Punk Aerion X Y/N | 80s AU fic
I felt inspired by this amazing artwork of @crazy_toma777 on IG or @Crazy_Tom0712 on Twitter
Pairing: 80s Aerion Targaryen X Y/N
Musician AU | 80s Rock Scene | Biker Aerion | Tattoos and piercings | Forked tongue | Eventual smut
Summary: While waiting outside a venue where an unknown band will be playing, you have a brief yet heated encounter with a mysterious man full of tattoos, piercings and that devilish forked tongue. The night goes on, a series of events unfold, and you are shown how easily it is gets to wrapped into his world of chaos. It’s fast and uncontrolled— just like wildfire. So, what happens when you dance too close to the flame?
Author’s Note: Punk Aerion has been in my mind for the last two days, I just had to. I hope you guys will enjoy. This part is more of the first meet and introduction. It will get SPICIER, I have some things planned😈
Smoke, cars, people, neon lights— on repeat— smoke, cars, people, neon lights. My eyes dart around, spotting in the exact order.
Smoke, as the nearby kebab truck fires up another order, whilst people lined up, dressed in an overall color palette of black, white, and red. Chatter on their lips without the absence of a cigarette, and leather on their body without the absence of spikes or some kind of print. The scent is a mixture of weed, smoking meat, and burnt tobacco.
Cars— one passes by every other minute. A busy Friday night, when people are starting head out, move to another place, or by this hour, head back home. The last option is if you’re boring.
People. Too fucking many of them.
Neon lights decorate this crowded, musky alley. Signs to all kinds of bars and clubs all along the street, above one another, and some even overlapping. Right above my own head reads bold and bright: “The Den. Rock Your Every Night.” Then, a lit-up sign under that reads: “Tonight Playing: Wildfire and the Vipers.”
I quite like this little alley. There is a sense of beauty in the dingy and the degeneration. It’s like no one, for once, no one cares for propriety and seeks to live however they want. An older woman makes out on the opposite side of the street. I think she has her hands in the other girl’s pants. I swear I saw her take off a ring from her ring finger and tucked it in the pocket on her preppy, baby pink, wool cardigan, before shoving that same hand down the other woman’s bright red leather pants. By the kebab truck, I can see a cook taking a break with a rolled blunt in his hand. This person, just 6 feet to my right, snorted something from their tiny ziplock bag after scooping with their impossibly long nails. Maybe it’s the hidden desires in all of them that have clawed their way out for one night after being pushed down, or maybe it’s just what they do, because that’s what they want. Either way, it’s their truth in this moment, and there is something so special about having a place of truth in a world of lies and facades.
This place feels like a small capsule away from the beige, muted colors, and modern minimalistic bullshit. Here, posters layered on one another, colored lights, and broken windows are the decorations. In a way, it brings soul to the establishments: it’s edgy, loud, and in-your-face—very Rock’n’Roll. Bars here specialise in live music: rock, punk, metal, you name it. Pick the right bar, know the right people, wear the right things, and you will definitely walk away with the right drinks at the right price. For instance, it’s currently ten minutes until midnight. One should know, Black Reign is busy at this hour, and you’ll have to wait in that long ass line. If you want a place at Black Reign, come an hour earlier at least. So now, either make friends with a man named Donovan to cut you through the cue, and might I add, he won’t be friends with you unless he’s trying to fuck you. So wear the right thing, but if you’re not up for low-cut tops with boobs pushed up to the max and miniskirts with half your cheeks out, you can simply head a couple of steps down to Dagger. Less crowded, but the same heavy metal playing every night, and the cocktails taste the same when you ask Marco to make them. He used to work at Black Reign before he rage-quitted one night after the manager overworked him on unpaid extra hours for 6 months straight. He likes to yap about it when I go over; he just likes to gossip, and afterwards, as if payment for listening, drinks suddenly become on the house. Right place, right people, and right outfit. Remember the formula.
This particular venue, where I’m standing, highlights new bands and musicians, with a different band playing each night. Wildfire and the Vipers is new, it seems. I have not heard of them, and trust me, I’m here a lot of nights. With the sultry red texts and the flame wrapping around a naked woman on the poster with vipers at her feet, I’m expecting something wild, sexy, and full of energy. I’m intrigued.
I pull my black fur coat tighter around me; the wind isn’t biting, but it is chilly —especially when one’s only dressed in a tight, leather miniskirt and torn tights below. I check my pockets for my cigarettes. Ten minutes until showtime, I have time for one smoke. I pull out a cigarette and fish for my lighter, reaching down into my leather boots. As I bend over, a lighter not my own flicks open right in front of the cigarette that hangs on my lips. Its flame burns the tip instantly. They didn’t give enough distance for me to decide if I should accept, or some distance to not risk burning me. Who is this?
I look up and immediately make eye contact with the culprit. He’s not much taller, but there’s a discernible gap despite me being in heels. He has piercings on both nostrils: two metallic spikes growing out of his nose. Another above his left eyebrow, and a Snake Bites piercing. His ear was also pierced heavily, looking like one of those diagrams they’d show you at the piercing shop: multiple helix piercings, two small ones followed by one larger ring on the lobes, and one industrial piercing through. His hair was platinum blonde, and it was cropped yet kept spiky. His blue eyes are sharp, focused and fiery. It does not stagger an inch away from mine. I straighten myself, standing up. My eyes breaks our prolonged eye contact as it rakes over his exposed arms. He was fully tatted. Intricate patterns wrap along his forearms, a large dragon tattoo adorns his perfectly sculpted bicep, and stretches up to the side of his neck. The other side has some unique markings and patterns all over. He wears a grey mesh tank top that gives me a glimpse at his toned, slim build. I take a drag of my cigarette and blow out a smoke in the direction away from us. His eyes don’t waver, and he stands so close I can smell his musky cologne. He shoves his lighter back into one of the pockets in his black leather pants.
There are three other men behind him. They slowly approach the scene, keeping a slight distance behind him. Two of them seem to be twins, they came to an almost slapstick-like stop upon approaching the scene. The ultimate copies of one another; everything is the same from outfit to face. Their only difference lies in their hair. One has bright red hair, and the other’s is jet black, both rocking a standard mullet. They both got somewhat animated expressions on their face. The redhead bites down a grin, whilst smacking his brother’s chest, and nudges his chin towards our direction. The brother reciprocates by gripping his brother’s already ripped white shirt, hard. The two drowns silent giggles and tugging and pushing one another.
One other guy simply stands still with a smug look on his face, right behind the blonde. He was taller than all of them, with long frizzy brunette hair that came down to his shoulders. His vest, completely unbuttoned, showcases his muscular upper body and all the tattoos that decorate it.
The cigarette hangs on my lips, while my eyes scan him from his spiky black boots to his spiky blonde hair. He notices and smirks. The fire in his eyes grows more heated; his whole presence does. He simply stood, yet it was like having a live dancing flame right in front of me, like I could take this fur coat off, even in this chilly wind, and still be heated to the core. There’s something so wild and unpredictable about his aura. I want to get close, but it’s never wise to approach a live flame.
“Thanks for the light,” I smirk, amused and very intrigued. I lean back further on the brick wall behind me, letting my hands move from clutching onto my coat to behind me. This movement makes the coat slide back, revealing the lacy black bralette top underneath and my bare torso. I can hear a whistle from behind him, probably one of the twins. The smirk on his face disappears; he bites the inside of his cheek, as his eyes shamelessly travel to my torso up to my chest. The flame that was there shifts into something else, equally heated and dangerous.
“My eyes are up here, blondie.” I let out a low chuckle. His eyes immediately snap to my face, and I respond with a smug smile. I can see the reactions behind him: the twins laughing like two freed apes, and the tall man grabs at them to keep them steady.
His brows furrow, and he narrows his eyes at me for a couple of seconds. His hand toys with the heavy chain on his neck, the rings in his fingers collide with the chain, making soft clanks. The other hand rests on his belt buckle, where on the front is a peculiar design. It looks like a mask of a dragon with a horn and flames coming from behind. He breaks to a more relaxed stance, “may I?” He asks, pointing to the cigarette in between my middle and index finger. His voice was low, smooth, with calm that also feels dangerous. I smile and hold it up for him to grab it out of my hands. He smirks once again. His hands reach over, but instead of taking the cigarette, he grips my wrist. Before I can verbally question anything, he pulls my hand up to his lips and turns it gently so the right end points to his mouth. He leans in closer, eyes locked with mine as he opens his mouth. There, I saw it: he sticks his tongue out, and his tongue is split in the middle into two— a forked tongue. How cool. I’ve heard of the procedure, but had never seen it in person until this moment. Each side moves as though it has a mind of its own; they wrap from both sides around the cigarette and lift it into his mouth as he retracts his tongue. A sight that was so unexpectedly erotic.
He takes a drag of the cigarette and returns it to my hands. I stand slightly stunned and thrown off center, but I keep my cool. Somehow, it’s like he sees right through me. He breaks out into a wide smile before he moves.
“See you inside, baby.” A gruff, yet amused tone in his voice as he walks past. His friends follow closely behind, each of them shooting me a look before they all disappear into a room with a sign above that says “Backstage. Bands and Crew Only.”
It hit me. This is the band playing tonight.
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