── .✦ inseperable
pairing: aerion targaryen x twin fem reader
summary: you and aerion have always been uncomfortably close—even as you grew into opposites, him cruel where you were gentle, him loathed where you were beloved. when your father arranges your marriage to another man, aerion is furious. he's always known your destiny, your future. if no one else can see it yet, he'll just have to make sure they do.
WARNINGS/content: MDNI!! unprotected p in v, targcest (mc is aerion's twin), breeding kink, DUBCON, coercion, surprise penetration, sadism, dacryphilia, bloodplay(?), misogyny? sorta?, manipulation, overstimulation, loss of virginity, somewhat naive reader, you and aerion have delusions lol, quick mention of dyana's death
words: 5.1k
a/n: i was just toying with the idea of aerion having a twin and i thought if he did have one, she would be included in his grand ideas, convinced they were both dragons and destined and this was a result of that. it was way more intense than i thought it was going to be. sorry, i hope you enjoy reading anyway!
When you and Aerion were born, there was a feast for three days.
Day in and day out, wine was poured and songs were sung. Summerhall celebrated two healthy babies: a girl and a boy. Even then, people noted that you had taken after your mother and your brother was the same with your father. They held you both with smiles on their faces, so proud of you already and you had barely taken your first breath.
You were both delightful as children, obedient on most days and just the right amount of mischievous for your parents to be fond. When you were younger, the halls were filled raucous laughter while you chased each other around. Much to the annoyance of your septas, tutors, and trainers, you and Aerion were inseparable. You did everything that you could possibly do together, holding each others hands all the way. This would make your lessons—which had diverged as you had gotten older—more difficult to enforce. It took many explanations with your parents to begrudgingly accept the fact that you couldn't be by each other's side all the time, though it's not as if you ever stopped trying.
Your father wouldn't admit it but it was clear to everyone his favor rested between you both; you, with your mother's likeness, and Aerion, who had the look and ferocity in him that reminded him so much of when he was younger. It wouldn't have been surprising if Daeron or Aemon were embittered by this but they were just as smitten with you and little Aerion as everyone else.
After a while, Daella came along, then Aegon, followed by Rhae.
They say when a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath. It had seemed, at least for this generation, the coin kept landing on the right side. The world could breath out a sigh of relief.
But then your mother died.
He took the loss hard. All of you did. Dinners were stilted, hunts quiet. Everyone turned a blind eye to Daeron's drinking and to your own bouts of melancholy that left you limp as a ragdoll for days at a time, but perhaps worst of all, they ignored Aerion. Perhaps it was your doing, as well. You were his sister, the other half of him. You knew him more entirely as a brother than some people know their husbands, their fathers. But somewhere along the way, Aerion had begun to change.
It started showing itself in little acts, small enough of a dose that nobody could find any reason for alarm at first. With you, a pinch here, a bite there. Nothing more severe than a scandalously possessive grip on your waist during public events, a habit he'd only stop once your father would give him a scathing look.
With everyone else, a whack too hard with a practice sword it bruised for weeks, a servant tripping on the stairs coincidentally where he was near. There was a time Little Egg had come running to you, bawling that he saw his cat be thrown down the well. Who, you had said, tell me and we will have them thrown out, and he sobbed out your brother's name. He appeared there in the doorway, panting, looking livid that Egg made it to you before he did.
He was fierce and brutal on the field, you knew that, but that was what they needed him to be, you reasoned. Were you not Targaryens? Were you not conquerors? The Seven Kingdoms were not just given to your family because they had asked politely for it. No, you had taken it by force.
In that area, anyone would admit, he excelled at. Aerion was an effective knight. He had been training under the best since you were kids and he never shied away from a chance to show it off.
He'd often joined tourneys, and unlike your cousin Valarr, he was allowed free reign on his opponents. Some had even been foolish enough to ask for your favor during tourneys, a mistake that has you wincing every time, knowing what would happen to them after. They'd be lucky if they just broke a bone.
Of course, your wreath would be his. Every time. You were as excited to make it as he was proud to receive it.
Before the joust, his gaze would be fixed on you, even as the horses' hooves pounded the ground in anticipation. He would keep it there, waiting and waiting, until the very last second, until you wanted to get up and shout at him to move, please, your blood pumping in your ears. Then he'd kick his horse into a fierce start as they collided in a flurry of wood and blood.
Most matches he'd win, though his method wasn't the most popular with the common-folk. It was excessively bloody. Violent. Dishonorable. He would still look smug, posture tall and expression arrogant, despite the jeers of the people around him. Your eyes were on him — why wouldn't he preen? It's all that ever mattered to him.
While Aerion's cruelty would keep growing, you were blossoming too. As one of the princesses in a long, storied dynasty like yours, you were bound to be sought after the moment you were born, for no other reason than the blood that flowed through your veins. You were not the most clever nor the most elegant, but as you matured, your beauty became widespread, and it only grew, year after year.
Though your beauty was admirable and already so rare to find, you were particularly known for your gentleness and affinity for the common folk, something only one of your siblings, Egg, would come to share.
During feasts of any kind, the least fortunate around Summerhall would be able to eat, as you'd ask for your father to give the leftovers to them. You never flinched from the poor when they sought to touch you, even when your knights would step in and jerk you away.
When Aerion would terrorize the servants, you would find them later, sneaking away from your brother's ever present gaze, and apologize to them personally. When you were younger, it was not an uncommon sight for you to be seen following the castle's maester, asking him about ailments and their remedies, until he would give in and explain to you what he could.
One of the reasons you wanted to learn was so that you could help patch up your siblings when they'd get into trouble, as they frequently do—Summerhall was never dull with seven children around. You were always pleasant, gentle in your care for them. As far apart in manner from Aerion as one could get.
You had begun to be seen by the people as the gods' apology for your twin brother. The balm to the burns the dragon would leave in his wake.
Of course, with your reputation as is, many suitors had tried their hand at winning yours. Maekar would read their letters of proposal as you sat beside him and gave your opinion when he asked for it, playing the dutiful daughter for your father's sake, though most he discarded before they ever made it to you. But today was special — your suitor had come to Summerhall himself, to show how serious he was about taking you as his wife.
That night, you go to him. The guards are easily dismissed, though they look uneasy at the idea of leaving you alone with Aerion. You insist anyway. He's my brother, you say. I'll be fine. It's a flimsy excuse. Being a brother has never stopped him from being antagonistic to the rest of your family and they know it.
He's lounging on his bed, his figure lit by the surrounding candlelight. One of the large windows was left open, the curtains rustling as the breeze came in. He was expecting you would come. Knew that you would, that you couldn't leave him alone with this bitterness brewing between you.
"Sister," he greets. He makes no other move to acknowledge you aside from a casual tilt of his head as he assesses you. For a moment, you think he might be in a forgiving mood, until he bites out, "Or should I start calling you Lady Baratheon? How does the name sound? You like it? I hear you'll have to take it soon."
You hate it when he's like this towards you. He'd never make you flinch, but when he gets like this he makes sure his words are barbed, poised to hurt you as you have him. "Aerion, you know it's not my choice. It's Father's."
He scoffs, finally getting up to walk towards you. "Convenient reason for you, isn't it." He circles you as he speaks, and you have to keep turning to face him — it feels like just another way to make you feel like a fool. His hands land on your shoulders, stopping you, as he whispers from behind, in your ear: "Was it father who demanded to have you laugh and preen at him like a bird?"
Your heart seizes, as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn't.
So he'd been watching. You should have expected that. Ser Lyonel had been quite charming — older than you, sure, but strong, jovial. The Laughing Storm, they call him, and that afternoon you understood why. His laugh was boisterous and his stature tall, and he moved with the confidence of a man who has gone through numerous battles and lived to tell the tale. But the way he'd looked at you had been gentle. Reverent, almost. You hadn't expected to meet a man like him, much less enjoy his company, but you'd felt your heart flutter at his attention while he walked you across the gardens. It was a good match, your father said. In many ways you'd be advancing your station by marrying him, and it would help your family by securing military support through the Baratheons.
"I'm not your enemy, brother." You try to explain, hoping to cut through his anger with reason. "I've always been on your side. Our side."
"Our side," he scoffs. He lets go of his hold on you, the action bordering on a shove. "Our side! Thank you for your noble sacrifice, princess. Marrying that Stormlands brute for me. My brave, darling sister. Do you want me to wish you good fortunes for when you consummate your marriage? Better yet, let me wash the sheets where you'll bleed from his cock, since I should be ever so grateful you did this for us." He turns to you, anger marring his features. "Is that what you wish to hear from me?"
Hot tears prick the corner of your eyes as you shook your head. You feel stupid. Humiliated, despite no other witness in the room but you and Aerion. You had come here to speak with him, knowing he was upset. And you couldn't stomach that, couldn't sleep with the idea that your brother was hurting when you could be there to help.
A pitiful sob escapes your throat. You knew your brother was spiteful, but that had rarely ever been aimed towards you. You had been wholly unprepared for the force of his anger, cruel and caustic. "I—I only wished to tell y-you that I l-love you a-and to ap-pologise if y-you were h-hurt." You hiccuped out. Stupid, foolish girl. Your breaths come out short; you're sobbing so much that you feel lightheaded. Rubbing the tears off of your eyes, you try to get your vision to clear before you stumble back to your room, but a thumb running across your lips stops you. It presses there, feeling the give, before going into your mouth and pushing down on your tongue.
You blink the remaining tears away. Aerion's face comes into focus, and he looks at you like he can't believe you're real. "That's what you wished to tell me?" He whispers. His face is so close now that you could swear you can hear his heartbeat, could taste the rhythm of his blood on your tongue. His thumb is still in your mouth so you simply nod instead. He smiles, grin wide, wider than you've seen.
"Sweet girl," he praises. Then he pries your mouth open, bends down, and spits on it.
Your mind draws a blank. You don't know how to react. Your brother had made you cry, then spat on you. Like you were a cuspidor. An object. Like you were the dirt from outside, not a beloved princess of Westeros.
You're not sure if it's instinct, or perhaps you did love your brother that much. Perhaps both. But either way, you swallow it.
Aerion lets out a disbelieving laugh. He grips your hair as he kisses you fiercely, hungrily. He licks your mouth like he means to consume you. Heat pools down your spine, and without thinking you've started rubbing yourself on his leg.
You and Aerion have always been close. To the two of you, touching each other had always felt natural. It was only as you got older that people began giving you strange looks — that you were scolded for it, told it was inappropriate for you to touch the opposite sex as freely as you did. So you got better at hiding it, stealing touches and kisses behind closed doors, in darkened hallways. He wouldn't let anyone tell him what he could and could not do with you. They didn't understand what you were.
You shudder into his collarbone, a whimper falling out of your lips as he juts out his thigh so you can hump him better.
"My sweet sister," he says, hand fisting your hair to reveal your neck to him. He nuzzles his nose there and licks at your pulse. He nips the skin, teasingly rubbing it between his teeth. You know he wishes he could bite there, bite until you bled and scarred and everyone would see. He lingers there for a moment, and you tense, worry that he would, but he just chooses to speak into the crevice. "The gods made you for me, I know this. They cannot separate the dragons. They will not."
"They will not," You mumble to him, though you feel as if you would've repeated anything he said now. Your cunt was aching and you wanted to feel him, to get as much of him as you can. He shoves you to the bed, removing his breeches as he climbs onto it. You try not to look too wanton but Aerion notices—laughs, mean and demeaning, causing a flush to run through you and settle in your spine. "Gods, do you still have a thought left in that pretty little head? Look at you, barely better than an animal, just humping and dripping for me. My sweet sister. Be good and spread your legs for me."
There is something monstrous in him—this you will not deny. A pain in Aerion that has never healed, and never could. He's had dreams, like you, like Daeron. Like all of you had. He dreamt that he was a fierce dragon, ruling the skies. He could feel the air under him, watch castles shrink to the size of ants. One breath could topple cities, one flap of his wings would stop a storm. He knows that he was meant for a life bigger than this one. But the dragons are all dead.
Except for him. Except for you. You are alive. And you are his.
You couldn't defend yourself or protest. Your body was betraying you. You were aching for it. With your position, the lips of your pussy were open, clenching around nothing. He fisted his cock, groaning at the sight. Your cunt was so pretty, glistening in the candlelight. "Look at that. You're so ready for me, my sweet girl. You're mine. This is mine, right?" He asks, lightly slapping his palm on your mound as you whimper.
"All yours, brother. Always." You gasp out.
"I'll never let them get between us. Nothing. No one." He promises and you nod. You believe him. You always do. That's why he loves you. He settles between your legs. His cock is hard, flush against his abdomen. "Do you trust me, sweet girl?" He asks as he trails down your body.
You want to ask what's the question for. It feels like he's planning something, and if you could get your brain to overpower your cunt for a second you would be able to stop what you're doing to question it. But he stops by your breasts to suck on your nipple until they stand up in the evening chill, grazing them with his teeth as you shudder, then he does it to the other, and it just doesn't matter. The answer is the same. "Yes," you sigh into the air.
He rubs the tip of his finger along the entrance, gathering the wetness there. Seven hells, you were soaking. You let out a groan as he slowly inserts the finger into you and it goes in easy. So easy that he laughs, amused. He did this to you, shaped you. Made you like this for his enjoyment. "Gods, sister. Your suitor is a fool. Do you think he will take you for a wife once he knows you're a whore?"
At his own reminder of your imminent betrothal, his pace turns cruel. Suddenly, he thrusts two fingers into you. Your eyes fly open—weren't even aware that you had them closed—and you yelp at the abrupt intrusion, your warm, wet walls pulsing at the slight pain. "But you're all mine, aren't you, my sweet girl? No one can take you from me." He pushes his fingers even farther, adding a third, like he's trying to carve you from the inside. Your body is lifted off the bed from the unexpected breach, your body running away from the pain by instinct, even if you let out a loud moan.
"B-brother, my—my—" You blink forcefully, trying to regain enough thought to finish your sentence.
"Yes, yes, it's still intact," he reassures you about your maidenhood, his tone clipped, almost bored. His pace, already fast and torturous, picks up again. It's relentless. You can hear the sloshing of your insides, the shlick sound of his fingers scraping your walls nonstop. It is obscene. You reassure yourself you are still a maiden, but your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. "Tell me you're mine," he demands. You didn't respond for a few moments, brain hazy. All you're doing now is feeling, completely at the mercy of this cruel lord.
"I'm, I'm—" You stutter. Your attempts to string words together fails as he nips and sucks bruises into your thighs. You can feel the blood vessels burst, the pain, but oh gods, the pleasure, so much of it that it feels like your brain is leaking out of your head. "I'm yours, just yours, just yours. I love you, Aerion!"
"You need more, my sweet? Tell me how much you need it." He grits out. "Tell me and I'll give it."
"I do. Gods, Aerion. I need more. Just a little more please, I'm so close. Fuck. Please, please. I love you, I love you, I forgive you." You don't know why you say it. Maybe for you, love and forgiveness are the same thing when it comes to your brother. Aerion will push and push and push, and every time you will give him grace because he is your brother and you love him and there will be no one in this world like him. Whether that is good or bad is irrelevant. You are his, but he is yours to have too.
Aerion groans, pulling his fingers from you just as abruptly as he had forced them in. You whine at the loss, and embarrassingly you feel tears prick at your eyes for the second time tonight. You lift your head to look at Aerion and he's palming at himself, spreading the slick from your cunt on his cock. You shudder.
Apparently that was the right thing to say. "Yeah? You'll forgive me? And for what wrongdoing, dear sister. Tell me." His eyes look so bright that it felt like they could burn you alive.
Your hips twitch pathetically, but you realize he won't touch you unless you answer him. Your throat feels a little dry from moaning, so you lick your lips and tell him, confessing to him a truth that he has bet on his whole life and you have proven to him every time. "Anything, brother. You can do anything and I'll let you. I'll forgive you. I'll forgive it all. You have me. You are my dragon. My prince."
You don't know if it's just the light flickering from the candles, a breeze invited by a slight opening in the window, but Aerion looks like a conqueror in this light. He looks triumphant. His features, for a moment, have become frightening to you, the shadows playing with your mind. Harsh and serpentine, like a dragon.
Before you could think further, he pulls you to the edge of the bed.
Then he thrusts his cock inside you, in one go. You would've screamed if he didn't shove his fingers into your mouth, the same one that he used inside you. It tastes like you and it feels like him. You're crying now, tears dripping down the sides of your face as his hips keep a steady, brutal pace. Gods, it's so warm and big and it's bullying into your cervix, opening up your womb forcefully. A sob is wretched out of you from the core of your being. You can't think. You can't.
When he wrenches his fingers out of your mouth, you start babbling, "Aerion, my—my—Oh gods, what do we—"
He shushes you, slows down his pace, moving his hips in little circles, grinding his cock deep inside you. "You trust me, don't you, sister? Or are you taking it back? Because I can take it back too. I can leave." He taunts, pulling his cock out from you abruptly, leaving you painfully empty. Your cunt clenches in the open air. You've never felt this empty. Cold. The air is making the sweat stick to you uncomfortably.
"No, no, no," You beg, desperate and irrational and so fucking cold, now that he's pulled away. No one else will love you. No one else will ruin you. "Come back. Don't leave. Please. Please, brother, don't leave me."
He smiles, proud, hitching your legs on top of his shoulders. "I would never. Understand this, sister: I'm the only one who will never, ever, abandon you. The whole realm may shun you now. But I won't. The gods gave you for me." He shoves his cock back in, stretching and filling you again. The relief of it makes you bite into your fist to muffle your moan, sure that it would have echoed all throughout the castle otherwise.
"Sweet girl," he pants. "My girl. Only ever been mine." You nod frantically. Any pain that you felt before had morphed into pleasure. Aerion would never leave, he said. The lingering fear in your head quieted. Now you were simply a bundle of nerves and every touch he gave you has set you on fire.
He pushes on your tummy and you whine pathetically, your voice cracking at the end. It's so intense. You feel like you're being touched twice over, and before you could process that, Aerion starts talking, his tone proud, "I'll put a babe in you sister, right here. Our little dragon. That would make you happy, wouldn't it?
That was his plan. So no one else could have you. So your father would be forced to marry you to him, for the sake of salvaging the family's honor.
"Aerion," you choke, horrified. Hysterical in your shock, you unconsciously clench tighter. He answers with a groan, loud and open in the evening air. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it up and down. "Don't, please, we can't—"
Aerion laughs, sounding half-mad. "Yes we can. We can. You're such a liar, sister. Your cunt is clenching down on me, milking me. You want this. You want my cock. You want my child to grow inside you, right here," He presses on your stomach again, too forceful this time, too much, everthing's too much. "You know that's what the gods made you for. No one else can carry our dragon, only you. I've seen it, dreamt it. It's your destiny.
"Who knows you more than I do, sister? Who could possibly love you more than I? No one. No one. Everyone will shun you for what you did tonight but I won't, sister. We will marry and you will bear me a child. I will take you when no one will."
Tears start streaming down your face incessantly—you're so overwhelmed, but every time you try to think, he drives his hips deeper, slamming into you, and the forming of a thought get fucked away from your head. You can feel his amusement as he licks off the salt and sweat.
"Aerion, please." You don't even know what you're begging for. For him to stop? To do it faster? You can't make up your mind. You don't know what you want but he does. He is filling your vision, he's all you can see, all you can feel. "Aerion, Aerion," you call out his name again, chanting, delirious.
"We have to tell them sister. I've had enough games. I want you to tell father tomorrow. Tell everyone and let them show you who truly loves you." He tuts when you don't respond, "Poor thing. You can barely think about tomorrow though, can you? Only thing in that pretty head is my cock." He punctuates with a thrust that makes you keen. You can feel yourself drooling but you can't find it in yourself to wipe it, too late for propriety, split open on your brother's cock. "It's okay, sister. Just trust me, okay? Do as you've always done. You've always trusted me, haven't you. That's why you're so good. My best girl, my only girl."
Mouthing at your collarbone, licking and biting without a care in the world, he will make sure you can't hide his mark on you after he's done. He'll make sure everyone knows. His thrusts are more erratic now, stuttering in pace, "We were meant to be together, sister, can you not see? The gods made us for each other. We need each other—gods, that's why we were born together. Blood of my blood. Va sȳndroti vāedroma, fuck."
And then you see it. Like a vision—clear and total as a memory and as arresting as a command. The crackling of the fire was almost deafening and you could hear the flap of wings overhead. Red, everywhere—the ground, the skies. Everywhere you can see.
As if submerged underwater, you desperately gasp for air.
And you understand.
"Aerion, blood of my blood," you call, manic. Your head feels clearer than it has ever been, like a purpose has taken hold of you. Clawing at him, pulling him to you, you hold his face between your hands tightly, fingernails digging into his skin as you bite his lip, hard enough to bleed, and you taste the copper on both of your tongues. He bites back immediately, your lip catching on his sharp teeth and you both bleed. It's not a proper Valyrian marriage but you both smile, giddy and reckless and right. He will light your fires. Twin dragons. Twin flames. You will love him. You see what he has seen, knows from the way he looks at you that he understands you do too. That finally, you understand.
"My perfect sister, I knew it. Gods, I've been so patient," His thrusts turn frantic, excited by your understanding. You see him now, fully, more than anyone ever could. He slams his lips against yours, your teeth clacking together as he rams the spongey part inside you, over and over. The more you kiss, the more it stings, but you can't stop. You taste copper and you smell ash. You can't stop. "Give it to me. Gush around my cock. You will be round with our dragon soon. I'll make sure it catches, my sweet girl. Zaldrītsos. I have you. I have you."
Your vision whites out as you cum, closing your eyes tightly, shaking the whole time. You can't remember if you were screaming, only that when you come to, your brother follows soon after, making sure his cock is as deep as possible, and thrusts some more, groaning against your shoulder as he does. You moan weakly as you feel his seed fill you.
When he pulls out, he sticks his fingers inside you, swirling his seed in his fingers, almost fascinated. He swipes the cum that leaked out, sliding it back into you. One finger, then two, slowly fucking his release back into your overstimulated cunt until you shiver into another orgasm, whining painfully when he presses a kiss to your clit. "Don't let it drip," he warns.
You are both covered in sweat. It's uncomfortable, but the open window helps. He positions you, resting your head on the junction of his neck. He holds you, petting your head. His hand is a little too heavy, unused to gentle motions as you. You cannot imagine life without him. You've never known one.
His grip tightens, bruising, as you bury yourself in his neck. He declares, "You're mine. Now everyone will know of that. All of the Seven Kingdoms."
Spoken in the quiet of the night, in the privacy of his chambers, it seems ridiculous that it is not known yet. Aerion's breathing eventually steadies to an even pace.
This is how it is between you and Aerion. He thrashes, gets hurt, you tend to his wounds. He is your twin. Your brother. Your responsibility. He quiets for a few moments, though you know he is not asleep yet.
Tomorrow will come. You will have to face it together.
You know there is something monstrous and ugly in him, a void that was never filled. Maybe he was born half-empty. Maybe the part that was meant to make him whole was you—an assigned minder by the gods.
There is something about a monster that shows you his neck instead, that bares his throat rather than snapping his jaw shut around yours.
You bite his neck, hard, and you don't let go until you feel him bleed. He shudders. You smile.
translations: Va sȳndroti vāedroma - joined as one (part of Valyrian marriage vows) Zaldrītsos - little dragon
small a/n: im operating under the idea this is more a shared madness thing and your "vision" was amplified sensations from different senses, like the sound of dragon wings was from a strong breeze making the curtains billow. LOL
lyonel being here was completely just for me btw i love him sm
likes, comments, etc. affection of any kind is appreciated!
