Putting My Daydreams Into Words

Your world and theirs, through a bridge of words.

Wattpad link | Ao3 coming soon..

Mainly House of the Dragon, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, and Game of Thrones work.

Fics might contain explicit and mature content and will be tagged accordingly

New works WEEKLY!

Masterlist

Completed: 🌕

Ongoing: 🌙

Short Series (2-3 parts)

A Walk To The Subway Part 1, Part 2 - Jacaerys x Y/N // Modern AU🌕 SFW Your brother's best friend, whom you've had a huge crush on, offers to walk you to the train one late night. Sometimes feelings aren't so far off as you'd think.

Wildfire Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 - Aerion Targaryen x Y/N // 80s Rockstar AU 🌕 18+ Red lights, a rock concert, and a devilish frontman with tattoos, piercings, and a split tongue. What a night we'll have.

Part one, Part two

Punk Aerion X Y/N, 80s AU

Fanfic inspired by art by @crazy_toma777 on IG or @CrazyTom0712 on Twitter.

Wildfire (Part three)

Play with a dragon, catch on fire.

1980s!AKOTSK AU

Pairing: 80s Punk Aerion Targaryen X Y/N

Rockstar Aerion/Reader

Musician AU | 80s Rock Scene | Biker Aerion | Tattoos and piercings | Forked tongue | SMUT

Summary: While waiting outside a venue where an unknown band will be playing, you have a brief yet heated encounter with a mysterious man full of tattoos, piercings, and that devilish forked tongue. The night goes on, a series of events unfold, and you are shown how easily it is to get wrapped up in his work of chaos. It’s fast and uncontrolled— just like wildfire. So what happens when you get too close to the flame?

A heated concert moment, an explosive fight, and being whisked away by a savior in leather on a loud motorcycle. A dark, empty corner of the city, you know what comes at last.

Word Count: 3.9K

Heavy SMUT, 18+, Public, P in V, mutual oral, spanking, hair-pulling.

Author's Note: Omg okay, I might have went overboard with almost 4k words of SMUT, but I had so much fun. Please enjoy. I think I might turn it into a whole series of AKOTSK Modern AU fics.

The city drifts into a blur as the bike speeds through the night, swerving through cars and even people. Honks follow as we pass by, and some curses and shouts thrown at us are drowned in the speed. I hold on as tight as I can; one little slip in my grip, I fear, I’ll topple off this motorcycle. The speed pushes 80km/h as it reaches a semi-empty road. My hold on him grows tighter with every number that goes up on the meter. My hair blows back in all directions in the wind; it must be so tangled by now.

I didn’t care. I press my cheek on his shoulder, earning a look back from him. He reaches his hand back and squeezes my thigh. “You should keep your hand on the handle,” I speak against his ear.

He smirks, but does not remove his hand from my thigh. I lift my head from his shoulder to brush my lips on his earlobe. I take it in between my lips, feeling the cold metal from his piercing along with the soft tissue. I can feel him groan through the grumble vibrating through from his back that is pressed against my chest. I go on to take his earlobe between my teeth, and he hisses, squeezing my thigh tighter.

Aerion quickly stops at an empty lot by a gas station. The bike comes to a screeching halt as he brakes. The only sources of light are from the station and a nearby convenience store. Besides that, it’s all dark and empty except for one very sleepy worker dozing off on the counter. I hop off the bike, flipping my hair to at least have it sit nicely after that whirlwind of a motorcycle ride. Aerion slowly lifts himself from it too, turning to me and standing close. His hands dig in the pockets of his dark leather pants as he looks down at me. He only has his red leather jacket as his top, open in the front, giving a straight view into his toned body. He’s not muscly, but lean, and his muscles are defined. 

My face tilts up towards his face, my eyes land on the cut on the inside of his lips and under his eye. My hand instinctively reaches up, but he grabs it before I can touch him. “You’re bleeding,” I say.

He doesn’t reply, simply takes a step forward. His mouth pool with blood, and he spits it off to the side. “I’ll grab some bandages and wipes, perhaps water as well.” I turn away, but he drags me back in, firmly pressing us chest to chest. I gave him a confused and slightly annoyed look.

He only smirks. “What’s your name?” His voice is low and calm as he asks.

“Y/N.” I answer.

“Y/N. Pretty one.” His grip slides from my wrist, down my arm to my elbow, and he drags me towards the direction of the convenience store. 

“Why’d you save me back there?” My heels click on the concrete as I try to keep up with the pace at which he pulls me along. 

He lets out a soft chuckle, “I like a good fight, and he touched you. I’ll take any good reason to beat a guy up.” He stops and turns. His hand trails to my hand, fingers brush my knuckles, clad fully with rings. Traces of dried blood from the creepy Mohawk guy still stain my fingers. Aerion’s thumb grazes the rings on my index finger and middle finger, gently pressing on the spikes on them. Bruising starts to form, and my fingers press into the rings deeper as it swells. I flinch ever so slightly just watching him touch these spots, but he’s so gentle— surprisingly gentle— as he rubs them. 

“Smart,” he smirks as he toys with the spiked rings. I hiss quietly, fingers quite tender after the punch, and an aching sensation starts to grow.

Aerion drops his smirk and pulls me into the store. He pushes the door, making it swing dramatically without care, but holds it off from swinging back to let me in. Even with the sound from our entrance, the person at the counter stays still with their head pressed against it, dead asleep. 

I look at them and back to Aerion, and he does the same. Both of us break into a smile as our eyes meet— mine of amusement, his of mischief. We drag ourselves to the coolers, grabbing the first can of whatever drink we see to press against our respective wounds. Aerion holds up a chilled can of beer to his face, watching my every move from the side. I pull my bottom lip down to see a little reddish mark from the concert lip-bite moment earlier, glistening with tiny traces of blood right above my lip tattoo. Aerion steps forward and drags his thumb down, pulling my bottom lip down with it. 

“Angel,” he reads the word inked into the rosy flesh of my inner lip. “You might be one,” his thumb traces over the words, and on the little tooth mark he left right above it, “but I didn’t know angels fly down here this low.”

“It’s your lucky day, maybe,” I stare at him all doe-eyed, yet far from innocent.

“Might be,” he grips my waist and turns me to face the round mirror right above in the corner, “but you’re far from innocent, Y/N, I suspect you’re an angel in disguise.” His hands lower my coat down til it pools right under my elbow and waist, revealing my top that leaves not much to the imagination. I turn my head to look at him. 

“No, no, look at yourself,” he gently turns my face, “look, this.” His hands trail up my sides, tracing my figure rather firmly, a sharp contrast to how he handled my face. “This is the work of the devil, my darling angel,” he purrs against my ears, giving my hips a rough squeeze.

I move to face him, but his grip doesn’t budge, keeping me in place. “Ah ah ah,” he tuts as his hands move up to run along my chest, grabbing at my breasts. My own hands reach up to cover his to keep them in place. He kisses my neck, takes in the soft flesh in between his lips, and gives it a suck. I let out a moan, rolling my head back. He sticks his tongue out and runs it along the length of my neck. Gosh, a split tongue is really something, a different kind of sensation that sends chills up my sides.

My hand reaches down, finding his thighs and making my way in between them. I immediately feel the heat and the hardness. I grin to myself and press harder into the tight leather sheathing the hardened length. Aerion lets out a hiss, gritting his teeth. 

I lean my head back further so my mouth nears his ear, “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper.

“Mhm?” His eyes light up with amusement as his tone shifts into something whinier, more teasing. “Such filth from a supposed angel,” he chuckles, “but I like a woman who says exactly what she wants.” He bites down on my neck, his hands dip under my top to cup my bare breast, fingers squeezing the already hardened bud in between.

I let out a louder moan, making him shush me immediately, “shhh, we don’t want to wake our friend up over there, do we?” He nudges his chin in the direction of the passed-out employee on the counter.

“Take me out of here then,” I rub his length over his leather pants. 

“Fuck…you’re impatient,” his other hand dips into my skirt, underneath my flimsy thong, in search of the growing wetness, which he finds rather quickly. I watch us through the mirror in front. “So wet,” finger dips in between the folds in exploration, “so needy, you’re melting in my arms. You’re so fucking hot, angel.” I might as well be played like a guitar, fingers strumming each nerve of pleasure, and I’m his idle subject.

My knees feel like buckling with all the sensations. My hands did not let off for a moment: I upped my pace, but if this is a battle, he’s winning. “I said I want you to fuck me,” I bite back, “now, or I’ll leave.” I don’t care. I want the release, I want the pleasure, and I want him. I don’t care if that dozed off employee wakes up and finds us in this compromising position. My last restraints are thinning with every touch, every lick, bite, stroke— he’s the candle burning under my string of control and little propriety I have, and it’s thinning away with every second he burns. 

He lets out a dark chuckle, “woah now, why would we do that? It leaves us both at a loss, frustrated with no release. Why would we want that? So, no, you fucking won’t, and you know you won’t.” He gazes up at the reflection of us in the mirror, “so don’t taunt me with things you and I both know you won’t pull through with.” 

I can only whine in his arms, weakening and melting under his control. My hand moves into his pants, finding his length so rigid and swollen with need of his own. I stroke along it. It was thick, and my eyes widened at the length of it. All I wanted was to free it and take it every way I could. He moans audibly in response, giving me a sense of satisfaction with the control I still hold in the moment.

“Gosh, fuck it, angel.” He immediately grips my arm and drags me to the exit, swiping a pack of condoms from the shelf on his way out. 

My lips crash on his; I taste metal from the cut, still lightly bleeding. It’s a frantic fight of pleasure and dominance between our bodies as we make our way to the dark corner beside the store. His forked tongue brushes against mine in a way I have never experienced before, leaving me to imagine how it would feel somewhere else. It’s messy, teeth clashing, and the piercings on his lips prick at my lips.

My coat drops to the ground, and so does his jacket. My hand works to free his aching cock, red on the tip and leaking precum. I almost gasp at the sight, especially at the metal ring right at the tip. I bite my lip as I gaze back up at him. He only stands there with a smug confidence, letting me admire it. He’s well-groomed, a trail of platinum blonde hair decorates his lower abdomen, and his dick stands erect and proud. He has a pretty dick, and he shows it off. He steps back slightly before taking it in his hand to stroke it, while watching me. My knees buckle, I lower myself to the ground, and take it from his hand. I start from the base while my hands work the length, working my way up until the tip, with my mouth wetting his cock with spit. I take one final lick from the base to the tip before taking it in my mouth. Aerion involuntarily leans forward, pushing his cock deeper into my throat as his hand presses the brick wall behind me. 

“Fuck…” he looks down at me with a furrowed look, his hand clenches into a tight ball while the other reaches down to grip my hair into his fist. My eyes water as I look up at him, but he doesn’t go easy; instead, he thrusts into my mouth. I gag, struggling to take in the length as well as dealing with the pace at which he rams into me. 

He let go after several thrusts, and I pulled my mouth off him. Sailva pools in my mouth, and I spit it out on his engorged dick. His hand gives my lips a rough wipe before pulling me up. He wastes no time pulling the already low neckline down, peppering rough kisses all over my breast. My nipples hardened, exposed to his attention and the chilly wind. Then, he sticks his tongue out, and the split ends part as he dips down to lap at the hardened buds. The two tips work to circle the sensitive tips. The pleasure’s aching— edging— I feel the throb at my core intensify with each movement. It feels like being dragged to the edge of pleasure without fully diving in, and it’s making me squirm in frustration. But frustration is part of the pleasure: the push and pull, the struggles, the teasing all make up part of the fun. Aerion knows the game, and he plays it well.

His tongue travels lower, tracing down to the tattoo on the left side of my torso. He takes a small stop to admire it. “Memento Mori” with a skull and a dagger piercing through it. He goes lower, hands reaching to grab at my ass over the leather skirt and tights. Tongue and teeth target my thighs. I hoist one leg up and rest my heels on his knees for more access. Aerion smiles at the act devilishly before making his way up my inner thigh. 

He gives one glance up at my condition: blushed, breathless, and breast bared above rolled down lace that tightens underneath the soft mounds. “You’re so fucking sexy,” with a guttural moan, his rough hands rip my tights, and the sliver of fabric barely sheathing my core is pushed aside. I let out a raspy moan as I look down at the sight before me. The devil of man on his knees, one of my legs stepping on his knee, and spread apart.

I see him look up, and when our eyes meet, he smiles— evil, mischievous, trouble— all these adjectives compress into one sinful expression. His eyes gleam, and his arms hook under my thighs, stands up completely, hoisting me up far above the ground with such ease and haste that I let out an audible gasp. My legs rest on his shoulder; I’m practically straddling his face, but vertically. I am hoisted up so high up all I could do now is use the wall at my back and his head between my thighs to stabilise myself. I lean back further, bracing myself on the wall so that I won’t topple over. 

“Angels are meant to fly,” he smirks as he lifts his head from between my thighs, and our eyes meet. He sticks his tongue out, flashing the slick, pink flesh parted at the front; he resembles some sort of snake— a viper. An exact image of a snake smelling and sampling the environment, or its prey. He buries his tongue, and I mewl in pleasure into the night. It pokes, prods, and licks, while his strong hands cup under my thigh to hold me up sturdier and to allow my legs to part wider. “Oh fuck– FUCK!” I moan louder as he finds the sensitive spot so quickly. That tongue— his devilish, viperous tongue that moves like one— each side of the split bits move individually and in-sync in circles right on the bud. One side swipes into a circle, then the other follows as the movement continues. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s putting his modification to good use.

“Shit! This— oh god,” my voice only comes out in pitchy fragments, “yes..yes, there.” I shut my eyes and relish in the sensation. One hand reaches down to tangle in his blonde hair, and he groans and goes harder with my firmer strokes. He properly hoists one of my legs more firmly on his shoulder, tightening it around his head, and I make it tighter by pushing my thighs closer. He uses his now free hand to sink two fingers inside, pushing deep and curling forward in an in-and-out motion, while his tongue continues to work on my clit. 

My muscles pulse, signalling my release drawing near. “Aerion, I—” I release, before I could even finish my sentence, I reach my climax, release on his fingers and mouth. I let out a pitchy, audible moan, trying to catch my breath. He lowers me down, licking his fingers while keeping eye contact.

“You came so hard, baby, I must be good.” He chuckles. Aerion’s eyes land on his motorcycle parked a couple of meters from us. A devious smile creeps up on his face, and I tilt my head in confusion as I stare at him. 

“Take that top off,” he orders, and I immediately comply. It’s not like it covered much anyway. He walks over to his motorcycle and lies down on it. Feet on the handles and his head on the backseat. I stand in place, trying to work out what he’s getting at. He curls his finger in a come-hither motion towards him, and I walk to him. He gets comfortable, one arm under his head propping him up like a pillow, and the other stroking himself. He rips a packet of condoms from the box he swiped from the store earlier with his teeth and places it on his hard cock. “Get on it. Ride me, angel,” he groans.

I discard my thong and drop it on his chest. He grabs the thong and shoves it into his pocket. I get on top, trying to find a footing and stance that would allow me to balance and move. I place my feet on the passenger foot pegs and position his pierced cock at my entrance. Once I have my balance, I lower myself down. He lets out an audible moan of satisfaction, both arms now resting under his head as he watches me bounce on him. 

“God,” I moan as I run my hand all over the firm ridges of his upper body and over the tattoos. I lean down and lick up his sternum, and he meets my lips after with a kiss. I moan, “fuck me,” against his lips.

I sit up straight, still moving, but he stops me with a grip on my ass as he thrusts upwards. I scream at the sudden pace, earning a hard slap on my ass. “You wanted this, huh? Like this? Take it then. Show me how an angel takes a dragon.” He keeps up the rough pace. My tits bounce, and one of his hands reaches up to grab them. 

He fucks me hard with occasional slaps on my ass, and I drown in each moment. With gritted teeth, he growls and moans in pleasure. “At least you fuck better than you play,” I tease. His hand shoots up to my neck and drags me down to his face.

“I dare you to say that again,” he lets out a guttural sound.

“I said, at least you fuck better than you play,” I repeated word for word. I might have a death wish.

His hand squeezes the sides of my neck hard before he gets up from his lying position on the motorcycle. “Bend over,” he pushes me down to bend me over sideways on the seats, and hikes my skirt up before positioning himself behind me. Then, he rams into me with such force that it almost makes me leap forward, and the motorcycle wobbles. I moan loudly without a care if anyone would hear. Thankfully, it’s pretty isolated this hour at night, and the spot we’re in isn’t well-lit. Maybe that sleeping employee from the store will hear, let me bet on the walls that it’s been keeping the sounds from reaching inside. 

Aerion grunts and moans audibly, sweat coating both our bodies, and he rams into me hard again and again. He grips my hair into a ponytail in one grip, wrapping it around his fist as he pulls hard. I can only whimper, letting my head tilt back. The pain grows, and oddly so does the pleasure. I have had a fair share of lovers and hookups, but this is different: it’s rough, painful, dirty, vulnerable, yet neither me nor he cares.  He grins widely, a chuckle escaping his chest as he watches me struggle under his mercy.

“Fucking hell,” he lets out a pitchy groan, his cock twitches, and I sense his pace wavering slightly. 

I feel my knees shaking, and my second release approaching. “Aerion, I’m gonna cum again,” my voice coming out more desperate than I’d like it to be. 

“Not until I cum, hold it.” His calloused hands rub over where my back tattoo is. He must have been staring at it the whole time. It does cover the whole top half of my back, and hard to miss a large monarch butterfly. 

Aerion’s pace slows and staggers, “Mhmm, fuck! I’m close, so fucking close.” His hands now desperately grip my ass. 

“I can’t, I’m so close,” I whined

“God, Fuck!’ He grits out, “shit, shit, shit, okay, cum.” Aerion lets out a loud moan with mumbles of curses that follow as he rides out his orgasm. His fingers trail back to my clit, giving it a harsh rub, and like a button pushed, I immediately came with a scream of his name. 

Aerion. Fucking. Brightflame. He has left me ruined.

I drop to my knees, leaning against the motorcycle, trying to catch my breath and ride out my intense orgasm. Aerion has pulled out, pulled off his condom, and discarded it somewhere on the ground. He zips his pants up and stands by my side, looking at me with crossed arms while I’m buckled on my knees beside his motorcycle. 

I slowly get up and put my top back on. I walk to grab my coat, which is dusty on the gas station grounds after being dropped in the heat of the moment. So is his red leather jacket, which he also walks to pick up and put on. I lean to see myself in the tiny mirror on his motorcycle, trying to clean my smudged makeup. A silence settles between us.

“So,” Aerion breaks the silence after a solid couple of minutes, “you’re one hell of a fuck.” He smirks.

“How romantic, what a way with words you have.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs. Not a smug chuckle, but an actual laugh.

“Where do you live, angel?” He casually walks over to the motorcycle and hops on. 

“Drop me off at Rose Road,” I hop on the back and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Not giving me your full address? I’m not a creep.” He says in a slightly surprised tone.

“That’s something you earn,” I chuckle in response.

“Guess, I’ll settle for your number first then,” he replies.

“I didn’t say I’d give you my number either” I keep up with the teasing, smug persona.

“Damnit, then I’ll knock every door on Rose Road until I find the doors to heaven, to you, angel.” He revs up the engine.

“We’ll see, Brightflame.” Does he mean it? Probably not, probably just part of his charms, either way, what fun this is. I give a bite on the dragon tattoo on his exposed shoulder, and we take off with a boom onto the barren freeway. 

Punk Aerion Targaryen X Y/N | 80s AU

Part One, Part Three

Inspired by fan art by @crazy_toma777 on IG or @Crazy_Tom0712 on Twitter

Wildfire (Part two)

Don’t stray too close to the flame.

1980s!AKOTSK AU

Pairing: 80s Punk Aerion Targaryen X Y/N

Rockstar Aerion/Reader

Musician AU | 80s Rock Scene | Biker Aerion | Tattoos and piercings | Forked tongue | Eventual smut

Summary: While waiting outside a venue where an unknown band will be playing, you have a brief yet heated encounter with a mysterious man full of tattoos, piercings and that devilish forked tongue. The night goes on, a series of events unfold, and you are shown how easily it is to get wrapped into his work of chaos. It’s fast and uncontrolled— just like wildfire. So what happens when you get too close to the flame?

The concert commences in a room of debauchery and Rock‘n’Roll. He has his eyes on you now, what will you do?

Word Count: 2.5K

Content warning: mentions of blood, and harassment.

Author’s Note: I just finished my midtermsss woo hoo🔥🎉 Now I can get back to my evil little blonde freak. Enjoy hehehehe

Red lights shine through the whole venue, the atmosphere thick as the smoke that fills the space. Some generic punk sound plays through the system, while people fill in, some even pushing past me as they find a spot on the floor. I, too, shove my way through to the front until I find myself pressing against the stage. I find myself, very luckily, right at the center in front of the stage.

People start piling around me slowly, but surely. The place isn’t uncomfortably packed, but there are still a decent number of people here to be brushing shoulders with strangers. Girls pile up on the front rows, surrounding me to the left and the right. I scan my surroundings briefly and let out a soft chuckle. Popular with the girls, of course, they are.

People chat and mingle around: some are already dancing, grinding, and making out with one another. The group of girls to the left giggles and talks amongst themselves, while fixing their hair and makeup. I lean in to the nearest girl to my left, “Hey, could I borrow your mirror for one second?” More of a conversation starter than me needing to check my makeup.

“Sure!” The girl shoots a quick smile as she hands me her compact. Her skin’s smooth and pale, like white porcelain, painted on with black from her makeup, her perfectly curled hair, and those impossibly dark eyes. The red light creates more of a contrast on features; everything here is in shades of just red and black.

I take the compact from her hands as she extends her arms, fully tatted up to her fingertips. Her tattoos cover both her arms and collar bones, possibly extending to her back. Her simple tube top showcases all of it: her arms, chest, and back filled with ink. I can’t make out what exactly they are: I can see some sort of dagger, a heart, and some humanoid shapes. Either way, the extensive work puts my back tattoo that covers the top half of my back, and some small patches of work on my thighs, arms, and torso to shame.

“Amazing tattoos, by the way,” I say while I take in her tattoos. I turn my attention to the compact and give myself a quick look. I can’t really see anything properly in here, but that also means no one else can see me properly enough to notice if something is off with my makeup or hair. The girl mutters a quick thank you as she takes her compact back.

“Are you a fan?” She asks.

“Of this place, yes, I’m here quite a lot. Of the band? Well, we’ll see. This will be my first time with them.” I answer, pushing my voice to be loud enough to be heard through the people around us and the music playing.

“I see. They’re great. I’ve been to a couple of their gigs around the Crownlands. They have a sort of energy to them. A bit rough, wild…very mad.” She chuckles.

“Right,” I take in the information.

“So they have a drummer, his name’s Dom Deans. Big guy, brunette, tall. Always hunched over, crouching, trying to fit behind those drums, but he plays like a beast, so much so that he breaks the drumset one way or another. So now, it’s tradition to break the drums after the show. There are also twins, Blaize and Bastian, the lead guitarist and bassist. Loud, crazy, very energetic, you’ll see. Then..” She takes a breath, I flashed her a look of intrigue as she paused, “Aerion Brightflame, as they call him. Lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist. Platinum blonde hair, pierced up, all tatted..forked tongue. Welded by the devil, forged in hellfire, my god…” She dips her face into her palm, “so fucking hot. I mean, they all are, but Aerion just has this energy.”

I smirk, “I assume you’re a big fan.”

“Very much so,” she flashes me a slight look of disbelief in the fact that I had to ask this question to know, her mouth slightly agape, but curls up in the sides to a smirk of her own.

I chuckle and lean in closer to her ears, “My name’s Y/N by the way.”

“Dariya,” she reaches out and shakes my hand.

My smirk grows into a wider smile, “Dariya, beautiful name on a beautiful girl.”

Right then, the sound stops, and the red lights dim completely. The crowd’s attention snaps to the stage, and cheers and whistles start. Dariya and some other girls in the front row scream: loud, high-pitched shrills in unison into the complete darkness.

Then, the stage lights up. Four men make their way into their positions: drummer at the back, guitarist and bassist on the sides, and, of course, vocalist in the middle. They rock the same outfit form as before, except for Mr.Brightflame here in the middle, who’s added a red leather jacket on top of his mesh tank top. His toned torso was still visible through the thin fabric, but his ink-covered arms were covered.

Aerion swings for the mic, decapitating it from the stand. The first ring of the heavy bass, and Aerion immediately riles the crowd up. “King’s Landing!” the first shout through the microphone, and people cheer louder. He saunters across the stage like a wild animal gauging its prey, sticking his split tongue out as he growls. His eyes wide open as he looks to the crowd: aggressive, feral almost.

Dariya was right. There is an energy to him, I mean, I knew since that encounter outside that we had: like a still flame waiting to burst. But right now, right in front of me under the stage lights, he flares— a bright flame.

The first song starts, and the band wastes no time getting right into it. It’s fast and loud, classic punk rock sounds and lyrics. Aerion’s voice is everything you’d expect it to be: it is raspy and gritty, with a nasally tone to it, which all sounded raw and melodic. Aerions works the stage and the crowd: jumping, running, dancing with each beat. The twins take their spot on stage, working their own respective instruments, while Dom beats the living daylight out of his drumset with the sticks in his large, burly hands. People dance and jump, matching the band’s unruly, high-energy performance. I lose myself in the moment—in the songs, in the crowd, and in his voice.

Right from the first song, he’s spotted me. An immediate knowing smirk on his face as he continues on his song, making me flash my own mischievous smile towards him. His gaze shoots to me continuously, and mine are always on him. Aerion occasionally dips down to address the crowd, sometimes to the women in the front row. Every moment he bends, screams erupt from the front row. Dariya dances by my side carefree, her body occasionally grinding against mine. Aerion notices; he sees everything.

An undergarment flies on stage: a purple lacy bra. Aerion picks it up and twirls it around before hanging it on one of the twins’ shoulders. The redhead takes it in one of his hands, letting it hang like he’s checking the size, before he pushes it into his pocket. Each twin shows off their strumming skills at times, and the crowd loves it, while Dom in the back keeps a steady, powerful performance.

One woman hands Aerion a lipstick and pulls down her neckline, baring the top of her breasts. Aerion signs it with a straight face— A.Brightflame, where the A has a circle around, an anarchist symbol.

The music shifts into something sultrier by the middle of the set. Themes of rebellion and rage traded for pure sex. Aerion loses his red leather jacket, letting it fall onto the floor of the stage, and later his mesh tank top. His gaze is now glued to mine as he sheds his clothes— no alternating, not even a single blink where it shifts away— completely staring at me without budging. He slowly moves towards the edge and kneels right in front of me. I look up, the untamed fire in him bursting just mere inches away from me.

“Dark red lipstick, pretty eyes.

Bite your name into me.

I’ll sink into your thighs.

Bleed me dry.

Fuel my fire.”

He dips lower into the crowd, and I take the chance to prop myself up by pushing up against the stage. My face nears his so closely, our noses brush against one another and our foreheads press. I can smell the scent of mint, nicotine, and weed on his breath, his body heat and the sweat that glistens on his body. I tease, brushing against his face, but not exactly making the right contact. Touch, then pull away. Tease. I can see him open his mouth and tilt his face, and I turn away before his lips could find mine.

The guitar picks up its rhythm, and in an instant, Aerion’s hands grip my neck, turning my face back to him: not rough, but firm enough to keep in position, as his fingers squeeze the sides. It feels like a blur of ecstasy. My hold on the stage loosens, and I gently drop back down into the crowd. Aerion follows me, hand still on my neck as he dips lower to not break the contact in the slightest. Every beat, every strum, every shrill, every cheer, every bit of flashing light dissipates. Him, him, and only him— all I can see, touch, smell, hear and feel is him.

His grip travels to grasp my jaw. My hands finds its way to his chest, nails dig into it— hard. His voice wavers a bit for a moment, like he was trying to bite down a groan, earning a smirk from me. I press my nails into him harder. I can feel him tense against me, but his voice is steady as can be. One hand on the mic, one hand on my neck, nails scratching his chest, and he doesn’t miss a note. He has turned this game in his favor. All I want is to claim his lips, to seal the distance, but his grip keeps me close enough, yet not allowing me to actually make the contact.

I push for it: trying to tilt my head, to lean closer, but his grip is too strong. I shut my eyes, biting down on my lips to contain a moan. However, he must have felt the sensation through his hands on my neck. He breaks into a full-on smile, but it was far from sweet or wholesome; it’s a smile of pride and mischief. He’s satisfied in seeing me struggle in his grip, feeling my need with every nail raking deep into the skin of his chest. With every bit of pain in his body, he feels my desire, and yet he doesn’t budge. He lets me cut him; he lets me bloody his porcelain-perfect skin. He lets me ruin him, so long as it shows how much I want this—and I want this, bad.

He then drops his grasp from my neck and stands up. I reel back to reality. My eye immediately lands on his chest: red streaks all over, and blood trickles. I look down at my own fingernails to see red underneath, staining all fingers in the same shade of red as his chest. Before I can look up, he reaches down and grabs my hands. His lips finds its way around my finger as he sucks on it tasting his own blood off it. His forked tongue licks its way around, the split covering more surface area as each side moves to lap off all the red clean. The dark-haired twin on the guitar picks up the pace on the guitar, and the crowd cheers at the antics before them. I catch a glimpse of Dariya from my peripheral vision with a wide smile on her face as she hollers along.

Aerion gets up after and continues the set as if nothing happened. The energy ramps up into another energetic number. An idea pops into my head. I press my body closer towards Dariya, and she immediately grinds her hips against me. Her back press into my chest. My hands travel to her waist to turn her around to face me. I look up at Aerion, who’s now staring at us. I turn back to Dariya, arms wrap around her waist. She’s the same height as me, so our eyes are at the same level. I lean in, gaze on the stage at Aerion, and she instantly seals her lips against mine. I hear some whistles and hooting, but I keep my attention on the kiss. My eyes remain on him. Even from this angle, his eyes visibly darken.

Dariya pulls away and continues dancing obliviously. My lipstick’s smudged, but I leave it be. Aerion nods, keeping up with his performance, until an instrumental break hits, and he bends down. I eagerly push forward, and his mouth clashes against my parted lips. It’s no kiss; instead, he takes my bottom lip in between his teeth and bites down. I immediately taste blood. He pulls away right after, no tenderness or a kiss, just licking his own lips, tasting my blood on his lips. It’s neither flirting nor performance. It’s a power struggle of pain and desire.

The night goes on, and the energy never falters one bit. I dance, cheer, enjoy myself, all the while eyes never leaving Aerion’s, and his never leave since the middle of this set. Mosh pits start in the middle of the crowd, people push around; it was chaos in all the best ways. I slide my coat down, revealing my top as I move to the rhythm. A sudden touch on my behind snaps me out. I suddenly snap to the person behind me— a sleazy-looking man in a mohawk with a smug smile on his face. Aerion notices. I turn to the creep behind me, and his hand reaches for my ass again, thinking somehow me turning to him is a signal of acceptance of his advances. My hand balls into a fist and strikes him in the eye, the metal rings on my finger slicing into his browbone, cutting deep.

The crowd immediately notices and reacts to it. Dariya’s hands grip my shoulders to pull me back, “Y/N!”

The mohawked creep lets out an angry growl before reaching to grab me, but like a flash of lightning, a body jumps from the stage into the crowd right in front of me, kicking the creep down.

“Aerion—” I call out.

My voice drowns out as the two clash into a full-on fist fight, striking each other. The crowd goes crazy, people pushed, pulled, and cheered in true punk rock fashion. The guitarist plays a tune along with the commotion from the stage. The fight takes a serious turn when more people start getting involved, and a couple of the guy’s friend joins in. This prompts Dom and the redhead twin to jump down and join the fight.

“Fuck this,” I crawl up the stage and grab the guitar from the twin, “mind if I borrow?” I did not wait for him to respond, I simply jump back down and start swinging the guitar at some of the guys. One hit lands on the mohawked creep that touched me, knocking him down.

Aerion looks up in surprise, as we lock eyes. There is a look in his eyes that can only be described as pure exhilaration, like he was getting a thrill out of beating this man up. He, himself has some hits on him as well blood dripping down his mouth and a small cut under his eye. If we weren’t in a full on fight right now, I would have straddled him right here on this wooden floor. The moment was, however, short-lived when the fight got more violent. Aerion grabs my hand and runs in the direction of the stage, lifting me before he lifts himself.

“Bastian, cover for me, will ya?” He gives the dark-haired twin a smack on the shoulder, earning an annoyed groan. He picks up his discarded red leather jacket from earlier, takes my hand, and runs to the backstage exit. Security starts to jump into the commotion, but I was given no time to assess, with Aerion running with me in hand.

We make our way outside into an alleyway. “Get on,” Aerion speaks, not a question, a command. He gets on top of a shiny black motorcycle, “What are you looking at? I said get on.”

Punk Aerion X Y/N | 80s AU fic

Part Two, Part Three

I felt inspired by this amazing artwork of @crazy_toma777 on IG or @Crazy_Tom0712 on Twitter

Wildfire (Part one)

Oh to be burned by you.

1980s!AKOTSK AU

Pairing: 80s Aerion Targaryen X Y/N

Rockstar Aerion/Y/N

Musician AU | 80s Rock Scene | Biker Aerion | Tattoos and piercings | Forked tongue | Eventual smut

Summary: While waiting outside a venue where an unknown band will be playing, you have a brief yet heated encounter with a mysterious man full of tattoos, piercings and that devilish forked tongue. The night goes on, a series of events unfold, and you are shown how easily it is gets to wrapped into his world of chaos. It’s fast and uncontrolled— just like wildfire. So, what happens when you dance too close to the flame?

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: Punk Aerion has been in my mind for the last two days, I just had to. I hope you guys will enjoy. This part is more of the first meet and introduction. It will get SPICIER, I have some things planned😈

Smoke, cars, people, neon lights— on repeat— smoke, cars, people, neon lights. My eyes dart around, spotting in the exact order.

Smoke, as the nearby kebab truck fires up another order, whilst people lined up, dressed in an overall color palette of black, white, and red. Chatter on their lips without the absence of a cigarette, and leather on their body without the absence of spikes or some kind of print. The scent is a mixture of weed, smoking meat, and burnt tobacco.

Cars— one passes by every other minute. A busy Friday night, when people are starting head out, move to another place, or by this hour, head back home. The last option is if you’re boring.

People. Too fucking many of them.

Neon lights decorate this crowded, musky alley. Signs to all kinds of bars and clubs all along the street, above one another, and some even overlapping. Right above my own head reads bold and bright: “The Den. Rock Your Every Night.” Then, a lit-up sign under that reads: “Tonight Playing: Wildfire and the Vipers.”

I quite like this little alley. There is a sense of beauty in the dingy and the degeneration. It’s like no one, for once, no one cares for propriety and seeks to live however they want. An older woman makes out on the opposite side of the street. I think she has her hands in the other girl’s pants. I swear I saw her take off a ring from her ring finger and tucked it in the pocket on her preppy, baby pink, wool cardigan, before shoving that same hand down the other woman’s bright red leather pants. By the kebab truck, I can see a cook taking a break with a rolled blunt in his hand. This person, just 6 feet to my right, snorted something from their tiny ziplock bag after scooping with their impossibly long nails. Maybe it’s the hidden desires in all of them that have clawed their way out for one night after being pushed down, or maybe it’s just what they do, because that’s what they want. Either way, it’s their truth in this moment, and there is something so special about having a place of truth in a world of lies and facades.

This place feels like a small capsule away from the beige, muted colors, and modern minimalistic bullshit. Here, posters layered on one another, colored lights, and broken windows are the decorations. In a way, it brings soul to the establishments: it’s edgy, loud, and in-your-face—very Rock’n’Roll. Bars here specialise in live music: rock, punk, metal, you name it. Pick the right bar, know the right people, wear the right things, and you will definitely walk away with the right drinks at the right price. For instance, it’s currently ten minutes until midnight. One should know, Black Reign is busy at this hour, and you’ll have to wait in that long ass line. If you want a place at Black Reign, come an hour earlier at least. So now, either make friends with a man named Donovan to cut you through the cue, and might I add, he won’t be friends with you unless he’s trying to fuck you. So wear the right thing, but if you’re not up for low-cut tops with boobs pushed up to the max and miniskirts with half your cheeks out, you can simply head a couple of steps down to Dagger. Less crowded, but the same heavy metal playing every night, and the cocktails taste the same when you ask Marco to make them. He used to work at Black Reign before he rage-quitted one night after the manager overworked him on unpaid extra hours for 6 months straight. He likes to yap about it when I go over; he just likes to gossip, and afterwards, as if payment for listening, drinks suddenly become on the house. Right place, right people, and right outfit. Remember the formula.

This particular venue, where I’m standing, highlights new bands and musicians, with a different band playing each night. Wildfire and the Vipers is new, it seems. I have not heard of them, and trust me, I’m here a lot of nights. With the sultry red texts and the flame wrapping around a naked woman on the poster with vipers at her feet, I’m expecting something wild, sexy, and full of energy. I’m intrigued.

I pull my black fur coat tighter around me; the wind isn’t biting, but it is chilly —especially when one’s only dressed in a tight, leather miniskirt and torn tights below. I check my pockets for my cigarettes. Ten minutes until showtime, I have time for one smoke. I pull out a cigarette and fish for my lighter, reaching down into my leather boots. As I bend over, a lighter not my own flicks open right in front of the cigarette that hangs on my lips. Its flame burns the tip instantly. They didn’t give enough distance for me to decide if I should accept, or some distance to not risk burning me. Who is this?

I look up and immediately make eye contact with the culprit. He’s not much taller, but there’s a discernible gap despite me being in heels. He has piercings on both nostrils: two metallic spikes growing out of his nose. Another above his left eyebrow, and a Snake Bites piercing. His ear was also pierced heavily, looking like one of those diagrams they’d show you at the piercing shop: multiple helix piercings, two small ones followed by one larger ring on the lobes, and one industrial piercing through. His hair was platinum blonde, and it was cropped yet kept spiky. His blue eyes are sharp, focused and fiery. It does not stagger an inch away from mine. I straighten myself, standing up. My eyes breaks our prolonged eye contact as it rakes over his exposed arms. He was fully tatted. Intricate patterns wrap along his forearms, a large dragon tattoo adorns his perfectly sculpted bicep, and stretches up to the side of his neck. The other side has some unique markings and patterns all over. He wears a grey mesh tank top that gives me a glimpse at his toned, slim build. I take a drag of my cigarette and blow out a smoke in the direction away from us. His eyes don’t waver, and he stands so close I can smell his musky cologne. He shoves his lighter back into one of the pockets in his black leather pants.

There are three other men behind him. They slowly approach the scene, keeping a slight distance behind him. Two of them seem to be twins, they came to an almost slapstick-like stop upon approaching the scene. The ultimate copies of one another; everything is the same from outfit to face. Their only difference lies in their hair. One has bright red hair, and the other’s is jet black, both rocking a standard mullet. They both got somewhat animated expressions on their face. The redhead bites down a grin, whilst smacking his brother’s chest, and nudges his chin towards our direction. The brother reciprocates by gripping his brother’s already ripped white shirt, hard. The two drowns silent giggles and tugging and pushing one another.

One other guy simply stands still with a smug look on his face, right behind the blonde. He was taller than all of them, with long frizzy brunette hair that came down to his shoulders. His vest, completely unbuttoned, showcases his muscular upper body and all the tattoos that decorate it.

The cigarette hangs on my lips, while my eyes scan him from his spiky black boots to his spiky blonde hair. He notices and smirks. The fire in his eyes grows more heated; his whole presence does. He simply stood, yet it was like having a live dancing flame right in front of me, like I could take this fur coat off, even in this chilly wind, and still be heated to the core. There’s something so wild and unpredictable about his aura. I want to get close, but it’s never wise to approach a live flame.

“Thanks for the light,” I smirk, amused and very intrigued. I lean back further on the brick wall behind me, letting my hands move from clutching onto my coat to behind me. This movement makes the coat slide back, revealing the lacy black bralette top underneath and my bare torso. I can hear a whistle from behind him, probably one of the twins. The smirk on his face disappears; he bites the inside of his cheek, as his eyes shamelessly travel to my torso up to my chest. The flame that was there shifts into something else, equally heated and dangerous.

“My eyes are up here, blondie.” I let out a low chuckle. His eyes immediately snap to my face, and I respond with a smug smile. I can see the reactions behind him: the twins laughing like two freed apes, and the tall man grabs at them to keep them steady.

His brows furrow, and he narrows his eyes at me for a couple of seconds. His hand toys with the heavy chain on his neck, the rings in his fingers collide with the chain, making soft clanks. The other hand rests on his belt buckle, where on the front is a peculiar design. It looks like a mask of a dragon with a horn and flames coming from behind. He breaks to a more relaxed stance, “may I?” He asks, pointing to the cigarette in between my middle and index finger. His voice was low, smooth, with calm that also feels dangerous. I smile and hold it up for him to grab it out of my hands. He smirks once again. His hands reach over, but instead of taking the cigarette, he grips my wrist. Before I can verbally question anything, he pulls my hand up to his lips and turns it gently so the right end points to his mouth. He leans in closer, eyes locked with mine as he opens his mouth. There, I saw it: he sticks his tongue out, and his tongue is split in the middle into two— a forked tongue. How cool. I’ve heard of the procedure, but had never seen it in person until this moment. Each side moves as though it has a mind of its own; they wrap from both sides around the cigarette and lift it into his mouth as he retracts his tongue. A sight that was so unexpectedly erotic.

He takes a drag of the cigarette and returns it to my hands. I stand slightly stunned and thrown off center, but I keep my cool. Somehow, it’s like he sees right through me. He breaks out into a wide smile before he moves.

“See you inside, baby.” A gruff, yet amused tone in his voice as he walks past. His friends follow closely behind, each of them shooting me a look before they all disappear into a room with a sign above that says “Backstage. Bands and Crew Only.”

There on the subway, I nearly had a breakdown

modern!HOTD AU

Pairing: Modern Rhaenyra Targaryen x Modern Alicent Hightower

Masc Rhaenyra/Femme Alicent

Ex-lovers | Breakup | Breaking no contact | WLW

Summary: Four months have passed since Rhaenyra and Alicent’s relationship came to an end. Rhaenyra seeks solace in wallowing in her own melancholy, meaningless hookups and isolation - the memory of Alicent, her dark brown eyes, her auburn hair, her smile, touch, presence…haunts Rhaenyra endlessly. A late night subway ride to a stranger’s bed, and the very presence she’s been aching for for the past four months sits right there.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: What happens when they meet? + a short little flashback of how they met;) enjoy.

“Wait—” In a flash, this figure, five feet tall with red hair, a green mid-length dress that wraps and drapes down to her calves, and shiny leather boots, clicks away in a hurry. She zooms out of the train before Rhaenyra can croak out anything illegible from her throat, which has rapidly grown constricted and full with four months' worth of stashed-away words that fill it yet cannot spill. Yet as her brain scrambles to filter the right chain and order of content, the figure had dashed by her and out the train door. Rhaenyra reacts instantly, her hands reaching for the figure and her heels pressing into the ground. Her body lurches forward at a speed that shakes one side of the train as Rhaenyra rams into the closing door. As slow and steady as it is, it does tend to shut right in your face, and you never see it coming.

Rhaenyra gave the door a harsh smack, cursing loudly as she did. Her breath ragged, and her body feels like every atom is pulling in a million different directions. Her stance staggers, and her mind is frazzled. Yet through all the commotion, her sight never once wavered from the figure standing on the other side.

A pair of familiar doe eyes stares back, unblinking and with the same fixation, the same pair that’s been haunting her dreams— ones that once looked at her with care and tenderness, now with complete shock and worry. For four months, she has longed for this. This figure haunted her mind and ached her heart with its absence. Oh, how she wished the same pair would just materialise in front of her and stare back into hers with the same love that it once did. The memories it left and the departure that feels unresolved until this day swirled into her mind, and all she could do was stand, stare, and let her heart jump and slam itself within her rib cage until it ached. Similarly, she feels the urge to slam herself against this damn godforsaken train door with force and repetition so that it finally breaks and she can just reach her — Alicent. Her Alicent.

The train slowly starts to move. The stare off may have felt like minutes, but it was mere seconds. Mere seconds that still managed to leave both women frozen and frazzled. Alicent’s gaze softens; she starts to budge as the train’s movement triggers a departure that elicits a need for her just to do something. Rhaenyra stood so close to the door’s windows, her breath fogged up, covering half of her beautiful, downcast face. Rhaenyra slips by as the train goes. Alicent, whose legs feel like fused blackstone has anchored her down to the concrete below, still manages to inch her feet towards the same direction the train advances in. “Nyra I–” Alicent’s voice cracks. The train picks up speed, and in an instant, she follows, darting ahead in strides.

Three years ago

Alicent met Rhaenyra 3 years ago on a girls’ trip with her best mates to the coasts of Pentos. A hot summer night, a dingy bar, sweaty bodies under colored lights. All so cliche, all so suffocating. Alicent swung her voluptuous curls along with the music; the dark and moody atmosphere got her lost within it. Getting her mind in the music and in the alcohol buzzing in her head gave her the much-needed release in this stuffy atmosphere. After a couple of shots, it was just her, the music and the lights. The pumping from the beats matched with the pumping in her veins, and people seemed to melt away. She’d feel light touches, bodies moving against her, and occasional muffled voices— something about drinks. Someone being gorgeous? Someone staring?

Rhaenyra’s eyes were locked in. She leaned against the bar counter, her back completely pressed against it, a beer in one hand and the other arm, half on the counter and the other half hanging down freely. It’s been three songs, if Rhaenyra were to estimate, that she’s had her eyes on this red-headed beauty. The way the red shines under the different flashing club lights, and the way with each swing of her head or sway of her body, it drapes and twirls around her, had her fixated.

In the moment, another girl dancing beside spotted Rhaenyra’s heated gaze. Rhaenyra acknowledged that she’d been caught by a possible friend of Alicent’s, confirmed especially when the girl leaned towards Alicent and whispered something.

Well, this may be the cue. Rhaenyra thought to herself.

Taking a swig of her beer, she narrowed her eyes on Alicent in an intense gaze and kept it there. Like a predator locked in on its prey, her heated stare was ready to assess the target’s reaction and prepared to make her presence known. After all, she is spotted, and she knows Alicent would be intrigued enough to turn her head towards her direction. And she was right, this woman she’s been eyeing turns her head towards her— tentative, slow as if she wasn’t sure what she was hearing. After a slight nudge from her friend towards Rhaenyra’s direction, her eyes finally landed on the stranger with platinum hair and hungry eyes. Alicent’s eyes rake all over Rhaenyra’s body, from her feet slowly up to her eyes, stopping and spending some extra time in certain areas. The heat in her gaze matches Rhaenyra’s, taking the blonde slightly aback. She stood a little straighter, lightly shaking her hair to adjust the way it framed her face, and adjusted her posture almost like she was gathering herself into a pose. Usually confident, somehow she felt flustered with the need to present herself well and gain this stranger’s interest.

Alicent would have walked towards the bar, but Rhaenyra beat her to it. Taking strides towards the redhead, matching the pace of the music. Both their eyes were locked on each other. Alicent’s friends, noticing the situation, spread out to give space. Rhaenyra stood close, her hand running through Alicent's dishevelled hair from all the tossing and swaying to tuck it behind her ears. Alicent’s fingers found their way to the loop in Rhaenyra’s jeans. They moved together, bodies grinding close to one another. The night moved like a dream— hazy, yet every sensation was felt, and the feeling of that night still lingers through the years.

The two women found themselves dancing through the night, then afterwards, chatting outside, kissing in the alleyways and later on a cab ride back to Rhaenyra’s Air BnB. Rhaenyra eagerly led Alicent, with her typical sauve demeanour mixed with an atypical sense of playful giddiness. Alicent followed behind her, matching Rhaenyra’s light jogs with her own long strides. Her hand reached out, gripping the blonde’s toned shoulder and turned her to face her. Their lips collided hungrily. Alicent’s hands slipped under Rhaenyra’s shirt, and Rhaenyra fumbled to get the front door open. The two stumbled in— bodies fought for dominance, and clothes dropped all the way to the bedroom.

Present

Alicent’s strides quickly come to a halt upon hitting the end of the platform. Forced to remain frozen as the lights of the train disappear into the darkness of the tunnel. She can’t help but fall to her knees; her bare skin presses on the cold tile, sending a shiver up her skin. Her whole being felt cold, not physically, but there was this numbing sensation of shock and sadness that crept its way all over. On the train, Rhaenyra stands completely slumped, with a hand pressed against the door, and her heavy breaths make her body rise and fall dramatically. Frozen, yet her body felt like it was on fire. She curses in her mind at it all: Alicent, herself, this fuckass door that always shuts in your face at the worst times, and all that happened four months ago. Both women hunched over, consumed by one overwhelming feeling—regret. Rhaenyra, with the regret that she didn’t chase after Alicent fast enough, that she didn’t do enough to have Alicent be by her side or be by Alicent’s side. Alicent, with deep regret and pain, that her first instinct was to run— that she ever left in the first place.

Fuck it.

With one last curse, Rhaenyra chooses to stand up straight. She shakes the last bits of her emotions off. Her attention returns to the brightly lit carriage, and all its empty seats, swaying handles, and terribly repetitive, bland, mind-rotting advertisements. Reality. As cold, empty and colourless it is, this is where she is — where things have landed. She had her answer so painfully clear— Alicent does not want anything to do with her. Couldn’t even give the grace of having a conversation, an acknowledgement or anything really. The look of absolute shock and horror before she ran off, and how she darted off without a moment to think or speak. The way she abandoned the journey to her stop, just to get away from Rhaenyra. They didn’t leave on the best of terms, but also not the worst. Does she scare her? Does she disgust her? What did she do? The two have been in no contact at Alicent’s request, and Rhaenyra has given her the space, but why does she have to react so strongly? Not just strangers, but a presence she now avoids. The absence has been painful for the past months, but this feels awful.

Rhaenyra arrives at the very last stop, Waterfront. Whatever pain in her heart solidifies into something that feels colder, more numb, and more bearable than a burning, aching pain in the heart. Her legs feel like weights as she drags herself out of the station on the empty, stone-clad pavements of Waterfront. The cold, fishy breeze of the sea hits clear and crisp in this side of the city. The sea has always comforted Rhaenyra: reminiscent of her early days, her Velaryon side of her family, which always brought her sailing along the Narrow Sea, with crazy nights of partying by the beach and yacht parties on the water. Finally, pleasant memories for once. She let the breeze bring in them in with each breath, feeling her mind slow and her body relax. The weights on her legs lightened. Though the pain remained within, and will most likely remain for a while, especially after this fated encounter that slashed barely healing wounds deeper, it is nice to think of something else, and be reminded of life beyond the pain, wounds, and heartbreak.

She grips her phone in her hand, walking to Vanessa’s apartment. Turns out she might actually need this night more than she thought she would have. After all the emotions, just one night of stringless, meaningless and passionless sex, perhaps that’s what she needs to put herself back together. This is a great distraction, a much-needed hit of dopamine and endorphins, and perhaps secretly, she hopes Vanessa can pick up her shattered ego: to have her feel wanted, attractive, and someone worthy —if not of love— of lust and attraction.

Alicent

Alicent sits herself on the stiff leather cushion in the backseat of a cab. Running out of the last train of the night in haste, 2 stations away from her stop, means walking for another almost 3 miles or so. In the late hour, Alicent had luckily managed to flag down a cab driven by a rather trustworthy-looking old man.

“Tough night?” The man’s voice, throaty as he speaks. The wrinkles around his eyes fold deeper as he smiles, and his eyes an upside-down crescent.

“Sorry?” Alicent replies.

“Well, forgive me if I’m intruding or assuming, but you don’t look like you’re having the time of your life. Are you alright?” The chatty, intrusive nature of old people knows no bounds, but even Alicent can’t deny the truth in his observation.

‘Perceptive old man, ' she thought to herself. “I’ve had better days.” She returns to having her eyes glued towards the window and onto the passing city lights.

“Bad days. We’ve all got those,” his eyes glances back at Alicent for a moment before focusing on the road ahead, “you’re young. Your bad days aren’t probably as bad as you think. The older you get the more you realise how fleeting days can be. Good days slip by too quickly, but if good days pass by, so shall the bad days.”

“I…I saw my partner, ex-partner; we broke up 4 months ago. Just moments ago in the subway we ended up in the same train, and I ran. I ran, because I could feel it…the emotions, the uncomfortable things, the awkwardness, the..everything. I felt it bubbling, and I could not let it reach where it rises up to. I had to run, but—” Everything flashes by: the running, how Rhaenyra called after her, how she ran after her and even ran into the door, the look on her face when she’s facing Alicent from the other side of the door. Alicent broke. Tears flow down, and her voice cracks.

“Sorry…excuse me.” She wipes her eyes and buries her face in her palms. The old man gives an awkward side glance before his hands reach to pull a couple of pieces of tissue from its container to hand them to her.

“Thank you,” she takes them and drags it along the wet spots on her face.

“Don’t apologise. In 4 decades of driving cabs, trust me, I’ve seen all kinds of people in all kinds of situations, and in over six decades of living, I must say the matters of the heart are the worst of them all.” He spoke in a low, firmer tone. A sense of genuineness is evident as he speaks: words from his experiences, his mind and his heart.

“I think I fucked up.” All Alicent could say, and all Alicent needed to say. The old man nods, and a knowing look paints his face. “I…My whole life I’ve always had it all figured out, I’ve always know how things should be and what I should do, to put my family above it all. Yet I..I just feel so empty. I’ve fucked up, and hurt the first person I’ve ever loved like this. The pain I thought would be over, still isn’t, and I’m so lost, because I’ve given all that I need to, that I should, but—” she stops, and in a hushed voice, “this isn’t what I want. I want..her.”

The old man nods. No words; just a simple gesture. His eyes gaze out onto the road ahead in a couple of silences like he was digesting Alicent’s words. After a moment of silence, he speaks, “You know, being in the front seat for 40 years, sometimes I feel like I take for granted the stories and moments I’ve carried in my backseat, and how for just a small moment in their lives I get to carry them where they need to be, I get the smallest glimpses into the most minute or momentous occasion. You, my dear, are sharing this with me now, and I am grateful to be shown such a vulnerable part. Take it from someone who’s fucked up, hurt and been hurt, you can never figure life or people out the same way. Sometimes, you cannot figure yourself out. However, one thing you can know for sure,” he places a hand on his left chest, “is here. This thing’s beating for you, listen to it. You fucked up? Apologise, make it right. She doesn’t want you to? You leave her alone, and you take this as a lesson to guard and fight for all that this heart is beating for.”

She's got a way, She got away.

modern!HOTD AU

Pairing: Modern Rhaenyra Targaryen x Modern Alicent Hightower

Masc Rhaenyra/Femme Alicent

Ex-lovers | Angst | Breakup | Breaking no contact | WLW

Summary: Four months have passed since Rhaenyra and Alicent's relationship came to an end. Rhaenyra seeks solace in wallowing in her own melancholy, meaningless hookups, and isolation - the memory of Alicent, her dark brown eyes, her auburn hair, her smile, touch, presence...haunts Rhaenyra endlessly. A late-night subway ride to a stranger's bed, and the very presence she's been aching for for the past four months sits right there.

Word count: 1.7k

Author's note: My goshhh, a Chappell and HOTD crossover. I believe this tragic gay ship needs its equally tragic gay song to pair it with. I've been obsessed with this song, so here is a little fic I wrote weeks back when I got inspired after its release. This is for my Rhaenicent shippers and wuhluhwuh enjoyers. Got more to come with this fic an other fics that I have been working on, but for now enjoy part one. (There will be spice in the next parts;))

“Train doors closing, please stand back from the doors,” the monotone robotic female voice repeats the same line as it has been for the past however long this voice system has been installed for. Who really cares? Who really thinks about it when they have their own lives? Who really even notices it at this point? Even when running full speed ahead to the closing doors, one ignores the calm monotone warning or the annoying beeping sound that follows after. As slow and steady as the door shuts, it does have a strong, definite tendency to shut right in your face.

“FUCK.” Rhaenyra’s face slams against the cold, tempered glass. Her hands raise to press against the surface a millisecond before her face, softening the collision on her face by just a bit. A whistle blows from nearby. A guard, annoyed and sluggish from the late hours, looks straight at her, all furrowed brows and crinkled face. 

Rhaenyra stumbles back from the doors, hands raised, just levelling her head, showing her compliance. The guard turns away, lightly grumbling beneath his breath, earning an infuriated huff from Rhaenyra while she rubs the side of her face. 

“Next train in 5 minutes.” Neon letter flash on the digital board up top, “train terminates at Waterfront.”  Rhaenyra folds her sleeve up, exposing her wristwatch. The watch hands tick at 11:45, and she’s late. 

She pulls out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, and the device lights up as it meets her face. “5+ messages from Vanessa. 1 missed call.” A groan escapes her lightly chapped lips as she runs her fingers through her platinum blonde locks. Her hair was straight, short in the front, then a bit longer in the back, just resting above the nape of her neck. A couple of strands near the face are now soaked with a bit of sweat, which she simply pushes back, giving a more casual touseled look. Not the most flattering or presentable look, but the messiness has its charm. She’s said that phrase a little too much to herself these past three months. Part of her perhaps embraces the messy, disheveled state of her life that has seeped into the way she looks, dresses, and acts. Part of her seeks excuses for herself. 

She’ll grow out of it, surely. For now, she’ll wallow in the mess for a bit. After two and a half decades of her life built on propriety and formality, she deserves a couple of months of not having her shit together, or as she tells herself constantly.

This month was the first since the breakup during which she hasn't cried at some random time of the day. The bed, the kitchen, the shower, at her office desk when no one's around- all these places have tasted her salty tears. The first month was the worst. Anyone who has gone through a broken heart knows the feeling of spending every waking hour ruminating on one painful thought after the other. You spend your days missing, regretting, and most of all, begging your own brain and heart to stop these thoughts and emotions. Yet, they never really do stop.

Even in the comfort of sleep, where the brain slows and takes an escape from reality, Rhaenyra's dreams tend to have a recurring theme. A woman: reddish-brown hair, porcelain skin, a green dress, brown eyes, a frowny pout on her lips, and muffled discombobulated words "It's okay, I'm right here, I won't go anywhere...we're okay, we're together." She would hold her, brushes her platinum locks where her soft slender fingers, and kisses her forehead. Rhaenyra would grip her so tightly and plead. Yet when her eyes open, all there is is a cold, empty bed and tear-soaked pillows.

Her calloused fingertips hover above the notification for a second before tapping on it. 

“See you in a bit xx”

*photo*

“A little sneak peek for tonight, come quick”

“Rhae, are you on your way?”

“Missed call”

“Answer your phone”

“You said 11:30 where tf are you?”

“Don’t tell me you’re ghosting me this is fucked.”

All of this in the past 25 minutes. Rhaenyra thought to herself in a bit of wariness, for both herself and Vanessa. She met the long-legged, ivory-skinned model on a queer dating application she downloaded two months ago out of a moment of weakness, which still lingers on — the still-installed application in her phone a silent testament to that. Vanessa looked like fun — fun that doesn’t involve a lot of commitments on her side, that’s what landed Rhaenyra in this moment. She was a commercial model who also did social media and has been quite successful at that from what Rhaenyra recalls from their texts. 

Dyed reddish hair, icy blue eyes, and a lean, slim figure. Her bio boldly stated, “just looking for something casual;) I’m a busy girl.” Therefore, making this whole ordeal rather out of character from what she presented. She’s felt in the past 4 days of back-and-forth messaging that Vanessa has been, to put it bluntly, an individual in constant need of attending to and praise. That at times annoyed Rhaenyra. The constant, “what are you doing?”, “how do I look?” and “send pics.” She should cut it off. Months ago, she would have, actually, she wouldn’t even be in this position. Yet those big, doe eyes, and pouty lips that sits in a soft frown — and that auburn shade on her long, wavy hair. That color — it haunts her, reminds her of a presence her mind and heart push away, yet at the same time yearns for prolifically. 

The truth is, however, that she scrolls through the app more than she would have liked; her finger mindlessly swiping to the left, to the right, and sometimes upwards if she’s feeling a little too desperate. It’s not about the lack of options or matches, quite the contrary. Being a good-looking, well-educated, toned, masc woman with a hobby of keeping active, who currently co-runs a tech startup, lands extremely well with the ladies — and, the wolf cut helps, of course. She keeps it simple. “Rhaenyra Targaryen. 25. Co-founder of TargTech. Bio: let’s see where this goes, shall we?;) Looking for: don’t know yet.” Lack of thought disguises itself as mystery, and with those light eyes, a pristine chiseled face, and a couple of pictures at the gym, who really cares?

Vanessa slid into her inboxes the moment they matched. “You’re fine asf” the message wrote. Uncreative, but straight to the point. Had this been four months ago, she’d have cringed and ignored the text, but who she is now is vastly different from who she was months ago, and not for the better. She replied, and the pair struck up proper, lengthy conversations throughout the day. Mainly, due to the constant initiation on Vanessa’s side.    

As overbearing as Vanessa can be, she isn’t necessarily a bad person, and she’s far from being boring; that’s for sure. She lives quite an adventurous, jet-setting life, which Rhaenyra found intriguing to talk about. “And I didn’t even paid for it.” Vanessa would end a lot of her travel and adventure stories with this specific praise. Being an Instagram and commercial model has its definite perks, and as Vanessa would put it, “I get paid to look good in cool places.” Maybe four-month-ago Rhaenyra would be friends with Vanessa. A buzz from her phone back pocket interrupts that thought. Maybe not, she thought to herself once again.

The experience with women on the app isn’t as horrible as Rhaenyra had expected it to be. A lot are upfront with what they seek, and the rest that aren’t? Well, what does Rhaenyra have to lose? She’s had interesting conversations with many, met up with quite a few, and well, fucked quite a few as well. It’s been a cycle of swiping, conversations, meeting, fucking, and going their own ways. There hasn’t been any horror experiences, so that’s been a relief. The experience with these women aren’t the problem, it is more so what happens afterwards. The temporary relief, a needed distraction, but also soul-sucking. After every person, every flirty conversation, every hot, heavy, dirty sex, the hole in her heart remains. Sometimes, it even aches harder. The realisation that the emptiness can’t be filled with such temporary remedies is also jarring, but it feels better to go on to the next than face it.

Her chat inboxes are a graveyard of unreplied texts. No one entices her, makes her heart rush, or makes her willing to put in that effort. It seems no one is bringing back that spark within her or mending her broken heart. Deep down, she knows no one really could. She knows it’s up to her to move on, heal, and get her life together once again. She knows it’s unfair to find someone to fix her, but god, is she tired of fixing herself.

Her fingers tap the keyboard, “Meeting ran late. I’m not ghosting you. I’m on my way.” 

Another text flies in just one second after she pressed send. “You’re like 25 minutes late! And you didn’t answer my texts!” 

The blonde rolls her eyes, “fucking hell,” she mumbles under her breath. “I’m sorry. I’m headed there,” she types and shoves the phone back into the back pocket, ignoring the buzzes that continue.

The breeze is still tonight, and her sweating would not stop. She’ll have to use Vanessa’s showers when she gets there, she thinks to herself. In a swift movement, she slips out of her thin indigo overshirt, allowing her body to cool and the sweating to slow down. She ties it around her waist, leaving the top half to just a standard white wife-beater top. The metallic chain around her neck gives a bit of coolness, but not enough. “What a fucking night,” she grumbles to herself.

“Train approaching platform,” the voice returns. Just seconds later, a gust of wind shoots through the air as the train charges into the station and comes to a halt. Screeching metal fills the station. Rhaenyra sighs in relief; the cool wind and the train’s arrival were exactly what she needed — like a saving grace, or like a presence of someone who’s been longed for tirelessly.

The doors slide open right in front of her face, and she steps in. The cold air from the inside of the train envelops her, the refreshing sensation making her smile and huff out a breath of satisfaction. Her hands grip the pole in the middle of the coach. There were empty seats, but Vanessa’s place was just a couple of stations away. Her mind drifts off slightly, zoning out from the world around her. Just then, a voice breaks the silence, “Nyra?” There she sits, the ghost of the past that’s been haunting her. That familiar shade of red on her hair and those sad, sad brown doe eyes that stare up at her blue ones.  Is it dread or exhilaration that fills her at this moment? Is there really a difference in this instance?

I don't know if you're taking requests, but if you are, i'm plagued by the idea of a modern!Jace x reader in a MUN / debate conference setting. Reader is from another country (Greece, if you'd like), and is flying to London or wherever with their uni's debate club. They meet Jace, a delegate in their committee, and drama ensues. The rivals to lovers tension would be delicious.

Thank you so much either way 💙

Hi! Thank you so much! I just love the idea of Jace being an International Relations, Diplomat boy. I’m new to this so definitely open to suggestions and ideas.

A Walk To The Subway (2/2)

You’re cute when you play dumb.

Part one, part two!

modern!HOTD & university AU

Pairing: Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x brother’s best friend reader

Platonic: Lucerys Velaryon

Unrequited love, or is it? | Confession | Friends to lovers | Fluff

Summary: A late night of studying with your best friend, but what happens when his older brother, who you’ve secretly had a thing for, arrives and insists on walking you to the subway home? His beautiful, charming, and seemingly perfect brother, whom you’ve had a crush in and deem as someone who would never like you back. Someone you can barely think of act right near. Someone to whom you might mean more than you think.

Word count: 2.3k

Jace quickly locked the front door of the flat. As I walked ahead, the sole of my boots clicked on the concrete ground, and was joined promptly by Jace, quickly catching up to my side. The night was quiet and calm. The moon, streetlights, a couple of lit-up windows, and neon signs from nearby shops create a well-lit setting for us to walk in. The calmness and ambiance of the night did nothing to soothe my racing heart. It’s crazy how much of an effect he has on me without actually doing anything.

“How are you, Y/N?” Jace’s voice brought my attention back to reality. He is standing right beside me, hands in his pockets, as he lifts his broad shoulders for a second or two before letting them drop and relax. He looks so beautiful with all the city lights around us, and now he’s looking at me.

How unfair.

A wide smile stretched across his face. “You’re zoning out, you must be tired,” he said. His tone indicated a sense of amusement within it.

“Oh! Sorry, yeah late night, long day..” I lied.

I was thinking about you.

All the city lights and sounds seem to melt away as I gaze up at him slowly. “Dangerous habit,” Jace smirked, “and you wanted to walk home all by yourself when you’re mind is barely here.” He gently reached out, his fingers lightly grazed the side of my arms as he gently pushed me to switch sides with him, placing me on the inner side of the pavement —a simple gesture, but oh how I could melt into a puddle right now.

“I’m..you didn’t have to, honestly, I’m alright. I’m standing, conscious and aware.” I flashed him a cheeky grin and held up two thumbs up, like the absolute idiot that I am. Thankfully, he found it funny, letting out a chuckle. Yet again, he could just be laughing out of politeness, or rather, pity for my sad, persistent pattern of trying to be funny. If so, I must bury myself at the furthest depths away from the surface he stands or keep this man away from me for my sanity, sake, and reputation.

“I wanted to,” he replied, firm and steady, like a statement or a declaration. My head snaps in his direction. There wasn’t anything light-hearted or joking; it was sure and serious. It sent a shockwave up through my stomach and my heart. If there were actual butterflies in my stomach, I would have puked them out right at this moment.

“Y-you wanted to?” I choked out.

You dumbass, he probably just meant he wanted to, because he’s worried, because I am his brother’s friend, and nothing else, oh my god, you are overthinking this.

I cleared my throat and spoke, “Well, you are very kind, Jace.”

“That’s very generous of you. I am not doing much at all,” Jace says, “besides, I get to talk to you.”

EXCUSE ME.

“Oh,” I let out an unnecessarily loud nervous laugh, “well, I am here, so you can talk till your lips fall off.” I turn my face away from him, hiding from his line of sight, to quietly cringe at myself.

“Let’s hope not, I’d like to keep my lips. I quite like them.”

“Yeah? Yeah— I understand— they’re uh— nice?” This is my attempt at flirting, guys.

I can see Jace somewhat surprised for a couple of seconds, before he completely breaks out into laughter. A genuine sound of amusement fills the air.

“What?” I can’t help, break out into a chuckle as well, and I felt myself loosen and ease up with every sound I let out. As awkward as I am, at least it helps to laugh at myself about it. “Okay that was stupid, ignore it, okay? I’m just tired, it’s late.” I dip my face into the palms of my hands. His laugh dies down, and I work up the courage to turn to face him to see him simply…staring.

“What?” I asked, my voice softer as I maintained eye contact. Somehow, some part of my somewhat working brain finally decides it’ll take the reins, and I develop enough courage in me to stare back. There was something different. It was gentle, amused, but unlike the humored expression he typically displays in reaction to me and horrific attempts at being funny. This feels…warmer. I would say there is some sort of adoration flickering beneath his hazel eyes, yet most likely it’s my wishful thinking taking over the observation.

He shook his head, eyes peeling away from mine and back onto the pavement ahead. My eyes linger on him for a little more. “So, how has life been since graduation?” I asked. Not to break the silence, not just to have something to talk about, but out of genuine curiosity. Jace hasn’t been around as much since he graduated; his new job keeps him busy, along with the other a hundred charity and non-profit projects he does here and there.

“Busy, but I like what I do so it’s been a bit of a pleasure. Tiring, but I’m trying to strike that balance.” He turned to me once again, “and aside from babysitting Luke, what have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a hot minute.”

And did you miss me?

“Just university, and I got this internship at The King’s Landing Post, so it’s exciting, but not as exciting as babysitting Luke, obviously,” I say with a toothy grin and go on to ramble about my new endeavours and my recent activities. Jace listens attentively, nodding along. A smile graces his beautiful, chiseled face. Oh, that smile could stop traffic. I felt myself feeling bolder by the minute, becoming more comfortable in his presence. Bold enough to return his constant gaze on mine, and speak and crack jokes without cringing at myself after every time I open my mouth. He would occasionally interject with a question or an agreeing input, but his attentiveness never faltered.

“Looks like you’re doing a lot these days, no wonder I haven’t seen you around,” Jace says, “...I was wondering where you’ve been for the past 2 weeks....” He said it in a more hushed, softer tone, which sent a thrill up my heart at the possibility that there was some degree of bashfulness in the way he said those words, and the fact that he was wondering where I had been — the possibility that he could have been missing my presence.

“Y-you have??” My voice sounded a tad bit more excited than I would have liked.

“Yes, Miss L/N, I have. Every single day.” That smirk came right back onto his lips. The energy between us has shifted. Perhaps it was the fact that it was just the two of us right now or that his words and mannerisms felt a bit…flirty? I was bolder, less nervous, and more willing to test the boundaries. It was as if the door had been unlocked, and I simply needed to push it to see how wide it could be opened.

“Sounds like you were missing me, Mr. Velaryon.” I reciprocated the smirk. I could see him slightly surprised by my sudden display of boldness, his eyebrows quirked up ever so slightly before he hung his head down and chuckled. A faint shade of red appeared on the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, painting over his freckles.

“And what if I have?” His eyelids lowered as he looked at me with a more heated, sultry gaze. “I have missed you.”

Okay, surely at any moment I’ll wake up.

I stare back in silence.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” He stopped and turned his body to face me. Naturally, I did as well. The energy now grew even more intense, heavy, and the whole act of boldness that emerged for good 30 seconds suddenly retracted back into my body. All the nervousness, the anxious butterflies, and the rigid awkwardness have suddenly returned. It hit me and was all too much. Suddenly, the guy that I thought all this time was out of my league is now flirting with me! The guy who’s also my best friend’s brother.

Fuck, Y/N, say something.

“I would ask you why? Why do you miss me? Why are you thinking of me?” If all the courage and boldness from a minute ago were still here, this would sound more like a seductive banter, more teasing, and I would have said it while taking a step or two towards him without letting the eye contact drop for even a moment. However, that courage is gone, and my sentences came off more as genuine questions from a clueless mind with a hint of inner panic.

He chuckled, even louder than before. He bit the side of his lip before he spoke, “You keep doing this, you know that?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Either you are clueless, or you’re doing this on purpose, but it drives me crazy as much as it amuses me every time.”

Is this happening?

“And as much as I enjoy this little clueless back-and-forth, I’m afraid my patience might also be wearing thin.” His voice was firm and direct. For all the times I have been avoidant, played dumb, awkward, and been in denial, this might be the moment everything will be laid out completely. I can feel my hopes rising as the seconds slip by. All the little city noise fades out, all my senses are now just…him.

There is no way this is happening.

“So to answer your question— if it wasn’t already obvious all this time, Y/N, I’ve had my eyes on you since the day I met you.” There. He said it.

“All these times,” He steps closer. I didn’t move, not because I was suddenly all bold again, but because I was completely frozen and overwhelmed with the revelation. “It’s either you never noticed or you do, and all those little, clueless responses are your way of turning me down without actually saying it to not hurt me. But I need to know Y/N. Do I need to up my game, or are you just trying to be polite?”

“I..I had a feeling, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if you were flirting or if it’s just part of the banter, or were you just being friendly.” I let out an awkward chuckle, “You didn’t exactly make it clear you know.”

“I didn’t? Excuse me? I just told you moments ago that I was walking you so that I could talk to you, and that I’ve been thinking about you for the last two weeks!”

“I don’t know??? You see, you say all those things and I do get the feeling that it could be something, but I didn’t want to feel like I am blowing it up more than what it is just because I liked you this whole time. I didn’t want to feel delusional, and it would be so embarras—”

“Wait.” he stopped, his expression was unreadable. “You like me.” A grin broke out on his face, boyish and excited.

“What?”

“You said it. Just now. You liked me this whole time, too.”

Well, that’s out.

“Well, yes…fuck it, Jace, I’ve had a crush on you since I met you that day at orientations, and this whole time I have been a fucking idiot, because I’ve liked you so much and never in my wildest dreams did I think you would like me back.” I blurted it all out. “I have avoided you, played dumb, suppressed all these thoughts, because to me, you were a far-fetched dream.”

Jace listened, took a silent breath, and stepped forward. “You’re not an idiot. Where you’re coming from, it’s understandable and normal. Crushes are a delicate matter, and sometimes we get caught up in our preconceptions, but why do you assume so heavily that I wouldn’t like you back? ”

“Because you’re literally perfect, Jace.” My voice is breathy and sincere. My anxiety has now calmed at this point. It’s a warm kind of feeling now, without all the jitteriness.

“I am not. I really am not,” he reached out and grabbed my shoulders gently with both hands. “I don’t want you to think you’re not good enough for me, or anyone, because you are more than enough. You’re funny, smart, ambitious, kind — gosh, I could go on. So, please see the beautiful woman that I see in you, within yourself.”

I can’t help but smile, my face has probably been as red as a ripe tomato since this whole ordeal. I nodded, to which he let go of my shoulders, but made his way down to hold my hand instead, gripping it firm but gently. We continued our walk to the subway station, which is right around the corner. My surroundings came into my senses for the first time since we left the flat. I was more relaxed — giddy, but a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and smashed all those nervous butterflies in my belly to make room for happy butterflies.

As we reached the station, I turned to face Jace, standing before him with confidence. “Thank you for tonight. I…won’t forget this. Ever.”

He smiled and reached to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, dragging his finger tips down to my heated cheeks then the curve of my jaw. “The feeling’s mutual. It’s my pleasure, Miss L/N,” he said in a teasing tone. “I won’t keep you long, you should catch that train. Text me when you get home?” He retracted his hand from my face, but not before lightly brushing his fingertips on the side of my face.

I nod.

“Good night, Y/N. Get home safe.” He backed away, his body turned away, but his head still turned towards me. If there had been a pole in front of him, he would have run straight into it.

“Good night, Jace. I’ll text you.”

A Walk To The Subway (1/2)

Because I can't act right when you're around.

Part one, part two

modern!HOTD & university AU

Pairing: Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x brother's best friend! reader

Platonic: Lucaerys Velaryon

Unrequited love, or is it? | Confession | Friends to lovers | Fluff

Summary: A late night of studying with your best friend, but what happens when his older brother, who you've secretly had a thing for, arrives and insists on walking you to the subway home? His beautiful, charming, and seemingly perfect brother, whom you have a crush on and deem as someone who would never like you back. Someone you can barely think or act right near. Someone to whom you might mean more than you think.

Word Count: 2.1k

“Call it a night?” Luke spoke through a yawn, his words came out in mumbles, yet I perfectly understood him. He stretched his arms towards the ceiling, bending his spine backward and to the sides, somewhat reminiscent of a human elastic ruler. With a dramatic groan, he plopped down sideways onto his bed, brought his knees up to press against his chest, curling into a balled-up fetal position. “Look, I admire your determination to make me understand this whole agenda-setting, cultivation thing-”

“Agenda-setting theory and cultivation theory, which you need to know before tomorrow morning’s exam,” I corrected, crossing my arms as I stood by the foot of his bed, watching over Luke’s curled-up body like a mother to her whiny, sleepy, and extremely bored toddler. “That and the rest of the chapter on media and mass communications.” I shut the textbook with a satisfying thud and threw it gently by his side. 

Luke and I met right at the start of freshmen year. We both had enrolled in the Media and Journalism program at King’s Landing University at the same time. Two awkward kids trying to mingle in a new environment, fumbling through orientations like little lost puppies before being seated next to each other. A small exchange about the weather turned into a full-blown conversation. We have been friends ever since.

Luke pushed his face into the mattress and let out a groan. “I am so sick of it, I can’t do this. How is this only freshmen year and I already feel like quitting?!”

“You CAN do this,” I picked up a pillow lying near my feet and threw it towards him. I knelt at the foot of the bed, my face now leveled his. “You know more than you think you do. You always do this, you freak out the night before, but then go on to always get a B+ and above.” I ended my sentence with an eye roll.

“And you always go on to score higher than me.” His voice an octave or two above a whisper from the drowsiness that’s taking over his body at a faster rate than I had expected. 

When Luke and I met, we bonded over our mutual love of board games, 90s anime, and comics. It was easy for us to become friends; we had a lot in common in our nerdy little interests. Though we disagree on some things — I believe Evangelion is the best anime to have come out of the 90s, and he’d beg to differ. To him, it’s Cowboy Bebop, which he has numerous posters of plastered all over his room. 

Luke had a great childhood. His family was well-off — very well-off. They operate a family-owned shipping business. His stepfather, though strict, taught him some really useful qualities and was loving — in his way.  His mother loves him dearly, and so does his brother, whom he shares a flat with. 

Jacaerys. Jacaerys Velaryon. The fucking golden boy.

I’ve known Jace as long as I have known Luke. Although I wouldn’t say we’re best friends. Jace is often preoccupied with his own things anyway: whatever volunteer work, seminar, or project he has set his eyes on. We talk here and there, especially whenever I’m at Luke’s, so I’d like to say that I do know him quite well? As much as one would know about one of their best friends’ older brother — an older brother that typically keeps to himself and is always invested in his own endevours. Well, perhaps a little more. 

Jace recently graduated from KLU with an International Relations degree. He’s smart, respectful, and successful. Graduated with first-class honors, experienced in speaking at the UN and other seminars, and captain of the university fencing team. Jace is kind, soft-hearted and that very thing adds to his already preexisting charm. He’s the type to stop ongoing traffic to save a stranded squirrel. He’s done that before, no kidding. He’s the type to sit and listen to all your troubles, whilst giving you some solid advice and a shoulder to cry on. He’s the type to help out anyone in any kind of inconvenience without hesitation. And as if all of those qualities weren’t enough, he’s also extremely gorgeous. 

Dark curly hair that rests right above his shoulders, each curl smooth, defined, and always well-kept. Beautiful hazel eyes that look at you with such warmth that your insides heat at the smallest gaze from him. Freckles scatter very lightly across his cheekbones and nose bridge. You should see him in the sunlight. Those dark locks lighten to brown streaks, and his curls get even more defined. The outlines of each strand are perfectly traced by the bright yellow light that clings to his features so beautifully. Those hazel eyes turn glowing amber. His adorable freckles are even more visible— little specks of light brown on his fair, slightly sun-kissed skin. 

I met Jace the same day I met Luke. Towards the end of the orientation, he jogged up to us. A protective older brother checking up on his slightly awkward and shy little brother. I noticed him right as he trotted across the lawn. The sun shone right above him like a spotlight, and he glowed so beautifully, so effortlessly. He paced himself across the grassy lawn, maneuvering across the crowd effortlessly. Time seemed to slow down and a voice broke me out of the trance, “Y/N, this is Jace. Jace, this is Y/N.” Luke’s enthusiastic voice snapped me back to reality, and suddenly the man I was oggling at with literal heart eyes was now standing right in front of me.

“Hello, Y/N.” his voice was gentle, soft, low, but firm. He held his hand out, and I shook it rather weakly, I hate to admit it. I was nervous. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes; I was very nervous. Jace intimidates me, and I believe to a lot of people around him. Not because he is anything mean or domineering, but because he’s pretty much perfect. The kind of perfect that frustrates you, the kind of perfect that makes you abandon every little thought of pursuing him, the kind of perfect I know would never turn my way. 

It’s not hard to fall for Jacaerys Velaryon; I have seen people’s heads turn every time he walks by — whispers, and the suppressed squeals that typically follow after. I have seen many hearts, no matter how gently they were let down, shattered. Yet through all of the achievements, attention, and flattery, he remains humble. Always responding with a witty yet respectful remark that shows it’s not that he’s not adept at receiving compliments or people fawning over him, but a response out of humility. 

The sudden sound of the front door unlocking, followed by the footsteps that accompanied it, slowly drew our attention away from the conversation. The muted footsteps against the carpeted floor draw audibly nearer to Luke’s bedroom door. My heart fluttered at the knowledge of who was approaching the door, and I stood up from my kneeling position.

Knock knock.

“Come in, Jace.” Luke raises his voice just enough for it to be heard from the other side of the door. The metallic knob turns and stepped in, Jace, as gorgeous as ever. His eyes landed on Luke as he entered, but quickly snapped towards me at the realisation of my presence. A smile adorned his already perfect face as our eyes met, to which I quickly shied away from him. He wore a buttoned-up black shirt, tucked loosely into his dark jeans and unbuttoned at the top. His sleeves are rolled up ‘til just above his elbows, and he wore his gorgeous dark locks down, strands of his hair framing his already perfect face.

“Hello, Y/N. Hi there, kiddo.” That soft, honeyed voice. I could get used to him saying my name more often. 

“Oh, would you look at that? He’s greeting you first before me.” Luke spoke dryly, contrasting it with a teasing smirk. 

The butterflies in my stomach, already awakened and active from Jace’s arrival, seemed to have enjoyed Luke’s teasing statement as they fluttered around viciously. “I know, he just likes me more, don’t be jealous.” I put up a casual, confident front as I played into the statement. 

Did that sound flirty? Shit, did I make it obvious?

I turn to Jace, and he’s already looking at me with an amused smile. 

Fuck…I swallowed…calm the fuck down. 

“Why are you all curled up like a fetus in the womb?” Jace’s attention shifts to Luke, who hasn’t uncoiled himself an inch from the fetal position he has been in for the past several minutes. His hands were still gripping his legs as he hugged them close to his chest.

“This is my emotional support position, Jace, and I need all the emotional support I can get right now.” Luke retorted with a bit of sass. Amusement seeps into Jace’s confused face as he turns to face me, mouthing, “What is wrong with him?”

“Exams…Stress…Anxiety again…” I mouthed it, pairing each point with an exaggerated body language enactment that made me cringe immediately as I did it. 

What the fuck did I just do? 

I curse at myself, partially mortified at what I just did. 

Jace huffed out a laugh at my embarrassing attempt at being funny. For my mental sanity, I’ll pretend he’s laughing out of genuine humor and not because he’s simply trying to be polite. Let me believe this for my own sake. 

“Typical Luke.” Jace chuckled, reaching down with his hand to tousle his little brother’s brown locks — much like his own, only a bit shorter and flatter. The motion earned a grumble from Luke, who still hasn’t moved an inch from his curled-up position as if his limbs had been completely locked in. 

“I’m tired,” he yawned, “need to catch some Zs.” His voice was audibly drowsier now than it had been before, his limbs finally unlocked, and he propped himself up to lie down on his back instead. 

“Alright, guess that’s my cue,” I grabbed the bag and jacket lying on the floor and swung them both over my shoulder. “Goodnight boys —” As I head for the door, a frame blocks my way, and gently stands in between me and the exit.

“How are you getting home?” He stood so close to me. I’m going to faint. 

“Uhhh…” I pulled out my phone to check the time, using this as an opportunity to avert my gaze from his, who’s looking straight at me and is standing just a couple of centimeters apart. A few more seconds looking up at his face will send me into cardiac arrest. 

Breathe Y/N… breathe..

I took an unnoticeable breath, “I can still catch the last train if I leave now, I’ll just walk to the subway —”

“Alone?” He asks, and I nod. “Jesus, Y/N, at least let me walk you.” 

BREATHE

“Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to. I wouldn’t want to trouble you. It’s late, I’m sure you want to rest —” 

Good girl, play it cool.

“The only thing that’d trouble me tonight is the thought that I let you walk out there alone at night.” He’s already opening the door. “I insist.”

“That’s a good idea.” Luke chimed in groggily, “Watch over her while…” Luke drifts off. I held in a laugh to avoid disrupting his much-needed sleep, before I turned to face Jace once again. 

He held the door open, waiting for me to exit with him. I did and walked extra stiffly to the front door in front of Jace. It’s crazy how even after all these times of knowing him, I still can’t act like a fucking normal human being around him. Every time he’s around, it’s as if he’s sending out sort of invisible electromagnetic waves to me and only me, which just makes me forget all my understanding of social cues and human behaviour. 

Once we reached the front door, Jace’s hand grasped the handle before mine could even reach for it. “After you,” he said with a polite smile. I gave him a little nod and walked out, the cold night breeze immediately forming goosebumps on the little section of exposed skin between my knee-high boots and my shorts. I threw my leather jacket on for more protection from the chilly wind.

Ugh a gentleman — PLAY IT COOL

“Thanks, dude…” Two words that flew out of my mouth in an attempt to play it cool.

DUDE?! I never call him that before.

I took a deep breath and relaxed my muscles. I switched to walking more naturally or at least trying to. The butterflies in my stomach have been bouncing off the walls of my stomach as if his presence alone is some sort of butterfly crack. I loosen my limbs — one clutching the strap of my bag and the other arm falls to the side, letting it sway a bit as I walked.