abolish the concept of dividing a season into 2 parts because why do i have to wait till freaking NOVEMBER to watch the second half of rivals this is literally criminal
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abolish the concept of dividing a season into 2 parts because why do i have to wait till freaking NOVEMBER to watch the second half of rivals this is literally criminal

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❖ FIRE & BLOOD Study Guide ❖
This document serves as a university-grade study guide and macro-historical outline of George R.R. Martin’s Fire & Blood. The following archive distills 136 years of the Targaryen Dynasty into a zero-filler synthesis—from the incendiary triumph of Aegon’s Conquest to the devastating, dragon-extinguishing climax of the Dance of the Dragons.
If you require a rigorous, structured timeline of the political machinations, succession crises, and dynastic warfare that shaped the Seven Kingdoms, proceed to the primary syllabus below.
CLICK HERE for the full Dragons of Flesh and Thread Series.
Period: 1 BC – 136 AC | Subject: The Targaryen Dynasty, from Aegon’s Conquest to the Regency of Aegon III.
favorite thing about tumblr is having a fandom in law. no i haven't watched this show and i'm not planning to. but my moot is having fun!! look how much they love it!!! i'm supportive from the sidelines!
SEX ON FIRE / AERION TARGARYEN
modern aerion targaryen x reader
SYNOPSIS: two weeks after the apartment, aerion is still her best friend’s boyfriend, still watching her across every room, and still making her remember exactly what they did. when he follows her outside during a party, the night turns into another secret...too good to regret.
WARNING: explicit sexual content, humiliation/degradation, infidelity.
WORD COUNT: 4k
NOTES: SAVE ME WHORE AERION. WHORE AERION SAVE ME. anyway, he’s worse in this one. i absolutely love writing evil aerion...enjoy
part one
The party was a fucking zoo.
You stood in the middle of it, a can of cheap beer warming in your hand, and felt the press of bodies from all sides. The living room of some off-campus house you didn't recognize was packed with drunk students grinding to bass so distorted it rattled your teeth. Red plastic cups littered every surface. Someone had spilled something sticky on the floor, and it sucked at the soles of your shoes with every step.
Lana was somewhere in the thick of it, laughing too loud, her arm looped around some girl from her art history class. She'd dragged you here. "You never go out anymore. You're always in that apartment brooding. It'll be fun!" Fun. This was her element, noise, attention, the shallow warmth of being surrounded by people who only knew her surface. You were just the accessory. The quiet friend she brought along to make herself seem deeper.
THE THINGS WE NEVER SAID
Modern AU (series)
Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x fReader x surprise appearance 😉
Sypnosis: Valarr is the perfect prince. Or at least, that's what the world sees. Heir to a western empire, burdened by legacy and expectation, he finds his only peace in his best friend—the brilliant medical student who built her future with blood, sweat, and sleepless nights. She is the only person who asks nothing of him, who somehow always knows exactly what to say.
Yet beneath her quiet smiles lies a mystery she refuses to share. And beneath their friendship lies a truth neither is brave enough to name.
As old empires stir and hidden histories begin to resurface, two hearts bound by loyalty, longing, and dangerous secrets must face the realization in which the very love that anchors them may also be the very thing that destroys them.
CHAPTERS
1. The Cost of Chivalry
2. A Damsel in Distress
3. Where Wildflowers Grow
4. Every Dragon Casts a Shadow
5. Of Love and Duty
6. A Spark in the Ashes
7. Playing with Fire (Part I) (writing)
Playing with Fire (Part II) (writing)
8. No Songs for the Dead (writing)
9. The Boy Beneathe the Dragon (tba)
10. The Eyes of Old Valyria (tba)
11. The Price of Dragonblood (tba)
12. The Line Between (smut) (tba)
13. A Dance with Dragons (tba)
14. The Things We Never Said Part l (smut) (tba)
15. The Things We Never Said Part ll (tba)
WARNING: 18+ (I've chosen not to use tags for this series to prevent spoilers. This work is intended for readers 18 and older.)
Notes: This is my first time writing in a long while and posting it, so please be kind with the many grammar mistakes you will find.
Most of my stories are inspired by songs, books, and TV shows that have stayed with me over the years.
This series is heavily inspired by the song Friends Don't by Alexander Stewart and Lauren Spencer Smith (linked above). If any songs come to mind while you're reading, I'd love to hear your recommendations. I’m always looking for music that fits the story's vibe.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️

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I need a AKOTSK love island au fic.
Now personally I would love a Aerion x reader type of fic (because I literally love him)
Where it’s starts the OG couples with the men being: Dunk, Valarr, Raymun, maybe yall can throw an a few OC in the feature.
For the OG girls; Tansell, Reader, Rowan (red)
For bombsellssss: you already know Aerion is THE bombshell. He’s not afraid to step on toes; and he dosent care who feeling he hurts. Honestly he is there for a good vibe.
Next bombshell; Kiera YESSS PINK HAIR BADDIEEE. SHES turning heads. SHES mysterious. And she easily becomes fan favorites.
Bombshell Lyonel Baratheon! He’s sassy, he’s fun, and he’s stealing your girl. Better look out!
Nowww it’s a plot twist because everyone is soon let in on the secret between Aerion and Valarr — they are cousins. Fans quickly find out that they are essentially nepo babies who work for grand dad’s company.
Aerion likes reader but he’s a little shit and when he and Valarr signed up for love island Aerion already decided to fuck with him. So he sees you and Valarr coupled up and he already has his eyes set on you.
There’s tension, drama, Valarr thinks you’re really cool. You like Valarr. But something about Aerion from his entrance to the way he kissed you, bitting you and nipping at down your neck. It was steamy and the looks he sends you makes you interested.
However when in one challenge he teases Valarr about how good of a kisser you are it puts you on edge. Cause you not about being some leverage between whatever that is. So once the challenge is done you confront Aerion but he sees opportunity to kiss you again in front of Valarr. SO YOU BREAK THE KISS AND SLAP HIM. Walking away like a bad bitch.
You decide Aerion isn’t for you, but there is still looks across the rooms. Tension, hand brushing when he brings breakfast for the girl sitting next to you.
You guys are a fan favorite couple. Everyone loves the drama and toxicity—it’s delicious. However what really makes them love the two of you is when Aerion defends you against one of the other guys. Taking accountability for the love triangle and how you weren’t leading anyone on.
You have no idea about this.
At this point things are tense between you and Valarr — and when Kiera walks in you know things are over between the two of you.
So you are left vulnerable and you refuse to have anything with Aerion. However despite your wishes he chooses to couple up with you. “I told you, I want nothing to do with you or whatever game you’re play.” “But I did choose you, and you can hate that or even me, but if I didn’t you wouldn’t be here. I want you here.”
Aerions jealously would hit its peak when Lyonel shows up. He sees the two of you laughing, and having so much fun. So he pulls you away not “can I pull you for a chat.” It’s “I need to talk to you,” and pulls you up from your seat.
When he has you alone he just lets it all out. Finally the tension snaps. “I want you to choose me. Not him. I can be everything you need. Just don’t pick him.” He doesn’t care about cameras now. “I’ll give you twice the amount of money you win here if you just leave with me now and give me a chance.”
And for that comment production pulls you apart for a few days and wouldn’t let you chat. You get one chat with him before the re-coupling and it’s enough for reader to choose him.
Ends with final couples your choice (mine is Aerion and reader, Valarr and Kiera Raymun and Rowan [red])
You could even do spin off series of your life after the villa.
Dragons Caught in the Storm (Part 4)
Aerion Targaryen x f!reader x Valarr Targaryen (part 1, part 2, part 3. But can also be read as a oneshot.)
Summary: Based on the request "A fic where you tried to give Valarr a love potion but Aerion drinks it instead (like what one of Egg's sisters did)". Reader is a Baratheon (but no physical descriptions are given), who is a childhood friend of Valarr's.
Chapter summary: Aerion's "Why don't you love me?" moment, Targaryen style secret first date in the streets of King's Landing. And the girlies are fighting (Aerion and Valarr.)
a/n: The last chapter of Growing Strong series is out, btw, for those not yet aware! <3
You had not expected the kiss to continue. When Aerion first pressed his mouth to yours, you had thought it would be brief, a moment of impulse caused by the dress, easily broken, easily dismissed. But his arm had locked around your waist before you could step back, pulling you flush against him with a firmness that left no room for retreat, and when you instinctively shifted against his hold, his murmur vibrated against your lips.
"Stop wriggling."
The command was soft, almost distracted, as though his mind were elsewhere entirely. His mouth did not leave yours. It moved with a slow pressure that made your thoughts scatter before you could gather them into something useful.
You bit his lip.
It was not hard enough to draw blood, but it was enough to make your point, or so you intended. Aerion groaned, a low sound that rumbled from his chest into yours, and instead of pulling away as any sensible man might have done, he kissed you harder. His free hand came up to grasp your neck, his palm warm against the side of your throat, fingers curving along the line of your jaw to guide your mouth more firmly against his.
You let him.
That was the worst of it. You let him. Your hands, which had risen to push against his chest, remained where they were, neither shoving nor gripping, simply resting against the fine fabric of his doublet as though your body had not yet decided whether to resist or surrender.
Only when he pulled away, just enough to draw breath, just enough to let the air cool the space between your mouths, did you try to step back.
He followed.
One step, then another, matching your retreat until your spine met the edge of the table. He did not cage you there, precisely. He simply did not allow the distance you sought.
"You have loved Valarr for years, have you not?"
The question came from nowhere, searching, and it struck you harder than any blow could have.
You stared at him. Aerion's violet eyes were fixed on your face, but there was no mockery in them. He looked, bewilderingly, almost like a child. His brows were drawn together in contemplation, his mouth set in a line of mild frustration, as though he were working through a problem that refused to resolve itself.
"Could you not love me too?"
You could not speak. The words lodged in your throat like stones.
He did not seem to require an answer. His gaze grew distant for a moment, reflective, and when he spoke again his voice was lower, rougher, as though he were recounting something he had never intended to share.
"I could see you, you know. When my father would make us come visit the Red Keep. You were always following him around. Valarr." He said the name with a particular weight, not quite disdain, not quite resignation. "A pretty little girl, but not remarkable enough to torment. I saw you only in passing."
Your jaw tightened. He did not seem to register it.
"Then we came again, years later, and you were…" He paused, his eyes dragging over your face, as though reconstructing a memory in real time. "A woman grown. Flowered. Filling out your dresses in ways that made it impossible not to look. And still beside him. Still following."
His hand had not left your neck. His thumb traced a slow line along the edge of your jaw.
"I assumed he had deflowered you by then," he said, and the bluntness of it made your breath catch. "Taken you to his bed. Broken you in a bit. How could he not? Having you next to him every day, looking at him the way you did." His eyes darkened, something flickering behind the violet that you could not name. "I could not imagine the restraint. Or the stupidity."
Your heart was beating too fast. You could feel it in your throat, in your wrists, in the places where his body nearly touched yours.
"Only for him to get betrothed to someone else." Aerion's mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "A merchant's daughter from Tyrosh. And I wondered then if I had misjudged him. If my courteous, perfect cousin Valarr had it in him to use a woman and abandon her once he tired of her. That would have been a surprising discovery of cruelty. Almost impressive, in its own way."
He leaned closer, nosing along your cheek, pressing his lips in a way that were not quite kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the tender skin beneath your ear.
"But then you told me the truth. That the potion was meant for him. And you had the expression of a maiden grasping for attention, not a woman scorned." He paused, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "He had simply never noticed the doe offering herself up willingly. Without so much as a chase."
You remained silent. What could you say? It was all true. Every word of it.
i’m not sure how much you want to write for bobby franklin, but just in case, i wondered what you’d think of boyfriend!bobby helping his girlfriend cope with nightmares/trauma responses to what the two of them see after escaping the backrooms 💘
boyfriend!bobby comforting you after nightmares ⊹ ࣪ ˖
the backrooms had spit you out eventually, dragged you both through enough horror to leave your nerves permanently frayed, but escape did not mean peace.
it did not mean sleep came easy.
it did not mean your body understood that the fluorescent hum was gone, that the endless yellow walls were behind you, that the fear was supposed to stay there too.
it followed you home.
WRONG NUMBER - Aerion Targaryen
SUMMARY - You receive a message from a random number and you two begin texting frequently. However, you accidentally figure out who it is.
CONTAINS - banter (crack to a point), aerion is aerion, modern AU, peep the small details!!
A/N - i keep getting vague modern aerion requests soo!
Your phone vibrated against your mattress late at night.
You rolled over, the glare of the screen hitting your eyes in your dark room. It was an unsaved number.
UNKNOWN: where the fuck is the link for davis’s class

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oh to be parents with him at a controversially young age
evil labubu
A Second Small Tale of Unequal Hearts
Pairing: Aerion Targaryen x sweet wife reader
Word Count: idkkkk again, but I am pretty sure that it is longer than the first one.
Summary: Aerion is cruel but you, his wife are the complete opposite. After nearly being trampled by a horse, Aerion's young squire saves you in an attempt to save the sweet princess. You take full blame for his injury.
I haven't proof read because I just don't have it in me rn, so I am sorry if there are any spelling/grammar/punctuation errors- I will get to it eventually.
Warning: Mentions of violence, violence
Reblogs, comments and likes are very appreciated :)
Masterlist
My requests are open.
“Be careful, the hem of your dress will ruin.”
You heard your husband’s words clearly, yet chose not to listen. The floor beneath was muddy, and there was not much you could do to stop that. The last thing you cared for would be a little bit of brown mud stuck to your dress.
“It will only be a smidge of mud, my love. I have plenty of other gowns.” Your words were sweet like honey. In Aerion’s opinion, all of your words were sweet- even in the rare times that you lost your temper. Or your version of losing your temper, anyway, which usually meant a stern face and a huff. Aerion’s version of losing his temper tended to be entirely different.
Aerion let out a huff through his nose, a grin on his lips and clasped his hand in yours. “I am well aware. I paid a lot to ensure that they were all especially made to your liking.”
Sooo what would happen if the former bethrothed of wife!reader who is now a widow because his lady wife died, visited her in summerhall and at first Aerion wasn’t even aware that there was a guest because he is just too busy with lyra but when the servants starts to whispers of this same handsome lord courting her and suggesting her an annulment, and he sees how she is smiling and she looks so pretty again what would he do? Because I think the situation would stress him even more because she seems to not care anymore about him, and each time they interact he is crueler than before and his father is not against letting her go through with the annulment… 😝
I love the way your brain works, ahhhhh
but let’s make it more interesting and have her old betrothed propose the annulment behind her back— just for the plot
husband!Aerion x wife!Reader
summary: For days now, your old betrothed has been walking the halls of Summerhall— and you seem to be blooming again, truly enjoying his presence. But it doesn't last long, because your husband quickly steps in to ruin it. Eventually, you let your lust take over you.
cw: 18+ (mdni), dark!Aerion, strong language, power imbalance, cheating, abusive relationship, manhandling, fingering(f!receiving), graphic violence, voyeurism & exhibitionism, dub-con, mentions of grief/childbirth loss(not the main characters/reader)
wc: 4k
For the past few days, Gerold Lannister has been a constant presence in the hallways of Summerhall, brightening the gloomy rooms with his warm, easy charm. More than anything, you are overjoyed to have a familiar face nearby—someone completely untainted by the suffocating, toxic atmosphere of the castle. It is a breath of fresh air.
A few weeks ago, you received word that his wife had tragically passed away in childbirth, taking their newborn babe with her. Unable to fathom the depths of such grief, you began writing to him. What started as a simple letter of condolence quickly blossomed into a meaningful correspondence, eventually prompting the man to pay a visit to Summerhall. Officially, of course, his journey is a diplomatic one—an opportunity to strengthen political ties and get to know Prince Maekar a little better.
In reality, he has spent far more time with you over the last few days than he has with the Prince. Your mornings have settled into a comforting routine: a quiet stroll through the gardens followed by hours spent talking on a secluded bench, as if neither of you carried the heavy burden of royal expectations. For the first time in years, you are actually happy. Usually, the people around you are either bound to you by duty or choose to ignore your existence entirely.
Your sudden happiness hasn't gone unnoticed. You are blooming; your hair has regained its luster, you’ve begun wearing your finest silks and jewelry again, and the hollow expression on your face has been replaced by a frequent, genuine smile.
At first, Aerion paid no attention to the change—ignoring how you sat at your vanity for hours while your ladies-in-waiting dressed you, how you rose at dawn just to walk before breakfast, or how you suddenly took an interest in buying vibrant new fabrics from the market.
He only realized something was wrong when he caught sight of you sitting alone on a bench with the Lannister heir. He watched from afar as your bodies leaned in close, noting how you shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear—a nervous habit you used to have around Aerion when you were freshly in love. He used to call that your "tell"; it was how he always knew he had won your affection.
It is no surprise that you are drawn to Gerold. He was, after all, your former betrothed—before Aerion decided to tear the match apart before it could even begin. Years ago, Aerion had called off your engagement faster than you could blink, ensnaring you instead with empty promises and a hollow affection that drew you helplessly under his spell. Even now, the memory of the absolute chaos you two caused—and how furious your parents were over those reckless, impulsive choices—lingers in the air.
But all Aerion sees now is you slipping through his fingers, craving another man's warmth. A sickening, sharp pang of jealousy flares in his chest. He wants nothing more than to punish you for looking at someone else with such passion. He forces himself to stay in control, knowing that reacting too violently would expose his weakness, but God only knows how utterly unhinged he feels in this exact moment.
Stepping out from the shadows, he casually slides onto the bench right beside you, draping a heavy arm over your shoulder with a practiced, hollow smile. "Good morning, wife. Aren't you going to introduce me?" he asks cheerfully, his voice entirely devoid of the malice burning inside him.
The easy atmosphere vanishes instantly, and your posture stiffens under his touch. "Husband," you murmur politely, "this is Gerold Lannister—"
"—perhaps you remember me from before you intervened, back when I still intended to make your wife my bride," Gerold cuts in, his tone sharp. The corner of Aerion's mouth twitches, his fake smile dropping instantly to reveal his usual cold, hardened expression. His grip tightens painfully against your shoulder. Yet, despite the tension, you can't help but look down, a small, subtle smile playing on your lips.
"Ah, yes. I heard your wife passed recently. You have my condolences," Aerion replies, though his words drip with a cruel, mocking sarcasm rather than genuine sympathy. Gerold flinches slightly at the jab. For the rest of the morning, you are trapped between two men locked in a silent war of egos. Aerion sits beside you with an aggressive, dominant stance, his leg deliberately brushing against yours at every opportunity.
When a maid finally approaches to call you away, you practically leap from the bench. Following her toward the dining hall, you feel the suffocating weight lift from your chest with every step of distance you put between yourself and your husband.
For the days that follow, Aerion becomes crueler than ever before. If once you believed his neglect to be the worst punishment he could inflict, you soon discover how mistaken you are. Indifference is a mercy compared to obsession— now his eyes never leave you. Where once he treated you as though you were invisible, he now watches your every movement with unnerving attention. Wherever you go, he is there. If you walk through the halls, his presence lingers somewhere behind you. If you dine, his gaze finds you across the table. If you ride, he appears nearby beneath one excuse or another— it is as though a shadow has attached itself to your heels. The constant scrutiny becomes unbearable.
At least the nights remain your own. Aerion still spends them in the chambers of his beloved, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the silence of your rooms. There is something almost laughable in the arrangement when viewed from afar. The mornings belong to you, the nights to her— neither woman receives the whole of him, and yet somehow both are burdened by his presence. Worse still, Gerold becomes increasingly difficult to see. Since the incident, opportunities for private conversation have nearly vanished. Every corridor seems watched. Every gathering feels observed.
One night, unable to endure it any longer, you make a decision. If Aerion is elsewhere, then you intend to make use of his absence. Sleep refuses to come regardless— for hours you toss restlessly beneath your blankets, staring into darkness while thoughts churn endlessly within your mind. At last, with a quiet sigh of frustration, you rise from your bed. A light mantle is thrown over your nightdress, concealing it from curious eyes.
Then you slip from your chambers. The guard stationed outside your door immediately straightens, “my lady?”, “I need a breath of fresh air,” you reply. The man takes a step forward, clearly intending to accompany you— you stop, “alone.” The single word leaves little room for argument. Reluctantly, he bows his head.
You move through the sleeping castle with careful steps, your heart beating faster than it should. Moonlight spills through narrow windows, painting silver paths across the stone floors. Finding Gerold’s chambers proves easier than expected. Soon enough you stand before a familiar door. Fortune favors you tonight. No guards stand watch outside. For several moments you simply stare. Then you raise your hand and knock.
Only once.
The sound feels impossibly loud. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your mantle as you wait. Seconds later, the door opens. And there he is— the very man your thoughts have sought countless times these past weeks.
His hair is tousled from sleep, dark strands falling carelessly across his brow. His chest is bare, illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight spilling from the room behind him. The sight catches you off guard. “I am sorry,” you say quickly, lowering your gaze. “I did not mean to wake you.” You focus desperately on anything but the exposed skin before you— the floor, the wall, the doorway— anywhere else.
“No, no,” he replies with a warm smile. “Come inside. I was simply unprepared for visitors”, his voice remains rough with sleep, deeper than usual. Stepping aside, he gestures for you to enter. Once the door closes behind you, he retrieves a shirt and pulls it over himself, sparing you further embarrassment. The room falls quiet.For a moment neither of you knows what to say— then you gather your courage.
“I feel alone,” you admit softly. “More alone than I have in a very long time.” Your fingers twist together before you. “Until you returned to my life.” He says nothing— you continue. “I am grateful for all the kindness you have shown me these past weeks. Truly grateful.” Silence settles between you— not an uncomfortable silence. A gentle one. The kind that exists only between people who understand one another.
Gerold studies you carefully. For him, the moment feels almost unreal. Like the fulfillment of a dream long abandoned. A smile appears upon his face before he can stop it. “I confess,” he says quietly, “I have cherished our time together as well” his gaze softens. “You have helped me forget many things I would rather not remember.” Slowly, he steps closer.
Then another.
And another.
The distance between you diminishes until his presence surrounds you completely. There is an intimacy in that simple closeness unlike anything you have felt from Aerion in recent memory. Soon only inches remain. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. Close enough that your pulse begins to race. Gerold lifts a hand— slowly, carefully. His fingertips brush the side of your neck. The touch is impossibly gentle. A shiver races across your skin— goosebumps rises along your arms. Your breathing grows heavier.
Your heart pounds against your ribs with such force that you fear he might hear it. Without a word, he reaches for the mantle draped around your shoulders. Slowly he draws it away. The garment slips downward, no longer shielding the delicate nightdress beneath. Your breath catches, “we should not do this,” you whisper. The protest sounds weak even to your own ears.
“Hush now, Princess. I would grant you a kindness in return for all the comfort you have shown me these past weeks,” the man says softly. As he speaks, his hand drifts ever lower, gliding from the swell of your breast, over the curve of your belly, and at last between your thighs. He draws aside the delicate garment that shields your modesty, though little distance remains between the two of you now. His brow rests near your neck, and he scatters tender kisses along your throat— kisses gentler by far than any Aerion has ever bestowed.
Slowly, yet with unwavering purpose, his fingers find the small, sensitive pearl hidden between your legs. They move in careful circles, coaxing pleasure from your body until your breath grows unsteady. One of your arms slips around his neck, drawing him closer as you press yourself against him. Gerold lifts you with surprising ease and settles you upon the table behind you. All the while, his lips continue their pilgrimage across your throat, and his hands work their quiet sorcery, never ceasing, never faltering.
Before long, you feel him ease himself from your embrace. He lowers himself to his knees before you and gently parts your legs with both hands. His lips begin to wander across the soft flesh of your inner thighs, placing reverent kisses there as though worshipping at a sacred altar.
“Do you trust me?” he asks between those kisses, his voice rich with temptation. All you can offer in reply is a desperate nod. You feel his mouth drawing ever nearer to your most intimate flesh. Your head falls back. Your breathing trembles, caught between nervousness and longing. Somewhere within, you know what passes between you is wrong— yet you have hungered for the touch of a man for so long that you cannot bring yourself to ask him to stop.
Then his mouth finds you. You feel him suck gently at your most sensitive place while his tongue labors to draw more pleasure from you. Two fingers move within you, slow and steady, sliding in and out with maddening precision. Your hands seem to belong to someone else. Again and again, they find his hair, tugging at it— whether you wish to push him away or pull him closer, even you cannot say. Your lips part into a silent circle. A moan swells within your throat, too much to remain hidden.
It has been so long since you have felt this desired. So long since you have felt worthy of devotion and attention. Strange that such feelings come only through the hands of another man. A heat begins to gather deep within your belly. It grows stronger with every passing moment until it bends your back and tears a helpless cry from your lips. You press his head closer still, drunk upon desire as though it were the strongest wine ever poured.
So intoxicated are you that you fail to notice the figure standing in the doorway.
Your husband.
Aerion watches in utter silence— his face is carved from stone. Your heart stumbles within your chest. Your first instinct is to shove the man away— yet the aching need for release has wrapped its claws around you and will not let go. Instead, you find yourself looking directly into Aerion’s eyes while another man’s tongue and fingers continue their work upon your body.
He is testing you. He wishes to see whether you will cast the man aside— or continue. Aerion stands motionless, as though frozen in place. His eyes cling to the sight before him with a terrible fascination. His irises appear nearly black, swallowed by pupils widened despite the bright chamber— they have widened from desire, a desire he struggles with all his strength to suppress.
He stares at you— perhaps he wishes to tear you apart. Perhaps he wishes to throw the man from the nearest tower. Perhaps both. The muscles of his face are drawn so tightly that it seems the vein upon his brow might burst. His jaw is locked. His brows are pulled together in furious restraint.
Your own breathing becomes ragged. Your chest rises and falls with hurried gasps. Against all reason, the knowledge that Aerion watches and does nothing only deepens your arousal. In your thoughts, it is not Gerold upon his knees. It is Aerion.
You imagine his tongue upon you. You imagine his hand gripping your thigh, fingers digging firmly into your flesh to keep you still. You imagine his lips wandering across every inch of your body, warm and demanding.
Then it comes— your body erupts with bliss. A loud moan escapes you. The sensation is overwhelming, a flood of pleasure so fierce that it steals the strength from your limbs and tears a hoarse cry from your throat. You cling to the man before you, fearing that if you let go, reality itself will come crashing down around you.
Aerion watches every detail. He sees your trembling legs attempting to close. He sees your eyes roll back. He sees your nails buried in the man’s hair. He notices the sheen of sweat upon your upper lip and every sound that escapes your mouth. He notices everything— so much so that even he can no longer deny the effect the sight has upon him.
At last, the man withdraws his fingers and gazes up at you in admiration. To him, you are a masterpiece. His eyes linger upon his glistening hand, slick with evidence of your pleasure. A faint smile touches his lips. Slowly, he raises those fingers and smears their moisture across your mouth like paint upon a canvas— You part your lips and he slides his fingers inside. And you clean them with your tongue while never once breaking eye contact— the chamber falls silent.
Then Aerion speaks, “I see you have been enjoying the company of my wife, Gerold.” The words strike like a hammer. The man jerks upright and turns. You hastily wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your gown and tug your garments back into place. “My Prince—” “Shhh.”, Aerion is suddenly beside him. One finger rests against the man’s lips, “say nothing.” His voice is calm— far too calm. The courage that filled you only moments ago vanishes like mist before the sun.
“You know,” Aerion says, pacing slowly across the chamber, “I believed my wife capable of many things. Yet a whore…” a dark laugh interrupts his own sentence. The sight of him moving back and forth only deepens the dread gathering in your stomach. Then he stops and raises a finger. “Though perhaps the fault lies with me. I have neglected her of late. Yes. Neglected. That seems the proper word.”
His gaze never leaves Gerold. “And she believes herself entitled to share her bed with another man. Is that not so, Wife?” The final word is spoken like an insult— the air in the room grows heavy. You attempt to hold his gaze, but anger forces you to look away.
Aerion studies the man before him. He sees the fear hidden beneath the bravado. At length, he exhales a quiet laugh. “With which hand did you touch her?“, “My Prince—”, “Which hand?”
The question cracks through the room like a whip. Aerion takes a step forward. “Or was it both?” The whisper carries the weight of a threat. “The right, my Prince.” Aerion nods—nothing more. Then he steps back. “Ser Harys. Enter.” The guardsman immediately obeys.
Suddenly, realization crashes over you like icy water— “No,” you whisper. No one hears. The guard waits for his command.
“Remove the boy’s right hand,” Aerion says. “He has laid hands upon a member of the royal family.” The words are spoken without emotion— the room darkens around you. “Ser Harys, you cannot— Prince Maekar would never permit such a thing—” you try to protest. “Do not listen to her,” Aerion snaps. “I am your prince.”
The guard hesitates only a moment. Then duty prevails— steel flashes. The man struggles to maintain his pride until the final instant, but when the blade bites through flesh and bone, a scream bursts from him. A terrible scream. One that seems to tear straight through your heart— you cry out as well.
The sight is unbearable. Blood spills across the table. The severed hand tumbles to the floor. The man collapses, begging for help. And all of it feels like your fault. You leap forward, desperate to reach him, desperate to ease his suffering— however, Aerion catches your arm. He drags you back so sharply that you stumble against his chest. “Fetch the maesters!” you cry. “Help him!” The guard rushes to obey.
“Look well, Wife,” Aerion murmurs into your ear. He stands so close that his breath brushes your skin. “This is what becomes of men who draw too near to you.” A chill races through your body. “You should think carefully before repeating such mistakes,” he continues. “Perhaps five times carefully. That is how many fingers he has lost today, is it not?” You can scarcely breathe.
Blood stains the chamber. The wounded man whimpers in agony. His severed hand lies abandoned upon the stones. You turn your head away. At last, Aerion releases you— the moment freedom is granted, you flee. You rush from the chamber and nearly collide with a maester hurrying inside. “Forgive me,” you manage to say.
Behind you, Aerion remains where he stands. And deep within him some dark and pathological hunger has— for the moment, been satisfied.
·༻𐫱༺·
“Have you lost what little wits the gods granted you, boy?!” Maekar’s voice crashes through the chamber like thunder. At the far end of the table sits Aerion, silent and unmoving, while his father paces before him like a caged beast. For what feels like an eternity, the older man has stalked the length of the room without rest, turning sharply at every corner— his boots striking the stone floor with enough force to shake the very air.
The sight would almost be comical were it not for the fury written across his face. “As though it were not enough that you shame this family with your endless scandals,” Maekar continues, his voice no softer despite the minutes that have already passed, “you have now commanded a royal guard to sever the hand of a nobleman!” His words echo from the walls— Aerion says nothing.
For nearly a quarter of an hour the tirade has continued uninterrupted. Complaint after complaint pours from Maekar’s lips while Aerion remains seated, listening in grim silence. Whether it is patience or stubbornness that keeps him rooted to that chair, even he may not know. “How is it possible,” Maekar demands, throwing his hands into the air, “that a man of your age can still behave with such astonishing foolishness? Did I not raise you with my own hands? Did I not teach you better than this?”
The prince finally halts his pacing. With long strides he approaches the table until he stands directly before his son. “Do you possess the slightest understanding of what this may cost us?” he asks. “Do you understand what sort of scandal you have unleashed upon this house?” Aerion merely shakes his head— “No. He laid hands upon my wife. He crossed a boundary no man should cross. Now he suffers the consequences of his actions.”
A sharp crack resounds through the chamber as Maekar slams his palm against the table. “Your wife?” he roars. “You speak of your wife as though you have shown her any honor! You stained that marriage from its very beginning!” The words strike true and Aerion’s jaw tightens. The muscles along his neck draw taut, yet he offers no answer.
“Lord Lannister will demand justice,” Maekar continues. “The man will demand your hand in payment for the one his son has lost—“ “Then perhaps his son should tell him precisely what he was doing,” Aerion replies coldly. “Perhaps then the Lannister boy would cease questioning the honor of House Targaryen.”
The older man stares at him in disbelief. For a long moment, only silence remains between them. At last Maekar exhales heavily and rubs a hand across his face. “Boy,” he says, the fire in his voice giving way to weary resignation, “you should pray that young Lannister does not seek vengeance for this. Pray harder than you have ever prayed in your life.”
The strength seems to leave him all at once. He sinks into the nearest chair as though carrying the weight of the realm upon his shoulders. For several moments neither man speaks.
Then Maekar leans back and studies his son. “There is something else you should know.“ Aerion finally lifts his gaze. “Several days ago, he came to me seeking an annulment“ the words hang in the air. “He spoke of ending this marriage entirely. In fact, he offered the suggestion gladly enough— the boy proposed binding you instead to that little whore you have been keeping company with and allowing her to go free.”
Aerion’s expression darkens, Maekar notices. He continues nonetheless, “as compensation, he offered to persuade his father to provide substantial payment to the Crown. Enough to smooth over the matter and preserve appearances“ a bitter laugh escapes him. “And I very nearly agreed“ the confession causes Aerion’s eyes to narrow. “Of course,” Maekar adds, “I would have spoken with you first. Yet somehow I knew you would never accept such an arrangement.”
His gaze drifts toward the window. “Not because of honor. Not because of duty.” His eyes return to his son, “but because you cannot bear to be without her.” Aerion remains silent. The accusation lands harder than any shout. “You forget,” Maekar says quietly, “who begged for this marriage”, his voice is calm now, stripped of all anger. “You were the one who came to me. You were the one who pleaded with me to arrange the match despite her betrothal to the Lannister heir.”
The room grows still, “so do not stand before me now and pretend she means nothing to you.” For a long moment, Maekar simply looks at him— Gods above, where had he failed? What mistake had he made that this man sat before him as his son? The thought alone exhausts him. At last he shakes his head, “I am ashamed of you,” the words are not shouted— they are spoken softly. Yet they cut deeper than every accusation that came before.
Aerion rises so suddenly that his chair scrapes violently across the floor. For the first time that evening, genuine emotion flashes across his face— not anger, not arrogance, something far more wounded. Without another word, he turns and strides from the chamber, the doors slam shut behind him. Maekar is left alone with the echo.
a/n: just so you guys know, this is what happens when another man touches what’s his… so let’s rethink about her cheating again
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Red is for virgins
John Price x f!reader (eventual Poly 141 x reader) Part 1 of 5
CW: Breeding kink, PiV sex, mild dubcon, cum play, oral (F receiving), mafia AU, sex auction.
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Red is for virgins.
That's the only thing you were told when you asked why your name was in red on the board. It matches your dress. The same deep crimson. You look around you and see many other women of all shapes and sizes wearing similar dresses of different colours.
moon song [iv] | Modern!AU
Synopsis: In which the reader is a veterinary surgeon who helps an injured man one night.
Word Count: 5k+
Tags: Modern!AU, veterinarian!Reader, fem!Reader, reference to crime and mafia, description of wounds, patching up injuries, tension, slightly dark!Baelor, slightly dark!Targaryens, medical inaccuracies, age gap
Note: so sorry it took forever for me to update, but I should be posting on schedule from now on <3 my exams are officially over!!! more chapters to come shortly!!
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The words came out slurred, almost incoherent.
But the sheer violence of them wasn't muffled.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Aerion didn't have the strength to sit up, to move, to do anything, but he still tried. Hands grabbing blindly at the sheets that pooled at his waist, the foreign line that was forced into his veins, injecting Seven knows what sort of poison into him; his movements were desperate, clumsy.