Absolute Targ

I’m bored. :) <3

• Aerion Targaryen (akotsk // modern // AU)

• Backrooms Bobby

• Shawn Heard, he’s just misunderstood I promise 🤣

One shots, head cannons or short story.

Fluff, slow burn, +18 MDNI

Send them in.

Shawn Heard x f!reader

-•-

Morning came too quickly as you arrived back home, the house was quiet and the sun had only just begun to rise, washing the kitchen windows in soft gold, you eased the front door open as carefully as you could, it still creaked. You had hoped to have snuck in without a single noise.

“Morning.” Your father didn’t look up immediately, he sat at the kitchen table exactly where he always did, a mug of black coffee warming his hands, the newspaper folded beside him. You quietly closed the door behind you, FUCK! You knew he knew and he knew where you had been, you waiting for the lecture to come but it never arrived. “You hungry?” The question caught you off guard. He nodded toward the stove, refusing to look at you. “Left some biscuits in the oven.”

You stood there for a second, unsure what to do, so slipped into the chair across from him, hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked down in shame, picking at the skin around your thumb nail nervously. He finally looked at you properly, not a look of disappointment or worry but concern. Your hair was tangled from the humid night, your shirt was wrinkled. There was dried marsh mud still clinging to one trainer. He didn’t need to ask where you’d been or who you’d been with. He already knew, he didn’t need to ask so he sighed quietly into his coffee, not an angry sigh, the one that sounded like a father realizing time had done exactly what it always does. “You look tired.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I am.” He looked tired, you had wondered if he stayed up waiting for you all night, worrying that his baby girl was running off to make a mistake or running off to never come back, maybe she’d take shelter in a trailer park and forget about her future and her plans, the work she grafted to get where she was heading.“Mmm.” He reached for the sugar, stirring it into his coffee even though he’d always claimed he drank it black. You noticed, He was nervous too. Nervous that you’d stay and make all the wrong choices. The silence is thick, thicker than the humidity outside but it wasn’t bad, it was comfortable enough that neither of you felt the need to fill it. Eventually… His hand crossed the table without looking at you, you unclasped yours from your lap and took one of his. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles, he had completely swallowed yours, his hand is warm, it’s steady. It’s the one man who wanted what’s best, the one man you knew would never let you down.

You looked up, his eyes were fixed on the table. “When you was little…” His voice was quieter than usual as he began giving you a quick squeeze. “I used to think I could keep every bad thing away from ya.” Your throat tightened. “I know.” You had to swallow from crying, your daddy accepting that you aren’t a little girl no more. “I figured if I worried enough, it would somewhere stop you from growing up.” A sad little smile crossed his face.

You squeezed his hand back. “I’m still your little girl.” A lump had now fully formed in your throat. He was quiet for another moment before asking the only question that really mattered to him. “Were you safe?” He wasn’t being a creep, he wasn’t intrusive, he is father asking because he needed to hear the answer.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “You spent my whole childhood worrying about Shawn Heard, you warned me about his truck, his reputation.”

“I definitely did.” You smiled fondly. “and the first thing you ask isn’t what happened.” He shrugged. “I don’t need details.” He sipped his coffee, red threatening to cover his face. “I just need to know that my little girl’s alright.” His thumb brushed lightly across the back of your hand.

Your eyes stung. “I am.” He studied your face for a long second.. then nodded once. “Good.” that was enough. He stood, reached into the oven, and set a warm biscuit onto your plate as you watched him move around the kitchen you’d grown up in, you realized something.. Your father had spent the whole summer trying to protect you from falling in love with Shawn Heard but this morning, he wasn’t mourning that he’d failed, he wasn’t angry that you might have gotten yourself pregnant and threw an entire future away, he was simply making peace with the fact that his daughter had become a woman and there was nothing left to protect her from except a world she now had to meet on her own.

Before he sat back down, he rested a hand on your shoulder. “He better be worth all this worry.”

You smiled into your coffee.

-•-

You packed your bags, dad helped. He seemed eager to see the back of you, out of this town and making a name for yourself. He kept talking about your future, opportunities and a new life and you loved him for that but when you looked out the window and saw the blue Chevy parked down the road, your heart pulled in another direction. “Dad, I’ll be a sec.” He looked up to answer and spotted Shawn, you had wondered how quickly he could get his shotgun but he nodded, making himself busy making sure everything had been properly packed.

Shawn waited until it felt safe enough to he walk over, his strut screamed confidence that had you biting back an urge to smile but his face held a storm brewing behind clouded eyes. “I thought about it all night.” He started, taking your hand. You looked at him, the sound of his voice calling you his good girl echoed.. you’d not be escaping that a while.

He pulled away again, hands in his pockets. He looked like he was externally fighting himself and it wasn’t winning. “I don’t want you choosing me because you feel sorry for me.” You looked at him with an expression that screamed you adored him but hoped he wasn’t asking you to stay, “I don’t want you staying because this summer was good.” He stepped closer. “I want you to go if you wanna go.” then his voice softened, no longer confident. “But…” you took his arm, meeting his eyes with your own soft look. “I’m leaving in 15 Shawn, am not staying.” Shawn shook his head no, not in protest but in something else. “If you want me there, I’ll follow you anywhere woman.”

You smiled widely, “you wanna come with me?” Fearing for his safety, you didn’t risk jumping into his arms incase daddy blew a gasket. He nodded, looking like he needed a cigarette. “I’ll figure it out, another town, another state.. I’ll follow you.”

You stared at him, a thousand thoughts ran through your mind. The girl who had spent years dreaming of college, the woman who was about to start the life she’d worked for and the boy who had shown her a hidden piece of the world nobody else knew existed.

Shawn Heard, only him. You quickly thought of his cons, the towns mistake, the towns bully, the waste of space who’d have no future except he wasn’t that, he was also the boy who asked permission, the boy who remembered a childhood kiss, the boy who despite everything, had a heart bigger than anyone gave him credit for.

You looked toward the road leading away from town, then back at him. He had no right asking you to stay, just as you had no right asking him to follow and you realised something.. leaving doesn’t mean goodbye and loving him doesn’t mean losing yourself so you made am the choice. “I’m leaving alone.” His shoulders lowered, like he was preparing himself for the goodbye. “But…” He looked up. “I don’t want to leave you behind and I can’t ask you to follow me.”

For once, Shawn Heard had no words, You laughed softly reaching for his face. “But if you really mean what you said…” His eyes came back to yours. “then we’ll figure it out.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah?” A real smile appeared, not the cocky one, “Guess I better learn how to use a map.” Shawn spent some time with daddy, scared about shaking his hand while both men helped you finish packing. As you drove away that afternoon, you weren’t leaving Shawn Heard behind and he wasn’t keeping you from becoming who you were meant to be.

For the first time, maybe you were both going somewhere.

-•-

By October, you had stopped feeling like a visitor on campus and college had become real, not the picture perfect version you imagined when you were sitting in your bedroom back home, dreaming about leaving, you even had a little group now, people who knew your favourite coffee order, people who dragged you out when you studied too much, people who laughed when you accidentally used Florida slang and had to explain what you meant.

You had built a life, with Shawn is still part of it. Not every day, not like before but every few nights, your phone would light up.

Shawn: Made it through the day without breaking anything.

You: Proud of you.

Shawn: Low standards.

You: Very.

Occasionally, a photo that showed just enough of his arms or the line of his jaw to make your cheeks warm and heartbeat race.

Sometimes you’d tease him with a picture that left just enough to his imagination. Without fail, he’d leave you on read for a few minutes before replying.

Shawn: Sorry.

You: For what?

Shawn: Needed a minute t’compose myself before I said somethin’ barbaric.

You laughed every single time, the Shawn everyone had written off was learning, actually learning. He’d message you one morning saying he was packed and ready to go, he got his paperwork sorted, applied for a better work and even started saving.

The morning he arrived, you were sitting outside the student centre with your friends.

The sun was warm, the grounds busy, people rushed past carrying backpacks and coffee cups.

Your phone buzzed.

Shawn: You around?

You smiled.

You: Yeah. Why?

The reply came almost immediately.

Shawn: Look up.

Your heart stopped, slowly you lifted your eyes, at the edge of the campus parking lot sat a familiar leaning against his new truck. By the rush you stood to your feet and took off running your small group looked in confusion, asking it was him.

There he was, Shawn in his worn boots, old jeans and a faded shirt, looking completely out of place among students carrying laptops and expensive backpacks, but he stood there like he belonged. He looked around the campus, little overwhelmed, little nervous. He stuck out like a sore thumb, a small town boy in a big city college campus.

Jumping in arms, he caught you. His mouth tasted like mint cigarettes, had made the switch claiming they’d be better for his health.. you argued that smoking is smoking, but you wouldn’t change him. He is fine actually how he is, he sat you down to your feet and pushed you back a little while holding your hand to have a good look at you. He didn’t need to say he missed you, it’s evident on his face.

“Come meet everybody.” You tugged his hand, dragging him along with the biggest smile. He trailed along, a little reluctant.. what if the new group of people didn’t like him? Sudden anxiety crept up his neck.

“Guys, this is Shawn.” You introduced him to three people who just stared from the grass as he towered over. He nods politely. “Mornin’.” One of your friends offers her hand. “Hi, I’m Emma.” He looks at it for half a second before shaking it carefully, like he’s worried he’ll crush her fingers “Shawn, Nice t’meet ya.” He nods, feeling awkward as he shifts himself from side to side. He the shakes hands with Darren and Louise.. “come sit with us.” You pull him down to the blanket, smiling again.. the world you came from meeting the one you are growing in. “So..” Emma begins, “you’re from Florida?” “Mhm, the Everglades” he nods again, you notice him fidgeting with his fingers so you take his to get him to stop.

“With… the alligators?” Darren asks, he shrugs. “They’re mostly alright.” “Mostly?” He asks, wondering if he’s being serious or not.

“They only get grumpy if you bother ’em.”

The entire group blinks, Emma quietly whispers into your ear not taking her eyes from Shawn, “Is he joking?” You smile. “He usually is.”

Shawn looks genuinely confused. “I weren’t jokin’.” That doesn’t help, later, after Shawn wanders off to inspect a fountain because he’s convinced there’s fish in it, Emma leans into you. “He’s terrifying.” You burst out laughing. “He is not!” Darren and Louise both excused themselves, late for their next lecture.

Almost on cue, one of the campus security officers walks past and nods at him, shawn tips his cap politely. “Mornin’, sir.” The officer nods back. “You visiting?” You watch Shawn, standing tall. “Yes, sir.” as soon as the officer leaves, your emma stare. “He says ‘yes, sir’?” You nod. “He says ‘ma’am’ too.” He’s a gentleman like that.

Emma watches him from across the lawn, looking around at the buildings. “Ok girl, I see the appeal.” She nudges you playfully. “He’s kinda cute.” You watched him, without looking back at her. “oh, he’d hate hearing that.” She bumped you again. “I’ve never met anyone who says ‘ma’am’ and looks like he’s been banned from at least three bars.” You burst into laughter. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.” Thinking back to how he started a bar brawl during the summer.

Emma looked back at him. “So when we go visit Florida…” She smiled mischievously. “Can I borrow one of his friends?” You thought about it for a second, then smiled.“You sure?”

Emma frowned. “What?” You shook your head while laughing, “They wrestle alligators with common sense, they think flip flops count as formal wear and they’ll disappear for six hours and come back saying…” You slipped into your best Shawn impression. “found a turtle.’” Emma laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. “I LOVE THEM.” You glanced over at Shawn, he’d somehow become engrossed in helping a maintenance worker look under the hood of a campus golf buggy.

Emma followed your gaze. “He’s making friends with a fifty year old maintenance guy.” You smiled. “I genuinely think dads just find him.” as if on cue, the maintenance worker clapped Shawn on the shoulder, laughed loudly, and wandered off. “What does your dad think of him?” You looked at her with a Don’t Ask expression.

Shawn looked around until he found you. The second he did, his face softened. He wandered back over, hooking a thumb toward the student café. “You eaten yet?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

“C’mon then.” He looked at Emma politely. “You comin’ too?” Emma blinked, as the three of you started walking, Emma leaned in close enough that only you could hear. “Girl.” She watched Shawn hold the café door open for three strangers before waiting for the two of you. “I’m not saying I want your Florida man…” She smiled. “But if he’s got a cousin with the same accent and questionable decision making skills…”

You laughed. “I’ll ask.” Emma gasped. “You’d set me up?”

“I didn’t say it’d go well.” You admitted, loving a man like him is really hard, it’s unsure and it’s scary but it’s so rewarding, he’d follow you to the end of the earth and continue. She grinned. “As long as he drives an old truck and says ‘darlin’ am willing to take the risk.” From a few steps ahead, Shawn glanced back.“You two gossipin?”

Emma smiled innocently. “Absolutely.”

He sighed dramatically. “That don’t sound good.”

You laughed. “No, Shawn.. It really doesn’t.”

-•-

Shawn Heard x F!reader

Warnings: +18, MDI, Loss of V. PnV. Touching, kissing. Mild? Dirty talk.

-•-

The road out of town got darker the farther Shawn drove, you expected him to head somewhere familiar. Instead, he kept going. You glanced over and watched him, how lazily he held the wheel with his arm just resting with the window rolled down. “You gonna tell me where we’re going?” You questioned him with a raised brow, seeing nothing but darkness apart from the road his headlights lit.

He glanced over. “Nope.”

You laughed softly. “Very reassuring.”

“I promise I’m not kidnappin’ you.”

“That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say.”

He smiled. “Fair point.” Eventually the road had turned into nothing but dirt and trees, the uneven terrain made the truck rock, the Everglades stretched around you, endless and quiet. Peaceful.

Then he stopped, you looked around out the window and there was nothing but somehow everything, a small clearing opened beside the water, hidden from the road by thick trees. The moon reflected across the dark surface. Fireflies floated above the grass, blinking like tiny stars. You stepped out of the truck, not bothering to close the door. “Shawn…” He watched your face carefully. “You like it?” It was as if he had taken you to another world, but it was home.

“It’s beautiful.” You tried reaching for a firefly having never caught one before but it flew away before you could catch it, the fireflies drifted lazily through the reeds, tiny golden lights rising from the marsh as dusk settled over the Everglades. Shawn watched you with a small smile leaning against his bumper.

You looked at him, “They don’t like me.” You felt a little disappointed having failed to catch something beautiful, Shawn pushed himself away from the truck, his beams on dim catching a silhouette, he stepped behind you and gently took your hands in his. “They just don’t trust ya yet.” His chin rested on your shoulder, his palms were warm, rough from years of engines and fishing line. “Easy now…” He lifted your hands just a little. “Don’t chase it.”

You frowned, letting him guide your hands in his, “Then how am I supposed to catch it?” He quietly shushed you, you wanted to sink back into his body while he was pressed against you from behind, “look.” He said, as he watched another firefly float toward you. “You don’t.” His voice was quiet. “You just hold still an’ give it somewhere worth landin’.”

Together, your hands stayed perfectly still.. One tiny firefly drifted down and settled against your fingers, its little lantern glowing between your cupped palms. You smiled so widely it hurt. “I got one.” He looked at the tiny light. “It picked you.” He exhaled, not realising he had been holding his breath. You turned your head slightly, finding him only inches away. “You really believe that?” You wanted to kiss him, he held a relaxed posture against you. You could have closed your eyes and stayed here forever.

He shrugged. “Reckon people ain’t much different.” He watched the firefly blink softly in the palm of your steady hands, they are gentle in comparison to his, so soft they was scared most days if he ever got the real chance to hold them they might break. “The harder you try to hold onto somethin’ the quicker it flies away.” His fingers loosened around yours, the little firefly lifted into the warm evening air, disappearing back into the glowing marsh.

Shawn smiled after it. “So when somethin’ beautiful chooses to stay awhile…” He looked at you. “best thing you can do is be grateful it landed at all.” You turned in his arms and kissed him gently, you knew he was talking about you, about you leaving but he his is a moment you didn’t need spoiled by the possibility of losing each other.

-•-

You sat in the backseat of his truck, no lights on other than the soft glow from outside the glass, you had already slipped off your shorts while he fumbled with his shirt and stripped it off, for once, Shawn wasn’t trying to be funny, wasn’t trying to act like he didn’t care. You had wondered how many other girls had sat in this same seat, hearts racing for a man who wouldn’t give them the attention they needed the next day.

You kneel on the seat, in nothing but your underwear and sleep shirt. Hands creeping up his chest, he looked at you suspiciously. As if you were going to reveal this had all been a joke, Shawn hadn’t realised yet that you were making room for him in your life after tonight, you didn’t want to be without him.. while he was nervous about this all being a joke, you were nervous that he wouldn’t call in the morning.

Leaning in, you took each others mouth in an embrace. The kiss was different this time, not like the willow tree, not like two kids pretending to know what they were doing. This was two people who knew exactly how much time they had left. It’s heated and tender, you are holding his face in the palm of yours.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “You sure?” You smiled. “You ask that a lot.”

“Because I mean it.”

You touched his cheek. “I know.”

His hand reached down to cress against your calf’s. Soft to touch, he stroked the skin gently while you both kissed and shook, you held his shoulders with both hands pulling yourself slightly closer. Hands creeping up either side of his neck to his hair, a small tug and a groan fell from his lips while he gripped you a little tighter.

“I promise.” He broke away, “you ain’t gon’ be just another girl in this truck.” He hands slid up either side of your ribs, a small motion for you to lift your arms higher so he could remove your sleep shirt. He sat back and looked at you, you wanted to cover your bare chest now feeling a sudden shy blush make its way up your neck. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered, wrapping his left around your waist and bracing himself on the head right with his right hand.

The kiss became deep, fast and heavy. Lips moving together quickly, the sloppy noise that came from it. “I need to take off my underwear.” You breathed as he moved from your lips to your neck, “Let me.” He whispered into your skin, fingers hooking over the waistband at your hips. His hands are touching you carefully, not rushing or impatient. He’s taking his time, he’s being slow and deliberate.

You stood slightly, neck crooked at the roof allowing him room to pull them down. He quickly passed a kiss to your mound, “wanted to kiss you there is all.” He whispered as you sat back down, you both kissed again.. your hand reaching down to his shorts string and band with a nervous tug. “Can I see it?” You asked, Shawn nodded and lifted himself and pushed his shorts down.

You’re chest raised and fell quickly, heartbeat thumping. He wasn’t long but thick, he stood erect.. a full base of hair that trailed up to his stomach. “Wow.. it’s, it’s impressive.” pulled you forward for another kiss which you happily met.. hand sneaking down to touch his cock. He groaned when you made contact, head throwing back with a ‘fuck’ under his breath as he watched with an expression you had never seen from him before, one you couldn’t read or understand. He breathed hard enough his chest rattled, you’d had wondered again.. are you in to deep? Would you really just leave him the rear view mirror in the morning, or could you stay in this small town, maybe pop out a couple of kids or two, get married.. eventually he’d feel like he held you back from a life you never got to experience.

All thoughts broken like a mirror, shattered to the ground when his fingers found your chin and made you look at him, a current travelled your spine at the look in his blue eyes, glossed and wanting. His lips slightly parted to breathe, the trucks windshield already fogged. “I don’t know what am doing.” You sheepishly admit, stopping the moving of your hand and bringing it to rest on your lap, Shawn just about whimpers from the loss of contact. “You- you were doin’ great.” He pressed his forehead against yours, hairs tangling together from the humidity.

“Not that.” You breathed, “This, us. I’m leaving you in the morning.” He sat back, chest heaving. His jaw clenched, cheekbones more pronounced. “You ain’t learnt nothin’ bout me, huh?”

He leaned forward, taking your hand brushing his lips against the inside of your wrist, fingers fiddling with your upper arm. Underneath all the rough edges, once you’re his person, you’re his person. Sure, he might not follow you to college but you imagined he’d follow you anywhere else you asked.

You let him tug you towards him, another kiss on his lips. You slid on to his lap, knees resting either side of his thighs.. you tilted your head back allowing him to roll your neck with his mouth, his hands on your back touching every piece of skin available. Rubbing, scratching, pulling.. you kiss his own neck, similar to how he did to you only a little more inexperienced.. your teeth nipped just below his lobe, a little too hard. “Easy baby.” He groaned, hands gripping your hips as he breathed out heavily with a roll of his hips. Your hand found its way into his hair, tugging at the blonde between fingers. “Do you have.. protection.” You felt embarrassed, heat threatened to burn your face. He nodded into your hands, reaching down to his shorts without breaking eye contact as he found his wallet.

A small smirk tugged his lips, “ya wanna put it on me?” You took the foil from between his fingers and scooted back in his thighs softly, just enough to see his penis standing erect against the lower part of his stomach. Shawn rested both arms by his side, fingers brushing against your thighs waiting for you while you fiddled with the foil clumsily, figuring out how to tear it open. Shawn reached his hands up and tore the foil for you, “thanks.” You whispered, the rubber is slippery, precoated with a soft lubricant. Ok, you thought turning it. You had learnt this in high school, putting a condom on a banana during Sex Ed.

Once placed on his tip, you rolled it down with the other hand, a small “fuck” escaped Shawn causing you to smile and look at him. He took your hips and lifted you gently to your knees to hover above. “Ya’ set the pace baby girl, use me.” He exhaled from his nose hard, he held his cock upright for you. You snorted nervously, “I’m scared.” With his free left hand, he let his fingers brush your chin. “ain’t nothin’ to be scared of with me.” You nodded, moving your hips back and forth slowly.. nails digging into his shoulders when the tip brushed your clit, a confident smile on his face while his hands stayed firmly on your waist.

Lowering down, you shot back up again at the first feeling of the stretch. “Keep goin’ baby.” He freed his right hand from your waist to the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. He looked perfect in the low light, every feature on his face more prominent, the way his lower lip had a small crack in the middle starting to form from the amount of times you either kisses or he licked his lips and allowed the fresh air to dry them. His left hand now moved to the lower of your back to hold you, fingers just hooked above your ass crack as you sank down slowly, both stealing each others oxygen. He forced his mouth on yours, HARD! Swallowing every whimper of pain, hands holding you tight to fighting against the pressure.. he kept you safe and comfortable, a reminder it was okay and he was with you.

It was a delayed pain, the type that caused a dry mouth and sweaty palms. Shoulders tense, all you could do was cling to him as if you were about to fall from the earth. You had an adrenaline crash, nails digging into his shoulders while he stroked your hair and rubbed his warm nose against your cheek, his lips shadowing your skin. “It hurts.” It was barely noticeable, like a period cramp that lingered in the one area too long.

“It’s ok baby.” He coo’ed not threatening to move, his adam’s apple bobbing as he licked his lips. “just relax, i got you girl.” He promised, his eyes found yours.. his luminous and held a hint of softness, you were sure yours had been vacant. He didn’t force you to move, he let you sit for as long as needed, until the pain stopped and the pressure turned into something more intense. You had seen sex in movies, you had seen porn and knew what to do but your knees trembled when you tried to move, they failed you when you tried to push yourself up and back down, the noise he made startled you, sure you had possibly hurt him.

Mewing into his ear like a purring cat, you asked him one thing that shifted his brain into gear and body into action. “Can you take over?” He didn’t need to be asked twice, keeping you both glued together and on your back. “Ouch.” You laughed as your head hit the door with a soft thud, he didn’t apologise, his lips on your neck on instinct while he had his frame in the backseat arched over you, his hips rocked and a moan escaped, you nearly covered your mouth from embarrassment but let them slip, let them feed into the air.

Each roll of his hips as he rocked back and forth earned a groan of his own, you smiled to yourself.. the noises that left his own throat screamed he was vulnerable and needy, “kiss me.” He whispered into the darkness, you crooked your neck up meeting his lips in a kiss that held. He pulled away, leaning on his knees, hands holding you just below the ribs as he piled into you. “Fuck.” You moaned at the sight of him, mouth open and looking down to where you both joined together.. the sounds of the slapping filled the air, his animalistic voice growling in the dark and your soft whimpers.. you felt his hand trail down between you, you watched as he placed it between your legs.. he flicked your clit gently, eyebrows frowned.. you didn’t like the feeling. “No, not that.” Shawn noted. He also noticed the way you had now started to shyly cover your chest with each thrust, insecure about the way you moved and bounced. “Enough of that.” He took your hands and placed them back on his shoulders so he could see you, he could watch you move the way a woman should be moving.

Shawn nodded in approval, reaching a hand back down again to find the touch you liked.. he licked his two fingers and caught your nub between them gently massaging, he found it, he found what your body reacted too in a positive response. “Ya’ does my girl like that?” He smiled in victory. “Ya’ like when I touch you like this?” He didn’t speed up, he kept the pace steady, throwing his hips back and forth at a familiar rhythm.. fingers never moving any faster.. you couldn’t bare a response, cheeks flushed and stomach twisting all you could was nod and bite your lower down looking up at him with flickering eyes. “Fuck, am close.” You felt embarrassed, what if he didn’t like the noises you made at the end? What if you repulsed him? What if he didn’t call you in the morning?

All things rushing, but not this. Shawn leaned down kissing you sloppily, sweat dripping from his head from the work he was putting into you still rocking his hips and working his fingers. You reached for his broad shoulders again, pulling him close letting him hear you, hear how he made you feel, hear how must you loved him inside you. Your mouth now close to his ear possibly deafening him in the process as you had your first orgasm around him, “good girl.” He breathed removing his hand from between your legs and up your body to take your hand in his, holding you close, trying to never let you go.

The night passed quickly, the smell of you both in the air. Shawn had joked that a small fire had started in the back of his truck from the steam.

The remaining of the night into early morning was held with laughing, talking, promises for the future, both holding onto something neither of you wanted to name yet but whatever it is, it’s something that felt too big to call temporary.

Shawn Heard x F!Reader

Warnings: nothing till the next. Kinda Nervous.

-•-

Three days.

That was all that remained before you packed your car and left for college. Your father had been whistling around the house all week, he wasn’t trying to hide why. “You excited?” he asked over breakfast. “I am.”

“So am I.” You laughed. “I noticed.”

“You’ll have your whole life ahead of ya. No more tiny town, no more swamp, no more mosquitoes.” He stopped to take a sip of his coffee then started again “and…” He looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug. “No more Shawn Heard.” You sighed. “Dad.”

“What? You know I’m right.”

“You know you don’t have to bring him up every conversation.”

“I’ll stop when you’re gone.” You shook your head, he hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“You already are.” He smiled. “You’re still makin’ good decisions?”

You knew exactly what he meant.

You groaned. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You really aren’t going to let this go?”

“Nope.” You laughed despite yourself. “If it’ll help you stop worrying…” You reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Yes.” His eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

“I’m still a virgin.”

The tension left his shoulders so dramatically you almost laughed again. “I told you that weeks ago.”

“I know.”

“You just don’t believe me.”

“I believe ya now.” He smiled into his coffee “Occupational hazard.”

-•-

Shawn’s text came just after sunset.

Meet me at the old sandbar.

Got somethin’.

When you arrived, the little bonfire was already crackling.

Nothing fancy.

Just driftwood and old pallets stacked carefully in a clearing beside the canal.

The jon boat was tied to the dock.

A cooler sat nearby.

Shawn looked up as you approached. “Mmm, there she is.”

“You made a bonfire?” He shrugged. “Figured…” His eyes lingered on the flames. “Kinda feels like sayin’ goodbye deserves one.”

The words landed heavier than he intended, you sat beside him on an old log and for a while you simply watched sparks drift into the night.

Crickets chirped.

Frogs called from somewhere deep in the reeds.

Shawn cracked open a beer. “You still ain’t changed your mind?”

“About college? No.”

“Didn’t reckon you would.” He nodded slowly. “Everybody leaves eventually.”

You glanced at him. “Not everybody.”

“They do.” He took a drink. “Daddy died, mama left now you leavin.” He smiled faintly. “Ain’t exactly got a great track record.” Your chest tightened. “I’m coming back for holidays.”

“Mmm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” After a long silence, he spoke again.

“So…” his finger tapped against his beer, almost like he regretted what he was about to say but a cocky smile ghosted his lips. “You really gonna show up to college…” He smiled into his beer. “still a virgin?” You looked over. “I am.”

“Huh.” He rubbed his chin, thinking to himself.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“You were expecting otherwise?” He shrugged. “College is…” He gestured vaguely. “College.” You laughed. “I don’t have some deadline.”

“I know.”

“You’d be surprised how many people think I do.”

“Mmm, I ain’t one’a them.” That’s true, he hadn’t judged you about anything, including the choices you made about your own body. You poked at the fire with a stick. “I’d hate to be..” You looked at him with a teasing smile that slowly faded. “Be like just another girl who climbed into your backseat.”

Silence.

The words hung in the warm Florida air.

Shawn didn’t smile.

Didn’t laugh.

He stared into the fire after several long seconds, he quietly asked, “Is that what ya think?” He looked up at you, the glowing of the fire lit up his face.

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

He rolled the beer bottle slowly between his palms. “I’ve had girls in that truck, I’ve had a few.” He wasn’t defensive just honest. His jaw tightened. “You really think that’s all you’d ever be to me if you hopped in back?” The teasing had vanished completely now. “I didn’t mean..”

“I know what ya meant.” He stood, brushing the sand from his jeans.

The fire popped behind him.

“I reckon…” He forced a small smile that never reached his eyes. “Your daddy finally got one thing to stick.” He picked up another piece of driftwood and tossed it onto the flames.

Neither of you spoke much after that.

When you finally said goodnight, he only tipped his head.

“Drive safe.”

“You too.”

He glanced toward the old blue Chevy parked beneath the pines, a sad little laugh escaped him. “I always do.”

You walked home with the smell of smoke clinging to your clothes and for the first time all summer… It felt like goodbye had already begun.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

The ceiling fan turned lazily above your bed, pushing warm air around the room.

Outside, frogs sang from the canal, a screen door slammed somewhere down the road, you lay on your back, staring at the glow in the dark stars you’d stuck to the ceiling when you were eight.

You hadn’t even noticed they were still there.

Your father’s words.

Shawn’s face.

The bonfire.

They kept circling in your head but it wasn’t any of those that made your stomach twist. It was one sentence. “I won’t be just another girl who climbed into your backseat.”

The moment you’d said it, you’d seen something change in him. Not anger, Disappointment, like you’d repeated something he’d heard a hundred times before, you rolled onto your side, chewing nervously at your thumbnail.

“Idiot.” You whispered it to yourself.

You’d hurt him, whether you’d meant to or not.

The bedside clock read 12:47 a.m.

He’d probably be asleep.

You picked up your phone anyway.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen.

You awake? You stared at the message for nearly a minute before hitting send.

Almost immediately… The three little dots appeared.

Shawn: Yeah.

Another message followed before you’d even thought of a reply.

Shawn: You okay?

You smiled despite yourself.

Typical Shawn, not what do you want?

Not why are you messaging me? Just… You okay?

You typed. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted it again.

You: Can you come get me?

This time… The reply took longer, long enough that you wondered if you’d made a mistake.

Shawn: Everything alright at home?

You: Yeah.

Shawn: Your daddy know you’re textin’ me?

A small laugh escaped you.

You: Definitely not.

The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

You could almost picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck while trying to figure out what was going on.

Finally..

Shawn: Where d’ya wanna go?

You looked out your bedroom window toward the dark road.

You: anywhere.

You sent it before you could overthink it, a full minute passed then another message arrived.

Shawn: Need to ask ya somethin’.

You: Okay.

Shawn: You sure?

You frowned at the screen.

You: About what?

The typing bubble lingered for a long time, long enough that you wondered if he’d changed his mind.

Then it finally came through.

Shawn: You sure you wanna get in my truck?

Another message.

Shawn: After what you said…

Shawn: I ain’t gonna ask you to.

Shawn: So I’m askin’ now.

Shawn: You sure?

Your heartbeat thudded against your ribs.

All summer…

He had never once asked.

Never pushed.

Never teased you about refusing.

He’d simply accepted it.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your pajama shorts then typed.

You: I’ve never been more sure.

His reply came instantly.

Shawn: Five minutes.

You slipped quietly out of bed, pulled on your sneakers and eased your bedroom window open, careful not to let it creak, the humid Florida night wrapped around you as you climbed onto the porch roof just like you used to as kids.

You dropped softly into the grass below.

For a moment, the whole town seemed asleep.

Then, Headlights appeared at the end of the road.

The familiar rumble of an old Chevy drifted through the warm night air.

The truck slowed as it reached your house and came to a stop beneath the shadow of the oak tree across from your father’s porch.

The truck idled quietly, for once, the blue Chevy didn’t sound like it was falling apart.. maybe because you were listening for something else.

The headlights cut through the darkness, throwing long shadows across the yard, you stood there in the grass for a moment, your heart beating far too fast for something as simple as walking to a truck.

But it wasn’t just a truck.

Not tonight.

It was eight years of warnings.

Your father’s voice.

The town’s opinions.

Every story you’d heard about Shawn Heard before you’d even seen him again and then there was the boy you remembered.

The boy with muddy knees and scraped elbows who gave you his last piece of candy because you were crying.

The boy who cried harder than you did when that baby turtle didn’t make it.

The boy who had grown into someone everyone had already decided was a lost cause.

The driver’s door opened.

Shawn stepped out.

He wasn’t wearing his usual confidence tonight.

No smirk.

No teasing comment.

Just a faded hoodie, worn jeans, and that same uncertain look he’d had under the willow tree when he’d asked permission to kiss you.

He stopped a few feet away.

Didn’t come closer, Didn’t assume, his eyes moved briefly toward the house. “Your daddy gonna kill me.”

You smiled softly. “Probably.”

He nodded. “Figured.”

A quiet moment passed then he looked back at you. “You sure?”

You knew what he meant.

Not the truck.

Not really.

You nodded. “Yes.”

His jaw tightened slightly, like he was trying to convince himself. “Because if you changed your mind…”

“I didn’t.”

“You don’t gotta prove anything.”

“I know.”

“Your daddy?”

“Doesn’t know.”

A tiny smile appeared. “Probably for the best.”

You laughed quietly, he looked relieved to hear it.

For a second, neither of you moved yhen Shawn walked around and opened the passenger door.

Not the back.

The passenger door.

You noticed.

He noticed you noticing. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mmm.” That familiar sound.

The one that meant he knew exactly what you were thinking. “You thought I’d make you sit in the back?”

You looked away. “I don’t know.”

He leaned against the door, his expression softened. “Hey.” You looked at him, “I ain’t ever gonna make you feel like you’re just another girl.” The words hit harder than you expected, especially because he wasn’t saying them like he was trying to convince you. He was saying them like he needed you to know.

“I know.”

He studied your face. “You do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

The smallest smile tugged at his mouth. “Good.”

You stepped toward the truck and for the first time all summer…

You got in.

Not because your father was wrong.

Not because Shawn was suddenly someone different.

Not because you believed you could fix him but because, somewhere along the way, you’d stopped seeing the boy everyone warned you about and started seeing the person underneath.

Shawn closed the door gently.

Then walked around to the driver’s side.

The engine turned over.

The radio stayed off, neither of you spoke as he pulled away from your house.

The porch light disappeared behind you.

Shawn Heard x f!reader

Warnings: +18, MDI ~

WC: 13k but need to trim into chapters.

-•-

-•-

The bartender snorted. “I didn’t hear that.”

The little bar was loud enough to shake the floorboards. Country music poured from the speakers while locals danced in worn boots, the smell of beer and fried food hanging in the humid air.

You’d only taken a few sips, each one easier than the other when someone tapped your shoulder, a man, older than you by at least ten years, smiled. A ratty beard, a sweat stained checkered blue and white shirt and a cap that had been embroidered with a fishing logo. Shawn had disappeared a few minutes ago, needing to go take a leak.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He held out a hand.

“I’m alright, thanks.” Arms instinctively pulling to your chest, the dirt under his fingernails along made you grimace.

“One dance.” He kept his hand extended, a puppy dog look in his face that shifted after rejection threatened to wound his pride. “No, really. My daddy won’t like that.” He grabbed your wrist anyway. “Just one.” You tried to laugh it off, gently pulling free. “I said no.” The man stepped closer. “C’mon, your daddy ain’t here.”

A fist landed square across his jaw, the crack echoed over the music, the man stumbled backwards into a table, knocking beer and fried food, sending it flying everywhere.

Shawn stood where he’d been sitting before he left, jaw tight. “Her daddy ain’t here, but I am.” His voice was calm. “And she already answered ya.”

The room went quiet for exactly one second, then chairs scraped, someone shouted. A bar brawl only a second away from breaking out.

“Oh hell.” The bartender groaned. “Not again!”

Shawn looked at you, he grabbed your hand, yanking hard enough you felt a small pop in your shoulder and the two of you burst through the front door just as shouting erupted behind you.

Laughter escaped you before you even reached the sidewalk. “You punched him!”

“He was pawin’ you.”

“You always solve things with your fists?”

“When necessary.”

“You started a bar fight!”

“I think he started it.”

“You absolutely started it.” The sound of a siren made you both stop, a patrol car turned onto the street. “This way.” Shawn tugged you into the narrow alley between two old buildings. The old cruiser rolled slowly past the entrance.

You both pressed yourselves together against the brick wall, trying not to breathe as it crept through the street slowly. Your eyes traveled from the white of his shirt, up to his neck that gathered sweat to his face. His jaw is tight forcing his jawline to be more defined, he’s looking at the car. The blue lights catching his eyes, brightening the blues up. He’s got a frown on his face, he’s ready to be caught with you pressed up against the wall, hips and chests touching from proximity, his arms braced against the wall on either side of you as if he was in protective mode.

The blue lights washed briefly over the alley before disappearing, for a long moment neither of you moved.

Then he looked at you, the alley suddenly felt much smaller. The music from the bar was muffled now.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t hurt ya?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He reached up almost without thinking, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingered. You didn’t pull away, his other hand found the back of your head, fingers slipping gently into your hair. He closed his eyes and smelled it from between his fingers, the floral scent hit him like a truck. Heart beating fast, but not from the running. Your fingers found the material on the bottom of his shirt, fiddling with it gently but he didn’t bother to look down, he just looked at you.

“You gonna ask again?” You whispered

A crooked smile appeared. “Mama raised me right.” His forehead rested lightly against yours. “Can I kiss ya?”

You smiled. “You still ask?”

“I always will.” Your answer was to close the small distance yourself, only having to move your heads forward slightly. His lips met yours softly at first, then a little longer, then a little slower. You opened your mouth allowing his tongue to slip inside, touching together and heads tilting in different directions. A soft gasp spilled from you as he reached down and grabbed your knees from behind lifting you easily with the wall pinning you from behind and him in front. You happily wrapped your legs around him, he pulled away then back again, hungry. His lips and teeth on your neck, sucking and biting, a soft lick.

That’s when you felt him, you felt him hard against you. Eyes open you put both hands on his shoulders and whispered his name, that you should both stop. Shawn stilled, breathing against your chest.. he didn’t want to stop but he didn’t want to continue in a dirty alley, not with you. It wouldn’t right.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling, somewhere at the end of the alley, the patrol car drove past once more. Shawn glanced toward it before looking back at you. “I reckon punchin’ that fella was worth it.”

You laughed. “You are definitely a bad influence.”

“Nah.” He settled you down, not bothering to wipe the saliva from his lips as took your hand again. “Just the fun kind.”

-•-

You were twenty minutes late for dinner.

The screen door creaked as you stepped inside, trying to look as though you’d simply lost track of time. Your father looked up from the table.

“There she is.”

Your stomach tightened. “Sorry.”

“We was startin’ to think the gators got ya.”

“I was with Shawn.”

“I know.” That answer came far too quickly.

You frowned. “You know?”

“The whole town knows.” Of course they did.

Small towns had a way of finding things out before the people involved, you slipped into your chair, reaching for the mashed potatoes.

Your father kept looking at you.

Not talking.

Just looking.

“What?” You asked with a shrug, not meeting his eyes. Did he know about the bar?

He narrowed his eyes. “Turn your head.”

“What?” You blushed, “No, dad..”

“Turn.” He’s stern, he’s mad.

You blinked. “Dad” Slowly, you turned your head, met by silence as he examined what he thought he sat.

Then he closed his eyes. “Lord, give me strength.”

You frowned. “What?”

Your father pointed vaguely toward the side of his own neck. “What’s that?”

Your hand flew to your neck, the image of Shawn having you pinned against the wall, biting your skin. Your toes curled at the thought.

He pushed his chair back so hard it scraped across the wooden floor. “I knew it!” He left the room momentarily and came back, holding his shotgun.

You jumped from your seat, knocking it over. “Woah, daddy no!” You grabbed his shirt pulling him back but he jerked his arm back away from you. “I warned ya about that boy! Hes gone marked ya!”

Your cheeks burned. “He did not mark me!”

“He absolutely did!”

“It’s just..”

“A hickey!” You covered your face with both hands with embarrassment, where did he even learn that word? “Oh my God…”

“I told you not to get in that boy’s truck!”

You looked up, unable to help yourself. “Actually…”

He folded his arms. “Don’t.” He really didn’t need to know the details, his mind drunk on rage, his grasp tighter on the gun.

You bit your lip. “It wasn’t in the truck.”

He simply stared, then his eyes somehow widened even further. “The boat? That’s in the same fucking margin.”

“No.”

“The docks?”

“No.”

“The willow tree?”

“Dad..”

He threw both hands into the air, “That somehow ain’t better!”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m sorry!”

“You ain’t sorry!”

“I am!”

“You got a hickey!”

“I noticed!”

“You leave for college in three days!”

“I know!”

“And Shawn Heard sends you home lookin’ like he’s put his name on ya!”

You burst into louder laughter. “He did not!”

Your father groaned so dramatically as he rounded the table, shotgun still on his lap, you thought he might actually collapse into his chair. “I ain’t survivin’ this.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around him, he sighed, despite himself as he patted your hand wrapped around his shoulders from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “You still love me?”

He muttered into the top of your head, placing a small kiss into your hair. “Less than I did yesterday.”

You laughed, “you stink of beer.” He was hesitant to say the next part but did anyway, “and that boys spit.” Moving you took your seat back at the table, after a long pause, he sighed again.

“He at least still ask before he kisses ya?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

Your father’s expression softened for the briefest moment. “Hmph.”

“What?”

“Good.” He picked up his fork again. “Still gonna kill him.”

You smiled to yourself.

-•-

Shawn Heard x f!reader.

Warnings: +18, NSFW

(I did write 13k word but apparently I can’t post more than 10k? If this does okay and people want the rest I’ll do parts.)

Eight years.

That was a long time to stay away from a place that had once been home.

Long enough for little girls to become women.

Long enough for little boys to become strangers.

The Florida heat hadn’t changed, though, it still wrapped around you the moment you stepped off the porch, thick enough to breathe. The air still smelled like marsh water and pine. Dragonflies skimmed the canals, and somewhere off in the sawgrass, an alligator bellowed.

Some things never left this town.

After breakfast, your father was sitting on the porch mending a fishing net while you watched hummingbirds fight over the feeder. “You remember Shawn Heard?”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “The boy who filled his pockets with baby turtles and tried convincing me frogs made better pets than dogs?”

Your dad didn’t smile back. “I remember, He ain’t that boy no more.” Something in his voice made you look over.

“He changed?” You asked, curious whether or not he landed himself in prison or not, he was always a bit of a wild boy growing up.

Your father snorted. “Changed? Hell… he turned into exactly what everybody figured he would.” He tied another knot into the net. “Mean, always lookin’ for a fight, drinks too much, smokes too much. Boy won’t amount to a damn thing.”

You frowned. “I thought you liked his dad.”

“Boy ain’t his father.” Silence settled between you, you had wondered what Shawn had did to have your daddy all worked up over a boy you ain’t seen in 8 years.

“What happened to him anyway? His dad.” Your father’s hands stopped moving.

“Heart attack.”

You blinked. “When?”

“Few years after you left.” He had finished with the knots, lifting his cap to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, the heat getting to his skin.

“What about his mom?” You asked. Your father let out a long sigh. “Packed a bag one mornin’ Never came back.”

Your stomach sank. “So he’s alone?”

“Been alone a long while.” For a second, you almost felt guilty for asking, feeling sorry for the boy you had once known been alone in the world, you almost pitied him.

Then your father spoke again. “Don’t let that fool ya.” You looked at him with a blinking expression.

“Lonely don’t make a man good.” He pointed the needle at you. “And hear me on this.”

“I am.”

“You stay away from Shawn Heard.”

“Dad…”

“I’m serious.”

“If you see him, wave. If he talks, be polite but don’t go thinkin’ you owe him friendship because y’all used to catch frogs together.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m serious.” He leaned back in his chair.

“And don’t you dare get in that blue Chevy of his.”

You laughed. “What?”

“I know how boys like him operate.”

“Dad.” You tried to stop him from talking you didn’t want this conversation.

“They’ll sweet talk ya drive ya down some dirt road next thing you know, folks are whisperin’.”

Heat crept into your cheeks with embarrassment. “I am not getting into anybody’s truck.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m eighteen, not stupid.”

“You say that now.”

You groaned. “Dad, I’ve never even slept with anybody.”

That made him pause. “I know.”

“I’m a virgin and I’d quite like to keep it that way.” A grin finally tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

“I’m not getting in some boy’s truck to lose it especially not Shawn Heard’s.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Glad we understand each other.”

You shook your head, laughing as you stood. “You really think every boy’s plotting something.”

“No.” He returned to the fishing net.

“Just the ones drivin’ beat up Chevys.”

You smiled despite yourself.

The Shawn you remembered had muddy knees, pockets full of frogs, and cried when a baby raccoon died after getting hit by a truck.

It was hard to picture that same boy becoming the man your father had just described.

You told yourself you probably wouldn’t run into him anyway.

In a town that small…

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

You did, of course.

Three days later.

The gas station sat on the edge of town, the kind of place that sold bait, beer, diesel, and boiled peanuts under the same roof. Your father had sent you to grab a bag of ice.

“You’ll melt before ya get back,” he’d called after you.

You’d laughed and driven anyway.

The little bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside.

The old cashier looked up from her crossword.

“Well, look what the cat dragged back.”

You smiled politely. “Hi bettie.”

“Been a while.”

“Eight years.” You thought about the time you and Shawn snuck in here and stole a packet of bubble gum, got banned from entering unless with a parent for the longest time.

News travelled fast.

Apparently, so did math.

You paid for the ice and wrestled the heavy bag through the door, nearly dropping it as the humid air hit you.

A truck rumbled into the gravel lot.

Blue.

Faded.

Older than you remembered.

The muffler growled before the engine cut off.

You recognized it before you recognized him.

The driver’s door still had to be shoved open with a shoulder.

Your father’s warning echoed in your ears.

Don’t you dare get in that blue Chevy.

A pair of worn work boots hit the gravel.

Then jeans.

Then long legs.

Then him.

Shawn Heard had gotten… big, not in the broad, muscular way boys in movies did.. he looked like he’d been built by lifting engines, hauling nets and throwing punches. Lean without being skinny. Strong without trying to be, white T-shirt clung to his shoulders, faded fishing cap sat backwards on his head. One tattoo disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

He hadn’t seen you yet, hreached into the truck, grabbed a carton of cigarettes and slammed the stubborn door with his hip.

“Damn thing.” Still talking to his truck.

You should’ve walked away.

Instead… “Still doesn’t shut properly?” You’d asked, remembering when the truck belonged to his daddy.

His head snapped toward you, for a moment, he simply stared like he wasn’t quite sure you were real. “Well.” A slow grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.

He took his cap off, scratching at his hair. “Ain’t seen you in forever.” He looked you up and down not lingering, not crude. Just surprised. “You got taller.” He popped a cigarette into the corner of his mouth.

“So did you.” You nodded, what the fuck do you say to that? Yeah.. no shit, that’s how growing works.

“Reckon I had to.”

There was an awkward pause, he shifted his weight. “You here visitin’ your daddy?”

“Just for the summer.” The bag of ice painfully cold in your arms.

He nodded. “He doin’ alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Another silence.

It felt strange as children, neither of you had ever shut up now every sentence seemed to need thinking about first. “So…” he said eventually. “You still scared’a snakes?” You laughed. “I was never scared.”

He barked a laugh. “Bull.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You climbed onto my shoulders cryin’ because you thought a stick moved.”

“It did move!”

“It was a stick.”

“It was not.”

“It was.” You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’ve gotten mean.”

He looked at you for a second then shrugged. “So they tell me.”

The smile faded, you hadn’t meant it like that. He bent to lift a case of bottled water from the bed of his truck. You noticed the scrape across his knuckles.

“Work?”

He glanced down. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” A crooked smile.

“Fella at Murphy’s said somethin’ stupid.”

“You punched him?”

“He punched me first.”

“You finished it.”

“Mmm.”

“So that’s a yes.”

He looked almost embarrassed. “Guess so.”

You remembered your father’s voice.

He’s always lookin’ for a fight.

You hated that it suddenly sounded believable.

Trying to change the subject, you asked, “Dad said your father passed.”

His movements stopped. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Appreciate it.”

He rested both hands on the truck bed.

“I’m sorry.” You looked at him differently, not as the bully your father had described not as the little boy chasing frogs.

Just… Someone who’d had the ground disappear beneath his feet, He caught the look on your face immediately, his expression hardened. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel sorry for me.”

“I wasn’t..”

“You were.” He gave a quiet huff through his nose “Mmm… ain’t much I can’t stand.” His jaw tightened. “But pity’s near the top.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, he was right. You had been pitying him.

He picked up the case of water again and turned toward the store before disappearing inside, he glanced back over one shoulder. “Your daddy still tellin’ folks to stay away from me?”

You blinked. “Maybe.”

A small laugh escaped him. “Figured.”

“He told me not to get in your truck.”

That made him grin properly. “Oh, did he now?”

“He specifically mentioned your blue Chevy.”

Shawn looked over at the battered pickup, then back at you. “Smart man.”

You frowned. “You agree?”

“Mmm.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Truck ain’t got air conditionin’ anyway.”

For the first time since you’d seen him, You couldn’t tell if he was making a jok or agreeing that you really was better off staying away.

Shawn caught you just as you were climbing into your dad’s truck.

He leaned against his battered blue Chevy, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He glanced toward the road. “I was thinkin’.”

“Uh oh.”

He grinned. “Relax, I ain’t invitin’ ya into my truck.”

“Good.”

“‘Cause your daddy’d probably shoot me.”

You laughed. “He might.”

He jerked his thumb toward the marina instead. “I got the jon boat down at the docks.”

“The old aluminum one?”

“Same ugly son’a bitch.”

“It still floats?”

“Most days.” You laughed.

He smiled at hearing it. “Thought maybe we’d run out through the Glades, just for a bit.. like old times.”

You hesitated.

The canals.

The mangroves.

Fishing for bluegill.

Watching alligators sun themselves on the banks.

Before life got complicated…

Before eight years disappeared.

“Okay.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Old times.”

-•-

Your daddy was waiting on the porch when you got home, you only went inside to grab a pair of wellie boots rather than sneakers and left again.

“You leavin’?”

“I’m going to the docks.”

He nodded absently. “With who?”

“Shawn.”

His head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

“Dad..”

“I told you to stay away from that boy.”

“We’re just going out on the boat.”

“I also told you not to get in his truck.”

You couldn’t help smiling.

“Luckily…” You grabbed your sunglasses off the top of daddy’s head. “it’s a boat.”

His face somehow became even sterner,“Don’t get smart with me, he ain’t the kind’a boy you build a future with.”

“Dad..”

“He’ll sweet talk you, he’ll tell you every pretty thing you wanna hear and you’ll think you’re different.”

You folded your arms. “I’m eighteen.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not sleeping with him.”

“I ain’t just talkin’ about sleepin’.” He stepped closer. “Boys like Shawn Heard…” He sighed heavily. “they’re hurricanes, they come through fast.. they’re exciting, they make you feel alive and then they leave everythin’ tore up behind ’em.”

You softened. “Dad I’m going to college in two months, am not running away with him.”

“I know.”

He rubbed a tired hand over his face.

“That somehow don’t make me feel no better.”

-•-

The jon boat was exactly how you remembered it.

Flat, bottomed, sun faded. Held together with stubbornness and old repairs.

Shawn untied the rope from the dock and he pushed off with one boot easily.

“Captain Heard, at your service.”

“You still can’t drive straight?”

“I never couldn’t.”

The little outboard motor spluttered before roaring to life, soon the docks disappeared behind them.

The Glades opened wide.

Tall sawgrass swayed in the breeze.

White herons lifted into the sky.

A turtle slipped from a log with a quiet splash.

The only sounds were the engine and cicadas.

“You remember this place?” Shawn asked. “The willow tree’s still here somewhere.”

“You mean the kissing tree?”

He laughed. “The one an’ only.”

“You tricked me.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You told me kissing stopped mosquito bites.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“I believed you!”

“’Cause you was ten.”

“So were you!”

“Yeah…” He scratched his jaw. “Difference is I already knew kissin’ didn’t work.”

You looked over with a slack jaw, “So you lied?”

“Mhm.” He looked proud of himself.

“You are awful.”

“I know.” He reached into the cooler by his feet, popping open a beer with practiced ease, the hiss echoed across the water. “You don’t drink?” He offered you a can but you shook your head.

“No.”

He nodded. “Figured.” He took a sip before pulling a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You mind?” He held it out, gesturing for permission.

“I can’t exactly roll the window down.”

He barked out a laugh. “Fair.”

He lit the cigarette, leaning away as the smoke drifted behind the boat, for a while, neither of you spoke.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just Easy.

“So…” he said eventually. “That was your first kiss.”

You smiled. “My first…” Then laughed,“and my last.”

He nearly choked on his beer. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Nope.”

“You ain’t kissed nobody since?”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Eight years busy?”

“I guess.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Mm, Can’t say the same.”

“I assumed.”

He smirked. “Probably a safe assumption.”

“So…” You looked at him. “How many?”

He groaned dramatically. “Oh Lord.”

“What?”

“Never ask a fella that.”

“I’m asking.”

He pretended to think. “Enough.”

“Enough?”

“That’s not a number.”

“It’s the only one you’re gettin’.”

You laughed. “Coward.”

“Nah.” He pointed the beer can at you.“Just learned long ago honesty gets a man in trouble.”

“You’ve kissed a lot of girls.”

“Mhm.”

“Dated them?”

“Some.”

“You broke hearts?”

He smiled crookedly. “Wouldn’t flatter myself.”

“Oh, I think you would.”

He chuckled quietly. “Maybe one or two.”

You watched him for a moment.

The cigarette between his fingers, the beer resting on his knee, the sun catching the scar across his knuckles.

He looked every bit like the boy your father had warned you about. Yet sitting here… Laughing about frogs, willow trees and childhood kisses… It was impossible not to see flashes of the ten year old who used to carry injured turtles home in his shirt because he couldn’t bear leaving them behind.

For the first time, you wondered which Shawn Heard was the real one.

The afternoon drifted by without either of you noticing.

Shawn killed the motor, letting the jon boat glide through a narrow channel where cypress knees poked from the black water like old bones.

Spanish moss hung from the trees, swaying lazily in the breeze. “Remember that log?” he asked, pointing toward the bank.

“The one you swore was a gator?”

“It was a gator.” He scratched at his jaw, “It blinked!”

“So do logs if you’re imaginative enough.” You shoved his shoulder. “It absolutely blinked.” He laughed, the sound carrying across the still water.

“There she is.”

“What?”

“I ain’t heard you laugh like that since…” He thought for a second. “Hell, since we was kids.”

You looked out across the marsh. “I haven’t either.”

Silence settled again.

Comfortable this time.

Shawn flicked ash into the water. “You really leavin’ in August?”

“I am.”

“Long drive.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t my life.”

“You could come visit.”

That earned a sideways glance. “You invitin’ me to college?”

“I’m inviting my friend.”

His expression softened for a heartbeat, then it disappeared behind another sip of beer. “Folks like me don’t belong on college campuses.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You’ve never been.”

“I don’t hafta.”

“You could.”

He smiled to himself. “There you go again.”

“What?”

“Always thinkin’ doors’re open.”

“They are.”

“For you, maybe.”

You sighed. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk like your life’s already decided.”

“’Cause it mostly is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He reached down, trailing his fingers through the water as the boat drifted.

“You know what I got waitin’ tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Five thirty alarm, load bait, fix Mr. Jenkins’ outboard probably weld a trailer axle, Come home. Maybe drink a couple beers. Go to sleep.” He smiled faintly. “Then do it all again.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It pays the light bill.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever.”

He looked at you. “Don’t it?” Before you could answer, something exploded from the reeds beside the boat. You yelped.

“What was that?” Shawn burst out laughing, huge alligator slid into the canal with a splash, disappearing beneath the dark water.

Your heart hammered. “You knew it was there!”

“I absolutely did.”

“You jerk!”

He was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “I forgot how jumpy you are.”

“I am not jumpy!”

“You nearly climbed in my lap.”

“I did no such thing!”

“You grabbed my arm.”

“I was making sure you didn’t fall overboard.”

“Oh, that’s what it was?”

“Exactly.”

“Mmm… convenient.” You rolled your eyes. “You’ve become insufferable.”

“I been called worse.”

“I bet you have.”

“Oh, plenty.”

He started the motor again, still grinning.

As the boat picked up speed, the warm wind whipped your hair across your face, without thinking, he reached over and gently untangled a strand that had caught on your necklace.

The movement was quick, absent minded like it was the most natural thing in the world, his hand lingered for half a second before he seemed to realize what he’d done. He cleared his throat and looked back at the water.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Neither of you spoke for a while, the only sound was the little outboard engine humming through the marsh.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “You know, I lied earlier.”

“About what?”

He kept his eyes ahead. “When I said that kiss under the willow weren’t my first.”

You looked at him. “It wasn’t?”

“Nah.”

“It was.”

You frowned. “You just told me..”

“I know what I told ya.”

“So why lie?”

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth “Cause I was ten and ten year old me thought it’d sound cooler if I’d kissed lots’a girls.”

You stared at him. “Shawn Heard…”

“Mmm?”

“You were bluffing?”

He laughed into his beer. “Hard.”

“I figured you’d think I was some kinda ladies’ man.”

“And were you?”

“Hell no.”

He shook his head. “I kissed you then spent the next week tellin’ the boys I’d kissed three girls.”

You burst into laughter. “No you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“They believed you?”

“For about two days.”

“What happened?”

“One’a them asked me what the third girl’s name was.”

You laughed harder. “And?”

“I said…” He rubbed the back of his neck, already smiling. “Angelina Jolie.”

You doubled over laughing. “Oh my God.”

“I panicked.”

“You picked Angelina Jolie?”

“I was ten!”

“You idiot.”

“I know.” The laughter faded into warm smiles and for the first time all day, Shawn looked younger, not like the man who drank beer on a fishing boat, bot like the guy with split knuckles everyone in town warned you about.

Just the awkward little boy who’d once convinced himself that pretending to be cool was easier than admitting his first kiss had meant something.

He rested his forearms on the steering handle.

“Truth is…” His voice had gone quieter. “I remember that kiss a whole lot clearer than any that came after.”

You looked at him, surprised.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Just kept steering the boat through the winding channels of the Everglades as the evening sun turned the water to gold.

Neither of you spoke after that.

The boat drifted more than it moved now, the engine idling so quietly it barely disturbed the glassy water.

The willow tree stood exactly where it always had.

Older.

Bigger.

Its branches still swept the edge of the canal, trailing curtains of Spanish moss into the dark water below.

Shawn chuckled under his breath.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“Still here.”

He eased the boat alongside the muddy bank, looping the rope around one of the thick roots.

“You remembered where it was?”

“Mmm…”

He climbed out first, offering you a hand. “Spent enough summers here.”

You took it, his palm was rough, calloused from years of work.

He let go as soon as your feet were on solid ground for a minute, the two of you simply stood beneath the willow, looking out across the marsh. “I was convinced this tree was enormous when we were kids,” you said.

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Nah.”

He tipped his head back, looking through the branches. “We was just little.”

You smiled. “I remember you trying to act all confident.”

“I was.”

“You were terrified.”

“I absolutely was not.”

“You asked Tommy Parker what kissing was the day before.”

His ears turned faintly pink. “He weren’t much help.”

“He told you girls exploded.”

“He sounded convincing.”

You laughed. “I can’t believe I believed you.”

“Mmm…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I can’t believe you actually kissed me.”

“You said it’d stop mosquito bites.”

“I did.”

“You were a liar back then too.”

He grinned. “Been consistent.”

The laughter faded.

Not awkwardly.

Just… quietly.

The evening breeze stirred the willow branches overhead.

Somewhere out in the marsh, a heron called.

Shawn looked at the old trunk for a long moment before speaking. “You ever wonder…”

“What?”

“What would’ve happened if ya never left?”

You considered it. “Sometimes.”

“Mmm.”

“I probably would’ve still gone to college.”

“Probably.”

“You?” He let out a slow breath. “I honestly don’t know.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. There was something gentler in his expression than you’d seen all summer.

Less guarded.

“I got a question.”

“Okay.”

“It’s… kinda stupid.”

“When’s that ever stopped you?”

He smiled. “Fair.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly looking far less like the man everyone warned you about and much more like the awkward ten year old boy you’d once known.

“Could I kiss ya?”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, almost sheepishly. “For old times’ sake.”

Before you could answer, he added quietly, “Only if ya want to, uf the answer’s no.. it’s a no.” He smiled faintly.

“No hard feelin’s.”

You couldn’t help smiling. “You asked.”

“Mama raised me better’n some folks think.”

The mention of his mother seemed to surprise even him, He looked away for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“So?”

You stepped a little closer. “I think…” you smiled. “for old times’ sake.”

He searched your face one last time.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

He closed the small distance between you slowly enough that you could have stepped back at any point, instead, you stayed where you were. His hand came up, hesitating before gently resting against your cheek, The kiss was nothing like the clumsy one you’d shared as children. His lips warm and pump, tasting like beer and tobacco.

No bravado.

No teasing.

No trying to impress anyone.

Just a brief, gentle kiss that lingered for only a moment before he pulled away, He rested his forehead against yours for the shortest second, then took a step back, a crooked smile spread across his face.

“Still don’t stop mosquito bites.”

You laughed. “I figured we’d finally settled that.”

“I reckon so.” For a little while longer, neither of you hurried back to the boat, you both simply stood beneath the old willow tree, listening to the wind moving through the branches, both quietly aware that although they had called it “for old times’ sake,” it hadn’t quite felt like the past at all.

The rest of the summer slipped away far too quickly, one day bled into the next until it became impossible to remember which memories belonged to which afternoon.

You were together almost every day.

Fishing.

Swimming in the springs.

Taking the jon boat through winding channels where the cypress trees leaned over the water, sitting on old docks with your feet dangling above the canal while Shawn skipped stones farther than anyone else in town.

You still refused to get into his truck.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed, but he never asked, he’d simply shrug, shove his hands into his pockets and say, “Boat’s this way anyway.”

You figured he assumed you were listening to your father, maybe he was.

Maybe that was easier than wondering if there was another reason. One afternoon, sitting on the riverbank, he’d held out a cigarette between two fingers.

“C’mon.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“I know.”

“So why are you offering?”

“‘Cause you’re leavin’ soon.” He grinned.

“Everybody oughta make one bad decision before college.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s terrible advice.”

“Mmm.”

“It really is.”

“Probably.”

Against your better judgment, ou took it.

He lit the end for you. “Small drag.”

“I know how cigarettes work.”

“Doubtful.”

You inhaled, immediately coughed so hard your eyes watered.

Shawn laughed himself breathless. “Told ya.”

“This is disgusting!”

“You ain’t supposed to swallow it.”

“I didn’t swallow it!”

“You definitely swallowed it.”

You spent the next ten minutes leaning over the dock feeling thoroughly miserable while Shawn sat beside you apologizing through laughter.

“Ain’t funny.”

“It absolutely is.”

“I hate you.”

He bumped your shoulder. “Nah, you’ll live.”

You never touched another cigarette.

He never offered one again.

The summer had been spent from each others waking moments together, he’s a bad influence.. pulling you from a comfort zone you’d happily put yourself in, while you probably taught him nothing other than not to be an asshole and get into trouble, until one night..

He had managed to convince you to come into a dive bar with him, The bartender set two beers on the counter, looking between the pair of you. “You two even twenty one?”

Shawn smiled lazily. “Depends who’s askin’.” They maintained eye contact as he pulled the beers from the counter.

The bartender snorted. “I didn’t hear that.”

-•-

Part Two v

Aerion Brightflame Targaryen x f!Reader

The mist had gathered around Ashford early morning.

Hundreds crowded the tiltyard. Lords beneath bright pavilions. Ladies draped in silks. Hedge knights polishing dented helms beside princes whose armour gleamed like mirrors. House banners cracked in the breeze, the crowned stag of Baratheon glaring across the field at the three headed dragon of Targaryen.

The hatred between the two houses was older than most of the men watching.

It was woven into every glance.

Princess Argella Baratheon stood at the end of the line amongst the competitors, she wasn’t the biggest, she wasn’t the tallest but she is a strong woman, in body and mentality. Her warhammer rested across one shoulder as though it weighed nothing. The black plate she wore had been forged for a man before being reshaped to fit her frame. Upon her breastplate, the crowned stag gleamed in gold.

Dark brown hair had been braided tightly beneath her helm, though she’d yet to lower its visor.

She looked every inch a knight.

Which was precisely the problem.

Her father called it a phase, wishing she had just been born a male.

Her mother cried, wishing she’d learn to sow.

The Stormlords called it embarrassing.

Argella called it destiny, she didn’t seek gowns or dances. She didn’t learn to curtsy and sow, how to paint plates.

A ripple spread through the competitors.

“He comes.”

Aerion Brightflame Targaryen.

His horse galloped into the line immediately searching the tents for an opponent, his silver hair cropped short beneath an ornate dragon crested helm, his violet eyes swept lazily across every challenger as though deciding which one deserved to lose to him.

His armour was unlike any in Westeros.

Black steel veined with crimson, fashioned into the scales of a dragon. The crown upon his helm resembled jagged flames reaching toward the sky.

Beautiful.

Intimidating.

A cocky smile tugged at his mouth as he stopped before the first knight. “Come out, little knight, it’s time to face the dragon.”

The old marcher lord frowned, he didn’t want to be the one to face Aerion Brightflame, not today, not ever.

Aerion moved on. “Come out, little knight.” The arrogance in his face, sure to win today. He’s an annoyance upon men, the prince who breathes fire. He’s a short silver spooned brat with a legacy behind his name.

Another and another.

Each invitation was less a challenge, more of an insult. He wanted a worthy opponent, someone who show boost against with triumph.

No one answered.

He was halfway down the line when he stopped.

His violet eyes narrowed. “What is this?” Pulling at his horses reins, heels digging in with a jerk at the hips. He found something amusing.

Argella met his gaze without blinking.

He looked her slowly up and down.

The hammer.

The armour.

The stag upon her breast.

Then finally her face.

When a laugh escaped him. “A princess.” He rested against the neck of his horse with amusement. “Where is your husband?” He asked, looking her up and down again.

A few nearby knights snorted.

“No…” he mused loudly enough for half the lists to hear. “A fake princess, a child dressing herself in steel, playing knight.”

Argella didn’t move, other than raising her head to look at him, she had to restrain her temperament not to drag him from his horse and show him how much of a fake princess she really is.

Aerion tilted his head, tongue poking into his cheek. “Has someone misplaced your embroidery?”

Silence, she kept ignoring him while holding his gaze.

“I asked you a question.”

Finally she spoke.

Her voice was calm.

Deep.

Steady as thunder. “Choose me.” Oh, how really wanted to kick his ass. The impotent little twat, but she guessed that wouldn’t look too great.. Princess of House Baratheon beating the seven hells out of a Prince of House Targaryen.

Aerion blinked once. “What?”

“You’ve walked this line asking for little knights.” She lifted her chin. “You found one.”

A Stormlander somewhere behind her barked a laugh.

Aerion smiled again.

Not amused.

Predatory. “Oh, I’ll choose you.” He moved his horse closer until only inches separated them. “and I’ll knock you from your saddle before the first turn.”

His voice dropped lower as did his head. “And when I do…” his eyes lingered on hers. “you’ll come willingly to my chambers.”

A murmur swept through the spectators, a Baratheon and a Targaryen.

Argella’s expression never changed. “If I beat you,” she replied, thinking of what she could get from the situation other than the satisfaction of shutting him up and embarrassing him in front of the people and his family.

Aerion chuckled. “You won’t.” He’s so confident, you’d think it swung large but it’s just his arrogance from legacy that backs up his talking.

She reached forward, not for him but for the sword hanging at his hip. One gloved finger tapped the dragon headed pommel. “I want this.”

Aerion stared. “My sword?”

“When I beat you.” She pulled herself back into line with a smile.

His smile widened into something dangerous. “You’ve mistaken confidence for madness, you can’t have my sword. Name something else.”

“No.” She looked directly into those strange violet eyes. “I’ve mistaken you for a man who’s never been told no.”

For the first time that morning, Aerion’s grin faltered. Only for a heartbeat then it returned, sharper than before. “I’ve broken bigger knights than you.”

Argella shrugged. “I’m not a knight, am a Baratheon.”

The words landed harder than any hammer.

Around them, conversations died.

Every lord present understood exactly what she’d said.

Not a woman.

Not a princess.

A Baratheon.

Aerion slowly slid his dragon forged sword a few inches from its scabbard.

Valyrian steel whispered against leather.

“If you somehow win…” He looked down at the blade. “it’s yours.” He pushed it back home with a click. “But when you lose…” His smile returned in full. “I expect you to look considerably prettier without the armour.”

Argella finally smiled, mentally calling him every profanity possible.

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t embarrassed.

It was the smile of someone who had been waiting years for a worthy opponent. “You’d better hold onto that sword tightly then, Prince.” She turned and picked up her helm before looking at his face. “because I collect trophies.”

The trumpets sounded.

The lists fell silent.

Two horses were led forward.

Aerion mounted first, settling into the saddle with effortless grace. Even in full plate he looked comfortable, almost lazy, spinning his lance once before lowering it toward the earth. The dragon crested helm concealed most of his face now, though the flash of violet eyes behind the visor remained visible.

Across from him, Argella swung into her own saddle, unlike his elegant black destrier, her stallion was thick necked and powerful, bred for smashing through enemy lines rather than racing across tourney fields. Her squire bowed and handed her, her lance as the herald’s voice boomed.

“Prince Aerion Brightflame, of House Targaryen!” A roar answered from the crowd, everyone excited to see the cruel prince.

“Princess Argella of House Baratheon!”

The Stormlanders thundered louder.

Aerion looked across the length of the lists. “You still have time to surrender.”

Argella lowered her visor. “I was hoping you’d say something more clever.”

He laughed. “What a disappointment.”

The marshal dropped his banner.

“HAVE AT THEM!”

The horses exploded forward.

Thunder rolled beneath iron hooves.

Lances lowered.

The crowd surged to its feet.

Closer, Closer.

At the last heartbeat..

Aerion leaned, not to strike but to duck.

Argella’s lance cut through empty air as Aerion folded himself sideways in the saddle, allowing it to pass harmlessly over him, the prince straightened again with a theatrical flourish as they thundered past one another.

The crowd hesitated.

Then erupted into jeers. “Boo!” “Fight her properly!” “Coward!”

Aerion simply raised a gauntleted hand and waved as though accepting applause.

Behind her visor, Argella snorted.

She wheeled her horse around.

“So that’s your strategy?” she called across the field.

“I dislike being hit.” He’s admitted.

“You’ll hate what comes next.” She muttered under her breath, coward.

Fresh lances.

Second pass.

This time Aerion’s posture changed.

No smile.

His lance dipped.

Too low.

Argella saw it instantly, not for her but for the horse.

A gasp rippled through the nobles.

The point angled toward her mount’s chest.

Her eyes narrowed. “You little..” at the final instant she yanked hard on the reins. Her stallion sidestepped with surprising agility, twisting just enough for Aerion’s lance to scrape harmlessly along barding instead of flesh.

Wood splintered.

The horse screamed in alarm but kept its footing.

Aerion galloped on.

The crowd erupted, not with cheers but with outrage. “He aimed for the horse, shame!”

Even several Reach lords frowned openly.

Argella slowed her mount, calming him with one hand.

Across the field, Aerion discarded the broken lance as if nothing had happened, when he looked back…

She was already staring at him.

There was no anger in her gaze now.

Only certainty, he is coming off that horse.

Third pass.

Neither spoke.

Fresh lances lowered.

The air itself felt heavy.

The marshal barely finished dropping the flag before they charged.

Faster than before.

Neither looked away.

Hooves hammered.

The barrier blurred between them.

Twenty yards.

Ten.

Five.

Aerion committed first.

Argella waited, and waited and waited then shifted her weight at precisely the right moment.

Her lance struck square against the center of his breastplate, the collision from the lance meeting his plate echoed across Ashford.

Aerion’s eyes widened, is saddle exploded beneath him and he flew backwards.

Helm first.

Then shoulder.

Then back.

Rolling violently through the dirt until he finally came to rest several yards away.

Silence.

One heartbeat, Two.

The Stormlanders exploded.

The cheering shook the lists.

Even neutral spectators were laughing.

Aerion groaned, pushing himself onto one elbow.

His dragon crested helm had come loose, revealing short silver hair matted with dust.

Argella didn’t dismount.

Instead she guided her stallion into a slow circle around the fallen prince like a hawk circling wounded prey. “Oh dear. Her voice carried easily over the cheering. “I thought dragons were meant to fly.”

The laughter doubled.

She looked down at him. “But perhaps I remembered wrong.” Another circle around him, just once. “I suppose dragons belong on the ground after all.”She tilted her head innocently, coming to a stop just above him. “Though…” A smile curled beneath her visor. “I had heard the stags owned it.”

Even knights in neighbouring pavilions laughed into their cups.

Aerion ripped off his helm and hurled it into the dirt. “You cheating bitch!”

Argella rested her forearms across the pommel of her saddle. “Oh?”

“You shifted!”

“I leaned.”

“I was aiming..” she held her hand up to stop the prince and his little outburst “for my horse? I gathered.”

His silence lasted barely a heartbeat “You should be grateful I missed.”

Gasps answered that admission.

Argella nodded slowly. “So I should.”

She extended one gloved hand. “Now then.” Aerion glared. “My sword.”

His face flushed scarlet. “You think you’ve earned Dragons Kiss?” he snarled, one hand flying instinctively to the Valyrian steel at his hip. “Over one lucky strike?”

“You gave your word.” She kept her hand out, she wanted her sword. She’d enjoy telling him how she had it melted down and poured into the dirt.

“My word means nothing to a Baratheon.” He scoffed, refusing to hand it over. “So the prince lies as easily as he breathes.”

“I’ll gut you.”

“You’ll have to get back on your feet first.” She laughed, he didn’t like being laughed at, he is beyond furious.

He surged upright, dust clinging to every inch of his once pristine armour. “I’ll challenge you again.”

She snorted out her nose. “I’ll knock you down again.”

“I’ll kill you.” She raised her eyebrows at the threat and leaned back just a touch. “You’ve been trying since the second pass.”

The prince took a furious step toward her horse before guards and marshals quickly moved between them.

Aerion pointed a shaking finger at her “This isn’t over, little doe.”

Argella laughed. “No.” She nudged her horse closer just enough that only he could hear her. “It’s really not, little prince.”

Aerion Targaryen x F!Reader.

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: quite a few, gods forgive me.

-•-•—•-•-

The wedding was six days away.

The castle had become unbearable.

Every corridor was lined with tapestries. Every servant carried flowers or silks or polished silver. Lords who had ignored Aerion for months now suddenly wished to discuss seating arrangements, hunting parties, or how fortunate he was to be marrying such a remarkable woman.

He hated every moment of it, He escaped to the training yard whenever he could, preferring the ring of steel over endless congratulations. “You look nervous, Your Grace.” He nearly put his sword through Ser Gyles.

By the fourth day, gifts had begun arriving.

Chests of velvet.

Jewels.

Books.

Gold plate.

Half the realm seemed determined to buy favour with the future prince and princess.

Aerion ignored them all.

Until he noticed something peculiar.

A servant emerged from his betrothed’s apartments carrying a long wooden chest, glancing around as though hoping no one would ask questions.

Instead of joining the others in the gift hall, he walked toward the rubbish carts.

Aerion frowned.

“You.”

The servant nearly dropped the chest.

“Y-Your Grace.”

“What’s in it?”

“A wedding gift, sire.”

“From whom?” He raised a brow, interested in taking a peak with suspicion, perhaps it was a dead animal from some witch he had possibly offended, he had offended a few.

The servant hesitated. “Lord Harroway.”

Aerion’s eyebrow rose, “The same Lord Harroway who nearly soiled himself apologising?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He frantically nodded, tipping the box lopsided from the shear weight of it alone.

“And why is it being thrown away?”

“My lady’s orders.”

“Open it.”

The servant obeyed, awkwardly turning to set the box down with a dull thud on the ground, Inside lay enough wealth to buy a small keep. Necklaces of emerald and ruby, pearls and a few circlet of worked gold. Silks imported from across the Narrow Sea. Embroidered with the House Targaryen sigil.

Aerion recognised the craftsmanship immediately. He looked back at the servant. “Did she even look inside?” He asked, confused to why she hadn’t accepted his gift.

“She did.” The servant smiled nervously with a nod, Aerion gave a look and a roll of his wrist as if to say.. continue? The servant boy made an oh noise, “She said… ‘If he wishes to purchase forgiveness, he may keep his gold. It won’t fit his conscience.” The servant tried to rise his voice a pitch higher to mimic the response but he did you no justice.

Aerion stared, he found himself staring a lot these days. “Those were her exact words?” The servant boy nodded, “Yes, Your Grace, She closed the lid… and told us to throw it away.”

Aerion looked back into the chest.

“She has teeth, good for her.”

-•-•—•-•-

That evening he sought her out in the castle gardens, she was kneeling beside a rose bush with dirt on her hands, entirely unconcerned that a princess probably shouldn’t be gardening herself. He carried himself gracefully, stopping in his tracks, the remembrance of the whimpers she let out that night in his chambers but he continued, “You discarded Harroway’s gift.”

She didn’t even look surprised that he’d found out, it wasn’t him that had been embarrassed in his new home. “I did.” She breathed easy, she wasn’t interested in a lecture, not today.

“It was worth a fortune.” His hands clasped behind his hand, rocking on his feet gently.

“It was.” She stood to meet his glaze, the smallest trace of dirt speckled her cheek. “You could have accepted it.”

“I could have.” She agreed, but he wasn’t quite understanding her reason, she figured she would have to explain herself.

Aerion unclenched his hands from his back and folded his arms. “Most ladies would.” He felt the crease line on his forehead beginning to develop.

“I am aware.” brushing earth from her skirt. “You think I was foolish? He called me a whore. If I wore his gold, wore his silks.. I might as well have been. I don’t need reminding of a man who looks at me as everything but a woman.” Her expression remained calm,“I’d rather wear shit to my chest.”

She tilted her head, stepping close forgetting herself. “Does that disappoint you?” She had to look up at him, he stood a head taller than her. Didn’t help that his posture remained straight at all times, she hoped he would one day relax.

“No.” A faint smile appeared. “You cannot be bought.” He sounded almost thoughtful. “I value that.”

She laughed quietly, looking away sheepishly. “I’ve just thrown away enough gold to make half the court faint.”

His mouth twitched and for a strange moment…

It felt less like two strangers preparing for a political marriage.

And more like two people discovering they understood one another.

-•-•—•-•-

That night, Aerion slept terribly.

He lay awake staring at the carved ceiling above his bed.

The wedding was five days away.

Then four.

Then three.

Every sunrise brought the ceremony closer.

Curiously…

It was what came after.

The wedding night.

He scowled into the darkness.

He had faced charging knights.

He had stood before his father without flinching.

Yet somehow, The thought of sitting alone in his chambers, waiting for his wife to walk through the door, unsettled him in a way no battlefield ever had.

Ridiculous.

He rolled onto his side, then to his stomach, hands reaching under the silk pillow as he groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

No one had ever taught princes how to receive their wives.

For the first time in years…

Aerion Targaryen found himself wishing there were a battle instead.

At least swords made sense. Brides, he was beginning to suspect, were infinitely more complicated.

The bells rang from dawn until noon.

Every lord and lady worth naming had come to witness the marriage of Prince Aerion Targaryen, to see for themselves of a man who was either going to be tamed or would make a spectacle of himself, a wager was on, on how long it would take before he’d have someone flung from the castle walls. It was between after the vows or during, his short temper becoming infamous among the houses.

The hall glittered with jewels, banners, and polished steel. Ladies whispered behind embroidered fans while knights stood as rigid as statues, each secretly wondering whether the groom would smile.

He did not.

Aerion stood before the altar in black velvet embroidered with crimson dragons, hands clasped behind his back. To everyone watching, he appeared every inch the arrogant prince.

Only he knew his palms were damp.

Gods.

Why are my hands damp?

He had once stared down his furious father without lowering his eyes.

Yet standing here…

Waiting for her, his stomach had become an unfamiliar knot.

Compose yourself.

You are a dragon.

He repeated it so often it began to lose all meaning.

Then the doors opened.

Every head turned.

She entered on her father’s arm, clothed in ivory silk that shimmered in the morning light. The bottom helm stitched with the Targaryen colours. She wore no ostentatious jewels, only a simple circlet and a necklace of pearls. For one impossible moment, the noise disappeared.

Aerion forgot the court.

Forgot the sept.

Forgot to breathe.

Seven Hells.

She’s beautiful.

Maekar nudged him discreetly, he looked at him and his eyes screamed. ‘Take your fucking bride.’ She waited at bottom of the steps, waiting for an extended hand.

He looked magnificent, his hair neatly kept. His suit black with his house colours also, a cape clung to his shoulders, making him seem impossibly strong and sturdy. Only then did he realise everyone had noticed he’d been staring.

His jaw tightened, he looked resolutely ahead, He could almost hear the amused whispers spreading through the congregation.

-•-•—•-•-

The ceremony itself passed in a blur.

Ancient vows.

Joined hands.

The exchange of cloaks.

When the septon bound their hands together with ribbon, she glanced sideways at him. “You look frightened. His head had turned so sharply he almost spun himself off the step he had been standing in.

“I do not.”

“You’ve barely blinked.”

“I blink.”

“Not since I entered.”

He frowned.

“Have I not?”

She smiled, a tiny smile meant only for him.

“No.”

For the first time that morning, his shoulders loosened.

Only slightly.

-•-•—•-•-

The feast was louder than either of them wanted, Music echoed through the hall while servants hurried between tables. Aerion endured endless toasts with practiced patience, his father made sure he was under control and managed like a babe, not to break anything or kill anyone. ‘Your bride wouldn’t like that.’ His father had warned, warned if he messed this up he’d be on the first ship at dawn.

Until..

A strangled yelp erupted from halfway down the high table, Lord Harroway shot upright so violently his goblet flew onto the tablecloth. He clutched the back of his breeches, face twisted between pain and confusion. “What in the..”

One of the servants lifted the embroidered cushion, embedded neatly through the centre of the chair was a single long, rusted nail. The surrounding lords recoiled. Aerion had caught Maekar’ eyes who looked absolutely furious. ‘It wasn’t me.’ He mouthed.

Harroway turned scarlet. “I’ve been injured!” The servants began apologising profusely as they replaced the chair. Across the table, Aerion slowly turned his head toward his new wife, far too slowly.

She was sipping wine, perfectly composed. She noticed him looking “What?” She put her wine down.

His eyes narrowed. “You knew.” She faked a gasp, “it seems chairs have become so… hazardous.” Aerion stared at her for another heartbeat, Then another. A quiet chuckle escaped him. He picked his goblet back up, she picked up hers and they matched a silent toast to one another.

He looked toward the miserable Lord Harroway, who was now demanding a maester inspect him then back to his wife. “I threatened him with wildfire and you chose a rusty nail.”

She shrugged delicately. “I thought it was more memorable.”

He leaned closer. “you’ve got a vicious imagination.” She lowered her voice. “I learned from watching you.” He couldn’t decide whether to be concerned or impressed.

He settled on impressed.

-•-•—•-•-

As the feast wore on, the congratulations never ceased.

Every lord wanted a word.

Every lady wished them happiness.

Aerion answered automatically, but his thoughts had begun to drift each time he looked towards a window, the sun was sinking. The musicians had started playing slower dances. Servants were quietly disappearing to prepare the royal apartments.

Each small change reminded him of what awaited, consummating of the marriage.

He swallowed.

She noticed. “You’ve gone quiet.” She dared brush the back of her against his.

He looked into his goblet, rather than admitting something he hadn’t intended to. He looked almost irritated with himself.

He would have preferred another duel.

At last, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard approached, inclining his head. “Your Grace.”

She and Aerion already knew what he was going to say. “The chambers are prepared.”

Every conversation in the hall suddenly seemed much louder.

He stood.

So did she.

The musicians softened their tune as the newly married couple crossed the hall together. Hundreds of eyes followed them.

Aerion despised being watched.

Only when the great doors of the hall closed behind them did he finally breathe.

The corridor was blissfully empty.

For several moments neither spoke.

“Well.” He glanced sideways while they walked.

“Well?”

“I believe we’re expected to disappear dramatically.” He looked ahead again “I’ve disappeared dramatically before.”

“I suspected as much.”

Despite himself, he smiled.

-•-•—•-•-

The royal apartments had been transformed.

Fresh rushes covered the floor.

The hearth crackled warmly.

Candles burned on every shelf, and someone had scattered rose petals with enough enthusiasm that they had found their way onto chairs, tables and even the windowsill. They had went separate ways, Aerion was left alone while she was taken care of by her ladies in waiting, they stripped her from wedding gown and into a loose silk. Hair taken from its tight braid and placed high by a single pin.

Aerion stared when she walked into their newly shared chambers.

“Excessive.” She laughed quietly.

“I think they were trying to be romantic.”

“They’ve declared war on flowers.”

He walked across the room, picking a petal from his shoulder with visible annoyance.

“Someone spent hours doing this.”

“They did.”

“They’ll be disappointed.”

“Why?”

He opened the bedchamber door.

A second wave of petals greeted him.

He sighed.

“They’ll have to clean it all up tomorrow.”

She covered her mouth to hide another laugh and for the first time all day they were alone but the silence settled awkwardly.

Aerion had rehearsed this moment for days, un his imagination he had delivered some dignified speech worthy of a prince.

Instead he looked around the room as though hoping someone else might arrive to rescue him.

She noticed.

“You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“You’ve rearranged that goblet three times.”

He looked down.

He had, he exhaled through his nose.

“I’ve spent a fortnight preparing myself.”

“For this?” She looked unsure of what he was meaning.

“For saying the correct thing.” He answered with complete sincerity. She smiled so brightly it caught him entirely off guard. “I thought princes were taught everything.”

“They teach us history. He began removing the heavy ceremonial cloak from his shoulders. “They teach us war.”The clasp finally came loose. “They teach us governance.” He folded the cloak carefully over a chair.

He met her eyes, he took a slow step towards her. Another silence followed but this one was easier.

She reached out first, gently straightening the dragon-shaped clasp at his collar that had become crooked sometime during the feast.

“There.” Her fingers withdrew.

“You’ve been wearing it crooked since noon.” He looked mildly horrified. “No one mentioned it, I’ve looked ridiculous all day.”

“You’ve looked very princely.”

“I’ve looked asymmetrical.”

She laughed again.

The sound filled the room.

Aerion realised something then.

Every time she laughed, the knot in his chest loosened a little more.

“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head.

“For what?”

“I spent months convincing myself you would be… decorative.”

One eyebrow rose.

“Decorative?”

“I assumed you would smile politely, endure court, and say very little. I was wrong.” He nodded, he looked at her with the same thoughtful expression he’d worn the night she’d come to thank him. “When I first met you,” he said at last, “I thought marrying you would simply be another duty.”

For a prince who had never been generous with compliments, it sounded almost like a confession. She reached for his hand, this time he didn’t hesitate.

His fingers closed around hers naturally, as though they’d done it for years. Outside, the last echoes of the wedding feast drifted faintly through the castle.

Inside, the room was peaceful.

She searched his face. “May I kiss my husband?”

Aerion blinked, for all the speeches he’d rehearsed, for all the battles he’d fought nothing had prepared him for someone asking him so simply.

He answered just as simply. “Yes.”

She closed the remaining distance.

One hand rested lightly against his chest.

The other found his.

When their lips met, it was gentle.

Tentative.

Not the desperate embrace of strangers driven by obligation, nor the fiery passion the court would no doubt imagine behind closed doors Pale silk that clings to every line of her, her hair loose and falling that the heat between them is its own pressure, her fingers finding the hem of his tunic.

She pulls away, head forehead resting against his jawline. 'You sent me away once,' she says, voice low. 'Don't do it again.' She reminds him of the night she came to him, willing and eager for him to claim her before the wedding, the way he touched her.

Her hand is already on the top of her shoulders, pushing the silk of her gown down her arms and pooling at her feet, while Aerion's restraint is a thread about to snap, he has one more choice to make before the night takes them.

Her gown is a puddle of pale silk on the floor, and she stands before him in nothing but the firelight, her small hands flat against his chest. His jaw is tight, his violet eyes dark as he looks at her, at the girl he defended, then refused, then married. His thumb finds her wrist instead of his mouth, fighting the urge to bite at the skin of his finger. A nervous habit he never grew from, tracing the pulse there. 'You're sure,' he says, and it's not a question, but she answers anyway, 'I've never been more sure of anything.' He lifts her, her legs wrapping easily around his waist, and carries her to the bed but he stops at the edge, holding her, letting her feel how much this costs him to wait one more breath.

Aerion's kiss lands hard and claiming, her fingers find the throat of his tunic as he calls her wife against her lips. His knees bang the bottom of the bed, he pushes forward again allowing her to feel the strain against his covered member, a gasp slips her lips and he inhales it in like smoke that threatens to disappear.

Aerion's mouth is still on hers, hard and certain, one arm banded around her waist her until her toes barely brush the floor. Her hands working the first lace free of his tunic, of course he would be wearing chainmail under his clothing, he was prepared for anything to happen, her hands slipped beneath the metal and she feels the heat of his skin beneath her touch, he shivers into her mouth, he sets her down on the edge of the bed, standing over her, waiting for her to finish what she started.

Her fingers work the final lace free as Aerion stands over her, his tunic falling open, his eyes silently begging her to touch his skin. He lifts the metal, standing in front of her feeling just as vulnerable as she did.

She sits on the edge of the bed, Aerion standing between her knees, Her knuckles brush the warm skin of his stomach as she pulls the final cord loose to his trousers, eyes never leaving his the fabric falls apart. He does not move, does not speak, only watches her with those storm-dark eyes, his breath uneven, his scarred hands gripping the bed frame on either side of her. She lifts her hands to his chest, palms flat against his skin, and feels the muscle jump beneath her touch. She’s on her knees in front of her prince, hands slowly drifting up his body to his shoulders, she’s kissing him again, he’s kissing her in.

She holds him tightly, pulling him down with her. He holds himself up but allows his body to wave against hers at she continued to grip him as if he was the last dragon and she was his last rider, he rolled his hips and pressed them hard to hers.

Then -

A knock interrupted them.

Three quick raps.

Aerion’s expression immediately soured, he dared pull himself away. “Go away.” He growled, continuing his assault on her mouth.

A hesitant voice answered from outside.

“Your Grace… the kitchens sent wine and sweet cakes.” He pulled away, looking towards the door in disbelief. “I don’t want them.”

A pause. “Your wife might.”

Aerion looked towards her, lips plump and cheeks flushed, she shrugged innocently. “I do like sweet cakes.”

He kissed her cheek, feeling like pulling himself from between her legs was similar to trying to pull a sword from a stone.

He opened the door only wide enough to glare at the unfortunate servant, he didn’t hide that he was half naked and his trousers laid open.

The boy couldn’t have been older than fifteen, he was balancing a silver tray that shook slightly beneath Aerion’s stare. Looking anywhere apart from the prince, or the princess who had now covered herself with the furs on the beds.

“Leave it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The servant boy ran in quickly, leaving the tray on the table and left quickly keeping his eyes trained to the floors.

“And tell whoever sent this that if anyone knocks again tonight…”

The servant visibly paled.

“I’ll assume the castle is on fire.”

Aerion Targeryan x f!reader.

Warnings: a few, more angst. Aerion wants to touch.

-•-•—•-•-

Dragon don’t care for brides.

He had never cared for marriage.

It was a duty, nothing more. A prince married because kingdoms demanded it, because bloodlines had to continue, because dragons needed heirs. His future wife was simply another obligation.

An exceptionally beautiful obligation.

There were nights when his thoughts wandered somewhere they had no right to. He would imagine her appearing at the door of his chambers, dismissing the guards with effortless confidence before stepping inside as though she had always belonged there. He would picture her smile, her voice, the warmth in her eyes as she whispered his name, pulling him closer than anyone had ever dared. The feeling of her hands on his skin, how his name would fall from her lips as if it was a silent prayer.

He’d imagine, he’d imagine to the point where he’s mentally begging for a release. His hand sliding down his chest, his hand gripping himself. He’d think of her, only her.

Then he’d curse himself, only to remove his hand and fight against his animalistic urges to ravage his own body, perhaps ask a servant to send for her, perhaps she’d be willing to serve him, serve his house and provide for his own needs, he’d return them of course. It would be a lie if he didn’t imagine how she’d slow, what noise would escape her chest during a moment of ruining her body.

A dragon does not think about brides.

So he learned to ignore her, ignore himself.

Or rather, he convinced himself he did.

-•-•—•-•-

The feast was loud with wine and arrogance.

She sat only a few places away, speaking politely with an elderly lady, smiling softly whenever someone addressed her. She seemed entirely unaware of how many eyes followed her.

Lord Harroway noticed too.

Unfortunately.

“Pretty enough,” he laughed, draining his cup. “Though I’d wager she’s as common as a dockside whore beneath all that silk.”

The hall fell quieter than he intended.

She looked away, lips pressing into a thin line. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger and disgust, she was going to be too pure for this house.

Aerion heard the scrape of his own chair before he realised he’d stood.

He crossed the hall with slow, measured steps, eyes locked as a predator locks on to prey.

No one dared interrupt him, the guards stood on alert.

He stopped before Lord Harroway, his expression almost pleasant.

“My lord.”

Harroway forced a smile. “Your Grace.” He’d bow, showing the prince the respect he should have shown his future princess.

Aerion tilted his head, he didn’t bother with a whisper. He was unashamed of who heard what he had to say, “Tell me… do you know what wildfire does to a person?”

The old lord blinked. “No?”

“It clings.” Aerion spoke as though discussing the weather, as if the conversation was just second nature to him. “It melts skin from muscle. Muscle from bone. They say the screaming lasts quite some time.” His eyes twinkled as they did when a maester first showed him a drawn picture from the history of warfare from the past.

The colour drained from Harroway’s face. “My prince, I..”

Aerion smiled and held a hand to silence him and continued, “You have a sister, don’t you?”

The room became deathly still.

“I…” Harroway swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard she’s quite beautiful.”

His voice remained perfectly calm.

“It would be a shame if someone decided she should learn the answer to my question firsthand for her brothers disrespect.”

Harroway stared at him in horror.

“You, you wouldn’t—”

“I would.” Aerion didn’t blink. “And I’d sleep remarkably well afterwards.”

The silence stretched unbearably.

“So here’s what will happen.” He glanced briefly towards his betrothed before returning his gaze to the lord. Placing a hand on his shoulder and holding a hand out. “You are going to apologise to the lady, You are then going to spend the rest of this feast pretending she is the highest-born woman in Westeros.”

Aerion turned the Lord back to face him, whispering in his ear this time. “And if I hear so much as a whisper against her name again…” His smile widened just enough to become terrifying. “I’ll send your sister a cask with my compliments personally.”

Lord Harroway’s legs nearly gave way beneath him. “My lady…” he stammered, bowing so deeply his forehead almost touched the floor. “I beg your forgiveness. I spoke shamefully.”

She looked from the shaking lord to Aerion, stunned. Aerion gave no sign that he’d noticed.

He simply turned and walked back to his seat.

Only after lowering himself into his chair did the absurdity of his own actions settle over him.

Why did I do that?

She was not his wife.

Not yet.

She was merely a promise inked onto parchment.

And yet the thought of someone reducing her to tears had filled him with something hot and instinctive, something old enough to belong to dragons rather than men.

He took a long drink of wine.

This is precisely why dragons should never pay attention to brides.

-•-•—•-•-

The corridors of dragonstone were almost silent by the time the knock came.

Aerion looked up from the book he wasn’t reading.

Three measured knocks.

Not a servant.

Not a guard.

He frowned.

“Enter.”

The heavy oak door creaked open.

She stepped inside wrapped in a dark green cloak, her hair unbound and falling over one shoulder, candlelight catching strands of gold. She hesitated only long enough to close the door behind her before turning back to him.

He stared. “You should not be here.”

“I know.”

“If someone sees you!.” Aerion placed his book down, taking a stand.

“They won’t.”

“You sound remarkably confident.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

“I bribed your guards.”

Aerion blinked.

“You… bribed my guards?”

“They seemed underpaid.”

Against his better judgement, one corner of his mouth twitched.

“I’ll have them flogged.”

“No, you won’t.”

He sighed.

Silence settled between them.

She clasped her hands together, suddenly looking less certain than she had in the hallway.

“I came to thank you.”

“There was no need.”

“There was every need.”

She met his eyes.

“No one has ever stood for me the way you did tonight.”

Aerion looked away first. “He insulted the future Princess of Dragonstone, he insulted me.”

She stepped closer. “I know you don’t particularly like me.”

“I never said that.”

“You’ve never needed to.”

Her voice held no bitterness. Only honesty.

“You avoid me.”

“I avoid everyone.”

“I’ve noticed.”

That earned another reluctant flicker of amusement.

She stopped only a few feet from him.

“I wanted to repay your kindness.”

Aerion raised an eyebrow. “Repay it?”

She drew a slow breath, cheeks colouring despite the confidence she’d carried all evening.

“I know men.”

“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow, he was no man.

“They aren’t difficult to understand.”

He folded his arms. “Oh?”

“You defended my honour.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve admired me.”

“Perhaps.”

“And we’re to be married.”

He said nothing.

Her gaze dropped for the briefest moment before she looked back up at him with quiet determination.

“If you wished…” she said softly, “…you needn’t wait until the wedding night.”

The room became impossibly still.

Aerion simply looked at her.

She had expected arrogance.

Perhaps even triumph.

Instead, he looked almost… offended.

He slowly from his table.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it. “No.”

She blinked. “No?”

He shook his head, he grabbed her firmly by the upper arm and spun her. His left arm came across her upper chest, above her breasts where he had her right wrist pinned tightly, his right hand grabbed her left wrist bringing it down tightly. He pushed both their hands to the slot between her thighs, grinding into the back of her letting her feel exactly what he was feeling, a small gasp left her throat and a loud groan left his as he had where he wanted her, he could throw her on the bed and take her, she is willing and offering. He’s compliant.

He smells her hair, she’s soft and pure. She smells like earth and war. It makes him lustful, all urges not to fuck her into oblivion, so hard he nearly loses control but remembers his promise to himself, not tonight, not before she understands the cost but he would be so fast she would not remember a thing other than how it felt to have his tongue deep inside her. but he tightens his grip, trembling as he resists the urge, refusing to let lust dictate what will happen between them tonight.

“I won’t have your gratitude mistaken for consent.” He growled into her ear, fighting within himself not to bite her lobe and make her his own.

“It isn’t.” She moaned softly, trying to push their hands deeper for some form of friction and pressure that was desired but he presses her wrists flat to her thigh so firmly she goes breathless, unwavering as he forces her to be still until the heat between them turns to stubborn silence.

“I know.” He lets her go with a small push, turning himself to fix the growing problem. “And that’s precisely why the answer is still no.”

She searched his face, confused.

“I thought…”

“I’ve thought about you.” The admission escaped before he could stop it. “There are nights I curse myself because I can’t stop imagining what it will be like when you’re my wife.” His jaw tightened. “But you are not my wife tonight.”

She listened in silence.

“You possess something that can only be given away once.” His violet eyes held hers without wavering. “I refuse to be the man who takes it because you felt indebted to him.”

“I wouldn’t resent you.” She took a step forward and he took two steps back.

“I would resent myself.”

The words hung between them.

“For all my faults,” he continued, “and there are many… I would rather spend years wondering than a lifetime knowing I accepted something that belonged to another day.”

She felt an unexpected warmth bloom in her chest.

Not because he had refused her.

Because of the reason.

He reached out then, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently taking her hand. His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles.

“When you next come to my chambers,” he murmured, “it will be because you are my wife and I promise, it’ll be a night ought not forgotten. A ghost of a smile appeared. “Not because you believe you owe me.”

She smiled back, smaller but infinitely more genuine.

“You are a strange prince.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I thought you considered yourself a dragon.”

“I do.”

She laughed softly.

“I’ve never heard of a dragon with principles.”

His answering smile was so brief she almost thought she’d imagined it.

“They’re exceedingly rare.”

Neither of them let go of the other’s hand for several long moments.

When she finally turned to leave, she paused at the door.

“Goodnight, Aerion.”

He looked at her over the flickering candlelight.

For the first time since they had met, hearing his name on her lips did not feel like an obligation.

It felt… right.

“Goodnight.”

After the door closed, he remained standing in the silence.

His chambers still carried the faint scent of her perfume.

He closed his eyes.

Gods help me.

Keep it on.

Aerion Targaryen x f!Reader.

-•-•—•-•-

The door opened without warning.

Aerion had expected the familiar sight of candlelight, perhaps his wife curled into the window seat with a book, or already asleep beneath the furs.

Instead he witnessed the sight of his longsword narrowly missed taking a tapestry off the wall. “Gods.” Muttered as he stopped in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he watched his wife stumble through what could generously be called swordplay.

She wore nothing except his chainmail and a pair of his boots, his cloak clumsily tied around her neck. The chainmail hung from her shoulders like an oversized dress, the steel rings clinking with every exaggerated swing. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands, and his sword looked absurdly large in her grip. One boot was slowly sliding off, the cloak had a small tear, possibly from being caught on the blade of his sword.

“Hah!” she declared to an imaginary opponent. “Face me, coward!”

She swung again, the blade’s weight pulled her in a complete circle before she caught herself against one of the bedposts. He could see dents in different pieces of wood throughout the room, clearly she had been at this for a while.

Aerion remained perfectly still.

She hadn’t noticed him.

“I am Prince Aerion Targaryen,” she announced in a voice several octaves deeper than her own. “I have never lost a fight.” Another clumsy swing. “I am devastatingly handsome.”

Aerion raised a brow. “True” he muttered under his breath.

She continued regardless. “My hair is magnificent. My enemies fear me. My wife thinks I am terribly impressive, I’m scared of geese.”

His mouth twitched, the last part wasn’t true. He simply hated them since their first walk near the ponds, the savage beast flocked out of nowhere and began an attack.

She attempted another flourish.

The sword slipped, with a startled squeak, she dropped it entirely and tt landed point-first in the rushes with a heavy thunk. Aerion winched, he’d need to take it to be repaired first thing.

Silence.

Only then did she glance toward the doorway.

Their eyes met.

“Hello.”

Aerion looked from the sword, to the oversized chainmail, back to her guilty expression. “I’ll get it fixed.” She promised, hand on her heart. She thought he be angry. “You mock me.” He walked into their chamber and closed the door.

“I admire you.” She admitted, was the truth.

“You impersonated me.”

“I was practicing.”

Aerion made an ‘Hm’ noise within his throat, reaching down for his sword from the floor. He groaned the tip dulled. “You announced your own admiration for me.” He placed the sword on the table, out of reach of careless hands making a mental note to keep all weapons away in future.

“I was staying in character.” She was out of breath, arms hung. She had clearly giving herself quite the afternoon of exercise. He stared for another long moment before crossing in front of her as she braced herself for one of his sharp remarks, possibly a scolding for treating his possessions as nothing more than imaginative playthings.

Instead, he bent to retrieve the boot hanging from her foot with practiced ease and rested it against the foot of the bed.

“It’s too heavy for you.” He muttered, he knew her arms had to be in some form of pain.

“I noticed.”

“You nearly killed my tapestry.” He gestured with his head without looking. Fingers finding the string to the cloak, allowing it to fall. His wife, her legs bare in his chainmail and colours, he’d never admit the way it made him feel, the excitement was practically and silently jumping at her.

“It started the fight.”

A snort escaped him before he could stop it and she blinked, returning a smile. Panic averted, she wasn’t in trouble. She folded her arms, chainmail rattling loudly. Aerion smiled,

“You look pleased.” She pointed out.

“I look disappointed.” He returned.

“Because I was winning?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You were fighting furniture.” He held a hand at the destruction of their items.

“I defeated the chair.”

“The chair surrendered out of pity.”

She gasped in exaggerated offense.

“I shall challenge you instead.”

“You have already lost.”

Aerion stepped closer, had hand found her lower back with ease. She leaned back knowing he wouldn’t let her fall. Hands on his shoulders, swaying gently.

“I haven’t even started.”

“You are wearing my armor.”

“It fits.”

“It absolutely does not.”

“It fits… spiritually.”

That earned another reluctant smile.

Aerion, reaching up to straighten the collar where it sat crooked against her neck. He leaned down and placed a small kiss to her collarbone before it disappeared beneath the metal.

The gesture was automatic, surprisingly gentle. “You’ll bruise yourself wearing this,” he murmured. “If you want to play dress up, we shall take you for a proper fitting.” His hands moved around her as a pace, he growled silently but she heard it. “But, It smells like you.” She whispered into his chest.

His hands paused. “It makes me feel…” She searched for the words. “safe.”

The teasing vanished from his expression, his grip tightened at the possibility of her ever feeling anything other than safety within their own home.

For all his pride, all his arrogance, all the masks he wore before the court, there was something profoundly disarming about seeing the woman he loved wrapped in his armor, not because she wished to play at being a warrior, but because she found comfort in something that belonged to him.

His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek. “If anyone wishes to harm you,” he said quietly, “they’ll have to come through me first.”

She smiled. “I know.”

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before taking her fully by her hands. “Come, show me the moves you have learned.” he said, already guiding her towards the bed. “Before you decide to joust the wardrobe.”

She laughed. “I think I could take it.”

“I have no doubt,” Aerion replied dryly. “The wardrobe, however, is a seasoned veteran.”

Aerion Targaryen x f!Reader

-•-•—•-•-

The lists had been called, he was ready.

Knights tightened straps, squires checked buckles, horses stamped impatiently in the summer heat. The air smelled of leather, dust, and polished steel.

Aerion Targaryen stood beside his mount while his squire adjusted the last fastening on his vambrace. He looked every inch the warrior, plate gleaming, silver hair neatly kept, expression carved from arrogance.

His wife approached without ceremony.

“You’ll win,” she said, a nod of acknowledgment to his squire who stool with his helmet and eyes to the ground. He took 2 steps back, allowing a private conversation.

“I know.” He’s confident, known for playing dirty tactics during tournaments.

She smiled. “That wasn’t the interesting part.” One gloved finger traced the engraved dragon across his breastplate. Slow. Deliberate. Entirely inappropriate when half the nobility was watching the competitors prepare.

Aerion’s jaw flexed. “My lady.” His eyes fixated on the bridge of your nose where a small amount of freckles crossed the skin down to your lips as you held a curious expression. “You look rather handsome in armour.” She admitted while her hand slid to the fastening beneath his gorget, pretending to straighten it. Instead she leaned in just enough for only him to hear.

“I was wondering…” she murmured, “…whether you’ll leave this on later.”

Aerion stopped breathing for a heartbeat, he simply stared.

She looked so innocent.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

“My wife.”

“Mhm?”

“There are squires.” He looked around, he never cared who saw to much but he needed the excuse to make her stop what she was starting.

“I can see them.” She muttered, continuing moving her hand to his thigh. His hands tightened the reins to his horse causing it to startle.

“There are lords.”

“I can see them too.”

“There are septons.”

“I haven’t flirted with them.”

His eyes closed for the briefest second.

Gods.

“You are trying to kill me.”

She tilted her head.

“I thought the other knights were supposed to do that.” She reached up again, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder before letting her fingertips linger against the side of his neck where the armour left the smallest strip of skin exposed, he shuddered like a touched starved simpleton.

It was barely a touch.

It might as well have been wildfire.

His throat bobbed.

“Enough.” He gripped her hand, guiding it from his body, fearing another touch.

“Enough?” She frowned with a scoff.

“You know precisely what you’re doing.” His teeth gritted, flustered. Three things got his blood pumping in life, dragons, tournaments and his wife. She was the most dangerous.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Liar.”

A tiny smile betrayed her.

Aerion caught her wrist before she could retreat fully, the claw of the gauntlet brushing the back of her hand, His grip was firm, not painful, merely possessive. “You think this is amusing.”

“You certainly aren’t breathing correctly.” She noticed, He leaned close enough that only she could hear.

“If I lose this tourney because my thoughts are occupied by my wife instead of my opponent, I shall hold you personally responsible.” His voice was low. “I shall simply spend the entire first pass imagining dragging you back to our chambers instead of aiming my lance.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing.

“You sound distracted already.” Eyes dropping down to the obvious distraction pointing up at them both.

“I am.” He said it so flatly it almost sounded like an accusation.

“Good.”

Then, before he could stop her, she rose onto her toes and pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Not his cheek.

Not his forehead.

The corner of his mouth.

Just enough to leave him stunned.

“Bring the armour when you are done here.” She turned and nodded to his squire so he could continue armouring his prince, their interaction was just enough to make several nearby squires suddenly become very interested in polishing saddles.

She stepped back as though nothing had happened. “Good luck, husband.”

Aerion watched her walk away.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

His squire cleared his throat.

“My prince…”

Silence.

“the herald is calling your name.”

Aerion was still staring after his wife.

“My prince?”

Finally he exhaled through his nose.

“She has done that on purpose.” Hand reaching down to adjust himself with a clear of his throat.

“Your wife, my prince?”

“She intends to ruin me.”

“I thought she wished you victory.” The squire was genuinely confused, though just two steps back he did hear everything but had to play dumb otherwise risk being accused of spying.

“So did I.” He jerked himself forward into the saddle with practiced ease, but there was an unusual stiffness to every movement.

As he lowered his visor, his squire dared one last glance. “My prince…”

“What?” He had become increasingly annoyed.

“You’re wearing your gauntlet on the wrong hand.”

Aerion looked down.

Pray for gods, received a dragon.

Aerion Targaryen x f!Reader

-•-•—•-•-

The river had always been her sanctuary.

Far enough from the castle that the air no longer smelled of stone and politics, close enough that she could pretend the world beyond the reeds did not exist. Her ladies waited a respectable distance away, their laughter drifting through the trees while she waded into the cool water, letting it wash away another day spent enduring court.

Aerion Targaryen would never come here. Her tormentor, she’d be lying if you didn’t think he was the scariest man in the seven kingdoms. He is unpredictable, one time as children he had actually hidden dead mice around her chambers. One summer he had convinced her the ghost of a woman named Myela haunted her castle.

He preferred training yards and tourneys, places where men bled loudly enough for everyone to admire them. She preferred places where his shadow could not reach, where he’d find no women or wine, no one whose day needed to be ruined.

He had always been the villain in her story, Cruel. Arrogant. Quick to anger. ‘Father, please don’t let them stay.’ She’d beg only to be hushed, how dare she deny House Targaryen. She would only deny him.

The sort of man mothers warned their daughters about, She had spent years crossing corridors to avoid him. Hiding behind trees, pretending to be sick to lock herself in her chambers all to avoid him.

Today, the gods seemed amused.

A twig snapped.

She turned sharply, water dripping from her shoulders.

A stranger stood on the riverbank.

He wore no sigil she recognised. His smile was wrong. It reached his mouth but never his eyes. He’s pale, the sun has placed harsh dark spots on his face, his teeth rotten and hair wild, a beard that had been matted with shit and mud. He spat, it dripped down his beard after a slight breeze had caught it, he never bothered to wipe it.

“Well,” he mused, taking another step. “A princess all alone.”

Her stomach dropped.

“My ladies are nearby.”

“I know.”

He drew a sword, not large but large enough to be intimidating towards a half naked woman alone and helpless.

“Make a noise, you’ll be dead before they can help you.” He warned, one yell and they’d get involved, they’d give themselves to keep you safe, safe enough to find someone for help.

Her pulse thundered.

“I only want your jewels. Your gold. Rings. Necklace. Give them over, and perhaps I’ll leave with only your riches.” He licked his lips, dry and cracking. The threat of him taking worse than her life caused a cold shiver to trample her body.

She glanced toward the trees.

Too far.

Too late.

She was waist deep in water with nothing but a thin shift clinging to her skin, she was exposed. All she had was her prayers, jewels and little clothing. Her mind lost in fear, she quickly took it back.. Aerion wasn’t possibly the worst or scariest man out here when the real threat lay with men outwith the castle walls, the ones who had never sworn an oath for your family.

He walked into the shallows.

“Come now…” sword in hand, he’s growing impatient.

She backed away until cold water reached her ribs.

“There is nowhere else to go.” She thought about swimming, just a stretch down the river was nothing but undertows and rocks. She’d drown, she valued her life, jewels could be replaced her life and possibly her maidenhood could not.

Her hands trembled as she unclasped the necklace around her throat.

Then he laughed.

“No.”

His eyes darkened.

“I think I’ll take everything.” The tip of his blade reached for the thin piece of cloth over her chest, he wanted more. The meaning struck her like ice. She stopped moving. There would be no outrunning him. No sword. No knight. Only the gods.

She closed her eyes.

Mother Above… grant me mercy.

A splash.

Not from the man before her.

A heavier one.

Followed by steel singing from its scabbard.

The stranger barely had time to turn.

A sword crashed into his sword, sending it spinning into the river.

“What”

Another strike.

Hard.

Violent.

Relentless.

The stranger stumbled backwards beneath the force of it.

She opened her eyes.

Silver hair.

Black leather.

A crimson three headed dragon stitched upon a cloak discarded somewhere behind him.

Aerion, she prayed to the gods and the devil himself answered as if some sick joke.

He stood between her and the attacker.

His sword rested low, almost lazily.

“You’ve made a poor mistake,” Aerion said quietly.

The stranger spat blood.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

Aerion smiled.

Not pleasantly.

The smile she had seen moments before a courtier was publicly humiliated.

The smile whispered about by servants.

The smile that belonged to monsters.

“The last thing you’ll ever see.”

Steel flashed as he pulled another blade from his hip.

The stranger lunged.

Aerion met him without retreating a single step.

The clash echoed through the trees.

The bandit fought like a desperate man.

Aerion fought like a man enjoying himself.

Each strike drove the stranger further backwards.

Each block stronger than the last.

Until finally

The bandit’s sword shattered.

Silence.

Aerion placed his blade beneath the man’s chin.

“You threatened a woman.”

The bandit swallowed.

“You threatened my princess.”

Her breath caught.

“My…” she whispered.

The bandit dropped to his knees.

“Please…”

Aerion tilted his head.

“I don’t recall asking.”

One clean movement.

The sword fell.

So did the man.

The river carried scarlet ribbons downstream.

The forest became quiet again.

Aerion wiped his blade on the dead man’s cloak as though cleaning mud from his boots.

Only then did he turn.

His expression softened, not much but enough that she noticed.

He immediately looked away, removing his own heavy cloak.

Without a word, he held it out behind him instead of looking at her.

“So you needn’t suffer the indignity of walking past your ladies in a soaked shift.”

She stared.

He wasn’t looking.

He hadn’t looked.

Not once.

Slowly she stepped from the water, wrapping herself in the warmth of dragon-stitched wool.

“You…”

Her voice failed.

“You saved me.”

He shrugged as though he’d merely picked up something she’d dropped.

“I happened to be riding past.”

“I thought you despised me.”

“I do.”

The answer came too quickly.

Too rehearsed.

She frowned.

“You nearly died.”

“I’ve nearly died before.”

“You called me my princess.”

Silence.

Aerion finally looked at her.

There was blood across his cheek.

A fresh cut above one eyebrow.

His breathing was uneven.

Yet his eyes searched her from head to toe, not with hunger, but with desperate relief.

Checking.

No wounds.

No blood.

No bruises.

Only when he was satisfied did his shoulders finally relax.

He noticed she’d seen it.

“Habit,” he muttered, having spied on her before while she frolicked in the river.

She had never seen him embarrassed before.

It looked… strange.

Almost boyish.

He cleared his throat.

“You should return to the castle.”

“And you?”

“I’ve a body to dispose of.”

“As though that’s a normal sentence.”

“It is for me.”

Despite herself, despite her ordeal, She laughed.

It escaped before she could stop it.

Aerion blinked, as if the sound had startled him more than the swordfight. He thought for a single moment she was having a breakdown in mentality.

Then, for the briefest heartbeat…

He smiled.

Not the cruel smile court whispered about.

Not the arrogant smirk he wore in tournaments.

Just something tired.

Relieved.

Human.

It vanished almost immediately.

“Go,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Before someone thinks I pushed the poor fool into attacking you.”

She hesitated.

For years, she’d believed she knew exactly what kind of man Aerion Targaryen was.

The villain.

The brute.

The danger.

Yet when she’d whispered her final prayer to the Seven…

It had not been a shining knight who answered.

It had been the monster she’d spent a lifetime avoiding and somehow, standing beneath the trees with blood on his sword and his cloak wrapped around her shoulders…

Aerion Targaryen x Reader

-•-•—•-•-

The warehouse was silent, almost too silent.

Aerion crouched beside a dusty footprint with the intensity of a man moments away from solving the greatest crime world d had ever seen.

He narrowed his violet eyes. “Interesting.”

You stood a few feet behind him, coffee in hand, watching him circle the same boot print for what had to be the seventh time.

He measured it with a ruler.

Photographed it.

Looked dramatically into the distance.

Then back at the print.

“They knew what they were doing,” he murmured. “Professional. See the depth? They were carrying weight.”

You looked at the boot print.

Then at his boots.

Then back at the boot print.

“Aerion.” You tried to warn, but he shushed you.

He held up a finger without looking away.

“No. Don’t interrupt genius.”

“I really think..”

“They doubled back.” He pointed further across the concrete floor. “There. Another one.”

He strode after it with the confidence of a bloodhound.

You sighed and followed.

Ten minutes later…

“They’re trying to confuse us.”

Another ten minutes.

“Clever bastard.”

Twenty minutes.

“I think we’re gaining on them.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

He’d now followed the trail in a complete circle around the warehouse.

Three times.

He stopped suddenly.

“The footprints end here.”

“They don’t.”

“They do.”

“They don’t.”

“They absolutely..”

“Aerion.”

“What?”

“Take one step backwards.”

He frowned but obliged.

You pointed to the fresh footprint now sitting perfectly in the dust.

He stared.

Then slowly looked down at his boot.

Then at the print.

Then back at his boot.

Silence.

You watched the gears turn.

One.

By.

One.

“No.”

You nodded sympathetically.

“You’ve been tracking yourself.”

Another long silence.

He blinked.

“I’ve…”

“Mm-hm.”

“For half an hour?”

“Thirty-seven minutes.”

He looked genuinely offended.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried.”

“You could’ve been more convincing.”

“I said, ‘Aerion, those are your footprints.’”

“I thought you were being metaphorical.”

“How is ‘those are your footprints’ metaphorical?”

“I don’t know. Detectives say profound things.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then, without a shred of shame, he crouched beside the print again.

“Well…”

“Oh, don’t.”

“The suspect has excellent taste in footwear.”

You closed your eyes.

“Aerion.”

“And remarkably attractive feet.”

“Aerion.”

“They’re very symmetrical.”

“AERION.”

He stood, dusting off his trousers as if none of this had happened.

“Fine.”

He walked confidently toward the exit.

Stopped.

Looked down.

“Is this one mine?”

“You’re standing in it.”

He looked at the floor.

Then at you.

“This case is getting increasingly complicated.”

Aerion Targaryen x f!Reader.

-•-•—•-•-

The smell of vinegar, blood, and crushed herbs lingered long after the maesters departed.

The chamber had fallen quiet.

Only the crackle of the fire and the occasional hiss of pain escaped Aerion as he adjusted against the mountain of pillows. His ribs had been tightly bound beneath fresh linen, one eye had already begun to darken beneath swelling, and a dozen angry cuts disappeared beneath the bandages wrapped around his chest, unable to see from his swollen and closed shut left eye, he wondered when his sight would return.

His sword rested in the corner.

His dagger belt beside it.

Another knife lay on the table where a maester had muttered, with considerable irritation, that he’d found yet another hidden on the prince’s person.

Even stripped of steel…

Aerion somehow still looked dangerous.

The door creaked open.

He didn’t turn, he wasn’t able. The first time in his life, he had lost control off his body. He turned his head, only slightly. The gashes on his cheek and jaw stung.

“I told them I wanted wine, not another lecture.” He spat, a cough from his chest made him groan in frustration, hacking up a chunk of metallic tasting phlegm.

“It is unfortunate for you, then…”

Her voice was soft.

“that I have brought neither.”

Only then did he look from his one good current eye, the pang of embarrassment rang through him.. the embarrassment of losing and yielding, he couldn’t even get up and act strong, she didn’t need to see him like this.

She stood in the doorway exactly as she’d been dressed in the viewing stands, though her veil had long since been discarded. She looked composed. Too composed, ridged, stiff. Red lower eyes, cheeks pale and the tip of her nose a light pink hue from rubbing. He recognized the expression immediately.

She had been frightened, she still rightfully is. The maesters had assured he would survive, the most severe injury to his thigh had been stitched, closed and treated, ‘The prince will grow strong again, my lady.’ She had waited a day and a night, sure her pacing had left a drag path on the stone.

“You shouldn’t have watched.” He looked back at the canopy, staring at the dark space. Nowhere to escape, it was a conversation he couldn’t just walk away from, not this time.

“I had little choice.” She stepped further into the room, closing the door behind. She watched his chest risen and slowly fall with a shake, sure a rib had to have been broken.

“You could’ve closed your eyes.”

“I tried.” She pulled a chair to sit, back straight and composed. Probably unable to relax for a while yet to come.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“And?”

“I heard every blow.”

The smile faded, he tries to frown but felt a stitch above his brow tug, he winched at the sudden sharp pain.

She lurched forward slowly, her hand resting on the furs. She inspected his face, wondering what scarring would come from it. Her eyes wandered over the bruises blooming across his jaw.

The split lip.

The stitches disappearing beneath the bandage on his chest and lower waist.

For a fleeting second…

She looked angry.

Not at him.

At what had been done to him.

Aerion noticed.

Gods…

He liked that far more than pity, he liked he could spark a flame inside her, he enjoyed he was able to make her rage within. ‘The people’s princess.’ She had been called, she sat with the poor and fed the children, she listened to the stories told by boiled covered old men without as so much as a flinch, she understood that people born into no houses were no different from her, they had hopes and dreams. Visions and feelings and wants. She would order the cooks to bake as twice bread, others needed to eat too.

“So.”

His voice was hoarse.

“You’ve come to tell me I ought to have yielded sooner?”

She looked at him as though he’d insulted her.

“I came because I wanted to see you alive.”

“I was always likely to survive.”

“You don’t know that, lucky for you.. you had a noble opponent. You know he had the right and the opportunity to have slain you?.” She reached for his hand, it was cold from the loss of blood.

“I do.” He knew, he wouldn’t be forgetting it soon. His face and pain would be a constant reminder to his shame for a long time yet to come.

“You bled onto the field.”

“I’ve bled before.”

“You were forced to yield.”

He looked away, of course she had to remind him. He knew he would be reminded of it, he felt ashamed. The great Brightflame, the blood of the dragon forced to yield by a hedge knight. Her being the first to remind him was the wound that hurt more than all the others combined.

“He was better.” Aerion spoke, the admission came quietly though, ought not to be repeated.

“He was.” She didn’t lie, she didn’t tell him that he cheated to win, that he couldn’t have possibly have beaten him and that Aerion was a better warrior but he wasn’t. “You didn’t fight a knight Aerion, you fought a man from flea-bottom. He earned his victory, he proven himself a noble knight.”

Aerion laughed once through his nose.

“And I fought like a spoiled prince.”

She was silent for a moment. “No.” She shook her head with a smile, squeezing lightly at his fingers with a small tug.

He looked at her.

“You fought like a man too proud to understand that courage and victory are not always the same thing. You called the man a liar, he defended the common after you-“ she stopped, she never liked to defend his actions and never would, she was also furious over his attack in the puppeteers tent.

He held her gaze.

“You watched all of it.”

“I did.”

“You saw me lose.”

“I saw Ser Duncan beat you.” She smiled, it was scary to have watched the man she loved being beaten, thrown around like a plaything but surely time would pass and they’d come to laugh about it.

A beat passed, something in his chest tightened.

Not from broken ribs.

From her refusal to let his defeat define him.

She reached for his arm, fingers trailing slowly and moving in circles on his skin to soothe him.

He expected sympathy, he got none. He had behaved like an animal, like a spoiled prince. He got himself beaten and the woman he loved was terrified.

Instead, she turned it over and frowned.

“How did you manage to have so many weapons on the field?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, continuing to stroke his cool skin.

“I had one in my sleeve afterwards too.” He leaned his head forward as much as he could to make sure his sword had been returned.

“The maesters confiscated it.” He sounded disappointed.

She clicked her tongue in obvious impressment, if anyone would say anything about Aerion it would be that he is a walking armoury. The running joke around the kings guard was he walked like it was heavy, it was just indeed him walking with enough steel hidden on his body to supply a small village.

“They were thorough.”

“They found all fourteen.” He laughed, choking on air.

She looked at him in disbelief. “Fourteen?”

“I thought fifteen.” He frowned, genuinely trying to remember the number. “There may have been another in my boot, I can’t recall at this moment.”

She stared, wondering how he managed to make it anywhere in the morning.

Then, despite herself…

She laughed.

A real laugh.

One that echoed around the chamber.

Aerion smiled.

“There she is.”

She shook her head. “You impossible stupid man.”

“and yet, I know you’ve been praying to the gods for my recovery.” She nodded, Aerion patted his two fingers on the her motioning for her to come lay with him, she complied, slowly and carefully sliding into the bed, he groaned after she accidentally bumped her knee into his left thigh than had been badly torn.

“I was worried.”

“I know.” Aerion rested his right arm out, enough for her to curl just under, a hand on his chest that she could feel rattling with each breath.

“I hated every moment of watching that trial.”

“I know.”

He studied her for a long moment before speaking, he was sure she could cry again. She wasn’t built for battle, or even witnessing it but he knew she was strong enough to witness his victory or defend afterwards, he was arrogant enough to think he would have won but he was a smaller man than Ser Duncan, he didn’t need steel or a strong suit to save him, he could simply overpower the prince by the sheer strength and determination to stand for the smaller folk.

“When Duncan forced me to my knees…” His voice dropped. “I looked for you and I saw you.”

Every time Duncan knocked him down, he had to get up.

Not because of his pride.

Not because of the realm.

Because every time he’s on one knee, he can see the royal stand. He could see her watching. The look on her face, the devastation.

He doesn’t want the last image she has of him to be lying in the mud.

So he got up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until his body simply won’t answer him anymore.

She blinked.

“You were the only thing I could think about.”

She swallowed.

“I wasn’t praying for you to win.”

“No?” He was confused.

“When he dragged you in the mud, when he forced you to your knees, I was sure this was it. He was going to behead you, was praying you’d stand back up.”

His grin returned, smaller this time, softer around the edges.

“That…” He laced his fingers through hers. “is why I did.”

Because to Aerion, there was one humiliation worse than defeat.

It wasn’t yielding to Ser Duncan.

It was the thought of letting her believe he would stay down.

“We aren’t attending another nameday celebration again, just warning you.”

Aerion Targaryen x f!Reader.

-•-•—•-•-

The hall had been filled with music, wine, and the careful laughter of people who spent their lives pretending they were not watching one another.

Aerion Targaryen, however, had never possessed much talent for pretending.

He stood against the stone pillar beside the balcony, a smirk already resting upon his lips as you approached. He had watched you throughout the evening with the confidence of a man who believed the world was already captivated by him.

And, most vexingly, he was often correct.

“My lady,” he greeted, lowering his head just enough to satisfy the expectations of courtesy.

You narrowed your eyes. “Prince Aerion.” You offered a small curtsy, though your expression remained anything but welcoming.

He noticed, as he always did, the smallest details including the faint freckle upon your neck, barely concealed beneath the necklace you wore.

“Careful,” he said, casting a dramatic glance around the hall. “You spoke my name as though you were disappointed to find me still drawing breath.”

“I was unaware I was expected to celebrate your survival.”

It was the truth. You had expected him to fall when he faced one of the finest knights your house had offered during the tourney.

A laugh escaped him, not the restrained chuckle expected of a prince at court, but a genuine laugh. His tongue briefly caught between his teeth as he smiled.

“You are cruel, my lady.” He gestured toward you with an accusing finger.

“I am truthful.”

He began to circle you slowly, forcing you to turn your head in order to keep sight of him.

Any wise man in the room would have warned you to keep your eyes upon Aerion Targaryen. He was dangerous. Unpredictable.

He was the sort of man who had once broken a lady’s finger for daring to mock him during a children’s puppet performance.

“Even better,” he said, stepping closer until he stood before you.

You should have departed then. Any sensible lady would have.

Aerion was infamous for his arrogance, his sharp tongue, and his complete lack of shame when attempting to charm those who had no desire to be charmed.

Yet he only stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“You know, my lady, they say it is a perilous thing to draw too near a dragon.”

His breath carried the warmth of flame, the scent of wine lingering upon him from the evening’s feast.

Your expression remained unmoved.

“Is that meant to impress me?”

It did not. You had approached only to offer the courtesy expected between noble houses before finding another conversation.

“No,” he replied, smiling. “It is meant as a warning.”

You looked him over carefully.

He was far too short to intimidate you. Perhaps if he stood a foot taller, he might have had a chance.

“You mistake arrogance for confidence, and you mistake a woman refusing to encourage you for one attempting to hide her interest.” Your gaze hardened.

“You truly believe every lady in the Seven Kingdoms longs for your attention?”

“No.”

The answer surprised you.

Aerion tilted his head.

“I believe most of them do.”

Annoyingly, he was likely correct. Yet you had no desire to argue with a prince who was clearly several cups of wine beyond reason.

Instead, you simply stared at him in disbelief.

The silence between you stretched.

Then, with the audacity that only Aerion Targaryen possessed, he leaned closer and murmured:

“Save a dragon, ride a Targaryen.”

You felt the brush of his lips near your ear, the sudden closeness making your breath catch despite yourself. A shiver travelled down your spine, the hairs upon your neck rising.

You could have struck him, if not for the offence it would cause, and the very real possibility of losing your hand for laying it upon a prince.

For one brief moment, you were utterly speechless.

Then your expression twisted with disgust.

“Did you truly just say that?”

“I did.”

“In a crowded hall?”

You glanced around, your cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“I believed confidence was admired.”

He lifted his hands in defence, his goblet tilting slightly as wine spilled onto the stone floor.

“That was not confidence,” you replied. “That was a humiliation you somehow managed to deliver upon yourself.”

You turned away, looking over your shoulder with finality.

“Find another lady to trouble, Prince Aerion.”

Your words carried enough venom to silence even a lesser man.

Aerion merely raised his goblet.

“Oh, I shall.”

He drank the remainder of his wine.

And you pitied the next woman forced to endure his company for the rest of the evening.

Later that night, Aerion was halfway through removing his armour when a knock sounded upon his chamber door.

He froze.

Nobody came to him at such an hour unless they desired something.

A message.

A favour.

A secret.

Or a scandal.

He opened the door with equal parts annoyance and curiosity.

And there you stood.

A heavy cloak concealed your figure, the hood drawn over your face as you looked down, ensuring your identity remained hidden while crossing into the wing of the castle belonging to House Targaryen.

It would be quite the whisper throughout the court should anyone discover it.

Aerion Targaryen, receiving a secret visit from the very lady who had looked upon him earlier that evening as though he were a particularly unpleasant creature beneath her shoe.

You lowered the hood and smiled.

Aerion blinked.

Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“Well.”

Your expression immediately soured.

“Do not.”

He raised a brow.

“Do not what, my lady?”

“Do not look so pleased with yourself.”

Aerion stepped aside, allowing you entrance into his chambers.

With ease, you unclasped your travelling cloak and allowed it to fall from your shoulders.

Before it could reach the floor, Aerion caught it swiftly, bending slightly as though retrieving some precious treasure rather than a simple cloak.

He allowed himself a moment to look upon you in the candlelight.

You appeared different away from the watchful eyes of the court. Softer. More striking.

The warmth of the hearth cast a golden glow over the room, the flames flickering against the stone walls.

“I have awaited this moment my entire life,” he admitted and, much to his own surprise, it was not an exaggeration.

He had waited for a moment when he could speak with you without an audience. A moment where you would not be forced to hide behind courtesy and disdain.

Your jaw tightened.

“I came because I wished to speak with you.”

“At midnight?” Aerion lifted a brow.

He moved toward the table beside the hearth and took up a jug of wine, pouring a goblet before offering it to you.

For all his faults, he had been raised with the manners expected of a prince.

A guest was offered wine before the host poured for himself.

“A private conversation,” you admitted, accepting the goblet.

“In my chambers?” he asked, pouring his own. “Alone?”

His tone was teasing, though he already knew the reason you had come.

You glared at him.

Whatever patience you had carried through the castle halls quickly vanished.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

The amused expression upon his face faltered.

The confident smile faded.

His brows drew together, a small line forming upon his forehead.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Far too quickly.

And it surprised both of you.

For once, Aerion was not performing.

For once, he was not the arrogant prince who delighted in provoking others.

He was simply looking at you.

You imagined he studied you with the same intensity he gave everything he desired as though trying to memorise every detail before it could disappear.

“I still believe you are arrogant,” you admitted, taking a step closer.

He matched your movement, closing the distance at the same pace.

It felt like a dance.

“I still believe you are reckless.”

You placed your goblet upon the nearest surface.

Your hand brushed it carelessly, causing it to tip and roll.

It struck the stone floor with a small clang.

Neither of you looked down.

“I am,” he answered, without argument.

The honesty unsettled you more than a denial would have.

His throat moved slightly as he swallowed, his attention never leaving you.

“I still believe that line was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” You whispered.

Aerion grinned. “But you remembered it.”

You hated that he was right.

The prince the realm believed to be nothing but vanity and arrogance looked at you with something far more dangerous than confidence. With Interest.

“You are very different when nobody is watching,” you said quietly.

Aerion’s expression shifted.

“And you are very different when you stop pretending you despise me.”

The room fell silent.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you looked away.

For once, Aerion Targaryen did not need to boast.

He already had your attention.

“Do not make me regret coming here.”

His smile softened.

“My lady, if I intended to make you regret anything…”

He did not finish the sentence.

For once, Aerion Targaryen seemed to abandon the clever remark waiting upon his tongue.

He moved before either of you could reconsider.

One hand found your waist, drawing you closer with the same confidence he carried into every battle, every argument, every room he entered.

And then he kissed you.

Not as a prince seeking permission from a court, nor as a man attempting to charm his way into your favour.

Simply as Aerion.

When he finally pulled away, his breath fanning your face he whispered, hands holding your back with a fumble. “Crossing an entire castle in the middle of the night to find me, won’t be a regret.” With sure hands, he gripped the lace that held your dress together and tore them in one motion.