𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

While you hope for him to actually get the message and stop chasing you, he doesn't give up. You manoeuvre your way between the students, steps filled with care and bounce to make you faster.

Careful to not bump against anyone, you frantically search a spot to hide from him, sweat building on top of your skin because of the movements and anxiety to get away from him as soon as possible.

Although you are fast to round the corner, trying to blend with the people as soon as you are out of sight — Dick is a man built for the chase. He weaves through the crowded hallway and students with the ease.

Suddenly, he's a man on a mission, someone who tries to catch you as quickly as possible. He ignores the people around him, calling after him to talk about the party last night or the upcoming party today.

For all he cares, this is a talk for later because his priority one is you at the very moment. He instantly spots you when he turned the corner, eyes locked with your back and seeing how your pace quickened again, his lips curving into a grin.

Do you really expect to outrun him?

Someone who spent half his life performing acrobatics?

Just like you, he picks up the pace again and as soon as he closed the distance, he catches up with you — hand grasping your sleeve, fingers curling around your elbow gently to tug you back.

"Aren't you a fast one?" he pants slightly, amusement a vivid gleam in his eyes.

"Only when I want to get away from... someone." you breathe out and glance behind your shoulder, furrowing your brows slightly in annoyance.

Dick Grayson. In all his glory — not even breaking one sweat, but pretending to pant a bit to pity you. The boy, who has been chasing you since the start of the year for whatever reason.

"Get straight to the point. What do you want?"

He steps into your personal space while an earnest and confident grin forms on his lips. "Since you seem to in such a hurry, I thought I could walk you to the next class." he beams like the sun.

It sounds like a suggestion you could refuse but eventually, it isn't one because he would do it anyways. You twitch, frown etches deep into your face as you continued to stare at him.

"No, thanks." you still try to refuse straightforwardly.

"What?" his face drops into a puppy-eyes one, "are you going to keep treating me like a golden retriever?"

He was, and still is. In all seriousness and honesty and fairness.

You rub your temple to calm yourself down, pinching the bridge of your nose and breathing out again. "You disgust me." you comment at the innocent expression that is supposed to bring in guilt instead of disgust.

Unfortunately for you, it doesn't really faze him. Instead — it amuses him, as he begins to smile at you again. He doesn't try to defend his honour and lets out a delighted, easy chuckle.

"Disgust you, huh? This is a first." he repeats, voice lowered and a mere whisper, enough to make your skin prickle. "I like that."

"Okay, so. Don't word it like this, you make it very weird."

"Only if you donate some of your time to this sad and pathetic and lonely and apparently disgusting puppy."

"Eugh—did you just seriously say that?"

The deadpan turns into a grimace as you take one step back from him, not believing what your ears just took in. Yet that comment makes him chuckle again, the atmosphere between the two of you seems light and friendly, something that actually eases him after all the tension between social circles and drama among the popular students.

Until your time is cut short by a group of boys and girls, who approached him the moment the laid their eyes on him. Their smile and grin are bright, voice boisterous loud, talk long and boring.

"Dick, what's up man—!"

It doesn't take long at all, only a few seconds pass before they're involved in a conversation. His friends drape their arms around Dick's shoulder while the girls hold a respectful distance, only chirpy giggles leaving their lips.

How should you leave? you blink, standing a few inches too close to the center of attention.

The infamous boy is in the middle of a laugh, responding to a joke his friend just made, but he isn't actually listening. His attention seems split, trying to perform the role of the social butterfly the charismatic Dick Grayson. The other half of attention is wondering how he can get out smoothly with you.

You sigh out and let your gaze flicker before they eventually land on one girl. Because she was undeniably pretty — beauty from another world even, on another level.

Warm and angelic smiles that has drawn anyone in who looked into her direction, radiating a soft yet bright aura, gentle and adorable doe eyes. She was dressed the modest, style casual and pretty fitting for her aura she emitted.

Head titling slightly, your gaze goes back and forth between Dick and the girl. If your friends told you right, that girl had a crush on Dick.

You couldn't help but twitch when your gazes clash, noticing how she was staring at you as well. You send her a little smile as soon as she notices how close you stand next to Dick.

Maybe you should leave him at that.

A hum leaves your lips while unfortunately finding yourself amidst the little group, eyes wandering to the open space.

Before you could make an attempt to slip away quietly and unnoticed, Dick intervenes — his instincts kick in and he doesn't even have to think about it. For him, it's a reflex as natural as breathing.

His hand subconsciously finds the edge of your shirt, fingers hooking into the fabrics before a firm but gentle tug pulls you back into his orbit. You yelp, quiet enough to not interrupt the ongoing conversation as stumble — back hitting his shoulder lightly.

"Woah there, princess," he murmurs, his voice equally quiet enough that it's almost lost in the chatter of his friends.

"Let go, Grayson." you hiss in annoyance, feeling how your eye starts to twitch because of him.

Dick doesn't pull his hand away though, barely takes in your demand. His grip softens ever so slightly around the edge of your shirt before his hand finds itself behind your lower back.

He turns his head slightly to meet your glare. His lips curve into a bright grin, brighter than the shine of the sun. You frown at that, corner of your lips weighing down.

There's silent challenge in your clash.

Stop gluing yourself to me you narrow your eyes.

Then try to escape his smile looks innocent.

© 2026 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work ⸝⸝

divider source — @cursed-carmine ⸝⸝

author’s note — bro this idea was a lot better in my head and i just added so unnecessary many elements that aren’t even important imma kms haha ⸝⸝

The worst part? You indulged that little usurper every single time.

“Who is my good boy?” you cooed, bouncing Maegor on your knee and earning a delighted squeal in return. “Who is he, hmm?”

Maegor giggled, tiny arms wrapping around your neck as he buried his face against your cheek. Then, peeking over your shoulder with his wide, glassy violet eyes, the boy looked towards Aerion.

He beamed triumphantly then, settled smugly against you.

Aerion stared, a brow rose slowly in disbelief. From that moment onwards, he became convinced that cunning little thing knew exactly what he was doing.

And if Maegor understood the extent of his power, then Aerion was no longer competing with a babe— he was competing with a schemer!

Therefore, if he wished to have his wife to himself again, drastic measures would be required.

You loved your son to bits, and if you were being completely honest, there was something endlessly entertaining in watching your prickly prince look on as though he had been personally wronged while you lavished Maegor with affection.

Still, you took pity on him. Perhaps tonight, you would leave your son with the wet nurses for a few hours, at least until—

You rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into the object of your thoughts.

“Wife.”

Aerion appeared before you as though summoned by fate itself, standing between you and the oak doors of your marital chamber.

“We are not retiring here tonight,” he announced with a smile that immediately made you suspicious.

“Huh? Aerion—” Before you could protest, he caught your hand and began leading you down the corridor.

“No.”

You leveled a frown at him. “You do not even know what I am going to say.”

He shot you a flat look. “You are going to ask what will become of our son without you tonight.”

“Well—”

“Then no.”

You snorted despite yourself, struggling to keep pace with his determined stride. “Where are you taking me, husband?”

“You shall see.”

The two of you ventured deeper into Summerhall, farther from your apartments than you had expected. The halls gradually grew quieter, the familiar sounds of servants and guards fading into the distance.

When Aerion finally stopped before a heavy oak door situated at the far end of an isolated corridor, your curiosity had long since overcome your annoyance.

The moment he pushed the door open, a cool breeze greeted you from the open windows, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of summer blooms from the gardens below. Scented candles cast a golden glow throughout the chamber, their flames dancing softly against carved walls and elegant furnishings.

You stopped short, taking in the sight. Everything was serene and unmistakably deliberate, perfectly a chamber for relaxation— he had planned this.

“Aerion...” Your eyes swept across the room before settling on him. “When did you—”

The question never left your lips. One moment you were standing beside him; the next, a surprised gasp escaped you as he swept you clean off your feet as though you weighed nothing at all.

“Aerion!” Instinctively, your arms looped around his neck while his answered laugh rumbled warmly in his chest.

“Yes, wife?” he playfully asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he carried you further into the candlelit chamber.

He lowered himself onto the mattress, taking you with him until you found yourself sprawled atop him. One arm settled around your waist immediately, as though he had no intention of letting you escape.

“Maegor is—”

“He is well-fed, warm, lacks for nothing, and is currently asleep,” he immediately declared, as if anticipating your question.

“But—”

“He has three wet nurses and six servants hovering over him, enough toys to occupy an entire nursery, and Egg along with his absurdly tall knight standing guard nearby besides.”

“Why would Egg and Ser Duncan—”

His violet eyes narrowed into unsatisfactory frown then, a hand lifted to your cheek.

“This lady protests far too much.”

Before you could muster a retort, he captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making words die between your lips.

“Mmh, ah...” The kiss was firm, a bit forceful like he was, and entirely unfair. You held onto his shoulders, made a muffled sound of surprise as Aerion bit your lip and drew you closer, one arm tightening around your waist while his other hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your face toward his, deepening the kiss until it left you breathless.

Unlike the all-consuming fire his kisses usually were, there was nothing hurried about this kiss. This felt like a seduction, longing and the bottled-up feelings of a man who had gone too many days without the comfort of his wife, savoring her presence now that he finally had her to himself.

When he finally pulled back, it was barely by an inch. You gazed into the bewitching Targaryen violet irises of his, almost spellbound.

“There,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that rich, velvety drawl that always made your heart skip. “For one glorious moment, you were not thinking about our son.”

You almost broke into a grin. “Is that what this is about?”

His arms tightened around you possessively, those dangerous eyes eyeing your lips again.

“The fact that I have scarcely had my wife to myself in days? Fucking yes.”

Had someone told you years ago that Aerion Brightflame would become your husband and it would lead to love, you would have had them hauled away for speaking madness. For the better part of your youth, you had been convinced he would be a catastrophe.

Instead, by some strange twist of fate, he had become the love of your life... and you, his.

His lips curled into that infuriatingly smug smile as his gaze lingered on you. With every passing second, you could feel the warmth creeping further into your cheeks, getting more conscious of his heat pressing between your legs.

“What use is there in growing shy now?” he asked lazily. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Yet as always, you refused to let him have the upper hand so easily.

“Oh, listen to yourself,” you scoffed. “All that confidence, when the truth is far simpler.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That you are utterly captivated by me.”

Without answering, Aerion reached for you, his fingers finding the lace fastened at your back. Absentmindedly, he began loosening it while continuing to study you with an expression that was equal parts amusement and affection.

“Wife,” a wry smile on his lips, he shook his head fondly, “your arrogance grows by the day.”

You batted your lashes innocently, knowing full well what he was doing behind your back. “And who do you think I learn that from?”

Sometimes a prude, other times a wanton. Years ago, you had been the little lady he delighted in tormenting, however now, you were the woman he would defend with fire and blood. Anyone who dared bring tears to your eyes would quickly learn how dangerous the Bright Prince could be when it came to protecting what was his.

The last knot of your lace came undone beneath his fingers.

“Mayhaps you are right.”

You poked his chest in mock surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with my evil husband?”

His lush lips crooked into a sinful grin, and he bounced you once, making sure you could feel his hardness, before going after your neck and bit the skin there, making you hiss.

“How terrible of you,” he breathed against your ear. “You have utterly ruined me for anyone else, sweet wife.”

When he eased you back onto the bed and bent over you, raining hot kisses wherever he could reach, you found yourself surrendering without protest.

And when he laved that very sinful tongue on your skin, nipping and worshipping you at the same time— you let him, your fingers found their way to his back and scalp, clutching at him.

And when he commanded you to cry out his name, you did— it was the only thing you could comprehend amidst the hazy lust and the bliss engulfing you both as he proved himself very much capable of pleasuring you.

“Can I ask you something?”

In the afterglow, curled comfortably and sheltered within the warmth of his embrace, you tilted your head to look at him.

Aerion, who had been idly tracing circles against your arm, still had his eyes shut. “Spit it out already.”

“Did you hate me?”

He almost cursed out of impulse. His eyes flew open at once and he turned to you with a frown.

“When we were but children, I mean,” you clarified.

The memory of childhood was still vivid in your mind. Aerion had shoved you, stolen every lemon tart he could get his hands on, run straight to his father with fabricated accusations whenever it suited him. For years, you had been convinced the prince disliked you beyond redemption.

“Hate you?” Your husband looked at you with the most disapproving look, as if you had spouted pure nonsense. “Seven hells, woman. No.”

“No?”

His lips were wound tight. “No.”

“You made me cry rather often, though.”

“I made everyone cry often.”

You were quiet after that, and it made Aerion reflect on those days too. Was every prank he pulled on you constituted as hate? How could they, when he looked forward to your visits to King’s Landing too?

“I did not hate you,” he said firmly, turning onto his side to face you, and a smile found its way to your face at the way his violet eyes hardened.

He was exceptionally terrible at putting his feelings into words, yet your prince was also the man who had ensured your son was fed, comfortable, and watched over by half of Summerhall before whisking you away to the far end of the castle simply so he could have a quiet evening alone with his wife.

“I still have grievances, you see,” you informed him, lazily tracing a finger across his chest. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to spend some time considering how best to make amends.”

He blinked. “For childhood crimes committed before I reached manhood?”

“All of them.”

“Cruel woman.”

“Your sweet wife, remember?”

He snorted, and he pulled you closer until your head rested above his heart. The candles had burned low, and beyond the windows, the summer wind stirred the gardens, and somewhere in the distance, Summerhall slept.

“My wife.” Aerion responds dramatically resting his hand on his forehead, like a dramatic maiden. Truly pathetic.

“What about her?” Maekar asks not actually caring but he knows he can’t get anything done until he’s dealt with Aerion.

“She’s left me.”

“No she hasn’t.” Maekar say rolling his eyes, knowing that you’re just in the library with Aemon researching healing techniques.

“She has, she’s spending her time with everyone but me.” Aerion proclaims, thinking back to how you spent last night reading to his sisters before having a drink with Daeron. “She doesn’t love me anymore.”

“You’ve just come back from your second honeymoon.” Maekar says giving the boy a look. You both coming back from Dorne not even 2 weeks ago.

“Exactly we’re newlyweds she should be with me.” He responds already thinking of when he can take you on a third trip.

“You married over a year ago.” Maekar sighs, waiting for you both to give him a grandchild. Now not sure how Aerion will cope with you giving attention to a child.

“And?”

“Go away.” Maekar tells him sitting down behind his desk, having letters he’s got to deal with.

“That’s what she told me.” Aerion whines almost falling off the sofa when he moves dramatically.

“No she didn’t.” His father says, knowing you wouldn’t say that to your husband. You probably just told him to be quiet.

“It was implied.”

-

“Go away.” Aerion tells Rhae, the girl cuddling you in his bed, you reading to her.

“No, you go away.” She says snuggling into you.

“She’s my wife.” Aerion say pushing his youngest sister wanting her to leave so he can cuddle you.

“I was here first!” Rhae argues having been with you for the past hour, listening to you read.

“I was alive first!” Aerion argues back wanting you to himself.

“Enough!” You snap, fed up with the arguing as you have a headache. “Aerion if you would like to join us you can, but you have to be nice.”

-

“Can I have a hug?” Egg asks having hurt himself in the training yard when he jumped off a wall. He’s perfectly fine he just wants some comfort.

“Of course sweetheart.” You say going to stand up from where you’re sat with Aerion knitting a blanket.

“No.” Aerion says pulling you back into his arms and away from the boy you’re trying to hug.

“Aerion! He can have a hug.” You say trying to get out of your husband clinging hands.

“No he can’t.” Aerion says practically wrapping himself around you so you can’t get up. “Get your own wife!”

“I’m 10!” Egg argues, now wanting the hug even more to upset his brother.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Aerion counters pressing kisses all over your face. “Now fuck off.”

-

“We should go out tonight.” Daeron says to you over dinner, the both of you sharing a bottle of wine or two.

“That would be nice, I heard there’s a play happening outside that tavern we like.” You say placing your hand over Aerion’s as he places his on your thigh.

“We have to go then.” Daeron says before getting interrupted by his brother.

“No.”

“Aerion.” You say with a sigh, your husband being too dumb to realise he was included in we. Like he is every time.

“No, you’re my wife not his.” Aerion whines wanting to watch the play with you. “Why can’t we go together?”

“You’re invited you moron.” Daeron says giving his brother a look, thinking Aerion jealously is dumb.

You jammed the keys into the ignition and backed out of the parking space. The drive back home was scary. You kept looking back at your phone, expecting another text to pop up but thankfully none did.

When you finally got home, you locked the front door and leaned against it.

“What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

It was a good thing the next two days were a weekend. A temporary shield. For the next forty-eight hours, you didn’t have to step foot on campus and risk catching a glimpse of his silver hair across the building.

But hiding out in your room didn’t stop your mind from racing. A full day hadn’t even passed when you finally gave in and opened instagram. You pressed the search bar and typed his username into it.

You weren’t mutuals, he never followed you and neither did you follow him.

There wasn’t much to see. He only had one post and a highlight. It was strange trying to match that version of him with the guy who had texted you for the past month.

Though on sunday, while your phone was open on a groupchat, your peace was interrupted.

👻: youre online, i know you see my texts

You stared at the small block of text, your chest tightening. Again, you didn’t reply.

By monday morning, you had braced yourself to go to campus again. It was packed as you walked with Tanselle.

“So I told him if he thinks I’m letting that happen, he’s out of his mind,” Tanselle was saying, before her hand suddenly clamped down hard on your forearm. “Wait. Don’t look but Aerion is heading right to us.”

You looked up anyway.

Aerion was cutting through the crowded walkway. As soon as you looked, his eyes were already on you, his face tense and unreadable.

The people next to you instinctively quieted down, stepping back as he closed the distance and stopped in front of you.

You tried pivoting to the right but he blocked the way, cutting off your route.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice low and rough.

“I’m trying to get to class,” you replied, keeping your voice even, refusing to let the panic show on your face.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, stepping closer. His form completely covered yours, and you felt suffocated in the open area. “You know exactly why I’m standing here.”

You kept your arms folded around your waist, your posture rigid. A few students walking past were already slowing down, noticing the interaction. “I have to go,” you mumbled.

“No–”

“Aerion!”

A sharp voice broke the tension between you. A girl with long, blonde hair walked over, calling his name as she hurried over. It was Jess—you knew because your friends had told you she was someone he used to talk to before things apparently ended badly.

“Aerion, hold on,” she said, totally ignoring you as she reached him. “Did you get my messages? You haven’t replied to any of–”

Aerion didn’t look at her. He tilted his head slightly, his jaw tight as he dropped a flat, impatient, “not now.”

It was a short distraction, but it was enough. You didn’t hesitate as you grabbed Tanselle’s wrist, pulling her with you as you turned on your heel. You moved as fast as your legs could carry you.

“Whoa–hey! Slow down!” Tanselle stumbled slightly, scrambling to keep up as you dragged her toward the stairwell.

Once you got on the platform between the stairs, you let go of her wrists, your heart still pounding hard.

Tanselle adjusted her tote bag, looking at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell is happening?” She demanded. “You barely explained a thing to any of us and now Aerion is doing this? Since when do you two even speak?”

“I’ll explain later, I promise.” You looked down to make sure he wasn’t anywhere close. “Let’s just go.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Tanselle grumbled, though she immediately followed you up to the remaining steps.

Five minutes later, the bell rang and you were already sitting at your usual row in Davis’s class.

“Settle down,” Davis silenced the class. “Like I said, today we’re starting the peer reviews on the personal assignment from the start of this semester. You’ll be working with the same partner from the previous project, find them and get moving.”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could even think about moving, the chair next to you moved. Tanselle was gone, shooting you a sorry look as she settled next to her partner.

You searched around the room when suddenly, Aerion sat down, his shoulder brushing yours as he turned his upper body toward you.

“How long?” he asked, keeping his voice low, but his eyes were drilling into yours.

You turned your head, gaze fixing on your laptop, your fingers resting still on your keyboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop,” Aerion leaned closer. He looked guarded, a defensive edge tracing his words. “The text about the project. You knew it was me. How long have you known before that?”

The accusation stung, but you didn’t raise your voice. You looked over at him, offended by the fact that this was his main concern.

“A few days before that.” You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t know anything at the beginning. I put the pieces together when I saw you pull out your phone.”

Aerion watched your face, his brows drawing together as he searched your expression. “Then why did you go silent on monday?”

“Seriously?” You paused, “I don’t know, maybe because you basically called me boring.” You scoffed, looking right back at him.

“You barely even acknowledged me, and then what? You texted that your partner who happens to be me was just whatever. Why would I want to keep talking to you after that?”

Aerion flinched. The words seemed to hit him, the defensive wall in his eyes fracturing into genuine surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, his hand shifting on the desk, but a shadow fell over your screen.

“Are you guys actually working, or what?”

Jess had walked up the tiered steps, stopping at the edge of your row. She leaned on the desk, looking down at you with a fake, dismissive smile.

“Don’t take it personal,” Jess said, her voice loud enough for the people in the next row to hear. “He won’t even remember your name next week.”

The comment was explicitly meant to embarass you, and it worked. You felt your face warm up as a few classmates looked over.

But before the silence could stretch, Aerion turned.

The change in him was instantaneous. He looked up at Jess, his face turning cold.

“Go.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it brooked no refusal.

Jess’s smile faltered slightly. “I was just saying–”

“I don’t care,” Aerion interrupted, his stare landing on her in a way that made her step back. “Leave. We’re working.”

The people watching started whispering and nudging each other. Jess’s cheeks flushed a bright red. She wanted to snap back, but caught the total lack of interest in Aerion’s eyes, and quickly turned around.

You sat there, your hands unmoving. The frustration that had been building up since last week slowly started to ease, replaced by a strange, heavy feeling.

Aerion had just defended you in front of the whole class. You blinked twice, trying to process what had just happened.

He took a slow breath. Not looking at anyone else in the room, he turned back to face you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, swallowing as your eyes landed back on the screen of your laptop. You clicked open the peer review rubric Professor Davis had shared to the group. You had to find a way out of talking with him.

“Davis wants us to evaluate the thesis of the intro first,” you pointed out, acting as if nothing happened.

Aerion licked the bottom of his lip, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. His shoulders shifted as you continued looking through the rubric. “What?”

“Is your document open, or do you want to look at mine first?” you answered, tapping your trackpad to highlight the first section of the bibliography.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, you could see his confusion from your peripheral vision, his jaw clenching as he realized you were shutting him out.

He was used to people reacting to him by either backing down or trying to stay in his favour. This indifference was clearly a new territory for him. A difficult one too.

For a second, it looked like he might push past it anyway, his hand tightening on the edge of the desk. Yet he let out a heavy, defeated exhale, pulling his laptop closer. “Mine is open.” His voice was clipped.

For the rest of the period, you kept your barrier firmly in place. You weren’t sure why it was so hard for you to hold a proper conversation with him.

You two texted nonstop for a month. It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger. But somehow it felt like it.

Aerion complied, though his compliance was tense. His fingers tapped against the desk whenever you took too long to read through a paragraph. His focus was entirely divided between the text on his screen and your face.

Every time your fingers accidentally brushed his while adjusting the laptop, he would wait to see if you’d pull away. You always did.

When Davis dismissed the class at last, relief coursed through you.

Snapping your laptop shut, you slid it into your bag and slung the strap over your shoulder. “I’ll upload the comments to the docs by the end of the week.” You stood up, looking him in the eye for a brief, passing second.

Aerion stared up at you from his seat, his throat bobbing as he swallowed whatever he wanted to say.

“Okay.”

You walked to the exit, where Tanselle was already waiting for you. Turning your head for a moment before exiting, your eyes met his.

Reluctantly, you had to tell your friends everything as they kept demanding. No, almost everything.

You conveniently left out the part where you had grown to have this strange, unexplainable, and impenetrable feeling for him.

Tanselle then pointed out how she hasn’t seen Aerion with any girls recently. Everyone agreed, which didn’t help your case.

Yet two days passed without a single notification.

By wednesday, the silence had turned from peace into an uncomfortable, distracting weight. You spent the night trying to study, but your mind kept drifting back to him.

Eventually, you couldn’t resist and opened his chat. You scrolled all the way back to the start, back when he was just an anonymous stranger who made you laugh.

Just as you got to the part where you started icing him out, a new message came through.

You frowned, lips parting as you clicked on the button to the most recent chat.

👻: if you wont talk to me in person, fine

👻: lets do it here

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the text. You sat up and paced your room for a full minute before warily typing back.

YOU: What do you want aerion

It felt weird to actually acknowledge who you were talking to.

👻: do me a favour

👻: talk to me like you did before finding out. pretend you dont know who i am

Your eyes narrowed at his message. It was a bizarre request, but the familiar look of the text thread made it entirely too easy to slip back.

YOU: What???

YOU: Fine

👻: tell me everything

YOU: Ok u wanna know what i think?

YOU: I think the guy im paired with in davis’s class is an arrogant prick

There was a long pause. The typing bubbles appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

👻: an arrogant prick? really?

YOU: Yes

YOU: He refuses to talk to anyone outside his immediate circle, he walks like he owns the world, and most importantly he treats his project partners as if they were invisible

👻: maybe hes just focused

YOU: Nope, he didn’t even look at my face

YOU: Can you believe it

YOU: Then he has the nerve to say that im a whatever.. Like sorry i didnt juggle for your entertainment??

A couple minutes passed and you thought he wasn't going to respond, but he was still online.

👻: huh

👻: he sounds terrible

A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you tried your best to fight it down.

YOU: He is, hes mean

👻: i didnt mean to be

The sudden drop of the bit you two were doing made your breath hitch. The text continued.

👻: im sorry about monday

👻: and the thing i said

👻: youre not whatever

You stared at his texts, the honesty of it surprising you. You typed out a reply then deleted it. While trying to formulate a reply, another message popped up.

👻: i have to go

The chat went dead. You sat back on your pillows, staring at those four words, your mind spinning into a frantic spiral. I have to go. What did that mean? Go for the day? Or was this his dramatic way of saying goodbye to whatever you guys were?

You slammed your phone down on the mattress, irritated by the sudden exit. You needed to clear your head.

Sighing, you grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, letting the steam wash away the stress of the week.

By the time you stepped back into your bedroom, it was already dark outside. Drying your hair and changing into your pajamas, you picked your phone up from the bed to check the time.

There was a new text, sent just a minute ago.

👻: open the door

You froze, reading the message over and over again to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

You walked into the living room, your bare feet making no sound against the floor.

You never gave him your address.

The only people who knew the exact apartment complex you lived in were your closest friends.

Fuck, you thought. Tanselle…

Panic flooded your body as you approached the entryway, and right on cue, a knock came from the other side of the door.

Taking a shallow breath, you unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Aerion was standing under the dim hallway light. He was wearing a tight gym shirt, his silver hair slightly messy from the harsh wind of the night.

He wasn’t empty handed. His right hand was carrying a bag that looked to be from a bakery. He saw your gaze switching from his face to the plastic. “You mentioned last week that you were eating cheesecake.”

Your brain refused to believe that Aerion Targaryen was standing at your door with a whole cheesecake because of a passing comment you had made a whole week ago.

The wall you had built felt incredibly fragile right now, but you had to keep your composure. Slowly, you stepped aside, opening the door just wide enough for him to move past.

Aerion walked into the apartment, getting his shoes off by the door. He looked at you, taking in your damp hair and pajamas, then walked to stand near the edge of the kitchen table, setting the bag on the counter.

You stared at him, your mind trying to catch up. The tips of your ears went red at the realization that you were wearing only your pajamas in front of him.

“How do you even know where I live?”

“Tanselle,” he said bluntly. “Don’t start a fight with her, I didn’t give her much of an option.”

“Of course...” You huffed mostly to yourself.

You walked past him to the water dispenser, grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack and filling it with cold water. You set it on the counter near him.

“Thanks.” He picked up the glass. Taking a slow sip, his eyes scanned the living room before settling back on you.

“Look,” he started, voice dropping an octave, sounding rougher in the quiet apartment. “I’ll get to the point. I know you think I'm a piece of shit. It's just that I... didn’t know it was you.” His shoulders shifted slightly as his muscles got less tense.

You raised a brow at that. “So just because you didn't know it was me you treated me like that?”

“No. It sounds terrible I know. I guess I was already comfortable talking to you online that I figured I didn't need to talk to anyone in person,” he explained, his tone stripped of its usual cold edge. “When you started ignoring me, it drove me crazy.”

“At first, I thought you knew the entire time. I assumed the worst, but then I started worrying. And I didn’t wanna stop talking to you.” His voice got quiet toward the end.

You didn’t know what to say. The honesty of his words rang through your mind, effectively breaking down the image you have already built of him in your head.

“...And what about Jess?” You asked after a beat and immediately regretted it.

Aerion’s eyes flickered with genuine disgust and annoyance before he shook his head.

“She’s nothing.” He leaned against the counter. “We used to talk,” he hesitated, “then I stopped but she couldn't accept it. She’s nothing.” He repeated, noticing the fidgeting of your hands.

“Oh,” was all you could say. Aerion seemed to recognize the shift in the air. He finished the rest of the water and set it back on the counter.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he cleared his throat, eyes lingering on your lips.

He walked toward the front door, putting his shoes back on. You opened the door, unsure if you even wanted him to leave.

The curiosity that had been lingering in the back of your mind all week finally slipped out. “Before you go... I wanna know something.”

Aerion paused, an amused spark gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“What did you think of me at the start? Like after you found out I wasn't Michael.”

He let out a low chuckle, a smirk splaying across his face. “I thought you had a ridiculously sharp mouth. You always called me out on my attitude, it was infruriating. But it was intriguing.”

Aerion then tilted his head, turning the tables. “My turn. Why'd you even reply to an unknown number?”

A smile broke through your expression, you no longer felt the need to put on a mask in front of him. “Mmm... being real I'm pretty sure I was just bored and couldn't sleep. I thought it'd be funny and it absolutely was.”

He laughed softly and paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. “So you're saying you're glad you replied?”

You pretended to think for a second, looking up. “Maybe,” you teased, the familiar banter coming back.

A tiny smile touched his lips—the first real one you’ve seen from him in person. He let out a hum. “Right. I'll remember that. Go sleep now.” He backed up to the threshold, his eyes only leaving yours as he turned around.

“Goodnight.” You called out to him as you closed the door and locked the deadbolt, hearing the thud of his footsteps slowly fade.

An hour later, you tried to go straight to sleep, but you kept tossing and turning. Giving up, you got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, pulling the box out of the bag. You recognised the logo on the box as you opened the lid, it was from the expensive bakery near campus.

The cheesecake looked so incredible, you didn’t bother with a plate. Grabbing a fork, you stabbed the cake and took a massive bite.

After eating a solid half of it directly out of the box, you stared at the remaining mess and pulled your phone out to snap a quick photo.

YOU: [IMAGE ATTACHED]

YOU: I forgot to thank you lol

You didn’t expect him to reply immediately, assuming he was already asleep. But the bubbles popped up almost instantly.

👻: youre welcome

👻: did you save me a bite or are you selfish

YOU: Nope its all for me

👻: next time ill just make you feed it to me

You bit your lip to contain your smile, sliding down onto the living room rug and propping your back on the sofa.

YOU: Hm

YOU: Depends on how well u behave the rest of the week

👻: im always well behaved

Giggling, you quickly texted back.

YOU: Liar

YOU: Anw out of curiosity what do u have me saved as

👻: unknown

👻: until about a day ago

YOU: Huh what is it now

👻: thats for my eyes only

YOU: Oh rly

YOU: Ok then im saving u as row four lol

👻: how creative

YOU: It fits

YOU: Reminds me that ure an arrogant prick everyday

👻: good

👻: think about me everyday

Your heart did a violent flip.

Going to his profile, you debated on actually renaming him as row four, but you decided on Aerion 🎱. The emoji just felt right.

YOU: Just changed it

Aerion 🎱: row four?

YOU: No and im not telling u

YOU: Thats unless u tell me minee?

Aerion 🎱: oh thats how it is

Aerion 🎱: never

YOU: Wow!! Ur impossible im gonna off myself

YOU: Ok im going to sleep before u piss me off more

Aerion 🎱: lmao alright

Aerion 🎱: goodnight dont die

You let out a content huff before getting up and heading back to your bedroom.

YOU: Goodnightt

The next morning, the lecture hall was filled with pre-class chatter. It was history class but your professor fell sick and Professor Davis was there as a substitute.

As usual, you sat beside Tanselle who was vibrating with anxiety, staring at you sideways ever since you arrived.

Leaning in close, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Okay, you’re scaring me. You haven’t mentioned him once. Are you not going to kill me?”

You let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “Nope. It’s all settled.”

Tanselle clicked her tongue, utterly puzzled. “Wait… really?” So he didn’t actually go to your house then?”

“No, he did,” you corrected smoothly, as if it was completely normal.

A noise of confusion escaped her, her eyes bulging. “What!? He actually came over? And you’re acting like this isn’t wild?”

Just then, the doors swung open, and Aerion walked in. He was late, and Professor Davis didn’t bother calling him out, simply beginning the lesson.

You watched as he walked up the main aisle, expecting him to stop in row four, but he continued walking. He moved past his friends without a second thought.

Then without tilting his head up, his eyes locked onto yours. A warmth instantly bloomed in your chest, a smile growing on your face, and you quickly bit your inner cheek to hide it.

He reached your row and without saying a word, he pulled the chair beside you and slid effortlessly into the seat.

Nudging your chin toward the lower row, you pointed at a few familiar faces who had turned around their chairs to watch him. “Your friends are literally staring at you. They’re waiting for you.”

Aerion followed your glance for a split second before looking back at you. “So?”

Before you could reply, the screech of the microphone caught everyone’s attention. “You two,” Davis barked into the mic, his voice echoing. “If you two have matters that are more pressing to discuss then feel free to take it out of the class.”

The weight of Davis calling you out together made the class go extremely silent, staring back and forth between you and Aerion. You could see Jess staring menacingly from the other side of the room.

Your lips formed into a pout as Davis finally looked away, continuing his talk. Aerion, on the other hand, did not take his eyes off you, his smirk widening slightly at the sudden audience.

He slowly leaned back in his chair and for a moment you thought the distraction was over. But under the desk Aerion shifted. The side of his thigh bumped firmly against yours, deliberately pressing in with lingering heat. A sharp jolt shot straight up your spine.

You shot him a warning glare, but he was already busy on his phone.

A second later, your phone buzzed in your lap.

Aerion 🎱: z

Aerion 🎱: z

Aerion 🎱: z

You hid your hands under the desk, looking down to make sure Professor Davis wasn’t looking.

YOU: Wtf

Aerion 🎱: we cant talk out loud

Aerion 🎱: i have to find other ways to get your attention

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, but his face looked to be absolutely calm and concentrated as he pretended to analyze the projector screen.

YOU: Oh ure a pro

YOU: Wait move ur leg ppl r staring

Aerion 🎱: doesnt matter

Aerion 🎱: if you care move yours then

YOU: Ok nevermind

Aerion 🎱: mhm

Aerion 🎱: what are you doing after class

YOU: Its a free period im probably gonna go to the cafe

Aerion 🎱: wrong

Aerion 🎱: we’re going somewhere

YOU: ??? Hello why wasnt i informed

Aerion 🎱: i just informed you

You almost laughed at that but managed to keep it in, not wanting to draw even more attention from Davis.

YOU: Stop before i get kicked out of the class

YOU: Ok im leaving u bye

Aerion 🎱: stay

Aerion 🎱: hes not gonna see

YOU: If he does im blocking u

Aerion 🎱: i know where you live it doesnt matter

Your lips parted at the sheer audacity of his last message, a rush of heat hitting your cheeks as the memory from last night flashed through your mind.

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

👻: He’s 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.

"I don't want the witch to come looking for me. You have to protect me," Viserra says, and this time, you wake up too. Your daughter isn't exactly whispering.

“Viserra?” you ask, confused upon seeing your daughter. “Are you alright?”

“No, the witch is coming for me.”

“What witch?” Aerion asks as he helps Viserra onto the bed, already resigned to the fact that she’ll have to sleep with you.

“Baela and Aunt Daella told me that during strong storms, a witch comes to take little girls and steal their youth,” Viserra says. She may not be crying, but you both notice she's really nervous because of how fast she's talking.

“Viserra, it's just a story. Your sister just wants to bother you,” Aerion says as he tucks her in between you two.

“But Aunt Daella said it was true.”

“I wonder where they got that story,” you say, glaring at Aerion as you hug your daughter. You've been through this before with Baela; this was Daella's way of getting revenge on Aerion for scaring her with stories when she was little. She used the same tales to frighten her nieces and ruin Aerion's sleep.

“Baela isn't smart enough to make up that story, and why would Aunt Daella lie?” Viserra says, unconvinced.

“Hey, don’t talk about your sister like that,” Aerion says, gently pinching her waist, making her squeal. “Shhh, you’ll wake up the whole castle,” he scolds, but there’s affection in his voice. “And I made up the story when your aunt was little, so you don’t have to worry about any witch. She doesn’t exist.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to go to sleep quickly,” the girl says stubbornly.

“No, Viserra. Your father was an idiot to his sisters when they were little, so now they’re getting their revenge by bothering you,” you say, stroking her back. "Besides, do you really think the guards or your grandfather would just let someone into the castle and take a princess away?” You can see her little head starting to think.

You and Aerion had to talk to Viserra a little longer until she was sure you weren't lying and that no one would take her. She fell asleep, with you and Aerion holding her.

And if the next day some of Daella's dresses are mysteriously ruined, you'll pretend not to see Viserra's smile and the way she exchanges glances with Aerion, who looks incredibly proud to see his sister lose her temper over her dresses.

Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @dragontsone-maid @gandalfthegoatsblog @xinyourdreamsx @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ladygrimmx @victorialaufeyson6

@todorokiskitten @listentothemelody00 @fanaticlover09 @wandazavision @sahvlren @smnthsstuff @ilocuras12 @umadirectioner @Simpingforsharp @sg-11 @screechingenemy18 @noimnotmae @oh-miniso @sparrowwithaquill @munsonintheupside @xxvelvetxxxx @dreambigdreamz

if you wanna be part of my taglist

akotsk masterlist

“Ronnal Baratheon,” she replies, and you instantly notice your husband tense up. Not only him, but your smiles and Steffon’s too. Clearly, none of you wanted to be related to Lyonel Baratheon’s nephew.

“You were supposed to open your presents later,” Aerion says, looking at the dragon as if it were the ugliest piece of wood he’d ever seen. “We had a schedule.”

But Baela isn’t discouraged; she seems too lost in her excitement. “I know, but Ronnal said he wanted me to see his present, that he couldn’t wait to see my reaction.”

Aerion seems to have a twitch in his eye, so you quickly pull Baela away before her father makes a fuss.

“Your dragon is beautiful. Why don’t you go play with him and your new friends?”

Baela nods with a bright smile before running off again.

“We’ll never invite a Baratheon to our festivities again,” Aerion declares, and Raymun can’t contain his laughter any longer; a guffaw erupts from his mouth. “What are you laughing at, you idiot?” you ask, and you rush to get Aerion back to his seat before he lunges at Raymun.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though he clearly doesn’t mean it. “It’s just that I didn’t think you’d get so worked up just because someone gave your daughter a gift. Should we be worried you might murder someone during the gift-giving?” You and Steffon glare at Raymun as if he’s grown a third eye; the idiot had definitely drunk too much wine.

“You’re uninvited too,” Aerion says, frowning, though he no longer seems inclined to throw himself onto the table now that you’re stroking his shoulder.

“Aerion,” you sigh. “Raymun will still come to my children’s name days,” you say patiently. “And we can’t stop inviting the Baratheons forever; it would cause a stir,” you whisper.

“I don’t care, that kid is a bad influence on Baela,” Aerion says stubbornly. “You heard her, first he made her deviate from the itinerary. Next time, he could tell her to jump out of a tree or escape from the castle.”

You roll your eyes at Aerion’s exaggeration. Though you should be used to it by now.

“Think about it, cousin. Do you really want to have to share family gatherings with Lyonel Baratheon?” Steffon says, surprisingly, joining Aerion. He nods contentedly at Steffon’s words. There was a reason he preferred him to Raymun.

“You’re exaggerating. Just because they play together doesn’t mean they’ll end up getting married,” you say, raising your wine glass to your lips.

“It always starts like this, childhood playmates, and then their families try to arrange a betrothal,” Steffon insists.

“You don’t know, you’re just creating scenarios,” you shake your head.

“She’s a Targaryen princess, darling, of course they’re going to want to marry her,” Aerion says, looking at you, and you feel a little foolish because now that he mentions your daughter’s title, you see he’s right. Sometimes it was strange; to you, your children were just your children, but to the rest of the kingdoms, they were princesses and a prince. It was easy to forget that while at Summerhall.” “Oh, cat got your tongue now that you know I’m right,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, and you’re about to pinch his shoulder, but he knows you well, so he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Raymun murmurs.

“Grow up, Raymun,” you say, but you pull your hand away, embarrassed. Aerion seems intent on killing your cousin again, so you end up taking his hand under the table.

if you wanna be part of my taglist

Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @dragontsone-maid @gandalfthegoatsblog @xinyourdreamsx @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ladygrimmx @victorialaufeyson6

@todorokiskitten @listentothemelody00 @fanaticlover09 @wandazavision @sahvlren @smnthsstuff @ilocuras12 @umadirectioner @simpingforsharp @sg-11 @screechingenemy18 @noimnotmae @oh-miniso @sparrowwithaquill @munsonintheupside @xxvelvetxxxx @dreambigdreamz

akotsk masterlist

Aerion's smile fades when he sees that stupid Lord sitting next to you, trying to get your attention, making you stop looking at him.

He doesn't even apologize to the maid before walking away, setting his glass down on another table, and coming straight to you.

"My love, I think you've had enough wine tonight," he says, not even acknowledging the man, as if he weren't interrupting.

You look at him and smile without showing your teeth. "I think you're right," you reply, and Aerion knows you want the same thing because normally you would have been annoyed at him for trying to control your drinking; you would have told him to get lost.

Aerion watches impatiently as you politely bid the Lord farewell, and it feels like a victory when you finally take his hand and let him help you up. You leave the celebrations with your husband's hand still around your waist.

You don't even make it to their bedchambers; you end up in the corner of some corridor in Summerhall, your dress skirt hiked up, your leg wrapped around his waist as Aerion shamelessly fucks you. Neither of you feels embarrassed when that lady encounters you two; in fact, you laugh, making Aerion even more aroused.

Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @olympus-library @gandalfthegoatsblog @xinyourdreamsx @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ladygrimmx @victorialaufeyson6

@todorokiskitten @listentothemelody00

if you wanna be part of my taglist

akotsk masterlist

"I'm her father, I can hold her as much as I want," he replied, and to prove his point, he lifted Baela off the floor. She, of course, squealed with delight. Aerion instantly smiled and kissed her forehead, then looked at you smugly.

You get up from the floor, clearly annoyed. “You’re an idiot, I’m trying to teach her to walk.”

“She’ll walk when she’s ready,” Aerion says simply, confident in his daughter. He didn’t understand why you were so nervous about it.

“She already had her first name day,” you insist, and when you see Aerion about to argue, you speak up. “I spoke with the maester, and she should be walking. She’s barely crawling, and it’s because you spoiled her by carrying her everywhere.” You cross your arms, avoiding looking at Baela’s happy face, trying not to give in.

Aerion frowned. He didn't like that you were taking advantage of his absence to go see the maester alone, especially when it involved your baby. He was sure that damn idiot wouldn't have dared say that to his face. He's probably talking nonsense. Baela was going to walk at any moment.

"Gods, woman, you must be the only woman who gets angry because her husband spends time with his children," Aerion said, and he knew he had you when your annoyed expression instantly faded. Your gaze softened as you looked at him and Baela. “Come on,” he demands, and moves Baela onto his left arm so he can pull you towards him with his right, hugging his girls.

"Of course, I like you spending time with Baela," you said without looking at him, though you didn't try to pull away. In fact, your arm went around his waist, and you hugged him back. "But you have to start letting her do things for herself."

“She’s only a year old, you talk like she’s already a woman!” Aerion complains, and Baela laughs because if there’s one thing she finds amusing, it’s how expressive her father’s face is when he doesn’t like something.

“Aerion,” you say firmly, and a groan escapes your husband’s lips as you stop hugging him and step back to look him in the eye. “I won’t have another baby with you if Baela still can’t walk.”

You can see how Aerion seems to be forgetting how to speak. You know you caught him off guard, after months of refusing every time he asked for another child.

This time, you’re the one smiling smugly, and you leave the nursery knowing you’ve won. Aerion will listen to you.

Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @olympus-library @gandalfthegoatsblog @xinyourdreamsx @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ladygrimmx @victorialaufeyson6

if you wanna be part of my taglist

When you hear Aerion sigh for the fifth time, you open your eyes and abandon the idea of ​​sleeping to figure out what the hell is wrong with your husband. You weren't going to be able to sleep if he didn't shut up, and you certainly don't want to wake up in the morning and find out that Aerion broke someone's hand just because he was in a bad mood.

"You're thinking too loudly, what's wrong with you?" you ask, sitting up and giving him a light kick because whenever you show even the slightest concern for Aerion, the world needs to rebalance itself.

Aerion complains and gently pinches your waist; you instantly smack him in the chest.

"Aerion," you say in a warning tone when you see that he wants to pinch you again. "Tell me what's going through your head so I can go to sleep."

You were sure it was the first time you'd ever seen Aerion hesitate before speaking. It was strange to see the spoiled prince like this, the one who never seemed afraid to say what he thought or wanted, regardless of the consequences. A part of you began to worry that something bad had actually happened, but you couldn't even imagine what it could be.

"Daella said she thought I wouldn't like Baela because she has dark hair," he finally said.

Well, now you understand his attitude a little. You'd be upset too if your family thought badly of you… But it didn't seem strange that Daella had come to that conclusion. It was no secret that your husband was obsessed with Valyrian customs, the history of his house, and dragons. The truth was, it still seemed strange that he had married you, a woman with nothing Valyrian about her and from a minor house like yours.

“Did you think the same?” Aerion asks, and when he finishes speaking, you see him clench his jaw, tense, as if he fears your answer.

At that moment, you realize he was actually worried about you, about what you thought of him. It surprises you.

“No, I was never worried that you didn’t like Baela because of her hair. I saw the way you looked at her when you first held her; you didn’t want to share her with anyone,” you reply, unable to help but smile at the memory. “But I did think we’d get bored of her quickly,” you admit, unafraid of his judgment.

It was no secret that neither of you were thrilled when you first found out about your pregnancy. For once, you both agreed it was too soon to have a baby, having just gotten married. But when you started feeling the baby move, the idea of ​​becoming parents stopped seeming so terrible, and you both began to feel curious about the baby.

Aerion liked it every time you used “we.” It made him feel like you were slowly accepting him as your husband and seeing him as a partner. He also liked the sincerity with which you spoke. He was certain that no wife was as close and sincere with her husband as you are with him.

“Before Baela was born, I thought we would just leave the nannies to take care of her,” Aerion also admits, clearly more relaxed.

“And now you barely let the nannies touch her,” you said with a hint of amusement.

Of course, you felt sorry for the poor maids who were afraid of Aerion, but another part of you enjoyed seeing how overprotective he was of his daughter. “I bet you never thought a baby would be so interesting.”

Sometimes it seemed crazy how you and Aerion seemed to find every little change or achievement Baela made interesting.

“Yeah, but I think now I understand why my parents had so many,” Aerion said, laughing at your horrified expression.

But you quickly recovered and kicked him. “Stop going on about it, we’re not having another one,” you said, turning over and settling into bed to sleep.

“Oh, come on, Baela will be lonely if she doesn’t have anyone to play with,” Aerion said, hugging you from behind.

You closed your eyes and pretended not to hear him.

Taglist for all my A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works: @tanzierina @leftdreamprunewobbler @qardasngan @sentryvvorld @fromsaltandsea @onlybells1 @cocooola @flyinglama @outpostsworld @sil1 @darktrashsoulbear @raashluvsff @x-vadon @trantknd @darylandbethfanforever9 @divajul @olympus-library

if you wanna be part of my taglist

divider by dividers-are-us

He turns his head back to you, and scoffs lightly, a smirk plastered on his bloody lips. "Treason. A filthy fleabottom rat who thought it funny to jest about a tale of dragons defeated by cowardly knights. I had the kingsguard cut off his tongue."

Your heart skips a beat out of fear, and at first you don't think you hear him right. "...What? Cut off his tongue!? Has sense truly left your mind? Or has soul left your body?" You sputter, eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

Aerion only huffs and rolls his eyes. "Here you go again. He insulted the house of kings! The house of dragons! What, should I have let him run his mouth in front of me and do nothing while people laughed at my dignity? It's that what you suggest I—"

"You idiot! He wasn't even talking about you, he was what— telling a story? Have you lost your wits, husband?"

His gaze gardens and something shifts in his jaw. "Do not speak to me like that, wife."

You laugh at his audacity, yet there is no humour in it. "I will speak to you however I fucking please, you absolute fool. By the gods, have you no shame? You cut an innocent man's tongue off because he was repeating a children's tale?"

He turns towards you fully, and for the first time in a long time, he snaps.

"He insulted my blood! Dragon blood! The blood that makes my family! If you were truly a part of it, perhaps you would understand."

The silence that follows in the moments afterwards is deafening.

Your voice trembles slightly as you speak and you curse it mentally.

"I see, Your Grace."

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that Aerion had changed his ways, become better, strived to be a good prince, a good man and a good lord husband, you should have known he'd never fully mean the rare sweet words he whispered to you on quiet nights, or the fleeting touches between your hands as you walked together in the gardens, or even the lavish ways he fulfilled his duty to you, as your lord husband.

He is, and always will be, a little bit of a monster.

His expression immediately softens when he realises the damage hide words just caused. "No, I'm- I'm sorry, angel, I didn't-... You know I didn't mean it like that." He tries to step closer to you, arms extended like he wants to pull you against him.

You shrink away, stumbling to your vanity and snatching the heavy velvet robe draped across the chair. Tugging it on to your shoulders while you try to hold in your tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his cruelty had on you, you grab a lantern and take sharp, hurried steps, rushing out of your marital chambers into the cold stone halls.

Aerion frantically follows after you, of course, and jogs to catch up. "Wait! Where are you going?"

You don't bother with a reply, only increasing your speed until he inevitably reaches you and grabs your arm, not rough but firm, turning you around to face him. He looks panicked. Eyes wide and breath subtly panting, he whispers, "I didn't mean that. Come back, will you? It's late, be cross with me in the morning."

You clench your jaw, not meeting his gaze for longer than a second but rather staring at the wall over his shoulder. "Go fuck yourself. I'm sleeping in my own chambers, henceforth."

For a moment, he almost looks confused. Hurt. Then he frowns, "What? Don't speak nonsense. You're my wife."

Noble women, more often than not, had their own chambers to retire to, separate from their marital beds, as a respite from their cruel or unfeeling husbands.

After you married Aerion, you had also been offered such a room, but Aerion quickly disapproved of that idea and instead brought you to sleep next to him every night. He said, quote unquote, that you'd have no use of your own room— because you are a dragon's wife, and as a dragon's wife, it is your duty to not abandon his lair, lest you make him hunt you down again. You had rolled your eyes but humoured him while fighting a smile behind a goblet of wine on your wedding feast, because you knew the true reason was that he could not stand to be apart from you.

Now, you blink, and an irritating tear rolls out of the corner of your eye. "You've made it very clear where I stand. I wouldn't want to overstep, Your Grace."

He shifts on his feet, clearly agitated and not knowing how to fix his own mess. "Don't call me that. Can we... just come back inside, we can talk there."

He swallows, and then speaks low, so low you barely hear him, with desperate eyes trained on yours for even a sliver of forgiveness. "Please?"

You almost give in.

Clenching your jaw, you spit out— "No. Goodnight, my Prince." Sparing him one last wet glare, you turn and disappear around a corridor. This time, he does not follow you. He knows that you need the space to calm down, and chasing you will only aggravate you further.

Aerion rubs a hand down his face and groans to himself. He's fucked up. Again. (what's new)

That night, he can't sleep. But he doesn't toss and turn, he just... stares. He's on his back, arms behind his head and his unfocused gaze on the ceiling as he thinks.

He thinks about you. That's nothing new, he always does. He would never say it to your face, but there hasn't been a moment in his life since he met you, that you haven't been in the forefront of his mind. On second thought, that's not true, maybe you slip to the back of his mind a few times, and that is commonly when he makes his horrible decisions. You're like the angel on his shoulder, with your sweet smile and kind eyes, loud laugh and glares that make him feel like a puppy kneeling at your feet, not the dragon prince. That is why he calls you his angel. You are his guiding light, you are the voice of reason among the darker whispers in his mind. And he just insulted you. God he has no right to be near you even, no matter how much he reminds you that you're lucky to marry a dragon. He was no true dragon. He was a coward, a coward who hurt his wife out of no other reason than to win an argument.

Fuck.

He needed to make this right.

You weren't faring that much better either. Face smushed into a pillow, tears flowing freely into the satin. Aerion was a cruel man, but he had never before treated you like lesser than a goddess of old Valyria. His words to describe you, not yours. In your heart you knew he didn't mean it. Even if he was cruel, he still loved you with all he had. Sometimes the blinding rage behind his eyelids took over, and he made rash decisions. But that doesn't excuse him for basically telling you that you don't belong.

Since you left your own family to live with his after the marriage, you have felt warmly welcomed by most residents of the keep. But there are times when your own mind plays tricks on you, planting seeds of doubt, that maybe everyone is merely tolerating you, since you are the arrogant prince's bride. And your inability to fully blend in with the royal house of Targaryen did not help. You did not have silver hair, nor purple eyes and dragon-blood flowing through your veins. Yes, many Targaryens, like Baelor or his sons— for example— also did not possess these traits.

But they had something you could never truly achieve. Power. When they talk, people of Westeros listen. When you talk, they merely smile tightly, as if humouring a curious child. It pisses you off. Seven knows you could do so. much. good. if the ministers and the lords could only accept anyone besides the house of the dragons to be in power. It's not like growing accustomed to the Valerian way was very easy, either. Crone knows why all their names have an 'ae' in them. The king expects you to name your child either Vaella, or Rhaemon. Fat chance. The whole ordeal was fucking frustrating, and Aerion knew that. Aerion still choose to hit you where it hurt the most, because you knew you'd never be a true Targaryen. You knew that, and you thought you had come to terms with it. Apparently not, as only a few words of his had made your insecurities come crashing down on your head.

You cry into the pillow until the cover becomes sticky with snot and your eyes start to burn from the strain. Sleep finally overcomes you, a dark mercy from the perils of reality, enveloping you in a rough yet familiar blanket of much-needed silence.

Morning sunlight filters through the big windows in Aerion's room, making the inside of his eyelids turn red as it falls on his face. He frowns in annoyance and turns his head to avoid the glare, arm instinctively reaching for you on the other side of his bed. When his hand finds nothing but cold bedsheets, he opens his eyes in confusion only to remember the events of the previous night, and he closes them again with a sigh. He buries his face into a pillow and screams into it but it comes out sounding more like a frustrated groan.

Fuck, okay, he needed to find you.

He sits up, scrubbing his eyes to rid them of sleep. He throws the covers off of himself and pads to the attached bathroom. Seeing himself in the silvered mirror, he thinks he looks like death. Eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, his hair mussed up, which you would have smoothed down by now if you were here, and giggled at the way a few unruly strands stuck up perpendicularly. Gods, he could not stand this.

Last night, when sleep avoided him, he had sat at his desk and made a plan to fix this, until at last he could not keep his eyes open.

After freshening up he sat at the desk again, flipping through multiple scrolls and parchments until he found what he had written down only hours ago.

Right, he can do this.

Aerion raps his knuckles on a rotten piece of wood serving as a door. Jaw tense and stance even tender, his eyes flit up to meet the old man who opens the door. The man scowls at the sight of him and immediately slams the door in Aerion's face. This forces the latter to take a deep breath and close his eyes for a few moments before knocking again, more rapidly this time. The man didn't reply. Aerion sighed and turned to his horse, fetching some parchment out from the satchel and scribbling on it for a minute with a charcoal stick until he wrote out a few words.

'I am here to apologise, and to make amends. I mean no harm. I realise that the things I have done to you, and many others are despicable, cruel acts, and I deeply regret them. You do not have to forgive me, and you certainly do not have to owe me, because I am giving you two hundred gold dragons as a symbol of my intention to undo my grave mistakes.'

He bends, sliding the note and a small pouch through the mouse hole in the door, before he straughtens and shakes his head, as if to fling the darkness of his mind away as he grabs his horse's reigns, climbing into the saddle. As we prepares to trot away, a small schwoop noise catches his attention. He turns his head just in time to see the paper and pouch being snatched into the threshold. He can't help but let a little triumphant smile grow as he trots away from the old cottage.

One by one, Aerion visited eight-and-sixty houses. Well, house would be a generous description of what some of the people on his list lived in, but he supposed that was partly his fault. He received a slap or two that day (and didn't want to smite the perpetrators down!) but it would all be worth it to see your smile. Gods, has he missed you. Fuck.

He slumps down on his plush armchair upon reaching the comforts of his own you-less chambers and groans in satisfaction. His back was killing him, but horse riding for a day straight will do that to you.

Just as his eyes start to flutter shut, the doors to his apartments burst open. He frowns and turns his head to tell off whatever stupid servant-

Oh.

It's you.

He scrambles to get out of his chair, smoothening his robes out as he clears his throat, which was suddenly dry.

"Angel. You're.. uh.. here."

"Have you gone completely mad? The treasurer said you spent more than a thousand gold dragons today! Have you be-"

He stayed silent, hands clasped and gaze trained to the floor. This was extremely unusual behaviour from him.

Squinting in suspicion, you step closer. "What have you done?"

He shakes his head and replies quietly, "Nothing."

"Aerion." You cross your arms and glare challengingly. "Tell me this instant. What. Did. You. Do."

He sighs and meets your gaze sheepishly. "I uh... Apologised. To people."

You scoff, "What in the realm are you on about? Which people? And why did you have to spend-"

"The commoners I... wronged. I— well, I gave them all a few hundred gold dragons and, y'know, talked to them. To the ones that can talk, anyway, but uh... That's what I was doing, to answer your question." He interrupted, although not rudely.

Upon hearing his words, your eyes widen and your jaw almost falls to the floor in shock. The exact words going through your mind were-

What. The. Fuck.

Because, well, this is nothing like your husband.

"Who are you and what have you done to my husband? Are you unwell? Are you being serious?" You raise your hand to press the back of it to his forehead in genuine concern and he gently bats it away, instead intertwining your fingers with his.

A small smile creeps onto his lips because, well, you're talking to him again, and touching him. The Maiden knows he has missed your voice. And your soft skin on his.

He blinks out of his trance as his train of thought is broken by you snapping your fingers in front of his eyes.

"Hello? Aerion, are you even listening to me? I asked you a question." You huff.

He smiles wider and shakes his head. "I apologise, angel. I'm alright, I assure you. It's just... I cannot lose you. I can't express how sorry I am for what I said to you, how I said it, and most importantly— the situation that gave rise to our disagreement. Even though we cannot be unmarried by law, I do not want to experience a marriage in which you despise me. So I figured... It's better to not feel the joy of violence, than to not feel the joy of my wife's laughter."

You raise an eyebrow, still a little suspicious.

His eyes widen slightly and he stutters out, "Well, it's not- it's not just because I wanted you to forgive me, I also actually did realise that uhm- that my actions were unacceptable and th-that I needed to- mmph!"

Your lips are on his before he can react, cutting his rambling off. His hands hesitantly come to rest at your waist, warm and engulfing, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a quiet groan and melts into the kiss.

You pull away and his lips chase yours before you hold his face in both of your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes.

Your voice is soft, yet it carries an edge. "If you ever—and I mean ever—talk to me like that again, or if you hurt an innocent being again, I will see to it that the king creates a new law allowing marriages to be annulled, just so I do not have to be your wife. Understood?"

He only nods, a lovestruck smile on his face.

"Yes or no, you fool?" You scoff, unable to fight a smile.

"Yes, my Queen." He murmurs and turns his head, raising a hand from your waist to wrap around your wrist as he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your palm.

"Good. Now, I haven't forgiven you just yet, you know."

"That is alright, as long as you are here with me. Hit me, scream, pull my hair out, I don't give two flying fucks, but don't... don't leave me, Angel, alright?" His puppy dog eyes search yours for reassurance, and is rewarded when he gets to watch your eyes crinkle in that signature way that lights up a room when you smile.

"Fine, alright. Idiot. And don't ever disappear like that for an entire day without telling me. Yes?"

"Yes. Ofcourse." He hums, not really caring about what it is you're asking of him. He'd say yes to a million things—and follow through, mind you—if you only never stopped looking at him like that. Like you love him, but you're trying really hard to teach him a lesson he won't forget.

And he won't, trust me.

"Now, you're going to have to explain to the treasurer why a good chunk of your family's coffers are missing. 'Cause I'm not going to." You pat his cheek.

"Our family." He corrects softly.

You don't understand him immediately. "What?"

"Our family. You said my family. It's yours, too."

"Oh." You blink, a little taken aback. "Yes. I knew that."

He nods, a proud sheen in his intent, yet warm gaze. "Good. Never forget it. Even if a dumbfuck like me tells you you're not. Actually, I'm pretty sure they prefer you over me."

You chuckle, "You can't really blame them."

"I know. I can't see why you wouldn't be preferred over anyone, really."

Rolling your eyes, you stifle a smile. "Alright, that's enough flattery. Now take a bath, will you? You stink of horse shit and mud."

He grins, hands squeezing your waist lightly. "Only if you join me."

"Nice try."

"Worth a shot."

a/n: thank you for reading <3

Masterlist

Aerion saw you from the shadow of a stone arch. He lingered there for a moment, just watching, then stepped forward.

“Have you lost your way?” he asked, his voice calm and even.

You turned, a surprised smile on your lips. “No, my prince. I am rather trying to escape the insistence of certain visitors.”

Then you looked back at the garden, a soft smile playing on your face. “It seems not to help.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I am no visitor of yours.”

“But yet you are here.”

He looked around the garden slowly. “Do not flatter yourself. I just passed by.”

“Then why did you hide in the arch’s shadow for a good while, my prince?” you asked, amused by his weak excuse.

Aerion opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked at you for a moment, then shook his head and turned away. “Careful.”

The second time — when he had asked for your blessing.

The tournament field was full of life: horses neighed, armor clanged, and the stands were bright with colorful gowns. The air was thick with dust and the smell of roasting meat.

You sat a row below, wearing a deep blue silk dress, embroidered with silver. Your hair was tied back, the front strands falling softly over your shoulders. You looked calm and untouchable — so different from the other ladies, waving their handkerchiefs in nervous excitement.

Aerion saw you at once. Clad in armor that shone brighter than the sun, he rode his horse straight toward you. Beside him was your cousin — a young knight on his first big outing. The boy looked pale and nervous next to the prince.

The prince said nothing. He gave only a slight nod — a brief gesture that said more than words ever could. He held out his hand, waiting for you to tie your ribbon to his lance, as if it were understood without question.

The whole court watched, holding their breath.

You looked at his hand, then at your cousin. And, without hurry, you tied the silk to your cousin’s lance. “May the gods aid you,” you said softly.

Aerion froze. His hand hung in empty air.

On the field, he was terrifying. He unseated your cousin with such force that the lance splintered, and the young man fell hard — dead or near enough.

After the victory, Aerion rode to you and threw a piece of your dirty, torn ribbon at your feet. He lifted his helmet and raised an eyebrow, hoping you would see the determination in his eyes.

You did not even glance at the shard. You rose, shook the dust from your blue silk, and walked away, leaving him with a taste of defeat.

The third time — when he wanted to apologize.

Your cousin’s name still echoed through the halls. Not loudly, but enough that each time you passed by, someone lowered their voice for a moment.

The door to your chambers swung open without a knock.

Aerion entered, carrying the same pride as always, but his movements were oddly awkward. He clearly wanted to speak, yet the words stuck in his throat, turning into a low, jumbled murmur.

“The ribbon. It was too slippery and fell… not very gracefully. I did not mean to throw it at you in front of all the common folk.”

He fell silent, looking as if he had just swallowed poison.

You watched him, barely holding back a smile at the ridiculous sight.

“Are you trying to apologize, my prince?” you asked softly.

Aerion straightened at once. “No,” he snorted, trying to regain his proud air. “I am trying to clear a misunderstanding. Dragons do not ask for forgiveness.”

“And dragons do not kill innocent young men.”

“He had no business on the field if he could not stay in the saddle,” he shrugged, showing no pity. “He… the one you chose?”

You blinked. “He is my cousin, my prince.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No,” you said firmly.

He froze. All his anger suddenly faded, replaced by a strange relief. He nodded shortly, almost unusually pleased. “Very well.”

He started back toward the door, then stopped and swallowed loudly. “You should come to my training in the small yard today.”

You smiled and stepped closer. “Is that an invitation?”

“It is an order.”

You only shook your head, bitterly, and closed the door in his face, hearing him curse on the other side.

The fourth time — when you were returning home.

Your house left at dawn, which made your fathers decide that the farewell feast should be a grand display of respect.

You sat at the high table, feeling the silk of your dress cling to your skin in the stifling heat and the light of hundreds of candles burning in heavy chandeliers.

From the start of the feast, Aerion had not taken his eyes off you. His chair was pulled so close that his elbow brushed yours constantly, and the smell of metal and leather overpowered everything else. Every time you reached for your cup, he was faster, filling it himself with golden Arbor wine.

“Drink,” he said, and there was no question in his voice. “Who knows when you’ll taste wine like this again.”

You only raised an eyebrow slightly, looking at the ruby liquid.

“Price does not make it sweeter, my prince. Sometimes plain water pleases the heart more than the finest gold.”

Aerion squinted, his fingers whitening on the stem of the cup. But what made him truly fearsome was when some young lord tried to approach you. The moment a boy from a neighboring house stepped too close, Aerion turned his head. His violet eyes blazed with a cold, punishing fire that made the poor lad pale, bow awkwardly, and vanish into the crowd.

Unable to bear the suffocating crowd, you excused yourself and slipped out of the tent. You needed the night air, far from lutes and drunken shouts.

You walked to the edge of the arch, where cicadas drowned out the music, and lifted your face to the wind, staring at the distant campfires. The silence lasted only a moment. Heavy steps on the grass and the familiar scent of fine musk told you the prince was near before he spoke.

Aerion came up behind you, his chest almost touching your shoulders. You froze, not turning, feeling heat radiate from him. His hands — hot and dry — rested on your shoulders, making you flinch. He moved your hair aside, exposing your neck, and you felt the brief, light touch of his fingers on your skin.

Then cold, heavy metal pressed against your chest. Aerion fastened a clasp, and a massive Valyrian gold necklace rested on your collarbones, a great ruby at its center, like a drop of frozen blood.

“Now you belong to the dragon,” he whispered in your ear, pride in his voice.

Slowly, with calm dignity that always annoyed him more than open defiance, you lifted your hand to touch the edges of the ruby. You did not flinch or look away as you turned to face him, trapped between the stone arch and his broad chest.

Your eyes met his — violet, burning with a wild flame of possession. You tilted your head slightly, a soft smile on your lips.

“You confuse gold with the soul, my prince,” your voice was calm in the night. “To belong is to give yourself willingly, and you take me by force. Is that what you desire?”

Aerion narrowed his eyes, fingers still pressing your shoulders. His face twisted with displeasure, and he leaned so close that your lips nearly touched. “Dragonfire asks no permission. It takes whom it wills.”

“Then you will have only ashes, my prince.”

You freed yourself from his hands, careful but firm. The heavy necklace tugged at your neck, reminding you of every word he said.

He watched you go, clenching his fists, unable to understand why his fire could not bend you to his will.

The fifth time — when he had written to you.

Aerion had been nowhere to be seen. Not at the gates, not in the courtyard, not in the last moments before departure. You did not search for him among the servants, nor did you slow your pace.

You rode down to the yard, lifted the reins, and swung into the saddle. Your cloak settled on your shoulders, the wind tangled your hair, and the dust of the road barely touched your cheeks. You took the first step with the horse, then the second, and the gates opened to meet the road. You did not look back. Not once.

The ride home took two weeks. It met you with quiet stillness. Familiar walls, the smell of earth and old wood, the faces of the servants — everything was in its place.

The heavy ruby necklace was still on you.

A week passed. Seven days exactly.

You had almost forgotten the heat of the dragon prince’s presence when the letter arrived.

You recognized the seal at once: red wax with a dragon stamp — familiar and sharp, like him. You held the letter longer than usual, feeling the weight of each word, as if it might jump out at you.

You broke the seal and opened the letter slowly, almost as a ritual, afraid the words might escape with it.

My lady, You left our home without a word, and I did not stop you. It was not forgetfulness or carelessness, but because I thought it right. You are free in your rooms and under your father’s roof. I do not intend to limit you, nor to demand a reply before the time is right. But do not think my silence is refusal. The dragon does not turn from decisions once made. It chooses — and it holds to the end. So do I. I do not let go of what I have chosen. You will have time — enough to get used to what is inevitable. Do not waste it. Wear the necklace. ⸺ Aerion of House Targaryen.

You read the letter slowly at first, then again, pausing on every line. The words, sharp and precise, left no doubt. No request, no apology.

In each line, his strong confidence and need for control shone, but between the lines, you felt something else — a desperate need to own what would not yield.

You folded the letter carefully, held it to the flame for a moment, and then let it go. The paper caught fire, the edges curled, and the writing melted away into ash.

You did not reply.

Because, for the first time in all this, the choice was yours alone.

The sixth time — when he succeeded.

Aerion sat in his chambers. The stone walls were cold and hard, but the soft candlelight glimmered on the armor in the corners. The room was quiet — broken only by the fire crackling and the faint scrape as he moved in his chair.

His fingers held the parchment, the letter he had sent to you a week ago.

The letter that hadn't been answered.

The room smelled of wax, iron, and the faint bitterness of the candle oil.

Had he been too eager? Aerion had poured all his will into not riding to your lands, into not locking you in his rooms.

A soft knock broke the silence. Aerion stood, the chains on his sword clinking lightly.

“My prince,” said a servant, looking down, “Prince Maekar asks for you.”

Aerion nodded and stepped to the door. The stone floor groaned under his weight. He waited as Maekar entered, calm and careful, not wanting to disturb the quiet tension of the room.

“The lord of the lands nearby, your lady’s father, asks for a marriage of respect,” Maekar said, his voice steady, respectful. “He invites our house to discuss the match.”

Aerion straightened, shoulders back, chin high. His eyes, sharp and cold, looked at his father with clear determination. Around his neck glimmered the same necklace he had once given you, the gems shining in the candlelight.

The next time you met, you sat at the great feast table. Your father, proud and pleased, kept signaling servants to refill the wine.

Aerion sat almost next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. He kept his back straight, his gaze calm, like a dragon watching its prey.

When the conversation turned to the affairs of common folk, you leaned slightly toward him and smiled. “So, you really are my visitor.”

He smirked. “And you said you hid from them. Yet, look where we are.”

You give a quiet smile, sensing his attempt at casual ease, though the small curve of his lips and the fire in his eyes betray him. You glance at the necklace he once gave you — the cold sparkle of Valyrian gems in the candlelight. He speaks no words of feeling, no pleading, no asking. Yet every line of his face, every look, makes it clear — he is more determined than ever.

“And now?” you asked.

He looked straight at you, calm and warm. “Now, you will be the wife of a dragon.”

Slowly, he touched your hand under the table, weaving his fingers with yours.

The voices at the table rose again. Prince Baelor laughed at some joke of your father’s, but Aerion’s eyes remain fixed only on you.

MASTERLISTS

AKOTSK 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 AERION

⭑ they told him to show you around the gardens of your future castle — so you saw everything and got used to the place. and he, naturally, refused. why would he waste his time and entertain you like a fucking servant? but under maekar’s supervision, he agreed after all.

he walked too fast. you clearly fell behind and did not intend to hurry or run after him. noticing that, he suddenly turned around. “do you have the legs of a five year old? can you walk faster?”

you did not even speed up. “i can,” you answered calmly. “but i will not. you walk like a horse and my legs are tired.”

he only looked at you for a few moments. “you are acting like a child.”

you shrugged and kept walking at your own pace. but you noticed how he slowly, almost unnoticeably, slowed down to walk next to you.

⭑ at the wedding, when the hour of the common cup came, you took the heavy silver cup from the steward's hands. you hesitated. you brought it to your face, smelled the sharp sour wine, and the corners of your lips dropped.

"i will not drink this," your voice sounded quiet but petulant. you pushed the cup away, almost spilling the wine on the white cloth.

"it is part of the rite," he answered, enough for you to understand how important it was.

you frowned. tiredness hid in the creases of your forehead, your lips were pressed tight. the candles danced in your eyes. "it is too sour," you said, like a child who did not want to take bitter medicine. "i do not like it."

aerion slowly turned his head to you. his eyes, usually feverishly bright, now looked at you with close attention. he was silent for a few heartbeats, then slowly turned his head and nodded to a servant.

"change all the wine to sweet."

and later, at the feast.

the feast was only growing stronger: the music became deafening, the laughter of neighbors too sharp, and the gazes of the drunken lords too intrusive. you felt your head start to hum from the chaos.

you touched aerion’s shoulder, interrupting his conversation with daeron. “it is too noisy here.”

aerion raised an eyebrow and looked at you as if you'd said something foolish. “this is a feast. did you expect silence like at a funeral?”

you did not answer — you just pressed your lips together and turned away, staring into emptiness. he immediately felt the change: you no longer tugged at his sleeve, no longer criticized the serving of dishes, and no longer rolled your eyes at the stupid jokes of the retinue.

aerion exhaled loudly, cutting daeron off mid-sentence. he suddenly stood up, firmly grabbed your hand, and pulled you with him, forcing you to rise.

“we are leaving.”

⭑ "i want candied flowers."

aerion raised his eyes from the scroll slowly, as if he did not hear you correctly.

"flowers," you explained, brushing your hair in front of the mirror. "the ones they make in highgarden. white, pink, in sugar glaze. they say they melt on the tongue like the first snow."

he rolled his eyes, the gesture came out almost too dramatic. "it is pointless," he dropped. "highgarden is weeks away."

you pressed your lips and turned away to the window, not saying another word. the evening passed in a heavy silence, you went to bed with your back to him.

he did not apologize. aerion targaryen never apologized, you learned that long ago.

on the fourth morning, you entered your chambers and stopped at the threshold. on the dressing table was a casket. black wood with silver inlay, too elegant to be just a box. you opened the lid.

flowers lay in rows. roses, violets, petals of plants unknown to you — each covered in the thinnest crust of hardened sugar, sparkling like frost. you breathed in the delicate scent and smiled brightly, looking at him as he stood by the fireplace.

"do not ask for more."

you took a white flower and brought it to your lips. the sugar crunched on your teeth, the petal melted — and he was right. like the first snow. "they are cold," you remarked.

your husband only raised one eyebrow. "the road is long."

"should have been faster."

he slowly walked closer, thinking about how he no longer even felt angry at such remarks of yours, only fully accepting them. "next time," he said, "go yourself. and we shall see how fast you return with flowers in your hands."

you took another one. a pink one. "you would not allow it," you answered him back, "for your wife to freeze somewhere on a distant road."

aerion closed his eyes. he was silent for a long time. and then the corner of his lips twitched. "no," he said so quietly that you barely heard. "i would not."

⭑ night fell on the castle, heavy as a blanket of lead. you did not speak for several hours — since he said: "no. i only got you the valyrian steel last moon" when you asked for a necklace of that rare blue stone.

you did not argue and did not fight, but simply went silent and lay on the very edge of the bed, turned away to the wall and did not even fix the blanket — let it be cold, let him get out to his own chambers.

aerion sat in a chair by the fireplace for a long time, drank wine, looked at the fire. he was right, and he knew it: you were unbearable, capricious, demanding the impossible with such an air as if the air around you should turn into gold. any other husband would have sent you to a family estate long ago to learn humility. but you were not just anyone. and he was not any other husband.

aerion set aside the glass, stood up, walked to the bed and looked at your back — offended, beautiful and sometimes (always) unbearable. he did not lie down at once: first he just sat on the edge, then slowly stretched out beside you.

you felt how he moved closer — the mattress sank under his weight, the warmth from his body reached your back. his hand lay on your waist.

"do not touch me," you whispered to the wall.

he did not remove his hand. on the contrary — he pulled you closer, insistently and pressed his chest to your back, buried his face in your hair and was silent for so long that you thought — he fell asleep.

"in a week," he said suddenly into the top of your head, muffled and tired. "your necklace will arrive."

⭑ well, he remembered everything about you.

he might seem busy talking to the lords, but his gaze was always on you. if you kept your hand on the fabric of someone's dress for even a second or looked with interest at an unusual brooch on a guest's shoulder, aerion noted it to himself. a week later, exactly the same thing, only more expensive and of better quality, waited for you in your chambers.

if you tried to express delight or ask how he knew, he only jerked his shoulder irritably. last moon, you kept your eyes on a silver tiara in a merchant's shop — for exactly one second, no longer. a week later, it lay in a casket on your table. you did not even remember it.

"it will suit you," he said, seeing your questioning look.

⭑ you were often capricious — sometimes because of trifles, the wrong fabric, the wrong taste, a word said at the wrong time. it would irritate anyone else to the limit. it irritated aerion too. for a second.

today was the fitting of a new dress. you turned in front of the polished steel mirror for an eternity, frowned, and pulled the lace on the sleeves. "it is terrible," you announced, pulling a ribbon off your shoulder. "the color makes me pale, and the style is baggy, as if i am a servant."

aerion raised his gaze and looked at the dress, then at you. "the dress is just a dress."

you froze, slowly turning your back to him — so proud, offended, with pressed lips and tense shoulders, as if he just insulted your entire existence.

"fine," he said more quietly, almost tiredly, and rose from his chair. he walked closer, stopped by your shoulder. "tell me how it should be."

you turned fully — still sulking, still with a stone face, but in your eyes was already that same spark which he learned to recognize since your first wedding night.

"silk, not brocade, the color lavender, not blue, lace only on the collar and take the waist in by three fingers." aerion listened, did not interrupt, and then nodded to the tailor, ordering him to begin.

he looked at you — there was no irritation in his gaze, only endless patience of a man who surrendered long ago and was even glad of it. "is that all?" he asked. you thought for a second. "and pearls along the hem." aerion closed his eyes, then opened them. "fine. pearls along the hem."

⭑ he loves when you sulk. when you cross your arms on your chest and turn away with pouting lips.

at first, of course, he ignored it — he pretended that he was busy, that it did not concern him, he even spoke to some knight louder as if on purpose, but he still looked at you out of the corner of his eye. the pause stretched, you did not move, did not even look in his direction — and he could not stand this. "again?" he said with light irritation, but he already walked closer, leaned down, and caught your gaze. "what now?"

"nothing," you stubbornly shook your head and turned away again. he exhaled, his hand laying on your chin. he turned your face to him, squinting slightly. "you do not know how to do 'nothing'," he said quietly.

you were silent and pouted your lips again, making him lean down and kiss you shortly and softly. he pulled away first and looked closely. "now?" you still frowned, but already weaker. "still nothing."

he laughed quietly — almost unnoticeably, only the corner of his lips twitched — and kissed you again, longer this time, warmer, as if he tried to fix your mood just like that. "is that better?" he asked in a low voice. you paused as if you thought about it, then nodded slightly. "perhaps."

⭑ aerion targaryen wasn't stupid. he distinguished a real tantrum from a theatrical one, a sincere offense from a fake one. he knew when you were truly tired, and when you simply wanted his attention. and still — every damn time — he gave it to you.

because the point was not whether you outplayed him or not.

the point was that he wanted to spoil you.

masterlists ˚.⋆

💬｡˚ @cassvictim @anontargslvt3 @mmasworld @kate-beth @tangikatanifa @aerionbrgflm @transparentwizardblaze @thestoriesitell-blog1 @agentcarter1946 @icebearcucumber @outshawty @bighead02 @anedpev @carbonated-beverage @pixel-pixie-xo @immauperfreak @ibhearts @demoniz3d

@littlewritergreatgirl-blog @besonderselyy @thoughtfully-burning @rubyannebeaufoy @catmikaelson20 @unramdommas2004 @dragon-moonstar @sahvlren @quixoticrai111 @comzetogether @ladychaos1525 @hanakotateyama @bookishdelights @besonderselyy @jinmjy @naty-sunshine @jaemimpulsive