Warnings: cannibalism, smut, coercion (if you squint), third person pov, gore, dom/sub dynamic, lowk just a descent into madness, mentions of blood, biting
Summary: The forest carries a haunting presence- one that whispers in your ear without a single knowing. Another freak tragedy just turns into another folkloric story.
Word count: 2.3k
A/n: I havenβt written a fic since 2019 and the absolute LACK of Shawn Heard fics has made me come out of my little hole. English is not my mother tongue so please bear with me, thereβs most likely mistakes.
He took her face in the palms of his hands- Shawn was like a bloodhound, in some senses. He could sniff out her insecurities, could sniff out all the anxious voices that whispered to her. She looked up at him, and itβs all he could see.
God, she was just too fragile of a girl for a guy like him to pass up on. He knew what kind of girl she was right when she first spoke to him.
βDonβt worry baby, Iβm right here with you, see? Hold my hand itβll make it hurt lessβ
His southern twang rang in her ears, all soft honey and tender bones. She didnβt know if he meant the dull ache of despondency in her chest would hurt less, or if it would make what was to come hurt less. She didnβt want to know- not now, anyways.
βOkay,β She whispered so softly she feared he may not hear her- but he had. He always had.
He leaned in slowly to kiss her, but not before pulling away slightly and laughing teasingly. He liked seeing her chase after him.
She smacked him hard in the chest; he really was an asshole.
βCut it out!β
He kissed her with all the fervor one could muster. It was all teeth, hands groping and squeezing whatever flesh they could, all heavy breath stirring with unadulterated ardor- it was the essence of Shawn. The tree bark dug into her back with the force heβd pushed against her with, and she liked the way it hurt.
The way their bodies searched for one another held something animalistic- a kind of intimacy that sheβd been searching for.
He said her name then, all breathy and soft, and she hated how she couldnβt trust his tone or the way his mouth curved when heβd said it. She knew what he was. She knew what she was to him. But, even if Shawn was an instigator to chaos and held little care to all but himself, she liked feeling like she mattered to him.
Sheβd participate in her own deception. Even if it was only for the night.
She shivered as his fingers glossed over the curve of her skin gently, her shirt lifting up tauntingly in the process. The soft breeze of the forest was like a third kiss in the air- something presumptuous that made the hair on her arms stick up and her nipples harden under her thin shirt.
His pace slowed now, forcing her to submit to soft kisses she did not ask for. It made it even harder. Now, he was permitting her to really feel him. To touch the bare of his nape until his skin was the only thing she knew indefinitely.
βYour lips were fuckinβ made for meβ
She let out a shaky exhale from his words. Was this the make of an actor? She could be his actress. If he gave her the promise of his hands and voice being sweet like mercy, she would be whatever heβd have her be.
He leaned down, giving her neck open mouthed kisses as his hands now lingered down to her thighs. He gripped the back of her thighs with a harshness that contradicted the gentleness of his mouth. Both feelings at once made her head tilt to the sky.
She wore her shorts today, as she had most days in cause of the damp humidity. She became thankful for the unrelenting heat instead of cursing it like she had the past few weeks, because now Shawn had the access he needed to grip her ass. The tips of his fingers toyed with her panties- coquettishly swiping up and down, going under them to feel what skin was hidden from him.
She gave him a soft whimper when he sucked on one particular spot of her neck, and she could feel him grin against her skin. His hands moved from her ass- though still never leaving her body- and found themselves on her pelvic bone.
His hands moved with such practiced ease, she hadnβt even noticed theyβd slipped down to the buttons of her shorts. She went to look down, and perhaps put a stop to something she could not name and would not dare to. However Shawn was a bloodhound that knew of her insecurities, and he kissed her before she could even form a retort.
He kissed her with a promise of sweetness- a slow death as sheβd have it.
She pulled away slightly as his fingers undo the last button and his fingers begin pulling her shorts and underwear down.
βI donβt deserve good thingsβ she whispers, and it sounds definite, like a sentence already passed. As if she does not deserve small joys and even smaller love.
But Shawn is bred from violence- he knows what he is and what he is not.
She craves something familiar now, because the softness of his touch is something alien and terrifying to her now. It is best kept to himself, and Shawn realizes this as soon as he looks into her eyes and her furrowed brows.
He could do that for her- be her ruin and chaos; give her teeth and mar her skin. If it isnβt comfort she seeks, heβd make her pulse beat stronger than the thoughts in her head.
He doesnβt reply to her, because he knows itβs useless and that the truth lay bare and naked in front of both of them.
He pulled down her shorts harshly as if they were an offense to him, and kissed her so hard her head slammed against the tree behind her. Patience was now a threat, and she began to simmer her fingers down to his waistband.
She stood only in her thin t-shirt, with her shoulders down and vulnerable. His mouth ravished her own in hastiness, brutality had now replaced his softness, and her lips were becoming a plump-dull red.
Sheβd finally managed to shimmy his red shorts low enough so she could reach into his boxers, her fingers ghosting over the length of him. He pulled from her and hunched over her shoulder slightly, his mouth twitching.
She reached her other hand up to him; whether to tug at his hair or to scratch at his neck, she did not know. She stroked his cock until he gave a groan he tried to mask with biting her neck.
When she let a soft moan escape her, he took her jaw in his hand and roughly turned it to his face, and she was met with a clench in his jaw and a want in his eyes that was so predatory it made her very soul vibrate.
βLet me fuck you. I swear to God Iβll never ask for anything else. Just lemme fuck you.β He slurs like a man possessed.
It wasnβt a question, not really anyways. She knew that even if sheβd refuse him, heβd take her anyways. And as perverse as it was- she felt herself become even wetter with the thought.
Maybe it was because it was an action of unquestioned desire that cared not for its disallowance. That his carnal desire was her- simply, plainly, her.
God, there was something wrong with her head. But he was the same, and perhaps thatβs why she was so attracted to his maddening ways.
βI want every nerve of my body to feel you,β She whispers as if they were performing an ancient ritual- two animals circling one another, seeing which will bite first, which will succumb to death first.
He swallows at her words, and wordlessly lifts her leg up so her ankle dangles over his waist. He grips her thigh with so much force that she bleeds, and the blood that runs from her and onto the ground is nothing compared to the way the tip of his cock feels sliding up and down against her, wetting itself with all she has to offer.
He kisses her cheek sloppily, moving to the corner of her jaw until he reaches her mouth. He ruts against her until sheβs left whimpering against his lips, but itβs still not enough for him.
Heβs harder than heβs ever been in his life, and the head of his cock throbs so intensely he feels as though it might combust right there and then, but still- he wants to hear her plead and beg for him. Who was he if not a greedy bastard?
βPleaseβ¦ please please pleaseβ She gripped his neck and forearm so tensely, she could only hope he might feel the desperation that leaked from her.
βPlease Shawn, let me have this. Let me have youβ
He grinned down wolfishly with all his teeth to show.
βAll you had to do was ask babyβ Heβd said it so mockingly- so fiendishly.
He didnβt enter her softly- no- he hadnβt even given her a warning. He simply shoved himself inside of her, uncaring of the lack of preparation heβd given her.
He swallowed her cry with his lips and took the hand that was clenching his forearm so intensely into his own. His hand pinned her wrist to the tree behind them, and the old bark scratched the back of her hand raw.
He didnβt go inside of her inch by inch to savor the feeling. He was too hungry for that, starved for how she could make him feel, aching to feel the warmth of her. His pelvic bone met hers as he let himself become swallowed by her.
She was besieged with such strange sensations; dark sensations. The carnal kind, that made her pant and moan and cry.
He fucked her like a man bewitched. Thrusting in and out of her at a pace she could not match.
The mark of his nails on her thigh was no longer the crescent of his fingertips; they were long, bloody, scratch marks. She didnβt notice. Pain and pleasure was all that was left of her.
He moaned into her mouth, the air he breathed became hers.
βFuuckkβ She let out a simpering whine, and a gasp that followed.
βYou feel so fuckinβ good. So fuckinβ good. Sβlike you were made for me.β
She could barely make out what he was saying, too lost in the pleasure he was giving her. His hand detached from her wrist and instead went down to her clit, massaging her in rough circles that matched the pace of his hips.
It was all too much, too many sensations, she could only moan and scratch at his back to bring him even closer- if that was even possible.
The scratches on his back now matched those of her thigh, and they were both left dripping with small beads of blood.
He was no longer grunting in whispers; he was a left a mess of whimpering and groans that almost matched her own.
The rough pads of his fingers and the feel of his cock hitting the sweetest spots left her on the very brink of her demise.
βIβm gonna come! Donβt stop, please donβt stopβ She begged him, because she would simply die if he could not grant her this.
Her words only encouraged him, merging even closer to her body until all she could feel was that fucking tree and the heat of his body.
When she came, it was not soft and loving. It was brutal, and he did not slow down for her.
His fingers left the bud of her clit and instead moved to her mouth to cover the harsh cries of overstimulation that left her lips.
Now, he was chasing his own demise.
He bit into her neck again, but this time was different from the last. This was pure intoxication- this was the hunger he felt coming to light. He was a starving man, and her flesh was on display so prettily for him.
His thrusts had not slowed, he raised her thigh higher so he could grasp a better angle, and God, had he ever found it.
His mouth left her neck, and he could feel the wetness soaking his chin. His hand slid sloppily from her mouth and instead went to base of her throat, squeezing pressure.
He bit her so hard she saw stars. He bit her so hard, she saw God.
There was something strange in these woods. Something that made every humaine ideation shatter and crumble into dust. Something that made what they were doing to each other make perfect sense, something grotesque that made them both shudder and grasp for the air they could not seem to find.
He picked her up, kissing her without technique; just lips and blood that he coated her mouth with.
They went to the ground, her head hitting one of the giant roots the tree held.
She gasped as he entered her once again, her arm that wasnβt attached to his shoulder flying to grasp at something, yet finding only the base of the old tree.
She lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, as if to bring him closer, and he obliged without a second thought.
βI need youβ
She didnβt know what exactly she needed, she only felt the overwhelming feeling that she needed him in some otherworldly sense; something she could not explain, something she had never felt before, but rather a feeling that rose primitively from her soul.
His hand went to her mouth, as if knowing exactly what she felt, as if offering himself as a sacrificial lamb.
Both her hands cusped his own, and she bit.
He groaned, and his pace inside her quickened.
Her back arched from the dirt beneath her, and she bit, and bit, and bit.
Until his hand was nothing more than a mess of blood. Till his fingers went missing from hedonistic teeth.
Until the warmth of her became too much, and he finished inside of her with his own teeth going towards her neck once more. He rode out his orgasm with her flesh between his teeth, the delight of having her entirety to himself, to have her body and soul at the mercy of his hands.
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Shawn Heard had been in a foul mood for 2 days, not that anybody around him would have noticed much difference. He was always miserable, always had something nasty sitting on the tip of his tongue, always looked like someone had personally offended him by existing too close to his truck. But this was worse. Sharper. Restless in a way he didnβt know what to do with.
Julie had started hanging around with some girl from New York.
That was apparently exciting.
Shawn didnβt understand the appeal, as far as he was concerned, being from New York just meant she probably talked too loud, complained about the heat and thought knowing where Brooklyn was counted as a personality. Julie, however, had decided this woman was fascinating and had spent most of the week disappearing off with her.
Which was fine.
Shawn didnβt care.
Now it was Friday night and instead of being several beers deep somewhere with Julie, he was sitting alone on his porch with one boot hooked against the railing, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth and a bottle sweating between his fingers.
The Florida night hummed around him, bugs throwing themselves stupidly against the porch light. Wet heat sitting heavy against his skin, somewhere down the road a truck rode past with music rattling through its speakers before everything settled quiet again.
Shawn looked at his phone.
Nothing.
He tossed it onto the chair beside him, picked it up again less than a minute later.
Still nothing.
His mouth tightened. βWhatever.β He grumbled around the end of his cigarette.
He wasnβt lonely, that was pathetic.
Shawn liked being by himself. Nobody talking at him, nobody asking what was wrong with him when absolutely nothing was wrong with him, nobody touching his cigarettes or bitching about the smell or telling him heβd had enough to drink.
He liked quiet.
He liked his own company.
He just didnβt particularly like realizing nobody was coming over.
That was different, by his third beer, he was bored enough to start scrolling through whatever shit his phone put in front of him. Bikes. Trucks. Marketplace listings. Some idiot trying to sell a rusted out four wheeler for nearly three grand.
Then Tinder.
Shawn stared at the little flame icon for several seconds.
Heβd never bothered with it before, never needed to, really. Women werenβt difficult to find if all he wanted was a nice pair of thighs to bury himself between for the night.
Still, he glanced around his empty porch.
Downloaded it.
Setting up the profile annoyed him immediately.
He had almost no photographs where he looked remotely approachable.
One in the driverβs seat of his truck with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth and his brow screwed up like he was trying to intimidate the road.
One standing beside his bike.
One holding a fish.
One shirtless at the lake, which Julie had taken without asking.
One at a bonfire where he appeared to be glaring at whoever had pointed a camera at him.
Shawn looked through them. βGood enough.β
His bio was even shorter.
If youβre annoying, swipe left.
Perfect.
He started swiping, and immediately regretted downloading it.
Too much makeup.
Too many filters.
Fake eyelashes long enough to cause weather patterns.
Lips that looked painful.
Women posing beside cars that clearly werenβt theirs.
Women whose entire personality appeared to be drinking cocktails on vacation.
βNo.β
Swipe.
βFuck no.β
Swipe.
βWhat even is that?β
Swipe.
Then your profile appeared, shawnβs thumb stopped.
You were pretty, real pretty, actually but not in the overly polished way heβd been getting annoyed at.
Your first photograph looked almost accidental. Hair tied back, strands falling loose around your face, barely any makeup, sunlight catching little freckles across your nose. You werenβt pouting or sucking your cheeks in. Just smiling.
Natural, his eyes stayed on you longer than he intended.
Then he swiped through the rest.
A dress in one.
At a bonfire in another.
Then you standing beside a dirt bike with mud splashed halfway up your jeans.
Shawn frowned.
Went back, looked closer.
Your boots were wrecked, mud on your arms, hair a mess and you looked genuinely delighted.
βHuh.β He read your bio.
Horror movies. Mudding. Bikes. Fishing.
Dogs. Dive bars.
Shawn read the list twice, then looked at your photos again. Definitely his type.
Not that he had a type.
He swiped right.
ITβS A MATCH.
His eyebrows lifted, a small grin tugged at his mouth before he caught himself doing it.
He opened the messages, thought about what to say. He didnβt really care for messaging, Julie could message him in the morning and heβd take at least 12 hours to reply or just not reply at all.
Shawn: hi
He stared at it. βJesus.β He muttered.
His phone buzzed almost immediately.
You: hey handsome x
Shawn frowned at the screen. Handsome?
He looked at his own photographs again, particularly the one where he looked like he was considering vehicular manslaughter.
Then back at your message.
Shawn: you sure you messaged the right guy?
You: Pretty sure π
Shawn: dont look handsome in any of those
You: You do.
You: You just need to smile more.
Shawn actually scoffed, smile more? He was tempted to call her a dumb bitch and unmatch.
Shawn: fuck off
You: πππ
Shawn: dont tell men to smile sweetheart thats misogynistic
You: Did YOU just accuse ME of misogyny?
Shawn smirked around his cigarette.
Shawn: yep
You: Your bio literally says women annoy you.
Shawn: says everyone annoys me
You: Somehow worse.
Shawn: still matched me
You: Unfortunately youβre hot.
That one shut him up for a second, he rubbed his thumb across the bottom edge of his phone and read it again.
Shawn: unfortunately huh?
You: You look like youβd ruin my week.
Shawn: only a week?
You: See? Awful.
Shawn laughed quietly to himself, wnd that was how it started, not with anything deep.
Not instant feelings.
Mostly insults.
You thought he was hot and he thought you were pretty and neither of you seemed particularly interested in pretending otherwise. Over the next few days, Shawn started checking his phone more often. He hated that.
Heβd be underneath a bike with grease up his forearms and hear a notification, immediately reaching for it before remembering he wasnβt supposed to give a shit.
Half the time it was you.
That made it worse.
You sent him a picture of your bike one afternoon.
You: Bet mineβs faster than yours.
Shawn looked over at the half disassembled bike beside him.
Shawn: cute
You: Cute???
Shawn: little princess bike
You: I hope yours explodes.
He grinned.
Another night, you called him pretty. Shawn had been lying across his couch watching some terrible movie, cigarette balanced between his fingers.
You: You know what your problem is?
Shawn: go on then
You: Pretty face, horrible personality.
Shawn: quit callin me pretty
You: Why?
Shawn: im a grown man
You: A pretty grown man.
He stared at the message, his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek.
Shawn: youre annoying
You: And yet you keep messaging me.
He didnβt have much of an answer for that.
Because you were right, worse, he started liking the way your name looked at the top of his screen.
You: Are you ever going to ask me out?
Shawn sat forward, his knee started bouncing before he forced it still.
Meeting was different.
Messaging was easy.
He could be funny when he felt like it, cocky and take his time answering. In person, youβd actually be looking at him. Which shouldnβt have bothered him.
It did.
He lit another cigarette.
Shawn: saturday?
You: Is that your version of asking?
Shawn: yeah
You: Charming.
You: What are we doing?
Shawn smiled slightly.
Shawn: wear something you dont mind ruining
You: Shawn Heard that sounds threatening.
Shawn: muddin
Your response came instantly.
You: OH! Fuck yeah.
That decided it, he definitely liked you.
Saturday afternoon, Shawn was waiting beside his truck trying very hard to look like a man who hadnβt checked the time 6 times in 10 minutes.
Heβd changed his shirt twice.
He would deny that under torture.
A cigarette hung between his lips while he leaned against the driverβs door, one ankle crossed over the other, then your car pulled in and you climbed out. Shawn went completely still.
You were even prettier in person.
That irritated him immediately.
Denim shorts. Worn boots. A little top. Hair loose and already getting slightly messed up by the warm breeze.
Nothing overly done.
Nothing fake.
Just you.
You spotted him, smiled and walked over without a single fault in your step. Confident.
Shawnβs eyes dragged down you once, very obviously. When he looked back up, you had one eyebrow raised. βDone?β
βNo.β
You laughed.
Good. He liked your laugh in person too.
Annoying, then you looked him over.
Actually looked, giving him the exact same treatment he had given you. Shawn shifted his cigarette between his fingers. βYouβre prettier in person.β
His face instantly tightened. βDonβt.β
You smiled wider. βWhat?β
βCall me pretty.β
βBut you are.β
βIβm a grown ass man.β
βA very pretty one.β
Shawn stared at you for a moment, then jerked his head toward the truck. βGet in.β
βYouβre blushing.β
βI ainβt fuckinβ blushing.β
βYou are a little.β
βGet in the truck.β
You laughed as you walked around it and shawn smiled behind your back. Only for a second, because God forbid you saw it.
Shawn took her somewhere that stopped being a road about 20 minutes after they left town, at first there had been houses scattered between the trees, then long stretches of fencing and battered mailboxes, and eventually nothing but thick Florida green pressing in on either side of them. The dirt track ahead was still wet from rain earlier in the week, deep tyre marks cutting through reddish brown mud and puddles wide enough to swallow half the truck.
She looked through the windshield. βOh, this is disgusting.β
Shawn glanced sideways, cigarette resting between two fingers on the steering wheel. βScared?β
She turned slowly toward him. βI meant that as a compliment.β His mouth twitched, that was another thing he was beginning to like about her.
She wasnβt performing.
Shawn had taken women out before who claimed they liked this sort of shit, then spent the entire time worrying about their hair or squealing because mud had gotten on their shoes. Heβd half expected her to be the same. Something written in a Tinder bio because it sounded interesting.
Instead, the first time he deliberately threw the truck sideways through a muddy turn, she grabbed the handle above the door and laughed so loudly it drowned out the music. βAgain!β
Shawn looked at her. βAgain?β
βYes!β
βJesus Christ.β He grinned and dropped a gear, the rear wheels kicked loose.
She shrieked as the truck slid, one hand braced against the dash, boots planted against the floor while Shawn fought the wheel back around. Mud sprayed behind them. The engine roared. Something underneath the truck made a noise that probably deserved investigation later.
Shawn didnβt give a shit, he looked over.
She was laughing, not reaching for her phone, not recording, not taking photographs to prove to everyone online that sheβd done something interesting that afternoon.
Her phone had been shoved inside her bag since sheβd gotten into his truck.
He noticed things like that.
Shawn noticed more than people gave him credit for, he just usually kept his observations to himself because telling people heβd noticed them encouraged conversation. βYou ainβt gonna take a picture?β he asked.
She looked confused. βOf what?β
βAll this.β
She looked through the windshield at the muddy track. βWhy?β
He shrugged. βI donβt know, women photograph every damn thing.β
She snorted. βOh, here we go.β
βWhat?β
βYour opinions about women again.β
βAinβt an opinion if itβs true.β
βYouβre on a date with a woman.β
βYeah, questioninβ that decision already.β
She reached over and shoved him. Shawn barely moved, that made her pause. She looked at where her palm rested against his upper arm then pushed again.
Nothing.
Shawn glanced down. βThe fuck you doinβ?β
βYouβre really solid.β
His eyebrows rose, she squeezed his arm, not subtly either. Her fingers pressed into muscle hardened by years of physical work rather than anything deliberately cultivated in a gym. Shawnβs arms were lean but strong, forearms rough and marked, hands calloused from tools and bikes and whatever else heβd spent his life putting back together or breaking.
She squeezed again.
Shawn looked smug immediately. βYeah?β
She rolled her eyes. βDonβt sound so pleased with yourself.β
βDidnβt say nothinβ.β
βYou didnβt have to, your head just got about six inches bigger.β
His grin widened, she hadnβt moved her hand that hadnβt escaped him either.
Her fingertips traveled absently over his bicep before sliding down toward his forearm, feeling the tension shift beneath his skin as he turned the wheel.
Shawn let her, more than let her. He adjusted his arm slightly so she could get a better feel.
She noticed. βOh my God.β
βWhat?β
βDid you just flex?β
βNo.β
βYou absolutely did.β
βAinβt gotta flex.β
βYou did!β
Shawn looked ahead, smug as hell. βMaybe youβre just impressed.β
βI was until you started showing off.β
βBullshit.β
She laughed and squeezed his arm again.
Shawn liked that, probably too much. He liked being looked at like that, liked that she clearly found him attractive and didnβt dance around it. He was used to women liking his face. He knew he wasnβt ugly but there was something different about the fascinated little way she kept touching him, as though she was discovering that the lean man from his Tinder photographs was much harder underneath his clothes than sheβd expected.
When they stopped beside a particularly nasty stretch of mud, Shawn climbed out to look at it.
She followed, almost immediately her boot sank. βOh, fuck!β Shawn turned around just in time to see her jerk her foot upward with a horrible sucking noise.
He started laughing.
βDonβt!β She pointed at him then reached down grabbed her calf trying to pull her foot free without losing a good boot.
βThought you liked muddinβ?β
βI like mudding when the mud isnβt trying to steal my fucking shoe!β She got free, the back of her heel slipped in the dirt, Shawn caught her around the waist before she went down.
Her hands landed flat against his chest, she forgot about the mud. Shawn was warm beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, firm and hard enough that when her fingers instinctively spread against him, there wasnβt much give beneath her palms.
Her eyes lowered to her hands, the glimpse of his gold chain peaking just under his shirt.
Shawn followed them, then looked back at her face as an arrogant little smile appeared. βYou gonna keep feelinβ me up?β
She didnβt take her hands away. βMaybe.β
His eyebrows lifted. βThought I wasnβt allowed to grab you.β
βYouβre not.β
βBut you can grab me?β
βYes.β
βThat how this works?β
βExactly.β
Shawn huffed a laugh. βConvenient.β
She finally pushed herself upright, but one hand lingered against his chest as though she couldnβt quite resist. βYou donβt look this strong in your pictures.β
βIβm insulted.β
βYou look skinny.β
His face dropped, she immediately started laughing. βSkinny?β
βLean, thatβs different.β
βIs it?β
βYeah, it is.β
She squeezed his side with a playful pinch, shawn caught her wrist loosely. βKeep talkinβ shit.β
βWhat are you going to do?β
His eyes narrowed, she smiled sweetly.
Shawn released her, then slapped her ass.
Just a quick, obnoxious smack as she turned away.
She jolted. βShawn!β
He was already walking toward the truck.βProblem?β
βFuck off!β She rubbed where he had just swatted, his shoulders shook with laughter. βYouβre such a dick!β
βYeah, yeah.β
She followed him, trying to look offended and failing miserably because she was laughing too.
That became a problem, because Shawn discovered he enjoyed doing it.
A lot.
When she climbed onto the back of the truck to grab a drink from the cooler, Shawn passed behind her.
Smack.
She whipped around, Shawn kept walking with a beer in his hand, grinning.
Later, she bent over to check how deeply one of the tyres had sunk.
Smack.
βSHAWN.β
βWhat?β
βYou know what!β
He looked genuinely innocent. βThought there was a mosquito.β
βOn my ass?β
βBig mosquitoes out here.β
She stared at him, shawn took a drink.
βIβm going to punch you.β
βYou been threateninβ me all day.β
βOne day Iβm actually going to do it.β His gaze traveled over her, then returned to her face. βSure, sweetheart.β
She shoved him, again he barely moved.
That only made her more determined, both hands against his chest this time. Shawn planted his boots and let her try.
Nothing.
βStop resisting.β
βI ainβt.β
βYou are!β
βPromise Iβm not.β
She pushed harder, ehawn rocked backward perhaps half an inch.
His grin was unbearable.
She stopped. βYouβre enjoying this.β
βLittle bit.β
βYouβre so fucking full of yourself.β
βWasnβt till you started rubbinβ all over me tellinβ me how strong I am.β
βI did not say it like that.β
βPretty much.β
He imitated her in a deliberately ridiculous higher voice. βOh, Shawn, youβre so strong. Shawn, lemme touch your arms again.β
Her mouth fell open. βI dont sound like that!β
βClose enough.β
βYou absolute..β She lunged, shawn caught her, it happened so easily it only made his point worse as his hands closed around her upper arms and suddenly she was laughing, boots sliding through the mud while she tried unsuccessfully to shove him away. Shawn was laughing too, cigarette forgotten somewhere near the truck, hair falling forward across his forehead.
For all his sharp edges, he was playful when he forgot himself, that was what she hadnβt expected.
Mean, yes?
Misogynistic, absolutely?
Arrogant enough that every compliment immediately went directly to his head but sometimes she caught these flashes of somebody else beneath it. Shawn laughing when she nearly lost a boot. Shawn explaining something about an engine and becoming unexpectedly animated, fingers moving while he talked. Shawn automatically reaching across her whenever the truck hit something particularly rough, as though his arm across her chest could somehow stop her flying forward.
Little things.
Human things.
She was beginning to like those bits best.
Eventually they ended up sitting on the tailgate, both filthy. Her boots were caked. Mud streaked one calf. Shawn had somehow gotten a brown smear along his jaw without noticing.
She reached over. βHold still.β
His brows drew together. βWhy?β
βYouβve got something.β Her thumb brushed his jaw, shawn went quiet. She wiped the mud away, then, for no real reason except she liked touching him, let her fingers trail along the rough stubble there. His eyes stayed on her, that was different from squeezing his arm.
Different from wrestling around.
She felt his jaw shift beneath her fingertips.
βYou really like touchinβ me, huh?β His voice had dropped quieter.
She smiled. βMaybe.β
Shawnβs hand settled beside her on the tailgate, he didnβt touch her.
She let her fingertips travel from his jaw down the side of his neck, then flattened her palm briefly against his chest. βHard everywhere.β
Shawnβs expression immediately turned unbearably pleased again, as if he had a dirty comment ready beneath his smile.
βOh, donβt.β
βWhat?β
βYour ego.β
βDidnβt say shit.β
βYou donβt need to. I can practically watch it growing.β
βKeep complimentinβ me then.β
βI wasnβt complimenting you.β
βSure sounded like it.β
She rolled her eyes, shawn leaned back onto his palms, stretching his legs out in front of him. βYou think Iβm hot.β
βI literally told you that before we met.β
βYeah, but you think Iβm real hot.β
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Smug.
Infuriating.
Pretty.
She hated that he knew it now. βYouβd be hotter if you shut up.β
βStill hot.β
βUnfortunately.β
His mouth curved, she smiled too and Shawn sat there beneath the Florida sun, dirty boots hanging over the tailgate, watching this pretty little woman whoβd spent half the afternoon touching his arms and telling him to fuck off every time he slapped her ass.
Julie hadnβt crossed his mind once.
Not once and if Shawn had realized that, he probably wouldβve been annoyed about it.
Instead, he reached for his beer.
She hopped down from the tailgate in front of him, shawnβs eyes immediately dropped to her boobs that did a little bounce.
She caught him. βDonβt.β
He looked up. βWhat?β
βI know exactly what youβre thinking.β
βDo you?β
βYes.β She pointed at him. βDonβt you fucking dare.β Shawn raised both hands innocently.
She narrowed her eyes, turned around and started walking, he lasted perhaps three seconds.
Smack.
βSHAWN!β
Shawn doubled over laughing as she spun around and came at him with both hands.
Shawn had plenty of time to move, that was the irritating part. He saw her boots slipping slightly in the mud, saw the determined little set of her mouth, saw both palms heading directly for his chest and instead of stepping aside like he easily could have, Shawn planted his feet and let her hit him. βAsshole!β Her palms slammed into him.
This time he deliberately gave ground, boots skidding through the soft dirt while laughter pulled at his mouth. She was delighted with herself now, apparently under the impression that she had suddenly developed the strength required to move him. βLook at that,β she laughed. βNot so tough now.β
Shawnβs eyebrows lifted. βYeah?β
βYeah.β
βAwright.β She should have recognized the look on his face, instead she pushed him a third time.
Shawn went down as his back hit the dirt with a grunt, but his hands shot out at the same moment, catching her around the waist.
Her victory lasted less than a second.βShawn!β He dragged her straight down with him, she landed half across his chest with a shriek. βYou bastard!β
Shawn was already laughing. βYou wanted me down!β
βNot me!β
βShoulda specified.β
She scrambled to get up, boots sliding at the dirt as mud squished between her fingers, as he caught her around the middle again. βNo! fuck off!β She tried swatting him away.
βWhere you goinβ?β
βGet off me!β
βYouβre on me!β
She twisted around and shoved at his shoulder, managing to roll him partly onto his side. Shawn let her, she almost got her knee underneath herself before he hooked an arm around her waist and rolled them both again.
Suddenly she was underneath him.βCheater!β
βHow the fuck am I cheatinβ?β
βYouβre stronger than me!β
βThought I was skinny.β
She froze, shawnβs grin became absolutely insufferable. βOh, you remembered that?β
βDamn right.β
She tried rolling him.
Nothing.
Shawn barely shifted.
He had one forearm planted in the dirt beside her head, the other loosely around her waist, deliberately holding enough of his weight away that he wasnβt crushing her. His hair had fallen across his forehead, mud streaked one shoulder of his white shirt, and his breathing had picked up from laughing.
She shoved at his chest, solid. Of course. βMove.β
βMake me.β
She pushed harder, shawn didnβt budge.
His grin widened. βCome on, you can do it.β
βI hate you.β
βNo, you donβt.β
She tried twisting beneath him instead, which only resulted in Shawn catching her hips and settling more securely between her thighs to stop her escaping, both of them stopped. The playfulness didnβt disappear exactly, it just changed.
Her legs were parted around him from wrestling, Shawnβs hips nestled between them, his chest hovering over hers. Her hands were still pressed against him, except she wasnβt pushing anymore.
Shawn looked down at her, he didnβt have some smart comment immediately ready as his breathing slowly settled.
Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt.
Shawnβs gaze dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.
She noticed, her smile became smaller. βDo you want to kiss me?β
Shawnβs eyebrows pulled together like sheβd just asked the stupidest question heβd heard all week. βYeah.β
βThen why arenβt you?β
Shawn kissed her, there was nothing hesitant about it. No careful little first awkward kiss, no slow lean forward while he waited for some perfect romantic moment.
Shawn didnβt seem physically capable of that kind of patience. His hand came up around the side of her neck and his mouth met hers hard enough to steal the little laugh sheβd been about to give him. She immediately kissed him back, fingers bunching the front of his shirt.
He tasted faintly of beer and cigarettes, his mouth moved against hers with the same rough confidence he seemed to put into everything else, and when she pulled him closer, something pleased rumbled quietly from his chest.
Her arms slipped around his shoulders, fingers disappearing into the messy hair at the back of his head, and Shawn immediately lowered himself closer. She wrapped one leg around him, then the other, practically clinging to him now, his hand tightened instinctively at her waist.
She broke the kiss.
Shawn chased it for half a second before realizing sheβd stopped. His eyes opened. βWhat?β
She squeezed him with her legs, a little grin appeared. βSolid.β
Shawn stared at her, then slowly looked down between their bodies. His mouth curled. βHowβd you know?β
She went completely still, then understood.
βShawn!β She smacked his shoulder. βYou fucking pig!β
βYou said it!β
βI meant your body!β
βThatβs what I meant.β
βNo, it wasnβt!β
βCanβt prove that.β
She smacked him again, shawn caught her wrist this time, laughing while she tried reaching him with the other hand. βYouβre disgusting.β
βYouβre the one wrapped around me.β
βBecause we were kissing!β
βStill are, far as Iβm concerned.β
βWe absolutely are not now.β
βYeah?β
βYes.β
Shawn looked at her mouth, then back into her eyes. She tried maintaining the offended expression, she really did.
Unfortunately, Shawn was still hovering above her with that crooked grin, hair hanging messily over his forehead and dirt smeared along his cheek. His chest was moving beneath her hand, warm and firm, and there was something infuriatingly attractive about how pleased he looked with himself.
Her mouth twitched.
Shawn caught it immediately. βThought so.β
βDonβt.β
βYou wanna kiss me again.β
βNo.β
βLiar.β
βYou ruined it.β
βDidnβt ruin shit.β
βYou made a dick joke during our first kiss.β
βWas a good one.β
She flattened her lips, shawn waited.
Her nose twitched. βDonβt.β
His grin widened. βGo on.β
βShut up.β
βLaugh.β
βI hate you.β Then it escaped, one stupid little laugh. Shawn looked ridiculously triumphant. βThere it is.β
βOh, fuck off.β She pushed his face away with her palm, he caught her hand and turned his head and pressed a quick kiss against the inside of it before she could react.
That one was different.
So casual he seemingly didnβt even realize heβd done something unexpectedly sweet.
She stared at him.
Shawn noticed. βWhat?β
Her expression softened. βNothing.β
βQuit lookinβ at me like that.β
βLike what?β
βLike..β He couldnβt explain it.
So Shawn did what Shawn did whenever something threatened to become remotely tender, he leaned down and kissed her again.
Hard.
She laughed into his mouth, arms wrapping around him once more. By the time they finally stopped kissing, both of them were filthy.
Shawn didnβt seem particularly bothered.
He was still above her, weight mostly supported on one arm while the other rested against her waist. Somewhere during the last few minutes, her fingers had ended up tangled in his hair, and every so often sheβd scratch lightly against his scalp without really thinking about it.
Shawn noticed.
He noticed everything she did to him.
He just pretended he didnβt, his eyes moved slowly over her face. There was dirt along her cheek now, another little smear beside her chin. Her hair was an absolute mess beneath her head. She looked nothing like the neat, pretty woman heβd first seen getting out of her car a few hours earlier.
He liked her better like this, not because she looked worse.
She didnβt.
She looked comfortable.
There wasnβt a phone being held above them for some carefully staged photograph of their first date. No concern about whether her hair was ruined. No complaining that sheβd gotten mud on her clothes.
Sheβd willingly rolled around in the fucking dirt with him. Shawn brushed his thumb across the smudge on her cheek. βYouβre a mess.β
She looked pointedly at his shirt. βSo are you.β
βYeah, but I look good.β
She gave him a flat stare, shawn smiled. βThere, thatβs exactly why you need to smile more.β
His expression immediately vanished. βDonβt start that shit again.β
βYouβre so handsome when you smile.β
βI know Iβm handsome.β
βOh, so now you admit it?β
βI said handsome.β He pointed at her. βNot pretty.β
She laughed, shawn started climbing off her before she could start another argument about it, getting one knee underneath himself and rising easily then he looked down at her.
She held out both hands. βHelp.β
His eyebrows pulled together. βYou got legs.β
βShawn.β
βWhat?β
βHelp me up.β
He sighed theatrically, like sheβd asked him to carry her twelve miles through a swamp, but reached down anyway as she grabbed his hands.
Shawn pulled, far too hard. She came flying upright with a startled noise and crashed straight against his chest and his arms automatically closed around her.
She stared up at him. βYou did that deliberately.β
βNope.β
βYou nearly launched me.β
βDidnβt know you weighed twelve pounds.β
Her eyes narrowed.
Shawnβs hands remained around her waist.
She pushed her palms against his chest again, there it was. That fascinated little touch.
Sheβd been doing it all afternoon. Hands on his shoulders. His arms. His chest. Fingers squeezing his forearm when he changed gears.
Shawn looked down. βYou do that a lot.β
βWhat?β
βTouch me.β
Her hands stilled, she looked almost self conscious. βOh.β
Shawn immediately wished he hadnβt mentioned it, not because he minded. Quite the fucking opposite.
βYou donβt like it?β
He scoffed. βDidnβt say that.β
βYou pointed it out.β
ββCause you keep doinβ it.β
She started removing her hands.
Shawn caught one. βNah.β
She looked at him, he put her palm straight back against his chest.
That smug little expression returned. βYou started it. Keep goinβ.β
She laughed. βYouβre ridiculous.β
βYouβre the one feelinβ me up.β
βI like how you feel.β
Shawn went quiet, there was something about how easily she said things like that which got him every time.
No games.
She thought he was attractive, so she told him.
She liked touching him, so she touched him.
Shawn had spent years surrounded by people who said one thing while meaning another. People who wanted something. People who smiled because they were supposed to.
She simply looked up at him and said . I like how you feel.
His chin lifted slightly. βYeah?β That pleased little note in his voice made her laugh.
WARNINGS: fem!reader. fluff lowkey ?? but like ... AERION fluff ksadfhuisdhfds so not true fluff. hurt/comfort lowkey ?? except Aerion lowkey more hurt than reader DAUHFAUSDHFSDA. Aerion-typical violence/craziness. Aerion POV. Westerosi-typical misogyny. reader is from an unspecified foreign land. reader is being treated poorly in Westeros but she lowkey doesn't care. They are literally idgaf-er to a fault (reader) x igaf way too much (aerion) ADFHUSIUDFHSUDF -> that boy is five seconds from calamity at any given moment.
NOTES: tbh this is just an apology for how long the next part of HTTYD is taking because Jace has consumed my life and I hit a wild slump because I don't want to write the next two parts bc I want to skip to their time in King's Landing KDHFSUIHFSDF so I treated myself to a little drabble that will hold me over until I get there. Hopefully I'll have the next part of HTTYD done soon. This TECHNICALLY isn't Volantene!reader ........ but also it kind of is if you read through the lines JUDHAFUISHDF . But this is totally separate from HTTYD. Anyway, enjoy!! and sorry again LOL
Aerion is livid.
In truth, it is not a particularly uncommon state for him to be in. He is the first to admit that he is frequently angry. He is angry when the servants bring him lukewarm soup instead of hot soup. He is angry when the sons of lesser lords hover around him like witless birds trying to curry favor. He is angry when he has to spend too long in the throne room, because he has to look at the skulls of dragons that should have been his by birthright.Β
This is different.
Aerion can hardly think straight as he makes his way down the halls in the direction of his chambersβyour chambers. The chambers that he shares with you. His wife. He can hear his pulse pounding in his ears, blood drawn from where his nails are embedded in his palms. Heβs not sure if heβs ever been this furious before. Heβs dizzy on his feet, and the world around him drains away, the edges of his vision tinted redβAerionβs tongue darts out to wet his lip, and he tastes blood.
He is ordinarily good at masking his emotions.Β
When the servants get his food wrong, he gives them a dismissive look and tells them to fix itβthey do not know he contemplates breaking a bone for each minute he goes without the food he requested because of their incompetence. When the sons of lesser lords flutter around him with asinine remarks, hoping to make him laugh, he gives them faint smilesβthey do not know heβd prefer to see their eyes gouged and tongues removed whenever they waste his time with their insipid commentary. When he is forced to stand in the throne room for court, he does so with impeccable posture and an unreadable expressionβno one knows just how vicious of a place his mind is, that is how it always has been and how it always will be.Β
Or, so he hoped, because now it is an impossible task.Β
It is your fault that he is so furious, not his own.Β
He thought that you were spending the night with Valarrβs new Tyroshi wife and Daeron. You made it clear this morning that Aerion had done something to upset you, and if you did not want him around, he was not going to hover about pining like some hapless fool. You would come crawling back, whining over some foolish issue that you need him to solve for you, as you always do, so it was simply a matter of time.
So, he spent the night drinking with Valarr, and he was enjoying himself. Truly.
He does not mind his eldest cousinβs company, especially in comparison to most. It was certainly a reprieve from your company and your endless snide commentary and whinging. Valarr likes to put up the perfect princely front for his mother and father, all polished smiles and courtly grace, but beneath it, he is almost as prone to spite and mischief as Aerion himself. He delights in gossip in the same way other men delight in hunting, and every so often, usually after enough wine, something darker slips through the cracks in his carefully constructed faΓ§adeβa flash of cruelty or a remark too sharp and too callous, a look in his eye that reminds Aerion that they share the same blood after all. Then the princely smile returns as though nothing happened.
The two of them made sport out of the courtiers attending the feast for entertainment, and Aerion was having a decent night in spite of your attempts to get under his skin. That is, until his drunken idiot of a brother stumbled up to the dais, making a fool of himself, rambling about marcher lords and insults and wine and you.Β
It took both him and Valarr an embarrassing amount of time to get a coherent story out of him, and as soon as they did, Aerion was out of his seat, storming in the direction of his chambersβin the direction of you, his wifeβand Valarr was on his feet too, seeking out both his father and Aerionβs to figure out how they were to handle this insult before Aerion did something drastic.
As though there was anything drastic he could do that wouldnβt be justified by the insult he was given.
He pushes open the heavy door to his chambers, boots slapping hard against the stone floor as his gaze sweeps across the room. First, to the small table near the window, where you like to sit and drink, but you are not there. Then, to the water basin you like to lounge in, needling him with taunts and insults until he joins you, but you are not there either.
Thenβ
Aerion falters when he sees you fast asleep in your shared bed, the sheets haphazardly thrown over you and Maegor curled on your shoulder. His jaw tightens, lips pressing together hard as he slides his cloak off his shoulders and tosses it onto the nearby dresser before making his way to your side of the bed.
He pauses when his feet snag on something on the ground, glancing down to see the red and black gown he had tailored for you to wear to the feast tonight. He grits his teeth as he leans down to pick it up, lashes fluttering when he feels the stickiness of the wine spilled on you.
He places it on the dresser next to his cloak and makes his way over to you.Β
βWife,β he says, voice rough, watching as you stir in your sleep. When your lashes flutter open, he continues, βTell me why I had to hear from my oaf of a brother that a marcher lord spilled wine on you and insulted you to your face.βΒ
You blink up at him, eyes hazy, and then give him a sleepy smile. Aerionβs teeth grind together when the fight starts to drain from him at the sight of it. Wretched woman.
βAerion,β you yawn. βYouβre back. I was waiting up for you.β
Liar. Aerion squints at you. βYou were asleep.β
βI was resting my eyes,β you counter, always with the smart remark. Aerion thinks his life would be much easier if he took your tongueβsilent and pretty as a wife should be. You shift slightly so that you can look over him, careful not to stir Maegor too much. βWhy are you still dressed? Come lie down.β
βYou do not order me, woman,β he tells you sharply, desperately trying not to let his fury slip through his fingers. βWhat was said to you?βΒ
βCome here anyway,β you complain, ignoring his question. Aerionβs eye twitches, pulling his hand away when you reach out, fingers brushing his. You frown at him and have the nerve to ask, βWhat?β
βI am in no mood,β he hisses, voice rising slightly. βAnswer my question.β
βDo not wake Maegor,β you say, gaze suddenly sharp and expression cool.Β
Aerionβs temper flares again, but then Maegor lifts his head from your shoulder, blinking blearily in Aerionβs direction once before he yawns and curls back against you.Β
Even his own son is a traitor, he thinks furiously, but before he can whirl on the boyβbecause why didnβt he come find Aerion after what happened? Why did Aerion have to learn from Daeron?βyou reach out again to grab his hand, successfully this time.
Aerion exhales hard through his nose, jaw clenched tight as you tug him closer until the front of his thighs hit the edge of the bed. He stares down at you, unrelenting, because he needs to know what was said, needs to know who had the gall to insult his wife.
You sigh and avert your gaze, visibly annoyed, as though he is the one out of line for demanding to know exactly what happened, and Aerionβs nostrils flare in irritation, but then you lift his hand to brush your lips against his knuckles, and his scowl becomes more for show than anything else. You are a miserable, miserable womanβAerion lets you get away with far too much.
βHe was drunk, Aerion,β you tell him, like thatβs any excuse. βWe do not need to lower ourselves to every drunken fool who speaks out of turn.β
βWhat did he say?βΒ
You stare at him for a moment before you let out a sigh. βIt is not what he said,β you finally answer quietly. βIt is what he implied.β
Aerion does not need to hear anymore, because he knows exactly where this is going.Β
It is not the first time these whispers have reached the two of you, but itβs the first time it was spoken so openly to your face. The court has had a great deal to say about your friendship with Daeron. He spent years drifting around like a ghostβdrinking himself into stupors, skipping feasts and hunts and court in equal measure, and spending more nights in whorehouses and taverns than in his own chambers. Then you arrived, and you sought him out at feasts when he was lingering at the edges of the halls, and you dragged him into conversations when he was watching awkwardly, and you listened to his stories, laughed at his dry remarks, and scolded him whenever you caught him drinking before noon, and Daeronβ
Daeron listened.Β
He smiled more, and he drank less, and he was always at your side when Aerion couldnβt beβand little by little, Aerion began catching glimpses of the brother he had spent years hating for disappearing. The brother who used to sneak him out to the crystalline lake behind Summerhall to fish, who covered for him whenever he ran off to explore the forest when he ought not, who laughed easily and braided his hair when their mother couldnβt and held him during fits where Aerion found him screaming on the floor, nails bloody and ripping through the skin of his neck.
Somehow, impossibly, you had brought pieces of him back.
Naturally, the court had drawn the most salacious conclusion possibleβa lonely prince and his brotherβs foreign wife made for a scandalous tale, and there was nothing the court enjoyed more than scandal.Β
Aerion has never bought into it. He knows his brother well. Daeron looks at you with affection, yes, but itβs the same soft fondness he reserves for Daella and Rhae. There is nothing possessive in itβnothing hungry.Β
And he knows you, too.Β
You have never once shown the slightest interest in anyone here in Westeros beyond fleeting amusementsβsome days, Aerion doubts that he even interests you, but you are always quick to prove him wrong. You look at Daeron with the same wistful smile you wear whenever you speak of the brother you left behind back home, so he is confident that there is nothing going on between the two of you.
Still, he dislikes the whispers.Β
Truthfully, he dislikes people speaking your name at all.
βAh,β he says flatly.
You grimace.
βHe asked me whether I spent so much time with Prince Daeron because my husband was inattentive.β You look vaguely offended by the memory. Aerionβs eye twitches violently. βThen he said perhaps I prefer sad men because they are easier to manipulate.β
You sigh lightly, carding your fingers through Maegorβs silky hair, and then add, βHe was very drunk.β
Aerion does not respond, eyes sliding shut as he wills himself the strength not to leave your shared chambers and hunt down this man himself.
You continue, βHe also saidββ
βStop.β
βButββ
βI have heard enough,β Aerion says through his teeth. βYou should have sent for me.β
You pause, blinking up at him again, and then you look away, a conflicted expression on your face, and Aerionβs throat suddenly feels tight. He remembers this morning when you would not speak to him, remembers the cruel exchange of words, and how heβd stormed off with another word. Heβd spent the evening with Valarr instead of you, and he did not seek you out once.Β
βYou thought I would not come,β he says, voice strained.
You do not answer. Aerion feels something unpleasant twist in his chest. He had been furious because some drunken fool had dared insult his wife. Now he is furious because you apparently think so little of him that you believed he would leave you to deal with it alone.
βYou are an idiot,β he says.
You blink and then frown. βThat seems uncalled for.β
βIt is the truth,β he mutters, fingers slipping from yours to trace down the slope of your neck. Your lashes flutter lightly as he rests his hand on your throat, thumb sliding beneath the thin strap of your night slip. βDo not ever stand there and smile while some worthless marcher lord insults you to your face.β
βI do not care what a drunk Andal lord has to say, husband,β you say dismissively, leaning into his touch in a way that never fails to make Aerion swallow thickly. βIt is really not such a big deal.β
βIt is to me,β he replies sharply, pressing his finger under your chin to force your head tilted so that your eyes meet his. You sigh lightly. βYou will come to me if it happens again. I will not have the court thinking they can insult my wife to her face without consequence.β
βI will come to you,β you agree blithely, and then tug him again, trying to get him onto the bed with you.Β
He spares a look back at the door, half-determined to leave and find the man to show him exactly what it means to insult a prince of the blood, but before he can, you tug a third time, this time successfully knocking him off balance onto the bed with you. He hits it with an oof, scowling as he shifts more comfortably so that heβs sitting beside where youβre lying, back to the headboard.
He turns a frown down onto you, but falters when he sees how your eyes slide shut as you press your forehead into the side of his hip, face smoothing out the moment you feel his body against yours.
Irritation flares through him again immediately, hotter this time, because how dare any man insult you to your face? How dare any man look at you at all? Think of you? You are hisβhis alone. His to think of, his to look at, his to insult, should he please.Β
He should have him flayed, he thinks, aggravated. Any man who insults you. Any man who looks at you. Any man who thinks of you. Any of them. All of them. Every single one.
His hand settles on the top of your head, fingers absently carding through your hair.
He promises, βI will see him flayed.β
You snort instantly. βYou cannot do that.β
Aerionβs expression twists instantly. βI am a Prince of House Targaryen. I can do whatever I want.β
βYou cannot have a man flayed, Aerion.β
βFlogged, then.β
He doesnβt need to look down at you to know youβre rolling your eyes, so he tugs your hair enough to make a point. You pinch his leg hard in retaliation.
Wretched beast, he thinks, scowling down at you. Of all women to have been married off toβthis is surely a punishment for something. You are the most aggravating creature heβs ever had the misfortune of meeting, and for some reason, you are his.Β
βI would have come,β he says after a moment, quieter now. He looks down, tongue darting out to wet his lips when he sees how you have one arm curled around his leg, face half buried into his side, Maegor curled around you the same way you are around Aerion. His jaw tightens again at the idea of anyone thinking they can insult you and get away with it. βYou are my wife. There is nothing in this world that would stop me from coming to you should you need me. It does not matter how vexing you might be.β
You let out a huff that almost sounds like a laugh. βYou were almost romantic for a second,β you say with a tired smile, looking up at him. Your hand lifts to absently stroke Maegorβs hair as he nuzzles into your neck. βI was almost worried.β
βYou are wretched,β he hisses, face flushing. βI am trying to be serious.β
βI know,β you murmur, and Aerionβs throat spasms when he feels you press your lips against his thigh through his pants. βRest assured, I will send for you next time, but truly, Aerion, I was hardly insulted. In fact, I thought it was rather funny.β
βYes, well, it is not funny,β Aerion snaps, grinding his teeth when he sees you let out a huff of laughter. βDo not laugh.β
βI am not,β you complainβthe audacity to lie to his face. You do not even hide your smile as you look up at him, and Aerionβs brows knit together. βI will never tire of how sensitive you Andals are. Every day in this strange land proves more amusing than I thought possible.β
βDo not call me Andal.β
βYes, yes, my apologies.β
You do not sound sorry at all.Β
Aerionβs eye twitches.Β
βPerhaps we shall visit my homeland soon,β you declare, reaching down to entwine your fingers with his, lifting his hand to your lips to ghost a kiss the way you always do when you want him to agree to something he ought not. βI should like for Maegor to see it, and a break from this court would do us both well, no?βΒ
Aerion exhales hard through his nose. In truth, there are few places in the world he would rather go than your homelandβyour so-called friends were despicable when they came to Kingβs Landing for your wedding, and he is fairly certain that both your father and your brother wish him dead. He thought once that he might rather enjoy visiting there from how you describe it, but he thinks now he would prefer to spend a fortnight in the frozen wasteland the North calls a kingdom than a night in your family palace.Β
But your lips are pressed to his skin, and you are looking up at him through your lashes with a playful smile, and he finds it difficult to deny you much of anything, so he mutters, βIf that is what you wish.β
Your smile widens instantly, teeth glittering like knives beneath the roomβs dim lighting, and Aerion almost snarls when he realizes he has fallen for your wretched schemes yet again. Miserable, miserable womanβhe ought to take your tongue and your eyes. His lips part to spit an insult at you, because he is allowed to insult you, not any other man, but before he can, there is a knock at the door.
Aerion stiffens immediately, fingers tensing between yours. He calls coolly, βCome in.β
The door cracks open, and Aerion relaxes when he sees Valarr peek his head in, gaze sliding briefly between where you and Maegor are lying, to where Aerion is sitting before he says simply, βTitus Peake. Your father is questioning him in the Great Hall. You ought to head over there before he finishes.β
A thrill of excitement rushes through Aerionβs chest, lips curling up into a sharp smile as he slides out of bed with you. He leans down to ghost his lips against your ear as he promises softly, βI will bring you his tongue.β
You muse dryly, βWhat if I wished for his eye?β
βThen I will bring you that, too.β
βI have turned you into a romantic, Aerion Brightflame. Who needs songs of knights and love when I am wed to Westeros's most chivalrous monster. The world may never believe it.β
βDo not make me sick,β he snaps.
If his lips are curled up into a faint smile as he makes his way to the door, then surely, it is because he is eager for the blood about to be spilt.
Still, he cannot help himself from glancing back at you one last time.Β
summary: there were many things you expected when you got into a relationship with aerion targaryen. of course, none of those included his youngest brother, aegon β or egg, as he liked to be called β and how he began interrupting any sort of alone time you had with your boyfriend, all because he ended up liking you so much.
w.c.: 3,6k
c.w.: no use of y/n, aerion is always two seconds away from kicking egg's ass bc he doesn't leave you alone, probably (definitely) ooc aerion and ooc egg, egg is an ipad kid, not rlly a serious fic I wrote this for gits and shiggles
a.n.: first fic on tumblr so im intimidated lol. english is not my first language so forgive any mistakes and typo. not proofread.
THE MOMENT YOU GOT INTO A RELATIONSHIP WITH AERION TARGARYEN, you knew what it would involve, more or less. More than one of your friends and acquaintances β some of his, even β had reached out to you to ask if you were sure of what you were doing, and saying he wasn't exactly... well, the most gentle person.
As much as you appreciated their worry, it was unnecessary, something even they had come to realize after seeing how Aerion was with you.
He was as loving to you as he was not to everyone else, and though you somehow tamed the rushes of anger that always coursed through him, he still had a rather minimal tolerance for the rest of the world. Including his brothers. Especially his brothers.
Especially Aegon.
The youngest of his brothers had become an issue neither of you had expected prior to him meeting you.
It had taken some time before Aerion decided to introduce you to his family, and seeing as you weren't one to push, the most his brothers knew of you for exactly four months after you officially got together was your name β after Aerion accidentally left his phone on the table, and a notification from you revealed your name to Daeron, who saw no appeal in protecting his brother's privacy.
And when Aerion texted you one night, asking if you'd be okay with meeting his family β so they'll finally get off my ass about this, he had said β, you saw no issue with it, and thus a dinner was planned.
The instant the two of you entered his dining room, your eyes had gone over each attending member of his family: his three brothers, his two sisters, his father, his uncle, and his two cousins. And the air was knocked out of your lungs.
They all had an unnatural kind of beauty to them. Most of them shared Aerion's silver hair and purple eyes, but even those that didn't appeared to come from another world.
Aerion had cursed under his breath, muttering about how if he had known half the family would be called, he'd have bailed on this whole thing. But you had maintained your composure, painted a smile on your face, and met his family with forcibly-steadied hands and a thumping heart in your chest.
In retrospect, there really had been no need for you to stress over this so much. As intimidating as the Targaryens were, they were all mostly nice and very charming to be around, and in the blink of an eye, you'd found your place among them.
But credit must be given where it was due. If it hadn't been for the youngest boy, Aegon, you would have taken a lot longer to get comfortable.
His seat had been directly to your left, and he had chatted your ear off all through dinner. All the names, relations and little fun facts you knew about the Targaryens came from him. He had even ended up pulling his iPad beneath the table to show pictures of the events he was telling you all about.
Aerion hadn't shied away from expressing his annoyance at the extravagance of the dinner, which nobody showed any surprise to. He mostly stuck to your side, chatting with you in the brief moments Aegon's attention was elsewhere.
Regardless, the dinner had gone well, and with this particular milestone out of the way, the two of you could finally relax and enjoy each other's company the way you so loved: privately and without shame.
However, Egg didn't seem to have gotten the memo.
"Oh, not this again ββ Aerion hissed as he returned to the large living room of the Targaryen home β castle felt more accurate to you, but oh well β with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and two drinks in the other. He stopped in his tracks right at the doorway, when his eyes found the little figure sitting next to you, which had not been there when he left five minutes ago. "What the fuck is he doing here?"
Your eyes widening at his words, you opened your mouth to scold him for swearing in front of the nine year old, but said nine year old merely perked up at his brother's voice and turned his head around to look at Aerion from where he sat on the couch.
"Did you bring my chips? I left them in the fridge."
"No! Get out!"
Even you flinched at the volume and tone of his voice, so it was no surprise when Egg leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, a sad pout twisting his young features. And in spite of how much you enjoyed being alone with Aerion, you felt a tug at your heartstrings from the sight of the expression on his face.
Wincing, you glanced at your boyfriend, a pleading look in your eyes. "Well..."
"No."
"Just this time."
"You said that last time."
"He's already here."
"He's always here!"
"Aerion."
"No. Not happening."
Silence fell upon the living room, your eyes meeting Aerion's purple ones with determination. Obviously, you understood where he came from, but you couldn't help it. Egg was such a sweet little boy, and he was always so nice and adorable that you couldn't help but cave to his every wish.
And five minutes later, the three of you sat in front of the TV, Egg in the middle happily munching on the popcorns from the bowl on his lap, often turning to you to share his thoughts about the movie.
"Why Egg?"
"It's short for Aegon," he nodded vigorously and looked away from you.
"Yeah, I figured that part out ββ
Like any normal person with a functioning brain, you loved making out with your boyfriend. He was hot, and you were in love with him, so it wasn't like it was a chore for you. Nor was it for him, based on the blurry, heated memories that suddenly came to mind.
Maybe doing it out in public was less understandable, though. But after he had placed all the shopping bags you'd handed him over the afternoon in the backseat of his car, he had pulled you into short kiss, which then became a long one, and somewhere between that and now, it had turned into something else.
Neither of you noticed when Aerion's phone began vibrating in his pocket for a couple of minutes. And when he finally did realize, he had to pull his hands out from under your shirt to declined with an irritated huff.
Then he paused, glanced at his screen for a few seconds, huffed again and answered the phone.
"No fucking way," he ended up spouting after a few back and forth between him and whoever was on the other side of that call.
"He'll be fine there for a few hours." He argued again, "There's all the teachers, and toys, and all the shit kids play with."
Oh, it had to be about Egg.
βDad β! Canβt you ask Daeronβ?β He paused again, listening to his father, and without another word hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket once more.
Holding back a laugh at the sheer rage painted on his face, you leaned against the car and cocked an eyebrow. βSo? What was all that about?β
βMy fatherβs meeting ran late. Heβs asking me to pick Aegon up from school.β
βOkay, then.β You nodded, your body shifting to reach for the handle of the passenger door, but Aerion grabbed your wrist before you could do so.
βItβs Aegon.β He insisted, as though it would somehow change something about the situation.
You frowned, slowly nodding. βTiny nine year old boy, silver hair, purple eyes, looks a lot like you? Yeah, I know the one.β
Rolling his eyes at your tone, Aerion let out a breath filled with annoyance. βI donβt have time to drive you home before picking him up.β
βI know.β
βSo heβll be in the carβ¦ with usβ¦ for the whole journey back home.β
βI also know that.β
And then his patience ran out, and he groaned, narrowing his eyes at you. βIβm saying the little shit will be glued to your ass.β
Which⦠yeah. True.
You didnβt mind, because Egg was still as sweet as he was when you first met him. Aerion did mind, however, since he was the one left out whenever the two β three β of you hung out together.
βYouβre not jealous, are you?β
βOf him?β
βYes, Aerion, of your nine year old brother.β You giggled, crossing your arms over your chest. βSeriously, though, you donβt have to be so mean to him. Weβre always together. Whatβs the issue with him sometimes crashing with us?β
To this, he had no answer. He just rolled his eyes to the sky in this irritating yet charming way he did and released your wrist. He opened your door without a word, closing it behind you before walking to his side of the car.
βIf it hadnβt been for that bastard, I wouldβve won the game.β
Choking on your water, you turned to Egg with wide eyes, βAegon!β
βWhat? The bastard cheated! All facts.β
βOh, do you think they have the lemon sweets? You know the ones.β
Aerion frowned, briefly glancing at you before looking back at the road. βI donβt know, Iβll check when we get there.β
βOoh, can I come?β Egg peaked his head in between both of yours, eyes sparkling with excitement. βPlease?β
βNo.β Aerion grumbled before using his hand to press against Eggβs face and push him back in his seat. βShut up.β
Relentless, Egg turned to you. βPlease?β
βNo.β Aerion answered in your place.
βI didnβt ask you!β Egg scoffed from the back, glaring at the back of his brotherβs head.
βIβm driving, and if I have to drag your puny little ass home by the ear, I will. Now shut up.β
Perhaps the whole reason the Targaryen house sat surrounded by gates and greenery was so strangers wouldnβt witness Aerion dragging Egg by the arm across the driveway, the young boy having planted his feet in the ground and screaming bloody murder for the whole world to hear, the way you did right now from the passenger seat of Aerionβs car.
You hadnβt gone to Aerionβs house in quite some time, you realized. There was no need to ask Aerion why he suddenly insisted on sleeping over at your place, or going home to yours, or him crashing over in your bedroom whenever he was free.
Were you complaining about your Egg-free life? Not really. Or at least, not right now, when Aerion lied on top of you, stealing your words with his mouth, barely letting you come up for air.
Definitely not right now.
You could've stayed there, in this situation, until the world imploded on itself. Nothing could bring either of you out of this bubble you'd formed around yourselves; that was how good you currently had it.
But right as his touch left flaming paths on your flesh as his fingers mapped out every inch of your skin, your phone began vibrating.
Not once.
Not twice.
But repeatedly, until you couldn't discern one notification from the next.
"Damn it," you sighed, closing your eyes as the moment between the two of you slipped right through your fingers. Aerion didn't raise his head higher than an inch above yours, but the annoyance coming from him was almost palpable.
You reached your arm out towards your nightstand, where you could vaguely remember having dropped your phone on some time ago. The light that suddenly blinded you as you lifted it from where it sat face down made you wince, and you used your free hand to rub your eyes.
do you want to play with me?
i'd ask daeron but he's asleep on the rug
he's boring also
you're nto
not
are you sleeping?
you haven't been at the house in a long time
did you breka up with aerion?
break
"Why the fuck do you have his number?" Aerion breathed out, exasperated at the texts. "Since when does he even have a number? He's nine."
Shrugging, you began typing a reply on your phone. "He got my number from your phone. And he just likes telling me about his day. He complains a lot about the kids in his class. Doesn't like them much."
With widened eyes and a raised eyebrow, Aerion sat up on your bed, letting the coldness of the room rush to you now that he wasn't acting as your personal blanket.
"What? So this is a common thing?"
"It's not that bad. He FaceTimes me on his iPad mostly, then he'll talk about his day while I do my homework, that's all." You told him, lifting yourself up on your elbows.
"Does my dad know about this?"
Nodding, you shrugged again. "Yeah, Egg's iPad uses your dad's phone number. He doesn't mind, so long as Egg doesn't uses it too much. He even says it's safer that way, since he doesn't have to watch him to make sure he doesn't sneak out again."
βI... don't know how I feel about this whole thing.β
βWell itβs not just him. I play online scrabble with your dad sometimes. and Aemon sends me book recommendations every other day.β
Aerion paused, "What?β
"Why is he bald, by the way? Can I ask?"
"Daeron drunkenly shaved off half his head one night. Then it looked awful, so we had to shave off the other half. Look."
Unsurprisingly, the boy displayed in the 0.5x pictures didn't seem to car about the admittedly horrifying hairstyle he currently had. With Maekar looking exasperated in the background, Egg smiled and gave a thumbs up to the camera.
Aerion woke up to find your half of his bed empty. No sound came from the bathroom, and with the sheets being cold, he assumed you must've been out of bed for some time.
While part of him felt something akin to relief from how comfortable you were with his family and in his home β sometimes too much, he thought to himself as he remembered you admitting to playing online scrabble with his father β, it also came with the borderline hatred from how comfortable they were with you.
People usually don't have to share their girlfriends with their families, do they? Why does it feel more like they tolerate him just so they can spend time with you.
Especially the youngest, insolent rat whose face had brightened up when Aerion had asked if you could spend a week here while your building was being fumigated. He hadn't even cared when Aerion roared at him to stay the fuck away.
As expected, it had been hard to find some alone time with you, because wherever you were, your shadow was not far behind. You didn't mind, of course, because the little rat turned into the sweetest, most innocent boy that's ever lived whenever you were in the vicinity, which immediately made Aerion out to be the bad one of the story.
The tiny fucker was a manipulative little shit, and Aerion will find a way to prove it to you.
After a brief shower to wash the night away, Aerion made his way down to the kitchen, hoping you'd be there. Fortunately for him, the first thing his eyes latched onto upon entering the room was your figure.
You sat at the counter, back to him, eyes on your phone.
Approaching, he hummed and wrapped his arms around you, leaning down to bury his nose in your hair. "How long have you been up? I thought you'd be worn out after ββ
Eyes going round, you jammed your elbow into his gut, immediately shushing him. Aerion groaned, one arm flying to press against his stomach, where he'd taken the brunt of your strength. "What the fuck?"
Without a word, you nodded towards the fridge, and he could only follow your gaze. The fridge was open, which he hadn't noticed, and β
"Ugh, why is he here?" The words came out in unison from the two boys as soon as Egg peeked his head from behind the fridge's door and met his gaze.
Pinching your lips to hold in a laugh, because surely Aerion would hate you if you pointed out just how similar the two were, you merely lowered your phone to watch whatever was about to unravel.
"I was here first!" Egg countered, closing the fridge with a pie in hand. "Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of."
"I will stab youβ"
"You can't keep letting him stick to you. Be on my side for once. Otherwise he'll never leave you alone."
"He just likes me because I play video games with him and I buy him food. He's not a bad kid," you laughed, but made a mental note to try and be less indulgent to the young boy.
As good as your relationship with Aerion was, it was bound to come to an end. You had been broken up for a week when the knock at your door came.
A week of lying in bed with a gaping hole in your chest.
A week of scrolling aimlessly through the pictures of the two of you on your phone.
Mostly a week of mourning how good it had been, and how good it would've been if only the two of you didn't argue so often.
The idea of interacting with a Targaryen for the time was so far out of mind that you didnβt expect the sight that befell you upon opening the door. Though, maybe you should have.
βEgg? What are you ββ
βYou canβt break up.β He hurried out, as though if he didnβt say everything at once, heβd never be able to. βPlease, you have to come back. The house is so boring without you, and Dad says Iβm not to contact you because Aerion is my brother and I have to stick by him. But I donβt want to stick by him!β
βHoney, itβs one in the morning, how did you get here?β
βI took a cab.β He panted, swallowing his saliva.
Later on, he gulped down his second glass of water as he sat on your couch. Your eyes hadnβt strayed from him at all, except for the brief moment you had used to text his brother. Of course, you knew he enjoyed your company and he thought of you not as his brotherβs girlfriend but as his sister. But to come knocking at your door in the middle of the night to beg you to stay with his brotherβ¦
Yeah, you hadnβt fathomed heβd ever consider doing that. And yet.
βI didnβt think you cared so much about Aerion and his feelings.β You let out, part of you wondering if you should ask Egg how Aerion has been this past week, though you decided against it. You werenβt about to pull a nine year old boy into your issues, no matter how hard he tried,
But Egg just frowned, confusion filling his features, βAerion? What are you talking about?β
No, you were the one frowning. Thinking back to his rapid little speech when you opened the door to find him, you questioned him again. βWhat were you talking about?β
Egg raised both hands as he shrugged, the way he always used his entire body to react. βI donβt care about Aerion. I just donβt want you to leave the family. But donβt worry about it. Even if you donβt want Aerion back, Iβve got a plan. What do you think about Daeron?β
Somehow, you were even more confused than you thought could be possible.
But independent as he was, Egg didnβt need a reply from you to keep the conversation going. βFather said I have to take my brotherβs side now that youβve dropped him. But if you got with Daeron, then I wouldnβt have to choose Aerion, because youβd still be in the family. Get it?β
Again, no reply from you apart from the gaping expression you gave at his words.
βIf the drinking bothers you that much, Iβm sure I can set you up with Valarr.β
And thank God for the sudden, incessant knocking at the door. Aerion was here, evidently, and he seemed pretty pissed.
βYou fucking rat!β Aerion roared when his eyes found his brother sitting on the couch. βHow did you even get out of the house? How did you get here?β
βI donβt see how thatβs any of your business.β
Wrong thing to say, because Aerionβs eyes widened before he started making a beeline for the couch.
As the boy screeched and jumped behind the couch, you grabbed Aerionβs arm to pull him back, wincing at the situation. God, you should be sleeping right now. βNo violence inside, please.β
βMy dadβs livid!β Aerion added loudly, anger seeping through his voice. βHis room was empty, and the window was wide open. He thought someone had taken him. Unfortunately not!β
Egg peeked his eyes from behind your couch, glaring at his brother. βHey, Iβm doing you a favor! I was trying to get her back for you!β
βWhat?β He turned to you, but you only shrugged. Though you did notice how Eggβs explanation wasnβt entirely truthful, you didnβt point it out to Aerion. He was mad enough at him already without the knowledge he was trying to set you up with other people.
Growling, Aerion reached out and grabbed Eggβs collar, dragging him towards the door while mumbling an apology to you under his breath. The only thing you could hear as you closed the door was the two boys arguing.
But truth be told, if the young boy hadnβt found his way to your place and forgotten his jacket, you likely wouldnβt have called Aerion again, which led to the two of you sitting down and talking about your relationship, and if you got back together some time laterβ¦ well, Aerion didnβt like the reminder it was all thanks to Egg.
this idea was stuck in my head for so long I'm just glad I got this out lmao. I also had no idea how to end it so the ending is lowkey rushed sorry
please let me know if you enjoyed this, I rarely post the fics I write so I'd love some feedback!!! and also let me know if you can see that my knowledge of how romantic relationships work is limited lmao
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protect short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice.
protect fanfic writersβwho are kind enough to share their works with people to read for freeβfrom ai witch hunts, speculations and accusations.
βdonβt like donβt readβ also applies to any fic that is ai-generated and any fic you think is ai-generated by the way. if you donβt like what youβre reading for any reason, you can always stop reading and exit the fic at any point. but harassment is never ever justified. no matter if you think youβve found a noble excuse to do it. and alsoβ¦
witch hunts, speculations and accusations harm the writing community as much as ai does. if not more. I donβt want to see another innocent writer get driven away from the community because someone decides to harass and accuse them for using ai just because their fic happens to have βai telltalesβ β the same telltales ai got from having been trained on millions of human-made works to mimic how real humans actually write.
Summary:In the shadowed halls of Kingβs Landing, love does not bloom freelyβit lingers, forbidden and unspoken. Torn between duty to the realm and desire that cannot be named, two cousins find themselves bound in a devotion that threatens to undo them both.
Authorβs note:This is my FIRST attempt at writing smut, so any inaccuracies or awkward phrasing are due to inexperience and writing in a non-native language. I appreciate your understanding.
WARNINGS:+18, smut, incestuous relationship (cousins), consensual but socially forbidden relationship, Targcest, political marriage themes, emotional distress, angst, jealousy, possessive love, explicit sexual language, oral sex, unprotected sex, rubbing, dirty talk.
When news of your birth spread across the realm, it was met with both shock and reluctant joy. Many had believed that Aerys had not even consummated his wedding night, so the arrival of a child had taken everyone by surprise.
Of course, some continued to whisper. Rumors spread that you were a bastardβthat Aelinor had taken a vow-breaking knight or lord into her bed. The gossip grew and lingeredβ¦ until your hair began to grow.
The gods may have given you your motherβs eyes, but your hairβ¦ your hair was unmistakably Targaryen silver. And yet, a few soft strands of brownβyour motherβsβstill wove through it, quietly refusing to disappear.
Despite everything, the lords of the realm had always loved such talk. Clearly. It never truly stoppedβbut you learned to stop listening.
One of the biggest reasons for that was Valarr.
Your cousin, a year older than you, had been by your side for as long as you could remember, especially when it came to this. He had always been a quiet anchor for you. Since your father Aerys resided in Kingβs Landing, you spent most of your days with your uncles Baelor and Rhaegelβs familyβunfortunately, your uncle Maekar was far away. Being in Summerhall felt both comforting and isolating.
The good part was being away from Aerion. His unsettling attention, his whispers of βwe must unite our dragon blood, cousinββbeing free of those was a relief.
The bad part was missing your other cousins. You had different dynamics with each of them, but none were monsters like Aerionβand for you, that was enough.
Maekar was a different matter. There was no hatred, but like your father, he could sometimes ignore your presence. Then again⦠who did Maekar truly get along with? With whom was he ever at ease?
Still, you knew he cared for you in his own way. As much as he cared for your father.
In the suffocating air of Kingβs Landing, the greatest source of comfort you found was Valarr. Over the years, the two of you built something quietβ¦ something hidden.
At first, you were just childrenβjust cousins.
But as the years passed, especially in adolescence⦠feelings began to take shape, undeniable and real.
Valarr, like you, had reached the age of marriageβthough by Westerosi standards, both of you were considered slightly late.
Suitors for Valarr were considered more quickly, yet more carefully. He was the heir to the heir, after all.
You, on the other hand⦠you could wait. A few more years would not matter. Eventually, the right match would present itself for political reasons.
In recent years, your father Aerys had begun to neglect you just as he had your mother, paying you little attention within the keep.
Though, at times, you still drew noticeβespecially when it came to your closeness with Valarr. After all, this city, reeking as it was, had a tongue that never tired of speaking.
You both knew what this was.
It was obvious.
And what you chose to hide, you kept alive behind closed doorsβthrough fleeting touches, quiet kisses.
Valarr was an honorable young man.
But in the end, he was still a man.
And you were the only thing that disrupted the rhythm of his heart. How could he stay away from youβfrom your scent?
He was not cruelβhe was gentle, a trait he clearly took from Baelor. But Valarr was still a prince of the realm. The heir to the heirβ¦ a Targaryen. Inevitably, there was pride in him. A certain arrogance. A touch of recklessnessβnot born of malice.
He carried a quiet indulgence within himself. Even if he appeared modest in the way his position demanded, it was impossible for someone like him not to be a little spoiled. Not in the way he crushed othersβbut in the way he held his own worth higher.
With the fire of youth running through his veins, how could he ever truly stop touching you?
Of course, he would never go so far as to dishonor you.
Never.
But he never denied himself entirely, either.
On the other hand, you were the more active one between the two of you. You were far from plain. Yours was a real kind of beauty. Striking, in its own wayβand for Valarr, that was more than enough.
What drew him in was your boldnessβyour willingness. Or perhaps it was simply the recklessness of youth. Where the marriages within your family were cold and distantβ¦ yours burned with something far more alive.
Not in a way the septas would merely frown uponβbut in a way far more sinful.
For him.
And that hunger only grew stronger, fed by touches that never quite crossed the lineβbut lingered close enough to make it unbearable.
You were in the solar chambers. Together with your younger cousin, Aelora, you worked on needlecraft while exchanging small, quiet conversations. Today, her twin Aelorβwho rarely left her sideβwas absent. The boy was in lessons, being taught the history of the realm.
Though you had grown accustomed to Aeloraβs quiet nature, at times it still unsettled you. Unlike her father Rhaegel, she showed no clear signs of madnessβyet there was still somethingβ¦ peculiar about her. Just like her twin.
Her golden-silver hair shimmered under the midday sun, while you chose to remain seated in the shaded alcove. The summer heat was already warming your skin unbearably, and even with the windows open, the air that seeped inside remained heavy and warmβdespite how high up you were.
βAre you interested in Valarr?β
The question broke the peaceful silence so suddenly that you nearly pricked your thumb with the needle. You managed to stop yourself at the last second.
You lifted your head to look at the girl, ready to scold herβbecause this was not something to be spoken of so freely.
But when you met Aeloraβs soft, delicate features, you didnβt.
She was only a child.
You steadied the flicker of unease within you and spoke carefully, your tone firm yet not frightening.
βI do not know what you mean, cousinβ¦ but you should not speak of such things so openly. The wrong people could twist such words to their advantage in dangerous ways.β
Aelora slowly smiled, that gentle expression settling on her face. She set aside the small floral embroidery in her hands.
βI heard my Handmaid's speakingβ¦ some of them said you and Valarr cannot keep from looking at one anotherβ¦ like two lovers.β She hesitated slightly. βStill, if Iβve upset you, I am sorryβ¦ I was only curious.β
A knot tightened low in your stomach.
Not because of being paired with Valarrβnor being called lovers.
But because it had become so obvious that servants could speak of it so freely.
When had it become this loud?
When had it grown this careless?
Still, your anger was not for her. Your composure did not falter.
βPeople talk, Aelora. They enjoy inventing stories about usβabout our family. Soon, when you come of age, they will speak of you as well. So you must learn not to listenβ¦ or rather, to listen without letting it guide you into recklessness.β You paused, lowering your gaze back to your work.
βThey are only rumors.β
You softened slightly as you added,
βAnd you need not apologize to me, sweet cousin.β
The girl fell quiet for a momentβbut eventually, she spoke again. This time, the same questionβ¦ in a different form.
βAnd what about Aerionβ¦? It is known that he is interested in youβ¦β
Though she asked it innocently, the moment you heard his name, the needle finally pierced your skin.
βAhββ
It was a small sting, but the discomfort that spread through you had little to do with it. You brought your finger to your lips, drawing in the small bead of blood.
Aelora looked at you with wide, apologetic indigo/violet eyes, clearly regretting her question.
You slowly pulled your finger away from your mouth.
βI have no interest in him.β
You did not use his name.
Not cousin. Not Aerion.
Not even prince.
He was nothing to you.
βNot nowβ¦ nor ever.β
The words left you like a vowβone that felt as though it might reach the gods themselves.
Later in the day, before supper, you made your way to the library. You enjoyed reading beautiful storiesβsmall things to stir the quiet excitement of the young woman within you. You were a romantic, but a realistic one. You preferred love stories written with sorrowβ¦ or the lost ones within your own history. The ones that had slipped away.
Every second spent in that silence was a clear, steady kind of peace. Of your family, only your father came here oftenβbut you had memorized the hours he did not, which gave you more chances to be alone.
Of course, you had a prince who knew your habits just as well.
Your dearest Valarr.
Unable to see you throughout the day, he had come here in the hope of finding you alone, if only for a moment. Your seat faced away from the door, yet the rhythm of his stepsβand the way his scent quietly filled the roomβtold you exactly who it was.
You lifted your head from the book resting in your lap and turned toward him, just to see him as he always wasβeffortlessly striking. That smile, the one he gave to no one but you, rested on his lips.
He dipped his head in greeting, hands clasped before him, every movement measured with princely decorum.
βMy princessβ¦β he greeted softly.
He always did this. Whether in public or alone, he remained formal. Even when he used your name, he never failed to place your title before or after it, preserving the distance.
Because his respect was realβand because he refused to give others reason to think otherwise.
To him, you were not simply a cousin. You had not grown as siblings, and you were not siblings.
You were his princess.
But behind closed doorsβonly at nightβyou were his. And he was yours. In those moments, Valarr would abandon titles altogether, speaking only your name as he gave you everything you desired.
You inclined your head in return, mirroring him.
βMy princeβ¦β
You closed the book slowly but did not rise. Though his presence stirred something deep within you, you hid it just as skillfully as he did.
How easy it would have been to kiss him nowβ¦
βYou should not sit with your back to the door. I do not know how many times I must remind youβbut in dangerous situations, you may need to protect yourself, princess.β
His tone carried the same authority you might have heard from uncle Baelor, yet there was unmistakable mischief in his expression.
He stepped closerβbut never crossed into your space. Each step tightened something in your chest, and you swallowed quietly. He noticed, and his smile deepened.
βDo not worry. Next time, I shall follow your command, Prince Valarr.β You spoke his name with the slightest shift in tone. Though he did not favor the hierarchy in your words, he did not dwell on it.
βYou know I do not like giving orders to ladiesβ¦ it is merely a suggestion. If the realm were to lose a princess such as yourself, it might collapse.β
The realmβor him?
βWhy are you here?β you asked, brushing past his small attempt at flirtationβthough you already knew.
Valarr let out a quiet breath and moved to sit in the nearby chair. His posture was as elegant as ever as he turned toward you, meeting your gaze with those mismatched eyes.
He was not here as he had been before.
This time, it was something heavier.
He remained silent for a few moments, simply looking at youβas if trying to take you in.
βA few names have been considered,β he said at last, carefully steadying his voice. By names, he meant suitors. For him. The inevitable.
A sharp discomfort settled deep within you. You looked away, focusing instead on the cover of your book. Your fingers pressed lightly against its firm surface as your heart quickenedβnot with love this time, but with a quiet, growing sorrow.
βAnd who are the fortunate ones?β you asked, your tone lowβyour interest hollow, almost ironic.
Valarr knew what you felt. He felt it too. Their grandfather, King Daeron II, had always kept his distance from such unions, intent on binding each of his grandchildren to different houses.
βOne is from Tyroshβ¦ the others from Houses Blackwood and Tyrell.β
He did not give you their names. He knew they would linger in your mind, disturb you in ways neither of you could bear.
As your thumb traced the edge of the bookβs cover, your gaze drifted to the faint mark on your fingerβthe small wound from earlier. Unease settled deeper into your chest. You were about to speakβ
ββMay I come tonight?β
The question came too quickly, too openly. You lifted your head at once, your brows knitting as you looked at him, almost scolding. Regret flashed across his face immediately. He swallowed and looked away.
The burdens of the realm weighed on him as heavily as they did on you. He only needed a moment of peace.
βIf it please you, should you have the time, I would be honored to join you for your evening readings, my princess. We mightβ¦ discuss the affairs of the realm, if it suits you.β
Of course, that was not what he meant.
You were angry with him. Angry at this cursed order that would never allow you to marry him. The unrest and sorrow within you turned, unfairly, toward himβeven though it was never his choice.
And yet, when he looked at you againβsoftly, carefullyβyou faltered. The prince held far too much power over you.
βI am free this evening for readings.β you said, your tone composed and formal. βBut I do not feel steady enough to discuss matters of the realm.β
Having received the answer he wanted, Valarr seemed, for a moment, to forget the names prepared for him. That beautiful smile returned to his face.
In moments like these, you were both so defenseless. So helplessβfor one another.
You wished that fragile, electric moment might lastβbut the door suddenly opened, cutting through it. Like two children caught doing something forbidden, you both startled and turned toward the sound.
A servant.
She had likely come to clean.
The moment she saw you, she bowed quickly.
βMβmy apologies, my prince, my princessβ¦ I thought the room was empty. I will leave at once.β
You rose before she could go, the heavy book still held in both hands. You faced the middle-aged woman calmly.
βIt is no matter. We were just leaving,β you said evenly.
βYou may continue your work.β
Though irritation stirred within you at the interruptionβand a single glance at Valarr told you he felt the sameβyou did not direct it at her.
She was only doing her duty.
βPrince Valarr,β you said, inclining your head in farewell.
He returned the gesture with the same measured respect.
You were uneasy because of the whispers spreading through the court. Valarrβs upcoming marriage only made it worse, and for a brief moment, you felt small againβlike a child caught in something far too large for her to understand. After Valarr, it would be your turn. They would look at you the same way. You would one day watch the man you loved belong to someone else, just as you would be expected to do the same to him. A life sealed inside a golden cage, always close enough to see, never close enough to hold.
In times like these, your mother had always been the only place you could fall apart.
She never asked for explanations. She never needed them. Aelinor would simply pull you close, fingers moving through your hair with a steady, absent kindness that somehow made everything inside you loosen at once. She was your motherβthere was nothing more complicated than that, and nothing more certain.
That night, before sleep, you had gone to her.
Your father, Aerys and your mother did not share a room, and so hers had always felt like something separate from the rest of the Red Keepβquieter, dimmer, untouched by the weight of the court. A place where sound softened before it could reach you.
She had just finished her evening prayers when you came in. Without a word, you lowered yourself at her feet and rested your head in her lap.
Aelinor did not react in surprise. She only shifted slightly, making room for you, and resumed her gentle strokes through your hair, humming under her breathβold lullabies that werenβt meant to impress anyone, only to soothe. Outside the window, the dayβs heat was finally giving way to a thin, cool breeze that brushed against your skin like relief.
And then it hit you all at once.
It always did, with her.
Something inside you gave wayβquiet, inevitable. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, then another. You didnβt sob, you didnβt break in any loud way; you justβ¦ fell apart in silence, staining her dress as if even your grief refused to make noise.
Only when it became impossible to hide did you finally look up.
She looked exhausted too. Not distant, not absentβjust worn in the way women become when they carry too much for too long and still choose gentleness anyway.
In a strange way, you were both grieving love. Just not in the same shape.
Yours still had a name you could hold onto.
Hers had long since turned into something quieter, heavier.
At least you had Valarr.
And yetβ
What did she have left of hers?
An arranged marriage she had tried, in her own way, to survive. A husband who had given her little warmth, and even less attention. And still, somehow, life had allowed her one fragile mercy: you.
The only thing she could truly call hers.
Her hand moved to your cheek, wiping away your tears with a tenderness that felt almost practicedβlike she had done it so many times she no longer needed to think.
βNo tear in those beautiful eyes is worth this world,β she said softly.
Her thumb lingered just a moment too long, as if she could press the pain out of you by force of will alone.
βOne day, what hurts you now will close over. It will become something you can touch without bleeding.β
A pause.
βAnd then it will only be a scar.β
Not gone. Never gone. Just⦠bearable.
Your voice trembled before you could stop it.
βWhat if it doesnβt close?β
For the first time, something like a tired sadness crossed her faceβnot for you alone, but for everything she already knew about life and what it takes and what it refuses to give back.
Then, after a beat. βIn the end, there will always be another wound waiting for us, my dearβ¦ until all that remains is a quiet pain, a grief that has been slowly forgotten.β
By us, she meant women. Not just you. Not just herself.
All of youβborn into roles where love was never allowed to be simple, only survivable.
You didnβt answer.
You just turned your face into her dress again, breathing in the only kind of safety that had ever truly been offered to you.
And Aelinor held you thereβwordless now, steady, as if silence itself could be a form of protection.
Your gaze moved restlessly between your untouched bed and the door. A knight stood guard outside, and Valarrβwho knew the rhythm of the shift changes by heartβwould slip inside during those brief moments of quiet. You wore a thin nightgown, light enough for the summer heat, and you hadnβt bothered with a robe. Perhaps you hadnβt thought of itβ¦ or perhaps you wanted him to see you like this, your body only faintly hidden beneath the fabric. Your handmaid had brushed your hair and left it loose at your request. Valarr loved your hairβloved to run his fingers through it, to tug at it gently as he kissed you. And you loved his as well, especially that silvery streak threading through his light brown locks.
Even with the anticipation coiling in your chest, the weight of the day lingered faintly, dulling the sharp edge of your excitement. You were his only in stolen momentsβbrief, fleeting momentsβand the thought of what that meant, of what would come one day, pressed uncomfortably at the back of your mind. That another woman might stand where you could not.
The thought barely had time to settle before he arrived.
As always, he knocked softly before enteringβa quiet courtesy that never failed. You rose quickly, your bare feet meeting the cool stone floor, and opened the door just enough to let him slip inside before locking it again. When you turned back, he was already there, standing a few steps away, still in his clothes, breath uneven as his eyes found you.
There was no mistaking the look in them.
Longing. Hunger. Something deeper that neither of you dared name too easily.
He never rushed you. Never closed the distance all at once. His restraint only made everything feel sharper, heavier. You, however, were less patient. You stepped toward him, drawn in by the way his gaze seemed to take you in completely, as if he could memorize you in a single breath. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth of him, tilting your head back slightly to meet his eyes. The intensity there was almost overwhelming, something fierce and consuming, like fire waiting just beneath the surface.
βI spent the whole week counting the seconds, my love,β he murmured at last, his voice softer than usual, touched with something fragile beneath the desire. His gaze moved over you slowly before returning to your eyes. βYou lookβ¦ unbearable like this. I donβt know how much longer I can endure it.β
Neither of you moved closer. Not yet. The tension stretched between you, almost deliberate, something you both seemed to savor even as it bordered on painful.
βSometimes,β he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned in just slightly, still not touching, βI want to pull you close in the middle of a feast and kiss you in front of everyone. I imagine it more often than I should.β A faint breath brushed against your lips as he hovered there. βI hold myself back, though it takes more strength than I care to admit.β
He shifted closer, his nose grazing yours without quite touching, his presence overwhelming in its closeness. βAnd sometimes...β he added more quietly, βI think about whatβs beneath those dressesβ¦ and how much I want to know it again.β
Your breath caught as he moved, slow and deliberate, until his lips hovered near your ear. βTell me,β he whispered, βhow many nights have I held you, wanting more?β
βItβs been three years,β you answered, the words leaving you almost automatically.
A quiet breath escaped him. βAnd stillβ¦ I canβt get enough of you.β
This time, he touched you. Lightly at firstβhis hand finding your waist, then sliding to your ass, drawing you closer as his lips brushed against your ear. The contact sent a clear reaction through your body, your hands rising instinctively to the back of his neck as you leaned into him, closing the last of the distance between you.
βYou undo me,β he murmured, his voice softer now, roughened at the edges. βEven if I had you completelyβ¦ I donβt think it would ever be enough.β
You whispered his nameβjust Valarr, without titleβand the effect was immediate. His hold on you tightened, his face pressing closer to your neck as if the sound itself had undone whatever restraint he had left.
βMy love,β he breathed, almost pleading now, βtell me what you want tonight. Tell me how to make you happy.β
A faint smile touched your lips despite everything, despite the weight of the day still lingering somewhere far behind you. For this moment, it didnβt matter. Nothing did.
βI want you closer,β you said quietly, leaning in so your lips brushed near his ear. βI want to feel youβ¦ even if you donβt go all the way. Just stay there. I just want all of you"
The words clearly stirred something deeper in him, something immediate and sharp, yet he held himself back, his restraint still intact even as his grip on you tightened slightly.
βNot yet,β he whispered, his voice low and steady despite the tension beneath it. βLet me take care of you first.β
And you didnβt argue.
You couldnβt.
The moment you accepted it, he didnβt hesitateβhe pulled you into his arms and carried you straight to the bed, urgency in his movements but care in the way he laid you down, as if even in desire he couldnβt bring himself to be anything less than gentle with you. He barely took the time to kick off his boots before his lips found yours, one hand sliding behind your head to keep you there while the other cradled your face, holding you in place as if you might slip away.
Settling between your legs, he shifted his weight carefully, close enough for you to feel him, but never enough to overwhelm you, and the kiss that followed was immediate, deep, breathlessβso consuming that you didnβt even notice the strength in his grip as his fingers tightened around you.
There was no practiced ease in the way you moved together, no learned rhythm from elsewhereβeverything between you had been discovered slowly, together, built through stolen moments and quiet curiosity.
Valarr had never sought out other women, never lost himself in passing touch or empty affection, and you had never given your attention to anyone but him, so every kiss, every brush of skin carried a weight that made it feel new every time.
He knew you nowβknew how you responded, how you softened, how to pull those quiet sounds from youβand you gave him everything in return, more than he ever asked for, more than he even seemed to expect.
Between kisses, he pressed himself against you through the thin fabric of your nightgown, a reminder that lingered there, insistent and warm, and when he murmured βI love you.β against your lips, the words came out broken, almost lost in the rhythm of his breathing.
You wanted to answer, but he didnβt give you the space to speak, so instead you answered with your hands, letting them move from his arms to his shoulders, then up into his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands as you held him closer, and the reaction it drew from him was immediate, a quiet shudder that only deepened the way he kissed you.
His thumb traced your cheek slowly, almost absentmindedly, while the kiss grew heavier, wetter, mirroring the warmth building between your legs, and when you finally drew your lip between your teeth before meeting him again, he let out a low sound against your mouth, something caught between restraint and want.
Time pressed in around you, unspoken but understood, eventually he pulled away, though only just, your noses brushing, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to steady your breathing.
βSeven hellsβ¦β he murmured, voice rough and quiet, βI could die like thisβwith your lips on mine.β
A small smile broke through despite everything. βFor someone who insists I keep you alive,β you whispered, βyou speak of death far too easily.β
That earned a soft, fleeting laugh, but it faded as his hand slid beneath your nightgown, fingers brushing along your thigh with slow intention, his gaze lifting to yours.
βMaybe I want both of them to come from you." he said quietly, almost as if the thought had surprised even him. The words settled deeper than they should have.
βValarrβ¦β you breathed, but it came out weaker than you meant it to, because there was truth in it that hurtβtruth in the way these moments could feel like everything and still not be enough.
He saw it, of course he did, and instead of answering, he kissed you again, softer this time, less desperate, as if trying to take that weight from you before it could grow. βDonβt think,β he murmured against your skin as his lips drifted from yours to your jaw. βJust feel.β
And for a moment, you did.
His mouth moved lower, slower, along your neck, behind your ear, every touch careful, measured, leaving no mark even as he lingered in all the places that made you soften for him, as if even now he was holding something backβnot his want, never that, but the part of him that refused to let you be hurt by what this was.
You let yourself sink into it, into him, into the quiet safety of the room where the world outside didnβt exist, where the weight of everything waiting beyond those walls couldnβt reach you.
Because out there, nothing was simple.
But here, with himβ
it felt like it could be.
As he slowly moved down from your collarbones, his lips reached your soft, curvy breasts through your nightgown and he sucked tightly, wetting the delicate fabric with his lips. With his other hand, he kneaded your other breast gently, focused entirely on pleasing you.
You simply held onto that feeling for a while, letting your beloved cousin drown you in love inside your locked room in the castle, where the weight of politics always watched over you.
As the subtle movements of your lips continued, you slowly tilted your head and looked at himβthe young man who gave you nothing but love and care.
He shifted and began to lift the hem of your nightgown. You waited for him to remove it while opening your legs slightly, making things easier for him, but he didnβt.
βIt will stay,β he said in a more authoritative voice than he usually used. That tone sent a faint shiver through you. Sometimes you liked that balance in your relationshipβsometimes he was dominant, sometimes you wereβbut the difference was that you could be stronger, you could even turn him into a little puppy.
He held his authority gently, never cruelly, though he could be firmer when you wanted. βAlthough seeing you like this is a gift to me, tonight I want you to feel good in this beautiful nightgown, my darling,β he added in a softer tone.
You didnβt object. On the contrary, you were glad he liked the nightgown, because you had worn it for him.
With a small smile, you spread your legs a little further and looked at him playfully, your arousal visible in the dim light of your room.
Valarr laughed softly in excitement and reached for a pillow. You lifted your hips to help him, as you always did. He placed the pillow under your lower back so you could relax more easily. Then he leaned down and began kissing your inner thigh.
βI can smell you,β he whispered against your skin.
As he moved closer to where he intended to go,
you stopped him. βAll for my sweet cousin,β you said.
He paused immediately. He was lying forward, holding your ankle, his legs half hanging off the bed. He didnβt like the word cousin. And you knew that when you used it.
βYou shouldnβtβ¦β he warned in a low, serious tone, but still pressed another kiss to your inner thigh. βYou donβt like thisβ¦ so what should I call you? Would 'brother' be better?β You were playing with him now, knowing it would provoke him even more, since everyone around you treated you like siblings.
Valarr reacted by biting your inner thighβnot enough to hurt, but enough to be felt.
βA-ahh!β you gasped, half in pain, half in mischief, pulling his hair instinctively.
He grinned against your skin and kissed the spot he had bitten. βYou knowβ¦ at times, I almost donβt see the harm in calling you my sister,β he teased. βAfter all, we are Targaryens, arenβt we? The gods themselves are witnesses to it.β
You laughed, though something in his words made you falter for a moment, thinking of Aerion. He noticed immediately, softening again.
βHeyβ¦ stay with me, baby,β he said gently. It was so easy for him to pull you back.
As a smile slowly spread across your face, your attention was distracted once again by the interest in his eyes.
To lighten the mood, you added, ββAh...or maybe I should call you my whore. Right now you look more like an eager brothel whore than a cousin or brother.β
That made him laugh.
βMy princess,β he said warmly, βit is my duty to fulfill your desires. So go aheadβ¦ Name it as pleases you want, my love.β
And with that, he finally buried his face where he wanted.
As his warm mouth moved toward you, he began to kiss your slightly hairy outer lips with torturous softness. It always started with compassion. Without missing a beat, his hands caressed their way from your ankles to your hips. Once they settled just beneath them, he squeezed the soft flesh. Even though the light kisses around your crotch and vulva were short-lived, you didnβt care when he began using his tongue.
βIβm going to taste heaven...β You werenβt sure whether he said it to you or to himself, but his voice sounded deep.
Licking your wet cunt from your hole to your clitoris, he opened you with his tongue as if he were turning the pages of a book. Just before you could fully shudder at the touch of his hot tongue, he sucked your clit, pulling it back slightlyβwith clear pressureβbefore slowly releasing it.
ββMhmmhh... donβt stop.β The words slipped quickly and quietly from your lips. He noticed immediately when you involuntarily lifted your hips toward him again. His grip tightened slightlyβnot enough to hurt you, but enough to keep you from slipping away.
Valarr had never been reckless with affection. Even now, there was something so careful about the way he touched you; as if you were made of glass that might shatter under too much pressure. Every movement of his tongue was deliberate. He wasnβt rushed or frantic, but slow and indulgent.
He enjoyed the way your body reacted to his touch; every sensitive tremor told him he was doing something right. His hands squeezed your hips gently as he deepened his mouth against youβhe wanted more of those beautiful sounds you made for him.
When Valarr began to eat you like a starving man, you unraveled even more. Your toes curled into the sheets while your hands tangled in his hair, pressing him closer. βAhhh...! Seven... bless you... Valβmy Val...β
You melted further with every second he played with your hole. When he pressed his nose against your clitoris, your voice thinned. In that moment, he lost himself.
As you leaned into his touch like a flower turning toward sunlight, his right hand moved slowly along the curves of your body and slipped beneath your nightgown to your left breast.
He kneaded it carefully, brushing the tip with his thumb before pressing the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. βYeah... yeah, just like that...β the words slipped out softly.
You were like lemon cake to himβslightly sour, but irresistibly good.
As you silently thanked the gods for his mouth returning to where it belonged after a week, you savored every second of this sinful moment. You surrendered to him completely, encouraging him with a soft, pleased murmur. βMmhmph... keep going, Val.β
You were certain Valarr was grinning at your reaction, but in that moment, you were focused only on the pleasure his tongue gave you. He parted and rolled your inner lips with his tongue again and again, making everything wetter, before returning to the same spotβstarting softly, then harderβas he sucked your clitoris.
Then he continued, leaving behind wet, breathy sounds. Lowering his head further, he pushed his tongue inside you, then sucked your inner lips tightly once more, sending a wave of pleasure through you.
With that, your back arched as you lifted from the bed, unable to stop yourself from moaning his name like a prayer.
ββValarr!β As if sensing you slipping away, he pulled you closer with the hand on your hip. His other hand remained where it was. βShhh... you must be quiet, my love...β he warned, his voice muffled between your thighs.
But he was devouring you, doing everything to keep you quiet. The low, masculine sounds he made only aroused you more. He felt as if tasting you like this could consume him entirely. His cock was already hard inside his trousers, but you were his priority.
He was merciless. You writhed as his tongue, with devilish softness, claimed you. You bit your lip, struggling to suppress the loud moans threatening to escape. Your gaze blurred, your head resting sideways against the sheets, shadows dancing along the walls.
βYouβre so sweet...β Valarrβs muffled murmur reached you softly. He was so lost in you that he didnβt even notice the trembling of your body.
His hand on your breast slowly moved downward, gripping the sheets instead. Now both his hands held your hips firmly again, but this time he buried himself fully between your thighs. He didnβt care whether he could breathe or not.
You could feel the shape of his face against you.
He was hungryβdesperately so. After tracing the edges of your inner lips with his tongue, he took them between his lips and sucked, refusing to let go. He wanted you to feel that overwhelming sensation as he pressed himself against you.
βAhhmm... ahh... Val... pleaseββ your voice trembled. The pleasure cut straight through you. You tried to stay quietβso the knight at your door wouldnβt hear...
But it was impossible. The sounds of Valarrβs mouth were louder than your own voice. You were soaked, teetering on the edge. When his mouth met you again, a deep, lewd sound filled the room.
The knot in your stomach tightened further when his eyes met yours for a brief moment. Those mismatched eyes were fixed on you with unmistakable hungerβlike a hunter.
You were his prey.
You werenβt sure how tight his grip was, but Valarr didnβt careβyou could pull at every strand of his hair if you wanted. βPlease... please...β were the only words that left your lips.
Valarrβs lower face glistened as he pulled back slightly, shifting himself to bring you to your final edge. He pressed his nose against your clitoris, then twisted his tongue toward your opening, curving it downwardβand with that sensation, your eyes shut.
A sharp warning from your mind made your body jolt, and you bit your lip until it bled, trying not to cry out. The knot in your stomach slowly unraveled, yet your breath refused to steady. You surrendered to it, taking in every wave as it washed over you.
As you let yourself go, your eyes remained closed, and your grip on his hair loosened. Valarr gave you time. He could sense the exhaustion settling into your body after your release. Knowing you were still sensitive, he leaned in and placed a warm kiss against your slightly hairy outer lips before pulling back.
His kisses trailed along your lower abdomen, brushing over your nightgown as they moved up to your cleavage, while his hands slid from your hips to your upper thighs in a slow, gentle caress.
When he reached your neck, he pressed a small kiss to your earlobe. βYou were beautiful, my darling...β he murmured. Another soft kiss followed. βYou were so divine...β he continued, his voice low, as if wanting to soothe you further. βYour taste was so good... I felt like I could drink it from a glass every night.β The words came out a little awkwardly, but he didnβt seem to mind.
He brushed his cheek against yours, then kissed your cheeks, and the tip of your nose. You could feel the warmth of his damp skin, the softness of his lips. βLook at me, my love. Let me see those beautiful eyes,β he murmured.
Slowly, you opened your eyes and found him already looking at you with a deep, quiet calm.
His face seemed almost to glowβand it was because of you. A soft, princely smile spread across his lips as he held your gaze.
His right hand slid up to your waist, his thumb brushing over your skin, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. βYou were made for me.β
You wrapped yourself around him, accepting him completely. In the kiss, you wanted to taste yourselfβthat same sweet-and-sour flavor. His tongue filled your mouth. βMhhm...β he let out a low, pleased sound, and you immediately felt his hard erection pressing against your stomach.
He needed youβjust as much as you needed him.
As the kiss deepened, one of your hands slipped down to the drawstring of his trousers. It took you a moment to untie them, your hands still unsteady, your emotions lingeringβbut Valarr waited patiently, focused only on your lips.
When the ties loosened, you slipped your hand inside and wrapped your fingers around his cock, thick and curled toward his stomach, stroking it slowly in your palm. At the sudden contact, Valarr pulled his lips away. Resting his forehead against yours, he shut his eyes, let out a guttural whine. βAghh... fuck...β
You felt his grip tighten around your waist and thigh.
You immediately brushed your nose against his cheek and, without stopping the movement of your hand, continued stroking him through the slick pre-cum. βYouβre hard as a rock. Itβs making me wet all over again,β you murmured playfully, letting out a half-fake moan in the tone he liked.
You wanted to push him further.
Valarr grinned despite himself at your teasing. As he pressed his forehead more firmly to yours, the hand on your leg shifted, gripping your wrist tightly to stop you. You tilted your head back slightly, looking at him in confusion.
βIf you keep touching me like that, I wonβt be able to hold back for long, my love...β he said, his voice strained with both frustration and desire.
Still, there was something else in his eyesβsomething eager. He wanted to try something different.
Pulling away, he moved to the edge of the bed and began undressing, your gaze fixed on his disheveled form. There was nothing crude in the way he did itβit was slow, deliberate, almost graceful. Exactly the way you liked to watch him.
A pleased expression lingered on his face as he shed each layer, revealing the body shaped by years of training. He could see it in your eyesβthe hunger, the way your lips parted slightly.
In that moment, you hated him. For being so beautiful. For not truly being yours. In some ways, he wasβbut in the eyes of the gods, you were nothing more than cousins.
His cock brushed against his stomach, the tip flushed and damp with pre-cum.
βDespair doesnβt suit you,β he teased.
Then he climbed back onto the bed, bare, your hands immediately finding him againβresting against his chest, pressing gently, roaming as if you couldnβt get enough.
βThereβs someone here more desperate than me,β you shot back, your gaze flicking his cock. βLike a green boy...β
Valarr leaned closer, bracing his hands beside your head, his hips deliberately held back, avoiding the contact you both wanted.
βThat shouldnβt amuse you...β he murmured.
He buried his face in your neck again, drawing in your scent, before brushing his lips behind your ear in a soft kiss.
He was positioned between your legsβbut still holding back.
βTo control the dragon, you must guide it... not provoke it.β
You drew him closer, one hand sliding to his shoulder, the other tangling into his hair, giving a soft tug. βIβm a dragon too,β you reminded him, your lips hovering just shy of his. There was heat in your voiceβsomething fierce.
Valarrβs answer came with a slow, wide smile. He licked his lips before speaking, his tone low and full of heat. βThen thereβs no escaping this without being completely consumed by fire, my princess.β
And then he kissed you.
This time, it was harder. Deeper. Hungrier.
There was no hesitation leftβonly heat.
You melted into him instantly, chasing his mouth, demanding more. Your hand tightened in his hair as your bodies pressed closer, your breaths mingling between stolen pauses. The air between you grew heavy, charged, as if the world outside no longer existed.
Your tongues moved together, slow at firstβthen with urgency, with needβuntil there was nothing left but the two of you, caught in the pull of it.
Sometimes, you wondered if you were doing it right. You had never kissed anyone but him, and finding your way had been a long, uncertain journey.
But in that moment, you didnβt care. It didnβt matter. As long as it felt goodβnothing else did.
Perhaps it was wrong. But what in this damn land had ever been right? So why should something as harmless as your intimacy be expected to follow the rules?
He kept kissing youβone hand tangled in your nightgown, the other brushing over your lower lipβwhile his hardened length, slick with pre-cum, pressed against your wetness. He guided it with his hand, dragging the tip slowly along you.
The sensation sent a sharp shiver through both of you. A soft moan slipped from your lips between kisses, but he didnβt stop. He rubbed the tip against your inner lips with a rough insistence, moving back and forth, pressing harder whenever he reached your entranceβbut never pushing inside.
He couldnβt.
βImmh... a little more...β you breathed, pulling away just enough to speak, your voice unsteady.
He leaned into you again, pressing his face close, leaving damp, lingering kisses along the corners of your swollen lips as he increased the pressureβright there, at your entrance... as if he might give in.
The teasing closeness blurred your thoughts, sending mixed signals through your body. You were both aching for more.
βGods... I wish I could,β he murmured, dragging himself up to your clit, the friction almost overwhelming. When he paused there, he pressed his hips closer still, your bodies slick, heated between you.
βIf only I could cast aside my pride and truly have you,β he added, his voice lowered so only you could hear.
One of your hands slid to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair, mirroring the way he held you.
βDonβt say that...β Your voice trembled as it reached him. βWe both know why you canβt.β Softer nowβtouched with something sad.
Regret flickered across Valarrβs face, deep and unguarded. He wanted nothing more than to make his love undeniableβdespite everything.
Still, he moved against you again, firmer this time, as if trying to lose himself in the feeling. Pressing his nose to your cheek, he held your gaze.
βOhhβI love you so much... and itβs tearing me apart, my darling.β
He pulled you back into a kiss, deeper this time, his movements below falling into a slow, aching rhythm.
He did love you.
And that was the cruelest part of it all.
Because no matter how much he might have been willing to give, there was still a line he refused to cross.
Years ago, you had almost convinced yourself you could surrender that final piece of yourself.
But he never allowed himself to consider it.
The power to truly ruin youβto take something that would cost you everything in the eyes of this merciless worldβwas something he could not bear.
He knew exactly what it would mean for you.
And still...
He was here.
Still touching you. Still wanting you.
Still finding ways to deceive himself.
You kissed him with the same hunger. The slick press the head of his cock along your folds made you flinch slightly, and he tightened his hold on you.
ββHow perfect it would be...β he murmured, breaking the kiss for a fleeting moment, guiding the swollen, wet head of his cock toward your entrance. He dragged it there again, just to feel itβjust that faint, aching pressure.
β...to belong there... to belong to you... only to you...β
The words left his lips with complete conviction, the quiet intensity in his eyes striking something deep inside him.
Your hands rose to his face, holding him firmly as your foreheads pressed together.
βYou belong to me,β you whispered, as if reminding himβyour voice trembling.
Valarr seemed to unravel at that, the weight of your words settling deep within him.
βSay it again.β
βYou belong to me. Only to me. You belong to my heart...β you said, softer this timeβmore tender. But the emotion caught in your throat, stealing the rest of your breath. Even as his movements slowed, the rhythm between you only deepened.
A sharp sound left him, and he buried his face in your neck again, as if he could disappear thereβstay there, forever.
You felt the steady brush of him against you, the tension between you coiling tighter with every movement. And stillβwhatever this was, however incompleteβit felt perfect.
Almost without thinking, you wrapped your legs loosely around his hips, drawing him closer. The contact deepenedβnot the same as before, not as consumingβbut enough. Just knowing he was there, pressed against you, was enough to send a quiet thrill through your body.
A fragile illusion.
But it kept you alive.
Valarrβs low sounds spilled against your throat as his lips followedβkisses, then the soft pull of his mouth against your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. His free hand rose to your lips, covering them gentlyβnot to silence you harshly, but to soften the sounds you couldnβt hold back.
βI know... I know...β he whispered, almost helplessly, against your ear.
His hips moved faster now, more urgent. Thenβjust for a momentβhe pressed himself more firmly against you, right at that same place, as if this time he might truly give in.
As if he could.
Your eyes shut tightly, your body arching away from the intensity as broken sounds escaped into his palm. Your hands clung to his back, nails pressing into his skinβand he didnβt stop you.
He turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple.
βYou smell so good...β he murmured, breathing you in, burying his face in your hair.
βYou donβt know what youβre doing to me...β His voice was muffled, distantβbut you barely heard it.
All that mattered was this feeling. Holding him. Being held like this.
He found your ear again, whispering your nameβover and over.
As if he were trying to memorize it.
As if it were the only thing he wanted to know.
βVal... I... moreββ Your voice broke against his hand as the tension inside you tightened again, sharper this time. It wasnβt enough. Not yet.
Your eyes opened, glassy, meeting his.
He pulled his hand from your lips, letting it rest instead against your cheek.
βTell me, my love...β he said, wholly present, readyβwhatever you needed.
βI just need more touchβahhhm... please...β
For a moment, he hesitatedβuncertain. Then, trying anyway, he pressed a soft kiss to your head before shifting away, lying back beside you. His hand tapped lightly against his thigh in invitation.
βCome here.β
A shiver ran through you at the quiet command.
You moved quickly, lifting the fabric of your nightgown as you swung your leg over him, straddling his hips. His cock rested against his stomach as you settled over him, your thighs bracketing his body.
His hands found your hips instantly, steadying you, while yours braced against his chest as you leaned over himβboth of you caught in the same breathless pull.
You were moving against him, your soaked cunt sliding over his cock as it lay stretched along his body. Everything felt slick, almost overwhelmingβand he was already on the edge. You could feel the tension in him, the way his hardness waited for you, as if it belonged there.
You pressed yourself down, moving as though he were truly inside you, finding a steady rhythm and holding onto it. Your lips stayed sealed, your moans trapped in your throatβjust like the tension building inside you. It was better this way.
You had done this beforeβagainst pillows, against blankets, imagining him. But thisβ¦ this was real. His skin, his warmthβit was everything.
The motion dragged against something deeper, something you couldnβt ignore, something that made your body ache for more. Still, you let yourself stay in the moment.
Your hands slipped beneath your nightgown, gliding from your hips down along your thighs, then back up again, gripping your own flesh as if grounding yourself.
βYesβ¦ like thatβ¦ youβre doing so well, darlingβfuckβ¦ donβt stopβ¦ just like thatβ¦β your voice broke out louder than you intended.
You didnβt silence him the way he had silenced youβyou couldnβt risk it. Instead, you leaned down, cupping his face, pulling him into you.
When your lips met again, your shared breaths, your soft cries, blurred together. You could feel everythingβevery subtle movement, every shift of him beneath youβthe way it sent small, electric sensations through your body, making you even wetter.
You moved faster.
Your hips rolled more deliberately now, chasing the friction, angling yourself just right to feel it where you needed it most.
βMmhmphβ¦β was all you could manage.
Valarr.
Valarr.
Valarr.
His name echoed through your mind, the only thing that existed. Whispering it only made everything sharper, more intense. Every glide against him sent a tremor through you, making your body react in ways you couldnβt control.
When he finally pulled away from your lips, breathless, you straightened, your head falling back, eyes closed. All you could feel was him.
Soft, broken sounds left your lips as you lost yourself completely in the sensation.
Valarr was unraveling beneath you.
βMy loveβ¦ tell me youβre closeβ¦β His voice was strainedβhe needed to know. He had been holding himself back for too long.
But you barely heard him.
He understood anyway.
As you pressed your face deeper into his neck, his hand tightened on your hip, guiding you, pressing you down so the contact deepened. He moved with you now, helping, controlling the rhythm just enough to push you further.
Your skin burned with the friction, both of you teetering on the edge.
Your hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around him, lifting slightly as you adjusted, pressing yourself down again. The added contact sent a sharp wave through both of you.
βValβValβ¦ IβIβm closeβ¦β you finally managed, your voice breaking as you looked at him.
Relief flickered across his face.
βCome, my loveβ¦ come for meβ¦β he urged, sitting up quickly, pulling you into him. One hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close as his forehead rested against yours.
His voice dropped, rough, intense.
βDonβt stopβ¦ just like thatβ¦ let goβ¦ let me feel youβ¦β
He held you steady, supporting you as your body began to tremble, his other hand guiding your hips, keeping that same relentless rhythm.
βIβmβahhβ¦ Iβm comingββ you gasped, your body tightening as the sensation finally broke over you.
It hit hard.
You clung to him, pulling him close, your voice spilling into his ear as your body gave in completely.
That was all it took for him.
Valarr lost himself with you, overcome by the same intensity he had been holding back, his body finally giving in.
For a moment, neither of you could move.
You were shaking, breath uneven, overwhelmed by everythingβhis warmth, his scent, the lingering sensation still coursing through you.
He held you there, not letting go.
Only when your breathing began to slow did he ease you down beside him, pulling you into his arms. Your head rested against his bare chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his skin.
He was still catching his breath, low sounds leaving him as he held you close. One hand stroked your hair, the other drifting along your back beneath your nightgown.
βMy one and onlyβ¦ my loveβ¦β he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your head.
βMy peaceβ¦β
It wasnβt just what had happened between you.
It was thisβbeing like this. Together. Close.
That was what stayed.
His fingers moved gently through your hair, lingering, as if memorizing every strand. He loved itβmore than he ever admitted. The silver, the softer tones beneath itβit was all yours.
You melted against him, your eyes slipping closed, your body finally relaxing. One of your legs draped over his, pulling him closer.
In that moment, everything else disappeared.
There was no duty. No world beyond this.
Only him.
βI should call you my wife.β
The words sent a sudden shiver through you. Your eyes snapped open as you lifted your head, searching his face to make sure you had heard him right.
Valarr looked at you with something deep, unwavering. A soft, almost wistful smile touched his lips.
βAfter everythingβ¦ if I belong to you, then thatβs what you are to me,β he said quietly. βEven if the gods would deny itβ¦ you are the only truth I have.β
You didnβt know what to say.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before pulling back again, meeting your tear-filled eyes.
βWhatever happensβ¦ I will endure it, my love.β
Then, more firmlyβ
βIf I must, I will speak to my father. I will end this distance between us. But I will not give my heart to anyone else. Not while it beats for you.β
He didnβt wipe away the tear that slipped down your cheek.
He let it fall.
Your hand rose to his face, fingers tracing along his jaw as your voice barely formed the words:
βPromise meβ¦β
You needed it.
Valarr pulled you closer, shifting until you were fully facing him.
βI swear it,β he said softly. βBefore all the godsβone day, you will be my wife.β
For a moment, it felt real.
Too real.
And yet⦠beneath it all, there was still something that hurt.
Because no matter how beautiful his words were⦠a part of you knew the truth.
Valarr was a man bound by honor.
And you werenβt sure love alone would ever be enough.
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Welcome you to your first summer at Camp Ashford! Over the next four weeks, we look forward to watching you explore, grow, and enjoy the great big outdoors! Now, some of you may have already heard the rumours that always circulate this time of year. We can absolutely assure you that there is nothing to worry about. Camp Ashford has always been, and continues to be, totally safe.
Up ahead, you'll be introduced to our senior counselors and given your bunk assignments. Please note that though we understand some of you are here with your friends, we ask that you DO NOT SWITCH CABINS without permission. Our senior counselors will be keeping an eye on this, and they don't appreciate disloyalty. Otherwise, take care of your fellow campers, be open to friendships new and old alike but most importantly, have fun!
And always remember: at Ashford, there are two sides to every story.
Meet Our Counselors:
β Valarr
β Tanselle
β Aerion
β Dunk
Get Cozy In Your Cabins:
β Syrup, Sugar, Sticky, Soda - On a mini roadtrip to get Valarr something sweet, you decide to give him an extra treat.
β Save Your Love For Me - While practising face paint for the kids, Tanselle shows you just how beautiful she thinks you are.
β Just Like Candy - When you discover just how bad the Targaryen sweet tooth affects Aerion, you become determined to find something to soothe his hunger.
β Dunk [COMING SOON]
Don't Go Into The Woods At Night:
β Looking - When stalker!Valarr finally gets caught, he's expecting the shame. What he can't predict, is what you're going to do with it.
β Liquidize - siren!Tanselle takes you for a morning swim and the water is freezing but she knows just how to warm you up.
β Lullaby - Strange dreams have been plaguing you lately, so you go to Aerion for answers. You get them but not easily, and not exactly from him.
Pairing: Modern!Aerion Targaryen x Scholarship Student!Fem!Reader
Description: Aerion Targaryen always gets what he wants. When he invites you to have dinner with his family, things take an unexpected turn. You decide to indulge him even if he is a jerk.
WC: 10.7K~
<For Mature Audiences>
Warnings/MDNI: Aerion being Aerion, cursing/swearing, shy!reader?, SMUT, groping, pinning, slight non!con, dry-humping, handjob-ish (M!Receiving), finishing in pants, IDK lemme know if I missed anything.
AN: I donβt take credit for the Modern!Aerion idea, Iβm not entirely sure who the original creator is. Thank you guys so much for the traction of these! Sorry it took me so long to get to these, I will do better in future. Lemme know how you like this piece about Aerion!
When you applied for Kingβs Landing University, you didnβt think youβd get in. There were plenty of other people more qualified and more funded than you were. It was just a stroke of luck that you actually were considered and put on the wait list. Then it was like winning the lottery when you won their full-ride program. KLU was known for its lead in academics and connections. If you wanted to get a head start in whatever field you were getting into, go to KLU. So when August came around, you had packed all your things and shipped yourself across the country to attend.
The campus has been busier than usual. Itβs always packed, but in recent weeks itβs been unbearably so. The wealth gap between you and the other students was becoming more apparent by the day. You had arrived far too early to get a head start on settling in. It was also cheaper to fly before the rush.Β Most students made it in with either family names or just paying the insanely expensive tuition. That was the first striking difference. It was a world of designer clothes, luxury cars, and impromptu vacations. Girls giggled about being gifted a βshitβ diamond necklace on a date, and boys complained about trust funds their parents paused due to overspending. You felt like an outsider, struggling to keep up financially and socially.Β
Information is power here.Β
Gossip was traded loudly, and whatever you heard, you always kept note. It was the only way you could get any details of whatβs happening on campus, considering you were isolated. A sort of social outcast among the elite, and you embraced that. You couldnβt afford the bars and nights out, nor could you understand the fake friendly faces people put on just to make digs at you. So you werenβt the most popular. Mainly keeping to yourself as you focus on school rather than the βUni experienceβ everyone goes on about.
One day youβre studying at the library, and a shadow comes to block your light. When you spare a glance-
βHello?β You hum out curiously, cautiously, to the Targaryen standing at the edge of your table. Aerion Targaryen, to be exact. It was hard to miss when a member of the royal family was on campus, but itβs always impossible not to know when Aerion was around. His spiked silver hair is a tell, but itβs the trail of chaos and gaggle of girls that usually trails him that gives him away. Youβve heard the rumors. You knew what kind of man he was. Dressed to impress with tight-fitting tees and a leather jacket that you're certain could pay for the whole semester and then some. Youβre slightly surprised to see him here in front of you now in a frumpy hoodie and singular. No whispering ladies in tow.
Β βMay I help you?β
Aerion stood there with his signature smirk, one side of his mouth crooked compared to the other. Violet eyes assessed you with a calculation like heβs trying to figure out some sort of problem that youβre a part of. His presence commanded attention even in the quiet of the library. He didnβt have to do anything to do it, just stand there. The problem prince of Westeros had deigned to acknowledge a scholarship student. But why? Youβve never spoken before, so why was he here in front of you now?
"You're the charity case, aren't you?" His voice carried that aristocratic drawl that made it clear he was used to getting what he wanted without care for what he said. You watched as he pulled out the chair across from you without waiting for permission and plopped himself down. He lazily sprawled in his seat as his gaze kept on you. The leather of his designer jacket creaked as he settled, his dragon tattoo visible at the collar. The edge of it barely peeked from his neck and dipped lower under his shirt. His cologne, expensive and spiced, mingled with the scent of old books. You hated that he looked this good up close.Β
It was interesting at least. He knew of you. Not only that, but he came up to you specifically. Sought you out on his own initiative. Sitting up a bit straighter, you gently set down your pen, giving him your full, undivided attention. As well as your full guard. βI am.β Itβs wary and calculated, but it doesnβt deny his harsh words. If anything, it embraces them. Youβve been called worse things since youβve gotten here. You watch him with careful consideration as you try to gauge what he wants.Β
Because surely he wants something.
Why else would he be here? What could this possibly mean? You never needed to speak with him before; thereβs been no reason to. Yet here he is. Sat in front of you like heβs always been there. You try to recall when youβve ever been around him, and the closest thing that comes to mind is orientation when he sat a few rows ahead of you. Glimpses of him since, but nothing that would warrant this.
Β β-and youβre Aerion Targaryen, right? What does a Targaryen want from me?β
An amused noise escaped Aerion's lips at your response. His gaze is gleaming with something you canβt quite figure out yet. He notices your defensive posture, but it doesnβt sway him.
"Clever girl," he purred, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Miss Charity. Top of the class, a thorn in the side of my dearest cousin." He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease despite the tension radiating from you. He was playing with you. His fingers drummed rhythmically on the table, each tap echoing through the library's silence like he canβt just sit still for two seconds. Always fiddling, shifting. You wonder if heβs ever stepped foot in the library before today. βAnd here I thought you were just another scholarship student. But you might be more... interesting than that."
Just another scholarship student?Β
βWell, Iβm glad my presence is amusing to you.β Droning out as you pick up your pen again, no longer interested in the conversation. At least not fully. He was just full of rude remarks and distractions, which were the last thing you needed. You were the first full-ride scholarship student at KLU in years, and you were the first woman recipient. You were more than βjustβ anything. Resuming your notes with half awareness of his presence. Youβd been expecting something different when talking to the Targaryen, yet it seems Aerion would not be the threat you had been warned him to be. Not mentally, at least. Just a poor flirt who floats by on his looks, money, and temper.
He watched as you casually resumed your note-taking, seemingly unbothered by his presence. Causing his smirk to falter for a moment. Surprised at the fact his purred charm didnβt work, especially on you. Heiresses, models, and actresses all swoon if he so much as looks at them, much less calls them βinterestingβ. He wasnβt used to being dismissed so easily. He was used to everyone giving him their full attention. But here you were, treating him like any other student in the library.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain his cool composure. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" He asked with a hint of irritation creeping into his tone.Β
Ah.
It seems youβve struck a nerve. You give it a beat before gently laying down your pen again. Turning back to him with a firm, assessing gaze. Lest he throw a fit. βIβm not an idiot.β Correcting softly, glancing around to see who all was listening. Because someone was always listening, the library was empty, but you still erred on the side of caution. βYou didnβt answer my question. Is there something I can help you with?β Itβs not that you were trying to get rid of him- maybe a little- but there is genuine curiosity. A nervous need to know what the reason is for his being here. Some anxious part of you is ready for this to be over so your nerves could settle.
Aerion's jaw jumped at your straightforwardness. No one had ever dared speak to him like this before. With a casual indifference that was similar to the way he would speak to others. Most of the time, people fawned or feared him, not whatever this is. His fingers went from drumming to tapping, an impatient rhythm. "I wanted to see what the competition looks like," he said finally, trying to have an unbothered air to it. He took inventory of your table. The binders and textbooks strewn out, notebook full of neat handwriting. "Valarr's been less than thrilled about losing to the likes of you.β He leans forward, sitting up from a slouched position to something more alert. Something more βat the readyβ than before. The library seemed to grow quieter around you both, as if the space shrunk down for just the two of you. It made you nervous. How the air changed the minute he grew more serious.
"And I wanted to see if you were worth all the fuss."
You try to ignore how he said it. Choosing to focus on what he had said instead. βThatβs- pleasing information. Iβm glad that pest of a Prince is being humbled for once.β Using the title as an insult, as you imagine Valarr squirming.Β Youβve been on his trail all year, fractions of a point behind him or ahead. It kept you on your toes, but it did make things harder to have that challenge of him.Β A small, half smile plays on your lips as you relax a fraction. Just a fraction. Grateful that the table is wide enough that Aerion leaning closer doesnβt bring him into your space. Otherwise, it would be hard to ignore how pleasant his cologne is. Though the warm smell of him still wafts over, you canβt help but wonder if he wears it for attention. He seems the type. Leaning back in your own chair as you mull him over. Taking in his intense expression with a tinge of nerves. βAnd? What do you think?β
Aerion's amethyst eyes narrow at your response, the half-smile catching him off guard. He hadn't expected you to be so... cheeky. Your comment about Valarr being humbled made his lips twitch, fighting back the muscle with great effort. To be fair, any sly comment against Valarr would make him smile. He just loathed the boy.
"I think..." he paused, studying your face intently. Lingering in a way that made your stomach flip. Something almost embarrassed at the fact that he was looking at you so hard. You couldnβt understand what he was looking for, and it was a little too intense. "You're definitely not what I expected." His head tilted slightly, silver hair catching the overhead light and glowing.
"You donβt seem intimidated by me. That's a start." His voice had lost some of its edge, replaced by a curious tone. An almost graveled calculation, he seemed to be reassessing you in his mind. A preconceived idea of you based on what heβd heard was being rewritten. The same could be said about him in real time as you do the same.
βOh, I am intimidated by you-β Admitting easily, because youβre not afraid to admit such things. Maybe a little eager to do so, just to get it off your chest. It was the truth, and you would never shy away from the truth. βYouβre a Targaryen; that alone is enough to be worried. Plus Iβve heard things about you in particular.β Itβs not mean or judgmental; in fact, you try to joke with him, but it is still wary. Still not wanting to poke the bear. His infamous temper was the last thing you wanted to see. It would be stupid to try to test him when you knew better.Β
And you werenβt stupid.
A dark glint appeared in Aerion's eyes at your admission. Propping his elbows on the table, clearly pleased and intrigued that his reputation precedes him. Your direct point out his status, admitting to being intimidated by it, and yet the way you hold yourself hasnβt changed. Youβre not giving him any special treatment because of it. A bit of anxiety, sure, but nothing like the bumbling sycophants that throw themselves at his feet. "At least you're honest," He hums in a hint of satisfaction, though not enough to give away the game. Because thatβs what this was to him: a game. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Most people pretend they're not afraid. It gets boring."
"What exactly have you heard about me, Charity?" The nickname spoken with purpose, like pressing on a bruise, but there was an edge to it that suggested he was genuinely curious about your opinion. Aerion knew what people said about him, and he knew it wasnβt pretty. Normally, he wouldnβt care about such a thing, but with you he wanted to know what you knew. You had heard about him, but what exactly did you think? What information did you have? What let you sit there and speak to him like this? Knowing the kind of person he was- or did you even know?
And that makes you pause.
A moment where you're left chewing the inside of your cheek, debating just how much you should say. From what you can tell, he seems to be enjoying the conversation. Seeing as heβs still here, sat across from you with such confidence as if he is conducting an interview and apparently youβre doing well. The rest of the world is still going on around you as you engage in this weird push and pull. You hate the nickname heβs given you.
βEnough.β Choosing to answer simply. Itβs not dismissive; itβs telling. Recalling some of his more temperamental moments from the rumors, and you can only confidently verify half of them. A popular girl, Hightower maybe, said he blocked her number after dumping her at some club. The Baratheon heir said he was punched for bringing the wrong beer to a pool party. Then there was something about cursing out a professor and calling him an βegg-headed dickβ. That one made you chuckle when you had heard it. βEnough to know not to get on your bad side. Though, thatβs generally my rule of thumb with everyone.β
Aerion sat there for a moment. Processing your answer in tense silence until he chuckled at your non-answer, finding your caution both intriguing and refreshing. An unguarded laugh that for some reason made your chest tighter than youβd ever admit. "Careful, you might hurt my feelings," he joked- actually joked- though there was a glint of something more serious in that violet of his. A warning. He was used to people walking on eggshells around him, afraid to say the wrong thing or invoke his wrath. But you weren't afraid to be honest, even if it meant acknowledging his less-than-desirable reputation. He leans back in his chair again, manspreading to take up more space. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight.
"And how do you find KLU so far?"
Maybe this was an interview. Itβs all rather odd. Was he messing with you? Why would he care about how you feel about this place? From what you understand, he hardly shows up to class as is, so his sudden interest in your own academic opinion felt more like a test. Maybe the Targaryens wanted to know if you would speak poorly about this place, as a PR test of sorts. Maybe they sent him here to trial you for your funding and see if you deserve it.Β βI am grateful for the opportunity to learn at such a prestigious institution. KLU has been nothing but supportive and accommodating in my time of need.β A perfectly curated answer for this exact occasion. If anyone asks, this is the best school to be in. There were other options out there, but none quite as renowned as Kingβs Landing. The people here make it more like a reality show at times, but you couldnβt exactly say that, not without causing a stir. So your answer stays civil and cordial. βWhy are you making small talk with me, Mr. Targaryen?β You use a formal approach to get to the bottom of his current behavior.
He clearly didnβt like it.
Glaring through your practiced response, clearly seeing the polite facade for what itβs worth. His fingers started to drum against the table again, as if he were deciding how to handle such a display. Thereβs a tension in his brow that wasnβt there before.
"Because I want to," he spat out bluntly, a hint of his usual arrogance returning. "Everyone else is either spoiled wannabe-beβs or brown-nosing businessmen. You are something different; you are neither.β
Heβs leaning forward again, this time across the table, scooting in. He puts his weight on his elbows as he deliberately invades your space just enough to make you uncomfortable. Because if there was one thing he was good at, it was getting under people's skin.Β It does. Your heart jumps into your throat, and youβre not sure if itβs from him saying youβre different or if itβs his sudden proximity.
"And don't call me Mr. Targaryen. Makes me sound like my father." His tone dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. He was so close you could see the fine hairs of his brows, a little scar on his chin and another on his nose. Something dangerous that made your skin prickle. Those eyes- "Call me Aerion."
Trouble.
Youβve decided, just now, that heβs nothing but trouble. The way he talks and holds himself screams it, all the poking and prodding. The look in his eye, the smell of his cologne, the subtle shift in the air when he enters a room. Itβs all designed around his chaos. A walking scandal is sitting in front of you, and youβre just worried about him getting you into something you didnβt have time for. That was all. No other reason. Certainly not because if you keep looking at him too long, you wonder what his lips taste like. His last statement is noted as you lean back in your seat, creating some much-needed distance, as if you could get further away. βWell, Aerion- while Iβm flattered, I was in the middle of studying.β Gently shutting down whatever game he was playing, as you wanted no part of it. The minute his lips come into the picture, heβs out.
"You can study later," he dismisses your attempt to flee with a wave of his hand. Gesturing vaguely to your papers and books on the table. "I'm more important than whatever's on those papers." A finger reaches out and taps one of your books, a smirk playing on his lips. Because he likes pushing too far-
"Come have dinner with me tonight. At my family's place."
Your stomach drops, and a pit forms that makes you feel nauseous. You didnβt hear him right- βWhat?β This knocks you completely off your feet, brain rebooting to try and process his demand. Youβve only just met this man- a Targaryen no less- and he wants you to have dinner with him? Not only that, but with his family, at his family's place?? A brush of pink comes to your cheeks, against your will. Slightly panicking as you gawk at him. Rigid with confusion as you try to figure out if heβs joking or not. He doesnβt seem to be joking. He seems deadly serious- βIβm sorry I just- youβre messing with me, right? I donβt even know you-β
Aerion cuts you off, looking all too pleased with himself at your flustered reaction. His stupid smirk only widened. Enjoying seeing you so thrown off balance, finding it amusing in some sadistic sense. He must just enjoy the mayhem he brings. "I'm not messing with you," he hums out, violet eyes beaming with mischief. Heβs scheming something. You just know it. "I'm being completely serious. My father wants to meet you."Β
He says it as if I should be grateful, as if the very opportunity is more than what I deserve. While heβs not wrong, something about it irks you. βHa-β Bewildered, you canβt help but laugh a bit, frazzled to the point of stupidity. This wasnβt what you expected. When he came to your table, you had prepared for a million other things, but not this. Maybe he would try to pay you for doing his homework. Or maybe bully you into sharing your notes. Not demand that you go to a family dinner.Β
Heβs trouble indeed.
βThis is completely insane- " you mumbled to yourself as you rubbed the tension from your face. Feeling the beginnings of a headache as you try to process the logistics of what heβs asking.
"Dinner. Tonight. Seven o'clock. My father's expecting you." He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a sleek black card, sliding it across the table to you. "Here's my number. Text me when you decide you want to stop being difficult and accept my invitation." He was confident; youβll give him that. Assuming you would say yes eventually. You donβt have time to argue before he stands and starts to leave.
Left reeling, not quite the mouth-open kind of shocked but blinking in your seat. Trying to wrap your head around whatβs happening. Gently picking up the card and studying the elegant number written on it. Obviously expensive. Blinking back up at him to find his stupid smug face. βWhat if I canβt go?β Finally able to speak, but it doesn't sound confident at all. Garbled and half-formed as you try to think of how terrible an idea this is.
"Then I'll come get you myself," He said simply, as if that was the most obvious solution. You werenβt sure what that entailed, but for some reason you didnβt want to find out. His voice dropped to a whisper, something low mumbled out as he checked his phone. Unbothered by the whole ordeal. "Think of it as an opportunity. To see how the other half lives." He straightened up, adjusting his jacket. "I'll see you tonight."
Itβs been hours. Hours of panic, of pacing and debating on canceling, then changing your mind again. You donβt know these people. After Aerion left the library, you did too, locked yourself in your dorm to make a game plan, yet came up with none. Itβs inching closer to 7, and still you have yet to text him. Tanselle, your dorm mate, was the only person you could talk to about this, and sheβs busy at the movies on a date, which would be your luck.Β So you spiral and go back and forth about the issue until itβs too late.Β
At precisely 6:45 PM, your phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. It's from Aerion, of course; you knew that because of the contents. The message simply reads: "Don't make me come get you. I'm already in my car." The implied threat is clear. He's serious about all this, and his patience is already wearing thin. The fact that he's texting you means heβs here in the parking lot waiting for you.
How did he get your number?
Itβs a good thing you got ready anyway, showered and cleaned up as best you could for such an event. Fashioned together in a nice pair of pants and dress shirt, cardigan pulled over your shoulders as a sort of barrier against the world. Makeup light, modest. Youβd been fighting yourself on this since the invite, but the temptation of free food and possible connections did win you over. That and the panic of disappointment. To refuse a Targaryen of all people- you head down your dorm building to meet him. As you step outside, you see Aerion leaning against a sleek black sports car. Something expensive and fast that made your stomach tight with unease. His silver hair gleams in the evening streetlight, and he's dressed in a lavish black suit that looks like it cost more than your entire wardrobe. He spots you immediately, pushing off the car with a predatory stalk. Leaving you queasy already as you approach. He's wearing dark sunglasses despite the setting sun, giving him an even more intimidating presence.
"About time," he says, popping open the passenger door for you. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."
He was a gentleman, at least; getting the door for you was unexpected. Though now feeling even more out of place and underdressed. βI donβt think I had a choice.β Humming out in soft displeasure as you climb in carefully. Shrinking down small as you buckle up. You canβt remember being this nervous in your life. Itβs like all sense has left you, and your brain has reverted back to being a simpleton. The car smells new and overpriced, and it makes your stomach squirm in knots. Your worn purse in your lap is the only respite as you fiddle with it. Aerion gets around the car and slides into the driver's seat, his movements fluid and confident. Glancing over at you for a moment, you feel his gaze.
"You look like a deer in headlights," he remarks, starting the car up with a purr of the engine and pulling out onto the road. He reaches over and turns on some classical music, the soft violin filling the silence between you. Also surprising. Youβre not entirely sure what that means. It felt odd that these threw you off. He was raised in a royal setting; of course he would have manners and enjoy classical music. Or is that just a stereotype? You werenβt even sure anymore; you were so worked up. The violin music is somewhat pleasing but not enough to help.
βIβm still not sure why Iβm here.β Barely breathing out, looking out the window as the city scene passes. He had said itβs because you beat Valarrβs scores, but that seems wrong. Wouldnβt they have your file? Couldnβt they just look at that? This whole family has the world in their hands, so why toy with you? Itβs like entering a dragon pit-
Aerionβs gaze skimmed over to you again, studying your worried face as you questioned your presence. He seems amused by your uncertainty, as if your discomfort is somehow endearing to him. Or maybe just anyoneβs discomfort, really. "Because you need to be here," he says simply, not elaborating any further and leaving no room for arguments. His hand rests casually on the gear shift, the silver signet ring on his pinky catching the light. The rest of the drive is silent. Partly because you canβt think of what to say, partly because he doesnβt seem the type to indulge in idle chit-chat. The city passed by and changed; he weaves through the street, and after about half an hour of driving in music and internal panic, the scene starts to change to a more affluent neighborhood. The buildings grow further apart and become more luxurious as you go. Youβre becoming more aware of how cheap your clothes probably are, nervously tugging at them as if being covered more would help you in any way. Making a mental plan of how to go about all this. Eventually you pull to a gate, and as soon as the guard sees Aerion, he waves you through, down a long driveway-Β
βWoahβ¦β The place is huge, more of a museum than a home.
The Targaryen estate looms before you, an imposing structure of marble and custom glass. The driveway circles around a fountain with a three-headed dragon statue spitting water into the air. The front entrance is flanked by towering columns, and the door is made of ornate wood, standing ten feet tall. Aerion parks in front of the steps and gets out, coming around to your side and opening your door with practiced grace. "Welcome to Summer Hall," he says, extending his hand to help you out even though you hardly needed it. "My father's pride and joy."
The massive front doors swing open as you near, revealing a grand entrance hall with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a giant staircase down the middle leading to a painting covered in a black curtain. The floors were polished stone so shiny you could see yourself, and beautiful paintings lined the walls. Two steps behind him. Thatβs how youβll keep from being too nosy, as well as keep a respectful distance from anything too expensive to touch or breathe on. Two steps behind him as he leads you inside. Eyes wandering across the Lysian rugged floors, vaulted ceilings, and grand scenery. Itβs breathtaking. Feeling even smaller in the house than you did in the car. This has to be a dream, and maybe you hit your head back at your dorm. Fumbling to stay behind Aerion as you try not to look too out of place. A stranger in his home. As you enter, several staff members in formal uniforms bow their heads respectfully. Aerion walks with long strides, clearly comfortable in his own home and uncaring of the people heβs just passed. You follow quickly with a quick wave to them and a tight smile. A woman appears at the top of the staircase, her expression cool and calculating. She's dressed in an elegant evening gown. Her hair, the color of moonlight, cascades down her back, and her lilac eyes lock on the pair of you.
"Aerion," she says, her voice carrying an elegant drawl. "You're late." She looks past him to you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your appearance. Her gaze is assessing, like a predator sizing up prey. Enough to make your skin crawl. Unlike tabloids and magazines, seeing someone like this in person is something else entirely. Like a well-known statue or a goddessβs likeness come to life. It makes your cheeks flush and look elsewhere to gawk, feeling even more underprepared. βI-Iβm sorry if I made us late-β Whispering behind him for only him to hear.Β
Aerion's hand suddenly finds the small of your back, a firm but possessive gesture. He guides you forward, not letting you hide behind him. Almost presenting you by his side. "Relax," he murmurs low enough in your ear that it makes you tingle. "That's my sister, Daella. She's just dramatic." She descends the stairs gracefully, heels clicking against the marble with each step. She stops in front of you, studying your face with intense curiosity. You felt suddenly cornered, what with his arm around you and her in front of you.Β
"So this is the scholarship student," she says, her voice soft but with an edge of disdain. Spearing through you like she would a piece of food on her plate. "The one who's been making Valarr look bad."
Oh no. Your stomach drops, and your chest squeezes so tight you forget how to breathe, not only from Aerionβs nearness but his sisterβs judging glare. Gaze falling to the floor in an effort to keep your composure. βItβs nice to meet you.β Squeaking out automatically, holding out your hand, but she just brushes by. Awkwardly, you pull your hand back and fold it in front of you, hurt and embarrassed by the exchange. Sucking in a breath as you try to keep from exploding right there and then. This is all too much. Daella ignores you, clearly unimpressed. Aerion doesnβt speak or defend you, but his grip on your back tightens just a fraction, subtly bothered.
As you all head down the hall, servants pass by carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. They give you curious glances, no doubt wondering who this stranger is that Aerion brought with him. He leads you into a large dining room with a long table set for eight. There are already people at the table, all with various silver and blonde hair and a regal look about them. There are so many that Aerion points each of them out in your ear - his older brother Daeron, his younger brothers Aemon and Aegon, his sister Rhae, and of course Daella as she takes her seat. His father isnβt there yet. Aerionβs closeness is even more overwhelming in all the bustle, and you canβt help but let him drag you to your seat. Ever the gentleman, he pulls it out for you as you finally settle down.
The siblings all watch you with varying degrees of interest as you sit down. Daeron gives you a calculating look over his wine glass while Aemon, if you remember correctly, studies you with open curiosity. Aegon stares at you with wide eyes. Rhae leans over to whisper something to Daella, who rolls her eyes, earning a smile as she peeks back to you. Sending a chill down your spine. Aerion takes his seat next to you, his leg brushing against yours under the table. He seems completely at ease in this chaotic family dynamic, unbothered by your discontent, though he keeps shooting warning glances at his siblings when they get too obvious about their staring. You donβt know these people. You hardly know Aerion, aside from the rumors you heard and the interaction from earlier in the day. One conversation and now, somehow, youβre here. How did you get roped into this? His leg keeps bumping yours, and you canβt tell if itβs on purpose or not. Keeping your head down as you study the table set-up instead. Anything but dealing with the stress of this situation. Why did you agree to this? Because of food? Connections?? Youβre feeling most certainly disconnected if anything-
The siblings continue their subtle but obvious scrutiny, while Aerion leans closer to you, his breath tickling against your ear. "Breathe," he murmurs; his voice is not helping right now. "They're just vultures. They won't eat you... unless you give them reason to." He places his hand on your thigh under the table, a gesture that's both comforting and possessive. Causing a bolt of electricity to shoot through you at the casual touch.
Oh-
βMay I use your restroom?β Croaking out clumsily. Feeling your skin prickle at the mortification. He mumbles vaguely where it is, and you shoot up a little too fast. Giving a soft βexcuse meβ as you all but run away. Once you find the restroom, you waste no time locking yourself inside. Finally- finally- taking an unscrutinized breath since he picked you up from your dorm. Aerion watched you practically flee from the room with a blank expression, something processing behind those assessing eyes. He knows he's pushed you too far, but he can't help himself; itβs all a part of his plan.
The siblings exchange knowing looks at your hasty departure. Daella leans over to Aerion just enough for him to hear- "She's cute when she's nervous," she chirps, her tone dripping with mockery. "But a little... plain, don't you think?"He doesn't say a word, but he shoots her a deadly glare. That makes her straighten up fairly promptly.Β
A moment. Thatβs all you take; itβs all you need. Cooling your heated cheeks with water from the sink and cleaning up your makeup as much as you can. You look simple compared to them, but itβs ok. Itβs all going to be ok. Youβll have dinner, speak when youβre spoken to, then go back to campus and never see them again. Except the idea of leaving this bathroom seems daunting in a way thatβs impossible. You, who made it all the way to KLU on a full ride, are having trouble at a family dinner.
As you linger in the bathroom, there's a soft knock on the door. Aerion's voice comes through, a muffled sound. βYou alright in there?" His tone is different than before, lacking its usual arrogance. He sounds almostβ¦ worried. His footsteps pacing outside the door suggest he's waiting for you to come out or at least for some kind of answer. The rest of his family must be wondering where you've gone, and he probably doesn't want to deal with their questions. In a split moment, youβre left with two options. Or at least thatβs what your brain tells you. Go out and face him and his family, or- you drag him in. In a flash of pure stupidity, youβve unlocked the door, reached out and yanked him into the fancy bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him with a decisive click. He stumbles slightly as you pull him in, caught off guard by your sudden action. When he turns around to face you, his eyes widen momentarily before narrowing, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. Now youβre locked in here with him, and thatβs even more daunting than dinner-
βI donβt think I can do this.β Gasping out, now doing your own pacing in front of him. Feeling the air grow thin and your bowels gurgle and your stomach burn with bile that threatens to come back up- βI canβt do this. I want to go home. Take me home-β
He watches you pace, your distress clearly visible. It makes the small bathroom feel even more confined with both of you in it. "You're panicking," he states the obvious, leaning against the counter as he watches you pace. His presence fills the space, making it overwhelming when itβs meant to be a respite. He crosses his arms, studying you with an expression that's slightly annoyed and a tinge of sympathy if you squint. The amusement fading to something else, replaced by something more serious. Then heβs stepping closer to you, his tall frame blocking your path and forcing you to stop. "Hey," he says softer, reaching out to stop your pacing. He grabs your bicep firm enough to hold you still. "Look at me."
His hands move to grip your shoulders enough to ground you, forcing you to face him. The room is quiet except for your rapid breathing and his steady breaths. "Breathe," he commands, his violet eyes intense as they lock onto yours. He leaves no room for argument, as if the longer you freak out, the less patience he has for it all. "In and out. Slowly." Though it feels impossible. Stuttering breaths that make your ribs ache, and you feel like youβre going to be sick. His hold is too overwhelming.Β
Your hands coming to his chest to push at him to make space. βI canβt-β Spiraling further as the weight of it all crushes you. Unable to meet his gaze as it feels too intense, unable to leave the room because you're scared, unable to do anything at all. Too much. This was all too much- βIβm gonna be sick-β Your head is starting to throb-
Aerion's expression turns steely as he sees you truly panicking, a moment of hesitation, before he pulls you against his chest. He wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace that makes you wheeze. "No, you're not," he states fiercely, one hand moving to cradle the back of your head. "You're not going to be sick. Just breathe, with me." His heartbeat is steady against your ear as he smushes you close, his body heat radiating through his expensive suit. The scent of his cologne surrounds you, creating a strange sense of security despite your state. Something about it all is⦠intoxicating. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," he guides, his voice surprisingly gentle as he speaks into your hair.
For a moment you still fight against him, weak attempts to pull him off you. Gasping and trembling with built-up adrenaline that has nowhere to go. When that doesnβt work, his heartbeat is all you are left with. Steady. Firm. Unwavering. Your heart's hammering much too fast youβd think youβd stolen something. Eventually, instead of trying to push away, you bury closer, his heart the only thing keeping you steady. In. Out. It doesnβt work. In. In. Out. In. Out. Out. βIβm gonna pass out-β Muffled by his buttoned shirt as you dig closer. Trying desperately not to do just that.Β Aerion feels your trembling intensify, your body against his as you struggle to regulate. His grip tightens fractionally, one hand coming to rub soothing circles on your back. "No, you're not going to pass out," he says, a quiet determination, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You're having a panic attack. Just focus on me. On my voice." He shifts slightly, his chin resting on top of your head as he continues holding you. The bathroom feels like a sanctuary from the chaos outside of the world. "Keep breathing. I've got you. You're safe." His words are grumbled but kind, meant to anchor you in the present moment. He feels your breathing gradually slow as you begin to calm down. Your shaking subsides slightly, but your grip on his shirt remains solid. He continues holding you, his hand still tracing circles on your back. His other hand gently massages the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair in a surprisingly tender gesture. The bathroom fills with the sound of your shaky breaths as you slowly come down from the panic attack.
In. Out. In and out. His embrace is warm and comforting in a way you havenβt felt in a long time. His gentle touches feel too nice to ignore, and you slowly start to be able to think clearly again. Gently un-crumpling his shirt in your hands, hesitantly standing more on your own. Eventually realizing how ridiculous you probably look as you pull away. Head still pounding, but at least youβre not clinging to him like some baby. βI-Iβm sorryβ¦β Mumbling out softly, unable to meet his gaze after such an embarrassing display.
Aerion lets you pull away, though he keeps his hands on your shoulders until he's sure you're steady. His expression is unreadable as he watches you compose yourself. "Don't apologize," he offered quietly, which felt very unlike him. Heβs studying your face, noting the lingering distress and the flush of your cheeks. The bathroom feels smaller now, the intimacy of the moment hanging in the air between you two. "Do you want to go home?" Giving you an out if you need it.
Ah-
Β βGods I wish I could-β Except home isnβt here; itβs miles away from Kingβs Landing, and the next best thing is some too-stuffed dorm room. That isnβt home, but he doesnβt need to know all that. βI just need a minute.β Taking a step back to catch your breath. To straighten yourself out when it feels nonviable to do so. Now you donβt feel good, and youβre wound up so tight you feel as if you could combust. It feels especially bad with him in here, seeing you like this. Vulnerable. βIβm sorry-β
Aerion's eyes darken slightly at your repeated apology. He takes a step closer again, his presence dominating the small space. "Stop apologizing," he growls, though there's no anger in his tone. He reaches out and gently cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Twisting you in the light as if to really look at you. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, a surprisingly light touch. The intensity makes your skin prickle, his violet eyes boring into yours. "Itβs annoying." That sounds more like him.
Oh.Β
Oh-
βI-I canβt help it, itβs a force of habit-.β Sputtering out as you flush, yanking away from him entirely. Recoiling so fast your head spins. His touch was warm, but his thumb on your lip tingled in a way that was dangerous. What is wrong with you? Unable to meet his gaze- βIβm here because you said this was an opportunity. I wonβt be taken seriously if Iβm like this-β A mess. You always have been, but itβs getting harder to hide the longer youβre with people of this tax bracket. This world demands perfection constantly. βI canβt-β
Aerion lets go as you pull away, a flicker of something crossing his face before itβs quickly gone. Morphing into something else - a darker, more intense emotion that flashes behind his eyes. He watches as you look away, your vulnerability evident in your words and body language. He takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out to you again. The air is thick with tension, the weight of your self-doubt palpable. "Opportunity for what? To show off your intellect? To play βbusiness partnerβ with my father?" He grits with a scoff, dismissive. But there's an undercurrent of something else in his tone - a hint of admiration perhaps? "Well, you're wrong, about everything.β He starts, βMy father never wanted to meet you; Iβm the one who wanted you to meet him. Heβs been shitty with me lately and threatening to cut my inheritance, but I know heβs seen your scores and he was intrigued." He stops, watching your response with a careful eye. One that keeps pushing you- βYou are supposed to be out there making me look good, and instead youβre in here falling apart. Thatβs pathetic.β
Shivers run down your spine. You take a wobbly step back till your back hits the bathroom counter. βSo you lied to me.β It doesnβt make sense. None of it does. Youβve known this man less than a day and yet here you are. Why did you just blindly listen to him?
Aerion's eyes darken as you back away, a smirk forming on his lips. Dangerous. He follows you, caging you against the counter with his palms planted on either side of you. He makes the cramped space impossible to escape his intense gaze. "My father isnβt an easy man to please. He wants the best of the best," he states, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "And youβre supposed to be the best. Better than Valarr." He leans in closer, face mere inches from yours. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again. Something that makes your pulse spike. You can see the moment some terrible idea enters his head.Β "Maybe you could be good for me in other waysβ¦" His tone drops to possessive, like he's already decided something.Β
Heβs too close. Too much in your personal space that you canβt think. Leaning further back as your spine aches- "Whatever youβre thinking, stop it..." Trying to cut off whatever havoc he was thinking of doing. He steals the air from your lungs. Hands coming to his chest to try and push him away, but he doesnβt budge. If anything, he comes closer- βStop it-β Gasping out as you try to get him off. To think properly. To breathe air that isnβt from his lungs. Yet he weighs a million pounds against you. Why is he doing this? One moment he was sweet and caring while you were spiraling, and now- now heβs making you spiral.
Aerion's grip on the counter tightens as you try to push him away, his eyes flashing with something primal. He ignores your protests, reveling in the way you're stuck between him and the counter. The sound of your gasping breath only fuels his desire to push you further. "Cβmon, you donβt even know what I'm thinking," he teases, his face inches from yours now. His free hand comes up to grip your chin again, this time with enough force that it aches. Looking directly into your eyes. " Could be really good." Leaning in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours. Air mingling together as your brain short circuits.
Panic.Β
Flustered panic as he presses closer and closer. Such a handsome man so close would make anyone melt, but him? A prince?Β His hold on your chin hurts to the point you wonder if youβll bruise. You canβt exactly pull out of it. So you do the only thing you know you can do, palm coming up to his mouth to cover it. Your heart is hammering in your ears as you blink at him. This is not how you planned for this to go. Pushing him away hasnβt worked; the next best thing is to- pinch. Free hand coming to nip his side and it makes his ears jump from him. Just enough to let you move. Squirming your way out from between him and the counter as you break his hold.
Aerion's eyes widen in surprise as you pinch him, a low grunt escaping his lips against your palm. He hadn't expected you to fight back, and for a brief moment, he's caught off guard. His grip on your chin loosens enough for you to slip away, but he quickly recovers, turning to face you with a mixture of irritation and some amusement. He rubs his side where you pinched him. "That was a dirty move." He seems more determined now that you've done that to him, and you canβt imagine why.
βI am not above using dirty tricks to get you off my ass.β Warning him, careful and low. Another step back, and this time youβre bumping into the bathroom door. Every time he keeps coming closer, and every time your brain turns to a puddle. Why is that? βAnd whatever it is you are planning, itβs horrible, and I can tell before you even open your mouth.β Discouraging him before he can really get set on whatever he was thinking, holding a finger out at him and wagging. As if that was enough to keep him at bay.
A mix of annoyance and surprise flickers across his face as you poke him in the chest. The audacity of it catches him off guard, and for a moment, he just stares at you with a mixture of mild disbelief and amusement. No one has ever dared to stand up to him like this, let alone physically reprimand him. Except,Β maybe his father. His gaze flicks down to your finger, then back up to your face, taking in the fierce determination in your eyes. A slow smirk spreads across his lips as he realizes that youβre not backing down. Despite your obvious nervousness, youβre fighting back. "Oh, you have no idea-" He grabs your finger, holding it firmly to his chest. Refusing to let you take it back. "You think you can stop me with a finger poke? That's cute."
He tries to step closer, and before you could process it, your body is moving. Free hand coming down between you two to grab at the softness of him. Right between his legs. A warning- βI know plenty of ways to stop you; Iβm just trying to be tasteful about it.β It makes your skin flush. Itβs not like you wanted to do this, but he leaves you little choice. Now you quite literally had him by the balls.Β
Aerionβs easy attitude falters for a moment as your hand suddenly seizes him, the unexpected move causing his breath to hitch in his throat. His grip on your finger tightens reflexively, eyes widening slightly at the boldness of your threat. A wave of heat washes over him, his body responding to your touch in ways he didn't expect. Gaze darkens with a mixture of pleasant surprise and desire, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "Oh yeah?" He manages out, his voice huskier than before. Swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickens at your daring move. Despite the warning, he can't help but feel a thrill of excitement coursing through him. He never expected you to be so... hands-on. A part of him wants to see just how far you'll go to make good on your threats.Β
For a moment you just stand there, looking at each other. Waiting for the other to make a move or break. Itβs only when you feel him twitch against your palm that it registers. The feeling of him slowly hardening- βPervert.β Yanking your hand away as you flush a painful red. Shoving him away as you scoff. You had planned for him to get livid, or back off, or something- not this. βYou liked that, didnβt you?β Huffing out in disgust as you wipe your hand on your pants. Yet your hand tingles from the ghost of the sensation.
Aerion stumbles back slightly from your push, but his eyes never leave yours. Watches as you wipe your hand off. His expression is a mix of something dark and endless. A hunger you canβt quite shake. His breathing is slightly uneven now, his body still reacting to your touch. The accusation only makes him grin wider, his eyes sparking with lust. "Of course I did," he admits shamelessly, adjusting himself blatantly in front of you with zero disregard. "You're full of surprises, aren't you? I never expected you to be so... aggressive." He takes a step forward again, his predatory gaze fixed on you. Enough to make your skin sweat in anticipation. The tension in the bathroom is electric now, the air thick with unspoken desire and challenge. "But don't act like you didn't enjoy it too." He reaches out to snatch your wrist, dragging you back towards him. Toward the thick tent of him through his perfectly tailored pants-
He isnβt shaken in the slightest. If anything, you made him worse. More insatiable. The hot weight of his length against your palm as he fills out. It makes your brain turn to mush. Pressed against him as you try to pull away with no luck. He is strong, dire in his want. What was meant to be a deterrent seems to have only made things worse- βStop-β This isnβt how this was meant to go.
Aerion pinned even closer, his body flush against yours as he puts you back against the door. His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. The heat radiating from him is almost overwhelming, his breath humid against your skin. "Why should I?" He rumbles low, his voice rough with desire. His hips roll against your palm, seeking more friction, and it makes you bite out a surprised noise of your own. "You started this. You can't just grope me and expect me to want you to stop." His thumb digs into your cheek. He holds you in place as he dissects your every reaction to his filth. "You feel that?" He grinds against you more deliberately. Making sure you could feel him throb through the layers of fine silk. "You did that to me."
This has gone too far. How did you get here? His grip is iron as he holds your hand to him, making it impossible to ignore. Smushed against the door, thereβs no escape, only him, only his molten hot need. So what are you meant to do? A trembling breath tumbling out as you reason with him. βA-alrightβ¦β Relenting quietly, feeling your stomach flip and your senses screaming at you to pull away. β-but only if you admit you lied and that youβre sorry for wasting my time.β Hesitant and wary, a whisper. Unsure of how he would react to such a demand.
His eyes narrow at your ultimatum, a flicker of anger crossing his face. He hadn't expected you to concede so easily, but he's bothered by your conditions. He tilts his head, studying you intently as if trying to gauge your sincerity and whether you really mean to help or if you're just saying it. "You want me to apologize?" He repeats incredulously, voice low and dangerous. His grip on your wrist and jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it immediately. Doesnβt shoot you down just yet. He leans in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "And what exactly will you give me in return, hmm? What do you have to offer me that could possibly be worth it?"
Well- βIβll help finish what I started.β Tipping in to whisper in his ear. A gentle squeeze of his member earned a groan. Itβs not like he wasnβt tempting, or handsome, but he canβt just act however he wants. This whole thing was cutting into valuable study time. Your free hand coming to his waist, sliding under his suit jacket to hold him close. The fabric is much too expensive for your fingers. Not wanting him to look at you while you do this. Because when he does, itβs like a spell has been put on you and you freeze, which is embarrassing enough as is. βI think thatβs pretty fair.β
A shudder runs through Aerion's body as you toy with him, his grip on your wrist tightening reflexively. The sound of his groan sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. His violet eyes flutter closed as he tries to compose himself, the hand on your jaw coming to rest on your hip instead. He lets out a shaky exhale, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing at such a simple touch. Your conditions are fair, but giving an apology feels like a concession he doesn't want to make. The temptation of your touch is too strong to resist. "Fine." He snarls out, his voice strained with need. "I lied, and wasted your precious time. Happy?"
βI can work with that.β Sighing in some relief at his relent. It wasnβt exactly what you wanted, but you knew it was the best you were going to get. The heel of your palm digging into him as you pull him closer. Claustrophobic but relishing in how he seems to crowd you. Like being this close isnβt enough and he needs more, needs under your skin. His hips are bucking against you. βIβve got you, use my hand.β Mumbling against the skin of his neck, drowning. Hiding against his chest so he doesn't see the mess heβs making of you just by doing this. Tempted to press kisses but restraining yourself just barely. Unsure of what boundaries could or should be crossed, and trying to have some sensibility. A low growl thunders in Aerion's throat as you give him permission to use your hand, the sound almost feral with need. The feeling of your palm grinding against him through his trousers is unbearable, and he bucks his hips again in a desperate search for more friction.Β
Sweat starts on his brow as he works for it. His fingers dig into your hip, leaving marks on your skin despite the layers as he tries to maintain some semblance of control. The scent of your shampoo and the softness of your hair against his neck are driving him insane with desire, making it hard to think straight. Something clean and warm and inviting. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent like a drowning man gasping for air. His free hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he grinds against you brazenly. His breath comes out ragged gasps now, body trembling with desire and restraint. He squishes you to him, bending you at an awkward angle to accommodate him in your space. At this point heβs just grinding against you, and your hand just happens to be there. The passion, his smell, everything is making you dizzy with bliss as you try to keep on goal. Somewhat breathless from the intensity of him. βThatβs it-β Huffing out as your fingers try to memorize the outline of him, pressing at the tip of him through the layers. βGet there.β Your chin finds his shoulder as you try to come up to breathe-
Aerion's hips snap forward violently at your encouragement, his control slipping further with each passing moment. Your words and your hand are driving him wild, his body responding to you like you're the only thing that matters in the world. The feeling is too much, and he bites down on your clothed shoulder to muffle his groans. His grip on your hair tightens as he ruts against you desperately, chasing his release. Hot and heavy against your skin, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He's close, so close, and you can tell. The coil in his stomach is wound tighter than ever before, threatening to snap at any moment. "Fuck-" He curses against you, voice strained and wanton. "I'm gonna-"
Gods-
βIβve got you.β Cooing out as you buck against him, hand constricting him as you hold him. Your arm thatβs around his waist tugs him close as your palm flattens to his spine. Nose nudging the pulse of his neck, offering the softest and faintest kiss you could manage without being obvious. It could be crossing a line, but we are too far into this for it to feel like it. Your mind is a haze of pleasure, anxiety, and something soft. Seeing him like this, so open and vulnerable with his pleasure, feels like something special that should be handled with care.
Aerion's entire body shudders as you coax him and kiss his neck; the sound of your voice and the gentle press of your lips against his skin is what ends up sending him over the edge. He buries his face in your hair, muffling his cry of ecstasy as he comes undone. His hips jerk against your hand, cock throbbing as he spills into his underwear. Fingers digging into your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you right against him as wave after wave of intense rapture crashes over him. The sensation of you on his spine is almost too much to bear, making a thrill shoot up in a way he's never experienced before. He can feel himself shaking against you, completely undone by your touch and the tenderness in your actions. It scares him how much he wants to stay like this, wrapped up in you and feeling things he shouldn't. He goes rigid, squeezing the air out of your lungs, then melts. Releasing his weight into you as you try to hold you both up. His hand finally leaving his pants to wrap around his waist and keep him upright. βWoah there-β Holding him as he goes dead weight against you, boneless. Propped against the door for support. Your hands rub his back gently as you try to coax him to stand on his own. βYouβre heavy; I will drop you.β Itβs a hollow threat.Β
Aerion lets out a shaky laugh against your neck, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of his orgasm. Yet he makes no move to stand on his own, instead enjoying the feeling of being held by you. Your gentle rubbing feels too nice, and he's reluctant to pull away from your embrace. "You won't drop me," he mumbles, his voice hoarse and slightly smug. "You like holding me too much." He nuzzles closer to you, breathing in your scent again. This time without all the burning desire and hormones. His hands slide from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him once more. Despite his earlier bravado, there's a hint of vulnerability in his posture now, as if he's secretly enjoying being cared for by you.
Ah.
You hate how heβs right. The weight of him, the warmth, the closeness is all too pleasing after so long without such a thing. Whenβs the last time youβve been touched like this? Held like something worth being wanted? Yet the tug closer makes you all too aware of what you just did, the careful consideration that- βMy pants-β Trying to pull your hips away from him to keep your pants clean, all while still trying to hold him up. βIβm serious-β Hissing out in a warning. You still had dinner to get through.
Aerion groans in protest as you try to pull away, his arms tightening around you before you could leave. He doesn't want to let you go, not yet. The idea of having to face his family with the evidence of what just happened is mortifying, but the thought of you leaving his arms is worse. He eventually loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to create some space between your hips. "Fine," he grumbles, though his hands still linger on your back. βBut youβre cleaning me up."
AN:Oh boy. This came out alot longer than I meant for it too. Please excuse me. Lemme know if there is anything I can/should be doing differently. I'll take any and all feedback! Thanks so much for reading this far.
SUMMARY - You leave a piece of parchment detailing your heart's stance toward aerion unattended, unaware that he is about to find it and misread the entire thing.
CONTAINS - brief misunderstanding bcs aerion's stupid. No, seriously!
A/N - something short and sweet(ish) to get back on my feet
The quiet in your room is heavy, carrying the draught of yesterdayβs quarrel.
It had been a small, foolish thing. A young cupbearer stumbling near Aerionβs boots, and Aerionβs pride flaring like wildfire before the court. When you tried to intervene, softly urging him to keep his temper, he turned that sharp tongue on you instead, his words calculated to wound before anyone could see how thoroughly your presence flustered him.
βDo not pretend to know my mind,β he had sneered in front of his guards as he turned on his heel and strode away.
Neither of you slept a wink.
Now, the afternoon light pours through the lancet windows, bringing warmth over your mahogany desk. You sit alone in the stillness, the silence broken only by the soft scrape of an iron quill across fresh parchment.
The ink glints wet under the sun, tracing thoughts you had carried in your chest for monthsβwords written not to be sent, but to bleed off the ache in your own heart.
I know I ought to harden my heart against his bitter edges,
You write, the delicate script sloping across the page.
Yet I cannot force the warmth from my blood. He wears his wrath like heavy plate, driving the world away before it can glimpse the fragile truths he guards. He glares at the court as though every living soul owes him a debt, yet I have known the strangely soft nature of his spirit when the noise of the realm fades. I find myself thinking of his touchβhow his hands, usually so swift to rest upon a pommel, are astonishingly gentle when he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. He speaks endlessly of blood and fire, yet when the keep grows unbearable, he turns to me as if I am his only harbour. I catch him watching me across a crowded hall, and beneath all that terrible fury, there is a steady light I wish I could keep forever.
You pause, setting the quill down upon the bronze dish. You do not write his name at the top. To see Aerion penned beside such soft, vulnerable truths feels foolish, almost dangerous, should any eyes but your own ever find it.
Before the page can dry, a soft knock echoes at the chamber door. A handmaiden peeks inside, curtsying low. βMy Lady, your fatherβs steward is below in the courtyard with the baggage. He asks for a moment of your time.β
βOf course,β you reply, smoothing the wrinkles of your skirts as you stand. You leave the parchment resting open on the corner of the wood to dry, stepping out into the cool corridor and leaving the door unlatched, expecting to return before the hour turns.
Not three minutes pass before the doors creak open.
Aerion steps into the room, and held tight in his right hand, is a small box of carved ivory inlaid with mother of pearlβa ridiculous, needlessly expensive apology.
He has come to make amends in his own terrible, indirect fashion. His ego remains thoroughly bruised from yesterdayβs spat, and he has spent the better part of the morning pacing his quarters, rehearsing what to say without sounding like a fool.
βYou're not here,β Aerion mutters to the empty silence, a scowl tightening his face as his gaze sweeps the sunlit room. He strides toward the desk to leave the box, but as he passes, a flash of wet black ink catches his eye.
Normally, Aerion would pay no mind to a ladyβs private notes or household tallies. But the very first line at the top of the parchment seizes the breath out of his lungs.
β¦I know I ought to harden my heart against his bitter edges, yet I cannot force the warmth from my bloodβ¦
Aerion freezes. His broad shoulders set uncomfortably.
His eyes dart across the opening words.
Because of yesterdayβs trouble, his mind instantly leaps to the absolute worst conclusion. A sickening weight drops into his stomach. Another man. His fingers grip the edge of the desk so tightly the wood groans beneath his palm.
He reads the very next sentence, pulse thumping violently in his ears.
β¦I find myself thinking of his touchβ¦ I wish I could keep him foreverβ¦
Aerion cannot bring himself to read another word. The sheer agony of it burns through his veins like fire. He snatches the page off the desk, his breath coming in shallow rasps, his eyes darkening with a mixture of profound hurt and panic.
In his haste and fury, his thumb presses firmly over the center lines, crushing the parchment in his fist. He knows only that while he spent the entire night agonizing over how to fix what he broke, you were pouring declarations of love onto paper for someone else.
As if on cue, the doors move open behind him.
You step across the threshold, closing the door behind you with a click. The light atmosphere in your chest withers the moment your gaze lands upon the imposing silhouette by your desk. Aerion stands motionless, backlit by the golden sun. His shoulders are rigid, his knuckles white around the crumpled parchment in his fist. The delicate ivory box sits forgotten on the mahogany wood.
He turns slowly. βIs this why you were so quick to walk away yesterday?β Aerion asks. His voice is dangerously quiet, stripped entirely of his usual prideful veneer. It sounds raw. Bleeding.
He lifts the wrinkled paper, a muscle leaping in his clenched jaw as he fights to keep his composure from shattering. βYou sit in your roomβ¦ writing declarations of love?β
You blink as your heart takes a heavy leap. βAerion, put that down. You shouldn't be readingββ
βWho is he?β Aerion demands, taking a deliberate step toward you. The suffocating presence of him swallows the space. βTell me his name. Which lord in this miserable keep has earned suchβ¦ such absurd devotion from you?β
You stare up at him, taken aback. You look up at the wounded shape of his eyes, at the tight line of his mouth, and then down at the crumpled paper in his hand.
Ah.
βAerion,β you say softly, taking a step toward him.
βDo not,β he rasps, backing up half a pace, though his eyes never leave yours. He looks so fiercely protective of his wounded pride, trying so hard to play the part of a dragon when his chest is heaving with panicked breaths. βAnswer me.β
βYou didn't finish reading it.β You stop just inches away from his frame.
Aerion lets out a bitter scoff. βI read enough. I read that you think of his touch. That you wish to keep himββ
βRead the rest.β you interrupt.
Aerion tries to pull the paper away, but you are faster. Your fingers gently catch his wrist, anchoring him in place. The warmth of your skin against his sleeve makes him stiffen.
βRight there,β you whisper, guiding his hand down so his eyes are forced back onto the crumpled parchment.
Aerionβs jaw sets, his teeth grinding together as he tries to resist. But as his eyes flick down to the page out of compulsion, the delicate script catches him once more.
β¦He speaks endlessly of blood and fire, yet his hands are astonishingly gentle when he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. He glares at the court as though every living soul owes him a debt, yet when the keep grows unbearable, he turns to me as if I am his only harbourβ¦
The silence in the room stretches, and you take notice of the veins in his necks that start presenting themselves.
You watch as the realization slowly washes over him, sweeping away the jealousy that consumed him moments before. His thumb, still resting against the wrinkled paper, remains in place.
A faint, unmistakable flush begins to creep up the collar of his doublet, painting the tips of his pale ears in a shade of crimson.
βYou..β Aerionβs voice loses every drop of its harshness. He looks up from the page, pupils blown wide, caught somewhere between utter disbelief and flustered embarrassment. βThis is aboutββ
βAbout an insufferable prince,β you continue, the shadow of a smile breaking across your face.
Aerion swallows hard while he looks down at the wrinkled page, his fingers moving with care as he smoothes out the creases he made in his panic. He folds the parchment with precision, slipping it deep into the inner pocket of his tunicβsafekeeping the confession directly against his heart.
βYou ought to have named me,β he almost mumbles, voice dropping into a low register.
βAnd deprive myself of watching you storm in here like a wounded dragon?β you tease callously.
Aerion lets out a heavy breath, the tension leaving his shoulders all at once. He reaches back toward the mahogany desk, picking up the small ivory box he had abandoned. He does not hand it to you with his usual flourish. He simply cradles it in his palm, offering it up like a silent penance.
Inside, nestled against velvet cushions, sits a delicate hair comb crafted especially to look like seashells catching the light.
βI brought it before I saw the page,β he says, his eyes fixed on your face, yet avoiding your eyes like a disconcerted child. βI thought... I believed I had pushed you past your endurance yesterday.β
βYou are difficult.β you add as you reach out, fingers resting against his cheek, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw. βYou are proudβ¦ and sharpβ¦ and exhausting.β
Aerionβs eyes flutter shut at the touch of your skin. A small sigh escapes his lips, his hand rising instinctively to cover yours, pressing your palm tighter against his face.
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God!Aerion hdc inspired by the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice
{au!aerion masterlist}
God!Aerion, whoβs the son of Maekar the god of the Living and Dyanna the goddess of the Underworld
God!Aerion, who gets obsessed with e mere mortal princess, who comes to his mothers temple to pray for mercy against her fathers wishes to marry her to a man thrice her age, but in turn finds her son there looking at her like sheβs his salvation
God!Aerion, whoβs cruel, mean, and vengeful and once he wants something it doesnβt matter who he has to hurt or kill to get what he wants
God!Aerion, who sends gifts to said mortal princess, but his idea of gifts are rather, gruesome, coming in the form of her suitors heads or several body parts
God!Aerion, whose first actual interaction with princess!reader is him presenting himself in mortal form as a handsome man who tries to seduce her, but gets slapped for his immodesty
God!Aerion, who then transforms into his true self and scares princess!reader to the point she faints, and when she awakens terrorises her even more by talking of punishments for putting hands on a god
God!Aerion, who makes her get on her knees and beg for forgiveness as not to escalate things further, but ends up getting hard from the sight of her on her knees begging him for mercy
God!Aerion, who loves to pop up unexpectedly to tease princess!reader, at the palace, in the gardens, in her room, when sheβs in lessons, walking around the city, when she goes praying in temples
God!Aerion who loves to sneak kisses from princess!reader leaving her blushing and speechless, like the pretty maiden that she is
God!Aerion, who has reader go into his temple and make offerings to him just so that he can feel her life essence in his space
God!Aerion, who gets an earful from his mother for doing this to princess!reader after she came and begged at the temple of Dyanna Dayne for mercy from her fathers cruelty, only to receive even more cruelty from her son
God!Aerion, who comes into your room into the middle of the night simply to look at you, you are so beautiful, and heβs a god so shouldnβt every beautiful thing belong to him anyway?
God!Aerion, who calls you his darling goddess, his sweet princess, his little swan
God!Aerion, who somehow feels whenever another man comes too close in your direction for his liking, donβt those fools know that you belong to a god?!
God!Aerion, who also loves to gift you jewellery with his specific markings, dresses in his colours, gold coins with his face in them, anything thatβll remind you of him when he is not there
God!Aerion, who hates himself for falling for a mere mortal, heβs a god for fucks sake, so he goes off the radar for a few weeks trying to put out this infatuation with you by fucking other goddesses, why ever would he need a mortal when he has goddesses falling over themselves for his favour
God!Aerion, who knows he deserves better, he deserve a goddess of his level, powerful as he is, but you always linger in the back of his head, lingering, lingering, lingering never leaving his mind, he just knows you have bewitched him, put a spell on him to gain his love,yet he stills does nothing for he knows heβd rather be bewitched by you rather then forget you
God!Aerion, who one day as he lounges eating grapes and drinking wine hears your cries and pleas with your father as he drags you to his mothers temple to marry you off
God!Aerion, who loses his mind and storms the temple, killing the groom with a strike of lighting, setting the temple aflame and giving a very clear warning to your father as not to try this again
God!Aerion, who refuses for you to leave his side after what happens, and manipulates you into believing that you need him for his protection, that heβs the only one who can keep you safe, promising that as long as you obey him nothing can ever happen to you
God!Aerion, who loves to hold you in his arms feeling just how breakable you are under his hand, just a snap of his wrist and there goes your pretty swan like neck, maybe he should do it get rid of you and this fixation he has with you
God!Aerion, who softens with you over time showing his affection more clearly, or maybe youβve just gotten used to his sadistic tendencies to the point you think of them as affection, not that he cares as long as you love him
God!Aerion, who adores when you smile at him, that smile full of love and life and everything Aerion thought he didnβt deserve yet want
God!Aerion, who in time starts to realises this feeling for what it truly is, love
God!Aerion, who begs his mother and father to grant you immortality, which Maekar thinks is ridiculous and only sends him away, why ever would they grant a mortal woman immortality? Plenty will come and plenty will go, Aerion will get bored of this one and then discard her and whatever should Maeker do with her then?
God!Aerion, who loves to lay with you in fields watching you as you admire the terrain around you, the animals, the flowers, the sky
God!Aerion, who loves to give you flower crowns claiming that they befit you and your station, after all you are a princess and your father should already shower you with crowns
God!Aerion, who adores you, truly he does, you are the apple of his eye, doesnβt matter that he has duties or that he is needed in Valyria, you are his main concern, his main priority everything else is just background noise where you are concerned
God!Aerion, who makes flowers bloom wherever you go as a sign you are blessed by the gods, to show everyone that you belong to a god
God!Aerion, who makes thunder rumble in the skies as a warning whenever your father tries to arrange suitors to come over at the palace to bid for your hand in marriage
God!Aerion, who does not realise that his actions might be perceived wrong in the eyes of mortals, for what do they know of gods and their courting ways
God!Aerion, who realises too late that he has doomed you,and of what your father is planning and only arrives at the scene too late, when you are on the ground bleeding, and bleeding, and bleeding, how can a mortals body hold so much blood?
God!Aerion, who thinks you look so small in the ground, your face who used to be so full of colour, of joy, of life, is now so pale and frozen
God!Aerion, who screams in despair as he holds your body close, kissing your forehead, your bloody cheeks and lips, whispering sweet nothings as he feels your heartbeat slow and promises heβll fix this, heβll fix you, as your father watches in horror as a god cries over his daughters slaughtered body
God!Aerion, who kills your father for ever dare laying a hand on you, for ever thinking you were cursed by the gods, when you were oh so loved by one of them
God!Aerion, who watches the light fade away from you and go down into his mothers realm, but refuses to leave you there on the cold ground, so heβll hold you until you are fully gone from the realm of the living, only once he is sure that nothing remains of you, heβll pick up your bloody body and lay it upon the ground outside as he wills the flora and fauna to cover you in pretty pretty lilies
God!Aerion, who goes back to Valyria and begs and begs and begs with his father to bring you back, pleads and pleads and pleads with his mother to grant you mercy in her domain
God!Aerion, who gets told to forget you and to continue with his life, that you were bound to die and leave him one day anyway so he should have already accepted your fate
God!Aerion, who goes back to his mother again and again and again until she agrees to give him a chance, to prove that he really loves this mortal woman she will give him a passage to her domain and there he must find his mortal woman and bring her back to Valyria himself, to go through the underworld alone and go face to face with the monsters that reside there for true love, and if he is triumphant he may keep this woman for eternity
God!Aerion who accepts his motherβs challenge without a second thought, because he will bring you back no matter what
And then God!Aerion plunges into his motherβs domain, the underworld, to get his love back and this time around keep her with him till the ends of time
In which Aerion is soooo annoyingly fussy that you resort to shutting him up with your mouth.
Late night thoughts: Late into the night fall, washed, taxed, and desperate for the only chatter to be of the wind and chirping bugs, Aerion decides to yet again whine about another vexing, exasperating complaint about his "undeserving" relatives (cough cough Baelor, Valarr...) In the end, the only thing he can complain is you, and your bewitching ways.
Too much wine: ΫΆ Fluffy and also sensually intimate ΫΆΰ§ Wife!Reader ΫΆΰ§ Aerion being a d1 Valarr hater ΫΆΰ§ Wife!Reader is a secret Baelor lover (girly fan lmfao) ΫΆΰ§ Allusions to sex ΫΆΰ§ Black cat husband ΫΆΰ§ Wife!Reader shushes Aerion by kissing him to death ΫΆΰ§ Implied non-sexual sexual intimacy ΫΆΰ§ Fem!Reader ΫΆΰ§ NOT proofread ΫΆΰ§ Aerion. ΫΆΰ§ 3.5k word count ΫΆΰ§ Aerion is lowkey subby wtf ΫΆΰ§ Second attempt at erotica... (barely) ΫΆΰ§ References to chiaroscuro oil paintings of late-night lovers ΫΆΰ§ Reader has HAIR ΰ§ ONESHOT.
The Late Night Lovers: Aerion x you (Reader)
βThey are repugnant heirs and losers who are far too young to indulge in those piss-poor summer wines and far too dumb to even rule, so as to even manage our fucking household!β Aerion scoffed, heels thundering through the polished stone of sunken, stone carved medallions, pacing back and forth of the shared chambers between you and he, as he frantically shuffled to shed off the sweat-clad from the heat of your chambers nightshirt, braies, and the other decadents of his, stripping bare from the waist up as he rambled your head off with his dayβs troubles, huffing and puffing, disarraying himself piece by piece as he fumed even more, steamy and jittery with anger.
Sigh, you heaved. βMy prince, they areββ
ββare you even listening?!β Interjecting, Aerion had raised his whisper-yelling tone as he plopped down on the feather silked bed, his frustrations growing ever the striking as he groaned and fluttered his eyes shut, exhaling and inhaling sharply as he opened his violet-raged eyes to instantly dart at you, while you, sat in your beauty of an absurdly massive vanity, emitting an expression of having not a care in the world of whatever your husband has spouted about.
He had grown to dislike the chosen heir to the Iron Thrones β Baelor, his uncle, and Valarr, his cousin β leading to thisβ¦ hatred, or even rivalry as you can call it, to your chambers. Physically and mentally irked with what seemed like jealousy, for his father not being in the line of succession, always mentioning rather than his uncle, but his father, to be carrying the typical Valyrian features and having better βsuitorsβ for sons as heirs.
It has always been a competition since Valarrβs first presence in the Summerhall, always gloating, or so he says, of his valor and status, fueling the fire to Aerionβs hatred over their distinctive authority, maddened at the difference of title.
Aerion had stood up, even more enraged as his tendency for perfection interrupted his little plans for bothersome as he smoothed the wrinkled-silked sheets from where he sat, sighing as his bare feet managed to tear through the air with a distinct sound, sharply turning towards where you busied, as you continued with your routine of βReligiously cherishing in your hairβ β as what he called it, contemplating whether you truly were multitasking and hearing his wails of jealousy with that ponderous furrow he carried β he denies that of course β or busying yourself with anything close to your proximity as you sneakily sighed out your frustrations with his whining.
βHuff. My prince. My love, of course I am,β you sighed, making expressions of concern at him through the silver of reflection from your mirror,Β as he stared off into your eyes, driftingβ¦ then lowering that lavender-laced gaze down to the silks of your gown hugging your bodyβ¦ as, he shot back up to your glare with a blush of an uncertain man, scoffing as he played off the weird interaction with a turn of his head, turning back away of embarrassment from that βdisruptionβ by your breathtaking beauty, stripping away from the silver links adorning his neck, and anything else that was hints of the dayβs past.
Putting down your silver-ornamented brush as you snapped back with focused intent in your mind, you stroked starting with the close-end hairs of your scalp with your fingers, combing them through to the ends of your strands with your nails, taming them even more before readying to tidy them up into your night-time braids, you finally ended the minute of candle-filled silence.
βBut pleaseβ¦for a man β dragon β as prideful as you are with your household, your kin, you seem to be quiteβ¦ cross with them for what you deemed as theβ¦ oh? What did you call it? Ah right, the uh βA blood greater than the other houses, a gift of the gods,β is that not true?β exhaling, repeating back to one of his daily ego-boosting boasts with the exasperation and dealings of the years of this torment, by your husband's what-seemed-to-be constant rage against his own blood, had grown tiresome over the hour of the owl.
You were sitting there still, ears bleeding from the strain, grooming your cascading hair to calm down the bundling nerves of stress that he had caused, still, mixing between massaging your taxed mind with your fingers and slowly separating them for braids as you constantly tugged at your hair a little bit harder ever so often whenever he started inflaming that undeserved rancor towards you.
Like said, it was late into the night; the hour had grown with its chilling breezes, the silence spoke openly among you as his usual hushes of rants had grown louder from the chirps and noises from the never-resting echoes of Summerhall. The candles had lit more at this time; the moonβs light had not been bestowed upon your windows, where only the source of heat was his own steam-like fury coming from his head, and the light from the cackling fire of the hearth had illuminated you both.
βUgh, do not even get me started with that wretched Dornish-stained βprinceβ of a manβwait, no, boy is better suiting. Heβs what, eight and twenty now? And he still acts as merely a child? Gods, he and Matarys, my fucking uncle as well, theyβre all insufferably, irritably,β Aerion riles up another flame of hatred, throwing his head back from his shoulders once more as he ran through his face with roughened hands from trading steel, staring at you from his peripheral view as he glanced from the side β making it a point β
βExasperating! Ughh, I even have to describe those grotesque Dornishmen with two of the same meanings! this is absurd!β he spat, drooping his arms down like a defeated blackfyre soldier, shifting his head slightly to stare at the mirror that reflected your movements of braiding as he furrowed his eyebrows closer.
You stared back at him as you noticed his glance from the side again, feeling that cold, angry temper as he could get burning through you whilst you tightened the braids from the closeness of your scalp.
You knew how to calm him down; you know how to navigate and lead him away from his temper tantrums. You just decided to toy delve into whatever stupidity he jabbered on about, pondering what caused him to be so vexed in the first place, to spark his incessant tirade.
You grabbed another strand of your hair as you both shared another moment of silence, just breathing in the stolen observations between you two, as you crossed another piece, then another, perfectly embellishing your hair into what seemed like a dragonβs tail, a little connection you picked up with the years spent in his parade of dragons reborn as humans.
βIf you so wish to gossip, Aerion, do so without the use of Baelor,β Heβs a good man, my dragon, you thought to say, βthe thought ofββ
βWhy not him? Oh, leave be with your weird fantasy of him.β He griped, striding towards the table of the wine-filled pitcher near the outskirts of your curtain draped bed, muffling his retorts against what you said as he accidentally bumped into a chair of yours as he hastily rushed towards it and cursed wretched things, finally grasping the handle of the pitcher and hadnβt a care to properly pour it in a goblet, just downing messily as he drank like a man mistaken wine for water, spilling the red-like soft silks as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, flowing down his bare body, down to his chestβ¦ gathering up below as he laid his head back further to empty the wine even more. Gods, it was a sinful, picturesque, messy, and darkly chiaroscuro scene with his temperamental self β he sure knew how to be the pretty, lingering sight he was whenever he had shut that mouthy mouth of hisβ¦
βOh hush, you know he does not deserve the remarks, Aerion.β You snapped back,Β turning your head quickly as you awkwardly scooted to the center of your chair, feeling the way he opened his eyes again toβ¦ gaze at you, with wine dripping down, slowly. Finally, you finished the ends of your braids, admiring your work with an exhale of pained arms and relief. You suddenly stood from your hours of sitting, chair screeching through the floor as you hadnβt bothered to place it back, halting whatever nonsense that would come out of his mouth, shocking him with your yet striking figure, thrice.
You stood with your stature, straightening your wrinkled silks as you stretched like a cat, yawning as though his talk had bore you, which did, having the curves of your body emphasized with every little move you made. Aerion had gazed everywhere, gaping as your softened steps strided towards where he stood, bottom to up, absorbing in the beauty of your goddess-like visage, figure, and grace, licking his lips as his brain had stopped thinking for him and finally shutting up for a moment, to adorn his sight of you.
Yet, in Aerionβs case, he never seemed to stop talking. No matter the βinterruption,β βYou seemed riled up from the mentions of hiββ
βShush, Aerion. Thatβs enough now,β you closed the distance between you as you made your way to the far end of the table, grabbing a piece of a cloth lying on the surface, closing in his space as you softly grabbed the ends where his jaw connected to his neck, wiping off the marks of the red-stained trails the darkened wine had left, caressing, swiping off the remnants as you assessed his hate-filled corners of a mouth, giggling mostly to yourself as he glanced down at your usual tenderness, stilled.
βaerion was a prideful man after all, one who displayed, proclaimed it practically, even now. Even though you, the lady-wife of the second son of Maekar, had spent your company with him over the years, it still had jabbed at his carefully curated malice, some way softening his anger, somehow softening those indelible furrows he carried. Everyone said so, even his father, brother, and the others of the court had acknowledged it. Such a hot topic among the whispers of the Red Keep to the halls of your now-home, gossip shared between your ladies and your close servants, you were known to be the pedestal of his calmer moments, the cause of his unusually more tame demeanor. Even now, you had an effect on him, a bewitching one at that β one he struggled to either hate or love, something he constantly battled over, between his arrogance and genuine love for you.
βW-what are you doing?β He quickly yanks your wrist away after the cascade of your care, holding it tightly as his softened glance hardens to a glare at you with an ambiguous look, maybe an attitude swing from his previous feeling, hating the fact that you're treating him as some sort of baby. You only smiled, never reciprocating his familiar reactions towards your sweetness. Instead of battling against fire with fire, you approached his hand that clutched onto your latched wrists with a delicate hold, nudging him to let go as you leaned closer to the warmth of his unsteady breaths.
βAerion, my love, the hour has grown late; youβve released what has already been known now. You reek of anger when you have already bathed, now that I can notice more now,β you jested, chuckling and caressing his hands now, guiding him, doing your best to release that carried tension of his as you palmed his tensed hand with two of yours.
βStop calling me thatβ¦ thatβs not my name.β He turned his head away, glancing at whatever could distract him more, at some random candle shelf near the cooling windows, having a flush of red coursing through him as his body heat rose, so so painfully noticeable. βAnd stopβ¦ s-stop treating me as some pet of yours, know your place, womanβ¦β he shot, tensed shoulders drooping down without his permission, as he melted into your arms like a sad, mean little kitten, damned by his troubles, believing he was the one wronged β and not those who he thought opposed him.
βCome now, my dragon, before it gets even later,β you guided him through the long path of your chambers as you turned away from him with one of your hands still holding onto his, guiding him and moving away from the misplaced chairs of your table. You had squeezed his hand tighter as well, grounding him like a rider to her dragon, bonding in that way of yours, simply cooling him off from the ingrained fire that he obtained from the Targaryensβ dragon blood.
You glanced back with that ethereal look you always carried, studying the way his eyes had completely shut off to a dazed look, mindlessly following your lead as he moved through the paths of the roomβs common room, entranced from your silkened wine-like voice as you calmed for him, allured, tempered, from your smooth-like graceβ¦ numbing his brain, his rage, dumbing him down to only you. To only focus on you.
βHmm,β you hummed, halting him as you reached the entrance of your curtain-draped bed posts, filling his space with only you once more as you blurred his vision with your intoxicating cat-like moves, turning around to face him, slightly turning your head to the side as you stared at him, lips curving β borderlining of a smirk β a grin like you know you got him wrapped around your finger now β and running your fingers, making your way through his arms, to his bicepsβ¦ then to his chest. βCome rest your weariness, explain to me more in the morrow. For now, quiet down your labyrinth of aversion, hm?
βI-β His mind short-circuits, you guide him through the transparent curtains of your bed, moving them away as you purposely droop your eyes into that seductive, sleepy look of yours, drifting and practically crawling your way onto your dragon-carved bed, stretching your arms to his as you carefully pulled him to sit down, facing anywhere but you as you caressed his shoulders, and like a cat β draped your arms over them, embracing him as your mouth placed dangerously close to his ear.
βTrading steel, dealing with old lords, and that unresting uncle of yours? I differ, you see; it is quite humid now here, since summer is shy away from arriving. You irritate yourself easily, my love; it is hot, and you seem to burn even more as your temper rises. Here,β you stopped, spotting Aerionβs unusual quietness, deeply observing him as he just deafenedβ¦ furrowed eyebrows ceasing, eyes dilatingβ¦ His eyes had darkened, that once pale lavender field of his gone to a shade of deep midnight, making you wonder if itβs the lighting in the roomβ¦or if heβs struck by something. βAerion? Hello, my prince, what has troubled you?β You shook him slightly, slipping your hands onto his bare chest, turning his cheeks towards the side as you smoothly hovered over his frame, grabbing him and pulling him closer to your face as your breath fanned over him, worryingly tapping his face as he seemed tranced from your intoxicating, sensational love.
βW-what, oh right, yes,β he finally responded, shaking off his head as if his mind just turned off for what seemed of a century, arms, hands, hastily flinging to cover yours as he pulled you closer onto his back, holding your embrace over him as he guided your hand to grasp his face, to stroke his otherworldly features as he nuzzled towards your warmth. βSorry, Iβfuckβ¦β he muttered, breathing in your scent from your looming braid, your soft hands, losing himself into your hug as he took a moment to breathe, hunching his back, bowing it as your other hand sneaked its way through his silver-raimented hair. You pressed the soft silks of your nightgown further to his back, hands coursing through his hair, gentle touches placed on his face, filling your hold with only him. You hadnβt the thought that he was a bit less angry, so you acted. Almost immediately, readying to completely rid his mind of ponderous hatred over such trivial things.
βYou seem quiet for a prince so sternβ you kissed him, softly pecking at the sides of his forehead, shifting your body to snake your way to the empty spot on the edge of where he sat, grabbing down the tussle of his silver-mooned hair, making him lean down as he turned his body to you, meeting your lips as his stature had grown weakened, body practically faltering as he shut his eyes, grabbing your waist and tightening his grip as he moved you onto his lap, relishing in your little pecks.
You nipped at his skin with your teeth as you smothered him with trails of your gentle and rough kisses, leaving marks, staying β deepening your kisses longer, inhaling him as your grip tightened β lips parting as you pulled back each time with his pulled skin in your mouth, shutting your eyes as tight as you could as you embraced him harder. Longer. He sat there still, not daring to move an inch, to break off the intoxicating traces of your soft-plump lips, soft as the kindness of your hearts, softer than anything he has ever touched.
He faltered back, stumbling you both as you leveraged his broad shoulders to move back forward, fighting the guiding of your waist as you kept on kissing him, biting him, covering him β smothering your saliva as you thoughtlessly followed, placing your feet down to the cold floor as he leaned with you, right as Aerion moved up from your waist to the nape of your neck, to your head smooshed with his.
ββMmmphβ¦β Aerion whined, whimpered, steering your kisses to his lips, slowly sliding off the silky surface of your bed as he pushed your face and lips harder onto his, forcing you to bend your back as you both fought your way into your lust-driven mouth. The room was filled with the intent of lust, love, and the shushing of incessant chatter, you fluttered your eyes shut as hard as you can as you pried his legs open, your knees pushing him back further onto the bed as you kissed animalistically, carnivorous for touches, deepening every touch and kiss, deeper than the impossible, as Aerion guided you with him as his elbows hit the surface.
ββMmm, my wife,β Aerion huffed, pulling away from the kiss as his head dropped to the bed, heaving and heaving as you hovered over him, gown tickling him, strands of hair cascading over his face β everything was sinfully evocative.
ββY-yes, my love?β You wiped the drool off the corner of your mouth, eyes blown wide as you stared at him lovingly, breathlessly chuckling as your hands darted towards his cheeks, thumbs running back and forth near his nose, index and others palming the faints of his ears. You rested your full weight on him, practically lying on top of him as he wrapped his arms over your body, flipping you over and on top of your back, laughing β for the first time (or so it seemed) β with a feeling so foreign, yet so familiar. The moment was intimate, private, and yours. It was non-sexually sexual, playfully intimate, something that was deemed as rare in your marriage with him.
ββIβ¦ I love you.β He uttered out, hands caressing your hips, to your waist, loving the way your gownβs silks feel against his calloused palms, savoring every drop of your honey-dew attention. It was as though every little temper he had had, every complaint of his relatives, had dissipated. Everything seemed so surreal, so softβ¦ a βsoftnessβ that softened him, the prince of temperamental malice. As Aerion said those three words, you just stared at him, pupils shaped as hearts, loving on him with your hands running through his hair, outlining his jawline, and with your soft lips leaving lasting kisses on his cheeks.
ββI love you too, my dragon.β You whispered, guiding your hand towards his chest to push him up as you adjusted your elbows to sit up, crinkling your gown as Aerionβs whole body shifted for you to be comfortable. You looked down onto the wine-red sheets where you both lay, sighing out a content sigh, then turning your gaze back onto his. Repositioning your face next to his, side by side, your cheek and lips had slowly grazed his, softly pecking before embracing one more. Between that kiss, you pulled your head back slightly, βAvy jorrΔelan, Γ±uha zaldrΔ«zes.β
The After Thoughts: Just watch obsession... I'm obsessed.
