#citrusanon

When he finally asked you on a date, you immediately accepted his offer. What could possibly go wrong? His white-blonde hair, chiseled jawline, and violet eyes were quite appealing. It had been a long time since a guy had shown so much interest in you, and you were willing to ignore some of his less than ideal traits. 

You were strangely drawn to his chaos, especially when it included flashy cars and expensive gifts. The random late night “work meetings” that had him returning home smelling like blood and the occasional attack in the street from a “former associate” was certainly scary, but Aerion distracted you well enough from all of it.

You knew of his family, spoken about in hushed whispers. He was of course involved in shady business, but spoke to you at first only ever of “garbage management.”

The relationship had been a whirlwind, less than one year of dating and Aerion had changed the trajectory of your life. Lavish vacations, shopping sprees, date nights at Michelin star restaurants. Aerion loved showing you off and making sure everyone knew that you were his.

The sex was crazy good, unlike anything you had ever experienced with previous boyfriends. He had unbelievable stamina and a very high sex drive, constantly making excuses to leave somewhere public and return to his house so that he could have you. 

Aerion would fuck you in the kitchen, bending you over the counter and pulling down your skirt in quick succession. He would fuck you on the balcony, on his desk, and in the backseat of his car. He covered you with hickies, fingertip shaped bruises, and he always finished inside of you.

When you had gotten pregnant, Aerion proposed immediately. It was the right thing to do of course, but you couldn’t justify marrying a man you had only known for less than a year. You promised that he could remain a part of the baby’s life, and that you wouldn’t say anything to the press. You were more suited to a quiet life out of the public eye, regardless of how much the thrill of Aerion’s world enticed you.

You remained his girlfriend throughout the pregnancy, delivering a healthy baby boy that you agreed to name Maegor, a Targaryen family name. But you broke up shortly after, blaming Aerion’s reckless behavior and constant cruelty to those around him. His illegal activities grew harder to ignore, and you knew that they would one day catch up to him.

Making good on your promise, Aerion and you avoided any sort of formal custody arrangement and you allowed him as much time with your son as he wanted. Aerion adored the boy, showering him with lavish gifts and parading him around at family events.

Although you had broken up with him, Aerion remained obsessed with you. Flowers delivered to your doorstep one a week, dirty words whispered in your ear during drop-off, and subtle touches on your waist that lingered a moment too long. 

One night when you were picking up your son, Aerion convinced you to stay for a glass of wine. Maegor was more than content in his playpen, and your ex had declared that you looked too stressed. A bit of wine would raise your spirits, he promised as he lured you into his den.

One glass turned into one bottle, and tears were streaming down your cheeks as you rambled to your ex about your shitty new job and creepy boss. His fingers grazed your face gently, assuring you that things would be taken care of as he texted one of his cousins rather frantically.  You were too drunk to realize what he was implying.

You glanced around the kitchen once more to make certain you were alone, before twisting off the cork of the vial. The liquid was pale and shimmery, filling the container almost completely to the brim. Slipping a small kitchen knife out from the apron of your dress, you stared at it for a moment before taking a deep breath and pressing its sharp tip into the pad of your thumb. Thick droplets of crimson blood began to swell from the cut. You held the wound over the vial, allowing your blood to mix with the liquid.

The woman had instructed you specifically on what you must do to ensure that the potion would work, putting emphasis on this last step to ensure that Valarr would indeed fall in love with you and not some noblewoman who happened to cross his path. You emptied the vial into the flagon of wine, watching the liquids condense with one another for a moment before quickly fleeing the scene. 

Valarr had caught your eye quite some time ago. He was perfect; a young prince who was courageous and kind and beautiful in every sense of the word. He had smiled at you once, his mismatched eyes meeting yours as you placed a tray on the table in front of him. You had not been able to think of any one else since, your thoughts and dreams consumed with the dark-haired prince. But what would he want with a girl like you, a kitchen servant with the surname Waters? 

If your plan worked, your life would change in a way that was unimaginable. You would be a princess, and the wife of a Targaryen. If you were caught, you would be killed or perhaps sent to the Silent Sisters if granted mercy. As you tossed and turned beneath the covers of your cold bed within the servants quarters, you found comfort in knowing that either way, it would be your last night sleeping there.

You awoke early the next morning, taking extra time to brush your hair and smooth out your uniform before heading upstairs to the wing of the Keep where the Prince’s chambers were located. You had planned to wait outside of Valarr’s chambers until he awakened, pretending to be busy dusting various statues in the hall. But you had been stationed for less than a minute before the sound of a door opening made your back stiffen in anticipation.

“The hour is quite early for someone such as yourself to be sulking in front of my chambers,” the Prince tells you sternly. It is not your dark-haired Prince who has greeted you, but his cousin. 

Prince Aerion stands before you now, dressed in riding clothes with a longsword attached to his belt. His purple eyes stare down at you, examining you as if you are a rare jewel rather than one of many servant girls within the castle. Fire burns from his gaze, causing the gaping pit in your stomach to suddenly sink. In his hand, he holds a familiar sapphire-studded gauntlet. 

“Apologies, My Prince. I-,” you stammer with uncertainty, the weight of his presence being too much to bear. “I did not intend to disturb you.” 

“But you have, darling. In more ways than one.” He leans forward, narrowing the gap between the two of you as his eyes rake down your body. “What is your name?”

You speak it to him, your voice a mere whisper. You realize what has happened, although you are not sure how. Aerion had not been the intended target, but clearly a mistake had been made. You would never dare to ensnare this prince, the one known by all for his derangement and cruelty. 

“I dreamt of you last night. A dream more vivid than any of the ones my foolish brother will proclaim to have.” His face is mere inches from yours now, you can see the whites of his eyes and smell the wine on his breath. “I saw you, walking through a wall of fire and smoke and appearing before me unburnt.”

“You must be mistaken, my Prince. I am no one of importance,” you tell him nervously as you stare at his boots. You feel a touch against your chin, Aerion’s two fingers lifting your head so that you are face-to-face with him once again.

“No. I dreamt of you and now I have awoken to find you outside of my chambers. The Gods have delivered you to me.” He speaks like a Septon but looks at you with the eyes of a craven man. You stay silent, trembling and clammy as the weight of your carelessness comes crashing down on you.

His hands ensnare your waist before you can blink, and he has pulled you into his chambers before an exhale has even left your lips. And then his lips are pressed against yours, possessively claiming your mouth as his tongue pushes inside of it. Aerion tears at the bodice of your dress, ripping the fabric like it is nothing more than a sheet of parchment before discarding the garment to the floor.

You try to plead with him, but your cries are met by deaf ears. You are helpless as he holds your arms pinned against the wall, biting your neck and marking you as his. His erection already begins to press against your thighs and causes you to shudder. 

“You are destined for great things my darling, but first you will be mine,” he declares as he lifts you suddenly, moving you quickly to his bed of silk sheets and soft feather pillows. His knees press your legs open as his greedy hands find your breasts, tugging at your nipples and eliciting a whimper to slip from your lips.

“Please, my Prince! You have mistaken me for another, please leave me be!” you attempt to reason. Aerion’s violet irises dance wildly as he laughs, pinning you down with one strong arm as he unlaces his breeches with his free hand.

“You drive me mad with lust when you plead like that,” he groans. His cock springs free from its constraints, the tip red and throbbing. “Use my name instead, and perhaps I will be gentle with you.” 

He is a menacing sight, with silver hair and purple eyes that mark him as a Valyrian beast rather than a man. But the way his forearms flex as he runs his fingers across your skin, and the slight hitch of his breath as he speaks to you causes heat to rise within you.

“Aerion,” you whisper, testing his reaction. His movements still as he watches you carefully. “Please.” You are unsure what you want from him; you want him to leave but a part of you cannot help but be attracted to this dangerous man.

“Good girl,” he praises you, slipping two fingers between your legs, caressing your folds for a second before forcefully pressing into your cunt. Aerion resumes his attack on your neck, teeth breaking your skin as his lips bruise it. You are gasping now, overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers pumping deep inside of you. 

His fingers are quickly replaced by his cock, breaching you quickly and allowing your body no time to adjust to his size. You cry out in pain at the intrusion, but he silences you with a firm hand clasped over your mouth. 

“Shhh, I know you want this. You have been dreaming of me, as I have of you,” Aerion assures you. The pace of his thrusts are brutal, stretching you open and staking his claim on your body. 

“Please stop—Aerion, you must!” Your pleas are ignored, and instead he pins your arms down into the mattress as he sinks his teeth into the divet between your neck and collarbone. You feel a sharp pain, and Aerion begins to lap at the blood he has drawn, smearing it across your chest like a wild beast. 

“You will take all of me, and you shall love me as I love you. You will never escape my love.” Aerion speaks of love but it is a fire of possession and obsession that has taken root in him, which the woman had warned you was a risk. A risk you had been willing to take for Valarr, but had not been prepared to deal with in this sort of way, with this sort of man. 

He brings his lips to yours, making you taste your own blood on his tongue. The hand pressing into your wrist shifts upwards to grab at your fingers, and you feel a tinge of pain as the healing cut on your thumb is torn open. Aerion draws out each thrust, bringing his cock out of you fully before sheathing completely inside. A string of whimpers and pleas fall from your lips, incoherent and unimportant to him. 

As his pace begins to quicken, his violet eyes catch sight of the flood dripping down your thumb, a crimson trail that is irresistible. He brings it to his mouth, sucking harshly causing the nerves in your wrist to throb. His other hand presses into your stomach, feeling the way that his cock is pushing against your insides. 

When his pace quickens and his hips stutter, he bites down on your thumb before spilling inside of you, painting your womb with his seed. You can feel your pulse racing, throbbing particularly hard in the points of your thumb and collarbone. Aerion remains hovering above you, pulling your chin towards him so as to force you to meet his gaze.

“You will never leave my side. I will make you my Queen, even if I must set the world ablaze to do so.” His words sound prophetic, but his tenor is filled with derangement. 

You have never been here before, as you had no taste for the macabre. Aerion seemed to be a frequent visitor, his posture relaxed as he guided you around. He never seemed to display any sort of nervousness, which Valarr told you was simply carelessness. But you thought your brother was wrong about your cousin; Aerion definitely cared about some things. 

“Relax, little cousin. No one will find us here,” he tells you. “Is it not exciting to walk in this place where dragons once lived?” His eyes focus on yours, and it appears as if flames are flickering from within him. Aerion has always been rather passionate about the dragons. 

“I suppose so. It would be quite wonderful to have been able to claim one,” you tell him as you step over a dead rat. Aerion raises a brown as he takes your arm in his.

“There is nothing that I want more than to claim a dragon, a very specific one in fact,” he tells you, his tone eerie and unfamiliar to you. “Do you think that your brother has a similar desire?”

“Valarr? No, he is more interested in politics than dragons,” you tell Aerion and he laughs coldly. His fingers brush against your arm, sending shivers across your body. His skin is always so hot, as if a flame burns inside of him.

“He is not a suitable match for you,” Aerion says sharply, causing you to sigh.

“I do not wish to speak about that.” He is referencing the betrothal that your father has decided upon. Ever since he made the announcement a fortnight ago, Aerion has been inflamed. He has always made his intentions with you rather clear, and you suppose he feels that he has been slighted. 

You love your brother, but you are not sure if you want to marry him. The decision is not yours to make however, so you have accepted it with all the grace that you can manage. But, a part of you remained uncertain.

Aerion tightens his grip on your arm, making you aware of the anger that boils beneath him. He pulls you to his chest, and you instinctively lean into his touch.

“No one will stop me from taking what I want. My father and yours are fools if they believe that I will allow you to marry Valarr,” he asserts before pressing his lips to yours in a hostile kiss. 

Aerion takes the lead, darting his tongue out to meet yours as his hands grip your waist. He tastes like smoke and you find yourself melting beneath his touch, puddling underneath his hold on you. Before you know it, your back is pressed against a rough slab of stone and Aerion has wrapped your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection pressing against you as he starts to push up your skirts.

“We shouldn’t do this, Aerion,” you whisper in protest as he sucks at the spot where your neck meets your collarbones. You know that this is wrong, but it feels so good. You have never been able to deny Aerion anything, and you know that you will ultimately give in to what he wants. But nonetheless, you attempt to voice your concerns. “If my father finds out-”

“Everyone will find out. They will know that you are mine,” he tells you as he bites down on your neck, making you shudder. “Our Gods have decreed it to be so, who are you to tempt fate?” 

He unlaces his breeches before gathering your skirts to rest above your waist. When he presses inside of you, the pain is overwhelming. You claw at his arms as your body adjusts to his, panting desperately against his neck.

“You ought to relish in the pain. Many desire to be claimed by a dragon,” he taunts as his pace quickens, hips snapping against yours brutally. 

As Aerion stains himself with the blood of your maidenhead, you note once again the lingering smell of sulfur in the air. A century ago, the ferocious beasts of your house resided in this very cave. Winged creatures of fire and blood, who took what they wanted and bowed to no one. How different is the blood coursing beneath your veins than what ran through Syrax, or Vhagar, or Meraxes?

All of his children were present at the wedding ceremony. The oldest, Prince Daeron, had been born a mere moon before you had. The younger boys made it clear that they would never accept you as their new mother, although their sisters were hopeful that a new woman in the family would mean prettier dresses and more expensive jewelry for them. The eldest Prince lingered in between cups of wine and dragon dreams far too much to pay you any attention. It was the second son, Prince Aerion, that would prove to be a problem.

When you met him for the first time, he dismissed you as nothing more than a silly little girl that his greedy father had decided to claim. He spoke to you with sneers and discontent, mocking you for your age and lesser family.

You brought your concerns to your new husband. You did not like how Aerion behaved around you, and you liked the way he spoke about you even less. 

“Ignore his antics. He wants a reaction from you, so do not give him one.” Makear had told you rather dismissively. 

And you tried your very best to do so, avoiding Aerion wherever possible and ignoring him whenever necessary. But it became rather impossible, as his schedule seemed to constantly interrupt yours. The breaking point came one morning when you were praying in the Sept, only to be unexpectedly joined by him.

“Confessing your sins, Stepmother?” He knelt down beside you, too close than what would be considered proper. He smelt of smoke as always, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him.

“Leave me be, Aerion. My prayers to the Gods are no concern of yours,” you snapped at him. Aerion’s lips curled and eyebrows raised as he examined you closely, bringing his head closer to yours.

“I wager I can guess what you pray for. You ask the Mother for a child in your womb, even though my father is likely sterile in his old age. You plead with the Maiden to protect your mind from impure thoughts. And you pray to the Warrior to strike down the enemies of your house.” His hand runs along the grip of his sword when he speaks the last line, eyes reaching yours. 

“Do not presume to know me. You are nothing more than an insufferable brat who runs about the Red Keep throwing tantrums when you do not get your way.” Anger is painted across your face, yet Aerion only smiles wider. He leans in closer to you, his face a mere inches from yours.

“Do not presume to know me. I always get what I want, and what I want now is you.”

And before you can manage even a mumble, he has pushed you into the cold stone and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss is hungry and devouring, claiming you with a passion unlike your husband ever has.

You press your hands against his chest and push him away from you, knocking him to the ground as you quickly rise to your feet. The candles lining the altar have begun to flicker, and Aerion’s eyes are aflame in a way that you have never before noticed. 

“Quite a bold move, coming from such a docile little wife. Enjoying it too much, were you?” He reaches forward to grab your legs, yanking you back down and pressing you against the altar. Aerion’s strong arms pin you down as his lips lower to your ear. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go.” 

“What lie have I spoken?” You snarl at him, but you do not make another attempt to flee. Something about his shift in demeanor has caught your attention, the way he desperately clings to you and gazes into your eyes like no man has ever done before.

“Tell me that you don’t love him.” His words cut a clear message, although he does not speak your husband's name. “Tell me that you wish you had been wed to me.”

And instead of speaking, you allow your base desire to take control of the situation. You bring your mouth to his and kiss him deeply, moaning as he bites down on your lip.

Aerion reacts instantly, releasing your hands and instead bringing his to your bodice. He unravels the laces at your side while pushing up your skirts, positioning himself in between your legs. He was so hot, every touch of his skin against yours left you burning. 

Desire pooled in your core as Aerion latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking harshly in a way that made your whole body tingle. You opened your eyes for a moment, and they rested on the statue of the Maiden that rose high above the altar. You turned your head away, which Aerion did not like.

“Look at me while I claim you,” he growled as he grabbed at your neck, yanking you back into his line of vision. You could feel his hardness pressed against your center, and he allowed that feeling to linger for a moment before he sheathed himself inside of you. You cried out, fingers tugging on his silver locks as Aerion thrusted deeply.

He took up a harsh pace, fucking you roughly as his other hand pinned your hips down onto the cold slab. Several of the candles had been pushed to the ground, now dripping wax onto the tile as the flame sizzled out.

-He responded back immediately, demanding you send a photo so he knew you weren’t a cop. You sent back a photo of you in your current state; on your bed and wearing a tight crop-top and sweatpants. He texted back what strains he currently had and where you could meet him.

-You walked down the street to the parking lot outside of a 24 hour convenience store that was known for selling cheap booze. Aerion pulled up in his flashy sports car, rolling down the window and pushing back his sun glasses. He took one long look at you before demanding that you get into the car, claiming that it was “less suspicious” this way.

-He handed you a baggie of weed, asking if you knew how to roll a joint or if he needed to do it for you. The car reeked of cigarettes and Dior Savage, but you shyly nodded you head and took up his offer.

-Aerion pulls a rolling tray out of his glovebox, one that is brandished with a red dragon. He asks you about your classes, your major, and your friends as he rolls for you. He offers the paper to you, asking saying that it needs saliva in order ti stick properly. His mouth is too dry, or else he would do it himself he assured you. His deep purple eyes watch intensely as you lick the edges of the sheet.

-Once he’s finished, you reach into your purse to grab the $20 bill you had set aside, only to notice that it is missing.

-“Well, I suppose that this one is one me, seeing as you are first time customer and all. But if you want me to roll the rest of this 8th, I may require another form of payment from you, pretty girl,” he tells you as he squeezes your knee.

-You know that you should call your roommate and ask her to bring the money, but instead you find yourself bringing your face closer to his, allowing your lips to meet in a sloppy kiss as his hand creeps up your thigh…