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A fight with your husband, in the unconventional sense. In which he learns he rather likes hunting his wife like prey.
word count: 2,805
cw: 18+ mdni, pure fluff, ooc aerion, consented biting + smacking, this is just pure fluff, sexual themes, aerion with a goatee and moustache bc i said so, characters are adults always - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA THAT YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME
Summerhall was deserted to say the least. Maekar was handling business out in Kings Landing, Daeron was out whoring in the nearby tavern town, Egg was squiring for a Ser Duncan out in the middle of god knows where, and the only staff of Summerhall had been since abed for many hours.
You were sat in your husband’s lap, in the armchair by the fire, wearing one of his tunic’s for your own comfort. Aerion was shirtless, seeing as you had in fact stolen the tunic he had previously been wearing when you returned from your bath. You were forcing him to read to you, much to his feigned annoyance. Valyrian history. He could have told you off of the top of his head, however he had bias towards certain figures in his lineage, you preferred to determine your own mind.
“So if Rhaenyra’s son wed Aegon’s only daughter neither of them truly won the dance.” You stated.
“Rhaenyra won the dance because Aegon’s only daughter threw herself from her bedchamber window at ten. Aegon the younger went on to marry again, proving Rhaenyra to be the winner of the dance.” He explained, why didn’t you already know this.
“But her sons were bastards, you hate bastards.”
“How many times must it be explained to you, the bastards did not continue the lineage, her trueborn sons from Daemon Targaryen did.”
“Oh. Right.” You nodded, Targaryens and their bloody incest. “Do you believe Aegon was right to usurp her for being male.” You questioned, it was certainly a unique situation wrapped in a wreath of an overlapping familial tree.
“If I was born at the time perhaps, but I am a descendant of Rhaenyra’s. Therefore in this day I would support her claim. The bastardy would make it difficult I do admit, but I would not be alive without it in the end.” He went silent for a moment before smirking, head shaking. “I’m lying. If I was alive at the time and wrapped up in a dance already so chaotic, with a dragon also. I’d declare myself king against them all. I wouldn’t care that Rhaenyra’s a woman going for the throne, or Aegon a drunkard who was the trueborn son. They’re equals against me. If we’re already fighting I am fighting for no one but my own claim. I’d be damned to end up like Aemond Targaryen. He had the biggest dragon and the second claim after Aegon’s heir. I would have gone for it, no lying in wait.”
“You worry me sometimes.” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d fight for no one but himself, he’d proven that in the trial of seven. He was lucky all of his kin emerged virtually unscathed. He had taken the worst of it, at least Daeron had the wits about him to play dead. In truth your husband was lucky to have not ended up exiled, you had begged Maekar to keep him in Summerhall and keep all else away. For some mad reason Maekar had complied, but you were grateful nonetheless. If you were Aerion’s father you would have sent him away years ago, but that’s neither here nor there. “I’m tired, let’s go to bed”.
“You just don’t want to hear my thoughts.”
“Because they sound awfully close to treason and you’ve already upset the masses by your actions at that tourney three moons ago.” You scolded, rising from his lap only for his hand to clamp around your thigh.
“Yes well, that oaf had it coming.” He scowled.
“You lost? If anyone had it coming it was you!” His hands grasped your waist, book dropping to the floor as he did so. His fingers dug into your sides before he begun tickling you, “I had it coming did I wife? I had it coming?” You fought to get out of his grip, childish giggles escaping you as you managed to escape to the sanctuary of your bed, but he was just as quick. “No come on, look at me and say it.” He teased, you could see the smile on his face. Nobody dared face the dragon, or they shouldn’t anyway. That’s what he believed. But sometimes it felt good to give it back to him, especially when you knew he had a lot of hate in his heart, but not enough to ever hurt you. You grounded him, as Maekar liked to say. Not overly, but just enough to remind him he was not in fact a dragon, and yes he was a prince but he could not just do as he pleased. His morals were certainly lacking but he was definitely improving? You hoped anyway.
He pinned you by your arms either side of your head. “No come on look at me, I want to hear you say it. I had it coming come on. You were so brave a moment ago.” The stubble of his goatee tickled your cheek before his teeth grazed the soft skin.
“You had it coming.” You maintained eye contact, watching as his brows furrowed before his hand collided with the fat of your ass in a firm smack.
“Go on, say it again.” He encouraged, pupils blown as a grin replaced his growing scowl.
You managed to kick his thigh, just enough to push him back before crawling up the bed and rising to your knees. You grabbed a pillow as supple protection. “You’ll need a better shield than feathers my little dragon.” He teased, circling round the bed as you dove back to the other side.
You threw the pillow at him, only for him to launch it straight back at you, using your distraction to circle his way back round until you felt his chest pressed against your back. You looked up at him and smiled, he raised an eyebrow looking back down at you before forcing you down onto your stomach, pressing himself overtop of you. “Come on, fight harder than that.”
“Ugh! You’re heavy how am I supposed to fight you, you’ve never taught me how to fight nobody has!” You whined, on instinct you probably would have thrown out your limbs in hope of getting a good shot then running, but you didn’t exactly want to bruise up your husband, not when he had just best healed.
His forearm found place under your chin, you tilted your head down and tucked your nose in the crook of his elbow before biting down. He let out an almost yelp of surprise before retracting his arm as you moved off of the bed the other side. You beamed proudly as he stared at his teeth marks, little red crescents that you had left indented into his forearm. “A parting gift!” You smiled. Even he had not seen you, or more specifically your teeth, coming.
“A parting gift?” He questioned, rubbing the skin before accepting the fact he was going to have a bruise in the shape of your teeth for the next week or so. “Are you planning on deserting me?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’ll let me win.”
He chuckled softly, “Wife, I am not going to let you win just so that you remain satisfied. You’ll get much truer satisfaction out of actually beating me.”
You groaned in annoyance, nothing could ever just be a game to him. You sat on the bed, a stupid mistake, for he lunged and grabbed your ankle, pulling you until you were splayed underneath him. Oh fuck escaped your lips before you even realised you had said it. He forced two fingers into your mouth, flat against your tongue. “Ladies do not swear, foul language is unbefitting of them. Isn’t it?” He lectured, his deep eyes boring into your own as they narrowed back at him. You bit down until he retracted them from between your lips, “What is it with you and your fucking teeth!”
“It’s not as pleasant when you receive it, is it husband.” You smirked, he was more than fond of using his teeth on you. It marked you as his, though you had never truly been bold enough to mark him back. But there was a first for everything.
“We’ll call it a draw.”
“A draw is a joint loss.” You protested, but another firm smack to your bare ass had you nodding rapidly “A draw it is.”
Once you were sensibly cuddled up under the covers, his lips at your ear he spoke softly, “I’m going to hope for my own peace of mind that you’d have better tactics if I were an intruder.”
You chuckled softly, his lips finding your cheek before trailing down to your collarbone. His teeth sank into the firm skin, leaving a mark you knew would not leave for some time.
What had begun as a one off play fight, had quickly developed into a growing game of a dragon versus his prey. Guess which one you were.
You were walking the corridors back from the gardens, unusually late yes, but Summerhall had an exceptional view of the moon on the odd occasion, and you didn’t feel like missing it. You were admiring the walls and the tapestries that lined the place, many replicating Starfall, the house of Aerion’s mother. You knew she had spent years adding her own custom to the place and it was truly so beautiful, to have such enamouring representation of two adjoining houses under one perfect roof.
You were grabbed, forced against the wall chest first, you shouted in surprise only to smell your husband behind you. The scent of him was intoxicating, “Wife.”
“Why would you do such a thing!” You shouted, attempting to push back from the wall yet he only sunk you into it further.
“Did I scare you?” He smiled, teeth finding your earlobe gently.
“Of course you scared me!”
“Hm. You should pay better attention to your surroundings shouldn’t you, my flame.”
“We are in your bloody house no one is coming to attack me in here!”
“You never know, I have a lot of enemies.”
“Well you didn’t need to tell me what I already knew-” You yelped as his hand made contact with your ass firmly, yet again. You stepped on his toes, literally not figuratively, his surprise and slight annoyance at the crushing of his digits allowed you to sprint free down the corridor. You knew that he was coming, you could feel the vibrations from his footfall some paces behind you.
You ran down the corridors, shortening several down other doors and pathways until you were certain you had lost your husband. You checked behind you once more as you walked through an archway only to walk firmly into the chest of your husband. You gasped in surprise, victorious smirk leaving your face, only to be replaced by a pout of annoyance. “Mhm. Think yourself clever?” He tutted, backing you against the wall. The corridor was rarely used, staff were not permitted to walk it and the house was presently deserted outside of the pair of you. His lips found your neck in a mix of flurried kisses and bites, so closely wound together you could not distinguish one affection from the other. You pushed at his chin, cupping his face whilst still trying to detach his mouth from you, but Aerion was relentless.
“Wife.” He whined, glaring at you as his hands pushed you back. This was his new little game, stalk you, hunt you like prey, only once he finally had you in his clutches he’d attack you with his mouth until he felt satisfied he was full. He was a gluttonous being, he never did truly know full.
He just wanted your attention, your affection, like some bratty, spoiled, prince. Oh wait.
He wanted his lips practically sealed to you, any part of you. He wanted to kiss and lick and worship, even suckle at you if he could get away with it, he practically fed off of you. And gods forbid you turn him away, accidentally push his hands from you in the night. It was a personal offence, your instinct is rejection, he would murmur, before pulling you impossibly close once again. Not only did your husband snore, he also ran uncomfortably warm, so yes sometimes in the night you did fight for breath away from the ever climbing furnace that was his body - could you truly take blame for that? Because Aerion certainly believed you could.
“Why do you push me away? Hm?” He questioned, licking a stripe up the curve from your collarbone to your jaw. You grimaced at the wet sensation and fought to remove his lips from you, “I do not push you away, in order to keep you contended you would want to crawl inside of my being.”
“Well if that is on the cards-”
“No!”
He chuckled softly, his lips leaving bruising marks in their wake as you yanked the hair at the nape of his neck, “keep trying it, go on.” He murmured, not in the slightest affected by your pulling, it was attention all the same. You stopped upon realising he was getting off on it, only for the whining brat to return “well don’t stop.”
“You can’t stalk me like prey.” You glared, pulling his head so his eyes would meet yours.
“Why not? I’m having fun and I am harming nobody to get pleasure, you should be contented if anything.” His fingers dug into your sides causing you to jolt and swat away his palms at the intrusion, he only smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a head start.” He squeezed your thigh softly before moving out of the way. You stared at him confused for a moment before taking off down the corridor, he let you leave his view for scarcely a few seconds before he bolted after you.
You had successfully made it into your bedchamber and onto the bed, on your knees, full intent to dive away from any attack he gave. Upon his entry he paused. His face was calculating, he could dive on top of you, but then the game was over all-too quickly. Instead he stared at you, eyes narrowed, before circling round the bed. He took your distraction of you grabbing a pillow- what on earth did she think that was going to do, he thought, shaking his head lightly with a quiet chuckle.
He dove from behind, an arm under your chin. You bit down on the muscle causing him to tense before pinning you flat on your stomach. “One day my little dragon you are going to leave a scar. And people will ask me if it’s from some great battle, and I’ll have to admit, no, my wife just likes biting me.”
You giggled before trying to pry yourself from his grip but to no avail, “You started this biting! I am merely joining in.”
He chuckled, “oh really? Just joining in hm?”
You tried to wriggle free once again, he didn’t look it but he was certainly heavy.
“Still winning?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Because to me it looks as though I am on top.” You fought to break free again before his taunting begun yet again, “come on, admit it. I’m winning.”
The door swung open, a sopping wet prince Maekar entered before stopping still in utter confusion.
“Father, we were not expecting you.” Aerion did not budge, he remained firm in holding you still.
“I am not even going to ask.” To say Maekar looked disgusted would be the least, he knew his son was likely rough in ways he did not wish to know of but to witness the pre-act? Vile.
Aerion ignored his father’s utter distain, “Now if you were to look at our current predicament who would you say is winning?” he questioned.
“Well you, you are on top.” Maekar nodded.
“See even he agrees with me!” Aerion removed an arm to point in his father’s direction, you instead elbowed him in his now exposed ribs. Aerion fell backwards into a heap on the floor as you rose to your knees in victory, “I win!”
Maekar couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even if it was technically at his son’s expense. “I’ll leave you to, whatever the fuck you call this.”
“A fight that I just won, you mean.” You beamed proudly as Maekar murmured in agreement, before exiting. Despite the door shutting firmly you were both graced by the sound of his laughter as he made his way to his own bedchambers, echoing down the halls.
“That was a foul it doesn’t count!” Aerion announced, regaining his composure to stand next to the bed.
“You can’t say it’s a foul just because you didn’t win!”
“Of course I can, my game, my wife, my rules.”
A/N: feeding all our delusions because let’s be real, he’d kick our ass and not even be sorry about it
as always: likes, comments, reblogs + any interactions at all are always always appreciated - take care everyone!!
DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.
can u pls do baby daddy aerion getting jealous ? :) i am so hooked with this series!
ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY
thank you for the ask! in theory!!!! i love a jealous man. but in reality... get it together brother that's not cute.
wc: 2.2k | half assed and proofread very poorly because i wrote this both during brunch and while in a bookstore looking for an ethel cain record so... [ nothing good grows here ]
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | discussion of ownership | hair pulling | biting | dom/sub dynamics if you squint | fingering | orgasm denial | unprotected p in v | DUNK MENTION <3
Aerion's jealousy was loud and ugly and utterly unapologetic. It'd strike like a match, bright and burning, and wouldn't go out until it was satisfied or he was. He never learned the kind of jealousy that lives quietly in the chest.
He'd never been good at sharing.
Not as a kid when Daeron tried to play with his toys, not as a teenager when someone glanced too long at his girlfriend, and certainly not now, years after the two of you had split, when someone else had the nerve to smile at you like they didn't know exactly who you belonged to.
He told himself he didn't care. That you weren't his anymore. That you could do whatever you wanted with whomever you wanted.
But then he saw you with Maegor's teacher, and something in his chest caught fire.
Maegor's preschool was having a talent show, and you'd asked Aerion if he wanted to come. He'd grumbled about it, complained that talent shows were "for bored parents who got no real jobs or nothin' better to do," but he showed up anyway. Of course he did. He never missed anything important.
He found a spot at the back of the room, arms crossed, pretending not to care about the stream of children singing off-key and performing magic tricks with plastic wands. You were near the front, sitting next to Maegor's teacher—a man named Dunk who was tall, too tall, with an easy smile and kind eyes and the kind of patience Aerion could never fake.
You laughed at something Dunk said, your head tilted back just slightly, and Aerion felt his jaw clench.
The man handed you a program, which, of course, resulted in your hands touching, and you smiled in that way you did when you were being polite but also genuinely charmed. Aerion hated that smile. Especially when it wasn't directed at him.
He told himself he was imagining it. That you were just being friendly. That this wasn't anything.
But then the talent show ended, and instead of leaving right away, you stayed to talk to Dunk. You laughed again, touched his arm when he said something about Maegor being "a real character," and Aerion had to physically stop himself from walking over there and dragging you away.
He waited, arms still crossed, watching the way Dunk leaned in just a little closer than necessary. The way you didn't move away from him.
When you finally said goodbye and walked toward Aerion with Maegor beside you, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"What the fuck was that?"
You were confused, genuinely. "What was what?"
"You and that... him." He jerked his head toward the door Dunk had disappeared through.
"Aerion, it was nothing. He's just Maegor's teacher."
"Yeah? He teach you how to flirt, too?"
"I wasn't flirting. Don't start this."
He followed you out of the building, Maegor chattering away about his performance, completely oblivious to the tension between you. Aerion wasn't oblivious. He could see it in the way you avoided looking at him, the way your shoulders were tense.
"You gonna see him again?"
"What? No. I mean, probably at school events—"
"So you're gonna keep laughin' at his jokes, lettin' him touch you—"
"He didn't... God, Aerion, why do you care? We're not together. You don't get to be jealous."
"Fuckin' watch me."
He stormed off to his truck. Maegor called after him, more confused than anything because he didn't say goodbye. You sighed, scooped up your son, and carried him to your car.
Aerion sat in his truck, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles cramped up and turned white. He told himself he was being ridiculous. That you weren't his anymore. It didn't matter.
But the image of you smiling at someone else stayed with him. Burned into the back of his eyelids like a brand.
The next time he saw it was worse. He'd offered to pick up Maegor from school because you'd mentioned needing to drop off pastries for the bake sale. He didn't mind. Really. He liked seeing Maegor in his element, showing off his classroom, talking a mile a minute about his day. But when he walked into the classroom, you were already there.
And so was Dunk.
You were leaning against the wall, holding a plastic tray, talking to him in that soft voice you used when you were comfortable. When you were happy. And the teacher—Dunk, whatever the fuck his name was—was looking at you like he wanted to memorize every detail of your face.
Aerion's blood ran hot. Boiling up his spine; just that nasty kind of heat that settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He walked straight to Maegor, picking him up and ruffling his hair, but his eyes stayed on you. On how your face lit up when you saw your son, the way you reached out to smooth down Maegor's hair.
Dunk said something to you; it was too low for Aerion to hear, but he saw that you laughed again. And Aerion swore he'd never hated a sound more.
"C'mon, bug, let's get your stuff," he said, his voice gruffer than he intended.
Maegor squirmed, eager to show off his cubby and the "super cool rock" he'd found at recess. Aerion let him talk, but he kept glancing back at you. At the two of you.
It wasn't until Maegor was back in his arms that you finally walked over.
"Hey. Thank you for picking him up. I should be done here in an hour or two; you can bring him to the house before his bedtime."
Aerion's jaw was clenched so tight it probably would've locked if he moved, but he managed a nod. "Yeah. Fine."
"Are you okay?"
"Great. Why wouldn't I be?"
You tilted your head with a frown. "You're acting weird."
"I'm actin' normal. You're the one actin' different."
You sighed, clearly done with the conversation before it even started. "I don't have time for this. I'll see you later."
At the house was where things really boiled over. Aerion had planned on leaving after helping you put Maegor to bed, but he couldn't. He stayed, pacing the living room while you cleaned up the kitchen, his mind racing until he couldn't take it anymore.
"Are you fuckin' him?"
You froze with a dish in hand, the other covered in soap suds. You turned slowly to face him, your expression shifting from confusion to disbelief to anger in record time.
"Are you serious right now?"
"Dead fuckin' serious. You and that teacher... you been fuckin'?"
"That is none of your business."
"Bullshit it isn't. You're the mother of my kid. I don't want some random asshole around him—"
"He's not a random asshole! He's Maegor's teacher, Aerion! He's a good person—"
"Yeah? He lookin' to be a good stepdad too? 'Cause that's the fuckin' vibe I'm gettin' from him."
You threw the dish into the sink, causing the water to splash up onto the counter. "You are out of your mind! We've barely spoken outside of pickup or school events. You're jealous of a man I barely know because you can't stand the idea of anyone else being nice to me."
"I don't give a fuck who's nice to you! I give a fuck about who's tryin' to move in on what's mine!"
The laugh that tore from your throat was bitter and humorless. "I'm not yours, Aerion. I made that very clear three years ago. You don't get to show up now and act like you still own me!"
"I never fuckin' stopped ownin' you!" he roared, the words bursting out of him before he could stop them.
The room went silent. You stared at him, both your chests rising and falling rapidly.
Aerion never meant to say it. He never even let himself think it. But there it was, raw and ugly and true. He'd never let you go. Not really. No matter how much he pretended he had.
"Get out," you whispered.
"Baby—"
"Get out of my house, Aerion."
"No." He stepped closer. "I'm not leavin' 'til you tell me you ain't seein' him."
"You have no right to ask me that."
"Maybe not. But I'm askin' anyway."
He was right in front of you now, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin. But you didn't back away. Even when you were angry, even when you hated him, you never backed down.
"Bet he'd be a good dad, too. Maegor already loves him, right? Talks about him all the fuckin' time—"
"Shut up!"
You shoved him, hard, but he barely moved. He just caught your wrists, holding them tightly as he crowded you against the counter.
"You're so pretty when you're mad at me, baby. Always have been."
The logical thing would've been to really kick him out, but your breath had already hitched. And he saw it. He always saw it.
"Let me go."
"I don't wanna."
You struggled, but it was half-hearted at best. Because you knew as well as he did that this was inevitable. That all the anger, all the jealousy, all the times you pretended you were over each other—it all led here.
"Turn around, baby."
"Why?"
He released your wrists to slide his hands down to your hips. "You know why."
You tried to hesitate but you'd already started turning and gripping the countertop.
And Aerion? He was on you in an instant, his body pressed against yours, his hand tangling in your hair as he tilted your head to the side. His mouth found your neck, hot and demanding, his teeth scraping against your skin in a way that made you gasp in "protest" until they sank in, and your hips pushed back into his.
"Good girl," he rasped against your ear. "That's it."
His free hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, grinding against you in a way that left no doubt about how much he wanted you. His other hand tightened in your hair, holding you still as his lips moved up to your jaw, your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and saliva, desperation.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily, like he'd been starving for the sound. When you tried to turn around to face him, he held you in place.
"Uh-uh. Stay right there, baby. Just like that."
His hand left your hair, sliding down your back, over your ass, gripping the hem of your dress. He pulled it up slowly, exposing your thighs and your hips, the lace trim of your panties.
"Fuck," he groaned, his fingers tracing the edge of the lace. "You wearin' these for me?"
"No," you lied. Your voice was breathy. You knew he could hear it. He knew you knew. Because the same way he was never good at sharing, you were never good at hiding the way you felt about him. And your body was your biggest traitor.
"Liar." He hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down just enough to slip his hand between your legs. "You're so fuckin' wet. You miss me, baby? Miss this?"
You couldn't answer, couldn't think, not with his fingers teasing you, circling your clit just the way you liked. Your head fell back as your body arched against his.
"Tell me you ain't been thinkin' 'bout this. Thinkin' 'bout me."
"I haven't—"
He slid two fingers inside you, cutting off your words with a cry of pleasure. "Liar," he repeated, pumping his fingers slowly. "You been thinkin' 'bout me just like I been thinkin' 'bout you. Every fuckin' night."
He pressed his palm against your clit as he fucked you with his fingers, his other hand still gripping your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. You were moaning now, your body trembling, and he knew you were close.
"That's it, baby," he encouraged. "Does my girl want to come?"
"Yes," you gasped, your hands clutching the counter so tight your nail beds hurt.
"Too bad." He pulled his fingers out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching and frustrated.
You whined in protest, trying to turn around again, but he held you in place. Again. "Patience, baby. I gotta remind you who this belongs to."
He undid his jeans with one hand, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. He pressed it against you, sliding it through your wetness and coating himself in your arousal. You tried to push back, to take him inside you, but he just chuckled darkly.
"Greedy. Just like always." He positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with just the tip. "Tell me who y'belong to."
"You," you whimpered, trying to take more of him.
"Louder. I can't hear you."
"You, Aerion. I belong to you. Please..."
He finally pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the sensation. He gave you a moment to adjust before he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against your ass. "See? That wasn't so fuckin' hard, was it? Now, let me hear you say it again."
"I'm yours," you gasped as he pulled back, only to thrust back in harder. "Aerion, yours."
Hi cherie!! In shitty babydaddy series. What does maegor meant by valarr is gonna buy him and his mommy new car?😭 has valarr been hitting on reader?? Also is valarr family richer than aerions? I mean don't they used to run same shop?
Btw if you're thinking of making reader and valarr date. I can't even imagine aerion's reaction. He's gonna regret losing reader SO FUCKING BAD. Like dude you're gonna break my I mean our- babydaddys heart like that. If this happen them aerion is cooked guys😭
LMFAOOO hey, okay first things first… no, Valarr is not actively hitting on her when he says the car thing 😭😭
However… Valarr cares about Reader in a way that's a little more complicated than "that's my cousin's ex." Because he's been around her a lot. He's seen her pregnant with Maegor, watched her struggle through the breakup. He's watched her raise Maegor largely on her own. He's watched Aerion love her while simultaneously making some incredibly stupid decisions. And he's watched her continue to show up for both of them anyway. I think somewhere along the line, that admiration turned into something else. But he doesn't want to interfere.
Valarr is painfully aware that if he ever did tell Reader how he felt, it would probably be the end of his relationship with Aerion. But he can't deny that he's a little bit gone on her. He wants to take care of her. He doesn't like that Aerion keeps hurting her. He wants to step in and protect her because, to him, that's what you do for someone you care about. And he's watching Aerion just... not do that. But he's not going to act on it unless something major happens.
Now, Maekar and Baelor's father started Targaryen Motors. They're huge in the Westerosi automotive industry, headquartered in King's Landing. Almost every car dealership, repair chain, parts manufacturer, and mechanic shop owes something to them. Their family name is on everything. The Targaryens aren't technically royalty in this au, but they are automotive royalty. They're Westeros's Ford or GM or Toyota. And because of that? Yes. Valarr is significantly wealthier than the rest of the Targaryens.
Baelor was running the entire thing after Daeron II died; Maekar was in charge of everything to do with repairs and distribution; Aerys ran logistics and exports; and Rhaegel managed all public relations. They all got very different pieces of the company when Daeron passed. But Valarr inherited it all after his father's death. He was still a teenager at the time, but he had an entire board to help him get his footing. He offered to keep Maekar on as his head of repairs, but Maekar was too proud for that. He didn't want to accept help from a kid he helped raise. So he took his severance and opened the shop in the Crownlands. This all happened when Aerion was maybe 14 or 15. He went from being an extremely wealthy kid, albeit an extremely troubled one, to living in a trailer with nothing but the clothes on his back. So to say he's kind of bitter about his cousin's success would be an understatement.
And Maegor "chattering a mile a minute about how Cousin Valarr said he would get him any car he wanted when he turned sixteen," and "He said Mommy could have one too. ... A pretty one with—" is absolutely brutal for Aerion to hear. Because he can't give reader that. He can't give Maegor that. He doesn't even have the means to give his son a bike, let alone a car. And it's heartbreaking for him to know that Valarr can, and would. He's seen it, Valarr spoiling the shit out of his son. He's seen him with Reader whenever he does visit the Crownlands, holding her grocery bags, or helping her fix something, or just laughing with her in the yard during family gatherings while Maegor plays with his toys. He can see it. The attraction, the admiration. But he would never dare to think that Valarr would try anything. He's not even sure if Reader sees it. But hearing that Maegor is picking up on it feels like there's a knife twisting in his chest. Because his own son is excited about the prospect of Valarr being a part of his life in that way. And he's already done so much for him that he can't even argue. Valarr brings up the car thing to Maegor while Aerion had him the week of the fair because he was in town and had dinner at Maekar's place. So he just sits there, letting his son talk his ear off while he tries not to throw up.
And you know he would absolutely go insane if Reader and Valarr ever dated. It would be the one thing that would genuinely break him. Because it would prove all his worst fears about himself right. He's not good enough. And Reader has moved on with someone who is. And it would be someone who's known her for years, who's watched her struggle. Someone who's loved her from a distance. And Valarr would treat her so well. He wouldn't fuck up the way Aerion does. He wouldn't disappear. He would never get himself arrested, or be too drunk to come pick her up, or be too proud to say sorry. He's already got everything Aerion doesn't have, and if he got Reader too? That would be the nail in the coffin.
It's been said that Aerion's jealousy is loud, and ugly, and often violent. But nothing she's done would ever compare to the pain of seeing her with Valarr. Aerion was never truly threatened by Robb or Dunk because he knew, deep down, that it was nothing. The one real instance of him being jealous in that way was the time he found out she bought that Plan B, and he knew it wasn't for him. He knew she'd actually slept with someone else. And the thought made him so scared he couldn't see straight. Now imagine that, but with someone he has to see at family events. Someone he already has a complicated relationship with. Someone who could be a better father to his son. It would be like the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. He would have absolutely nothing left to hold onto. He wouldn't even be able to hate Valarr for it because it wouldn't be his fault; he would have to hate himself. And he already does that enough.
And you're absolutely right. He would regret losing her more than anything in the world. He would think back on every time he could have said sorry, or stayed the night, or told her the truth, and it would eat him alive. And for the first time ever, he wouldn't know how to get her back. Because Valarr would actually be good for her, he would be a good father to Maegor. And Aerion would have nothing to offer in comparison.
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can i just say i love that, for as much as aerion is a perv & super possessive (said lovingly), reader is soooo messy for still messing around w him after they broke up (which she initiated mind you) ….. the emotionally blurred, messy, first(?) love you can’t let go of, too much history of intimacy to move on from each other, forced proximity from being seemingly pretty functional/solid coparents & seeing up close the best of the other in how they each care for maegor … it’s just good soup. excellent work
SIGHH, thank you so much; she really is messy! Because she did leave him. She called it off, and she meant it </3 She's not trying to drag things out or keep him hanging. But he is the father of her child and the first (only, really) man she ever loved, the man who gave her Maegor, and there are things about him that she knows she'll never find in anyone else. And she's tried. But she's never looked at any of them the way she looks at Aerion. And she wants to let go, but she also doesn't.
I think there's something very human about that. Like knowing you shouldn't be with someone, that they've hurt you in ways you can't necessarily forgive, but still being drawn back to them because you can't imagine your life without them. Even if you're not together or if you don't talk about it, they're still a part of you. And I think she feels that so deeply with him. That's why she keeps letting him into her bed, her life. Because he's always been there. And the idea of him not being there, even in this messy, undefined way, is too much to bear. He's her first everything. And in a lot of ways, he'll be her last.
There is a part of her that knows Aerion isn't really dependable and isn't necessarily good for her long term, but she also knows that he's the most passionate person she's ever met. And as much as he has broken her heart, he has also loved her in ways no one else ever has. So when he shows up on her doorstep, or pulls her into the shadows at the fair, or kisses her in the kitchen after she's had a long day, it feels like coming home to her. Because she knows him. She knows all his sharp edges, his flaws, the way his mind works, what he likes and needs, how to calm him down. And he knows her just as well. It's hard to walk away from that kind of intimacy, even if it's not always healthy. And Maegor is the living, breathing reminder of what they were. He's what they created together. And she can't separate that from her feelings for Aerion. That's why she's so torn all the time. She's trying to do what's right for her son, and what's right for her, but she's also only human. And Aerion is... Aerion. He knows exactly what to say or do to make her give in. Even when he's being an ass, even when he's piss drunk, there's something about him that pulls her back in.
do reader and aerion ever sext?? texts, pictures, facetimes, etc??? 👀👀👀👀👀👀
I'm fucking cryingg, the answer is yes. But also no??
18+ mdni | references to masturbation (m & f), sexting, phone sex, photos, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving) | mentions of underage relationship (when reader was 16/17)
This is complicated because while Aerion absolutely wants to sext you, he's never been good with words. He can talk dirty to you in person, whispering in your ear while he's inside of you, but over text? It feels weird to him. Like it's not personal enough. He's a very physical person. He wants to be able to see you and touch you most of the time. So if you're sexting, it's going to be him calling you on the phone or FaceTiming you, not sending you dirty messages.
Now, again, complicated. For so many reasons. For starters, when you first started dating, it wasn't really a thing. You weren't even seventeen, and he was already pushing boundaries with you as it was. You weren't in an "age gap" relationship, but he was a legal adult, and you still had to report to homeroom at 8 AM every day. He was also getting booked for a handful of minor misdemeanors and wasn't really trying to add soliciting a minor to his record. Not to mention the one time he was driving you home and the two of you stayed parked across the street from your house making out for so long that your gran came out with a flashlight and an iron skillet and almost took his windshield out with it. So he didn't necessarily want to imagine what she would do if she caught him FaceTiming you while you were in bed half naked and he was jerking off on the other end of the line.
You didn't make it any easier for him, either. Because while he was trying to be a gentleman, you were a teenager who was very attracted to her boyfriend and thought it was hot when he did things like smoke a cigarette and drive his truck with his arm resting on the window. So you would send him too many pictures of yourself in very compromising positions. You were also very aware that he was into your body, so you were constantly showing up to his place in tiny shorts and tight shirts with no bra in sight. You'd crawl up his lap and kiss him and say things like "I missed you today, you didn't text me back" and "my friends think you're hot" and "are you hard already? You're so easy." And he would just grit his teeth and remind you to behave and try not to groan when you would grind down on him.
It was still complicated after Maegor and after the breakup, but for different reasons. He didn't have to worry about your grandmother or getting arrested anymore, but now he had to worry about you not wanting to talk to him at all. And the other reason was Maegor. You didn't want to risk your son walking into the room or picking up your phone and seeing something he shouldn't. So the sexting was very sporadic. It would happen late at night when you were sure Maegor was asleep and Aerion was alone. But even then, it was still rare.
Now that Maegor is older, and the two of you are somewhat more stable in your co-parenting relationship, it's a little easier. Like the voicemail he left you when he was drunk. The two of you will never call it sexting, but that's certainly what it is. You both get to deny it because you're not actually doing anything physical, and it mostly happens after you've been arguing or just had a rough day. You're both at your wit's end, and he'll call you to apologize for being an asshole, and it'll somehow end up with him telling you that the reason he was being a piece of shit was that he misses your tits in his mouth and he wants you to ride him like you used to. And you'll tell him that he shouldn't talk to you like that, but you'll be lying in bed, touching yourself, while he talks you through it on the other end. The next morning, he'll pretend he doesn't remember what he said, but he'll have a smug little smile on his face all day.
And you're still a little shit about the pictures because, if there's one thing that has remained true about Aerion Targaryen over the years, it's that he's weak for your body. You just do it a little differently now. Always in a way that you can deny it if you have to. You'll send him a picture of some drawing Maegor did, but you'll angle it so he can see your bare thigh and the lacy edge of your underwear.
bully!Tom who fucks you in front of a mirror and only lets you come once you say you’re pretty and amazing and smart after he overhears you talking badly about yourself—because after all, he’s the only one who gets to be mean to you👀👀👀👀
˚₊˙⋆ Warnings: +18, NSFW , mdni, explicit sexual content, shawn is not a good person once more, slutty reader, sexual exchange(?), handjob/blowjob m!receiving.
AN: Request from anon :) (Reader is Julie's sister)
Summary: Shawn picks you up after not having seen you in ages, you've changed more than he thought you had and tries to teach you a lesson.
“You gettin’ in the truck or what.”
It’s not a question, it’s a demand, filled with arrogance and slight annoyance. Shawn isn’t even looking at you, cigarette in his mouth and eyes red with whatever pot he’d been smoking.
The engine of his truck still ran, the heat from the vehicle adding to the sweltering heat. A mixture of the smoke coming out of the exhaust filled your lungs and you coughed. He only responded with a huff of irritation, leaning over to turn the radio up.
You made your way over to the other side, no longer being able to endure the sweltering heat of Louisiana. Of course you’d been waiting outside in the school parking lot for fifteen minutes already.
Shawn was late, he always was. Because to him, time was a concept, something he could bend to his will. He didn’t just do things for other people, that required effort and it was not something he gave out willingly.
The slam of the truck door closing made the entire vehicle shake, and Shawn wasted no time to pull out of the parking lot, away from the burning hot concrete.
It’s quiet for a minute, before you speak up, awkwardly clearing your throat. “So, uhm, thanks for picking me up, you’re really nice.” You sneakily glance at him from the passenger seat, but you couldn’t read his face.
Shawn shrugged, “Whatever, I had to pick up some cigs anyway.” He looked at you then, his brows rising before quickly focusing on the road again.
“The fuck are you wearing?” He gruffed out, his eyes trailing up and down your body every once in a while.
“Excuse me?”
You knew he was referring to your tiny mini skirt and strapless tanktop, paired with a thong underneath of which you had pulled the straps to sit higher on your hips, right above the waist of your skirt.
“Don’t act dumb, what happened to your oversized hoodies and joggers? And those fuck ass glasses you wore?” Shawn half mumbled, the cigarette in his mouth still burning away, the ash of it falling straight on his orange shorts.
It’s true he hadn’t seen you in a while, it had almost been a year. You were now in your last year of high school and he had already, just barely, graduated. Julie hung out with him often but he didn’t see you nearly as much.
Though you always made sure to catch glances of him through your bedroom window whenever he came to pick Julie up.
A lot had changed in that time, your mother even telling you how Julie had influenced you too much. And maybe she was right, your sister and you had become closer once she left school, a friendship starting to form while you had more distance.
The last time Shawn had seen you, you were quite introverted and shy. But that wasn’t you anymore, you had made new friends, changed your look and even the way you carried yourself.
Even dating had become easier and more fun, Julie taught you exactly how to get anything you wanted out of guys.
“What? You don’t like my outfit?” You smiled, you knew the type of guy Shawn was, heard more than enough stories about him from Julie.
Shawn’s mouth twitches and his jaw tightens. “You look like a slut.” His words are like venom, spat at you with disdain.
You laughed, before reaching into your bag for your lipgloss. It opened with a pop, and you turned the mirror that Shawn wasn’t using anyway to apply it lavishly on your lips.
Shawn turned the truck out of nowhere, the stoplight had already turned red yet he only gave more gas. Pressing his foot down hard on the pedal.
You turned the mirror back and noticed the new direction he had taken. “Where are you going?”
“To teach you a lesson.” Shawn replied coldly, eyes stuck on the road.
A while later the truck came to a screeching halt, in the middle of an abandoned muliti-layered car park. Vines and other weeds covered most of the place, evidence of how long it hadn’t been used.
The silence that followed after Shawn turned off the engine was deafening. You noticed his stare, but a part of you was afraid to look at him, yet your body thrummed with excitement at what he would do. How far he would go.
“Why did you stop here–” Shawn cut you off before you could say anything else. “Look at me.” He snapped.
Pursing your lips, you turned your head slowly. You looked at his eyes first, then his lips before you couldn’t help the urge to look down.
Shawn had turned toward you, legs spread as if he wanted to make it obvious.
He’s hard, his thick length bulging underneath the thin orange athletic shorts he wore. “Fucking look at what you did to me.” His voice thick, low and commanding.
Everything in you wanted to jump him right then and there, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Shawn is still watching you, with controlled restraint. His eyes raked over you, trying to calculate exactly what your response would be.
“You wanna know what I think.” He spoke again, his eyes settling on your chest instead. “I think you should help me out, after all, it’s your fault that I’m fucking tenting over here.”
Finally you looked at him, his pupils were wide, almost pleading. Yet the rest of his body nor his voice showed any sign of submission.
Maybe you could teach him a lesson as well. In manners.
Without saying anything, you shuffled closer. Keeping eye contact as your hand snaked its way up his thigh. Shawn failed to hold back a shuddering sigh at the very idea of your touch.
Your hand settled on his erection, massaging the hardness through the thin shorts. When you looked down, you noticed how a small patch of precum started to form at his tip, leaking right through the fabric.
“What do I get in return?” You spoke suddenly, taking Shawn off guard.
“My dick– Oh–” Shawn gasped, your hand squeezing his cock a little too tight. He knew what you wanted then.
“Fine– fine, I’ll drive you to school– for like a week or somethin’ alright?” He groaned, his breath coming out in short pants.
“Make that a month, maybe till the end of the year and I’ll ‘help’ you more often.” You purred, closing in on his face before giving him a peck on his lips.
When you pulled back he nodded eagerly, looking even prettier with the way your lipgloss left behind a glittery shine.
You released your tight grip on his cock and waited for Shawn to pull down his shorts. He took it off in one go, his hard length bopping out before landing on his tanktop covered tummy.
Leaning in, you got more comfortable with your arms on his lap as your lips neared his cock. Shawn’s hand came up to stroke your hair, yet didn’t pressure you down.
Perhaps he’d learned his lesson.
As a reward, you took his tip in your warm mouth. Shawn’s inhale above you urged you to suckle on his tip, drawing sweet low moans from him.
“Jesus Christ–"
The filthy noise of slick and sucking filled the truck, your tongue gliding right underneath his shaft, along the more prominent vein of his cock.
If you had more room, you would’ve secretly loved to take his balls into your mouth as well but alas, you were in a small space.
Your head bobbed up and down, Shawn’s head fell back against the seat, groans leaving his pretty lips as you give him the best blowjob he’d ever had.
He would never tell you, but he would drive you around like a private chauffeur for the rest of his life if he got you sucking him off like this more often.
His heavy cock twitched in your mouth, and you could tell by the way he was breathing he had to be close already.
To get him to his peak, you focused solely on his tip and weeping slit while you hand took care of the rest of his length.
A salty taste started to pool onto your tongue, more and more precum leaving him as he neared his release.
When you felt the way Shawn’s legs tensed and his breath hitched, you could tell he was about to cum.
You had thought about pulling off him, but decided to remain instead. Only seconds later his warm sticky load filled your mouth, Shawn cursed and his fingers coiled tightly into your neatly done hair.
His hips bucked up and you had to try your best to not slip off and let his cum run down everywhere.
You swallowed one last time before releasing his cock, rising back up and wiping the corners of your mouth. At least he didn’t taste bad, you thought.
Shawn slumped into his seat, head hung back and breathing heavily. You giggled at the mere state of him, of the effect you’d had on him.
You knew you had him then, betting you could make him do whatever you wanted as long as you gave him your sweet mouth to fill.
A/N pt.2: Starting to love writing Shawn, especially as the asshole he is <3
Thinking about how he would make sure you were always his passenger princess. He’d never let you walk anywhere and if you tried to he’d practically force you into his truck.
Especially after an argument when you’re trying to ignore him. He’d follow along right beside you, driving at the same speed as you, trying to persuade you to get in. You’d attempt to refuse knowing how reckless and fast he drives when he’s mad (maybe even drunk), but eventually you always fold under his pressure.
He could go from yelling at you to get in, to gently pleading in seconds. He can be mean but he’d never purposefully doing anything to hurt you by getting in an accident.
He’d mostly listen to rock music on the radio very loudly. You try and tell him to turn it down but that just pushes him to turn it up.
He’d also always have his hands on you when driving. His hand squeeing your thigh or holding your hand tightly. Looking over at you sitting next to him like you’re the most precious thing, paying more attention to you than the road. You’ll yell at him multiple times to “keep your eyes on the road.” but he’ll always reassure you saying something like “Don’t worry baby i got it.” then go right back to staring at you.
He’d love driving you around at night and parking somewhere. He’d motion for you to get on his lap in the passengers seat so the two of you can makeout.
He’d also love to fuck you in his truck. In fact it’s one of his favorite places. Even if it isn’t the most comfortable. He’d drive the two of you out to a secluded location by the edge of the forest where it’s just you and him.
Inside it’s smells heavily of cigarettes and weed because of how much he smokes in there even after you pester him to roll down all the windows fully.
If you try to put your feet up on the dashboard he’ll swat them off telling you that you’re going to ruin his truck as if it’s not already a piece of junk. He’d get mad anytime you’d try to use the mirror to look at yourself telling you you’re gonna make him crash as if he hasn’t been looking at you the whole time too.
He secretly likes when you fall asleep in the passengers seat. He would never ever admit it, but he tries to drive slower so you don’t wake up.
The two of you would hang out in the truck bed a lot too. Smoking or drinking together. Sometimes more….
He would also never admit it, but he always cleans up his truck a bit before driving you. Picking up empty cans or throwing away what’s left in an ash tray.
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Aerion Targaryen x Wife!Reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Summary: In front of the masses Aerion Targaryen is untouchable. In private, he bleeds, even though he pretends he doesn't.
Warnings: 16+ toxic but hot dynamics, possessive behaviour, post-tourney aftermath, hurt/comfort vibes, canon-typical violence, blood/gore, power imbalance, sexual tension, the usual Targaryen arrogance, crude/suggestive comments
A/N: again, im very aware he's evil but i don't think i care tbh
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS - WC: 2.3k
The lists are still roaring when Aerion reins in his horse.
Splintered lances litter the dirt like broken bones. The last of his opponent’s armour is being dragged from the field, dented and humiliated, and the crowd’s thunder has not yet decided whether it is cheering for the violence or the victor.
He gives them both. He lifts his visor with a lazy, satisfied motion, silver hair darkened with sweat, mouth curved in a smile that is all teeth and triumph.
He turns his horse toward the high seats before the noise can crest and spill into something uncontrolled.
He knows where you are.
Then again, he's known since the first pass of the joust, since the moment he felt the familiar heat of eyes on him. His gaze finds you easily, seated among silks and banners, a pale, perfect figure against the crush of colour and nobility.
You are beautiful, Westeros agrees on this much. The court has decided it, the singers have made a hobby of it, and Aerion, vain, terrible Aerion, knows exactly what it does to the spectacle of him.
He raises his lance in your direction, the motion theatrical, deliberate. Not a salute to the crowd. To you.
A ripple of murmurs moves through the stands. A perfect match, they will whisper. The dragon prince and his beautiful wife, all fire and silk and inevitability.
The sort of pairing people like to believe in, as if power arranges itself neatly into handsome shapes.
Aerion’s smile sharpens when he sees the way the eyes turn, frist toward you, then flicking back to him. He wants them to look. He wants them to see what is his. The blood on his armour, the victory in his grip, the woman who waits for him in the high seats like a promise made of bone and beauty.
He does not flinch when the ache in his shoulder blooms with the movement. He does not let the stiffness in his ribs show when he straightens in the saddle.
Pain is a private thing. Pain is for behind closed doors. Out here, he is unbreakable.
Out here, he is Aerion Brightflame, the Targaryen prince.
His horse prances beneath him, sensing the restless energy of the crowd. Aerion leans forward in the saddle, eyes never leaving you, and inclines his head just enough to be insolent.
As if he's asking, did you see that?
His armour creaks as he swings down from the saddle in a fluid, practised motion, boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud. Grooms rush forward with outstretched hands; knights move to flank him, already speaking of injuries and formalities and the order of presentation.
Aerion ignores them all.
He walks straight toward the high seats.
The crowd parts for him instinctively, a path opening through silk and steel and staring eyes. You feel the shift before you see him, the subtle ripple of attention, the way conversation falters and then surges again, louder for having been interrupted.
By the time he reaches the steps, the murmurs are already alive with speculation.
He takes them two at a time.
There is blood on his gauntlet. Dried along the knuckles. You see it as his hand comes up to your chair, as he leans in close enough that the heat of him presses into your space, close enough that the court seems to collectively forget how to breathe.
For a heartbeat, he only looks at you.
There is something feral in his eyes, something bright and reckless and utterly victorious. The dragon still coiled hot beneath his skin. You know this look, it's the look he gets when the world has bent to him, when the noise of it all has gone to his head and made him careless.
Then he kisses you.
It is not gentle or fit for court. It is a claim made in full view of banners and nobles and the stunned silence of a thousand watching eyes. His mouth is warm from exertion, his breath still unsteady from the joust, and the press of him is all heat and steel and triumph. The court gasps as one, a soft, scandalised sound, and Aerion does not care at all.
If anything, he seems to enjoy it.
When he finally draws back, it is only far enough to rest his forehead briefly against yours, close enough that only you can hear him.
“Did you see,” he murmurs, voice low and pleased, “how easily he fell?”
There is a faint tremor in the hand that still braces against your chair. You feel it, but you know he would rather burn the world than let anyone else see it.
Around you, the court finds its breath again. Whispers spark and spread like fire through dry grass.
The dragon and his guarded treasure.
Aerion turns, already half-facing the noise of them, the smug smile back in place. All arrogance and victory.
To you, close enough to feel the heat still bleeding from him, he is a man who has not yet come down from the fight.
The chamber is dim when you return to it, the noise of the tourney muted by thick stone and heavy doors.
The air smells faintly of smoke and oil, the lingering trace of torches and the faint, clean sharpness of the linens changed that morning. You move on instinct now, water poured into a basin, clean cloths laid out, the small tin of salve set within reach. You’ve done this enough times to know the rhythm of it.
And he's late.
You know it's nothing. Knights linger. Princes are delayed by ceremony and tradition. By praise and the hollow rituals of victory.
Still, you find your eyes drifting to the door each time the corridor outside echoes with footsteps.
When it finally opens, it is not Aerion alone.
The maester follows a step behind him, speaking softly, urgently, already in the cadence of someone accustomed to being ignored by princes. Aerion is the picture of indifference, his helmet gone, hair still damp, the remnants of the arena still clinging like heat. His armour is spattered with dirt and darker stains you do not want to look at too closely yet.
“I told you,” Aerion says, voice edged with impatience, “it is nothing.”
The maester sighs. “With respect, Your Grace, it is very clearly not nothing.”
Aerion’s gaze flicks to you, sharp and immediate. Something in his expression tightens, not the courtly mask, but the private one, the one he wears only with you. He does not like being seen like this.
He likes it even less when you are the one who sees.
“Leave us,” he says.
The maester hesitates. You catch the man’s eye and give a small, reassuring nod. He bows stiffly and withdraws, the door closing behind him with a heavy, final sound.
Silence settles.
Aerion stands where he is, armour still on, posture rigid with the effort of holding himself together. The bravado from the lists has not yet bled away; it sits in his shoulders, in the tilt of his chin, in the way he refuses to acknowledge the way his breath is just a fraction too careful.
“You shouldn’t have let him follow me in,” he says lightly, as if the words cost him nothing.
You step closer, slow and unhurried. “You shouldn’t have tried to walk away from him bleeding.”
His mouth curves, sharp and familiar. “I am not bleeding. I'm-”
“Hurt,” you finish for him, gently. You reach for the straps at his shoulder, fingers brushing against the warm metal. “Sit.”
He does not move.
For a moment, the old tension sparks between you; his pride, your quiet refusal to bend to it. Then, with visible reluctance, he exhales and allows himself to lower onto the edge of the bed.
The motion pulls a hiss from between his teeth before he can stop it.
You pretend not to hear it.
The armour comes away piece by piece, the careful unfastening of steel and leather. With each layer removed, you see the marks left by the day, like the bruises blooming dark beneath his skin, a shallow cut along his ribs where a splintered lance found purchase, the angry red of a shoulder that took a blow too hard.
He watches your face as you take it in, waiting for pity, but you give him none.
You press a clean cloth into the basin and wring it out, your hands steady. “You fought well,” you say instead. “You don’t need to pretend you didn’t pay for it.”
His eyes linger on you, searching for something, judgment, perhaps. Finding only the familiar, infuriating calm, he looks away.
“Do not mistake this,” he murmurs, low and sharp. “I am not-”
“Weak?” you offer quietly, dabbing at the dried blood along his side. “I know.”
You work in silence for a while, the room filled with the soft sounds of water and breath.
You press him back against the pillows when he shifts. The bed creaks beneath his weight as he yields, more out of curiosity than obedience, silver hair stark against dark linen.
“Stay,” you murmur, dipping the cloth back into the basin.
His eyes track you as you move. There is a lazy, dangerous glint to them now. “And here I thought I married a gentle woman,” he says lightly. “You grow bold when you have me laid out beneath you.”
You climb onto the bed to reach him properly, one knee on either side of his hips so you can lean over him without straining your arm. The position is practical. You tell yourself that. The warmth of him bleeds up through the thin layers between you, heat meeting heat, and for a moment the air feels too thick to breathe.
Aerion’s gaze darkens.
“Well,” he murmurs, voice low, amused in that cutting way of his, “this would give the court something to whisper about if they were here to witness, wouldn't it? Their perfect match, and here you are, straddling me like you want me to remind you who you belong to.”
You swipe the cloth gently along his cheek, careful of the split skin near his mouth. “I belong to no one,” you say. “And you’re bleeding.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, sharp. “Careful,” he warns softly. “Say that too loudly and I might have to prove you wrong.”
His hand comes up, not quite touching you, hovering at your waist. The possessiveness in him curls close to the surface, instinctive and territorial, a man given to too much power and too many expectations.
“I took that man from his horse for you,” he says, quietly now. “For all of them to see. Do you know what it means for a prince to look back at one woman when the whole realm is watching?”
You lean closer, just enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. “It means you wanted them to look at me,” you say. “Not that you own me.”
For a heartbeat, the teasing falters. Something old and dangerous flickers in his eyes, pride and hunger. Then the familiar smile returns, cruel-edged and beautiful.
“You are my wife,” he says softly. “If I tell the realm to look at you, they will look at you.”
You clean the last of the blood from his face, unhurried. “And in here,” you reply, meeting his gaze, “you will let me tend to you without turning it into a performance.”
His breath hitches, just once, betraying him.
After a while you finish binding the cut along his side with careful, practised hands, fingers smoothing the linen flat against his skin. The work is precise, quiet. When you lean back, the room feels suddenly larger.
Aerion watches you for a moment too long, then the softness goes.
He's never cruel to you, not really, but the prince rises back into him like a tide returning to shore. He sits up, rolling his shoulder once as if testing the limits of the bandage, mouth curving into that familiar, sharp-edged smile. The dragon back in place behind his eyes.
“There,” he says lightly. “You’ve done your duty. The realm can have me again.”
You arch a brow.
He stands, gathering the edge of his robe and pulling it around himself with deliberate care, as though the simple act of dressing is a declaration of command.
When he looks down at you now, it is with that smug, effortless certainty that everyone knows so well.
“Come,” he says, already turning toward the bed. “I will not have you hovering like a nervous septa. If I am to be wounded, I will at least be comfortable.”
The command is lazy, but it is still a command. You follow him anyway.
He draws you into the space beside him. The sheets rustle, candles gutter low. He settles back, arranging you where he wants you, a king placing his favourite piece upon the board.
Outside these walls, he will be Aerion Targaryen, smiling and terrible, completely untouchable. He will let the court see only the polished edge of him, the triumph and the fire.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, smug even in the dark, breath warm against your hair. “You'll need your strength in the morning.”
SUMMARY - The realisation that you two have yet to make anything official causes Aerion to take matters into his own hands.
CONTAINS - crazy pining, tension, they argue, aerion is aerion, fluff, can be read as a standalone but context always helps!! part one, part two
A/N - the amount of love ive received for this fic is unbelievableee, i love you guys. This might be the last part but if you have any questions or ideas you wanna share feel free to do so lovelies!
The following weeks had a way of blurring the lines until you couldn’t even remember where the boundaries used to be.
Aerion was completely integrated into your life. His jackets were a permanent fixture draped over the back of your kitchen chairs, and a spare phone charger that definitely wasn’t yours was always laying by the table in the living room.
You’d find yourself lying in bed late at night, your eyes burning from the glare of the screen in your dark room, staring at his face on FaceTime while he complained about a boring lecture or his annoying family.
Whenever he would come over, you two would often argue over what stupid movie to put on just for you both to ignore it.
It was wild how naturally you adapted to being with him in real life. On campus, the shift was just as obvious. It was no longer just you and Tanselle in Davis's class. Aerion would consistently leave his friends baffled as he walked past his usual row just to slide into the seat beside yours.
He’d steal your pens just to draw in the margins of your notebook, his shoulder brushing yours every time he leaned in to whisper a mocking comment about anyone that was bothering him.
He was still the same to everyone else, completely aloof and dismissive, but with you, he was different. He’d steal your drinks without asking, take a sip, and complain it was way too sweet before drinking the entire thing anyway.
When the air conditioning in the class got too cold, he’d blindly throw his jacket over your lap, his arm lingering on the back of your chair.
You grew used to the constant scent of his expensive cologne and the way the side of his thigh always pressed firmly against yours under the desk.
You talked about everything. You knew his habits and he knew yours. You knew his humour and the specific way his jaw set when he was frustrated. You were hanging out constantly, sharing every little detail of your life to one another.
Your chat history was an endless loop filled with a lot of bickering.
Aerion 🎱: where are you
YOU: At the library studying???
YOU: Like i said i would be??
Aerion 🎱: stop studying come out
Aerion 🎱: im by the fountain
YOU: Noo i have a quiz tmrw go away
Aerion 🎱: i brought your usual from the cafe
YOU: Ru srs
Aerion 🎱: im holding it right now
Aerion 🎱: you have 2 minutes before i finish it
YOU: OK CHILL
YOU: Omw dont finish it pls
But through all of it, you never actually talked about what this was. There was no label. You had just slipped into this comfortable routine without a single thought.
Until tuesday night.
You were sitting across from him at a dimly lit pasta place a few blocks away from your apartment. It was a crowded spot, the kind of place where the tables were small and forced you close together.
You were mid laugh, reaching over the table to stab a piece of chicken from his plate with your fork, while he watched you with an amused smirk.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” a voice suddenly broke your bubble.
You blinked, your fork hovering in the air as a guy from a nearby table stepped up to your booth. He was rubbing the back of his neck, looking a little nervous, oblivious to the way Aerion’s smirk instantly vanished.
The guy looked directly at you. “I just saw you from over there and thought you were really pretty. I was wondering if I could maybe get your number?”
Your fingers froze around your fork. Your brain went blank for a second, and your usual response started sliding out of your mouth before you could even think.
“Oh, no, sorry, I have a–”
The word boyfriend died right in your throat.
A sudden wave of realisation hit you. Did you have a boyfriend? You and Aerion text all day, you call each other every night, you eat dinner together... but he had never actually asked you out properly. He had never said the words.
Technically, you guys weren’t even dating. He wasn’t your boyfriend.
The silence stretched between the three of you, turning incredibly heavy. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Aerion lean back slowly in his seat. His posture went rigid, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.
Shaking off the sudden thought, you forced a tight, polite smile and shook your head at the guy. “Sorry, I’m just… yeah. But thank you.”
The guy caught the terrifying form radiating from Aerion, and mumbled a quick “oh, okay, my bad,” before bolting back to his friends.
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your heart doing a weird thud against your ribs. You swallowed hard, slowly lowering your fork back to your plate, trying your best to act normal. But when you finally gathered the courage to look back across the table, Aerion’s eyes were locked dead onto your face.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The background noise of clinking glasses and chatter was drowned out by the heavy atmosphere hanging over your table. Aerion picked up his drink, taking a slow sip, his gaze never once wavering from your face.
“What were you going to tell him?” he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone.
You moved your fork around your plate, trying your best to look unbothered. “What do you mean? I told him no.”
“Before that,” Aerion corrected, “you started saying ‘I have a…’ and then you choked. What was the rest of that sentence?"
A flush of heat crawled up your neck. You couldn't tell if you were embarrassed or just annoyed that he was backing you into a corner. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” he countered, a stubborn edge bleeding into his tone. He tilted his head, studying the way you purposely avoided his eyes. “Were you going to say you had a boyfriend?”
You finally snapped your gaze up, meeting his head-on. “Well, I couldn’t exactly say that, could I? Because I don’t.”
Aerion blinked. The bluntness of your response caught him off guard.
“You’ve never actually asked me out,” you pointed out, mumbling slightly. “Technically, I’m single. So I couldn’t use you as an excuse.”
The silence that followed was weighed down by a sudden realisation on his part. Aerion sat back, processing your words.
He was so used to having your undivided attention, so accustomed to the seamless way you had a space in his routine, that he hadn't even realised he left a massive hole for any random guy to step through. And clearly, the mere thought of anyone else having a claim on you made him feel sick.
He licked his lower lip, his expression hardening with profound determination. “Fine.”
“Fine?” you repeated, raising a brow.
“This saturday” he paused, the casual drawl returning to his voice, though his eyes remained focused on yours. “I’m picking you up at eight. We’re going on a proper date.”
You tried to suppress a smile, biting down on your inner cheek. “Are you asking me or ordering me?”
“I’m telling you,” Aerion said, a familiar smirk finally returning to his lips. He reached across the small table, his fingers lightly brushing against your wrist. “Because I’m not dealing with another dumbass trying his luck with you.”
Your heart gave a soft, fluttery jump against your ribs. You looked down at his hand resting against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a pleasant shiver up your arm. Even when he was being demanding, it was impossible to ignore the warmth hidden beneath his pride.
“Okay,” you murmured, looking back up to meet his gaze, a small smile breaking through. “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be,” he promised.
Saturday arrived, and you spent the entire afternoon vibrating with a mix of excitement and nerves. You had spent way too long picking out a dress, styling your hair perfectly, and checking your reflection in the mirror until you were completely satisfied with your makeup.
By 7:55 PM, you were sitting on your living room sofa, your purse resting on your lap, ready to go.
Right on cue, your phone buzzed in your palm. You scrambled to open it, expecting a text from Aerion saying he was outside, but it was a message from Tanselle.
Tanselle #cantsing#plsstop: let me see the fitttt
You smiled, typing back quickly.
YOU: [IMAGE ATTACHED]
YOU: Waiting for him to get heree
Tanselle #cantsing#plsstop: and just like that im gay
YOU: LMAO pls
Then the clock struck 8:00 PM.
Five minutes passed. You figured he was probably stuck at a red light. You checked your phone, but the screen remained completely blank.
Ten minutes. Sitting back against the cushions, the minutes began to tick away, and the excitement began to fade. You unlocked your phone and opened his chat, typing out a quick message.
YOU: ru here yett?
Twenty minutes. Your text didn’t even get a response. You tried calling him, but it didn’t ring.
A sickening mix of disappointment and fury flared up in your chest. The memory of him sitting in front of you just a week ago, arrogantly demanding to be your boyfriend, suddenly felt like a joke. You had actually trusted him to show up, and he was ghosting you.
“Fuck this,” you muttered to yourself, powering off your phone.
You weren’t going to sit around waiting for him. You were already fully dressed up. You were going to get food, with or without him.
Slamming the apartment door behind you, you walked down the hallway and took the stairs down to the complex parking lot. You did a slow, sweeping scan of the rows, half hoping to spot his car pulling in, but the asphalt was completely empty of any familiar vehicles.
Your jaw clenched. That was the final straw.
Your favourite diner was only about a ten minute walk down the main street, and a giant plate of comfort food sounded infinitely better than dealing with Aerion right now.
The air was cooling down, but your skin was boiling. Every step you took on the sidewalk felt like an exclamation point to your rage. The sheer humiliation of it was what burned the most—you had spent hours getting ready, only to be left sitting on your sofa like you were nothing.
You had barely made it two blocks from your complex when the distinct, low purr of an engine sounded right behind you.
A sleek car slowly crept up to the curb, matching your exact walking pace. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Aerion gripping the steering wheel.
He called your name out, “get in,” he said, his voice laced with a frantic edge. “Please. Just get in the car.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, turning on your heel to glare at him. “Go away.”
“I’m sorry, just let me explain,” he pleaded, leaning across the center console so his face was closer to the open window, keeping his foot lightly on the brake to match your steps as you started walking again. “Don’t do this. Just hear me out.”
“Hear you out?” you snapped, your voice rising as the frustration boiled over. “You’re twenty minutes late! I sat there like an idiot while you ghosted me. You don’t get to–” you let out a furious exhale. “Just go back home.”
Aerion licked his lips, looking seriously desperate. Because he was driving slowly along the busy street, the cars behind him were struggling to pass through. Within seconds, a line of blinding headlights began to stack up. A loud horn echoed through the street.
Aerion didn’t look back, unbothered by the massive traffic he was single handedly creating.
“Aerion, you’re blocking the road,” you hissed, your cheeks flushing at the mortification as several people on the sidewalk turned to stare at the scene.
“I don’t give a shit,” he shot back, slamming the car into park, completely ignoring a barrage of angry honks. His unyielding eyes locked onto yours. “I’m not moving the car until you get in. Let them honk.”
Realizing his stubbornness was boundless and that your public humiliation was only going to get worse if you stayed on the sidewalk, you let out a livid growl. You tore the passenger door open, slid into the leather seat, and slammed it shut.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” you muttered, instantly turning your body toward the window, folding your arms tightly over your waist.
Aerion didn’t say a word. He immediately stepped on the gas, turning sharp left into a parking lot a block away. He pulled into a secluded space beneath a large tree.
Before he could even open his mouth, you turned on him, your brows furrowed. “You have a phone, Aerion! It takes exactly two seconds to type a text that says ‘I’m running late.’ But you couldn't even do that. You clearly didn’t–no, don't care about how long I sat there waiting for you.”
“I do care,” he insisted, his voice cracking slightly with raw vulnerability. He held up his phone, tapping the screen before shoving it into your hands. “But my dad called. Look at the screen.”
You looked down at the glowing display. Open on his phone was a text thread from his dad. Your eyes scanned the messages stretching across the last hour.
It was a brutal barrage of stern texts, culminating in a string of missed calls and direct orders demanding Aerion handle his brother Daeron's latest legal mess immediately.
Aerion was stuck on a group call with his father and some legal person all the way from 7:28 to 8:02 PM.
“I couldn’t hang up on him,” Aerion murmured, his eyes searching your face, begging you for forgiveness. “The second he let me off the phone, I didn’t look at my notifications. I just went straight to my car and drove to your place. When I saw you weren’t there, I tried calling back but you didn’t pick up.”
Looking at the undeniable proof on his screen, the knot in your chest slowly began to deflate. He wasn't lying. He looked exhausted and terrified that his family problems had ruined his chances with you.
You slowly handed the phone back to him, letting out a long, shaky breath, though you kept your posture guarded. “I’m sorry your dad’s putting you through this. But I wish you spared at least a second to tell me.”
“I know,” he said softly, leaning in a fraction closer, his gaze fixed entirely on your eyes. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”
You didn’t know what to say. Glancing down at the dashboard clock, it was already creeping past 8:30 PM.
“What about the restaurant?” you asked, shifting in your seat and breaking the quiet. “We’re late. They probably gave our table away to someone else.”
Hearing the softer tone in your voice, Aerion reached forward and turned the ignition on. The engine roared back to life and he shifted the car into drive.
“What about it?” He casted a brief glance your way as he turned the steering wheel to pull out of the lot. “They know my family. That table isn’t going anywhere.”
As it turned out, he wasn’t exaggerating. When the two of you arrived, the hostess didn’t even look at the clock. The moment Aerion stepped in, her eyes widened slightly, and she immediately gathered two menus.
“Right this way, please.”
She led you both past the main dining area to a secluded table in the back, tucked away and bathed in the warm, golden glow of a low hanging chandelier.
But the moment you slid onto the plush velvet seat, Aerion stopped before sitting down across from you. He patted his pocket, his brows drawing together as if he just remembered something urgent.
“Wait,” he murmured, “I have to go back to the car. I left something in the console.”
Before you could even reply, he turned around and disappeared back through the restaurant lobby.
Your stomach instantly dropped, another wave of disappointment washing over you. You sat alone at the table, feeling completely out of place.
You automatically assumed Maekar had called him the second he stepped out of the vehicle, and now Aerion was going to stand in the parking lot for another twenty minutes handling it while you sat here by yourself.
A few minutes passed, each second stretching like an eternity. You were about to go look for him when a shadow fell over the table.
You snapped your head up, about to question him but the words died on your lips.
Aerion was standing there, holding an absurdly large bouquet of fresh white roses mixed with your favorite delicate florals. He looked slightly flushed, a rare hint of self consciousness in his eyes as he carefully placed the massive arrangement on the seat right beside you. The sweet, rich scent of the flowers immediately engulfed your senses.
You were going to speak but he slid into the seat across from you and reached into his pocket, placing a small, sleek black velvet box onto the table. He pushed it forward until it tapped gently against your water glass.
“Did you think I was making another call?” he asked gently as he read the lingering tension on your face. “I had to hide them in the trunk so you wouldn’t see them on the drive over.”
Your heart did a brutal flip against your ribs. You reached out, picked up the box, and opened it. Resting inside was a gorgeous, delicate gold ring, its band intricately designed to perfectly match the silver rings he always wore on his own hands.
“To make it official,” Aerion explained, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto yours intensely, making your breath hitch. “No more confusion. I’m yours, you’re mine.”
A massive, sweet smile broke across your face. You tried your absolute best to bite your lower lip and fight it down, wanting to contain your excitement, but it was pointless.
“A massive bouquet and a ring?” you giggled, lifting the delicate band out of the box and slipping it onto your finger. It fit flawlessly. You held your hand up, admiring the way it caught the warm candlelight before looking back at him.
“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend or trying to marry me, Aerion? You are so extra.” You teased, though your heart was beating with a dizzying speed.
Aerion let out a low laugh, the last of the tension shattering as he reached across the table, wrapping his hand firmly over yours. “It suits you.” He spun the ring around your finger, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and softness that was reserved just for you.
The drive back to your apartment was filled with anticipation. The sweet scent of the white roses filled the car, resting safely in your lap as you kept twisting the new ring around your finger.
Aerion drove with one hand on the wheel, his other hand resting firmly on the center console, palm up. You slid your fingers into his, and he immediately locked them together, his thumb tracing slow strokes over your skin all the way to your apartment.
When he parked, he didn’t give you a chance to reach for the flowers. He grabbed the massive bouquet himself, keeping his other hand anchored to the small of your back as he guided you up the stairs and down the quiet hallway to your front door.
You unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. You turned around to finally take the arrangement from him, but Aerion simply bypassed you, setting the heavy bundle down on the table in the living room.
The front door clicked shut behind him, locking you both in.
The atmosphere in the room instantly shifted, thick with magnetic tension that made your pulse hitch.
Aerion stepped right in front of you, crowding you until your back met the cool wood of the door. He rested one hand flat against the wood beside your head, trapping you in.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, searching your face. His gaze traveled deliberately down your dress before snapping back up to lock onto your eyes. “It took everything in me to sit through dinner without doing this.”
A breathless smile formed on your face, your heart doing a violent thud. “Really? Thought you were just staring at the menu.”
“I wasn’t looking at the menu,” he muttered, a soft gleam in his eyes. His free hand reached up, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck, his thumb tilting your chin up.
He leaned down, closing the remaining distance to capture your lips in a deep kiss.
Heat shot through your entire body. Your hands instantly flew up, tangling desperately into his soft hair, pulling him closer. Aerion let out a low groan against your mouth, his hand leaving the door to wrap tightly around your waist.
He pulled you flush, removing any space left between you until you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own.
The kiss quickly escalated. His tongue slid past your parted lips, tasting you with a hunger that made your knees weak.
Without breaking contact, his hands slid down to hook firmly under your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up from the floor.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you across the short distance of the room, seamlessly setting you down onto the cushions of the sofa.
He hovered over you, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your shoulders. The sheer happiness of the night finally overtook you. You let out a muffled giggle against his lips.
Aerion paused, backing up just a fraction. He looked down at you, a massive, soft smile breaking across his own face.
“What?” he whispered, his chest heaving as he laughed softly against your mouth, his nose playfully nuzzling yours. “What's so funny?”
“Nothing,” you gasped out, laughing properly now as you wrapped your arms securely around his neck, pulling him down a little closer.
He chuckled warmly as he leaned down to kiss you again.
This time, it was different. It was sweet and messy. You both kept laughing in between kisses, your lips bumping together clumsily as Aerion peppered them all over your face.
“Stop, I can’t breathe,” you giggled, pressing your hands flat on his chest, though your fingers were still gripping his shirt.
“Don’t care,” he mumbled against your lips, a light laugh escaping him as he caught your mouth one more time, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight on the cushions of your quiet apartment.
SUMMARY - You receive a message from a random number and you two begin texting frequently. However, you accidentally figure out who it is.
CONTAINS - banter (crack to a point), aerion is aerion, modern AU, peep the small details!! Read part two, part three
A/N - i keep getting vague modern aerion requests soo!
Your phone vibrated against your mattress late at night.
You rolled over, the glare of the screen hitting your eyes in your dark room. It was an unsaved number.
UNKNOWN: where the fuck is the link for davis’s class
You stared at the screen for a few seconds. You were wide awake, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to start on your own work.
You giggled at your own message before hitting send.
YOU: I sold it oops
The reply came before you could even exit the app.
UNKNOWN: stop fucking around man im not in the mood
YOU: I dont think this is the right number lol
A minute passed with the typing bubbles flickering on and off a couple times.
UNKNOWN: the fuck
YOU: If ur stuck on his class just check the 2022 archive
There was no response after that. You eventually drifted off to sleep, figuring that was the end of a weird interaction.
Four days passed, and you completely forgot about the random text until friday when you received a notification from the same number.
UNKNOWN: it worked
You blinked at the message, trying to remember who it even was.
YOU: Yeah
UNKNOWN: howd you know about that
YOU: I saw his desktop open with that site and took my chances
UNKNOWN: youre actually not michael?
YOU: No im pretty sure im not a guy
You thought the conversation would end there, but about ten minutes later, you got another text.
UNKNOWN: any other shortcuts u know about
YOU: Maybe
Over the next two weeks, the texts became a weird regular thing. It wasn’t a constant back and forth, but it turned into a daily routine.
You’d get a text in the middle of the afternoon about whatever, or you’d send a quick message about random things in your life.
You didn’t know each other. There was no pressure. You didn't have to put on a performance to try to impress whoever it was you were talking to.
UNKNOWN: what were u saying
UNKNOWN: just got to the gym
YOU: Tf didnt you just leave ur room
UNKNOWN: yeah
YOU: Is the gym right next to ur house or smth
UNKNOWN: the gyms downstairs
YOU: Oh you live in an apartment??
UNKNOWN: no
UNKNOWN: i have a gym in my house dumbass
YOU: Oh!!!!!
YOU: Different tax bracket
UNKNOWN: funny
You found yourself looking forward to those short, blunt messages. He was definitely arrogant, but he was always honest and that pulled you in.
By the third week, the conversations started stretching later into the night. You’d be lying in bed, messaging your friends, and a text would pop up at 1 AM.
👻: why the fuck are you awake
YOU: Im readingg
YOU: why are YOU awake
👻: driving
YOU: Ur gonna die
YOU: Get off ur phone
👻: you sound like my dad
👻: hes the reason im driving
YOU: Shit is he at the hospital??
👻: no im clearing my head
YOU: Oh
YOU: You okay?
👻: family dinner was so fucking annoying
👻: just micromanaging my schedule like im some kid
YOU: I feel that, my parents keep controlling my life its so stupid
👻: exactly its pathetic
👻: honestly its weird talking to you
You: Ok whyd i catch a stray hello
👻: no i mean its off talking to someone who isnt trying to get something out of me
YOU: Idek who u are so theres nothing to get
👻: keep it that way
Then during one morning, you walked into the lecture hall for Professor Davis’s class.
The room was already buzzing with students and you took your usual seat next to Tanselle who was busy drawing sketches on her paper.
“Did you finish the reading he gave last week?” Tanselle asked, not looking up from her page.
“Barely,” you muttered, pulling your laptop out of your bag. “I read like two pages.”
Down in the fourth row, right near the aisle, Aerion Targaryen was slouched back in his seat. He had his dark leather jacket slung over the back of his chair and was surrounded by his usual crowd.
One of them said something, and Aerion let out a short laugh. The guy looked around the group with triumph all over his face, proud that he managed to impress Aerion.
Just then, your professor began talking and it didn't take long for you to lose focus.
Bored out of your mind as Professor Davis started droning on about the text you guys were supposed to read, you pulled your phone out under the desk.
YOU: Im bored entertain me
You hit send.
You kept your eyes on your screen, but then out of habit, your gaze drifted back down toward the front of the room.
Down in row four, you watched Aerion reach into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lip.
His jaw set as he read something, and his thumbs immediately typed out a fast response before he shoved the phone face down on his desk.
Your phone vibrated in your palm.
👻: go entertain yourself
Your breath hitched. You stared at the screen, your heart doing a weird thud against your ribs.
No way, you thought. The lecture hall is massive. At least forty people were on their phones. It’s a coincidence.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You needed to be absolutely sure. You typed out a reply, keeping your eyes glued directly on the back of his silver head.
YOU: Ok unkind
YOU: So ur actually paying attention to class?
The exact moment your text delivered, you watched as Aerion’s head tilted down. He picked his phone back up, scoffing under his breath. His thumbs moved around the screen, typing quickly.
Buzz.
👻: no im looking at my phone because a dumbass is texting me
A cold wave of panic hit you.
Your eyes darted from the screen to the back of his leather jacket. Your mind was short-circuiting, trying to connect the dots.
Aerion Targaryen.
Aerion Targaryen who had a reputation for being, well, himself— was the exact same person who had been texting you until midnight.
You spent the remaining minutes of that lecture staring into the wall. Every time Aerion shifted, your eyes snapped straight to him.
When the bell finally rang, the sudden noise of chairs scraping against the floor made you jump.
“Thank god,” Tanselle muttered, slamming her notebook shut. “You coming to the library?”
“I don’t think so,” you replied after a beat, shoving your things into your bag.
At the front, Aerion was already walking. One of the guys threw an arm over his shoulder and Aerion swatted him off with a grin.
He didn’t look back once. He had absolutely no idea.
For the next three days, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach did a flip. You knew exactly who was on the other side of the screen now, while he remained clueless.
During a late saturday night, you were eating with your friends when your screen lit up.
👻: this movies terrible
👻: why would you recommend this
You stared at the text. Knowing it was Aerion, reading the texts felt completely surreal.
YOU: Ok my bad ill just die
YOU: Its good tho idk what ur on
👻: its not
You: Lol turn it off then
👻: im already an hour in
👻: wouldnt wanna hurt your feelings
YOU: Aww how sweet
YOU: Stubborn bitch…
You bit your lip as you sent the second message. No one would dare to call him that in person, it was thrilling.
👻: lmao
👻: what are you doing anyway
YOU: Eating cheesecake
YOU: Wait have u done the assignment due next week
👻: nah im dreading the partner assignment on monday
👻: if i get paired with one of the idiots im doing it alone
You swallowed hard, grabbing your glass to drink the strain away.
YOU: Maybe youll get someone decent
👻: doubt it
You closed your phone and pressed it onto your chest. He was so different in real life.
When monday came, the room was silenced as Professor Davis tapped his microphone, turning on the massive projector behind him.
“Alright, I’ve randomized the pairings for the research,” he announced. “Check the board, find your partner, and spend the rest of the period discussing with them.”
Your eyes scanned the list, stopping as you found your name near the center column.
Your lungs locked up.
Aerion Targaryen was written right next to it.
“Oh, jeez,” Tanselle said, looking at you with worry. “You got Aerion… Good luck babe.”
Down in row four, Aerion didn’t even bother looking back to find his partner. He simply opened his laptop, ignoring the rest of the room while his friends started moving around. He clearly expected whoever his partner was to come to him.
You took in a deep breath, grabbing your bag.
Walking down the steps felt like walking a plank. As you got closer to his seat, a couple of his friends looked up at you. One of them nudged the guy next to him to clear a seat for you, leaving an empty chair next to Aerion.
You gave them a light smile before sliding into the seat, setting your laptop on the desk. Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and musk.
“You’re my partner?” he asked, his voice a careless drawl. He still didn’t look at you, opening a blank document.
“Yeah.” You kept your voice as even as possible.
“Type in your email,” he said, turning the laptop just an inch so you could see the screen. “I’ll do the body and everything else. You do the outline and introduction.”
You blinked at him, the contrast hitting you like a physical punch. No jokes, no banter, no casualty.
You were aware he had a reputation for being a ‘womanizer.’ So why was he so cold to you?
“Okay,” you mumbled as you awkwardly reached out to type in your email.
He didn’t say another word to you for the rest of the hour. You sat right next to him, occasionally looking at the side of his sharp profile, realizing this was the same guy who had texted you about the miserable movie you recommended to him just two nights ago.
By 10 PM that same day, you were sitting on your bed, staring at the shared Google Docs. He had already finished his sections before you did.
Your phone buzzed on your blanket.
👻: just wrapped up that history project early so i dont have to deal with it later
You read his message, a sour feeling building up in your chest. You picked it up, your expression hardening.
YOU: Lucky, im still doing mine
You lied.
👻: thats sad
Chewing on your inner cheek, your thumbs moved before you could stop.
YOU: Hows ur partner
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
👻: its some girl in my section i didnt pay attention
👻: she didnt mess anything up, shes whatever
She’s whatever.
Your eyes fixed on his message until they blurred. You had spent weeks listening to him, laughing at his texts, sharing personal concerns to each other—and yet in real life, you were just a boring, insignificant whatever to him.
The irritation flared up. You tossed your laptop onto your bedside table and sat back against the headboard of your bed.
YOU: Cool
A minute passed without a response.
👻: just cool?
YOU: Yeah
👻: youre acting weird
You left the text on read. Not like it mattered, his read receipts were off. Throwing the phone somewhere in your bed, you didn’t reply.
For the next few days, you struggled returning to how you normally were.
He didn’t text you the next morning but eventually did at night, and you left it unreplied for two hours before sending a short answer.
👻: you alive?
YOU: Yes
👻: ok whats wrong then
YOU: Nothing
👻: ???
YOU: What
👻: fine
It felt petty, but each time you looked at your phone, you remembered him sitting right next to you and not even glancing your way. You felt stupid, but his words hurt too.
If you were just a blank space to him in person, you figured it would be better if you were that way on every platform.
By the end of the week, the silence between your texts was heavy. He didn’t text you back after the last chat, and you definitely weren’t going to break first.
You were sitting in class when Tanselle walked in, settling in the chair beside you.
Professor Davis cleared his throat before speaking. “Alright, before we start today’s lecture, I’ve set up a group thread for the upcoming peer reviews. Click on the link and make sure you’re in it by the end of the day.”
You opened your phone to join the chat, then automatically shoved the phone back into your bag. You had no intention of participating.
The period of the lecture ended with a few minutes remaining and your phone started vibrating nonstop.
You tried to ignore it, but the constant noise was getting frustrating. You reached into your bag and pulled it out, looking to mute the group.
A new message popped up at the bottom of the chat. A classmate tagged your number directly because you hadn’t put your name on the sheet yet.
Too annoyed with the whole class to care, you swiped the app and locked your screen.
Then, your eyes subconsciously drifted toward Aerion. You watched as he pulled his phone out.
He was scrolling through the mass text thread when suddenly, he froze.
His head tilted slightly. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the only text tagging a number. The number he’d been texting every day.
Up front, the classmate who had sent the message lost his patience. He turned around, looking up at where you and Tanselle were sitting.
The guy called out your name, his voice turning multiple heads in the quiet room. “I just tagged your number in the group, you need to upload your topic.”
The sound of your name echoed through the lecture.
Aerion’s head snapped up.
He didn’t look at the guy talking to you. His eyes darted straight up until they locked dead onto you.
The usual expression on his face dropped away. His eyes searched your entire face, his brows drawing in closer.
He saw the phone in your hand before going back to your face.
It clicked.
You stilled under his gaze, the blood rushing loud in your ears.
Beside you, Tanselle nudged your shoulder. “Babe. Babe? He’s talking to you?”
“Yeah,” you managed to choke out. Your fingers felt like wood as you uploaded the topic into the sheet. “Done. It’s in there.”
The classmate muttered a quick thanks and turned back around.
But Aerion didn’t.
He stayed shifted in his seat, his body turned toward your row. One of his friends said something, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, but Aerion blindly shrugged the guy’s hands off without looking at him. His dark gaze remained on you.
You looked down at your screen, pretending to type, but you could feel the weight of his stare.
A quick glance back down confirmed it. He was staring at you like he was seeing you for the first time, his mind putting the pieces together.
Some girl in my section, she’s whatever. He finally understood why you had iced him.
When the bell rang, you instantly stood up, already packing your bag.
“Why are you in such a rush?” Tanselle asked, shaking her head with confusion.
You gave her a tight smile. “I just need to get back.”
You wanted to wait out the crowd, hoping he’d leave first, but Aerion was already standing by the row exit.
He leaned his back against the desk, ignoring his friends as they stood confused as to why he was still there.
Panic flared in your chest. You didn’t think this through properly.
Without thinking, you threw yourself into the small crowd shuffling through the other exit at the top of the hall.
You basically sprinted across the stone of the parking lot, your keys already clutched in your hand. Unlocking the car, you threw your bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
You slumped on the headrest, gripping the steering wheel as you finally let out a breath.
Then, your phone lit up with two notifications.
There were two missed calls and above them another notification popped up. It was a text.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
-18+, modern au, m masterbation, mentions of past sex experiences, mentions of f masterbation, basically he jerks off to reading your diary and he's super obsessed with you like a pervy little creep! ᥫ᭡
the house is dark and silent. he knows your parents are away for the weekend. he knows you are at the country club with your stupid friends.
the back window is always unlocked, a relic of your teenage years when you used to sneak out to meet him. it sticks a little, and he has to put his shoulder into it, the old wood groaning in protest. he slips inside, landing silently on the plush carpet of your bedroom.
the air in here is so you. it smells faintly of your lavender laundry detergent and the body lotion you use. it's a smell that used to bring him comfort, but now it just twists in his gut like a knife.
his eyes scan the room, taking in every detail. the pink comforter on the bed, still rumpled from this morning. the stack of books on the nightstand. the framed photo of you and valarr on your dresser, smiling and perfect. he has to look away, a hot surge of jealousy rising in his throat.
he's not here to steal anything. he's not here to cause trouble, not in the way he usually does. he's here for something else…
something more pathetic.
he goes to your closet, sliding the door open with a soft whisper. there, on the top shelf, tucked inside a shoebox, is the diary. he saw you put it there once, months ago, when he'd "accidentally" shown up while you were cleaning. he'd filed the information away, a dark little secret for a rainy day.
he pulls the box down, his hands trembling slightly. he lifts the lid, and there it is. the leather-bound book. he runs his thumb over the cover, the familiar texture sending a jolt through him.
he doesn't bother sitting. he just sinks to the floor, leaning against the side of your bed, and opens it. he flips past the early entries, the ones about high school and college, looking for his name.
he finds it easily.
the pages are dog-eared, the ink slightly smudged in places where she cried.
he starts to read.
"...aerion was at the garage today. he looks so much older, but his eyes are the same. so blue. so sad. i wanted to go to him, to wipe the grease off his cheek, but valarr was with me. i saw the look in aerion's eyes. he hates me. and i don't blame him."
aerion's jaw tightens. he remembers that day. he remembers the way his heart had seized in his chest when he saw her, and the way it had shattered when he saw valarr's arm slung casually around her shoulders.
he reads on, his fingers tracing the words on the page.
"...i dreamt about him last night. we were sixteen again, behind the bleachers. i miss him so much it feels like a physical pain."
he closes his eyes, his throat thick with emotion. she misses him. the thought is both a comfort and a torment. he leans his head back against her bed, breathing in the scent of your pillow. it's intoxicating.
he flips to a more recent entry.
his eyes scan the neat, looping handwriting, his breath catching in his throat. from the night in the diner. from the night in his truck.
"...he kissed me," the diary reads. "...it wasn't angry anymore. it was slow. that old ache coming back to life. i think i'm still in love with him."
aerion groans, his head falling back against the front bed frame. all of a sudden, a hot white throb surges to his cock.
he remembers that kiss. he remembers the way you felt in his arms, the way you melted against him. he remembers thinking, just one more time. just to feel it again.
he palms his hardening cock through his jeans. how fucking pathetic, he thinks. but the words on the page cause all his shame and disdain for himself to go out the window.
he unzips his jeans quickly and pulls out his hardening, flushed cock, already leaking pre-cum, and starts to stroke himself steadily.
he scrolls down, his eyes devouring the words.
"...we were in his truck. i climbed onto his lap. the steering wheel was digging into my back but i didn't care. all i could feel was him. he filled me up so completely, i thought i might break apart. he felt like home."
his grip on his cock tightens, his strokes becoming faster, more erratic.
"fuck," he grunts, his hips bucking up into his fist. the memory is so vivid it's like he's there again. the tight, wet heat of you, the way you moved on top of him, the little sounds you made. the way you smelled…
his eyes land on the next paragraph, and his heart stops.
"...he held my hand. while we were... you know. he held my hand. and he brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles. he called me his girl. 'my girl!!!' i believed him. i believed everything."
the words hit him like a physical blow. he remembers that. the sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion. the way it felt more intimate than the sex itself. the way it felt like a promise.
he closes his eyes, the image of your face, your head thrown back in pleasure, lips parted, eyes locked on his, burned into his mind. he can almost feel the weight of you on his lap, the softness of your skin under his calloused hands, the way your smaller fingers laced with his.
he's stroking himself furiously now, his breath coming in ragged gasps. he's not just getting off to the memory of the sex. he's getting off to the memory of the feeling. he was her aerion.
he imagines you reading this diary entry right now, touching yourself to the memory of him.
he wonders if you ever call out his name, if your little fingers can even reach the spots his can? if you have to muffle your pretty little high pitched moans to keep anyone from finding out...
the thought sends a jolt of pure, possessive lust through him.
"mine," he grits out through clenched teeth, his hand moving faster. "baby you're- fucking mine."
his orgasm hits him hard, a violent, shuddering wave that rips through his body. he spills over his hand and stomach with a choked cry, your name a broken whisper on his lips.
for a moment, he just lies there, panting, the mess cooling on his skin. the shame comes crashing down on him, cold and suffocating. he just jerked off to her diary. to her private, most intimate thoughts. he's a fucking monster.
he's disgusting. he's a pathetic, jealous, obsessive piece of shit.
but even as the self-loathing threatens to drown him, a dark, possessive thought flickers in the back of his mind.
she believed him.
after he cleans himself up and tucks the diary back he climbs back out the window, his heart pounding in his chest.
he doesn't look back.
he thinks later, that he should have taken photos of what you wrote just to have whenever...
he's completely, utterly obsessed. this confirms it.
