckle his belt and free his cock from his breeches.

Your eyes drifted downwards but he guided your chin back up with his free hand and tutted. “No, look at me while I do it.”

And you did. And as he pushed in and you moaned simultaneously, you saw every little tremor in his face: the crease at the corner of his eyes as he squinted from blind pleasure, the scrunch in his nose, the parting of his lips, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, and it made you crazy.

In the dimly lit backseat of the car, the cut on his cheek gleamed redder than it had ever been. It incensed you, that you were the one to have marked him, even in a way as barbaric as this. You pushed your body up, breasts pressing against his bare chest, and licked a fat stripe across the wound, tasting metal and salty sweat. An inhuman sound left his mouth- a half moan, half whimper- and he buried himself to the hilt, hips flush against yours.

“You feel so good” He groaned and began moving.

It was slow at first, hesitant almost. He watched your face carefully as if studying you every time he pulled out and pushed back in. He drove into you in long, rhythmic thrusts, but was restrained in chasing his own pleasure. He was learning you, you realized, and felt all the blood in your body rushing to your head.

It was torture, how slow he was going. Just as you were about to open your mouth and beg him to move, his cock reached a part of you so deep and so sensitive it made you moan outright. He smiled fiendishly, like he’d just won a prize.

“Found it.”

After those words, everything changed. The gentleness evaporated in favor of quick, hard movements that found that perfect part deep inside of you over and over again. Every time you thought you were getting used to it, that you could bear the stimulation, he changed his pace, sucked on your neck, or reached down to circle and pinch your clit with his fingers.

And every time he drew sounds from your mouth, you retaliated, refusing to be the only vulnerable one. You pulled at his hair, -which you quickly found out he tremendously enjoyed-, you kissed and bit at his lips, or you whispered how good he was doing in his ear.

He was loud, which surprised you. You’d expected his usual composure to be intact, not that you’d been thinking about him, obviously. And though it was considerably dulled, there were traces of it; you could tell he was holding back, swallowing down the loudest noises he was capable of making.

“Let me hear you. No one can reach us here.” You found yourself saying.

His hand buried itself in your hair, pulling your perfect updo loose and tilting your head, and he moaned right into your ear on his next thrust.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this your victory?” He panted, curling his other hand at your side.

It was too much. You closed your eyes to embrace the multitude of sensations. “Valarr.” You whined.

“Are you gonna go back to ignoring me after this? The perfect little student, unfazed by her Prince’s attention?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only breathe and tighten the hold that you had on his hair.

Suddenly, everything stopped. You opened your eyes in confusion. Valarr was flushed and sweaty, and there was a furrow in his brow. “Answer me.”

“What?”

“Answer me.” He repeated, kissing your cheek.

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.” You huffed, pressing a heel against the small of his back to drag him in deeper.

His smile was so wide it was damn near blinding. “I think I liked that response more than I would have liked any promise, brat.”

You felt a smile pull at your lips as well, but it quickly dissolved into a groan as he resumed his ministrations. It didn’t take long after that for you to come, his name on your lips and your nails painting a trail of pink scratches on his back. Valarr promptly pulled out of you, grabbed your hand to wrap it around his cock, and made you stroke once, twice. He came with a final whimper, hot spurts of white he aimed at his discarded shirt on the floor so he wouldn’t dirty you.

He collapsed onto you after it was done, smiling against your neck. You stayed there a long time, carding your fingers through his hair and enjoying the little sighs it earned you.

Eventually, though, you had to sit back into the front seats to get back home. He kissed your lips one last time as he carried you out of the car and into the passenger seat. Valarr buckled your seatbelt for you with a gentleness you’d never witnessed from him before, used baby wipes he kept in his glovebox to clean you up, then took his seat beside you, behind the steering wheel.

You were both silent for a long moment, both smiling ear to ear as he began driving again, then you mustered the courage to speak.

“You ruined my hair.” You laughed awkwardly, reaching up to pull it free from the many bobby pins that still held it up, albeit sloppily.

Valarr allowed himself a look, big eyes downturned but sparkling even in the dead of night. “You really are so beautiful.”

You looked away and smiled down at your feet sheepishly, but you were perfectly and incandescently happy.

Your phone buzzed and the spell broke. Valarr turned back to the road, and you unlocked it to see who was calling so late.

“Hello?” You spoke into the phone, voice rough from your activities.

“You said you’d text when you got home. It’s four in the morning.” Matarys’s voice came through distorted, sleepy.

“I’m home, Mat, don’t worry. Valarr dropped me off hours ago. Sorry I forgot to text.”

“Screw you, I stayed up.” He mumbled. “See you, goodnight.”

“Night.” You laughed, then hung up.

You turned your phone off, ran a hand through your hair, then turned back to Valarr.

“Crazy to think we have class in the morning, you know, after everything.” You began, unaware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

He only hummed in response, body unexpectedly very still. A few minutes went by before he finally pulled up to the front of your dorm building.

“Thank you for driving me.” You reached out to interlace your fingers. He ripped his hand away from you as if you’d hit him.

“This was a mistake.” He spoke mechanically, not even deigning to look you in the eyes as he said the words. “It won’t happen again.”

You were quiet for a long moment, staring at him in incomprehension, then scoffed. “Fuck you, Valarr.”

You got out of the car and slammed the passenger door before he could get another word out, stomped to the door and desperately tried to get your key in the keyhole even though your vision was growing blurrier by the second. Had you done something wrong? You had cherished this night with him, and he had been so perfect, so what had changed?

Only when you were safely inside the building did you hear the sound of the car’s engine starting again. You went up to your dorm, dazed, with the remnants of what you’d done on your body. You still felt Valarr everywhere. You caught a glimpse of the marks he’d left all over your neck in the mirror, of your rumpled dress and your tangled hair, and you felt disgusting.

Kiera was asleep when you entered the room, obviously. You took off your dress and your jewelry as quickly as you could, slipped on shorts and a shirt, and quietly slipped into her bed.

“You okay?” She slurred sleepily once she felt you.

“No.” You sobbed.

“Oh, my girl” She breathed, putting her arms around you in a gesture of comfort.

You fell asleep like that: tears drying on your cheeks, breaths erratic and unsteady, with your best friend curled around you as the sun was beginning to rise. It had been a long, long night. There was one thing you had learned for certain, though, and it was that you were never going to let Valarr Targaryen hurt you again.

end notes: you guys were very kind for the first chapter (did not expect so much love hahahaha). It's my first time writing smut so that was... something... ALSO i move in to college in 10 days and i'm shitting my pants someone send help

taglist (i think i did it right, lemme know if you want in): @uixhzzzi @lilybear1-2 @dreamer-doe @riverlandsworld @beelzebzb @artistadistrada2002 @nicoall12

[the-darklings]

hiii. Ive been missing LS with valarr so much lately. What would the dynamic be like between ls, valarr and bambi reader?

genuinely, i’m so jealous of you 🚬🚬🚬

because this is the golden poly. the warm one. valarr is devoted and she wolf is possessive and you’re the thing they both agree on without ever having to negotiate it.

they take you everywhere. trips, restaurants, galleries. valarr books the table and she wolf chooses your dress and you walk in between them, her hand on your lower back and his hand finding yours under the table, and you’re so thoroughly flanked by beauty and money and quiet ownership that the hostess doesn’t know where to look.

shopping with her is an experience, too. she picks things off the rack without checking the price and holds them against you and tilts her head and either puts them back or hands them to valarr, who is standing three feet behind you both carrying six bags and wearing the most content expression a man. you try something on and hesitate in the mirror, pulling at the fabric, some old insecurity surfacing, and she appears behind you in the reflection. her chin on your shoulder. her grey eyes meeting yours in the glass.

“you look beautiful. are you saying I’m wrong?”

clipped. blunt. said while her hands smooth down your waist and settle on your hips and her mouth brushes your ear. you are not saying she’s wrong. the insecurity dissolves under her cool hands because arguing with her about whether you’re beautiful is a fight you will lose every time and she knows it.

valarr watches you both from across the shop. bags in hand, leaning against the wall, that warm fond expression on his face that makes his mismatched eyes go soft. he looks at you and the she wolf together the way he looks at art he’s purchased. with pride, pleasure, and quiet satisfaction.

the bedroom is where it gets interesting. because they’re both attentive lovers, ridiculously so, but in different registers.

valarr is gentle by default. careful hands, slow mouth, the kind of patience that makes you feel like you’re being unwrapped. he takes his time and he pays attention and he remembers everything and uses it. he is, on paper, the perfect lover.

and then she wolf leans in and breathes something into his ear.

you never hear what she says. you never hear the words, only the effect. valarr’s expression shifts. the softness stays but the dark edge comes up behind it and his eyes go black and his hands stop being gentle and the man who was just cradling your face is now holding you down and taking you apart with a thoroughness that borders on punishing. the golden boyfriend with the wolf’s whisper in his ear, and whatever she told him to do to you, he does, and he’s good at it. so good, in fact, that you’re boneless after. lying there blinking at the ceiling with your legs still shaking while she wolf strokes your hair and valarr kisses the inside of your wrist.

or other nights. the nights where the wolf has you first.

valarr comes home and hears you before he sees you. follows the sound to the bedroom and finds she wolf between your legs, her hair fanned across your thighs, her mouth on you, devouring, relentless, her fingers inside you, and you’re gripping the headboard, your back arched off the bed and you’re so far gone you didn’t hear the door.

he stops in the doorway. loosens his tie. leans against the frame.

she lifts her head just enough to see him, wolf-like, her chin wet and her eyes sharp. she doesn’t stop moving her fingers once.

“watch,” she orders.

valarr watches. hands in his pockets, jaw tight, pulse visible in his throat. he watches her curl her fingers and he watches your hips jerk and he watches you come apart with a muffled cry that fills the room. he’s hard and she knows he’s hard and she’s not going to let you touch him yet. she brings you down slow, kisses the inside of your thigh, and looks over her shoulder at him again.

“again,” she says.

and valarr watches her make you come a second time while he stands in the doorway of his own bedroom with his tie loosened and his hands in his pockets and his self-control fraying by the second. and when she finally lets him have you, when she finally says “come here” in that low voice, he crosses the room so fast he nearly trips and the golden composure cracks wide open and what’s underneath is raw desperate want.

and the three of you together after, tangled in sheets that cost more than your rent, she-wolf on one side and valarr on the other and you in the middle being held so thoroughly you couldn’t move if you wanted to. her hand in your hair, his mouth on your shoulder, and you lying there thinking: I don’t deserve this. both of them thinking: yes, you do.

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Altair

Aerion Targaryen x f!reader x Valarr Targaryen - modern AU

Summary: Friends with benefits situation with Aerion and Valarr gets complicated. Can be read as a oneshot or as a continuation to Orion's Belt. Warnings: SMUT 18+ p in v, threesome, Aerion x Valarr, Aerion is a little shit, they're still cousins but it's not specified if they're first or second cousins, I didn't realize first cousin incest was legal in so many countries yikes so ig I can't write it as taboo. DNI if you don't like it.

"The brightest star in Aquila constellation is Altair. A fast-spinning white star, one of the closest naked-eye stars to Earth. Forms a corner of the famous Summer Triangle alongside Vega and Deneb."

The lines of where precisely you stood with your best friends had blurred somewhere between the first daring night and now, weeks later, when they no longer knocked before letting themselves into your apartment.

Aerion was lounging on your sofa, scrolling through his phone with the air of a prince awaiting tribute. Valarr was more contained, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you make coffee with those mismatched eyes that always seemed to be asking a question he couldn’t voice. He had a girlfriend, technically. Or had had one. You’d stopped keeping track. They both cycled through other partners with a casualness that should have bothered you but somehow didn’t, because more often than not they were with you.

“Come here,” Aerion said without looking up.

You brought your coffee to the living room, settling into the armchair instead of the sofa, just to watch the flicker of annoyance cross his face. Valarr smothered a smile behind his hand.

“She’s being difficult,” Aerion observed, finally setting his phone aside. “Valarr, do something about her.”

Valarr rose obediently, crossing to you. He didn’t pull you up, just knelt beside the armchair and rested his chin on your knee, looking up at you with that earnest, devastating expression. “Come sit with us,” he said softly. “Please.”

This was how it always started. Aerion commanded; Valarr implored.

You let Valarr lead you to the sofa. Aerion immediately pulled you into the space between them, bracketing you with warmth and the clean, expensive scent of their cologne. Valarr’s hand found your thigh; Aerion’s arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers toying with the ends of your hair.

“You were out late last night,” Aerion murmured, lips brushing your temple. “With whom?”

“None of your business.”

Valarr’s fingers tightened on your leg. Aerion laughed darkly.

“Everything about you is our business,” he said. “Isn’t it, Val?”

Valarr nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder. “We missed you.”

There it was, the ache in his voice, genuine and raw. Valarr never hid how much he wanted you. Aerion’s want was a blade; Valarr’s was an open wound.

“Show me,” you heard yourself say.

Aerion’s smile was sharp and satisfied. He rose, extending a hand to Valarr, who took it without hesitation. You’d seen this before, the first time, and many times since. They never hid it from you. Aerion guided Valarr to the bedroom, and you followed.

Valarr shed his clothes, folding them over a chair. Aerion stripped with the careless grace of someone who knew exactly how beautiful he was. When Valarr knelt on the bed, Aerion positioned him on all fours, a hand between his shoulder blades pressing his chest down, his face level with the edge of the mattress where you stood.

“Come here,” Aerion said to you, softer this time. “He wants you close.”

You moved to sit against the headboard, and Valarr immediately shuffled forward, burying his face in your lap with a broken little sigh. His arms wrapped around your thighs while Aerion prepared him. You could feel the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your shorts.

Aerion knelt behind him, one hand smoothing over the dip of Valarr’s spine. He caught your eye and held it as he pressed inside. Valarr whimpered into your lap, his fingers clutching at you.

“There you go,” Aerion murmured, but his eyes were on you. “Isn’t he pretty like this?”

He was. Valarr was all flushed skin and desperate sounds, turning his head just enough to press open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh. You pushed your fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he moaned, hips pressing back against Aerion.

“Shh,” you soothed, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. He turned, chasing your lips, and you kissed him properly as Aerion began to move. It was clumsy and sweet, Valarr panting into your mouth with every thrust, little gasps that you swallowed down.

Aerion leaned over Valarr’s back, one hand braced beside your hip, and kissed you too, deeper, claiming. His eyes were heavy-lidded when he pulled back. “You’re too soft with him.”

“Someone has to be.”

He huffed a laugh and straightened, grip tightening on Valarr’s hips as he fucked into him with a precise, brutal rhythm. Valarr almost sobbed against your thigh, and you felt his mouth wandering, searching, until...

“Oh,” you breathed, as Valarr nosed aside the leg of your shorts and latched onto your clit.

He suckled desperately as always, like he needed you more than air. Your hips jerked, but his arms were locked around you, holding you in place. Aerion laughed.

“There he goes. I swear, getting him off your cunt is harder than getting him to come.”

You remembered the first time, how Aerion had tried to pull Valarr away and he’d only whined, clinging tighter, tongue lapping at you until you were trembling and over-sensitive. Even now, when Aerion reached down to tug gently at his hair, Valarr just shook his head, mouth working at you with devoted focus.

“Let him,” you gasped. Aerion shrugged, returning his attention to fucking Valarr with renewed vigor. The dual sensation, Valarr’s tongue, Aerion’s rhythm jostling him against you, built fast and bright.

Aerion still pried him away after a few minutes, tugged your shorts off and pulled you down to straddle Valarr’s hips. You recalled all the times Aerion had taught you. How to sink down slowly, letting Valarr’s cock press deep. How to roll your hips just so. Valarr watched you with glassy eyes, hands resting on your waist but not guiding, letting you use him however you wanted.

“That’s it,” Aerion coached from beside you, stroking himself lazily. “He likes it when you take your time. Don’t you, Val?”

Valarr could only nod, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. He was sensitive, always, after Aerion had been inside him. But he never asked you to stop. He never pulled away. He finished, hips bucking up into you with a strangled cry, but he only whimpered and held still, letting you keep moving on his softening cock while his face crumpled with overstimulation.

“Hurts,” he whispered, but his hands still held you, not letting you escape.

“I know, baby,” you breathed. Aerion made a strangled noise and pulled you off, flipping you beneath him.

“You’re going to break him,” he growled, and then he was inside you, finding that spot with unerring accuracy, the one that made your vision blur. He loved bullying it, pressing against it with every thrust until you were keening.

And Valarr, sweet, ruined Valarr, crawled to your side, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles, mouth closing over your breast to suckle gently.

“Stop that,” Aerion snapped, swatting at his head. “She needs to take it.”

“She’s close,” Valarr protested, voice wrecked. “She’s whining, Aerion, she needs...”

“She needs to wait for me.”

But you were already coming, Valarr’s fingers and Aerion’s cock and the scrape of Valarr’s teeth against your nipple pushing you over. Aerion swore and grabbed your jaw, forcing his tongue into your mouth to swallow your cries. He fucked you through it, groaning against your lips, until he pulled out and spilled across your stomach with a shuddering exhale.

Valarr cleaned you up tenderly with a warm cloth. Aerion sprawled beside you with a satisfied smirk. Valarr pressed a kiss to your forehead before curling into your other side.

“We’re staying,” Aerion announced.

You didn’t argue.

Aerion didn't speak again until Valarr was asleep with his head on your chest.

“Sometimes I let him fuck me.”

You turned your head on the pillow. His profile was sharp in the dim light from the window.

“Only sometimes,” he continued, almost to himself. “It’s…different. After, he holds me like I’m so precious. Then I have to...I need to get off again. He doesn’t mind. He jerks me off, or you...”

He stopped. You reached across Valarr’s sleeping form and found Aerion’s hand. He let you hold it.

“You could ask me,” you said.

“I know.”

Two weeks later...

The early morning light was filtering through Valarr’s blinds and painting pale stripes across the rumpled duvet. You were suspended in space between sleeping and waking, your body heavy with a pleasant, bone-deep exhaustion. Valarr was a warm weight against your back, one arm thrown possessively over your waist, his breath a slow, steady rhythm against your hair. He hadn't let go all night.

He hadn’t just been fucking you; he’d been trying to pour every ounce of his hurt into you, using your body as a canvas for a sadness he refused to name. Don't call me needy, his actions had screamed, even as his hands had clung to you like a lifeline. You hadn't been able to pry him off, not that you’d wanted to. Not when his silent, aching need was a mirror to your own jealousy.

That jealousy. Sour, unwelcome, impossible to get rid of, had settled in you last night. A pretty blonde girl you didn’t know, her smile all perfect white teeth, had tagged Aerion in a picture. At a club. Laughing. Her hand on his chest. A public declaration of a moment you weren’t a part of. You’d looked at your phone, then at Valarr, who was looking at his own phone with a blank expression. In that shared, silent look, you’d both seen the same bitter truth reflected back.

Valarr’s hurt, however, had a different flavour than yours. It was an old, familiar sting for him, one that Aerion inflicted without even trying.

The sound of the front door clicking shut, unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment, pulled you from your thoughts. Footsteps, trying and failing to be stealthy, sounded in the hall. A moment later, the bedroom door creaked open.

Aerion stood there. His silver-gold hair was a tousled mess, his shirt, the same one from yesterday, was fashionably rumpled but undeniably slept-in. The scent of expensive booze and someone else’s perfume clung to him. His gaze swept the room, from Valarr’s sleeping form, still clamped around you like a limpet, to your tired, watchful eyes. A flicker of dawning understanding crossed his beautiful features.

You met his stare levelly. “He wouldn't let go,” you whispered, your voice scratchy with sleep. “I tried. He was…he fucked his sadness out on me. I couldn't pry him off.”

Valarr stirred at the sound, mumbling something incoherent and pulling you tighter. The jealousy in your chest was now acidic. You were jealous of the blonde. You knew Valarr was too. Now, looking at Aerion’s state, a fresh, hot spike of it lanced through you, even as you felt the familiar pull of your own desire.

Aerion’s expression softened, the usual arrogant mask slipping just for a second. He didn’t offer an excuse or a flippant remark. Instead, he crossed the room, leaned over Valarr’s sleeping form, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“Come on,” he murmured against your mouth, his fingers gently circling your wrist. “Shower.”

He nudged you out from under Valarr’s arm, a delicate operation that earned a grunt of protest from the sleeping man. You let him lead you to the bathroom, your body aching in the best way. Under the hot spray, he didn’t speak, just pulled you close, his movements less about frantic need and more about a deep, thorough reclaiming. He washed the scent of his own one-night stand from his skin and replaced it with you, pressing you against the cool tile as the steam billowed around you, his hand muffling your soft moans as he worked his way back into your body and your good graces.

Later, clean and wrapped in a towel, he guided you back to the bed. Valarr had, in his sleep, starfished into the warm spot you’d left. Aerion just smirked, gently shifting him before pulling you both down. You were in the middle now, in a Valarr-and-Aerion sandwich. Aerion’s hand reached across you to rest on Valarr’s hip.

“He’s angry with me,” Aerion muttered against your damp hair.

“He’s hurt,” you corrected.

Aerion was silent for a long moment, his thumb stroking your skin. When he spoke again, his voice was raw. “We tried, you know. Before you. We’d both try to have these normal relationships. Girlfriends. And we’d be fine for a while. Then…we’d end up sleeping together again.” He said ‘together’ with a meaning that encompassed just the two of them, a bond that long predated you. “And we couldn't even tell them. Couldn't say, ‘Sorry I cheated on you with my cousin, it’s just a thing we do.’ Anyone who would have understood an arrangement like ours…she would’ve been an even more fucked up person. Untrustworthy. A disaster.”

His gaze met yours in the dim light. “But then you came along. You just needed a friend. And you were so good.” He let out a shaky breath. “So perfectly, incredibly good. And we started needing you.”

You turned your head, your nose brushing his. “Now you’re my best friends. And we still can’t pretend one of you is just my boyfriend, so it won’t turn into a thing. We still have to pretend we’re just friends in public.”

“Valarr’s stopped pretending, in case you haven’t noticed,” Aerion murmured, his eyes flicking to the still-sleeping man behind you. “He hasn’t had a girlfriend since we started this. In his mind, we’re already a thing. A secret, real relationship. All three of us. I think he stopped bothering to keep up appearances because he thought someone had to be all in.”

Guilt and shame pricked at your conscience. You’d been on that date, the one Valarr hadn't minded, because you'd never had the experience and he wouldn't deny you that. But the look in his eyes when you’d come back…It was Aerion’s casual, public infidelities that were the real knife-twist for him. The date was a harmless novelty. Aerion’s one-night stands were a constant, subtle rejection.

Aerion seemed to read your thoughts. “I’m not going to pretend I’m a martyr for sleeping with other people for the sake of keeping up appearances,” he said, his voice hardening slightly, a flash of his classic arrogance returning before it crumbled again. He looked at his hand, still resting on Valarr, then at you. “But I suppose…I could stop at this point.” He let the words hang in the air, a monumental concession from a man who defined himself by his freedom. “People wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

Valarr shifted behind you, his arm snaking back around your waist, pulling you even tighter against him. He nuzzled into the back of your neck, his lips moving in a silent, sleepy word. You were certain it was your name. He was holding on to you, but his fingers found Aerion’s and interlaced, holding on to him, too. A greedy, silent plea for you both to just stay.

Part 3: coming soon...

a/n: This was shameless smut but plot and backstories will develop. There will be angst and yearning and complex emotions. I've tried out a new approach idk. Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist! <3

a/n: Voluntary donations are accepted on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3

Taglist: @strawburryyy @renaroundarosie @psychosheart @absentlysubtleraider7 @tatolover0821 @sinarainbows @stevengrantsgfsblog @noirexxx @cuteasscanbee @froogyok @anamedhid @willowedtargaryen @imwaytoolazyforthis

[iicarusflew]

Prime Cut ll PART TWO (snippet !!!)

work is really draining me... i just can't seem to have time to write again :)) but i just had to get out this part :)!!??

PART ONE

He’s standing too close. Again, you think helplessly, he’s standing too close again. Too close to focus on. The rest of the world is a blurry, hazy mess of lights and shapes and colours you can’t name and the smell—his smell — coffee and cigarette — like him, untainted and beautiful — is making you dizzy.

There are people walking past you, you’re sure. There are other people, outside your periphery and out in the world. People cascading into empty parking lots and roadside diners. People— who are not you — laughing and dancing and stopping for just enough time to fall in love with each other.

Then why does it feel like you’re alone? Like your have always been alone. Standing numbly with this spectre of want and longing and the quiet realisation that it doesn’t make sense — it never did.

Valarr’s eyes have that look — glassy and iridescent. Mismatched. Familar. He whispers your name, and there’s a wonder in his voice. Soft and sweet. Aching despite everything. “Darling.”