`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 15: Sleepover.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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Two days later, SonTeri hadn't seen Aerion. She hadn't even heard him in the Targaryen fields — neither the hammer nor the tractor. A couple more days until her parents returned from the military base. After that day in the cafe, she felt strange, like someone was watching her. She heard rustlings in the night, but not like usual from animals — too subtle rustlings. And sometimes, waking up at night and looking out the window at the black view, she saw lights in the distance, in the black forest. 'It was strange. I'm was alone at home. Aerion had been gone for two days. He was probably busy with his father's business.' It was midday now; she was stressed out and hadn't even eaten at all, only drinking black coffee. SonTeri called her parents at the base via walkie‑talkie — every day they talked to each other, morning, afternoon, and before bed. There was no reception in this hole. The Texas heat was killing her, but inside she felt cold, a chill under her skin. She got reception.
“Hello, Dad?” Her father's tired voice came through.
There was a pause, a slight crackling of static. “Hey, sweetheart. You doin' okay over there by yourself?” He sounded weary — the background was quiet and dim, meaning he was probably alone in the base's lounge.
“Yes, I'm fine.” 'Almost.' “How are you? Mom? Is there a lot of work?”
“Been real busy lately,” her father's tired voice sighed. “Been havin' all sorts of military drills… training exercises in the hot weather ain't exactly easy, that's for damn sure. But I'm alright as ever. Just a bit tired, is all. Your mom's okay too. She sends her love.”
“Is she in the treatment room now?”
“Yeah. She's workin' with the medics over at the base. Treatin' anyone who got any injuries during the training.” He said with a tired sigh, shuffling and rustling through the static. “She misses ya like crazy, ya know. Can't stop talkin' about you, both of us can't.”
He continued, his voice growing a little more serious. “Now, kiddo, I don't wanna worry ya, but I've gotta ask… things are gettin' pretty hectic around here recently. We might be stuck on this base for a little longer than planned. There's some… complications, that's all.”
“What?” Girl was taken aback. “Why? You said two weeks… They've passed… You should be back in two days… Daddy…” She said it almost pouting, like in childhood.
“I know, kiddo, I know,” he sighed, his voice heavy with regret. “Trust me, we ain't happy about it neither. But some situations came up that we can't just ignore. We gotta stay here a bit longer 'til everything is in order, then we'll come back, I swear.” He paused, as if struggling with his next words. He spoke again, his voice even quieter now. “I'm so sorry we gotta stay, sweetheart.”
“It's… stupid.”
“I know it is,” he agreed softly, knowing just how frustrated she must feel. “I wish we coulda been home already too… but for now, ya gotta stay put, understand? Don't go wanderin' off anywhere on your own. Lock all them doors and windows real tight. And be safe, you hear? I don't want nothin' happenin' to you while we ain't there.”
SonTeri was silent for a long time, offended. All she could hear was her father's even breathing. He was waiting… he knew what she would answer. This was not the first time. “Okay…” she said pouting, in an offended voice. “I can handle it, Daddy.”
He chuckled tiredly, as if he knew that was the response he was gonna get. “I know you can, kiddo. I know you're tough as hell. But I still worry 'bout ya, ya know? Can't help it, you're my little girl. Just don't do nothin' stupid, promise me, alright? No goin' out at night or anything. That house better be locked up tight as a drum whenever it gets dark out.”
“Yes, yes,” she spoke as if automatically, without delving into the words, unable to pull herself together from the abundance. “I'm with Aerion… he said that he would take care of me.”
He sighed at that. Her father clearly wasn't amused by the fact that Aerion had offered to 'take care' of her. “Aerion, huh?” He grumbled after a moment. “He's a good kid. A good kid… Working young man. Our neighbors don't leave you alone, yes. That's good, communicate with people, don't be alone. He's not crossing the line?”
“What? No, Dad…” she said indignantly. 'Dad, as always, thinks too much'. “He's my friend…”
“I know, I know, I'm just…” Her father paused, sighing again — it was obvious that he had a lot on his mind. “I just… want you to understand that there's a line between friend and… more than just a friend. I trust that Aerion's not getting any ideas, but… y'know… he's a young man. Just be careful.”
“He's a good boy, Dad.” 'I didn't mention that he was the local bully… that he tormented people and caused them problems, but… but he hadn't abandoned her. And my parents would find out sooner or later.' “He's helping me love Texas. That's what you wanted.”
Her father didn't seem totally convinced but accepted her words. He sighed again — she could literally hear the tiredness and stress in his voice. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice a mix of concern and resignation. “Well, alright, darlin'. If you say you're fine with Aerion, then… I'll trust ya. Just remember what I said, alright? About lockin' up at night and not goin' out by yourself… and be careful 'round him. I don't want anything happenin' to my little angel.”
“Yes, of course.” 'I seemed to hear a crack, and raised head, looking out the window above the sink. Or is it in my head? I don't know'. “Dad…?”
“Yeah, kiddo?” Her father's tired voice replied from the walkie‑talkie. The connection seemed a little unstable. “Somethin' wrong?”
She paused. “No, never mind… Say hi to Mom. I'll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright, sweetheart. You take care of yourself, you hear? We'll talk again tomorrow.” He paused, and she could almost hear a hint of a smile in his voice as he continued in a more teasing tone. “And stay safe with that boy. I'm sure he'll be a complete gentleman.”
“Bye. Good luck on the plane,” she spoke quietly.
Her father chuckled tiredly at that, the sound crackling through the walkie‑talkie. “Thanks, kiddo. We'll need it — these damn military birds ain't exactly luxury liners.” He sighed again before adding in a softer tone, “Love ya. Talk to ya tomorrow… and don't forget what I said about lockin' up tight.” The line went silent with a final click of static as he signed off.
She put the walkie‑talkie aside and sat down at the kitchen table. 'This is bad… this is not fair'. A tear streamed down her cheek, and she couldn't stop. She didn't know if it was from resentment or loneliness. 'Or because I was in damn Texas without internet in the middle of fields'. After a while, she wiped away her tears and decided to cook dinner. Very good and delicious. She figured it out. She figured out how to get rid of this strange feeling. She needed a friend. But since Aerion was gone, she still had 'daddy's' option. 'Dunk'.
𖥸
Placing the pot on the stove, she picked up the radio again and called the base. This time, to a young guy. From her childhood.
A familiar voice crackled through the static. “This is Duncan speaking.” There was a sense of seriousness in his voice, like he was on duty and couldn't talk for too long. Nevertheless, there was a hint of warmth and kindness there. The sound of a smile.
“Hey, Dunky… it's me,” she said into the radio. “SonTeri…”
Duncan's voice seemed less serious upon realizing it was her; the formality quickly disappeared from his tone. “SonTeri? Hey, it's really you.” He sounded warm, almost fond — like he was genuinely happy to hear from her. “It's been a while since I heard your voice.”
“Oh yeah, sorry I didn't call… I was… getting used to Texas…”
Duncan let out a small, reassuring chuckle — his tone soft and easygoing. “Nah, don't apologize. I get it. Texas ain't exactly the easiest place to settle in.” He paused for a second before adding, “But… you doing alright over there? Everything's good?” There was something protective in his voice — like he wanted to make sure she was okay but wasn't quite sure how much he could ask without pushing too far.
“Yes… Yes, of course…” She looked at the Targaryen house in the distance, through the kitchen window. “And you? How's work? Dad says sternly.”
Duncan hesitated for a moment, his voice taking on a slightly more weary tone — like he was trying to hide the stress in his job. “Work's… it's good. Same old stuff, you know. Training newbies, running drills, and dealing with command. It can get hectic sometimes, but I can't complain.” He paused to take a deep breath before his tone softened and he added, “But I'm more worried about how you're doing. You sure you're alright on your own?”
“Dunk, you…” SonTeri fiddled with the radio antenna, looking out the window. Girl didn't even know why, as if she was waiting for someone to jump out. “Although no,… you're probably busy, and I'm imposing myself…” She started to back away.
Duncan's voice sharpened slightly — almost alarmed at the thought of her backing off. “No, no. Don't do that. You ain't imposing on me.” He sounded firm now, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Tell you what,” he added quickly, “I got a break comin' up in like twenty minutes. Call me back then — we'll talk proper‑like...” There was an urgency in his words… like he knew something was wrong and wanted to make sure she didn't slip away before he could check on her himself.
“Wait. No, no… don't turn it off now…” Girl said almost automatically.
Duncan froze for a second — like he wasn't expecting her to say that. His voice dropped lower, more serious. “Alright, alright. I ain't going nowhere.” He sounded relieved that she had asked him to stay on the line — like he was worried she might hang up. “We'll talk right now then. What's eating at you?” There was no teasing in his tone anymore… just pure concern and focus on her words.
“Can you come to my place today? For…” She licked her lips nervously. “…a sleepover? Like when we were kids, remember… or… or the military commander won't let you go?”
Duncan's laughter rang through the radio, a warm, rich sound. “Nah, the boss ain't that much of a hardass. I can come over tonight, don't you worry about that. A sleepover sounds real good, actually. I could use a break from the base.” He paused, and even through the radio, she could almost feel his smile. “It'll be just like old times… except we ain't kids no more.”
“Thanks, Dunk.” She smiled, as if relieved.
Duncan chuckled softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “Ain't no thanks needed. I'll be there as soon as my shift ends — shouldn't take too long.” He hesitated for a second before adding in a slightly more serious tone, “…But you sure you're okay? Like… really okay?” There was something protective in the way he asked — that same concern from when they were kids, like he was ready to drop everything if she said the word.
“Yeah… of course… just... lonely.”
Duncan exhaled softly — almost like he was relieved that she had admitted it. “Alright, then. That settles it.” His voice firmed up, decisive now. “I'll be there in a couple hours. We'll have us a proper sleepover — movies, snacks… the works.” He paused before adding in a softer tone, “And hey… ain't no shame in being lonely sometimes. I get that more than you think.” There was something quiet and understanding behind his words — as if he knew exactly what kind of loneliness Texas could bring on its own.
“Thank you, Dunk… I… will wait for you.”
There was a short pause before the response — Duncan's voice dropping all the way to a warm, reassuring whisper. “I'll be there soon. Promise.” He paused for a moment before adding in a slightly more light‑hearted tone, “And don't you worry yourself none, okay? I'm gonna make damn sure you ain't lonely anymore by the time I'm done talkin' to ya. See ya soon.” And with that, the connection went dead, and she was left all alone again in the empty house.
She put the radio down again, stirring the pot. 'The house is huge… really… what are the chances that I'm definitely 'lonely' here?'
The silence of the house pressed in — too vast, too empty. The pot bubbled softly on the stove, filling the kitchen with a comforting scent… but it didn't chase away that gnawing loneliness. Somewhere outside, a crow cawed. A door creaked down the hall — probably just settling wood or wind sneaking through cracks. But for some reason… she swore she heard footsteps in another room?
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
SonTeri was sitting in the kitchen when she heard the sound of a car engine. She looked out the window and saw Duncan's battered car. And suddenly something warm flared up in her chest.
The car pulled up in the driveway, and a familiar figure emerged from the driver's seat — Duncan, tall and sturdy. He had a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder and took a second to stretch those long limbs of his. His hair was disheveled, and he had that easy, charming smile plastered on his face. His eyes scanned the surroundings, as if searching for something. His gaze locked onto her, and his smile widened even more — a warm, genuine "welcome‑back‑to‑old‑times" kind of smile.
He started walking toward the house, the bag bouncing on his shoulder. He looked like he was in good shape, strong and sturdy… but there was something weary about him, too. Like he was carrying something more than just the duffel bag. As he got to the porch, he paused, taking a moment to catch his breath and look around.
He shook his head a little before continuing up onto the porch, reaching the door and giving it a soft knock. “SonTeri, you in there?” Despite his relaxed expression, there was a hint of tension in his voice. He stood there, duffel bag in hand, waiting for her to open the door. He couldn't help but smile a little, feeling suddenly excited about the night ahead.
She opened the door, looking up, seeing Dunk's radiant face, blue round eyes and reddish hair. “Dunk… hi.” She smiled. “Come in, come in…” For some reason she looked behind Dunk's back, to outside.
Dunk entered, slamming his forehead on the doorframe. 'God, Dunk… you're the same as always. Dunk was a little dense, that was true. And sometimes he forgot he was six feet tall. But he was cute', the girl thought. “Oh my god, bend down.”
Dunk grimaced, rubbing the spot on his forehead where he had banged it against the door frame. He looked at her with a wry grin, as if he was used to things like that happening to him. “Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it.” He chuckled softly, a little embarrassed, before obliging her by hunching over slightly. He was still a few inches too tall, his head almost grazing the door frame again. “Better?”
He walked in and immediately took off his shoes, knowing the rules of their house since childhood. “Sorry, I didn't prepare anything for the sleepover… nothing at all. Just food. I couldn't leave the kitchen.” After noon, for some reason, she physically couldn't leave there. Even after preparing all the snacks. As if the small kitchen could hold anything back from her. I'm thinking like crazy.
He tossed his shoes into a corner as he walked into the kitchen, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “What, no pillow‑fight or ghost stories or truth or dare?” He joked, smiling that easy smile of his. He glanced around the kitchen, taking in the sight of the food she had prepared. “Damn, the kitchen looks good. Smells pretty damn good too, I might add.”
She smiled slightly nervously. “We can cook everything together, arrange the pillows in the living room, then we'll eat…” With Duncan, she could walk around the house freely. It was weird, because this was her house. “Throw the bag there.” She went to the second floor, collecting all the pillows and blankets in the house.
Duncan followed her up the stairs, carrying a handful of pillows, leaving his duffel bag in the kitchen. “Sounds like a plan to me. Can't say I'm much good at cooking, but I always did make a damn good pillow fort.” He teased, grinning as he followed her around the house, gathering up as many pillows and blankets as he could find. He let out a low whistle, looking around in appreciation. “Damn, this place is huge…”
“Big house, huh? Haha.” They went down to the living room. Dunk was arranging pillows in front of the TV while she was in the kitchen setting out food and snacks. “How's the base?” She spoke from the kitchen. “Did you find any recruit friends?”
Dunk paused for a second, stacking the pillows into a makeshift fort before turning to face her. “Base is… well, it's the base. Same old drill — wake up early, run drills till your legs give out.” He chuckled lightly as he continued, “Yeahhhh I found some guys alright. Most of them are just trying not to get their asses chewed by command though.” He leaned against the kitchen counter with an easy grin. “But don't worry about me — I ain't exactly new at this kinda life anymore.”
“Training… yeah…” she said under her breath. “Without it you wouldn't be such a muscle boy.”
She took the trays and went into the living room, where Dunk was trying to sort out the tangled blankets. 'What a silly.' At her words, he blushed as red as a lobster, as always, grinning nervously.
Duncan tried to keep his cool as he fumbled with the blankets, but the mention of his muscle made his cheeks go red. “Ah well, you know, ain't nothing special. Just what happens when you gotta lift crates and lug heavy equipment all the damn time.”
She smiled slightly at his stupidity. Like a tangled dog with a net. “Take it, I'll help.” She offered Duncan to take the trays.
Dunk's face flushed even deeper as he fumbled with the tangled blanket, looking up at her like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh — I mean — thanks,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he took the trays from her. His hands were rough and calloused but careful not to drop anything.
Dunk almost tripped, nearly dropping the trays, and finally set them down on the table. Girl untangled the blankets, throwing them over Dunk, who was sitting on the couch. She smiled slightly, as if she was calm next to him. But still, sitting down on the couch, she pressed herself closer to Dunk, as if he were made of nothing but shields, taking one last look at the window above the kitchen sink.
Duncan let out a soft 'oof' as he was suddenly enveloped in blankets, but he couldn't help but chuckle. He looked a little ridiculous in the pile of fabric, his head poked out of the top. He turned towards her as she sat down next to him, and he noted how she was sitting closer than usual, pressed up against his side. “You okay?” He asked softly, sensing something was off in her demeanor.
“I'm cold,” she said quietly. Dunk frowned; he knew he was stupid, but he was pretty sure it was hot in the house, and outside too, even if it was pitch black. It was always hot in Texas. “You're warm,” she whispered, taking the remote and putting something on TV.
Dunk just sat there like a tree. He was a little unsure what to do. His blush deepened, and he seemed to be getting hotter. He shifted uncomfortably and finally decided to relax. This was SonTeri, after all; he had known her since childhood.
Dunk relaxed after a moment, letting out a soft sigh. He was still a little embarrassed and unsure why she was sitting so close to him, but he trusted her — they had been friends for years, after all. He tried to calm down, watching the movie in silence for a bit. But he couldn't help but cast a few looks at her from the corner of his eye, his thoughts racing. Her being so close to him was starting to feel… different.
They ate, watched movies, laughed, all that. 'It was comfortable on the couch, not scary… not scary next to him'. All the food was gone, their bellies were rounded, the movie didn't grab them anymore. “Let's go to my room,” girl said to Dunk, getting up from the couch.
Dunk blinked, looking a little surprised as she got up. He hesitated for a second — his cheeks going pink again at the thought of following her to her room. “Uh… yeah, sure,” he said awkwardly, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. His shirt rode up slightly in the process — revealing just enough toned stomach to be noticeable. He followed behind her with an easy smile though… not questioning it too much because hey — it was still just like old times when they were kids sneaking into each other's rooms after dark.
Dunk walked into the room behind her, looking a little unsure and a lot out of place. The room was a little girly — white and flowery, with little plushies and other stuff laying around. The bed looked soft and comfortable though. He stood awkwardly as he glanced around, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh… nice… room you got here,” he muttered, looking at everything except for the bed.
They both threw down the pillows they had brought from the living room, lying down on the floor. “Thanks,” girl said. She was a little detached. Even if she felt good with Duncan.
As they both lay down on the pile of blankets and pillows, Dunk was acutely aware of where she was lying next to him. He tried to act naturally, resting his head back on a cushy pillow and staring up at the ceiling. But his heart was actually pounding, and every inch of his body felt hyper‑aware of her. He glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye, his thoughts racing. Her closeness and detachment were sending conflicting signals, and he couldn't quite get a read on her.
SonTeri turned over on the pillows in her baggy pajamas. Her hair was disheveled. “Did you hear that?” She lifted her head, pricking up her ears.
Dunk looked over at her as she turned, noticing how her hair was sticking up everywhere. It was actually kind of cute… but his ears perked up as he heard her mention hearing something. “What? Hear what?” Boy whispered, his eyes searching the room warily. He went a little tense, his senses on alert — a habit from his time in the military. “No.”
“No?” Girl frowned slightly, pricking up her ears. “I must have imagined it.” She slowly lay back down, moving closer to Duncan on the pillows.
Dunk watched her as she lay back down, moving closer to him. He felt a little weird about it — but he didn't pull away. Instead, he relaxed slightly and turned his head toward her. “Probably just the house settling or something,” he murmured softly. “Old places like this make all kinds of noises…” He paused. “I'll protect you.”
Dunk's words came out soft and serious, almost whispered. He wasn't sure why he had said it — but it just felt right, especially after hearing her say she had heard something. He glanced at her with a small smile, his heart thudding. “I ain't gonna let nothing happen to you.” His voice was a little more confident this time.
“Tell me something, Dunk…” She lay on her back on the pillows, looking at the ceiling. The lights were off, and only the warm glow of her lamp filled the room. The atmosphere seemed different. “We haven't seen each other for a long time.”
Dunk turned his head to look at her, studying her profile in the dim lamplight. His voice was quiet — gentle. “Yeah… too damn long,” he admitted, sighing slightly as he folded his hands over his stomach. “Base life ain't exactly social unless ya count dealin' with a bunch of loudmouth recruits.” He paused for a second before adding, “But I'm glad we got this chance now. Even if it's just sittin' on the floor in my pajamas like when we were kids.”
“Your pants are cute,” she said, smiling. Duncan only had the pajamas they gave out to all the cadets at the base. Dark green, and too damn short for Duncan. “I'm the only one here… all the time.”
Duncan glanced down at the ill‑fitting pants, grimacing slightly. 'Yeah, the Army issued some pretty crappy stuff sometimes — and the sizes were almost always off too'. “Yeah, well, they ain't exactly designed for comfort, or to, ya know… be long enough.” He chuckled softly, a little embarrassed by his too‑short pants. He looked back over at her with a soft smile though, his expression turning more serious. “But I'd rather be here in these crappy pants with you than be anywhere else.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and his words caused a warm feeling to stir inside her chest. She could see the soft glow of his eyes as he looked at her in the dim light. For a moment, they were both silent, simply looking at each other. The moment hung there in the air until finally Duncan spoke again. “Hey…” he said, his voice quieter than before. “…It's nice bein' with you again, y'know. I missed hangin' out like this.”
She just lifted her fingers, touching Dunk's cheek. Looking into his eyes. “You have blue blue eyes… even in the dark… it always surprised me… Aerion's are pale blue… like dead.”
Duncan's breath caught slightly as she touched his cheek, his skin going warm under her fingertips. His gaze softened as she mentioned his eyes, and a small smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah, I guess they stand out even in the dark, huh?” He said softly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “I guess I should be happy for that. Not like I got much else going for me… Besides being tall and muscly, I mean.”
“Why is that? You also have a beautiful profile.” SonTeri turned his head away from her, running her finger along his nose. “It's straight and big… I'm an artist… I'll pay attention to that.”
The guy blushed, not knowing what to do, but didn't dare move his head. He knew his friend was weird and that she was an artist. He didn't understand it, but he was stupid anyway. Stuttering slightly.
Duncan's face was burning red now, his breath coming a little faster as she traced her fingers over his nose. His voice cracked slightly when he tried to respond. “Uh — I mean — uh… thanks?” He managed to stammer out, still not moving an inch despite the fact that he was about two seconds away from short‑circuiting entirely. His eyes darted around nervously — like he was trying, and failing, to find something else in the room worth looking at instead of her right now.
Duncan managed to keep it together, trying to act like her comment wasn't making his heart feel like it was about to pop out of his chest. His hands were gripping the pillow behind his head hard, just so he didn't do something stupid like grab her hand right now. He let out a shaky breath before finally speaking again. “You're always sayin' weird things like that. I don't know if you're being serious or if you're just messin' with me.”
SonTeri stopped her finger. She removed her hand. She frowned slightly, but only out of curiosity. “I'm not messing you. How could I? You're my friend.”
Dunk's breath hitched as she pulled her hand away, and he realized — with sudden, crushing clarity — that he wanted this. Wanted her fingers on his face. Wanted to be more than just a friend. “…Right,” he said finally, forcing a small smile even though it felt like the wrong answer. “Yeah… course we're friends.” His voice was quieter now though — almost disappointed in himself for saying that at all.
She turned her head toward the ceiling again.
Dunk couldn't help but steal a glance at her face as she turned away, his gaze lingering on the curve of her profile. He wanted to say something. Say anything. But the words stuck in his throat, and he suddenly felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, trying to stay logical… but his heart wouldn't slow down. It hadn't stopped pounding since she had touched his face.
“Dunk, you're my friend, right?” She turned her head toward him. “Is it normal to be angry? If I get a boyfriend, for example…”
Dunk's entire body tensed at the question, his jaw clenching for a second. He forced himself to look her in the eye — even though it felt like he was about to combust. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “I mean… yeah. Friends don't get mad if their friend gets a boyfriend.” He swallowed hard before adding, “…Long as he treats you right.” There was something strained in the way he said it though — like every word was costing him dearly. “You… you got a boyfriend?” Boy asked, but he looked like a beaten puppy. He cleared his throat, making his voice more confident, not whiny.
“What? No… no. I'm just asking.” She bit her lip slightly, as if she wasn't telling him something. “They don't get angry, right? Even if they want to protect you?”
Dunk's eyes narrowed slightly, his protective instincts flaring up. He leaned in a little closer — his voice low and serious. “SonTeri,” he said firmly, “if some guy makes you uncomfortable or acts like he ain't got the right to be mad when it comes to you… that ain't how friends are supposed to act.” He paused, studying her face before adding softly, “…Who was it?” He paused. “It's Aerion, right?” he said.
“What?” she asked. 'Dunk and Aerion had met only once.'
Dunk exhaled sharply, his expression shifting from protective to downright suspicious. “Aerion,” he repeated, as if the name alone was enough of an answer. He knew that guy — knew the way he had looked at her when they were on the river. He sat up slightly, eyes narrowing in frustration. “That bastard's been givin' ya trouble?”
“Don't call him that, Dunk.” She pursed her lips slightly. “No, he's fine… it's just… it's just that he knows that the guys in town are bad, you know, so he forbi–… advises you not to be with them…” 'Who am I trying to convince?' She turned her head back to the ceiling, as if avoiding Dunk's gaze. As if seeing his blue cloud‑like eyes would get her off her chest.
Dunk raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening even more as he watched her avoid his gaze. He sat up even further, moving a little closer to her — not sure if he should press the issue or not. “Forbid? Advise? What the hell…?” He shook his head in disbelief. “He ain't your damn daddy, you know that, right? You can make your own decisions.”
He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought that she would listen to someone telling her what to do instead of him. “Look,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “If some guy's telling ya who you can and can't spend time with… you shouldn't listen. You're smarter than that.”
“He's trying…”
Dunk's face softened a little as he heard the way she was defending this guy. “Trying what, exactly? To tell you what to do?” He said, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and something else that he couldn't quite pin down. “'Cause that ain't somethin' a real friend does.”
She chewed her lip slightly, frowning at the ceiling, thinking about Dunk's words. While he looked at her profile. “People are different…”
Dunk stared at her in silence — watching the way she chewed on her lip, the way her brow furrowed in concentration. The light of the lamp highlighted the gentle curves of her face, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest like some kind of lovestruck teenager. “Yeah…” He swallowed hard, his throat going dry as he watched her try to find the words to explain. “…people are different. But, I mean… that doesn't make it right. You still gotta stand up for yourself.”
Girl turned her head toward him again. Looking at the window with suspicion for a second. Returning to his face again. 'Dunk doesn't understand. He's too sweet. Soft. Aerion is just… different… easily flammable… that's how it happened.' “Dunk, I'm alone here… in this huge house… I…” She kept hearing and feeling things. She was scared. And she had already bitten her lips all over from stress. But she kept quiet. “I…” Like I can't physically tell what's happening. Or maybe my imagination is just running wild? “I'm cold…” She finally spoke. She really was a bit cold. 'It was weird.' Usually the heat in Texas was hotter than lava. But for the last two days, her back kept getting cold, as if the only wind in all of Texas was just blowing against her tail.
Dunk's face shifted instantly from confusion to concern as he saw the fear in her eyes. His body tensed, and he sat up fully — his gaze sharp, protective. “Hey,” he said firmly, “what's going on? You're acting like somethin' ain't right.” He reached out before stopping himself halfway — as if unsure whether or not she wanted him to touch her right now. “…You feel cold?” His voice dropped lower, more serious than before. The thought of something making her uneasy while she was living alone in this big house didn't sit well with him at all.
Girl took his almost outstretched hand and lowered him back into a lying position, placing his hand on her chest. “Just hug me,” she said quietly, her voice breaking.
Dunk's heart nearly jumped into his throat as she pulled him back down to the floor and pressed his hand against her chest. He could feel the rapid‑fire beating of her heart as he relaxed against her — all his concern and protectiveness shifting into an undeniable desire to comfort her. “Yeah… yeah, okay.” He shifted to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. He held her close, his chin resting gently on top of her head. “…I gotcha. I gotcha, don't worry.”
Girl squeezed slightly closer to him, as if if she stuck to him like a second skin, no one would touch her in this house — not these sounds, not this feeling of eyes watching her, not this feeling of loneliness. Dunk is Minnesota. “You're big,” she bobbed against his broad chest. Her eyes closed. Her eyes watered. But she didn't make a sound.
Dunk tightened his arms around her as she buried her face against his chest, holding her so close that he was half‑afraid he might actually crush her. He could feel her body trembling ever so slightly, and his protective instincts went into overdrive. He stroked her back softly, trying to soothe her with gentle touches, as he whispered in a quiet, steady voice. “Shhh… it's alright. I'm right here. Ain't nothing gonna happen while I'm here.” He swallowed hard as he continued stroking her back, trying to ignore the way her closeness was affecting him.
Dunk is a little shocked. He's surprised. He can't remember the last time SonTeri was like this. Weirder than usual. 'What did Texas do to his friend? He's dumb, sure, but even he knows something's going on with her. Maybe it's just her life these last months? The move, Texas, the heat, her parents' jobs. Or did that cowboy bastard hurt her?' But Dunk isn't dumb enough to bark at her with those questions. He's keeping quiet for now. Helping silently.
Dunk held her for what felt like an eternity as her shaking slowly subsided to faint tremors. His heart was pounding against his chest, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he continued to soothe her with gentle touches. He rubbed her back in silent reassurance, his chin resting against the top of her head — his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the fact that he could feel every damn contour of her body pressed against his. “You're gonna be okay,” he murmured softly. “I ain't goin' anywhere.”
“I miss him.” She spoke only in a whisper; Dunk didn't even hear the muttering in his chest. 'Dunk will leave. He will leave anyway, I know. Just like my parents. And only Aerion was here. And even he left. But he will return. Only he returns.'
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 14: The Diner.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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The next day, she walked through the forest, determined to take a stroll despite the blistering heat, occasionally sitting on her haunches to inspect particularly beautiful sticks. She wore a top and short shorts, a bit bold for her, but there are almost no strangers here. Her parents would say it was too revealing, but they weren't here too.
She continued walking; the wind fluttering her black hair. She froze, looking at the blue, pure sky, her head raised. 'If aliens came here, would they be able to cope with the Texas heat? What if they're invisible? How will we know if they've arrived or not…'
Suddenly, a deep voice came from behind her — almost out of nowhere. Low and rough, with a familiar Texan drawl. "Whatcha doin' out here, darlin'?" Despite the warmth of the day, the sound gave her a jolt — her heart skipping a beat before she turned around to see Aerion Targaryen standing there in the field, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, a cowboy hat shading his face from the sun.
"Aerion?" They had officially made up today. It was strange to hear his voice again. She looked up at his hat.He took a step forward, closing a fraction of the distance between them. "In the flesh." He said it almost like a drawl. His eyes were still a mystery under the shadow of his hat. "Was wonderin' what the hell you was doin' out here in this damn heat." His gaze swept up and down her, taking her not weird clothes today, it was... weird for her. A smirk tugged at his bruised lip. "Lookin' cute, darlin'. Or tryin' to get sunburnt?"
She cringed slightly, not used to being dressed like this. But Texas heat forced her to. With her hand, she pushed strands of hair forward, subconsciously covering her chest. "Thanks?" she answered awkwardly. "Nope... it's just... hot here... yeah."
His smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her shift around awkwardly in her outfit. He noted the way she clutched the cross around her neck and covered herself with her hair. The gesture did not go unnoticed. "Just hot, huh?" he said quietly, taking another step closer, closing the distance even more. His tone was playful, teasing even. "Sure you ain't just tryna catch a farmer's eye, darlin'? You're gonna make some poor cowpoke mighty flustered, dressed like that."
"Don't say lewd things." She rolled her eyes awkwardly, with the tone of a religious pastor. And again she looked up to the sky. Aliens wouldn't say that about ordinary clothes.
A low chuckle escaped his lips at her response. It almost sounded dangerous. "Lewd? Darlin', I ain't said anything lewd yet." He closed the distance even more, standing just a few feet away from her now — the heat rolling off him in waves. He followed her gaze up to the sky, still in the shadows of his hat. "What the hell you looking for up there?"
She did not let her head drop from the sky. "Aliens," she simply answered. "And also a beautiful shade of blue."
He frowned slightly, grinning. She's acting like the town crazy again. He shook his head slightly, almost amused but also exasperated. "Aliens, huh? What kinda shit yer talkin' about?" He took off his hat, swiping a hand back through his hair. The sun hit his face fully now, illuminating the sharp angles and strong jaw. The bruise was still prominent on his lip.
He looked at her for a moment — taking in her outfit again, the way her hair fell around her shoulders, her eyes still fixed on the sky. "You ain't afraid of gettin' burnt, darlin'? Sun's strong today." His gaze briefly glanced over her exposed skin, lingering on the way she had covered herself with her hair. He almost seemed to want to say something — but held back. His gaze drifted back to her eyes. "What kinda aliens do you think we got flyin' around up there anyway?"
"I don't know..." Girl lowered her head. "They're invisible," she said. She raised her head to him, still standing awkwardly in unusual clothes in front of him. He put his cowboy hat on her head; she felt heavy dark darkness on her face.
He huffed — a sound almost like a quiet laugh. "Invisible, huh? Ain't much chance we'd see 'em then, darlin'." He watched as she raised her head, her cheeks flushed and hair falling around her face. He noted the way her body shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, still standing there in those short shorts. "Here, take this," he said, putting his oversized cowboy hat on her head, casting a shadow over her face. His hand lingered, almost like an accidental brush.
"That oughta protect ya from the sun, yeah?" he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Can't have ya gettin' burnt, lookin' like that. Would be a damn shame." His hand lingered on the hat a moment longer, fixing the brim over her face. Aerion's fingers brushed against the skin of her cheek, rough and calloused from years of hard work. He quickly pulled away, as if suddenly realizing he had lingered too long. The bruise on his lip stood out more in the shadows cast by the hat.
"You are more likely to get sunburned... what will you do?" she asked.
He shrugged, a lopsided smile playing on his split lip. "Reckon I'm a little more used to the sun than you, darlin'. I ain't no city princess, spendin' all day in the shade. Got workin' to do." He looked down at his calloused hands, flexing them. "These hands are used to the sun, not hidin' and coverin' like some delicate flower."
"What about our agreement from yesterday?" she asked with interest, raising her head to him, in his hat. "Your... «action»?"
Aerion smirk faded slightly at her question, his expression turning more serious. He studied her for a moment — her face half‑hidden under the shadow of his hat, her dark eyes peering up at him. "Action?" he repeated lowly. His jaw tensed just slightly before he continued, "I ain't forgot about that." He took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him again — his voice dropping to something rough and quiet: "Ya want me to prove I'm good? Fine. But don't say I didn't warn ya when it gets... interesting." He paused. "Let's go," he said, taking her warm little hand. "I'll show ya the results of my work so that ya... 'see that I'm good'... in person." He mimicked her words from yesterday.
"What? Where?" She was surprised, but she did not remove her hand from his grip. His hands were hot and hard. "What did you do overnight?"
A sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her reaction. He did not answer her question but still held her hand — his touch was hot and strangely rough. "You'll see, darlin'. C'mon." He began to lead her forward, out into the field. The Texas landscape spread out in all directions around them. The sun was high in the sky, the air thick with the promise of a blazing, sweltering day.
They approached the Targaryen garage. Aerion rolled out his battered red sports car.
"Are we heading into town?" SonTeri raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled at her surprise, running a hand over the hood of his car. The metal was warm under his touch. "Yeah." He popped open the passenger door for her with a little too much flair — like he was showing off. "Come. Sit." His smirk widened as he nodded toward the car — its engine still slightly smoking from being pushed too hard recently. The red paint was scuffed and scratched, but it looked faster than ever before.
He climbed into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. The car roared to life — a low, rough growl that sent a slight shiver through the air. "Ready, darlin'?" he asked, glancing in her direction. His gaze flicked over her form again — the way she looked in his oversized cowboy hat, the way her body looked in those short shorts. Something flashed in his eyes — something he quickly hid with a smirk. "...I ain't gonna go easy on ya."
"What..." She did not have time to finish speaking before they sped off in the car towards the road, pulling out onto the highway. The hat almost flew off; she held it with her hand.
The car shot forward down the empty highway, the engine roaring in excitement. Aerion was in his element — fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, his gaze sharp and focused on the road ahead. "You better hold on tight, darlin'," he said with a smirk, shooting a look in her direction. "I ain't one for slow drivin'."
Aerion pressed down on the accelerator even more, the car picking up speed. The wind whistled past as they raced down the highway, the open Texas landscape a blur of color and distance. The car skidded around curves, flying over the asphalt. He steered fearlessly. "You enjoyin' the ride, darlin'?" he called over the roar of the engine. There was something almost mischievous in his smirk, as though he was testing her — watching just how far he could push his fast, red sports car and his passenger, all at once.
SonTeri held her hat with one hand, her left hand gripping the seat, the wind blowing her long black hair and top. "No... what if you hit a cow?" There were a lot of slow cows on the highway here.
He laughed at her concern — his tone almost mocking. "Cows, darlin'? You worryin' more about the damn livestock than the fact we're flyin' down the highway in this beast?" He took a sharp corner, and the tires screeched in protest. The car skidded sideways before roaring forward again, accelerating even more. "You should be more concerned about losin' that hat. I ain't chasin' it down the highway for ya."
They approached the outskirts of town. Not exactly the castle. A strange place, just cars parked one behind the other. Looking back, she saw only young people. All rednecks — some dumber, some smarter. Seeing the bright red, expensive car, everyone immediately knew whose it was and started whispering, but only behind their backs. To their faces, they were all trying to stand out in front of the wild son of the Targaryens.
"You..." She looked around. Aerion lifted the roof of the car; now they were hidden inside. "...You brought me to a drive‑in?"
Aerion glanced at her in surprise, as if he expected her to be impressed. "You act like you ain't never been to a drive‑in before, darlin'," he said slyly. "Figured it'd be a hell of a lot more fun than goin' to some damn movie theater." He scanned the cars around, his jaw tensing slightly — noticing the way they all turned to watch his bright red car.
"Is this your «action»?" she asked, almost skeptically, wondering what he was up to.
Aerion glanced at her again — this time with a smirk. "One of 'em." His voice dropped to a low drawl. "Just give it a minute. You ain't seen nothin' yet." He leaned back in his seat as more cars parked in the gravel lot around the makeshift screen, the engine of his car rumbling loudly. He looked relaxed, almost comfortable in the chaos of a Texas drive‑in — as if this was where he belonged.
Boy straightened up, opened the door, and got out. "I'll be right back," he muttered and left. She was left alone, looking out the window to see where he had gone. After a while, he dragged that guy from the church by the scruff of the neck, and they both got into the backseat. SonTeri turned around from the passenger seat in amazement. Aerion looked at the boy and said, "Speak. Quickly." She looked at the guy's face — it was battered, the results of that fight with Aerion five days ago. He looked much worse: a huge swollen eye, bruises on his face, a broken nose, and a broken finger. "I forgave Aerion," the boy said quietly.
"What?" she asked awkwardly again, not understanding the situation.
"I forgave Aerion for beating me," the boy repeated.
Aerion looked at her. "This is my «action». You said to prove my goodness. You didn't like that I beat up that idiot, and so I apologized, and he forgave me."
"Did you apologize? To him?" She looked at Aerion incredulously. Studying his eyes.
He looked at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yep." His tone was like he was stating the obvious. "I ain't a damn heathen. I got manners," he added, smirking to himself.
SonTeri looked back at the guy, who was still being held by the scruff of the neck. "Did you force him?"
His smile faded slightly at that — almost offended. "Forced 'im?" He repeated the word in a slightly mocking way. "No, darlin', I just... had a little talk with him is all," he said, his voice now gruff. "Was just a civil conversation." He turned to the boy. "Did I force you?"
The boy shook his head quickly. "N‑no, sir." His voice was trembling a bit.
Aerion huffed a little, loosening his grip on the guy's shirt. "Yeah. I mean it." He gave the bruised boy a small shove — not too rough — like he was dismissing him now that he had served his purpose. His gaze flicked back to her as soon as the other guy scrambled out of the car, leaving the car in awkward silence again. "So?" he said after a beat. "That what ya wanted? Proof I ain't all bad?"
"Well..." It was all too obvious. "...you tried... at least." Did she believe it all? Probably not really. But for some reason, she was even touched by the fact that he... heard her and... made the effort.
He frowned at her response — like he had been hoping for her to be more impressed than that. "Tried?" he repeated, his voice low. "What, darlin', wasn't good enough for ya?" He leaned forward, almost closer to her now — his face more serious. "Figured you'd be a lil' more grateful — seein' as how I went and proved myself even though I thought it was dumb as hell."
He climbed from the back seat to the driver's seat, accidentally nudging her slightly with his feet. Then he sat up straight. "I'm glad you listened to me..." She paused. "Thank you." Actually, she was even flattered by his efforts. She looked at him, smiling slightly. His hat had already come off her head, settling on her lap, a last attempt to cover her bare legs. 'Who knew he would drag her to such a public place?'
He looked at her for a moment when she spoke, a flicker of surprise passing over his face at the genuine gratitude in her voice — the fact that she was sincerely pleased by his efforts. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, looking away with a slight scoff. But she could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting to hide his pleasure. His gaze briefly flicked down to her bare legs again, lingering just a second too long — his chest rising and falling with a slow inhale.
SonTeri turned her head towards the projector in front. Some old American movie about white people was playing. "Are we really going to watch a movie?"
He followed her gaze to the screen, then back at her with a smirk. "Nah. Not really." His voice was rough with amusement. "This ain't about the damn movie, darlin'. It's about who sees us here — together." He nodded toward a few groups of people in other cars who were already sneaking glances their way. His jaw tightened slightly as he leaned closer. "Figured ya might like bein' seen on my arm for once... even if it ain't by choice."
"What do you mean?" She turned her head in his direction.
He grinned at her naiveté, as if amused. "Think, darlin'. You 'n me sittin' together in my car at some damn drive‑in, in broad daylight? 'Course the whole damn town'll be talkin' about it by tomorrow." He leaned back in his seat, tilting his hat up with a finger. "Folks love their gossip 'round here. Everyone's gonna be wonderin' what the hell's goin' on between us. It's protects you from city rednecks."
"Protect?"
He looked at her like she had just asked a stupid question. "Hell, yeah. Ain't no one gonna mess with you with me around. Anyone tries somethin' and I'll snap 'em like a twig. Plus, my last name holds weight 'round here. Ain't no one gonna mess with a Targaryen." He almost sounded smug, as if expecting her to be impressed by his reputation — by the thought of being under his protection.
SonTeri just thought about his words. The projector showed an old film. She looked around at the cars; no one was watching. She looked at the side window of the car... 'God... this is a public place... God, his hands are in her pants...' She raised her eyebrows and quickly turned away. She would rather just look at Aerion the whole time. 'All these young men and ladies came here to... have an intimate make‑out session?'
He noticed her distraction — her gaze flickering to the people in the other cars, the way she turned away from the windows. "What... whatcha lookin' at?" he asked, his tone a combination of amusement and curiosity. He glanced out the window, following her gaze — realizing what she was seeing. A few other cars were rocking, the windows fogged up, couples making out inside. Some even steamier than others.
He looked back at her, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You see that?" he muttered, nodding toward one other car in particular, where a couple was getting more than just a bit frisky. "Some folks like to... spice up their dates, huh darlin'?"
She was a little embarrassed, trying not to look at the signs. "They all do it here... who even watches the movie..."
He laughed at her reaction — clearly amused by how flustered she was. His eyes continued to flick toward the other cars. "Ain't no one here for the damn movie, darlin'. They just want to fool around 'n make out. Hell, they probably ain't even payin' attention. 's why they pick this damn place."
He watched her for a moment, noticing the blush creeping up her neck and the way she studiously avoided looking out the windows. "You ain't ever done somethin' like that? Foolin' around under the stars?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. His voice was low and rough — a hint of teasing in his tone.
"I don't want to watch a movie among people f-fucking," she said, frowning at him, but still blushing. "Why did you bring me here?"
He huffed a laugh at her reaction, clearly enjoying how flustered she was. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. "First of all," he said, "they ain't exactly fuckin'. Just makin' out — get a grip." His smirk widened as he watched the color rise on her cheeks again. "Second? I brought ya 'cause I knew it'd rattle ya. Wanted to see that pretty face turn red like this."
SonTeri covered her ears from the creaking of the car parked next to them. "No... I don't like it, Aerion, no." She closed her eyes.
Aerion could not help but chuckle at her reaction — the way she covered her ears like a little child. "Relax, darlin'," he drawled, the teasing tone not leaving his voice. "They ain't hurtin' nobody. Just two folks havin' some fun. Ain't no reason to get all worked up." He watched her closely, almost taunting her in a way.
He laughed again, shaking his head slightly. "Damn, darlin'," he muttered, "you act like you ain't ever heard people havin' a good time before. Hell, you sound like you've never even had a little fun yourself." He leaned forward, his gaze lingering on her as she kept her eyes clamped shut. "You really that embarrassed just thinkin' about it? Hell, most folks 'round here do this all the time."
"I don't want to watch this movie, not here." She opened her eyes, but her hands were still on her ears.
He rolled his eyes but could not help smirking at how flustered she was — the sight of her sitting there, hands over her ears. "Ain't no one making you watch nothin'. You could always keep them pretty little eyes shut the whole damn day if ya want." He glanced out the window again, noticing another couple in a car nearby, their car rocking rhythmically.
SonTeri frowned, looking at him. "So you're staying?"
He shrugged, leaning back in his seat again. "Yeah, darlin'. I ain't goin' nowhere." He watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her hands clamped over her ears like a little child trying to drown out the world. There was something oddly endearing about her embarrassment.
Girl pushed his cowboy hat, which had been on her lap, towards his chest. "Then I'll leave myself." She turned towards the car door.
"Hold up, hold up, hold up." Aerion quickly caught his hat in one hand as she tried to leave. "Where the hell're you goin'?" he said, sounding slightly amused.
"I don't know... anywhere." She opened the door handle.
He grabbed her wrist before she could fully open the door — his grip firm but not harsh. "Nah, darlin'. Ain't no way I'm lettin' ya wander off into this damn place alone." His tone was gruff, protective. The thought of her leaving on her own did not sit right with him — not when he knew exactly what kind of folks were lurking around here. "So either stay put or we're leavin’. Your pick."
"I'm leaving either way, Your pick." She turned to face him with a frown as he loomed over her in the cramped confines of the car to grab her wrist.
Aerion met her gaze with a frown of his own, obviously not used to being told what to do. "Stubborn ass," he muttered, his grip on her wrist remaining firm. He studied her for a moment, his expression a mix of irritation and something else, before he sighed. "Fine. Come on, then. Let's get outta here."
He got out of the car, still holding her wrist as if he was worried she would make a break for it. "Where'd you even plan on goin' anyway?" he muttered, glancing around at the drive‑in. It was a sea of cars, all parked close together in broad daylight. The only sounds were the sounds of people having "fun" inside their cramped compartments.
She removed her hand from his grip to adjust her glasses. Aerion placed his cowboy hat back on her head. "I don't know... It's your town.", the girl said.
Aerion huffed at her response, clearly not thrilled with the idea of her wandering off into his town unsupervised. He adjusted the cowboy hat on her head — almost like he was making sure it would not fall off again. "Yeah, and? 'My town' ain't safe for a little city girl who don't know how to handle herself," he muttered gruffly. Young guy looked around briefly before leaning in slightly. "You want me to take ya home or somethin'?"
"Nope... let's go for a walk... it's boring at home." She looked at his red sports car standing out among the old village cars. "And your car is stuck here 'in the parking lot.'"
Aerion glanced at his car, then back at her. "Fair point, darlin'," he grumbled in agreement. The sleek red sports car did stick out like a sore thumb amidst the old, dusty cars around it. "Fine. A walk it is," he said reluctantly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Just... stay close."
SonTeri almost smiled at his compliance. 'Maybe he really has figured out how to behave?' "Thanks, Aerion," she said, adjusting the large hat on her head while trying to catch up with him. She tilted her head back one last time to look at the blue sky, at them, almost dropping her hat again. And together they left this field and walked to the town.
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
He walked at a steady pace, his stride long and confident. He glanced down at her every now and then — as if making sure she was still keeping up with him. “Y'know, darlin',” he started, his voice low and rough, “This is the first time you ain't sassin' me every second...in this day.”
They were walking along a town path. “Um… so where are we going? Do you have any ideas?” she asked.
Aerion looked down at her, considering for a second. “Ain't no set destination. Just walkin'.” He shrugged his shoulders — clearly not used to this kind of aimless wandering. Then he smirked slightly, nodding toward a small diner ahead on the roadside — the one with peeling paint and flickering neon lights in the shape of cowboy boots. “Unless ya want some greasy food?”
They approached a small establishment. Old, creaky wood, faded yellow. An American flag hung on the wall by the window, and on the adjacent wall was a black flag with a red dragon with three heads. 'Weird.', she thought. 'Was this something from a movie?' Aerion strode up the stairs in his pointy boots, and she followed him, still feeling awkward in short shorts and a top. He opened the door as he entered, and she followed him. The cafe was old; the locals were loudly eating breakfast — greasy and meaty — drinking black coffee, and sometimes even mixed with moonshine. They all seemed to know each other; a young girl ran from table to table. It seemed everyone sitting there recognized Aerion, immediately getting up from their tables for some reason. When Aerion nodded, they sat back down and continued eating and chatting. They approached a table by the window. 'It smelled of smoked meats and… citrus? It was... fresh.' He took the seat by the window, watching her closely as she took a seat across from him. His eyes raked over her figure, lingering on her bare limbs. He raised his eyebrows in amusement at her reaction to the restaurant. “Smells good, don't it, darlin'? Best cafe in town.” He grinned, picking up a menu. “Reckon you'll like the pancakes here — they're sweeter than anythin' they got in the city.”
An old woman with a dirty apron approached the table. 'She looked almost sweet, soft, round, wrinkled, but her eyes were somehow… crazy? Was she the cafe owner or something?' The first thing she looked at was Aerion, like he was a celebrity… or like he was a beloved grandson.
A fond smile formed on his lips as the old woman approached the table. She was like a grandmotherly figure, someone who had known Aerion for years. He straightened up in his seat, greeting the woman. “Mornin', Miss Mary,” he said with a charming drawl. “How ya doin' today?”
The woman laughed at his greeting, her face lighting up. “Oh, I'm as good as ever, honey. And you? Don't you look as handsome as ever.” She glanced curiously toward girl, her gaze flickering over girl's entire figure. “And who's this pretty little thing?” Her eye twitched slightly, and if you looked at her face for long enough, her smile seemed forced or fake.
He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. He gave a slight nod in her direction. “This is a friend of mine. Thought I'd bring her here for a bite to eat.” His smile never faltered.
The woman's gaze remained focused on her for a moment longer, before she finally tore her gaze away to glance back at Aerion. She nodded approvingly. “Well, isn't that nice? You're a regular gentleman, always bringing a pretty girl to my diner.” She paused for a moment, her eyes flicking over to her again. “Ain't nothin' going on between y'all though, is there? Or… she's… a…– ” The old woman seemed to want to say something, but she glanced at Aerion, as if asking for permission. “No,” he quickly interrupted. “No, she's not a… she's just a friend.”
He shook his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “Just friends. Nothin' more.” The old woman seemed satisfied at his answer, and her smile returned — her gaze still flickering between the both of them. She nodded approvingly. “Well, it's always nice to see young folks enjoyin' themselves. What can I get for you two?”
He glanced down at the menu, his gaze flickering between the breakfast options. “Two orders of pancakes, a side of bacon and eggs, and… an orange juice,” he said, setting the menu down. “And what about ya, darlin'?” He looked at girl, a hint of a smirk dancing on his lips.
“I want some meat… a lot of meat… and black coffee without sugar, please…” SonTeri said without looking at the menu. “Oh, and can I have a slice of orange? Do you have any oranges, miss?” Girl looked up at the old woman and was amazed — 'was she the only one who saw a savage look? Like glass. Like the wax figure in that museum I had visited in Minnesota.'
He watched as she asked for a slice of orange, his smirk growing slightly at her unusual request. The old woman — Miss Mary — blinked slowly at her before responding in a soft but eerily calm voice. “Oh honey, we got oranges.” She said sweetly. Then her gaze flickered toward Aerion again — as if checking to see if he was reacting to this interaction. “We always keep 'em fresh for the special folks who visit here with our ‘prince’.” Her smile was still there, but it looked more strained now — like she was holding back something much darker beneath that polite exterior.
“Thanks?” girl said. The old lady left. It seemed they liked Aerion in this cafe. “One of the parts of the city that favored you?”
He leaned back in his seat, watching the old woman walk away with a smirk. “Yeah. They like me here.” His tone was smug — clearly pleased with how she treated him compared to her. “Told ya I ain't just some random bastard 'round these parts,” he added, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. “Folks know my name. And they respect it.”
“Everyone in the cafe stood up when you walked in,” she stated a fact, taking his hat off her head and placing it on her lap. “They don't consider your behavior and your actions… hooliganism?”
He stiffened slightly at her words, his smirk fading into something more guarded. He leaned forward in his seat, resting an elbow on the table. “Hoo-li-gan-ism?” he repeated slowly, as if testing out the word for the first time. “Darlin', you ain't from 'round here. Ain't no one cares how I act — long as I don't cross certain lines.” His gaze darkened slightly — his voice lowering to a rough murmur: “And trust me… they know better than to question me too hard.”
“Are you close with Miss Mary?” she asked, out of curiosity.
He hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating how much to say. Then he shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Miss Mary owns this diner, and my folks used to take me here all the time when I was younger. She'd even let me help out in the kitchen sometimes.” He smirked slightly, as if remembering something. “Reckon the old gal's got quite a soft spot for me.”
“Sounds… cute.” She looked at the young man as he frowned from the sun. 'He looked older. Almost a man.' She tried to imagine him as a little boy. 'He probably looked like Egg.' He chuckled at her response, not softly, but shark, his expression turning amused as he watched her study his face. “Yeah, well… back then, I was just a youngin' runnin' around this place, eatin' pancakes, and causin' all sorts of trouble.” He chuckled as if reminiscing on those days, his voice taking on a fond tone. “Reckon I drove Miss Mary crazy back then, always underfoot and trying to get into the kitchen. But she never minded too much. I was her favorite.”
Miss Mary brought two trays.
He turned his attention to the dishes of food on the trays, his expression brightening at the sight of pancakes. “Thanks, Miss Mary,” he said politely. The old woman gave him a warm smile. “Of course, darlin'. And for the pretty thing,” she added, placing a little plate of orange slices next to the coffee, and a plate of fried meat — probably a cow, a lot. “There you go, honey.” She said it sweetly, but her gaze flicked to Aerion again, her eyes narrowing slightly for a moment before she turned on her heel and shuffled off towards another table.
He began to eat his pancakes, watching the old woman from the corner of his eye as she moved through the cafe. He seemed unbothered by her behavior, more focused on his breakfast. “Damn, these pancakes are just as good as I remember,” he commented, picking up a fork. “She still makes 'em the same way. Best pancakes you'll find.” He glanced up at her, noticing how she was looking at him. “Ain't gonna try one?”
“Oh, no thanks… I eat meat,” she said, in a simple tone, swallowing a piece.
He raised an eyebrow at her refusal, looking slightly surprised. “I said try one. Now.”
She stopped the fork of meat halfway to her mouth, looking up and meeting his blue eyes. “What?”
He looked back at her, his gaze unwavering. “Eat the damn pancake,” he repeated gruffly. “Just one bite. Won't kill ya.”
“Uhm…” SonTeri hesitated slightly, tilting her head. Not understanding why he was so serious. “Okay?”
He watched her with a mix of impatience and something else — almost like he was testing her reaction. When she finally picked up the fork, he leaned back slightly in his seat. “Don't just stare at it, darlin'. Put it in your mouth and eat.” His voice was firm and almost demanding, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Girl cut a piece of his pancake, stained with fried eggs and bacon grease, and put it in her mouth. Chewing. 'Why is Aerion so demanding? Maybe he just wanted me to taste his childhood? And I just refused; my mother raised me differently.' “It's very sweet…” she said, swallowing. “And it tastes like your bacon.”
He watched her as she took a cautious bite — a mix of impatience and surprise on his face. When she finally gave in and took a bite, his expression softened just a bit. “There ya go. Was that so hard?” He leaned back in his seat again, a smirk playing on his lips. “Told ya it's sweet. Miss Mary's got a special way of makin' 'em. No other place in town does it like she can.” He paused. “You need to listen to me, silly.”
Aerion leaned forward again, his amusement fading into seriousness. His gaze locked on hers, almost like he was sizing her up. “I ain't messin' with ya, darlin'. When I tell ya to do somethin'… you listen. Got it?” There was a note of command in his tone now — as if he was testing her, seeing how far he could push her. His tone became almost ‘caring’. “You've been in Texas for a couple of weeks. I was born here. I know what's best. I only want the best for you. Got. It?”
SonTeri looked at his face. 'He seemed… sincere? Maybe friends really do help each other get used.' “Yes… yes, thanks…” She took a sip of black coffee.
Aerion studied her for a long moment, as if trying to see whether or not she meant it. His expression softened slightly — just enough that the sharp edge of command faded into something closer to approval. “Good,” he said gruffly, leaning back in his seat again. “Now drink your damn coffee before it gets cold.” He watched as she took another sip — his smirk returning when he saw her nose wrinkle at the bitterness. He looked oddly pleased with himself now… like he had won some unspoken argument between them.He continued eating while watching her — amused by her reaction to the coffee. The cafe remained relatively quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation and the scraping of forks against plates. “How do you take your coffee usually?” he suddenly asked, his tone curious. “Sweet, full of cream and sugar, like all the other city folk? Bet you've never had it strong and black like a real Texan.”
“I drink black… bitter… Mom says it's bad for me… I know, but I can't stop drinking, even if it harms me.”
“The more dangerous, the tastier, right?” he smiled a dark smile, as if he meant something else. “And I love sugar, cream, real… from our cows.”
“So, you a sweet tooth?” she smiled slightly.
“Somethin' wrong with bein' a sweet tooth?” he retorted, but there was no malice in his tone. He actually looked a bit amused by her question. “And besides,” he added, taking a big bite of pancake, “it just tastes better that way. Why make it damn bitter if you can sweeten it up?”
Everyone around seemed very interested in Aerion. As if he were a local celebrity. Everyone, young and old. And of course, they noticed the girl with him. The one. The visitor. The foreigner, the one with military parents. Even as she sat and enjoyed her meal and conversation with Aerion, she felt Miss Mary's glassy gaze. 'She had wanted to call her something earlier. What exactly?'
There seemed to be a different atmosphere in this cafe. As if it were a hundred times hotter here than outside; sweat was pouring down Aerion's forehead, beads had appeared on her neck. 'It was like an oven in here, or… hell.' The interior of the cafe was ancient, as if nothing had changed since the 1800s. There were some portraits and photographs on the walls. But from here, from their table, she couldn't see anything. The cafe seemed to either squeeze you, or make your head spin. And she didn't know if it was because of the temperature or the atmosphere. Or the looks. Aerion was sitting and already chewing on bacon and eggs. She finished her coffee, and a young girl with unruly red hair — tall, almost like a model, only with freckles and a gap between her teeth — came up to her. Two rounded globes protruded from the specially unbuttoned buttons of her waitress shirt. She offered coffee. But then she saw Aerion. “Oh, Aerion… such people.” Now she looked at her more closely. “Pretty thing… looks like a child, Aerion. I didn't know you were into that kind of thing… you brought her ‘here’. And all I got was the back seat of your red car.” She said with the same Texan accent and country dialect. She offered her more black coffee.
Aerion's head turned automatically at the sound of his name, a small smirk forming on his lips before he turned his attention to the waitress — his gaze sharpening slightly when he realized what she had just said. There was a hint of irritation in his voice when he responded. His tone was gruff and carried a hint of warning. “Don't you have a damn job to do, darlin'?” He grumbled, giving her a sidelong glance. She rolled her eyes at him, but a smirk formed on her lips — like she had seen this all before. “Sure do, darlin'.”
“You know each other?” SonTeri raised her head to the girl, looking from him to her, adjusting her glasses.
The girl nodded, a sly smirk still on her lips as she shot Aerion a knowing look. “Oh yeah, darlin',” she replied, her attention shifting to her. “We go way back, this one and I. Ain't that right, Aerion?”
“I fucked her a couple of times in the car, now she makes an achievement out of it… of course, after work in the cafe.” Aerion just rolled his eyes, casually chewing bacon and drinking orange juice. Looking straight into her black eyes. “Pour her coffee and go.”
The girl's smirk broadened at Aerion's crude phrasing, though she didn't take offense. “Someone's feeling defensive today, huh, sugar?” She playfully flicked her long, messy ponytail over her shoulder, her southern drawl thick and sweet. “What? Didn't get the cute girl with glasses, prince?”
He scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he watched the girl with mild annoyance. “Don't be a smartass,” he muttered, though there was no real heat behind it. He took another sip of orange juice before adding, “You got tables to clean or somethin'?”
The girl — clearly used to his dismissive tone — just rolled her eyes and finally poured her a fresh cup of coffee. Her smirk lingered as she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only she could hear. “Y'know, sweetie… that boy's got a real nasty temper when he don't get his way.” She straightened up with an innocent hum. “But hey! At least the food's good here!” With that, she sauntered off toward another table — leaving Aerion scowling after her like he wanted to throw something.
SonTeri sat there, confused. 'It was weird. This whole situation and conversation.' “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked.
He snorted, almost choking on his orange juice at the question. “Hell no. That was just a fling — one of many.” His smirk returned as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a rough murmur. “You really thought I'd bring ya here if she was? Nah, darlin'. Ain't no one woman got me tied up like that.” There was something possessive in the way he said it — like the idea of anyone claiming him was absurd.
“Fling?... One of many?” girl raised an eyebrow, as if these words surprise her, as if she had not heard about this before.
He grinned lazily at her reaction, amused by the surprise on her face. “Yeah, a damn fling. Like I said, just a fun time… no strings attached. One of many.” He leaned even closer, the smirk on his face growing. “Why, you jealous or something, darlin'?”
“What? Why is this?” Girl pushed her empty plate away, taking a sip of the hot coffee that the red‑haired girl had poured. “The church doesn't really like promiscuity, but I'm your friend. I can't stop you from being with girls…” She looked at him. Now his cowboy hat on her lap felt like it was burning her bare legs in shorts. 'Was it because of the temperature? Or because of something… inside her?'
His smirk faded into a thoughtful expression as her question sank in. There was a hint of surprise in his gaze — like he was expecting a different sort of reaction from her. He leaned back in his seat again, studying her for a moment before speaking. “You ain't jealous, huh?” He repeated, his tone almost challenging. But there was also a hint of curiosity mixed with his arrogance — like he was genuinely wondering why she was being so nonchalant about the topic. “You're sayin' you don't care if I mess around with a bunch of other girls?”
SonTeri just frowned. 'I really don't care? Do I?' “No… It's your choice… Just be careful not to catch anything… And you also need to use protection,” she said in a professorial tone.
He barked a loud, surprised laugh at that — drawing the attention of a few nearby tables. His grin was sharp and amused as he leaned in again. “Protection? Oh, darlin',” he drawled, “That ain't exactly what I'm worried about when I'm with some girl.” His smirk widened as he watched her reaction — clearly enjoying how flustered she was getting over this conversation. “But thanks for the concern. Real sweet of ya to look out for my health like that.”
“Well… we're friends.” It didn't sound as confident as it had in her head. 'Although… what difference does it make to me.' “You date whoever you want… I find boyfriends whoever I want… ‘friends’.”
His gaze narrowed slightly at her response, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. The amusement in his eyes was replaced almost immediately by irritation — as if her nonchalant attitude was somehow getting under his skin. “Friends, huh?” He echoed, his voice taking on a hint of edge to it now. “And you think it ain't gonna bother me when some guy starts puttin' his hands all over you?”
“Well… no?”
He leaned in closer — close enough that she could smell the orange juice on his breath, close enough that his voice dropped to a rough murmur. “Damn right it'd bother me,” he growled, low and firm. His eyes burned with something possessive — something unspoken but undeniable. “You don't get to just… run off with whoever ya want. Not when I'm around.” There was no teasing now — just pure intensity in his glare as he watched for her reaction.
“What? Why? You're going to be with those… those girls…” She was a little taken aback by his pressure. They were sitting in this strange cafe, there were empty plates on the table in front of them. And only hot coffee in her mug. “But I can't?”
His fingers tightened around his fork — knuckles whitening for a second before he forced himself to relax. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unspoken. “Yeah, I'll be with 'em,” he admitted gruffly. “But that don't mean I want some bastard puttin' his hands on you.” A muscle in his jaw jumped as he leaned back slightly — his glare still locked onto hers. “Ain't fair, darlin'. And we both know it.”
Girl frowned, either from resentment or from misunderstanding. “You are not my father… you are just a friend.”
Aerion's smirk dropped — replaced by something colder, sharper. The air between them felt charged all of a sudden, like the tension before a storm. “Father?” He repeated in disbelief. “Hell no. I ain't your damn daddy.” His voice lowered to a dangerous growl as he leaned in closer — close enough that his breath brushed against her cheek. “I'm the guy who'd burn this whole town down if it meant keepin' ya safe from anyone else's hands but mine.”
“Why are you saying that? Can friends be possessive?” Girl looked into his blue eyes; they seemed to turn purple, his blue eyes mixing with red anger. 'Of course, I knew about his obsession with his dynasty, with fire, with his righteousness… but… what does this have to do with me?' “You're acting wrong.” She just spoke quietly. Having already forgotten about the coffee. It seemed like the entire cafe had pricked up its ears, even if they were still laughing and talking while eating… It seemed like the entire cafe needed to know what she meant to Aerion… whether she was… a –.
Aerion laughed — a sharp, humorless sound. His fingers curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white with tension. “Wrong?” he repeated, voice dripping with venom. “Darlin', you ain't from here. You don't get to tell me what's right or wrong when it comes to you.” The entire diner had gone eerily quiet — even Miss Mary had stopped mid‑step near a booth as she watched them intently. “It's my town. Ya live in my town, darlin'.”
“My land. My rules,” he continued. “And no one gets to put their hands on ya but me. Got it, darlin'? No one.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a barely‑there growl. “Ain't no one else who deserves your time but me… and I'm damn sure no one else deserves to touch you.” The world seemed to hold its breath around them — even the clock on the wall seemed to tick slower as every eye in the diner locked on the two of them.
Girl stared at his face for a long time — strangely eyes... purple. 'Is that the lighting in the cafe? It's pressing on me. The noise of bells in my ears. As if my skull is shrinking, biting into my brain. How can he say such a thing?' And suddenly she just stood up abruptly. Everyone suddenly went quiet. “Go fuck the girls in your town… and I'll decide for myself, Aerion.” SonTeri said, looking at him. She quickly walked to the exit, ignoring people; because of this she didn't see what kind of photos those were. Only his cowboy hat remained on her seat. Aerion hadn't moved… not yet.
The moment she stood, the entire diner froze — forks hovering mid‑air, conversations cutting off like a switched‑off radio. Even Miss Mary's glassy eyes widened slightly as she watched from behind the counter. Aerion didn't move at first — his body rigid in his seat. His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful… and then he moved. His chair screeched against the floor as he lurched to his feet, sending silverware clattering to the ground. The diner held its breath — waiting for him to chase after her. Aerion slowly approached her table, put on his hat. He placed a wad of bills on the table. Approaching the bar where Miss Mary stood, he whispered something in her ear, causing her glassy eyes to widen, seeming alive and glowing for the first time. All the cafe patrons watched intently, as if this was the most important part of their day, as if they wanted to know what the young man was whispering. Miss Mary nodded, and when the young man walked away from her, he called the waitress, quickly relaying the words to her. After that, Aerion left and leisurely exited the establishment, taking one last look at the photographs of his ancestors hanging on the cafe walls. He left the cafe.
𖥸
'This stupid girl can't have gone far. My car is still in the drive‑in. And our houses are not within walking distance. Perhaps to the town center.' He simply walked slowly, following in the traces of her footsteps in the sand.
Aerion slowly continued to walk down the dusty road, his gaze focused on the ground — scrutinizing her footsteps in the sand. As he rounded the corner, he finally spotted her in the distance — almost a mile away from him. He picked up the pace, his steps becoming faster. When she looked back, he was already getting closer to her, his long strides quick and purposeful in the evening twilight… and his face was… blank.
“Running won't help you, darlin'.” Boy said in a low, warning tone. His steps became almost a jog as he kept moving closer, closing the gap between them. His cowboy boots kicked up small clouds of dust with each step.
SonTeri didn't stop. Even after hearing his voice, slippery and almost high‑pitched, soft, playful. It was evening outside, but it was still hot, as hot as a pit, and she felt like the cafe's temperature had stuck to her skin and wouldn't leave her. She walked quickly, the sun baking her legs in shorts. Her top was almost sweaty, her hair loose, and that made it even hotter.
He sprinted the last few feet — closing the distance between them in seconds. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with bruising force as he yanked her to a stop. “Enough.” His voice was rough, breathless from running — his face inches from hers now. “Ya think I'm just gonna let ya walk away after sayin' that shit to me?” The street was empty except for the two of them… and his grip on her arm wasn't loosening anytime soon.
“Look at me when I'm talkin' to you.” He grumbled, his fingers like a vise around her wrist. He was practically panting from the run, but his voice was still sharp — almost dangerous. “You can't just walk away from me like that, darlin'. Not when you said somethin' like that — in front of my damn café. You don't get to make a fool outta me and just walk away all high 'n mighty.”
“You're evil again… again and again… You warned me, said all these things about blood and fire… but I thought I could fix you. No. I can't. That's it… let go…”, the girl chatters, pursing her lips at the end.
“Evil?” He scoffed, his grip around her wrist not loosening even the slightest. “What did you think, darlin'? That I was just playin' around with ya? That all the warnin's I gave you were just a joke? I ain't someone you can ‘fix’, darlin'.” He paused. “I'm a bad man. I'm a goddamn monster. And I've told you that since the start.”
Aerion moved closer, closing the distance between them… his breath hot and rough as it brushed against her skin. “And yet you still think you can change me. Why, darlin'? Ain't no one been able to change me before you — why do you think you can do somethin' like that?”
“I…” She hesitated. Still angry. And at the same time sad and offended by his words in the cafe. “You're evil… And… I can't communicate with evil people.”, She speaks in a quiet voice, as if thinking as she goes. “But… But I can't live without you… Texas without you is terrible, Aerion.” She admitted. “You're my friend… You help me… I felt like I was in a hole… But…” Girl looked up. “Why do you talk like that, like in the cafe? Why do you forbid me everything?”
Aerion's expression it became easier, not softer, but not angry at her words, his grasp on her wrist loosening slightly. He searched her gaze, his expression torn between something irritation and boredom. “I don't want to forbid you everything, darlin'… but you gotta understand… you're in my territory. My land. My rules. Ain't no one gonna touch you but me, understand?” He paused. “And that ain't ‘evil’. That's just the way things are.”
His fingers moved from her wrist, gently cupping her chin — lifting it up so he could stare right into her eyes. His gaze was deep, almost searching. “It's just my way of protectin' you, darlin'. Don't you get that? Ain't no one gonna lay their damn hands on you but me.”
“Your protection twists me like thorns, Aerion… you are not a rose.” She looked up, as if already naively believing in his ‘protection’, as if it were all ‘for the good’.
“Maybe my protection ain't easy, darlin'. Maybe it ain't all pretty and gentle.” He shrugged, a hint of defiance in his tone. “But it's damn effective, ain't it? Ain't no one dared touch you since I made it clear you belong to me. Ain't that what matters the most?” He cupped her face with both hands now, his touch almost tender as he gently caressed her cheeks with his thumbs.
“I…” She frowned, looking at his face. 'He looked… ‘sincere’?' “I appreciate it…”
Aerion chuckled. «Gently» stroking her soft face with his calloused hands. 'She believed him. Although he's partly right; he's protecting her, in his own way. But there's something else. Something dark. The main thing is that this idiot in glasses believes him and doesn't kick. He's already told his people that SonTeri is ‘She.’'
His smirk deepened as he leaned in, pressing a rough kiss to her forehead — lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with something possessive… something dangerous. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let's get you home 'fore the sun goes down.” He laced his fingers through hers without another word — leading her back toward town like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was where she belonged.
The sun dipped lower on the horizon as they walked — bathing the road and surrounding fields in a warm orange glow. The evening was growing darker. The town's lights glistened in the distance.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 13: Strange.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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She woke up the next day on her clean bed, wearing soft, baggy pajamas. Her head was pounding as she remembered yesterday. SonTeri winced slightly as she got up from the couch. Her eyes fell on those same strange wildflowers in a vase — the ones she had collected and then met Aerion with. They had brought them here to her room. Girl went to the table, opening the window. Frowning, she pushed them, and they quickly fell from the second floor, making their presence known with a loud sound of breaking glass. She looked out the window: there were shards of a vase, scattered flowers, some torn by the glass. SonTeri looked up at the house across the street, at that very window. Moving away from the window, she left the room.
After washing up, going downstairs, having breakfast, talking to her parents on the phone, telling them about her first day at church, keeping silent about the controversial situations of the day, she was sitting home alone again. She didn't leave the house; she didn't want to — maybe she would meet him. She didn't want that. SonTeri heard the tractor working, and it made her frown slightly. Maybe today she would stay home and keep her homely appearance. She made herself comfortable on the couch, in pajamas and uncombed hair, turning on the TV. Maybe it was time for a Marvel movie marathon. She always watched them when she was… sad?
The day passed as she remained indoors, her mind preoccupied with thoughts and a sense of unease. The sound of the tractor outside occasionally interrupted the silence, a quiet hum of machinery echoing in the background. She settled on the couch, wrapped in her baggy pajamas and messy hair, finding solace in the familiar comfort of a movie marathon. As the hours crawled by, she immersed herself in the world of superheroes, each scene acting as a temporary reprieve from her worries… but the worry remained, persistent and nagging.
A couple of days passed. Sometimes, out of boredom, she would go out and "sort out" her mother's flowerbed. Girl cleaned up the shards of the vase under the window. She would still save the tattered flowers she had thrown down; she would make a herbarium later. Sometimes she would walk near the forest. Sometimes she would exchange a few words with the Targaryens — with Mister Maekar, little Egg, Daeron, by the way, he looked almost cute when he was sober, lots of sarcasm and causticity — but not with him. They didn't talk for a couple more days after that day. As soon as she saw him, she would turn away, pretending she hadn't noticed, or quickly go home. And he would just turn away from her sullenly, his jaw clenched, hammer pounding with all his might. SonTeri thought they were… on a break? She was still waiting; he should apologize for his behavior. That day, she had been almost… scared of him?
Those couple of days passed by like slow drips of water. But it was as if she and Aerion were dancing around each other, avoiding close contact, pretending not to notice, and not acknowledging each other's presence.
The days continued to pass, and the tension between her and Aerion remained thick in the air. Her heart was torn between feeling scared and longing for some change, while he seemed distant and quiet, carrying the weight of unspoken words.
A day later, in the middle of the day, she was lying on the grass of her lawn on a towel. The sun was a little plaintive today, as if it were the third witness and sad for two young people; today it didn't shine as if its mission were to kill people. She decided to sunbathe; there wasn't much time for that in Minnesota. She lay in a top and shorts, with that same weird Panama hat on her face.
As she lay there, basking in the somewhat mild summer sun, it was almost as if the day itself seemed empathetic to her inner turmoil. The sun cast a golden glow on her form, her top and shorts hugging her body comfortably. The Panama hat atop her face shielded her closed eyes, creating a small shadow and offering a sense of solitude. The grass beneath her was soft and cool; the slight rustle of leaves in the background was the only interruption in the quiet afternoon.
While she reveled in the solitary comfort of the sunlit lawn, the soft grass beneath her and the coolness of the afternoon, unbeknownst to her, there was a pair of intense blue eyes watching her from a distance. They were glued to her, observing her form stretched out on the towel, her body enveloped in the warmth of the sun. Aerion's gaze was fixed on her from a distance, studying her every move, drinking in the sight of her.It seemed like a couple of hours passed, and she fell asleep.
Aerion continued to watch her from afar. He had been standing leaned against a nearby tree, his gaze fixed on her sleeping form, the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Time passed slowly, the afternoon light cast over the grass. The sun began its descent, casting the surroundings in a golden hue, while he remained in the same spot, still watching over her, his eyes studying her peaceful face, his expression unreadable.She woke up, shifting into a vertical position. Her hair was slightly tangled with grass in it. Girl took the Panama hat off her face, yawning slightly. She felt a strange, pleasant feeling of warmth on her skin; it was slightly sunburned, turning olive‑brown. SonTeri turned her gaze to the sunset. And by chance she noticed Aerion in the distance; he seemed to be returning to his work. Because of the distance and the shadows from the sun, she could not see his face. She quickly turned away. She stood up and wrapped herself in a towel. She knew it was dirty, but she hadn't thought Aerion would look… otherwise she would not have gone out so openly. She went inside to her house.
Aerion's gaze followed her every move as she stirred from her nap, sitting up and brushing the grass from her hair and clothes. He watched silently as she turned to look in his direction, noticing him in the distance, his gaze locked on her before she quickly looked away, almost as if she had caught him doing something he shouldn't. He saw her wrap herself in the towel and head back inside, disappearing into the safety of her home, leaving him standing there, staring at the space she had just been occupying a moment ago.
𖥸
At almost one o'clock in the morning, she was getting ready for bed. Girl had already turned off the lamp, wrapped herself in a blanket, hugging the ivy dragon.
Young girl lay in bed, wrapped in a blanket, the room now immersed in darkness. She was about to drift off to sleep, the ivy dragon held close, when a sudden sound broke the silence… a soft tapping at her bedroom window.
SonTeri sat up straight in bed, listening slightly. She got up in fear and went to the window.
Girl put on her glasses and walked to the window, wincing when another pebble hit the glass. She squinted, peering in, and in the darkness of the Texas night, she made out a sharp, bruised face. Aerion merely gestured with his finger for her to open the door for him. She was slightly taken aback, but Aerion had already moved toward the door. SonTeri left the room, descending the stairs.
Her heart raced in her chest as she saw Aerion standing outside, his face bruised in the faint light of the moon. She descended the stairs, feeling a mixture of surprise and worry as she got closer to the front door. Without hesitating, she opened it, the cool night air rushing in as she came face to face with him.
“It's one in the morning now,” she only spoke quietly. It was the first thing she said after four days of silence and avoidance. SonTeri looked at his face, as if trying to make up for lost time, while simultaneously checking the condition of his abrasions.
Aerion's gaze locked onto hers, his expression unreadable, the shadows of the night accentuating the hard lines of his face. “I know,” he responded, his voice just as low, his eyes still fixed on hers. His stare was intense, almost as if he was studying her just like she was doing to him. His stance was unyielding, his shoulders broad and strong, as his gaze slowly drifted over her, noticing the baggy pajamas under the blanket that hung off her frame. “Sorry,” he said dryly, as if standing on the threshold, and he apologized for the late hour.
“What?” She was a little taken aback. Now her eyes were wide open.
Aerion's jaw tightened slightly at her reaction, his expression darkening for a moment — almost like he regretted saying that already. But then he leaned in just a fraction, close enough that she could smell the lingering whiskey on his breath. “Sorry,” he repeated, this time slower and with more weight behind it. “For losin' my damn temper.” His eyes flicked down to her pajamas again before meeting hers once more — his voice lowering even further now: “You gonna let me in or not?”
“Are you sober?” she asked quietly, looking into his pupils.
Aerion's expression hardened further at her question, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. “Course I am,” he answered, his tone flat. “Dammit, woman, are you gonna let me inside? You gonna keep makin' me stand on your porch like an ass or not?” He glanced around the dark front yard.
Young girl frowned slightly. He's angry again. “Come in, oh my god.” She rolled her eyes, letting him in. “Take off your shoes…”
Aerion huffed, stepping into the house, kicking off his dusty boots on the doormat. He watched her with narrowed eyes as she closed the door behind him, his stance still tense and almost hostile. “Yeah yeah, darlin'. I know the rules.”
She entered the kitchen, making tea. “And what… are you doing here? You apologized… right on the threshold… a little insincere, don't you think?”
Aerion followed her into the kitchen, leaning his broad shoulders against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “Dad made me,” he said casually, yawning.
“Mr. Maekar?” She stopped. The kettle was boiling. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking rumpled and sleepy. “Made?”
Aerion watched her from the doorway, his gaze roaming over her body — from her messy hair to the baggy pajamas — noting every detail. His tone was neutral, almost bordering on apathetic. “Yep,” he nodded. “He noticed the… ‘tension’ between us. Talked me into apologizing and all that bullshit. The damn old man beat me up.”
She frowned slightly, still standing straight. “When?”
Aerion shifted slightly in the doorway, his arms still crossed over his chest, the shadows from the room casting a dark, almost sinister look on his bruised face. “Three days ago,” he answered, his voice gruff. “Had a long ass talk, then gave me a good smack on the head for good measure too. Happy? I'm here for my goddamn apology, alright?”
“Three days ago? And you came now? At one in the morning?” She bowed her head slightly, frowning. “Not in much of a hurry, were you?”
Aerion huffed again, his jaw clenching slightly at her words. “Not like you were rushin' to talk to me either, sweetheart.” He pushed himself off the doorway, taking a couple of slow steps into the kitchen, his gaze still locked on her.
She pouted slightly, starting to make tea, and frowned. Turning her back to him, she said, “You apologize because you were forced…” Then, more generously: “And you haven't come up to me once these days.”
“You were the one fucking avoiding me,” he said, sitting down at the table.
SonTeri finished making tea and put it on the table with two cups, starting to pour. “You offended me… you behaved badly.” She didn't look at him; he couldn't tear himself away from her.
“«Offended you»?” Aerion almost laughed at that, his jaw tightening with frustration. He leaned back in the chair, his gaze still fixed on her, watching her pour the tea. “Damn woman…” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “All this bullshit over nothin'…”
She sat down, now looking at him. At his eyes. “You don't regret anything? You beat up that guy… You grabbed me and didn't let go… You said such things.”
Aerion's face darkened at her words, his eyes hard and unapologetic. “Hell no,” he said firmly — his voice low and rough. “I don't regret a damn thing. That guy deserved gettin' his ass handed to him, and I'll stand by it.”
But he stopped, as if remembering something. “But… yeah,” he softened his face. “I'm sorry, hon… I shouldn't have touched ya… did it hurt? Ya have fragile shoulders…” He said almost softly, his youthful voice almost hypnotic at night.
Girl looked at him with pouting lips, lingering on his now boyish, battered face. “You were wrong,” she said quietly. “I didn't ask you to beat him up.” A pause. “No… no hurt… just unpleasant.” She quietly added.
Aerion's gaze softened ever so slightly at her response, his expression almost boyish in the dark. He shifted in his chair, the shadows cast by the night almost making him look younger, less hardened. “Yeah. I was wrong.” He spoke as if he had forced himself. He didn't want to apologize; in fact, he had been expecting her to apologize. But eventually, having learned his lesson, he decided to "play along" first. So that sweet little face would stop turning away from him every time. And then there was his dad, who had beaten him. “Ya didn't. I was just fuckin' pissed.”
“Are you sincere?” she asked cautiously.
Aerion looked into her eyes, holding her gaze intently, his face serious. The air between them seemed to thicken. “As sincere as it gets, darlin'.” His voice was lower now, his words almost a whisper in the quiet of the kitchen. He put on the most honest face so that this silly girl would believe him.
“Are you going to treat me like this again?” SonTeri hesitated a little, wondering whether to tell the truth or not. “That day you scared me… you were drunk.” The moonlight cast white highlights on her black hair and eyes.
His eyes were shining with excitement, either from the moon or from her words about being scared. Probably from her fear. “Scared?…” He almost smiled, but stopped himself in time, maintaining a sweet, remorseful face. “I'm sorry… I won't do it again,” he said quietly, licking his bottom split lip. “Peace?” he asked quietly, in the quiet, almost apocalyptic Texas night, his youthful, soft voice almost hypnotizing.
“Peace?” she quietly asked again, not taking her eyes off his almost… boyish face with raised eyebrows. When he didn't frown, he looked younger. “Um… yes…” SonTeri answered, almost in a whisper, pronouncing her verdict of their four‑day "pause."
Aerion exhaled softly — almost a laugh, but not quite. His fingers twitched slightly against the table as he leaned in just enough to make his next words feel like a secret. “Good.” His voice was rough with something unspoken — not quite relief, not quite satisfaction. “Now drink your damn tea before it gets cold.” He watched her from under his lashes, waiting for her to move first. The moon painted silver streaks across the kitchen floor between them.
She took a sip. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. He took quiet sips, looking at her. His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. He frowned slightly every time the hot tea hit his split lip. “Does it hurt? Are you following my instructions, treating and applying ointment?” She quietly switched to normal conversations, nodding at the abrasions and bruises on his face.
Aerion watched as she drank her tea, the shadows on his face playing in the moonlight. His own tea was mostly untouched in his cup. “Yeah,” he nodded slightly at her question. “Every day, darlin'. Twice. Just like you said.” He reached up, touching the tender skin on his cheek, just above his split lip, wincing as his fingers brushed against the injury. “It's just not goddamn healing quickly enough.”
“Um… can I?” Girl extended her hand.
He raised an eyebrow at her request but didn't protest. He tilted his chin up a fraction, giving her better access to his face. “Be my guest,” he said with a small shrug, his voice low. His gaze never left her face.
SonTeri lifted herself up slightly, carefully touching his cheekbone with the bruise with her fingertips, then his slightly cut lip. “Fine… healing fine, I mean…” she said quietly, raising her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses to his blue eyes.
Aerion held perfectly still as her fingers grazed his bruised cheekbone, his breath hitching slightly when she touched the split on his lip. His blue eyes burned into hers — unreadable, intense. “Fine?” he repeated quietly, almost mocking. His voice was rougher now. “That's all ya got to say? After four damn days of avoiding me?” He leaned in just a fraction closer — not enough to cross the line but enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him in the quiet kitchen.
She frowned slightly at the mention of those days. And she sat back down, rather plopping down. “You were avoiding it too…”
Aerion's expression hardened at her pointed comment. He leaned back in his chair, mirroring her. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice low. “Guess we're both stubborn motherfuckers.” He drummed his fingers on the table between them, his gaze still locked on her face.
“Um… before the church day… we hadn't seen each other for about two days… where were you?”
Aerion paused at her question, his fingers stilling on the table. His gaze flicked to hers — sharp, assessing. “At the damn ranch,” he muttered, “fixin' fences. Then got into a scrap with Daeron over some stupid shit.” He leaned forward slightly again, elbows resting on his knees now. “Why? Missed me?”
“A ranch on your other lands?” she asked with interest. “I was just… just wondering… you didn't tell me anything and disappeared.”
Aerion huffed at her question, a smirk tugging at his split lip despite the sting. “Nah. My dad's land — two hours east.” He leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms over that broad chest of his. “Wasn't plannin' on vanishing forever. Just had shit to do.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. “Ya worried or somethin', darlin'?”
“Just asked.” Girl said awkwardly, as if not admitting it to herself. She looked away to the window, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Aerion watched her for a long moment, the smirk on his lips fading into something more unreadable. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face as he studied her profile. “Uh‑huh,” he said dryly, voice low. “Sure ya just ‘asked.’” He leaned forward suddenly, resting his forearms on the table — close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off him again. “Ya know what? Fine. Next time I disappear… I'll leave a damn note or somethin'.”
“Thank you… that's 'cute.'” She said almost snapping, but only because of her awkwardness.
Aerion smirked at that, his expression almost smug. He could see right through her awkwardness — like a goddamn window. “Cute?” He huffed, shifting back in his chair again, his eyes glimmering with something as he watched her. Damn woman. “Hell of a compliment, darlin'. Almost feels like you care about my whereabouts.”
“It's already two o'clock in the morning,” she said quietly, looking at the wall clock. “You have to get up early.” She said it as if she were worried that he wouldn't get enough sleep before a day of hard work, as if she knew his schedule.
He glanced at the wall clock — then back at her. A hint of amusement in his eyes. “I'm used to gettin' up with the chickens, darlin',” he drawled lowly, his voice a rich drawl. “My body clock's in tune with the goddamn sun. Been that way since I could walk. A few hours of sleep won't kill me.” He studied her for a moment, then continued. “But… you, on the other hand…” He paused, shifting forward just a fraction. “…You probably need your beauty sleep, darlin'. Can't have those pretty eyes of yours getting all puffy now.” He almost sounded like he was being… teasing.
“Well, actually, yes…” ‐
Aerion chuckled at that, low and rough. He leaned back in his chair again, stretching his arms over the top of it. “Figures,” he said with a smirk. “Guess I better get outta yer way then — ain't no use you gettin' cranky on me tomorrow.” But he didn't move just yet. His gaze lingered on her for another second too long before finally pushing up from the table to leave.
He approached the hallway, putting on his pointed boots, and stood at the threshold. “Aerion… uhm… I've forgiven you, but… I'd like to get something else from you… that will show me the honesty of your words… actions,” she said confidently.
Aerion paused mid‑step, his hand still on the doorknob. He turned back to look at her, one eyebrow arched. “Actions?” he repeated slowly — his voice low and dangerous now. “What kind of actions ya want from me? Flowers? A written apology in blood? Or somethin' else?” His gaze darkened slightly as he waited for her answer — already bracing himself for whatever damn thing she was about to demand of him next.
SonTeri frowned slightly, trying to see something behind his pupils. “You're an artist's friend… I'm sure you have imagination.” girl raised her hand mechanically and stroked the lilac‑black bruise on his cheekbone again, without noticing. Then she let go awkwardly. “Um… I need this, Aerion… I need to know that you're good…” She paused. “…see.” She was serious.
Aerion froze the moment her fingers brushed his bruised cheekbone — his breath hitching just slightly. He almost clung to her palm like a pet dragon. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and searching. “Good?” he repeated quietly, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue. His jaw tensed for a second before relaxing again. He leaned in closer — close enough that she could feel the heat of him now, smell leather and whiskey clinging to his skin. “Ya want me to prove it? Fine.” His voice dropped lower. “But ya better be ready for what comes with that.”
Girl frowned slightly in confusion, tilting her head. As he left her house. Aerion left, and in the black Texas night all that was visible was his back and the small orange glow from the cigarette he had just lit. With measured steps, he headed home. She took one last look and slammed the door shut, returning home. Without putting away the cups and teapot, she went straight to her room. She lay down on the bed, hugging the ivy dragon again, glancing before sleep at the book on the table, which contained those very wild flowers she had pressed between the pages. Those very wild flowers. She fell asleep.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 12: Wounds.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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She spent the rest of the day on the couch, accidentally falling asleep in her Sunday dress. Even though God commanded not to be lazy on Sunday, but to work. Waking up late in the evening, she got up from the couch. Her neat morning braid was disheveled, black strands falling into her face. She picked up her glasses from the table and put them on. Her stomach growled. She got up, getting ready to make dinner. She looked at the clock; it was almost six o'clock.
As she stumbled into the kitchen, the house felt eerily quiet — too quiet. The fridge hummed when she opened it, revealing a few leftover dishes from yesterday and some groceries that would need to be used soon. Her stomach growled again as if protesting her lack of lunch. Outside, dusk had settled over the fields — the golden light fading into something softer and cooler now that night was creeping in. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked… but beyond that? Silence. No tractors. No hammers.
After dinner, having finally cleaned up, she sat down on the couch. Today's sermon was stuck in her head, and that incident with the guy… "wench"… 'yeah'.
The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as she shifted on the couch. The weight of today's sermon lingered — Reverend Hamer's words about mercy and forgiveness echoing in her mind. Then there was that guy from church — the one who had called her a wench. 'His tone had been sharp, mocking… but why? What did he want with her? And more importantly — why did it sting so much?' A sudden noise outside made her head snap toward the window. She heard a car pull up to the Targaryens' house. 'Did Mister Maekar and Egg go somewhere? I've been sleeping all day, so maybe they have.' She went to the kitchen window. Their pickup was gone. Only… her eyebrows raised in surprise… a junky red sports car, maybe a little battered, but for Texas, that was chic. It roared to a stop, as if the driver was either insane or didn't care, leaving black clouds in the air. She was surprised. Aerion came out, wearing a baggy T‑shirt and jeans. And for some reason, she perked up.
She decided to go to him, since he was already home. He had been missing for two days, and they hadn't seen each other. Without even bothering to find a reason for her visit, she left, still wearing the same "church bow". By the time she reached their house, the guy was no longer in the yard, only the red car. As she approached, she glanced at the car again; now she could truly believe that Aerion was the local "prince," and not just a stupid farmer. Girl approached and knocked on the door for the second time that day on the wooden handle carved in the shape of a dragon's head. 'Is this stupid? Although, what's the problem with stopping by to see a friend?' She heard leisurely footsteps outside the door, the click of heels. Aerion opened the door, wearing the usual baggy clothes with some metal band print, but pointed boots — a sign of "Texas." Looking up, she was shocked; he looked beaten up. A black bruise on his cheekbone around reddened skin, a split lip, bruised knuckles on the door frame. His blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat or blood? His blue cold eyes were wild.
Aerion looked at her with surprise — he clearly hadn't been expecting any visitors — until his eyes widened in shock as he took in her appearance: the wrinkled skirt, messy braid, the plain shoes and the glasses. She probably looked… well, less than perfect, especially standing next to his "bad boy" image, all roughed‑up and edgy. His gaze, wild and intense, ran over her before he raised an eyebrow. “You're a little overdressed for a casual visit.”
“This is for church,” she spoke rationally, but then she remembered his face. “Oh my god… what happened?” Girl winced, probably from worry for him.
Aerion's eyes narrowed at her reaction — the concern in her face was almost kind of cute. He seemed caught off guard by it, as if he hadn't expected anyone to worry about some busted lip. Leaning casually against the door frame, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, this? Got into a bit of a fight, that's all.”
“You fight on Sunday instead of church?” SonTeri said almost reproachfully, but still with a worried look for him. Her eyes feverishly ran over his cheekbone, lip, the bruises on his face. “God…” she repeated.
Aerion couldn't help but roll his eyes at the mention of church, the word like a curse to him. He noticed the way she looked at him — her worry almost… endearing. He let out a gruff scoff. “Yeah, well, not everyone can be so virtuous. Some of us have a life outside of sermons and praying.”
“Are you going to treat it?” she asked.
“Oh, just wash yourself with soap and then pour some moonshine on it, it'll go away in a couple of days,” Aerion said carelessly, rolling his eyes. She was still standing at the threshold.
“Moonshine?” she asked, wincing slightly.
Aerion chuckled at her response. Her innocence almost seemed… entertaining to him. “Yeah, moonshine.” His grin widened, as if she were just a naive little thing. “Texas remedy, sweetheart.”
“Oh my god… what about sepsis? Or AIDS? Or tetanus? You work a lot on the farm…” She rolled her eyes. “Oh my god… no… come with me, I have a first aid kit.”, SonTeri's voice is dripping with emotion.
Aerion laughed — a loud, rough sound that made his split lip twitch in pain. He watched her with something between amusement and disbelief. “Sepsis? AIDS?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as if the idea was absurd. “Darlin', I ain't got nothin' to worry about — moonshine's pure as hell.” He leaned against the doorframe again, looking at her like he was deciding whether or not to humor her little first‑aid crusade. His bruised knuckles flexed slightly — almost considering it.
“Sepsis is also pure,” she said, parrying, raising her eyebrows and shooting her black eyes, persuasively.
Aerion rolled his eyes again, that amused smirk still playing on his face. He seemed almost entertained by her persistence. “Yeah, yeah, sepsis is pure, I get it. But trust me, darlin', ain't nothing a little moonshine can't fix.” His gaze, wild and intense, flicked over her again, as if he couldn't decide whether she was stupidly stubborn or just annoyingly naive. “You're really gonna insist on playin' nurse? Ain't you a good church girl?”
“You can wash yourself, splash yourself with moonshine — ” although judging by the smell, he had definitely drunk a lot of the same thing as moonshine — “but then maybe I'll still treat your wounds?”
Aerion snorted, a mix of amusement and disbelief. His split lip stung, but he was too stubborn to care. “Oh, so now you're bargainin'?” he drawled, eyes glinting with something between mockery and interest. “Fine. I'll wash the blood off — don't need Father bustin' in here thinkin’ I got jumped by a bear or some shit.” He stepped aside just enough to let her in — but not without adding: “But if you use one o’ them antiseptic wipes on me like I'm some little kid? We're havin' words.”
“Of course,” girl didn't even roll her eyes, too busy examining his wounds while talking. “I'll be quick,” she said, turning away and walking toward her house to get the first aid kit.
Aerion entered the house. He went to the bathroom, washing his face with cold water. Slightly unsteady from intoxication, wiping away the water and blood with his T‑shirt. Ten minutes later, she knocked on the door again.
SonTeri walked into the house, not surprised by his bare torso, but rather by the bruises on it. They went upstairs, most likely to his room. Once inside, she saw a dark room, a bed, a closet, a nightstand, even a guitar and a skateboard… she was slightly surprised by his usual teenage things, a little mess. The room smelled of cigarettes and strong cologne, and there was a huge full‑length mirror, bigger than the one in her room. She stood in the middle, still in her church dress and with a white suitcase in her hand. “I admit, I thought your room only consisted of a bed and a stool… but it looks… cool,” she said, while Aerion, staggering from alcohol, normally took so many strange magazines with naked women and threw them under his bed.
Aerion grinned, the sight of her standing in the middle of his room, all prim and proper in her church bow, was quite amusing. His gaze drifted over her before taking in the rest of the room, his eyes lingering on the stack of magazines he had quickly tossed away. He let out a low scoff, shaking his head. “What, think I don't like things other than a mattress and a chair?” He plopped down on the bed, leaning against the headboard as he watched her. “I got other interests, sweetheart.”
Girl walked up to him and sat down opposite him on his bed, the rumpled red bed linen and the window… opposite their house, to her window. “What happened?” she asked, opening the first aid kit and taking out the antiseptic — her mother's, a military doctor's, first aid kit.
Young guy leaned back, propping himself up with one hand while his gaze flicked from the open box to her and back to the box. He was still amused by the whole situation. She, in that church dress, all proper and neat, with that first‑aid box in hand, sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed. It was almost a ridiculous contrast. But he couldn't help but find her endearing. “Took it upon myself to give some dumbass in town a beatin'.”
She frowned slightly. “You fight a lot.” It wasn't a question; he had admitted it himself earlier. Girl started with the bruise on his cheekbone, carefully treating it with antiseptic gauze.
Aerion winced slightly as she dabbed the gauze onto the bruise, the antiseptic making it sting. But he didn't move; he was surprisingly compliant with her amateur doctor skills. His gaze never left her face, watching her expression closely as she tended to his wounds. He let out a soft scoff. “Yeah, yeah. I fight a lot.” There was something… almost challenging in his tone, like he was daring her to judge him — a little defiant, a little defensive.
“You could have gone to church with us. With your father and little brother,” she said, continuing and moving her hand to his lower split lip. It burned more, and Aerion winced even more.
Aerion grimaced — the sting of the antiseptic mixed with the burn of his lip, making him clench his jaw. He snorted at her comment, almost rolling his eyes. Church wasn't exactly his usual hangout place, and she knew it. “Yeah, and listen to Reverend Hamer droning on about God's judgement or whatever? Pass.”
SonTeri changed the gauze for a new one and took his left hand, treating it with antiseptic. “It was almost nice there… in church,” she said without looking up from her work.
«I know,» she heard from him.
Young girl looked up for just a second, meeting his blue eyes and confirming the truth. “Where from?” she asked, lowering her eyes again.
Aerion's expression shifted slightly — almost imperceptibly, but it was there. A flicker of something in his cold blue eyes when she said almost nice. He exhaled through his nose, watching as she worked on cleaning the cuts across his knuckles. “I know,” he muttered again, “because Egg told me.” His gaze lingered on her face for a second too long before he added: “Little wretch talks about everything. Like a damn parrot.”
SonTeri frowned slightly in surprise. “And what did he say?” She continued to work on his right hand without looking up, but she could still feel his heavy gaze.
Aerion grunted slightly as she continued working on his hand, the alcohol of the antiseptic stinging his knuckles. He shifted his position on the bed, lying down more comfortably against the pillows. “'bout some guy.” He said it almost in a whisper.At the mention of this, her hands stopped. But only for a second. 'Did Egg hear the whole conversation?' She finished treating him and took out some ointment. “And what about him?” she asked casually.
Aerion hesitated for a moment before speaking — as if deciding how much to tell her. He glanced up, watching her carefully — almost warily — as she continued working on him. His gaze flickered down to her hands as she applied the ointment to the scratches on his hand. Finally, he sighed. “That he was callin' you a wench. Saying rude things.”
Girl paused slightly again, but continued. 'So Egg heard everything? It's sad, as if I'm only concerned about little Egg's psyche.' “He didn't say anything rude,” she said, still busy.
Boy watched her closely — her reaction, the slight pause in her hands. His smirk faded for a second, something almost unreadable flickering across his face. “Didn't say anything?” he repeated — his tone laced with disbelief. “Egg told me that guy called you a wench.” He leaned forward slightly now, his bruised knuckles flexing as he studied her expression like it was some kind of puzzle.
She had to look up, because she needed to put ointment on his cheekbone. “Did that upset you?” Then it hit her with a gasp. “Wait…” SonTeri pulled her hand away slightly to look at his frowning face. “Just don't tell me that you…” She pointed her finger at the marks of the fight; her glasses slid down to the tip of her nose, as if that also surprised.
Aerion scoffed slightly, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Of course it did,” he responded, a slight irritation in his voice as if the question was absurd. “Some bastard sayin' those kind of things to you? Yeah, it pissed me off.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Why do you look so surprised?”
She frowned slightly as she peered into his face; the alcohol had almost worn off, but he still smelled. “Did you beat up that guy? The tall one with the black curls…”
Aerion's expression darkened slightly when she mentioned the man from the church — a muscle in his jaw clenching. “Damn right I did,” he muttered, his tone flat and matter‑of‑fact. “Guy was a grade‑A bastard. Needed to get his ass handed to him.” His gaze locked onto hers, almost challenging — daring her to judge him. “Got a problem with that?”
“Why?” It was as if she had already forgotten about the treatment; the ointment was in her right hand and the fingers of her left hand, smeared with ointment, were hanging in the air. “God…”
Aerion stared at her for a long moment, his expression caught between disbelief and something else — something almost protective. The ointment smeared on her fingers didn't go unnoticed by him. “God?” he repeated dryly. “You thinkin' I'm the villain here? That bastard called you a wench, it's almost a whore.” His voice lowered slightly — not quite angry, but intense. “And yeah. I beat his ass.”
“Were you drunk before or after the fight? It doesn't matter, though… It was stupid, Aerion… Didn't you hurt him badly?” She asked with a worried frown, the first aid kit still clasped between her knees.
Aerion's eyes narrowed slightly at her questions, a flicker of something — almost irritation — flashing in their blue depths. He sat up, shifting his weight to lean his back against the headboard again. “Maybe I was some drunk, so?” he said firmly, his tone defensive. “And if I did hurt him, he deserved it. Nobody talks to you like that. That's not bein' stupid — that's standin' your ground.”
“I didn't ask standing my ground,” she frowned quietly. "What? Are you following my whole life now?", From her lips flows almost confidence or maybe... anger?
Aerion froze for a second, his expression shifting into something unreadable. His jaw clenched slightly as he processed her words. “Followin' you?” he repeated — his tone laced with disbelief. “Don't flatter yourself.” He leaned back again, arms crossed over his bare chest like a shield. The bruise on his cheekbone was still fresh under the ointment she had applied earlier. “I ain't some damn stalker.”
She frowned deeper as she thought about his words. “Get up, I'm not finished.”
Aerion sighed and rolled his eyes slightly, reluctantly obeying her command. He got off the bed, standing up — almost towering over her with his height. He was still shirtless, bruised, and looking like a damn mess.
She angrily but still gently applied ointment to his split lower lip, avoiding his gaze, but knowing he was watching. Of course, she knew he was a fan of "troublemaker," but this was the first time she had encountered this. “There are too many bruises,” she whispered, as if grumbling. “I didn't ask you to.”
Aerion grunted slightly as she applied the ointment to his split lip — the cut still stinging with the burn of the antiseptic. His gaze locked onto her face, studying her expression as she continued her work. He was quiet for a moment, watching her, before his tone dripped with a touch of madness. “And I didn't ask for your damned lectures, darlin'. I'm a big boy. I can handle myself.”
“Oh yeah? Big? Well, I'm pretty grown up too. I didn't ask you to defend my honor, as if it would be hurt by one word from a guy I don't know…” SonTeri irritably removed her finger from his split, plump lip, taking a band‑aid from the first aid kit. “That was stupid.”
Aerion stared at her, his tone growing more heated, matching her own. He looked almost frustrated — a mix of irritation and something else — something almost possessive. “Stupid?” he scoffed, his gaze burning. “You think it's stupid to stick up for someone who's being disrespected? To stand your damn ground and make it clear that you ain't gonna tolerate bullshit?”
“Personally, it wasn't that important to me… and what you did wasn't ‘standing up for’ but ‘getting into a crazy fight.’” She spoke almost with malice and lecturing, but still, with the tenderness of a mother, she stuck a bandage on his cheekbone, blowing slightly. “Look at your face…”
Aerion scoffed again, his tone still heated — but the anger in it seemed to fade just a bit as she continued to work on him. “Not important?” he repeated, almost in disbelief. His gaze never left her face, studying her expression as if trying to understand her point of view. “That bastard called you a wench. In a goddamn church of all places. What, you were just going to stand there and let him insult you?”
“So the complaints come to me too?” She raised an eyebrow, looking at his frowning face and despite the pain clenched in his jaw. His room got darker.
Aerion growled in irritation — he looked almost pissed now, the earlier frustration growing in his gaze — almost like a wild, untamed animal. “Not complaints, darlin'. I'm just tryin' to get through your damn thick head that that guy disrespected you for no damn reason. He had it comin', and he got what he deserved.” He paused. “I thought you'd appreciate someone standing up for you, defending your honor — hell, you seemed madder at me than at the son of a damn shit farmer who called you a wench in public.”
Young guy glared at her, placing both hands on her thin, fragile shoulders — his muscles rippling with tension. “What, you expect me to just sit there watchin' that bastard talk to you like that? Hell no. That ain't how it goes. You're supposed to be protected from assholes like that — for a man like me to do this.” He took a step towards her, the space between them closing. “And you act like I'm the bad guy for gettin' my knuckles dirty. Fuck, woman…”
He got dangerously close, so close that she unconsciously shifted back on the bed, almost dropping the first aid kit. SonTeri just frowned in surprise at his sharp features; the shadows from the window cast on the rented shadows, like ugly little devils; his abrasions and wounds made him look older. “But that's not good too,” she said quietly, without looking away.
Aerion's eyes flashed wildly as he saw her shift back on the bed, his own hands automatically gripping her shoulders a little harder to keep her in place. He spoke quietly, in an almost measured voice that didn't match his face. “You don't want protection from me, do you? Or did you like him? That guy… that's why you're protecting him?”
“What?” Girl frowned slightly at his words, feeling his heavy hands on her shoulders. She clutched the skirt of her dress, sitting on the bed.
Aerion scoffed, his expression almost cold as he stared down at her, his gaze intense. “You heard me,” he repeated, his tone firm. “You seem hell‑bent on trying to defend that asshat who called you a wench. Did you like it? Was that a compliment to you or something?” He leaned closer, almost towering over her now, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “Huh? Answer me, goddamnit.”
She frowned deeper in shock. “You're being overdramatic and you've twisted everything… I don't care about this situation at all… uhm…” She gently pushed his hands off her shoulders, trying to get up. The first aid kit fell over on the bed. She tried to get out of bed; her hair was disheveled, her glasses were falling off, but she didn't adjust them out of excitement.
Aerion almost growled when she pushed his hands away, his jaw clenching slightly as his gaze followed her. “Overdramatic?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I ain't being overdramatic. You just don't get it, do you? Nobody insults you — especially a guy like that. I'm not gonna sit there like a damn coward and let some bastard disrespect you like that.” He watched her push the first aid kit away. “Where do you think you're going?”
“Home,” girl said in a hurry. “You're angry today… and drunk… we'll talk when you come to your senses.” All disheveled and in amazement, she collected the fallen pills and bandages on the bed back into the first aid kit. “You can't just hit people and then say things to me like that.”
Aerion laughed — a sharp, bitter sound as he watched her scramble to pick up the first aid kit. His expression was a mix of frustration and something else — something almost wounded. “Drunk? Yeah, maybe. But I ain't lying.” He stepped in front of her before she could leave, blocking her path with his tall frame. “You don't get to walk away from this like it's nothing.” His voice dropped lower now — not quite threatening but close enough. “We're talkin' about this now. ”
“No.” SonTeri looked up, slightly sensing a strange feeling in this situation, in this room… fear? “We'll talk about this later.” She still frowned at him. She put the antiseptic and ointment on his bedside table. “Treat your wounds more often and only after you wash your hands. I know you work with the earth a lot.” She spoke quickly and while Aerion was distracted by this, she jumped out of his room. Only the skirt of her dress fluttered behind her and the locked black shoes were visible.
Aerion's eyes widened in surprise as she made a quick escape, almost like a cat caught off guard by a mouse. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice filled with frustration as he watched her leave. He stood there for a moment, his gaze still glued to the open door, as if contemplating whether to come after her or not. Eventually, he clenched his jaw, his hands clenching into fists. “Fuck…”
He was drunk and slightly unsteady, his eyes clouded. We'll talk about this under normal circumstances; I believe he'll understand his mistake. Girl approached the key door, clutching the first aid kit to her chest, strands of hair falling into her eyes. And then she heard a crash from above, as if something had been thrown violently. She didn't stop, opened the door and stepped out. Walking past the red sports car, she again saw the old pickup truck and Mr. Maekar and Egg getting out and watching their neighbor run out of the house.
Maekar's expression was concerned when he saw her rush out of the house, the first aid kit clutched tightly to herself. He quickly picked up on the tension in the air and the look of slight fear in her eyes. He took a few steps forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Everything okay, girl?” he asked. “What's goin' on?” Egg looked at her too, a slight frown of worry on his face. He seemed to sense the tension, his small hand gently tugging at his father's jeans. He knew who had done it.
“Everything is fine, good evening.” SonTeri quickly exchanged a word, smiling slightly and saying goodbye. She walked to her house across the road; the dust had stained her shoes, turning the snow‑white socks brown.
Maekar and Egg exchanged skeptical glances, their concern deepening at her hasty goodbye, their eyes still lingering on her as she walked away. It was obvious that something had happened, and both of them had a good guess what exactly. As she walked away, Egg's hand moved from his father's jeans to the hem of his shirt, tugging it slightly, an almost nervous habit he tended to have when he was anxious or worried. SonTeri entered her house, taking off her shoes and socks right at the door. She threw the first aid kit on the couch in front of the TV. Girl went to the kitchen for a drink of cool water. It was already evening, and it was hot in Texas, like Texas in the sun. Or maybe it was because she was so nervous.
As she entered her home, a wave of heat enveloped her, the Texan summer air still hanging heavily even in the evening. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the surroundings. She reached the kitchen, pouring herself a cool glass of water from the tap. She could feel her heart still pounding in her chest from the encounter earlier, the adrenaline slowly starting to subside. The house was still quiet, but it felt different now — the air almost charged with tension, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
SonTeri frowned slightly. It's been a rough day. 'I'll say a prayer for Aerion before bed.' She pushed herself away from the nightstand, grabbed the first aid kit from the couch, and headed upstairs. Girl put the first aid kit back in the bathroom and took off her clothes to take a shower. Her blue dress fell to the floor, her tattered braid unraveled. It was even cool in the bathroom, nice. Under the streams of boiling water, she remembered Aerion's battered, handsome face; 'he was even more handsome this way… It was almost as if the sight of him broken and wounded made him look more "real," more human, in the most vulnerable way. Poor.'
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 11: Church.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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After two days, she got up early, cleaned the house, ironed her clothes, and left the house after breakfast. It was still hot outside. She was wearing a long, perfectly ironed blue plaid dress, white socks,black shoes and glasses, her hair was pulled back into a braid, with all that she almost looked like she had escaped from a boarding school for noble maidens. She walked to the neighboring Targaryen house. Since her parents were away working at the local military base, Mister Maekar had said they could go to church together: her, him, and little Egg. Daeron was out again. And Aerion had stopped going to church since he was fourteen. She walked across the dusty road, her dress already starting to stick to her body from the heat. Approaching the house, she quietly knocked on the old wooden door with a handle carved in the shape of a dragon's head.
Maekar opened the door with a stern face. No, he wasn't angry — it was just his face. Just like Aerion's perpetually frowning face. They were both just… such. Similar.
Maekar looked down at her — his expression as stern and unreadable as ever. His sharp eyes flicked over her carefully pressed dress, the braid, the glasses — all of it making him look like a man who was about to scold some rebellious child. “You're early,” he stated flatly. “And hot.” Behind him, little Egg peeked out from between his legs with wide eyes. The boy was already dressed in a tiny suit.
“Hello, Mr. Maekar… um… I brought you some oranges.” She gave him the fruit basket. “Thank you for agreeing to take me with you… my parents, they work.”
Maekar took the basket from her, his expression still stern… but his eyes softened slightly as he looked down at the fruit. “Very polite. Nice manners,” he murmured, voice gruff and rough. The corners of his mouth tilted upwards in the smallest of smirks. “Come in, come in…” He stepped aside, allowing her to step over the threshold. Once she was inside, Egg appeared again, still staring at her from behind his father's leg.
“Hi, Egg,” she smiled as she greeted the eight‑year‑old boy with blond hair. Restless.
Egg eyed her with bright curiosity for a few long seconds before he finally spoke — his voice soft and slightly childish. “Hello,” he greeted her, peering up from behind his father. He was still clearly shy, but there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes. “You're pretty.”
“Thank you… you look like a gentleman too.”, she says, giggling slightly.
Egg blinked — clearly not used to being called a “gentleman.” He puffed out his tiny chest, trying to mimic Maekar's stern posture… and failing miserably. His small hands clutched at the too‑big sleeves of his suit. “Am I?” he asked, voice laced with awe. Maekar watched this exchange with an unreadable expression — though something in his eyes softened just slightly as he glanced down at Egg. The boy looked so proud now that it almost made him smirk again.
“Aerion… he won't go?” she asked casually.
Maekar shook his head. “No. Aerion refuses to go to church. He's made his feelings on that very clear,” he muttered, voice rough and blunt as always. “We've stopped trying to drag the boy to church for at least a year… he won't go. Says it's all ‘bullshit.’” At the mention of his older brother, Egg perked up — peering towards the direction of Aerion's room.
“Oh… I see… that's just like him,” girl said, as if she was upset about his absence.
Maekar studied her for a moment — his sharp eyes catching something in her tone. He raised a brow, as if silently questioning whether or not he should be concerned about the way she had said that. “You expected him?” he asked, voice still gruff but laced with mild suspicion now. Egg tilted his head at her too — waiting to see what her answer would be. The little boy seemed more curious than anything else… 'and maybe just slightly disappointed on Aerion's behalf too?' Like he thought this was all some kind of joke between the two of them.
“I just asked,” girl answered quietly, sitting down on a chair in the kitchen at the table. Mr. Maekar went upstairs to get ready for church. She was left with the little boy. His blond, tousled hair was combed, his face was washed, and his Sunday suit hung slightly on the skinny boy, just like her Sunday dress. The boy sat down and began to eat tangerines from the basket she had brought.
Egg watched her for a moment — cheeks stuffed with tangerine like a little chipmunk. His small hands clutched the fruit as he chewed, swinging his legs beneath the table. “You like Aerion,” he declared suddenly — blunt and direct in that way only kids could be. It wasn't an accusation. Just an observation… as if it was obvious to him why she had asked about his older brother. He tilted his head slightly, waiting to see how she would respond.
“Yes, he is my friend,” SonTeri casually answered the eight‑year‑old boy. His eyes were blue, but not sharp and dead like his brothers' and father's — rather deep, childish, but still almost adult.
Egg eyed her with that sharp, almost observant look again. The kind of expression adults would probably find unsettling on a kid of his age. He chewed thoughtfully on his tangerine. “Don't be friends with him, he's bad,” the child spoke sincerely about his elder brother. “He offends me… makes nettles and once shot a deer, although we were fishing, I asked him not to do it… But Aerion only laughed.”
She frowned slightly at the boy's words. His gaze showed pure resentment towards his brother and maybe… hatred? “Aerion can be evil, I know… but still, he's nice to me.” 'Really? Always?' She slightly raised the corners of her lips, giving Egg a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to change his mind or resentment.
Egg narrowed his eyes slightly, not quite convinced by her smile. He leaned forward, his tiny hands still grasping his tangerine. “He acts all nice with you… but he's just playing,” he muttered, voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “He'll only get ya into trouble.” There was a surprising amount of insight in that kid's words. It was clear that, for such a young boy, Egg had a good read of people — or Aerion, at least. The kid definitely knew his brother well. “Aerion always goes out with pretty girls… Last month he was with the Smiths' daughter… she was a bit of a bitch,” the kid cursed without even blinking, “and they broke up.”
“I see…” She answered awkwardly. 'Why should I know about Aerion's romantic life?' “Does he change girls often?” Although she was a little curious. For some reason.
Egg nodded firmly, as if he was the expert on Aerion's romantic exploits. “Yeah, a lot,” he agreed, still munching on his tangerine. He said it rather matter‑of‑fact, like he didn't think it was a big deal that his brother could be a bit of a ‘playboy.’ He shrugged, almost like a miniature version of his father. “He never keeps a girl for more than a week or two.” The little boy tilted his head, eyeing her with his strangely intelligent eyes.
Girl pursed her lips slightly, not knowing what to do with this information. “Is it delicious?” she asked the kid, who, despite his words, looked cute and naive with big eyes. “Do you also spend a lot of time on the farm?”
Egg nodded enthusiastically, tangerine juice smeared on his chin. “Yeah! It's sweet,” he said with a grin. Then, as if remembering something important, he added: “But Papa says I shouldn't eat too much sugar.” He leaned back in his chair — kicking his little legs out like a tiny version of Maekar. “I help with the cows sometimes… but mostly I just watch 'em. Aerion makes me brush 'em when he's bored.”
“You're a good boy… in church they say to help your neighbors, especially your family.” She wiped his chin with a napkin from the table, although the boy was already quite grown up. “But still, fruits are good for you… especially tangerines, they have vitamin C.”
Egg leaned into her touch as she wiped off the tangerine juice from his face. “I know I'm good,” the little boy mumbled — almost pouting. He seemed a little annoyed that she was treating him like a complete toddler. But he was still young enough to enjoy the attention a little. “And I like tangerines,” he added, as if that settled it. His little hand grabbed another fruit from the basket. “They're my favorite.”
SonTeri smiled at the kid. “And Daeron… he won't join?” she remembered that tall drunk guy at her door, with long, sandy hair and desperate eyes.
Egg made a face at the mention of Daeron's name. He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “No,” he muttered, shaking his little head. He seemed almost offended that she would even ask. “Daeron doesn't go to church ever. He usually sleeps all day… or gets drunk…” The boy glanced at her with those keen, almost adult eyes again. “Papa says Daeron has troubles… that's why he drinks. But Papa says he loves Daeron. I love Daeron too. He's good, not like Aerion. Just sometimes he… drinks… and cries.”
“Oh…” She was a little taken aback. But she already knew all this. “Uhm… Daeron told me that he loves you too.” She smiled again, comforting the boy. “Love thy neighbor,” especially your family.
Egg studied her for a moment — his sharp little mind still calculating. He nodded slowly, as if he was accepting her words at face value… but not quite convinced. “Yeah,” he murmured, kicking his legs under the table again. “Papa says Daeron is my big brother too.” There was something almost wistful in Egg's tone — like he wanted to believe that. Like maybe part of him even hoped Aerion could be like that someday too? But then Maekar came back downstairs and ruined the moment with his usual scowl.
Maekar glanced at the two of them, expression stern as always. “We should probably get going. Don't want to be late for church.” He eyed the basket of tangerines. “Did you two eat all the fruits?”
They got up from the table. She straightened her dress skirt. “Nope, Dad… there's still plenty in the basket, Aerion won't cry,” the boy said cheerfully upon his father's arrival, throwing the peelings from the table into the trash.
Maekar let out a small huff — though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. He almost smiled when his son threw away the tangerine peels. “Very responsible,” he remarked. The boy beamed with pride — almost preening under his father's rare praise. Maekar's sharp eyes turned onto her. The corner of his mouth twitched again — almost smirking. “You all ready to go?” he asked, eyeing her carefully ironed blue dress and perfect braid. It was clear he approved of her efforts to dress appropriately.
She just nodded with a polite, respectful smile. Looking at the tall man with combed blond hair, a gray beard, and a rather rich black suit for these parts, a red tie, and gold cufflinks. He headed for the door, receiving her nod and taking the keys to a strangely battered farm truck.
Egg followed his father, practically bouncing across the room in his suit. In any other situation, he would likely be running around with mud on his face… but now he seemed perfectly content to go to church. He was like a mini version of his father with his serious expression and combed hair. He looked ready to sit quietly through an entire sermon, despite his young age. Maekar led the way outside. His expression still stern, he headed toward the old farm truck parked outside. There was a sense of importance in his steps — no doubt from his position as the town leader.
He got into the driver's seat. She got into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt. The boy got into the back. Mr. Maekar glanced at the mirror to make sure his son was buckled up. She held another basket in her lap — not the one with the fruit, a different one.
Maekar glanced over at the basket resting in her lap — his expression curious. “What's in the basket?” he asked, starting up the old truck. The engine rumbled to life with a low growl, the noise filling the truck's cab. Egg sat quietly in the backseat, staring out the window as the truck started rumbling down the dirt road. He seemed surprisingly… well‑behaved.
“Um… more oranges? I decided to bring a treat to church… This is my first visit to the local church and I'm still just a guest… My last visit to town turned out… a bit unfriendly… My parents say the best gifts are fruit, especially healthy ones.” She smiled awkwardly, looking smart. It was strange to talk to Mr. Maekar without her mother. Maekar himself was wondering how his wild son had managed to become friends with this sweet religious girl.
Maekar couldn't help but raise a brow at that. He kept his eyes on the rough road as the truck rumbled along, bumps and potholes jolting the vehicle slightly. He seemed a little taken aback by her thoughtfulness. “Hm,” he grunted noncommittally in response, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. But there was a hint of a smirk on his face, as if he was silently impressed. He glanced at her via the mirror, his eyes almost amused. “That's pretty thoughtful of you.”
SonTeri smiled politely at his words. They drove on. She took one last look at the Targaryen fields… the tractor was not there, it was not working. They continued on their way to the church.
The journey to the church was short, but the old farm truck groaned and grumbled the whole way. Maekar kept his eyes on the road, occasionally checking the mirror to make sure the boy was still behaving in the backseat. Egg sat quietly in his seat, watching the countryside pass by outside the window. The boy seemed… almost subdued. Like he had been taught to put his best foot forward in front of company. Soon enough, the church came into view — the small white building surrounded by a few other vehicles in a makeshift gravel parking lot. Maekar pulled the truck to a stop.
They all got out of the truck. Maekar straightened out his suit, making sure he was presentable. Egg, still behaving like a perfect miniature gentleman, looked around the parking lot with curiosity. The sight of the church seemed to have captured his attention. There was a hint of awe in his young eyes… like this wasn't a common outing for him. Maekar glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow as he gestured towards the church. “Ready?”
Girl just nodded until the boy answered “yes.” She walked out, adjusting her collar and hair. As they walked, everyone looked at her again, but differently… she had arrived with Maekar Targaryen. All the men politely shook his hand, the women said hello, Egg ran to greet the children. And even these people seemed to greet her in a friendly manner. Or maybe this was just the normal part of town? After all, bums didn't go to church. Although today was Sunday. She would be patient. She answered everyone with a respectful smile.
Maekar walked with her — his usual stern expression making the townsfolk straighten up a little as he passed. The man was clearly respected here, and his presence seemed to shield her from any lingering hostility. A few of the older ladies even gave her approving nods — their eyes flicking between Maekar and then back to her neatly pressed dress. Egg darted ahead, joining a group of other children who were already whispering about him, likely because he was dressed like an actual tiny businessman. One boy elbowed another in excitement at seeing Egg here — clearly not used to seeing him outside their schoolyard shenanigans.
The small white church building was already buzzing with activity. People in clean shirts and dresses filed in and out, chatting and greeting each other, the atmosphere a mix of both respect and familiarity. The church doors were thrown open in welcome, and a faint hum of organ music could be heard from inside. The place felt… almost like a sanctuary of sorts. The community was tight‑knit here, and it was clear that the people knew each other well. Despite the small population, the church parking lot was surprisingly full.
They walked inside. Everyone looked up at Maekar. The Targaryens — the founding dynasty, the local “nobility,” the feudal lords — kept the city in good shape, and the new girl, the daughter of the military…
As they entered the church, a hush seemed to fall over the room. Eyes turned to Maekar, then to her, then back to him again. It was clear that the man commanded attention, and the presence of a new face — her — in the community hadn't gone unnoticed. The people whispered, eyeing her curiously, almost like she was some exotic creature they didn't quite know what to make of yet. The Reverend stood at the front of the church, his eyes lighting up when he saw Maekar. He approached, smiling warmly at the man.
“Ah, Mr. Maekar. What a pleasure to see you. And you brought a guest with you?” The Reverend's tone was polite and respectful. His eyes flicked over her clothes, taking in the ironed dress and careful hair before giving Maekar a slightly inquisitive look.
Maekar nodded solemnly, his usual stern expression softening slightly at the Reverend's greeting. He was clearly respected here. “Aye, Reverend,” he responded gruffly, resting his hand on her shoulder. “This is the daughter of one of our soldiers visiting to work at the base. Thought it'd be a good thing to invite her to church. Introduce her to the community.” The Reverend's eyes flicked between her and Maekar again, his smile widening slightly as he reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.”
Girl awkwardly placed her hand in the soft hand of an old man with white hair and puffy gray old eyes, but with a sparkle like a divine blessing. He looked genuinely benevolent, not like those evil people from the city. “SonTeri… SonTeri Bardot,” she answered awkwardly. “I brought fruits.”
The Reverend shook her hand firmly, his wrinkled face creasing into a warm smile. “SonTeri,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a gentle, fatherly quality to it. His eyes seemed to twinkle softly, like he was seeing something beyond what her appearance portrayed. “That's a pretty name for a pretty young girl.” The man's gaze darted to the basket in her hand, eyeing the fruits curiously. “Ah, and you brought fruits. How thoughtful.”
He reached out, taking the basket and examining it with a small hum of approval. The man seemed… pleased by her thoughtfulness, almost fatherly. “Thank you, dear. These will make a nice little after‑service refreshment.” The Reverend's eyes flitted again to the basket, his smile broadening. “That's most kind of you, dear… Would you like to put the basket on the table over there?” he gestured politely to a small table lined with other food offerings at the back of the church.
“Yes, of course.” girl smiled, walking to the table where the farmer‑wives placed their treats. She approached and put down the basket, but some people still cast suspicious glances at her. Until she heard a voice: “What's in the basket?” Turning around, she saw a young man with a sunburned neck, freckles, black curls, gray eyes.
“Ah?” she said.
A young man stood before her, tall with a weather‑beaten face and a head of unruly curls. The freckles dotting his sun‑bronzed face were like scattered stars, and the gray of his eyes almost seemed to glint with curiosity. He looked… intrigued, as if she was some kind of mystery to him. “I asked what's in the basket,” he repeated, his tone not quite rude, but certainly a bit more forward than the polite conversation between the adults.
“Oranges,” she answered directly, adjusting her glasses.
The young man leaned slightly closer — his nose wrinkling as he peered at the basket. His expression was curious, almost mischievous. “Oranges?” he repeated, raising a brow. “That's… not exactly Texas food.” There was something in his tone — not quite mocking, but close enough to make her pause. The guy seemed more intrigued than anything else by her choice of offering for church… like it was some kind of foreign concept to him that someone would bring citrus instead of pies or casseroles.
“This is ordinary food,” she said.
The guy looked at her like she had just said something completely absurd. He wasn't outright mean or unfriendly, but his expression definitely seemed a bit perplexed and amused by her statement. “Ordinary food?” he repeated, almost chuckling softly to himself. “You clearly ain't from around here, are ya? Oranges ain't exactly an everyday fruit ‘round here, darlin’. Texas is all about beef — not tropical stuff.” He glanced back down at the basket, poking one of the fruits with a curious finger. “But I guess it's a nice change. Most folks here usually bring, I dunno, cakes or pies or something. So… an orange's pretty unique.” There was a hint of approval in his voice now, like he was starting to see the value in her unusual choice of fruits. He glanced back up at her, those gray eyes glinting again. “That's nice of ya, bringin’ somethin' different from the usual. It's… refreshing.”
She smiled slightly at the guy's friendliness. “Thank you.”
He grinned in return, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a friendly, almost boyish way. He ran a hand through his sun‑lightened black hair, pushing the curls back from his face. “No worries,” he drawled, leaning against the table, his gaze fixed on her. “I'm not one to criticize something different. I like a little change every once in a while. Just… wasn't expecting oranges at church… or… you.” He paused. “Did you come alone?” the guy asked, leaning in, as if he was already flirting. Which was weird, on Sunday, in church.
“With the neighbors.” Girl awkwardly moved away. “Targaryens.” The guy raised his eyebrows slightly upon hearing the last name. She wouldn't say he was angry. It was just a typical reaction to Targaryens — they were popular.
The guy's eyebrows shot up almost comically high — something like surprise and understanding flickering in his face. He took a step back, giving her more space. “The Targaryens?” he echoed, his gaze raking over her like he was seeing her in a new light. “As in Maekar Targaryen?”
“And Egg…”
“And Egg.” His eyebrows frowned a little at the mention of the boy, his head tilting. “Well, I'll be damned… you're friends with Maekar and his boys?”
“Boys?” She raised an eyebrow. 'How did he suddenly switch to the plural? Is he talking about all of his sons?'
“Yeah… boys,” he repeated, his eyes studying her with a slightly curious look. “There's Egg, of course, but I'm talkin' about the other ones. Maekar's ‘shitty’ boys… the older ones. You know — Aerion and Daeron?”
“Um…” She shifted slightly in place. 'Why is everyone so interested in asking this?' He looked gloomy. “Well, yeah, I'm friends… we're neighbors.”
Hearing confirmation, the guy frowned even more, as if he had been replaced. “So why did you even come to church then, wench?” he said and left.
The guy's question left her slightly flustered. His sudden switch from friendly to rude was a bit jarring… and frankly, a bit unwarranted. As he walked away, she was left with a mixture of confusion and a dash of hurt. The atmosphere in the church suddenly felt… different, as if his abrupt shift had disrupted the delicate balance. Some of the townspeople nearby had seen the little interaction, and a few whispered amongst themselves, casting curious glances in her direction.
She stood awkwardly after the skirmish. Until she saw Egg calling them to their seats. She moved from her spot, hoping to avoid such conversations again. She modestly sat down next to Mister Maekar and little Egg.
As she made her way to the pew, she could feel some of the eyes of the townspeople following her. But the moment she took her seat next to Maekar and Egg, there was a slight shift in the atmosphere. Maekar gave her a nod of acknowledgment, his stern expression softening just a bit. Egg, however, turned to look at her, a curious glint in his eyes. He leaned over slightly towards her, his voice a quiet whisper. “What did the guy wanna talk to ya about?”
“About oranges,” she simply said, giving the boy a false smile. The reverend began his sermon and Maekar hissed at them.
As she gave her brief response to Egg, Maekar gave a gruff, quiet warning. “Shhhh,” he whispered, giving both of them a sharp look. “Pay attention.” Egg quickly straightened up, his little body going rigid and imitating a proper churchgoer, his eyes focused as a serious expression spread across his young face. It was almost comical, how quickly the boy went from a little gossipy child to a ‘good little boy’ when his father gave him a sharp look.
The sermon continued, the Reverend's voice droning on as everyone around her focused their attention on him. Even Egg sat perfectly still, his little frame almost comically formal now. Maekar, on the other hand, glanced at her occasionally from the corner of his eye, his expression less stern than before. It was like there was a hint of thoughtfulness there, almost as if he had noticed her discomfort with the previous conversation and was keeping a subtle eye on her. The man's gaze wasn't hostile or unfriendly. It was a quiet, almost protective look.
After the sermon ended, Maekar and Egg disappeared again into the crowd. She stood awkwardly against the wall, fingering the cross around her neck. Feeling like a stranger even in God's house… she remembered Aerion; they hadn't seen each other for two days after that day in her room. He would have found a way to cheer her up. And then Reverend Hamer approached her.
The Reverend walked over to her, his kind, old eyes studying her awkward stance against the wall. “You okay, miss?” he asked, his voice soft and fatherly‑like. “You look a little… lost.”
“Reverend,” she pointed to the old man. “I'm fine.” girl forced a smile. “Good sermon.”
Reverend Hamer gave her a warm smile in return, his wrinkles crinkling slightly with the movement. “Thank you, dear.” He studied her face carefully, noticing the polite but slightly forced smile. “But something tells me you're not quite fine.” His tone was almost too gentle, almost like he was sensing something was bothering her.
“I…” She hesitated a little, but still decided to discuss what was gnawing at her. “God says to forgive, right?”
The Reverend's expression softened even more, his eyes warm with understanding. He nodded slowly — almost as if he had been expecting this question. “Aye, SonTeri,” he murmured gently, “the Lord does say to forgive. But that doesn't mean you have to let others walk all over ya.” His gaze flicked toward the exit of the church briefly — likely noticing some lingering hostility from earlier in her direction. “Forgiving ain't about ignoring wrongs… it's about choosing peace for yourself.”
She frowned slightly, not from anger, but rather thoughtfully considering his words. “If you forgive a bad person… is that a sin? Or stupidity?”
The Reverend studied her face thoughtfully, his gaze wise and penetrating. He let out a small sigh, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “Well now, that's a tough question, ain't it?” He paused, gathering his words. “Forgivin' isn't a sin, nor is it stupid. But it can be a struggle. Especially if the person who wronged ya is unrepentant.” His lips tugged up slightly, almost like he was remembering something. “But remember, mercy isn't weakness, darlin'. Sometimes it's the strongest form of courage.”
“Really?” She sincerely perked up at these words.
The Reverend's eyes crinkled at the corners as he observed her reaction, a warm, almost grandfatherly smile on his lips. “Yes, really,” he affirmed, nodding his head in agreement. “Mercy is a powerful thing. It takes courage to look past the wrongs done to ya and decide to forgive instead.” His hand reached out, ever‑so‑gently, to give her shoulder a comforting pat and squeeze. “It ain't weakness, little lady. It's strength. Stronger than any weapon or fist.”
She was still worried about this strange obsession with this guy and whether it was normal to abandon her religious beliefs around him. But she kept quiet about it. “Um… thank you, Reverend Hamer, you helped me out.”
Reverend Hamer gave her a reassuring smile, his expression almost fatherly. “You're more than welcome, my dear.” His eyes fixed on her for a moment, almost as if he could read her thoughts — picking up on the internal battle she was having. “You know, it's natural to question things at this age. God gave us free will for a reason.” His hand gave her shoulder another gentle pat before dropping back to his side. “Don't be afraid to explore, girl. Just remember… forgiveness doesn't mean blind acceptance.”
She looked at him slightly surprised. “Yes… of course,” she said quietly, while the reverend smiled a wrinkled smile and walked to the other people, leaving the young brain to think.
The Reverend moved away, returning to the crowd of people. She was left with a strange feeling that he had somehow picked up on her struggle. His last words echoed softly in her head. She looked around the church. Everything around her was going as usual. People chatted in small groups, whispering and laughing. Children ran around between adults, their voices blending into the background sound of the church. But there was a strange loneliness, and a hint of emptiness.
Then Maekar, Egg, and she went out. They said goodbye to the townspeople for a couple more minutes, and they got into the pickup truck and drove away. Half a morning had passed. The sun was scorching.
As she got into the truck, the stifling heat hit her, the summer sun shining brightly and warming the dusty road. The truck was old and worn‑looking, the black paint slightly faded from the relentless sun. The ride was quiet at first. The old truck grumbled and rumbled as it moved along the rocky road. The radio was playing something, but Maekar reached out and turned it off with a gruff grunt. The silence filled the truck, only the sound of the engine humming in the background.
“Are you working with my parents' base, Mr. Maekar?” she asked quietly. Maybe it's inappropriate, but I'm curious. Her father had said Maekar was a businessman and feudal lord, with a contract with a military base that fed the city, providing jobs. The Targaryens were among the city's founders, if not the very first.
Maekar glanced at her through his rearview mirror, his dark gaze studying her briefly. He looked almost amused that she was asking him such a question. He took a moment before responding. “Yeah,” he grunted gruffly, his voice as rough as the engine's grumble. His eyes moved back to the dusty road. “I have contracts with your parents' base. Been supplying goods and services to them for years now.” He paused. “It's a good partnership. Keeps the town goin',” he muttered, his hands on the steering wheel, fingers tapping idly as he drove. He had a habit of doing that. “Military are good allies. They keep their word, keepin' the contracts fair and honest. Respect that, especially in business.” He glanced at her again, eyes briefly flickering across her face. “You takin' an interest in all this now?”
“A little,” she answered honestly. Egg had fallen asleep in the back, probably because he had gotten up early on Sunday. “Aerion and Daeron were saying that…” She trailed off, a little embarrassed to bring this up. “…that all the rumors in town about your dynasty are true.” About madness, incest, the darkness of the dynasty, the blood curse, blood magic, and that all the descendants are crazy. She glanced in the mirror, making sure Egg was asleep. He didn't need to hear about this, her subconscious told her.
Maekar's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his knuckles going white for a brief second. His jaw clenched — almost imperceptibly, but it was there. The truck rumbled louder as he pressed down on the accelerator just a little too hard. “Rumors,” he repeated, voice dangerously calm, “are like weeds.” A beat of silence. Then: “Aerion and Daeron shouldn't be sayin' that kind of nonsense to you.”
“Yeah… Sorry.”
Maekar exhaled through his nose, sharp and short — almost like a warning. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, but she could see the tension in his jawline. “Don't be,” he muttered gruffly. “Aerion's got too damn much to say about things he don't understand.” Another pause. The truck groaned as it bumped over another pothole in the road. “This family has survived worse than rumors… and worse than fools who spread 'em.”
“Yes,” girl said quietly, lowering her eyes to her knees. “But you are helping the city, even if it is business… it is a noble cause.” She raised her head. Even if Texas is a hole, and this city with these people is even deeper than this hole, but it is their city, they live here and they have the right.
Maekar grunted softly in acknowledgment, a mixture of agreement and acceptance in the single sound. His eyes darted over to her briefly before returning to the road. There was a flicker of respect in them — a small glint that betrayed his stern demeanor. “Noble, ha…” he muttered with a scoff, “I like to think I'm doing the pragmatic thing.” The truck hit another bump in the road, the suspension creaking slightly. “But someone gotta keep this damn town together, don't they?”
“Yeah, of course… It's good that it was you.”
Maekar let out a low, gruff chuckle at that — almost like he was surprised by her answer. His grip on the steering wheel loosened just slightly. “Guess so,” he muttered, voice rough but not unkind. “Better me than some greedy bastard with no sense of duty.” The truck rumbled onward down the dusty road as Egg snored softly in the backseat. Maekar glanced at her one last time through his rearview mirror — something almost resembling approval in his dark eyes before he looked back to driving.They arrived at their “street” — which was to say, huge fields next to a forest with two houses. Maekar dropped her off at her house. Egg was awake. “Thanks for the ride and thanks for the company.” She stood by the path to their house, smiling at the two neighbors.
Maekar grunted in acknowledgment, his usual gruff response, while Egg, despite looking tired after just waking up, managed to muster a tired smile and a wave. “You're welcome,” he muttered, a hint of weariness in his voice. He hesitated for a moment, looking like he was about to say more, but then just sighed and nodded. “Take care.”
“Bye, Egg,” she just smiled at the sleepy boy as the pickup truck drove on, towards the Targaryen house across the street.
Egg waved back drowsily, his small hand moving in slow circles as the truck started rolling away. He was clearly still half‑asleep — his eyelids drooping, but he managed to stay awake just long enough to see her safely home. The pickup rumbled down the dirt road toward their house, kicking up dust behind it. The sun was blistering overhead now — the kind of heat that made even moving feel exhausting.
They drove up to their house, and she saw a tall father and young son getting out and walking toward the house like a family — a calm man and an energetic boy. SonTeri stood for a few seconds and turned back toward her house, as if another second of her gaze would seem like intruding on something personal. Her parents would be at the base, at work, for almost two more weeks. Girl walked toward the house with a slight melancholy, hurrying to shelter from the fiery sun beginning to rise high. She cast one last glance toward the Targaryen field, hoping to hear a tractor or the sound of a hammer… then she might know he was there… but it was quiet. 'Today is Sunday. And the world doesn't revolve around you, SonTeri.' She quickly walked home, closing the door. She needed to find something to do.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 10: Wildflowers and the Rifle.
Part 2.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
They approached her house. She had decided to continue being friends with him — 'maybe this would change him?' They entered her house.
“Shoes,” girl said mechanically, taking off her sneakers and going inside to the kitchen to fill a vase with water. He had already been in her house, that night of the movie. But he hadn’t seen the daytime version. It was just as empty here without her parents, and it was still stuffy and hot, even with the air conditioning on.
Aerion kicked off his boots with zero regard for her pristine floor, leaving them in a haphazard pile by the door. He followed her to the kitchen — leaning against the doorway as he watched her fumble with water and the vase. The AC hummed quietly, but it wasn’t enough. The air was still thick — charged between them. “Y’want me to help?” he offered… then smirked: “Or are ya scared I’ll break yer fancy glassware?”
“Who needs help just pouring water?” SonTeri put the flowers in the vase and walked toward him at the door. “I’d like to put them in my room.”
Aerion stepped aside with a small bow, smirking. “Ladies first,” he said, holding the door open for her to pass. His gaze traveled over her again — lingering on her legs, the torn skirt, her messed‑up hair.
Aerion followed her — keeping that casual, loose smirk on his face. He looked around the living room with a cool, appraising glance — like he was assessing the value of everything he saw. He looked out of place with his cowboy clothes and dusty jeans — a wild animal in the midst of modern furniture. “Ya sure yer parents won’t mind me bein’ in yer room?” he asked, voice low and playful.
“If they find out… we’re friends, what’s wrong with that…” She stopped at the stairs with a heavy vase in her hands and strange multicolored flowers, still in her Panama hat.
“Nothin’ wrong with it,” he muttered with a shrug. He stepped forward, gently taking the vase from her hands. It was an oddly intimate gesture. “Jus’ don’t want ya to get grounded or somethin’,” he added with a smirk.
She smiled politely at his gesture with the vase. “Go first… cause… I’m wearing a skirt.”
Aerion raised an eyebrow, amused — his smirk crooked. “Oh, so you want me to go first? Are ya afraid I’m gonna peek up yer skirt or somethin’?” He said with a chuckle, but obligingly started up the stairs.
SonTeri walked behind him. His blood‑red gun still hung from his back, swaying with every step he took, as if mocking her. “Go straight ahead, that’s my room,” she said, trying to see something behind his back, but with her height, unsuccessfully.
She opened the door and let Aerion into her space. The room was small — the house used to be old man Filch’s — white wood walls, a soft carpet underfoot, a bed, a table, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and that was it. Soft toys, and various notebooks, books, and notepads — quite tidy. The only window overlooked the Targaryen house; on the table and shelves there were stones that she had collected outside, various creative items, and a mirror on the wall.
“Put it on the table, I — ” She quickly went in and mechanically cleaned up the mess on the bed and the pajamas on the floor. “I just forgot to clean up, and that’s because my parents aren’t home.”
Aerion looked around the room with mild interest, amused at how girly it was. Soft toys, colorful notebooks, a mirror, stones… definitely not what he was used to. He set the vase on the table, careful not to knock over any fragile trinkets. Then he leaned against the wall, arms crossed — watching the way she rushed around the room. “Ya don’t got to clean up jus’ for me,” he chuckled. “I don’t care.”
He grinned at her panicked state — amused by her sudden nervousness. He glanced at the table — taking in the mess of stones and trinkets. “It's ye'r rocks or somethin’?” he said, picking up a random smooth stone and turning it over in his palm. He didn’t put it back — just stood there, watching her clean the bed. The soft toys caught his attention next — picking up a small, stuffed dragon. “You still sleep with stuffies, huh…”
“Well… yeah…” She put her pajamas in the closet.
Aerion snorted, tossing the stuffed dragon back onto her bed with zero regard for cleanliness. “Cute,” he muttered — though his tone wasn’t mocking. More… intrigued. He eyed the rest of her room, lingering on personal details: notebooks, stones, mirrors. His smirk faded slightly as he studied a photo frame on her nightstand — family pictures? A military dad in uniform?
Aerion picked up her sketchbook, hidden among the books on the shelf. He started flipping through the drawings — crying desperate people, beautiful Renaissance girls, all sorts of animations. SonTeri turned around and noticed it — that very drawing of him. She quickly walked over and almost snatched the notebook out of his hands before he got there. “Um… I… haven’t finished the drawing yet.” She straightened up and clutched the notebook in her hand.
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, since you drew it, it means you wanted people to look… same thing with the skirt.” He suddenly moved closer, holding out his hand. “Lemme see.”
Now he didn’t smirk anymore. For some reason, after a series of permissions and violations of boundaries, this “little prohibition” drove him crazy.
He didn’t take his eyes off her — sharp, intense gaze. He took another step forward — he was way too close — and his hand was still held out. “C’mon, darlin’. Lemme see.” His tone wasn’t rough, wasn’t demanding. But there was an edge to it that made her feel like she should just… give in.
“No, Aerion…” He grabbed her wrist; his gun hanging on his back gleamed red and almost slipped off his shoulder. He snatched the notebook.
He opened it — skimming through the pages. His expression was focused and intent, eyes flicking over her drawings. He didn’t say anything, just silently looked through the pages, pausing occasionally over particularly interesting details. He didn’t let go of her wrist.
Aerion froze — his grip on her wrist tightening for a second. His eyes locked onto the sketch of him — sharp, calculating. He stared at it for a long moment… then his gaze flicked up to her. “Is that me?” He paused. “Is this your muse, or are you just into a handsome farmer?” His voice turned cruel, mocking. “Did you draw this so you could look at it at night and put your hand down your pants? Then you shouldn’t have drawn my pretty face but what’s below.” He said it almost with cruel mockery, already letting go of her wrist and looking closer at the portrait.
“You can’t talk to friends like that,” she said.
Aerion laughed — sharp and humorless. He dropped the sketchbook onto her bed, but his smirk was gone now. “Friends don’t talk like that?” he repeated, voice dangerously quiet. “Then what do they do? Hm?” He stepped closer — looming over her as he stared down with those wild blue eyes: “Y’wanna tell me how friends act… darlin’?”
“This is… a regular drawing… an artist doesn’t control his inspiration, he just creates.” She frowned slightly, taking the sketchbook from him. She put it in her closet with the clothes. 'So that’s what he’s like? Aerion… for some reason I thought since he admitted to being the “monster” from the rumors, he wouldn’t be one? That’s what happens when you’re friends with people like that… it was my decision and it’s my own fault.' She stood there, then sat down on the bed, slightly sulking, though not noticing it. 'Should I send him away? But we wanted to hang out… I didn’t ask him about his family and the rumors…' She glanced at him quickly. That gun was still hanging behind his back — blood‑red. Now she understood why Aerion had chosen a gun of that color.
Aerion watched her put the sketchbook away. He saw her sudden sulking — a slight pout on her lips as she sat on the bed. He studied her expression, the way she kept glancing at him. He could feel the tension in the air. His gaze fell on his gun, still slung over his back. It gleamed red, catching the light. Then he turned his gaze back to her, watching her stare at it. He took a few more steps toward her, the floorboards under his feet creaking slightly.
Taking off the gun, he casually threw it on the bed, as if it wasn’t dangerous to put a gun like that. Climbing onto the bed in his outside clothes, he stared at her face for a long time. It seems this fool is offended again. Trying not to roll his eyes and make a more or less repentant face, he said: “Are you… offended?” He first ran his gaze over her — she was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, lifting her skirt a few centimeters higher, her hair disheveled from picking flowers and playing with the gun, her glasses had slipped down to the tip of her nose again, and her baggy T‑shirt… well, it was big and hid everything.
“Me?… You behaved badly,” she said, shooting at him with her black round eyes behind her frowning brows.
Aerion huffed — annoyed, but not surprised. He leaned back slightly on the bed, his weight making the mattress dip under him. “Yeah? And what d’ya expect from a ‘bad person’?” he said with a sharp smirk. He studied her face — her messy hair, her glasses slipping down again. His eyes flicked to where her skirt rode up just enough to show more of that bare thigh… and he couldn’t help but glance at it for half a second too long.
'That’s true… but maybe we should stop being friends then?' While she was thinking about it, he suddenly leaned close, with an innocent expression on his face, raising his eyebrows toward his forehead. Surprisingly, with such an expression, his sharp features, furrowed brows, and dragon‑like grin were immediately forgotten. Only his dead blue eyes gave everything away. Before she had time to notice his change, he began to “sincerely apologize,” as if accidentally placing his hand too close.
Aerion leaned in close, his expression suddenly changing from his usual sharp smirk to something… innocent? It was surprising how quickly he could shift his mood. In an instant, his expression completely softened — the smirk fading in favor of a sincere, almost boyish look. He cocked his head like a puppy about to get scolded. “Y’want me to apologize, darlin’? I was jus’ teasin’ a little.” He moved closer, his hand coming up to rest gently on her knee.
She slowly followed his hand on her knee. It was intimate and depraved, not at all chaste, but his warm, calloused hand felt somehow pleasant on her knee. 'I know it’s bad, God forgive me'. Slowly turning to face him, she thought: He apologizes? Sincerely? Aerion’s expression remained sincere — he was the very picture of repentance. But there was a gleam in his eyes that gave him away. He watched her follow his hand — saw her slowly turn to face him. His hand stayed where it was, thumb gently brushing over her knee. He leaned closer, just a little closer, so that his breath brushed across her cheek when he spoke again, in a voice that was quieter and rougher than usual. “Forgive me yet, darlin’?”
She looked at him — of course this fool will believe him — he was so handsome. “Just… don’t do that again,” she mumbled slightly.
Aerion grinned — sharp, victorious. He didn’t move his hand. “Promise I won’t do it again…” he said — though the glint in his eyes suggested he absolutely would.
She didn’t take her eyes off his face as if checking, but out of naivety she believed his words. “Then maybe I’ll forgive you.” She just said it, slightly removing his hand from her, for a minute, bare knee.
Aerion let her move his hand — just for a second. But then he shifted, leaning in closer again. “Good,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’m glad ya forgive me.” His fingers flexed slightly against her knee — not pushing further yet… but the threat was there. The challenge: would she really stop him? Or did she just like pretending to be scandalized by it?There was an awkward pause after the small “quarrel.” They were both sitting on the bed.
“Well… this is my room… you can look around…” She was just being polite, like her parents had taught her. “And… put the gun off the bed and onto the table.”
Aerion smirked. He moved his hand away from her knee — for now. “Oh?” he said, arching an eyebrow. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the little trinkets, the drawings he had seen earlier, the clothes in her closet, the plushies on her bed… all the personal little details about her. It was an oddly intimate moment, and he seemed to be realizing it. Then he gave a lazy shrug before taking his gun and setting it on the bedside table.
She stood up and slowly followed him around the room like a guide.
Aerion followed, hands in his pockets — taking in every detail. He picked up various objects and examined them with unabashed curiosity — not at all concerned about boundaries. The way he moved was surprisingly graceful, with a hint of the predator. He moved through her space like it was his own — touching things, lifting them, inspecting them, glancing at her every now and then with a smirk. He was standing next to her, inspecting something on the nightstand, and casually bumped his shoulder into hers — the contact subtle but definite. It felt almost intentional.
“These are my plushies,” she stated the fact, slightly ignoring the touch, thinking it was an accident. “There are a lot of them… but I can’t give them to children… Attachment issues.” She was slightly joking.
Aerion snorted at her comment about children. He picked up one of the dragons, turning it over in his hand. “Attachment issues, huh? Ain’t ya a bit too young for that, darlin’?” he said with a smirk — knowing full well she was joking.
“They are soft… and comfortable… you can hug them when you sleep.”
He leaned towards her, eyes narrowed. “And do you hug when you sleep?”
“Um… well, yeah.”
Aerion smirked. There was a teasing look in his eyes — a hint of mockery and something more complex. “Sounds lonely… y’need a real person. Not a stuffed animal, darlin’. Someone who can warm your bed properly at night.”
“I don’t usually get cold at night.” She just said this nonchalantly, walking past him towards the shelves, as if moving further along the stands in a museum.
Aerion laughed — a sharp, dark sound. He followed her like a shadow, hands still in his pockets. He leaned against the shelf beside her, watching as she inspected it. His presence was heavy — too close for comfort again.
“I have stones on the shelf, remember? I collected them from the tractor and the river… I saved the beautiful boxes here, well, they’re empty… and the figurines…” She just chatted while showing off her things. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach.
Aerion followed as she chattered about her various trinkets, leaning nonchalantly against the shelf. Despite his casual pose, he seemed utterly focused on her. He watched her closely — a little too intently… almost predatorially as she talked. “Yeah, I remember,” he said — his eyes roving over her again like he couldn’t quite look away.
Then he moved around the shelf — so that now he was just behind her. He was very close — she could feel the heat coming off him as he stood behind her. “So, which one’s your favorite?” he murmured, and it wasn’t clear if he meant the rocks or the figurines… or whether he wasn’t even talking about her things at all, but making a completely different inquiry.
“Um…” She ran her eyes over all the shelves as if trying to choose. “I think there is no such thing, they are all beautiful.”
Aerion chuckled — stepping up behind her, the heat from his body almost unbearably close now… so close she felt herself shiver in anticipation. “You just like them all, huh? Even the ugly ones?” He murmured, voice low, his breath brushing her ear.
“Especially the ugly ones.”
His smirk returned — sharper than ever now. He leaned even closer — almost touching her back with his chest. “And why’s that, darlin’?” he murmured, voice a soft rumble in her ear. “Got a soft spot for the overlooked and unattractive?”
She pulled away slightly and turned to him. “Well, if everyone only loves the beautiful, what’s left for the ugly? I know what it’s like.”
He leaned his arm against the shelf again, standing so close she had to tilt her head to look up at him. His head was slightly cocked, like he was studying her as some rare thing he couldn’t quite figure out, and he wasn’t ready to stop trying. “Y’feel sympathy, huh?” he murmured. “For all the… ‘uglies’ of the world.”
“Maybe… although that’s bad.” She looked at him, especially during the word «ugly.»
Aerion laughed — a sharp, surprised sound. His eyes flashed as he leaned in just slightly closer. “Bad?” he repeated, smirking. “Or just true?” He tilted his head — studying her with something between amusement and interest. The air between them was charged again — too close for comfort but not quite pushing the boundary… yet.
She just walked past him quickly, as if running away from the strange feeling inside her, now between them, walking away from the shelves. “You… aren’t you hungry?” she asked hospitably, slightly looking away. I think it’s time to end the «tour.»
Aerion followed her with his eyes as she walked away — like a wolf watching prey. He let out a slow breath, then pushed off the shelf. “Starvin’, actually,” he admitted — though it sounded more like an excuse to keep following her than anything else.
“Let’s go then… to the kitchen.” She turned around and remembered something, throwing it over her shoulder at him. “Um… don’t forget the gun.” She pointed to the gun on the table, blood‑red, standing out strongly against the background of her room, as if it could swallow up all her trinkets and toys like a black hole… or… like him.Aerion grinned. “Right.” He gave the room one last look before following her again, eyes flickering over the remnants of her life. He grabbed the gun on the way out, slinging it over his shoulder again, fitting it as if it were a part of him. As she passed him, he took a few long strides — catching up and following her into the kitchen, the weight of his presence in the small space suddenly oppressive.
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
They went down the stairs to the kitchen. Aerion sat down on the table in the middle without asking questions, placing his gun on it. Its bloody stain stood out on the soft pink tablecloth, like spilled pomegranate juice or blood. She looked at Aerion. He was sitting on her father’s chair and looking back at her, sprawled out, his legs spread wide, yawning, as if nothing strange had happened in her room, as if a husband were waiting for dinner from his wife. A typical “American family” — ironic because he was a white guy and she was asian.
“I have soup… light…” she said. She had made it that morning for Daeron. She remembered Aerion’s older brother being at their house that morning when she found him drunk. The second Targaryen was at her kitchen table… surreal. “Do you want some?” she asked hospitably, or maybe she just wanted to feed him? He worked on the farm all day; she didn’t know who cooked dinner at their house anyway.
Aerion leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms along the backrest — his biceps flexing under his rolled‑up sleeves. His gun still sat on the table, staining her pristine cloth with that violent red. “Light soup?” he repeated, voice laced with mocking disbelief. “That’s all you got? A hard workin’ man needs somethin’ more than baby food.” He watched her move around the kitchen — studying every little action like it was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Then he tilted his head slightly and added: “…Did Daeron eat this too?”
“Yes… I made him a hangover cure.” She stood there, not knowing whether to pour him some soup or not. She glanced at his gun — dirty, powder‑filled, and dangerous — on their table. “Aerion… a gun…” She said it with a hint of reproach, like her mother. It was funny, because Aerion was sitting in her father’s chair.
He grinned and shrugged, not bothered in the least by her reproachful tone. “So what?” he said — his voice sharp and dismissive. But his gaze was fixed on her now — a glint in his eyes that was somewhere between a challenge and a warning. “Is that a problem, darlin’?” He was deliberately being provocative — the way he sat, the way he spoke: all too casual, all too carefree. His gun was on the table between them — a reminder, like a snake she couldn’t take her eyes off.
“Parents say there’s no place for extraneous things on the dinner table,” she said, making a decision for him and pouring morning soup into a bowl… one… just for him.
He watched her, eyes narrowing slightly as she served him the soup. “No extraneous things, huh?” he said with a dry smirk. “Sounds real comfortable.” He reached for the soup, his hand brushing hers as he took the bowl and spoon. The touch felt deliberate again, as if he was trying to provoke something. He sat back down in the chair, lifting the spoon.
He started eating greedily. She put away the ingredients to make a sandwich — since Aerion said he wouldn’t be full with just light soup. “Well, it’s better to get rid of your gun,” she said, standing with her back to him, starting to cut the bread. The back of her skirt was still torn from the thorn it had gotten caught on.
Aerion laughed around a mouthful of soup — sharp, mocking. “Get rid of it?” he repeated, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t even glance at the gun on the table. “Why? Scared I’ll shoot ya?” He leaned forward slightly — watching her cut bread from behind. His eyes lingered on her torn skirt again… then flicked up to her messy hair. He took another loud slurp before adding: “…Or scared I’ll do somethin’ else first?”
She turned around, placing the plate with the sandwich on the table while he slurped the soup. “Not at all… just… indecent.” She just looked at the gun like it was a blood‑red eyesore and poured them both some tea.
She took a sip of hot tea, watching him eat greedily. Okay then… let’s leave the gun on the table. “Do you like it?” she asked.
Aerion wiped his mouth again, grinning. “Good stuff,” he murmured, swallowing down a bite. He washed it down with tea, then grinned at her again — a little too sly. “Did you make it just for me?” He tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. There was that same gleam in his eyes — like he was playing a game, pushing the boundaries just to see how far she would let him get.
“Well, I don’t see any other men in the room,” she said, showing off her virgin thorns.
Aerion laughed — a sharp sound, but he also frowned. He leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms again with a lazy smirk. “Good point,” he muttered — then took another bite of the sandwich before adding: “Guess I’m your only man then.” He watched her over the rim of his teacup — like he was testing how far that statement would go. The gun was still on the table between them both — a constant reminder of who exactly was sitting at her father’s spot right now.
He watched her reaction — noticing how her gaze drifted to the gun again. He leaned back in the chair, still smirking. “What, darlin’? Still worried about the gun?” he prompted, raising his eyebrow. When he spoke, he reached for the gun and picked it up with one hand, twirling it between his fingers in a careless, almost taunting manner. “I know how to handle my guns. Ain’t nothing to worry about, y’know.” He gave an exaggerated flick of the wrist, spinning it around his finger.
Her eyebrows twitched slightly in a frown for a millisecond at that movement. Just for a millisecond. He threw the gun on the table again, and she jerked her head slightly from it. “I wanted to ask you…”
He noticed the frown, the twitch — as well as the flinch when he tossed the gun onto the table again. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing — observing her with keen interest. “Ask me what, darlin’?” he murmured — voice low. It was impossible to tell if he genuinely wanted to know or if he was doing this on purpose — pushing her buttons to see how she would react.
“I… in town… I heard ‘something’ about your family tree.” She started carefully, taking a sip, as if hiding from the awkwardness, the ignorance of the question… or his pale blue eyes.
Aerion tilted his head, taking a lazy sip of tea as he kept his eyes fixed on her. His face gave nothing away — but there was a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Somethin’ about my family, eh?” he murmured, setting the teacup down. He leaned in closer, his expression a combination of curiosity and something else — a hint of a playful edge in his voice. “And what did ya hear, exactly?”
“A lot… um… ‘incest… madness in the genes… bloody magic… cursed family’… that’s what the locals say… I… didn’t mean to insult your family.”, she tries to speak evenly, although in her head it sounds like the ravings of a madman.
Aerion laughed — sharp, sudden. The sound was startlingly loud in the quiet kitchen. “Yeah? That’s what they say?” he said, shaking his head as if amused by her hesitation. His smirk widened — almost predatory now. He leaned back again, stretching his arms along the backrest of the chair like he owned it. “Bloody magic and all that shit… sounds about right.”
Aerion paused — his smirk fading slightly. He studied her for a long moment, eyes sharp. “…You scared of me now?” he asked — voice low, rough. He leaned forward suddenly — the teasing edge gone from his tone. The gun was still on the table between them both like a constant reminder: this man was dangerous in more ways than one.
“So this is all true?” She suddenly remembered Daeron’s very words about ‘prophetic dreams’ — that he had dreamed of her a week before their meeting. His words about Targaryen blood. She took another sip of hot tea, but forgot herself, and it burned her tongue, even though she knew it was hot. “About your family tree?”
Aerion watched her — noticing the slight grimace as she burned her tongue on the hot tea. Despite the pain, her words were steady and unshaken — like she was more interested than scared. “Yeah, it’s true,” he murmured — his voice quiet, sharp. “…I ain’t gonna lie to you, darlin’. The Targaryen family ain’t exactly normal. The old stories ’bout a curse, the madness, the incest… it’s all real. Every damn bit of it.”
“Does this mean… that ‘every next Targaryen is crazier than the last’?”, she looking at him with interest?
Aerion laughed — sharp, almost mocking. The glint in his eyes returned — a hint of dark understanding in those pale blue irises. “Something like that, darlin’. Every new generation’s crazier and more ruthless than the last. It’s like the madness slowly builds up, festering under the surface, just waiting to explode.” He leaned in again, his voice lower than before. “And there’s no stopping it. Sooner or later, the madness takes over. It’s just the way things are for the Targaryen line.”
“Mr. Maekar, Egg, and Daeron don’t look like that.” Ironic that she hadn’t included him in this list. “But I don’t know any other Targaryens…” She paused. “You’re not kidding me, are you?” Girl adjusted her glasses, which were fogging from the steam of the hot tea.
Aerion frowned slightly at the mention of his family. “They’re not like that. Not my kin. Not my uncle and cousin. They’re not the same Targaryens anymore. They don’t understand… they don’t understand the importance and power of ‘madness’… they say our ancestors were… ‘cruel’… as if it wasn’t them who gave them power.” Now he was no longer laughing; his cheekbone just twitched. His gaze was growing deeper. “Father says my behavior is disgusting and his ‘heir’ shouldn’t behave like this… terrorize the city. But how then will those idiots know that we still have power? Those fucking farmers and their bitch sows no longer respect us. Our name.”
Aerion’s tone remained sharp, rough — his words dripping with both mockery and disdain. “Daeron, Egg… they’re not like us, not like me. They’ve been tamed by life. They’ve lost their edge, their fire. But me… I haven’t lost anything. I’m like the old Targaryens of old. I’m the one who remembers the old ways. I’m the one who’s gonna restore our family’s true power.” He leaned forward. “You think it’s just a ‘curse’, darlin’? A few family stories that folks tell their kids to spook them into behaving? Well, you’d be wrong. It’s more than that. It’s our blood, our heritage, our very nature. It’s power, darlin’. ‘Mad’ or not… we’re the only ones who understand it.”
SonTeri held her breath. Is this from his directness and sincere hatred? Sincere selfishness? Or madness? His dead blue eyes ran over her face, as if a dictator were testing whether his propaganda speech had had any effect. “You… uh… your family… I think legacy is important,” she squeezed out — just for the sake of slightly moderating his ardor, as if she caught herself afraid of what he might do if she reacted negatively. The blood‑red gun, thrown onto the pale pink tablecloth, now seemed like the ‘exclamation point’ of this entire Aerion tirade.
Aerion studied her expression, watching her every movement. He saw the slight hesitation, the way she held her breath as she spoke. Her words were a hint of resistance, a gentle challenge, and he took it in like a predator with his prey. “You’re damn right it’s important,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Legacy, heritage… power. That’s what the Targaryen line is about. And I won’t let those ‘tamed’ family members forget it. I’m not like them, darlin’. I don’t forget who we are.”
“It seems… that… these rumors are true… but are you saying that ‘blood mages’ are true?” She asked slightly skeptically, but still carefully, watching as he continued to chew his sandwich as if there had been no momentary excitement about the ‘purity of madness and power.’
Aerion laughed softly, his gaze flickering with dark humor. “Blood mages…” he repeated, grinning at her skepticism. He took another bite of the sandwich, then washed it down with tea. “Now, that’s a tale I haven’t heard in a while. Haven’t seen anyone practicing blood magic in years. But the rumors are true, darlin’. Our ancestors in the old days… they dabbled in dark arts. Blood magic, fire magic, all sorts of… wicked things. Things that are forbidden now, but…”
“…but the power’s still there. It’s in our blood, in our very veins. Some call it ‘mad’, but I call it power… pure and simple. The power to shape the world, to defy the rules, to take what we want. That’s the power of the Targaryen line, darlin’. And I intend to embrace it. To use it. To unleash it on the world as our ancestors did.” His voice grew almost reverent as he spoke, as if he was reciting a prayer.
“And yet… judging by the Bible… this is blasphemy,” she said, thoughtfully.
Aerion laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, darlin’, darlin’… the Bible? You really gonna bring up that old book of myths and legends? I don’t care about the Bible, or morality, or any of that bullshit. That’s for the tame, the meek, the weak…” He leaned forward again, eyes narrowing. “I’ve got my own set of ‘commandments’, darlin’. And they don’t involve ‘love thy neighbor’…”
“Well… it’s your right.” She just awkwardly pursed her lips. She sensed the awkwardness of the conversation and the strange anxiety of his obsession. Having learned more about him, after those true rumors about him being a ‘monster,’ the veracity of these rumors now painted him as a ‘mad monster’ and all his ancestors as truly ‘mad incestuous men, cruel tyrants, bloodthirsty mages, and a cursed family’ — it sounded surreal. 'Is every rumor in this city about him and his family really true? Or is he just joking?'
Aerion noticed the awkwardness — the tension in her shoulders, the way she pursed her lips. His smirk sharpened as he leaned back again, stretching his arms lazily along the backrest of his chair. “Awkward? Nah,” he drawled — though there was a dark amusement in his voice now. “Just honest.” He studied her for another long moment before adding: “…You don’t believe me yet. That’s fine. I ain’t gotta convince ya right here and now.” He shrugged — too casual to be real. “But trust me… one day, darlin’, you’ll see exactly what kind of ‘mad’ we Targaryens really are.”
“Daeron… he…” she began.Aerion froze at the mention of Daeron. His smirk vanished — his expression darkening in an instant. “Daeron,” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “What about him?” His fingers twitched slightly against the tablecloth, his dead blue eyes locked onto her with sudden intensity. The gun on the table seemed to pulse with ominous energy now — like a coiled serpent ready to strike.
“He…” She glanced quickly at the gun on the table, then at the soup bowl, then at the empty plate from the eaten sandwich, returning to his eyes. “He also said such strange things… like you are now… about… dreams… about your blood… I thought it was because of the hangover.”
Aerion’s jaw tightened — his grip on the edge of the table subtly tightening. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt heavier, like a storm cloud about to burst. “Daeron,” he repeated, voice quieter now — more controlled but no less dangerous. “So he talked too? Told you all sorts of ‘strange’ things?” He leaned forward slightly — eyes burning into hers as if trying to see past her skull and into her mind. “…And what else did my dear brother tell ya while drunk off his ass, darlin’?”
“Daeron looked exhausted… did he get home safely this morning?” She ignored the persistent question, suddenly remembering she had forgotten to ask. But Aerion’s face showed he didn’t care about his brother right now.
Aerion’s eyes narrowed at her question. “Tell me,” he said.
“About the dream?” she asked.
He nodded once — short and sharp. “Tell me everything Daeron said — every damn word.”
“Um…” She suddenly frowned in misunderstanding. “Well, he said he has prophetic dreams… that you don’t believe him… that they torment him, but it’s teaching Targaryens ‘like him’… that…” She paused, as if her subconscious were telling her to keep quiet about it. “That he dreamed of me… a week ago… I just thought the alcohol had gotten to his head.”
Aerion’s eyes darkened further with every word. “Prophetic dreams, huh?” he repeated — a faint note of mockery in his tone. “…And he’s sure they’re real, not just the ramblings of a drunken fool with an… overactive imagination?” His gaze didn’t leave her face — studying her expression with an intense, almost predatory sharpness. It stayed like this for several long seconds before he suddenly leaned in even closer, an almost menacing gleam shining in those dead blue eyes. “He’s certain he dreamed of you?”
“I… don’t know.” She really didn’t know. She didn’t know what Daeron was thinking. “Don’t his dreams confirm your words about ‘blood magic’?” 'Why doesn’t Aerion believe his older brother and portrays him as a pathetic drunkard?'
Aerion huffed — a humorless sound that might almost be a laugh. “Daeron,” he snapped, “is a spoiled, weak little fool who thinks he knows more than everyone else. He’s always chasing this, that prophecy, all these… dreams he has. But do you know what I call them, darlin’? I call them ‘bullshit.’ Dreams are just… dreams. They’re not real. They won’t save you, and they won’t tell the goddamn future. They’re just the ramblings of a drunk bastard. And I will be the heir. Not a stupid, pathetic brother.”
“I don’t think Daeron is stupid and pathetic,” SonTeri just bit her lip. “Whether the dreams are true or not, they torment him… he said so himself… that’s why he drinks…” She paused. “Brothers should love each other.”
Aerion snorted — his expression darkening at her defense of his brother. “Love each other, huh?” he muttered. “Why are you defending him? You’ve only known each other for a couple of hours… and that’s because he fell at your door, thinking it was our house. Or I shouldn’t have left my brother sobering up on your couch? Did his pretty face really impress you?”
“What? No… You’re going too far…” Girl just frowned defensively, clutching the mug — it was hot from the tea. “I’m just tolerant.”
Aerion frowned. “You’re ‘tolerant’?” he said. “Or you’ve got a soft spot for pretty men with sad stories? Is that it, darlin’?” His gaze raked over her form. “…Maybe you’d rather be with my brother. He might be more your type. Pretty little ‘good boy’ with sad eyes and a drinking problem.” There was a hint of mockery in his voice — as if he was daring her to disagree. His gaze never left her, like a predator watching prey. His tone was sharp and challenging as he added: “You’d like him better, wouldn’t you?”
“He was nice,” she just got up and cleared away the empty plates he had left, put them in the sink, and turned around, leaning against the counter. “Are you full?”
Aerion watched her clear the dishes — his smirk returning, slow and knowing. “Nice?” he repeated, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Yeah. Real nice.” He leaned back in the chair — stretching his arms along the backrest again as he studied her from across the kitchen. His eyes were sharp on hers when he added: “…But I ain’t full yet. Not even close.”
“Should I… make another sandwich?” she asked, she herself doesn't know why.
Aerion studied her for a long moment — almost as if considering whether or not to push this further. But then his smirk widened, and he gave a single, sharp nod. It was a command — though he was trying to hide it under his casual tone. “Make me another sandwich, darlin’,” he said. “And another cup of tea as well.”
She turned around, chopping ingredients. Her torn skirt still caught her eye for some reason. She chopped and thought: Did I really get involved with a strange guy obsessed with crazy blood? And was Daeron telling the truth, or was it really because of the alcohol? Which of them is telling the truth and which is not? Blood magic? Nonsense.
Aerion watched her as she chopped the ingredients — eyes flickering over the tattered skirt. He said nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on her with an almost predatory intensity. He was taking in every movement, every gesture, every expression. He was still leaning back in the chair — casual and seemingly at ease. “…Y’know, darlin’… that skirt of yours is torn.”
“How will you… bring back the old madness? The old strength and power? You talked… about this. Your actions?” She asked curiously, still with her back to him, making him a thick sandwich. SonTeri didn’t even know why she kept feeding him.
Aerion grinned — almost as if he was pleased that she was indulging him, giving him an opportunity to elaborate. “You really want to know? You don’t think any of it’s a load of bullshit?” He tilted his head, still watching her work with that glint in his eyes. “Well, darlin’, let me tell you. It’s not gonna be pretty, not if I wanna bring the family back to its true glory. But if it works, the power… the sheer fire… it’ll be enough to make the world kneel at our feet.”
“Fire?” She turned her head in disbelief, frowning curiously, holding the knife she used to cut the ham.
Aerion’s smirk widened at her reaction. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied her with that gleam in his eyes. “You heard right, darlin’,” he murmured — almost gloating. “Fire magic. The kind that only the old Targaryens were known for. It’s powerful. It’s beautiful. And it’s gonna be the key to restoring the power of my family.” He paused, letting the words sink in before adding: “And no one’s gonna stop me.”
SonTeri slowly turned back. 'Well… this… definitely doesn’t look like mental illness… maybe his family really was that powerful… I think he can be understood… right?… Right?' She finished the sandwich and put it back on his table, pouring them both hot tea again from a small asian teapot. She didn’t want to eat anyway, but after all this talk, she felt like she was starting to feel nauseous. She watched as Aerion had calmed down a little and relaxed from the overexcitement about the family topic; he sprawled out, took a huge bite, and chewed with both cheeks.
Aerion noticed the way she was looking at him — the slight hesitation, the way her fingers tightened around the teapot. He chewed lazily, his eyes never leaving hers as he swallowed. “You understand now?” he murmured — voice low and rough. “Or are you still thinkin’ I’m just a ‘madman’ with too much family pride?” He leaned back again in that same sprawl — legs wide apart on either side of his chair. The gun was still there between them both like an unspoken threat… or maybe a promise? His smirk lingered as he watched for her reaction to this entire exchange.
“I think it’s definitely not boring in this Texas hole anymore…” She just took a sip of hot tea.
Aerion’s smirk widened further at her comment — almost like he was amused by her attempt at lightheartedness. He lifted his own cup and took a slow sip, his gaze still fixed on her from across the kitchen. “Nah, darlin’,” he murmured — voice rough and low. “Definitely not boring. Especially when you’re involved. I got a new… entertainment to keep me occupied.” His smirk took on a slightly predatory edge as he said this — like he was a hunter eyeing his prey and waiting to pounce.—For a long moment, the kitchen was silent. The only sound was the steady tick of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. Aerion sat there, watching her from across the table — his gaze fixed on her face with an intense, dangerous focus. His eyes seemed to bore into hers, his smirk never faltering. He took another slow sip of tea but didn't look away, even for a second. He was like a cat waiting for an unsuspecting mouse to step into the trap.
She got up, clearing away the now empty plate from the sandwich he had eaten, but her skirt caught again — the same part that had been caught on the barbed wire. The sound of fabric straightening echoed through the room, and she looked back over her shoulder. The skirt was caught on a nail on the chair. “Oh my god…”
Aerion watched the skirt tear further, his smirk turning into something sharper — almost like a predator seeing blood. He leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms lazily along the backrest. “Trouble with your clothes again?” he drawled, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Or do you just enjoy gettin’ stuck on things?” He didn't move to help — not yet. His eyes flicked from her torn skirt to her face and then back again as he waited for her to make a decision: fix it herself or let him see more of what was underneath.
“You tore my skirt while you were getting it out of the bush,” she spoke in a slightly naive and accusatory tone. “So now it's caught.” She tried to pull the even more torn part out of the slightly protruding nail with her left hand. With an empty plate in her right hand, wincing slightly from the effort, her hair fell on her right cheek, her glasses slid down.
Aerion sat up in his chair — leaning forward slightly to get a better view as she struggled with her skirt. He watched every little thing — the way she winced when she pulled at the fabric, the way her hair fell over her face, how it framed her face… all the little details that escaped him. It was almost as if he was studying her, his gaze intense and focused. “Looks like ya could use some help, darlin’,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “Want me to… lend a hand?”
“No… no hand.” She yanked her skirt so hard that she staggered from it. It came off the nail, but the part Aerion had already torn was torn more by her. The plate in her right hand moved, fell out of her hands — but Aerion caught it.
Aerion caught the plate effortlessly — his reflexes sharp, his movements almost too quick. His smirk widened as he watched her stumble from the force of her own yank. “Real smooth,” he drawled, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Gonna ruin that skirt entirely at this rate.” He set the plate down on the table — then leaned forward slightly in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her with a look that was half‑amused and half‑something else entirely. Something darker. “…You sure ya don’t want me to help?”
“No, I… managed.” She turned her head over her shoulder, trying to assess the damage… had the torn five‑centimeter part become even higher, exposing the unnecessary? She seemed to have heard the sound of tearing fabric. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see. “How bad is it?” she asked Aerion — as if it were an ordinary thing, as if not long ago here in the kitchen there had been no strange and creepy speeches about the ‘cursed family’ and the ‘desire for fire.’
Aerion grinned — almost as if he knew exactly how high the skirt had risen. His gaze raked over the back of her now‑exposed thighs. “Bad,” he murmured, voice rough. “Real bad, darlin’… but then, who am I to deny myself a little… show?” He leaned back in his chair again — legs spread on either side of the cushion, his smirk growing even wider as he took in the sight. His eyes lingered on her exposed skin, then slowly slid up to her face — like a cat playing with its prey.
“It's awful… I feel like I'm in tatters… I need to change it.” She grumbled, trying to smooth the back of her skirt with her palms, as if that would fix the torn part. It had probably been left somewhere on the field. God, how am I going to mend it now? “Come on, I need to change… uhm… if you want…” 'Why am I inviting him with me then? I can't leave my friend alone in the kitchen, can I?'
Aerion immediately adjusted. He no longer smirked. He was dangerously silent, looking at her with piercing, deathly blue eyes. His brows were furrowed, but that was more a part of his expression than a sign of displeasure. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if she were joking. But he automatically pushed away from the kitchen cabinet and followed her. Of course, he unceremoniously lowered his eyes — he was a man, after all. Maybe he was even secretly glad to be in her room again. This seemed to be his favorite part of her house, although he hadn't been to all of them.
𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸𖥸
And here they were again. In her room. Aerion, now in possession of her bed, fell back onto her plush toys, picking up that very same plush dragon.
Aerion grinned as he landed on her bed, the dragon plush still in his grip. He tilted his head at her — like a predator sizing up prey. “Comfy,” he drawled, stretching out like a lazy cat claiming territory. His eyes flicked over to the torn skirt again — amused by her flustered state. “…Need help with that?”
“It won't be possible to stitch it up… I don't have a scrap of fabric left on the field… and it won't look so good anyway.” She looked at the extent of the damage in the wall mirror. But then Aerion took that very scrap of fabric out of the pocket of his worn jeans.
“Why did you save it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in surprise.
Aerion shrugged — too casual, too smug. His smirk lingered as he leaned back on her bed, tossing the fabric scrap in the air and catching it with lazy precision. “Knew you'd need it,” he drawled. “Or… maybe I just like havin’ a piece of ya in my pocket.” His grin sharpened — like a cat who got the cream. The implication was clear: he had taken it for a reason… and that reason wasn't entirely innocent.
“This is… weird?” She just frowned in confusion — although she also liked to save trash. “But I don't think it will work to sew it up…”
Aerion laughed then — a low, amused sound. “Oh, darlin’, you really do keep underestimatin’ me, don't you?” He grinned as he sat back up, stretching his massive frame like a cat. He held up the fabric scrap. “Trust me… I'll make that skirt look just as good as new. Better, even.” The glint in his eyes was dangerous — and he was obviously enjoying this.
“I think I just need to throw it away.” She cast a last glance at the mirror, pursing her lips in frustration. It had been a nice skirt, but because of her clumsiness it had torn… twice. “I'll just change.” She went to the closet and started rummaging. Aerion yawned and looked at her toys… or… strangled a stuffed dragon?
Aerion watched her rummage through the closet with a lazy, half‑lidded gaze. His fingers were still tangled in the dragon’s fabric — tugging it this way and that like he was considering whether to rip its head clean off. “Tch. Wastin’ good cloth,” he muttered — though there was no real anger in his voice. Just… something else. He finally let go of the toy when he saw her pull out a new skirt, his smirk returning as he flopped back onto her pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “…Better be cuter than that one.”
Girl looked out of the closet with clothes in her hands. “What? What are you talking about?”
Aerion lifted the dragon — holding it up by its throat, as if inspecting a suspect. His smirk was sharp, but false. “This,” he said flatly. “Your little ‘pet.’ Let me guess — some other guy gave it to ya? Or maybe you just collect ’em for fun?” He tilted his head slightly — studying her reaction with cold amusement. The grip on the toy tightened imperceptibly… like he was testing how far he could push this before something snapped.
“Oh, this is from Dunk… for my twelfth birthday,” she said casually, burying her head in the closet.
Aerion froze at the name. His grip on the dragon loosened slightly — but his smirk was gone now, replaced by something sharper. Darker. “Dunk?” he repeated — voice low and dangerous. “The new recruit? The one with the… clean hands?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her from across the room, fingers twitching against the plush fabric like it had personally offended him. “…And what else did this ‘Dunk’ give ya, darlin’?”
“Why not? He's my old friend,” she said.
She slightly approached the bed and touched the toy with her hand as if she wanted to take it, but Aerion didn't give it up. “No need… you're holding it too hard… it will tear.”
Aerion watched her approach — but his grip on the toy remained as tight as ever. His eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face — narrowed. His smirk was gone, replaced by a hard, cold expression. He almost looked as if he was holding a real threat in his hand, not just a children's toy. “I said, I'll keep it,” he retorted — voice rough.
“I… I'll go change.” She was a little frozen by this tone. But she just removed her hand and went to the small closet in her room. Before, when old man Filch had lived here, it had been a pantry, but now it was a wardrobe.
Aerion watched as she crossed the room to the closet and started to change. His gaze didn't leave her back — like he was waiting to catch a glimpse of something beneath the clothes. But when she went into the closet, he let out a low scoff, as if he was disappointed. He turned his attention to the toy dragon he was holding. His grip on it was still too tight — almost like he was holding a vice. He held the toy at eye level, glaring into its glassy, soulless eyes. “How… friendly are you and this Dunk fella?” he gritted out. He only knew that this guy was a close friend of the family and had been for quite a while. And that day at the river, he had been too protective… he hadn't let him grab her… and she had dressed up for him — he hadn't forgotten that. As he asked this, he shifted across the bed, trying to catch the angle from which he could see the crack in the doorway. 'Old Man Filch's house was old and everything didn't work properly, locks included, so maybe he would get a peek? But… no luck. Mr. Bardot apparently had fixed everything up. The door was tightly closed, and there wasn't even a single centimeter gap. No fun in his days — he couldn't even spy on a girl.' Aerion just glared at the dragon, as if it were his fault… or maybe Dunk's.
She spoke from the dressing room: “We're pretty close… we practically grew up together…” She simply answered, naively unaware of the Southerner’s actions on her bed and his attempts.
Aerion growled — a low, rough sound, almost a snarl. The sound was low enough that it was almost inaudible — but the toy clenched in the man's hand gave it away. He didn't like hearing how close she was to this Dunk fellow… and that she had known him her whole life wasn't making it any better. “So he gave you toys when you were kids, huh? Gave you this thing? You still hang onto it…” he muttered, his grip on the toy growing even tighter.
“You've already met him… why are you asking?” she said from behind the door.
Aerion froze for a split second — then his smirk returned, sharper than before. He leaned back on the bed, tossing the toy dragon into the air and catching it with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Just makin’ conversation,” he drawled. “You know how I get when I'm bored.” But there was something in his tone — something dark and possessive beneath that easy arrogance. His eyes flicked to her closet door like he was imagining kicking it down just to see what she was hiding from him.
She walked out of the wardrobe, already wearing baggy jeans, holding the torn skirt in her hand.
She threw the skirt into the trash can under the table. “My parents will have questions.” She turned her head to see him sprawled out on her bed, still holding the dragon.
Aerion watched as she threw the skirt into the trash, eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if he was disappointed that the torn fabric was no longer within his reach. But then he turned his gaze onto the new clothes she was wearing, taking in the sight of her body. He was clearly trying to imagine what she might still be hiding from him. The smirk on his face was almost predatory. The toy dragon in his hands was now a mere afterthought. “You dress pretty damn modestly for a girl your age,” he drawled, eyeing her baggy jeans.
“Regular jeans…” She said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. “Um… so what next?”
She walked up to the bed and sat down on it from below, looking at the lying Aerion. “Your work clothes… are not for my clean bed,” she awkwardly stated the fact.
Aerion looked up at her with a smirk, eyeing his faded, old jeans and heavy belt. He was fully aware that the heavy, worn leather and dusty denim were most definitely at odds with her nice, sky‑blue bed. He took in the sight of her sitting on the edge of the bed in her new jeans — and his gaze drifted to the spot on the comforter right beside him, as if inviting her to join him. “You're right, darlin’,” he drawled. “These clothes aren't quite suited for such clean, sky‑blue sheets.”
“Well, I can wash it later.” She pursed her lips awkwardly. Well, sitting on the bed and chatting with a friend is fun. Too bad we didn't have that in Minnesota.
Aerion's smirk widened as he noticed her awkwardness. He found her little discomfort almost amusing — he liked seeing her on edge. “Oh, are you worried about your little bed? Don't worry, darlin’. The great Aerion Targaryen will try not to get too much farm dirt on your pretty little sky‑blue covers,” he drawled sarcastically, raising a brow as he lay back on the bed and stretched out, taking up even more space. His jeans were still dusty and worn… just like the rest of his person.
His eyes roamed over her. He looked quite comfortable lying there, like a predator lounging on his prey's bed. There was something almost taunting about his lazy sprawl on her sheets. “Come on. Sit.” He patted the spot on the bed right next to him. It was a wordless order to join him on the bed… and she seemed too polite to refuse.
“Pastor Tom says, ‘It's a sin to sleep with a guy before marriage’… that's… that's what he's talking about?” She awkwardly pointed at them and the bed.
Aerion snorted — an amused, almost incredulous sound. He shook his head in disbelief, propping himself up on his elbows, the smirk still wide and smug. “Oh, so you listen to ol’ Pastor Tom, huh?” he drawled, raising a brow. “And he tellin’ you it's a sin to share a bed with another man before marriage?” He let out a dry, almost mocking chuckle. “Well, ain't that somethin’… I bet Pastor Tom'd have a hissy fit if he could see us right now.”
She awkwardly lay down next to him on the edge, trying to get as far away as possible. “Well, we're friends… I think God isn't that evil.”
Aerion watched her scoot as far away as possible, his smirk only growing. He let out a low chuckle — almost amused by her nervousness. “Friends,” he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth like it was something foreign. “Yeah… friends.” He shifted slightly — not enough to close the distance between them but just enough to make sure she felt him there beside her. His voice dropped lower when he added: “God ain't evil… but I bet ol’ Pastor Tom would still say we're sinning.”
They lay in awkward silence, not knowing what to discuss until Aerion asked a question about her life in Minnesota.
Aerion broke the silence with a lazy, almost teasing smirk. “So, Minnesota… tell me about it,” he said — voice rough but oddly curious. He turned his head slightly to look at her from the corner of his eye. “Did ya miss this kinda heat? Or was it all just cold and quiet up there?” He stretched out a little more on her bed — still keeping that infuriating distance between them — but now he seemed genuinely interested in hearing her answer.
“Well… it's definitely not as hot there as here… The cities, the buildings… the houses… everything is a bit…” She was choosing her words. “…more modern.”
Aerion lifted a brow as he listened to her describe Minnesota — his smirk growing slightly. “Modern, huh? That mean y’all had fancy gadgets and what not up there?” he asked, the hint of a tease in his voice. “Electricity and such. Running water… cars.” He let out a soft huff of amusement. “Guess I can't imagine some place like that. No wide‑open spaces. Just concrete and glass everywhere.”
“At least there was internet… I miss it.”
Aerion raised a brow — somewhat genuinely surprised. “Internet, huh? Ya mean you could just… sit at home and talk to people all day… even if they were miles and miles away?” he mused, trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Sounds… boring. Why would ya wanna talk to folks you can't even see?”
“I… in Minnesota, I didn't really hang out with the guys… well… they didn't hang out with me.”, she says in a quiet voice.
Aerion noticed something in her voice — something almost… sad. “Didn't hang out with the guys,” he repeated — tone almost like a question. He shifted on the bed so he was turned towards her, his body language almost open now. Like he was paying attention — really paying attention to her words. “Why's that? They all assholes or somethin’? Didn't appreciate a pretty face like yours?”
“Something like that… they think I'm weird.”
Aerion lifted his head slightly at that — his smirk fading for a split second. He studied her face, as if searching for something in the way she said it. “Weird?” he repeated — voice rough but low, like he was trying to figure out what she meant by that word. “Or just… different?” He shifted again on the bed — not teasing now. His gaze was sharp and calculating as he waited for an answer.
“Weird.” She paused. “But… being weird isn't bad. They don't understand.”
Aerion's smirk almost returned. “Nah, it ain't bad,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing again. “Just different. And if they can't appreciate that, well… that sounds like their problem, not yours.” He fell silent for a moment, almost thoughtful, before continuing. “So these ‘guys’… they didn't… give ya any trouble — did they?” he asked — as if casually. But there was something in his voice that betrayed his interest.
“Children at school are… how can I put it… 'mean'.”, she said carefully.
Aerion narrowed his eyes slightly — the teasing smirk completely faded. The look on his face told her that he knew exactly what she meant by ‘mean.’ “They pick on you?” he asked — voice lower, almost rough now. “Or was it just name‑callin’ and the like?” His eyes bored into her. He wanted to know more — and the thought of someone being mean to her… upset him a bit more than he cared to admit.
“Does it matter? I'm still different in this Texas hole.”, she fidgets in bed, as if the memories themselves make her uncomfortable.
Aerion frowned at that — his expression almost annoyed. He didn't like that word. “Don't call it a ‘hole,’ darlin’,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Texas is my home, ya know.” His gaze lingered on her face — like he was trying to read her expression. He was still watching her, almost like he was trying to see beneath her skin, below surface level, to figure out what really happened with the ‘mean’ guys at school.
A thoughtful look crossed his face, and then: “Were they… physical?” he asked — not teasing. His tone was almost cautious, like he was bracing himself for the answer. But the edge in his voice betrayed how much the idea of someone hurting her personally pissed him off. Or maybe because it wasn't him.
“Not really,… sometimes.” She tossed and turned slightly in bed, not looking at him.
Aerion watched her toss and turn — his jaw clenching slightly. The teasing edge in his voice was gone, replaced by something colder. “Sometimes,” he repeated, low and rough. “So they pushed ya around? Called ya names?” He shifted on the bed — no longer lying back but sitting up a little now. His eyes were sharp as he waited for her answer… and it was clear that if someone had actually laid hands on her before this, he wouldn't be amused at all.
“It's all in the past.” SonTeri now looked at him as he rose up on his elbows, his deathly blue eyes narrowed.
Aerion held her gaze — his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he let out a slow breath through his nose. “Past,” he repeated, voice rough and quiet. “Right.” He dropped back down onto the bed with a thud — arms folded behind his head like he was trying to act casual. But there was something in the way he looked at her now… something almost protective beneath that usual smirk of his.
The atmosphere between them had shifted — and there was now a heavy silence hanging in the air. He was still looking at her — but now, his eyes were softer. “What, uh…” he started, voice a little gruff. “What did you spend your time on up north? If you weren't, ah… hangin’ out with the guys.” It was a clear attempt to change the subject. And he sounded genuinely curious now. Almost interested in learning more about her — and not just about the bullying.
“Um… same as here. I was sitting at home… doing all sorts of things…”, she tugged at her hair.
Aerion nodded slightly — like he was absorbing that information. His smirk was gone now, replaced by something more… observant. “Sit at home,” he repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth like they were a new concept. “So you just… stayed inside? Read books? Watched TV?” He tilted his head slightly as he studied her face — trying to picture her doing those things. The thought of someone spending so much time alone seemed almost foreign to him.
“Well, yeah… It was nice.”
Aerion frowned slightly, as if he didn't quite get it. “You didn't go explore? Or, I dunno… hang out with some friends?” he asked — somewhat bewildered. He was genuinely attempting to grasp the idea of someone wanting to spend so much time alone. In his world, it was rare to not have someone to spend time with, even if it was just the bartender. Spending time, well… alone? Not something he was used to.
SonTeri frowned slightly at his words — not from anger, just from memories. Girl turned her head. “You are my only friend…” She paused. “…except Dunk.”
Aerion froze for a split second — his expression going completely blank. Then, his smirk returned, but it was sharper now — more dangerous. “Only friend?” he repeated — voice low and rough. “And what about this… Dunk fella? He your ‘friend’ too?” There was something in the way he said that word that made it clear he didn't trust the man one bit. His grip on the stuffed dragon tightened again as if to emphasize his point.
He turned his head fully now, locking eyes with her — a mixture of thoughts playing out across his face. “You really…” he started, voice even rougher than usual. “You ain't got no other friends, darlin’? No other guys? No girls?” There was something in his voice… almost vulnerability hidden beneath the rough edge. It was something in the way he was looking at her now… like he was trying to read her expression, to figure out if he was her only friend in this small town. Or even in the whole damn state.
“Only… you.”, her voice sounds different now.
Those words made him pause, his brows furrowing in a strange mix of disbelief and something almost like pride. But it was deeper than that… he couldn't quite place it. “I… am your only friend,” he repeated, voice a little quieter this time. It was like he couldn't quite believe it. He was so used to fighting for his position that he couldn't believe anyone would choose him as their first choice. And in a small town no less. It gave his ego a boost, that was for sure.
His smirk returned — but now there was something different beneath it. Something almost like pride. “Well, damn… I guess that makes you mine, then,” he grumbled, trying to sound casual about it. But he couldn't hide the small hint of satisfaction in his voice. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he finally pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard of the bed — one foot lazily tossed up on the edge. The position spread his legs slightly… but he didn't seem to notice.
She also slightly rose up, leaning her back against the headboard. “I have your T‑shirt,” suddenly flew out of her mouth. A spontaneous memory came to her from these conversations. The same one he had given her to hide from the sun in the city yesterday, tied on her head. She had washed it and saved it, wanted to return it.
Aerion raised an eyebrow — somewhat surprised by the memory. But there was more in his expression than surprise. There was a hint of something else in his eyes, like he was… almost amused. Or pleased. Or both. “You've still got it, huh?” he asked — voice slightly rough. He didn't know why, but the thought of her keeping his shirt — even just over her head like that — made something in him stir. The possessive feeling was back… and he couldn't help it.
“Well, yes… you gave it to me yesterday… I washed it in the evening…” She got out of bed, leaving an empty mark on the blanket. Girl opened the closet and rummaged around. She put his T‑shirt among her clothes.
Aerion watched as she got up and walked over to the closet. He couldn't keep his eyes off her movements — almost like he was waiting to see what she would do. His gaze was focused, almost intense as he watched her place his shirt amongst her clothes. The act was simple, but it seemed to hold some meaning for him. Some unspoken significance.
She took out his white T‑shirt, now it looked clean, without any dirt or grass stains. “Here.”
Aerion took the shirt from her, his fingers brushing against hers for just a second. He held it up — studying it with an almost lazy smirk. “Cleaned it all nice and pretty,” he murmured, voice rough but not unkind. His gaze flicked to her face as he added: “Like little wifey.”
She just sat back down on the bed next to him. It was quite… cozy and… relaxing. The heat didn't subside even in the evening. But spending the first day of her parents’ two‑week business trip had been quite eventful. First, drunk Daeron in the morning, then a trip to buy flowers and a meeting with Aerion with a gun. Then a guest in the house in his person and talk about the ‘cursed family’ and, of course, a torn skirt. She looked at the bouquet of strange wildflowers in a vase on her table and continued the ‘friendly’ conversation.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 9: Wildflowers and the Rifle.
Part 1.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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And then silence again. She couldn't forget Daeron's words — about the dream, about their blood, these rumors of the local people. In this city, everything revolved around the Targaryens, and Aerion hadn't even said anything.
'Did he know about Daeron's visions? Or did he dismiss them like Mr. Maekar seemed to?' She stared out the window at House Targaryen in the distance, suddenly realizing how little she actually knew about them despite living right next door.
She would be home alone for another two weeks. But it was boring here. She changed out of her pajamas. She put on a baggy shirt and a skirt with weird prints, a weirdly shaped Panama hat and glasses. In Minnesota, everyone laughed at her clothes. She decided to go outside since it was boring at home. The Texas heat baked her bare legs in her skirt, and her Panama hat wasn't helping. She was already walking far from her house, near a forested area. There were strange southern flowers here, with prickly stems and crooked petals... beautiful. She squatted down and picked them.The flowers were unique — nothing like the neat, controlled blooms of Minnesota. These were wild, untamed: some with jagged leaves, others with vibrant colors that clashed yet worked together. Her skirt brushed against thorns as she picked them — stinging slightly — but the beauty was worth it. The Texas wilderness had its own kind of charm.
She picked flowers for a long time, in the bare field that lined this area, the forest beginning just a few meters away. It was a quiet and aesthetic activity. She squatted down again to pick strange, round lilac flowers, and when she tried to stand up, she stopped mid‑pose... her skirt had gotten caught on a thorny branch of a bush.
The thorny branch held fast — her skirt fabric was snagged, tangled in the prickly stem. The more she tried to yank it free, the tighter it seemed to grip. Her legs were exposed — no one was around for miles. Just her, the flowers in her hands... and this stubborn bush. A rustle came from nearby — the wind? Or something else?
The rustling grew louder — not the wind. A shadow moved at the edge of her vision. Then, a deep voice: "Need help?" She turned — her heart jumping — and saw Aerion. He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching her with mild amusement. Probably came looking for Daeron... and found her instead.
"Aerion... hello... um... again," she said, trying to speak in a normal tone, for some reason.
Aerion's eyes immediately dropped to her skirt and her bare thin legs. "Yer tryin' to seduce a scarecrow? Why not me, ha?" He just grinned, standing in a relaxed pose, still behind her, of course enjoying the view. Aerion strode over without hesitation, his long legs closing the distance in seconds. He crouched beside her — close enough that she smelled leather and hay on him. Without asking, he reached for the tangled fabric.
"Wait, don't..." Before she could finish speaking, he had already sat up. She didn't want it to be so awkward... and improper — to touch her skirt. But he had already squatted too close and started the 'release.' She could feel his heat — from work or from the sun.
Aerion ignored her protest, his calloused fingers carefully working the fabric free from the thorns. His face was inches from her skirt — the heat of his body radiating. He roughly untangled her with surprising patience. The air between them was suddenly very charged... awkward and electric at once. With a final pop, the fabric tore free from the thorns. Aerion held up her skirt — now slightly ripped at the hem — and raised an eyebrow. "Oops," he said, not sounding sorry at all. Then he just... kept staring. At her. At her legs. At the flowers in her hands. His usual smirk was gone — replaced by something more intense.
"Oh my god," she looked at the piece of fabric in his hand. She was still holding the flowers. "Are there a lot of rips there? Is the skirt at least more or less closed?" She said, trying to look over her shoulder at the back of the skirt.
Aerion tilted his head, examining the damage. The rip wasn't huge — just a small tear near the hemline — but it was definitely visible. "Eh, not bad," he muttered before suddenly reaching out and pushing her glasses back up her nose with one finger. A casual gesture that felt weirdly intimate. Then he eyed her whole outfit, she looked like some quirky flower‑picking poet to him.
"I hope at least... um... you can't see anything extra there," she said, embarrassed when she imagined the picture of herself.
Aerion's gaze flicked down — not in a creepy way, but more like he was genuinely assessing the skirt. His face stayed neutral. "Nope," he said bluntly. "Just fabric." Then, because he couldn't help it, his eyes dragged back up to her weird hat and glasses combo... and something in his expression softened slightly. He thought she was kind of endearing? Maybe?
Aerion stayed crouched beside her for a second longer — like he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. The flowers in her hands caught his eye. "Y'pick those?" he asked, nodding at the bouquet. His tone was casual, but there was genuine curiosity there. He reached out and plucked one of the lilac blooms between his fingers, inspecting it like it was foreign to him — which maybe it was.
"Yes, I was picking flowers here." She suddenly realized that she was still squatting, quickly locking her legs. She even stood up just to be sure. "It was boring at home and..."
Aerion stood too, towering over her. He tucked the stolen flower behind her ear — without asking — before she could even finish her sentence. "Looks betta on ya," he said, voice low. Then he surveyed the field of flowers like it was his first time seeing them. The Targaryen ranch was mostly cattle and crops — not much for wild blooms.
"Thanks..." She just hesitated, her glasses kept sliding down to the tip of her nose.
Aerion noticed her glasses again — this time, instead of just pushing them up, he gently hooked a finger under the frame and adjusted them properly on her nose. His touch was sharp... as if... they wanted. "Y'need better glasses," he commented. "What... have ya suddenly become some kind of scientist or somethin'?" he said sarcastically, baring his dragon teeth. He hadn't seen glasses on her before... he would have noticed, just like he had noticed that ugly Panama hat.
"No, I always wore them, I just lost them when we moved... found them this morning. It was hard not being able to see clearly for a week."
"So, yer a four‑eyes wearer?" he said with a grin. "Well... even with glasses, yer a pretty one, darlin'." Then, without warning, he plucked another flower and tucked it into her hat this time. Now she was basically a walking bouquet with glasses askew. "So ya couldn't appreciate my biceps and cheekbones before? Now ya can? Let me show ya."
She looked at his dragon grin and the flowers. 'And he wasn't an ordinary farmer? And the ancestor of the city's creators was the son of a business farmer?' "No, no, I... I've seen them already..." She suddenly realized what she had said. "Well, I mean... I wasn't looking on purpose... it's just... you walk around naked all the time."
Aerion's grin widened — wicked, pleased — because she had admitted to looking at him. His ego inflated visibly. "Ohhhh? So ya do stare," he purred, leaning in slightly like a predator enjoying the chase. "Guess I should walk around shirtless more often then. For yer... viewing pleasure." The bastard was clearly enjoying this way too much.
She just looked away and her gaze fell on the gun on his shoulder. She was pierced by a memory, the same gun that she had seen in their kitchen — blood‑red, hot, attractive. Her fingers that had touched it tingled, like muscle memory. "You shot?" she asked with interest, nodding toward the rifle.
Aerion followed her gaze to the rifle — his hunting gun... or maybe a weapon for violence. He nodded, proud. "Yeah. Deer mostly," he said, patting the stock. "Sometimes coyotes if they bother cattle." Then he studied her face — the way she was looking at it — and smirked. "Wanna hold it?" He offered casually, already shifting to unshoulder the gun like an invitation.
She frowned slightly at the mention of shooting animals... but its bright blood‑red color was hypnotizing, like that day in the kitchen. "And me... I won't shoot someone by accident?" she asked naively, which was strange, since her dad was a military pilot.
Aerion chuckled at her naive question — clearly amused that a military pilot's daughter was this unsure. "Nah, it ain't loaded," he reassured her, flipping the safety on with a click before handing it over. The rifle was heavy in her hands. The wood grain was warm from his body heat. And yeah... the color really was striking up close — rich red, almost like dried blood.
Touching it, SonTeri felt that sensation from the kitchen again, but now it was hotter not only from the sun but also from use. She held it and watched, as if it was holding her and looking back. Then Aerion took his hands over hers, forcing her to hold it correctly, and stood behind her. She felt the heat of his body, and yes, it was definitely not from the sun. He smelled no longer of grass and machine oil, but only of sweat and gunpowder.
Aerion's chest pressed against her back as he adjusted her grip — his arms caging her in, his breath warm near her ear. "Elbow straight. Support the weight," he murmured, guiding her fingers on the trigger guard with surprising patience for someone usually so reckless. His scent was all man — sweat from ranch work, gunpowder from earlier shots. It was overwhelming up close... and weirdly thrilling.
"It's heavy..." she spoke quietly, as if the gun would hear her.
Aerion's chest rumbled with a quiet laugh at her comment. "Yeah, rifles ain't toys," he said, his voice right by her ear. He didn't let go — still holding her steady from behind. Then, because he couldn't resist being a show‑off: "Wanna see how light it feels when I'm shooting?" He nudged the barrel upward slightly — ready to demonstrate.
"Is it loud?..." A pause. "I'm scared..."
For some reason she wasn't embarrassed by his closeness, and the position they were in; the burning sensation under her fingers from the gun barrel outweighed the burning sensation from the cross on her neck.
Aerion's head leaned closer from behind her to see her face. Seeing the shadow of fear, he was only filled with... excitement. His chest heaved for a second, which she could almost feel. His eyes narrowed, and wrinkles appeared at the corners; he frowned, not from anger, but rather... bliss. "Yeah, it's loud as hell," he admitted. "It'll be cool, don't be afraid, darlin'." He said it with a sharp smirk and a smug, pretty face, reluctantly moving away from her and taking the gun for himself, taking a salt bullet out of his pocket. He wouldn't use a real one just to show off.
Aerion stepped to the side, raising the rifle with practiced ease. He aimed at a distant tree trunk — not at anything living — then pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The shot was deafening, echoing across the fields. Birds scattered from trees. The recoil jolted his shoulder, but he barely flinched. He lowered the gun, smoke curling from the barrel... and glanced back at her to gauge her reaction.
SonTeri just shuddered, covering her ears. She almost automatically closed her eyes, but her subconscious told her that Aerion would be offended if she missed his shot.
Aerion loved that she flinched. The wide‑eyed, ear‑covered reaction was exactly what he expected from a city girl. "First time hearing a gunshot?" he teased, smirking as he strode back toward her — still holding the smoking rifle. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from her ear... then pressed the warm barrel of the gun into it — letting her feel its heat firsthand.
The rifle was scorching — the metal radiating heat from the recent shot. Aerion didn't let go of her wrist, keeping it there for a second too long. "Hot, huh?" he said — his voice rougher than usual. Maybe it was the adrenaline from shooting... or something else. Then he finally released her and slung the gun back over his shoulder, studying her face like he was memorizing her reaction.
"I visited my parents at a military base... I saw gunshots," she said as a fact. But the red barrel of Aerion's gun still tingled in her fingertips.
"Military base ain't the same," he muttered. He flexed his shoulder where the rifle had kicked back. Then, because he was a reckless idiot with zero self‑control... he suddenly grabbed her tingling hand — the one that had touched the barrel — and pressed it to his chest right over his heartbeat. It was pounding hard from the shooting.
Young girl just took a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat and his hard chest. "Racing," she only spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
Aerion's heartbeat thundered under her palm — fast, wild, like a caged animal. His breathing hitched when she didn't pull away. For a second, he just stared at her — those sharp blue eyes darkening with something unreadable.
SonTeri took his calloused hand in hers and placed it on her chest. Her heart was pounding too — either from the heat, or from the tension, or from the gunshot, or from him. His hand was big, his grip was firm; it might even leave traces of powder and dirt on her shirt. She raised her brown eyes, now behind the lenses of her glasses, to his deathly blue eyes. Surprisingly, after the gunshot, which meant presumably after the violence, or her fear... they already seemed wild blue. Maybe this was that "madness" the locals were mumbling about.
Aerion's breath stopped. His hand — rough, warm, smelling of gunpowder — stayed frozen on her chest, right over the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. His pupils blew wide. The madness in his eyes? It was alive now — a feral glint that made him look less like a ranch boy and more like a predator who had just spotted prey. Then... slowly... he leaned down.
She suddenly broke out of this strange pose, awkwardly... mechanically clutching the cross on her neck in her fingers, still hot and flushed. "It's amazing that an ordinary weapon can make the heart stop beating and at the same time... beat stronger, yes." Girl only said that, bending carefully in her skirt and collecting her bouquet of flowers. 'What... what just happened? What was that?', thoughts ran through her head.
Aerion blinked, momentarily dazed by her sudden movement — the tension shattered like glass. He watched her gather flowers, his hand now empty and cold where hers had been. The cross in her fingers seemed to catch the light — holy against the wildness of this moment. His jaw clenched briefly... then he exhaled through his nose. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, not explaining anything either.
SonTeri just got up again, this time with her flowers in her hands, hair, and in Panama hat. Her skirt was torn, and small blades of grass were stuck to her knees while she had been picking flowers. At first she slightly averted her eyes, but in the end, she still returned to them — blue and already wild.
Aerion's gaze dragged over her — the torn skirt, the grass on her knees, flowers tangled in her hair. She looked wild too now... not like a proper lady at all. It excited him, but the irritation doesn't go away either. Without warning, he stepped forward and plucked a piece of grass from her knee — his fingers brushing skin.
"Um... thanks?" Girl just shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "You... you'll be working?"
Aerion shook his head, the grass still between his fingers. He didn't put it down — just crushed it absently. "Nah. I'm off today," he said, voice low again.
"Then... do you want... I mean... we could... spend the day together? I mean, we're friends, do they all do that?" She paused. "I need to know something from you."
Aerion's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile at her invitation. 'Friends spending the day? That wasn't what he usually did with "friends."' "Yeah," he said immediately — no hesitation. Then he tilted his head, studying her: "What d'ya wanna know?"
"Let's go take these aesthetic wild flowers," girl just mumbled as she walked toward her house. The back of her skirt was torn and revealed about five or seven centimeters of her right leg.
Aerion followed her without question, his long strides matching her pace. His eyes definitely flicked to the torn skirt — the exposed patch of skin — but he didn't comment. Instead, he started plucking wildflowers as they walked: jagged purple blooms, bright yellow ones... shoving them into his pockets haphazardly. He wasn't graceful at this. Not a flower‑picking poet like she was.
・❥・
They walked slowly, back in the direction of her house, along the path next to the fields — his family's fields. She looked around, avoiding Aerion's gaze. 'Was what happened between us now... friendly? Or...?' She held her bouquet of strange flowers in her hands; the wind gently blew through her hair, almost without knocking over her strange Panama hat, and the flowers in her hair and Panama hat that Aerion had placed there. But the wind made the heat even more stifling.
Aerion walked silently beside her — his eyes roaming over everything: the fields, the flowers, the heat, the way her skirt flapped around her legs... and her bare thighs occasionally visible. The sight was distracting, to say the least. He glanced sideways occasionally — taking in her profile in those weird glasses, her windblown hair, the flowers clutched to her chest. His thoughts raced, not just about the shooting or that bizarre feeling earlier... or that he had almost kissed her... although it didn't matter... but about her and him. Alone. Like this.
As if on automatic, his arm bumped against hers — just once. It was a subtle gesture, but it felt deliberate. A hint of that earlier tension returned. He was so close. Heat radiated off him in waves — the combination of hard work and his own body heat. Aerion's gaze stayed fixed on the fields, but he suddenly spoke — his voice low. "Yer gonna tell me what it is you wanna know... or are ya just gon' make me guess, darlin'?"
She turned her head toward him and for the first time looked at him. "Yes, I... I just wanted to ask... Dad said during dinner, your family... your... daddy's farm, contracts with the base and..." She said, hugging the flowers to her chest and looking at her feet, looking away again.
Aerion's smirk returned as he picked up on the direction of her question. There was something almost excited in his expression — like she was venturing into forbidden territory. "Yeah?" he drawled. "What ya wanna know 'bout the contracts?"
"Dad said your family is like... local nobility... a contract with the base, a job place for city people, Mr. Maekar's farming business, your ancestors are one of the founders of the city and... you didn't tell me about this before." She slightly pursed her lips, now looking precisely at his profile — sharp, almost cutting features, a straight nose and chin, eyebrows as always frowned, as if he was born that way, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He looked somewhere into the field; the red rifle was still slung over his shoulder.
"Looks like your daddy found out everything about us, huh?" He was still looking straight ahead and said with a smirk. He seemed to enjoy the topic of his family and roots. "Yeah, we're popular, my ancestors built the city. They enriched it and now my dad maintains the balance. I help him. My brother Daeron is a stupid drunk, no good for anything." He took a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lit one, not stopping to do so in one place, but right on the go. He took a drag. "This is our city," he said suddenly with some kind of serious obsession. Then, turning to her, he exhaled smoke. "Why? Yer tryin' to figure out if I'm worth marryin' or somethin'?"
"What? No " She just coughed a little.
Aerion's grin widened at her reaction — delighted by the way she coughed on his smoke. "Liar," he teased, exhaling another slow stream of it in her direction. The wind carried some of it toward her anyway. He leaned in slightly, cigarette dangling from his lips: "C'mon... admit it. Yer tryin' to figure out if a Targaryen's good enough for ya."
"My parents are already quite rich," she said as a fact, as if they were already talking about marriage. "That is... you're like a 'dynasty'... like Princess Diana? Are you the «heir»? Or is it Daeron since he's older..." She frowned slightly in thought, talking weird nonsense.
Aerion barked a laugh at the Diana comparison — genuinely amused. "Princess Diana? Hell no," he scoffed, flicking ash off his cigarette. "I ain't wearin' tiaras or sippin' tea with the Queen." Then he sobered slightly, tilting his head: "Nah. Daeron's too soft for an heir or dumb. My father wants me to run things eventually." He said it like a fact — not bragging, just stating what was expected of him.
"I... when I was in the city, I heard different things from the locals," she started speaking carefully, looking out of the corner of her eye at his reaction.
Aerion arched an eyebrow — immediately interested. "What'd they say... abou' me?" He took another drag of his cigarette, eyes never leaving her face.
"As for you personally, you're crazy and you're causing problems for the city... you beat up three guys and broke the glass in a shop window... I don't remember the rest... that's it... really?" She looked at him from below. Nervously squeezing the flowers in her hands and fiddling with their thorns with her fingertips.
Aerion laughed — a sharp, unapologetic sound. The cigarette bobbed between his teeth. "Three guys? Nah. That was four," he corrected, like it was a point of pride. "And the window? Pfft. Guy deserved it. That ol' bastard." He flicked ash onto the dirt road before adding with a smirk: "Yer not scared of me now... are ya?"
"I... I don't think I 'know you,'" she said, biting his inner cheek, speaking carefully.
Aerion grinned at her answer — finding something amusing in her honesty. "And ya wanna get to know me?" he said, voice low. His eyes raked over her again — lingering on her torn skirt and the flowers in her hand.
"I would like to know... how reckless and dangerous... my friend is.", She speaks the truth, pure as dew.
Aerion hummed in thought — not sure if he should be offended. "Reckless, dangerous... that's me alright," he said, smirking. "Why? Ya worried?"
"Why are you doing this?", she wants to know.
Aerion shrugged — like the answer was obvious. "I do what I want," he said simply. He looked at her from under his brow — blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. "I live by what I feel — what I want — not what the old geezers or people in the city think is right." Then he grinned, a predatory gleam in his gaze: "And right now... the only thing I want is to keep ya talkin' to me."
"Do you want to... continue being friends with me? But if you're a bad person... I'm afraid I don't hang out with people like that." SonTeri said it without looking down this time, studying his face. 'So the rumors about him being a "monster" were true? He was terrible, disgusting and dangerous... so what next?', lumps of heavy thoughts settled in her head.
Aerion looked back at her — unflinching. "I like hangin' out with you," he simply said — not trying to deny the 'bad person' accusation. In fact, he actually looked amused. "Yes, I'm bad... a 'shitty Maekar's boy'... 'mad dragon'... 'wildflame'... But I don't feel only bad. I feel... alive." There was something almost defiant in his words. "And if ya stick around... I won't let nothin' hurt ya."
"And who wants to hurt me?" she asked, barely recognizing and understanding his cheeky Southern accent.
Aerion shrugged. "Plenty of idiots around here who'd wanna hurt a pretty lil' thing like you. City full of morons, y'know that." He glanced lazily around the fields, like a wild animal scanning the area — looking for threats.
Girl just looked at the field from the other side. 'He was right... almost... the locals here really couldn't stand their military family and... not like everyone else... not white.' "But you admitted that you're bad... my parents are religious, they..."
Aerion's eyes snapped back to her — blue and intense. His jaw clenched — like he was annoyed at the mention of her parents' beliefs. But he didn't look away. He blew another drag of smoke, studying her from beneath his lashes. "Yeah. I'm bad," he repeated — not apologizing. "But I'm honest."
"I can't be with you...", She says it almost wearily, as if the words are coming out of her throat like thorns. SonTeri doesn't know if it's because she wants to be with him, or because her friend turned out like this?
Aerion froze — just for a second. His smirk vanished, replaced by something unreadable. Then he shrugged — too casual, too forced. "Suit yerself," he muttered. The cigarette dangled from his lips as he turned to walk away.
"Where are you going?" She frowned slightly, clutching the flowers, her glasses slipping down her nose.
Aerion scoffed — half scoff, half laugh. "Figured it was no point tryin' to be 'friends' with a little goody‑two‑shoes like you," he muttered over his shoulder. Still walking.
"I..." 'I myself can't be friends with such a disgusting guy, but something offensive settles in my chest from his words', she thought.
His back is turned to me and all I see is his very red gun. "Wait," she suddenly said mechanically, clutching the flowers to her chest and standing in place on the path.
Aerion stopped mid‑step. The rifle on his back caught the sunlight, red as fresh blood. He didn't turn around — just tilted his head slightly, listening. "...Wait for what?" he said finally — voice low. Like he was testing her.
A long pause. She stood silently. 'And really. What to expect? He's bad and does terrible things. My parents told me not to associate with people like that. The church taught me it was a sin. But Aerion... he... seems to attract me'. She fiddled with the cross on her neck. 'Maybe... maybe if he communicates with me, he... will change?' "...Wait for me."
Aerion's lips turned into a crooked grin. "Yeah? Why'd you wanna keep hangin' around a 'terrible person' like me?" he asked, turning around. A cocky smirk spread across his face as he moved back toward her, like he already knew the answer.
"God teaches us to forgive and... you haven't done anything to me yet...", She doesn't believe she's saying it out loud.
Aerion laughed — a sharp, surprised sound. Like the idea of forgiveness was something foreign to him. "Forgive?" he repeated, amused. "Darlin', I ain't even done nothin' worth forgivin' yet." He stepped closer — close enough that she could see the heat in his eyes again. His smirk softened slightly: "But if ya wanna stick around... who am I to stop ya?"
"Did I make a mistake by deciding to be with you?" She looked at him as if it was his decision.
Aerion's smirk returned — a wolfish grin. "Hell if I know," he muttered, glancing over at her. "Guess time will tell, darlin'."
They continued along the path. Even if she had found out the truth about him... everything that had happened between them over these days... they were already under her skin and decided her actions. They hadn't even asked her brain. They hadn't asked if she could be with a bad person.
Aerion walked in comfortable silence. The heat was relentless, and his hair was slightly damp with sweat. He ran a hand through the messy locks, brushing them out of his face. Every now and then, he glanced out of the corner of his eye — observing her, silent and pensive.
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 8: Daeron Targaryen.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
Her parents left. Two weeks. Two whole weeks at the base. Two weeks alone in a huge house of a battered old man in the middle of nowhere in Texas. And the city was weird too.
The house felt too quiet now. The air conditioning hummed, the fridge buzzed — small sounds that echoed in the empty space. Her parents’ car had disappeared down the road hours ago. Their room was untouched — they had even made her bed for her, like worried moms do. A note sat on the kitchen counter: “Call if you need anything. Love, Mom & Dad.” Outside, cicadas screeched in Texas’s oppressive summer night.
She sat down to breakfast. She was so upset she had no appetite and only drank coffee — her parents said it was bad for her. She mechanically looked out the kitchen window at the Targaryen house, across the field. No noise, no tractor. Only the sound of their cattle.
The Targaryen house sat still and imposing across the field — no lights on, no movement. Just cows grazing lazily in the morning sun. She sipped her coffee, bitter and too hot. The silence of this place pressed down — no neighbors to talk to, no familiar city sounds… just Texas vastness. A tractor engine finally rumbled in the distance — maybe Aerion starting early? Or Maekar checking fences?
She shook her head. In any case, they were busy with farm work, and she, as a child, had nothing to do without studying. Cleaned the house, tried to draw, watch TV. The heat was pressing and suffocating her. Then she heard a dull thud at the door. Girl screamed, scared. She quietly approached the door. 'Was it Aerion? Or a cowboy maniac?' She looked out the window. It was… a young guy. Sandy long hair. He was lying there in front of the door. 'Oh Gods. Maybe this was the same older brother of Aerion and Egg — the one who had not been at tea, but Mr. Maekar had talked about him'. Girl barely opened the door, pushing the guy.
The young man was out cold — face pale, sandy hair matted with sweat. He was dressed in simple ranch clothes, clearly a Targaryen by the sharp features. It was him — the eldest brother, whose name she couldn’t remember. He groaned weakly as she pushed him, his eyes fluttering but not opening yet. The Texas heat must have knocked him out from exhaustion — or worse.
She bent over, still in her baggy pajamas. 'Gods, he was soaking wet'. He reeked of alcohol. She examined him; he didn’t seem to be hurt. “Um… Mr… Mr. Targaryen?”
His eyelids finally lifted — glassy, unfocused. The smell of whiskey was overpowering. He blinked at her, confused, then mumbled something slurred: “Shhht… Egg… ’m fine…” Then his head lolled to the side again — passed out drunk on her doorstep. A Targaryen in disgrace? Mr. Maekar would kill him if he saw this.
SonTeri looked around, not knowing what to do. “Um… Mr. Targaryen, are you feeling unwell? Should I call Mr. Maekar?”
At the mention of Maekar, the drunk brother’s face twisted in panic — even through his alcohol haze. “No — no, no,” he slurred, weakly shaking his head. Then he groaned and clutched his stomach like he might be sick. A second later… yep. He lurched sideways and vomited right onto her porch steps. 'Disgusting'. Now she was standing there with a half‑conscious drunk Targaryen and a mess to clean up.
'Daeron — Gods, his name was Daeron, she remembered'. “Um… Mr. Daeron, you… you need to sit down.” Girl tried to get him to sit down on the porch.
She managed to haul Daeron up. With effort, she dragged him onto the porch steps. He slumped there like a sack of potatoes, head lolling. Every few seconds, he muttered nonsense: “…Egg… stop crying… I’m okay…” Then his breathing evened out slightly — still asleep, or unconscious, from alcohol.
She got up, already sweating. Entering the house, she called House Targaryen on the radio. There was no reception here, so the local farmers talked on the radio. Her parents wouldn’t leave her without a connection to the neighbors for two weeks. Going out onto the porch, she keyed the radio and waited for someone to answer. SonTeri couldn’t leave him here alone so she could call someone herself. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was deep, gruff — definitely Aerion. “Y’ello?” Before she could answer, Daeron stirred with a pained groan beside her… and then promptly vomited again. Loudly.
“Aerion!...uhm...”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end — then Aerion’s voice dropped, instantly serious: “Where are you?” A pause. Then rapid footsteps and a door slamming in the background. He hadn’t even asked why she called first — just assumed something was wrong.
Aerion’s voice was tense — she could practically hear him sprinting already. “On my way. Stay there.” Within seconds, the radio cut off. The line went dead — Aerion hadn’t even hung up properly in his hurry. Daeron whimpered, curled on her porch like a sick dog… and now she waited for Aerion to come barreling over.
SonTeri brought Daeron a glass of cold water and stroked his back without even noticing. “It’s okay, Mr. Daeron… I called your brother.”
Daeron weakly grabbed the glass, sipping the water with shaky hands. His face was ashen — hungover misery already setting in despite still being half‑drunk. Her gentle back strokes seemed to calm him slightly… until suddenly — “You are a flower…” he said and looked at her, 'dead blue eyes… like Aerion’s'. “I dreamed of you… a week ago… you are a flower… that girl from the dream… it was a terrible dream… the flower suffered… you suffered… and the dragon… you know… flowers burn in fire… always… especially in dragon’s.”
“What?” she asked, slightly not understanding the drunken muttering.
Daeron’s drunk, poetic rambling continued — his words slurred but eerily vivid: “The dragon… ate the flower… in my dream. It burned you…” His eyes, so like Aerion’s, were glassy with tears or alcohol, maybe both. Then he suddenly grabbed her wrist — not roughly, but desperately. “Don’t let the dragon burn you.” A bizarre warning from a half‑conscious man on her porch.
“You dream of me?… a week ago?” 'We’re only seeing each other for the first time today', she thought. “What kind of dragon is this?” 'It sounded like drunken ramblings, but his eyes… they were very serious'.
Daeron’s grip tightened slightly — his face deadly serious despite the alcohol. “The dragon is… him,” he whispered, as if saying the name out loud would summon it. “In my dream… he burned you,” Daeron repeated hoarsely. “And I couldn’t save you.”
“Him who?”, she brings her face closer, wincing slightly from the smell of alcohol, but interested in the young man's words.
While she was crouched next to him, Aerion came running in from the neighboring house, apparently having immediately abandoned his work. Seeing his brother, he only rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw.
“Aerion…”, she raised her head to the approaching guy.
Aerion stormed onto the porch, his boots thudding heavily. The second he saw Daeron — drunk, clinging to her — Aerion’s face darkened. Without a word, he grabbed Daeron by the back of his shirt and yanked him upright like a misbehaving kitten. “Daeron,” he growled — the first time she had ever heard Aerion sound angry.It looked like, judging by his reaction, this wasn’t the first time.
“Be careful… he’s swaying,” girl said, grabbing the glass and looking at the pale Daeron.
Aerion adjusted his grip, keeping Daeron from toppling over. His brother swayed like a drunk sailor, but Aerion held him steady with surprising patience — for someone clearly pissed. “Did he say anything?” Aerion asked her quietly — his icy eyes flickering to hers for half a second. Not accusatory. Just… curious.
“About a dream…”
Aerion’s jaw tensed. He knew about Daeron’s dreams — the kind of cryptic, ominous visions Targaryens were known for. Without another word, Aerion slung one of Daeron’s arms over his shoulder.
“He’s not feeling well… maybe… should we leave him in our house for now?” she said, worried about Daeron. “He seems to have drunk a lot… and… he threw up over there.” SonTeri pointed to the ground by the porch.
Aerion followed her gesture to the vomit, his nose wrinkling in disgust. But he didn’t refuse. He nodded stiffly — grateful for the offer despite clearly wanting to drag Daeron home by force. “Yeah…” he muttered before hoisting Daeron over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Then he carried him inside, kicking the door shut behind them with his boot.
He walked into her house in boots, leaving behind dirt, and threw his brother on the couch in front of the TV. Daeron groaned. She looked at the dirt on the floor, but she guessed now was not the time. “Is he okay?” she asked quietly, trying to see Daeron behind Aerion’s back.
Aerion sighed through his nose, clearly annoyed… but not panicked. “Yeah. Just passed out,” he muttered before straightening up and finally turning to her — his blue eyes scanning her face for the first time since arriving.
“Perhaps… we should call Mr. Maekar?” girl suggested.
“He is not at home now.” Aerion crossed his arms. “Do you mind if he stays with you? I need to get back to work.” Maekar would explode if he found Daeron like this — drunk, helpless, on a stranger’s couch.
“Um… oh yeah, of course. I'm… I’m free, I can sit with him…”, the girl said, fiddling with her fingers and casting a quick glance at the sofa.
Aerion exhaled in relief — grateful she wasn’t kicking Daeron out. He gave her shoulder a quick, rough pat, almost affectionate, before turning to leave. “I’ll be back by sunset. If he wakes up and tries anything stupid… don’t let him drive,” he warned seriously over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Um... okay..." she nods, a little slowly.
Aerion nodded once — then disappeared out the door, boots thudding down the porch steps. Silence filled the house again… except for Daeron’s soft, uneven breathing on the couch. The TV screen reflected his pale face. 'Now it was just her and a half‑dead Targaryen brother. What to do? Water? Blanket? Wait?'
She remembered the vomit in the yard and covered Daeron with a blanket. It was deadly hot in Texas, but he was shivering. Girl went outside and turned on the hose, starting to wash the porch. The first day of her parents’ two‑week business trip, and already adventures… 'at least it wasn’t boring'. She looked into the distance at House Targaryen. 'Mr. Maekar wasn’t home? Did that mean he was busy with his farming business?' She hadn’t had time to ask Aerion about this yet.
The hose water sprayed the porch, washing away Daeron’s mess. The cool spray was refreshing against Texas’s scorching heat. From across the field, she could see no movement at House Targaryen — just Egg probably inside with Maekar out working somewhere. A tractor rumbled faintly in the distance… maybe that was him? But no one approached her house. Just quiet farm life for now.
SonTeri cleaned up the dirt left by boots inside the house and took off Daeron’s boots. Shoes had no place in the house.
She carefully removed Daeron’s muddy boots — they were heavy, work‑worn, smelling of hay and dirt. His socks were damp too. He didn’t stir as she tucked the blanket around him better. The alcohol had knocked him into a deep sleep. The house was quiet again — just the hum of the AC and occasional rustle from Daeron on the couch. Outside, cicadas screamed in relentless summer heat.
Girl decided to cook some food for herself for lunch, and also if Daeron woke up.
She quietly moved to the kitchen, keeping the noise low. The fridge hummed as she pulled out ingredients — 'maybe a simple sandwich or soup?' The aroma of cooking food soon filled the house… maybe that would wake Daeron up. A few minutes later, a soft groan came from the living room. His eyes were fluttering — hungover misery incoming.
Having put the soup on the stove, she returned to the living room.
Daeron was half‑awake — squinting against the light, one hand pressed to his throbbing forehead. The smell of soup made him sniff weakly. When he saw her, his glassy eyes focused slightly… and then guilt flashed across his face. “Sorry,” he croaked, voice wrecked from vomiting and alcohol. He looked genuinely ashamed now that the drunk haze was fading.
“I’m not Egg…” she said, just standing at the kitchen door.
Daeron blinked, confused for a second — then his face crumpled in recognition. “Oh… shit,” he muttered, embarrassed. He remembered now: she was the neighbor girl. Not Egg. He tried to sit up properly but winced — the movement clearly hurting his hungover head. “…Did Aerion bring me here?”
“I wouldn’t have picked you up, Mr. Daeron…?” that is, yes.
Daeron nodded slowly, swallowing hard. The shame was palpable — he was clearly not proud of this. “Right… yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat awkwardly. His eyes drifted to the kitchen — where the soup smelled amazing — and his stomach growled loudly. A man in desperate need of food after a bender.
“Um… you can wash up… on the second floor, second door on the left.”
Daeron nodded gratefully and pushed himself up from the couch — wobbly but determined. He stumbled toward the stairs, one hand braced against the wall. The second floor creaked under his weight as he headed to the bathroom she had indicated. A minute later, she heard water running — the sound of him splashing cold water on his face to wake up.
Girl poured the soup. It was a bit early for lunch, but Mom always said soup was healing, especially thin soup.
The soup was light — clear broth with vegetables, the perfect remedy for a hangover. She set two bowls on the table: one for herself, one ready for Daeron. Just as she was about to call him down, his footsteps thudded back down the stairs. He looked marginally better — face washed, hair damp and slightly tamed. He froze when he saw food… and his stomach growled again.
“Sit down… um… please.”, she points with her small palm, pursing her lips.
Daeron sat quietly, almost too polite for a Targaryen. He picked up the spoon carefully — like he was scared to be rude in her home. The first sip of soup made his shoulders relax slightly. The warmth seemed to soothe his headache.
“…Thanks,” he said quietly, not meeting her eyes yet — still ashamed of how he had shown up on her doorstep.
Now she could get a better look at him. 'He looked like a Targaryen… but not like Aerion or Mr. Maekar; his features weren’t as sharp. A straight nose, piercing eyes, also deathly blue, tousled long sandy hair, and a soft voice.'
Up close, Daeron was gentler looking than Aerion — his features less harsh, his expression softer despite the lingering hangover. The sandy hair fell into his eyes slightly. He ate quietly, sipping the soup like a man starved. Every so often, he glanced at her — curious but not pushy. A contrast to Aerion’s boldness… Daeron felt more like Egg might if Egg were older.
“We haven’t seen each other yet, um… when my mom and I were visiting your house, you weren’t there…”, she began in a quiet voice.
Daeron nodded, swallowing a spoonful of soup. “Yeah. I was… out.” He didn’t elaborate — maybe working, maybe avoiding something. Then he added, almost sheepishly: “Aerion mentioned you. Said you were polite.” There was a hint of approval in his tone — like that meant something coming from him.
'Aerion was talking about me?' she thought. “Yes, I… my parents and I bought a house… my parents became friends with your father.”
Daeron’s eyes lit up slightly at the mention of his father. “Dad likes your parents. He said they’re ‘decent folks’ — which, coming from him, is high praise,” he said with a tiny smirk. “More than I’ve ever experienced in my entire life,” young man said slightly sarcastically, having already come to his senses and perked up. He was no longer shaking or crying, mumbling something about dreams.
“I’m SonTeri,” she said, stirring the soup in her bowl.
Daeron finally made proper eye contact — his blue eyes, so like Aerion’s, but softer, studying her. “SonTeri,” he repeated, testing her name. Then he offered a small, polite smile — the first real one since waking up. He didn’t shake her hand or anything formal… just nodded in quiet acknowledgment before going back to his soup.
She looked at him, studying him. Maybe her parents would say it was impolite to stare. He looked normal… before that, he had been… anxious… because of the memories of the scene a couple of hours ago, she felt his grip on her hand, not hard… strong, but… desperate. “So… are you always delirious when you’re drunk?” she suddenly asked on a whim. She just remembered his words about the dream and that she was there… it haunted her. “Um… sorry.”
Daeron stiffened slightly at the question — clearly uncomfortable. He set his spoon down. “Sometimes,” he admitted, avoiding her gaze. Then, after a beat: “I… dream weird, so then I drink too much… to forget them.” He didn’t elaborate on the specifics of what he had dreamed about her — the flower burning in dragonfire — but it was obvious he remembered it vividly.
Daeron exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. He looked tired — not just from the hangover, but from something deeper. “Targaryen blood… it’s messed up,” he muttered. Then, after hesitating: “Sometimes I see things that haven’t happened yet. Or… warnings.” A heavy silence followed — like he had said too much and regretted it already.
She just pursed her lips. Is he delirious? Or are those local rumors not entirely false? “Blood? Messed up?”
Daeron noticed her skeptical expression and winced — realizing how crazy that probably sounded. “Yeah, I know… sounds insane,” he mumbled, stirring his soup again. But then he shrugged helplessly: “My dad says it’s ‘Targaryen nonsense.’ My brother Aerion thinks I’m just a drunk weirdo. Egg… Egg believes me.” A quiet admission from someone who wasn’t used to being taken seriously. 'Targaryen superstitions? Prophetic dreams? This town really did whisper about them… and maybe there was truth in it'.
“So… was I in your dream?” she asked, looking at him point-blank, with some interest.
Daeron froze. His spoon clinked against the bowl as he set it down carefully. For a long moment, he just stared at her — like he was deciding whether to tell the truth or brush it off. “…Yes,” he finally said, voice low. No jokes, no deflection. “You were in it.” Then his jaw tightened — clearly hating that this was even happening right now in her kitchen over soup.
“And,” she said carefully, “everything that happened in the dream… will it… come true…?”
Daeron’s breath hitched. He looked genuinely disturbed — like the thought scared him too. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes my dreams do… other times, they’re just nightmares.” He leaned forward slightly, voice urgent but not pushy: “But if it does come true… I won’t let that happen. Not to you.” A protective vow from a man who didn’t even know her well — but his Targaryen blood made him care anyway.
“Uh,” she said, not quite knowing what to say.
Daeron immediately regretted his intensity — seeing her uncertainty. He leaned back, rubbing his temples like the hangover was making this conversation worse. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. The soup had gone lukewarm now. The kitchen was quiet again — awkward tension lingering after his ominous warning about dreams coming true.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. His worried look touched her. “I’m… glad to finally meet you… Aerion doesn’t tell me anything about his family… and I rarely see Egg and Mr. Maekar…” She smiled awkwardly, looking at his dead blue eyes, not sharp like Aerion’s, cloudy… foggy and wet.
Daeron’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly at her forced smile. He managed a small, tired one back — grateful she wasn’t freaking out. “Yeah… Aerion doesn’t talk about us much,” he said softly. Then, almost shyly: “Egg does though. He thinks you’re nice.” His blue eyes were cloudy — not sharp like Aerion’s or stern like Maekar’s. 'They looked… sad? Exhausted? Like someone who carried too much weight for his age'.
She smiled sincerely. “He is a good boy…”
Daeron’s face softened completely at the mention of Egg — his brother clearly being his one source of pure joy. “Yeah. little prankster ,” he said, voice warm for the first time since waking up. A real smile formed on his lips. For a second, he looked younger — less burdened by whatever Targaryen drama or hangover guilt was weighing on him. Just a big brother proud of his little sibling.
Daeron took another slow sip of soup, the mood lighter now. The tension had eased — he wasn’t brooding over dreams anymore. He glanced at her again, this time with quiet curiosity. Like he was seeing her properly for the first time: not as a stranger who found him drunk on her porch, but as someone connected to his family now. A comfortable silence settled between them — just two people eating soup in Texas heat.
After finishing his soup, Daeron pushed the bowl away and sighed — still tired, but not in pain anymore. “Thanks for… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the food and shelter. The gratitude was genuine. Then he hesitated before adding: “If you ever need anything… or if Aerion’s being an idiot… you can come find me.” Daeron seemed sincere.
“Of course,” she smiled slightly, pursing her lips. 'Aerion has a good older brother, even if he is a drunkard… my parents don’t really like drunkards', she thought. “We must help our neighbors…”
Daeron standing carefully, no dizziness now, he grabbed both empty bowls to carry them to the sink — a small gesture of helping clean up after she had fed him.
He grabbed his boots quietly, sitting on the edge of her couch to put them back on. The movement was careful — no more drunken clumsiness. Once dressed, he turned to her and offered a small nod — respectful, like Maekar would expect from a Targaryen guest. “I’ll… go home now,” he said. Then added: “Thanks again.” He headed for the door without making a fuss.
“See you,” she said.
Daeron gave her one last soft smile — less awkward now, more human — before stepping outside. The Texas sun blazed down as he walked back toward House Targaryen, his tall frame silhouetted against the fields. He didn’t look back. Silence filled her house again… but it was a peaceful quiet this time. Just her and the empty soup bowls.
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic. ``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
CHAPTER 7: THE TOWN.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
The next day. She got up and got ready. She looked at the notebook on the table — the drawing. She turned the page over and hid the notebook. When she went downstairs, she no longer saw Dunk on the couch; he had gone to the base. In the yard, Dad was mowing the grass; Mom was making breakfast. The Texas sun continued to bake people alive.
The morning air was already thick with heat — the kind that made sweat bead on your forehead the second you stepped outside. Her dad pushed the lawnmower across the yard. Her mom called from the kitchen window: “Breakfast! Pancakes!” Her voice was cheerful despite the oppressive sun. Dunk’s guest towel was neatly folded on a chair — proof he had been there but gone early. The house felt quieter now without his giant presence.
“Dunk left?” she asked, looking around the living room as if the tall guy could hide there.
Her mom nodded as she sat at the kitchen table. “Yeah, he left at four in the morning. Didn’t want to wake anyone,” she said, flipping a pancake onto her plate. She poured syrup — Dunk always ate fast and left early for morning drills. It was his routine; nothing unusual about it.
“When are you heading back to base?” she asked out of habit, just for the record, as she always did. She started munching on pancakes. “How many days?”
Her dad thought for a second, chewing his toast. “Two weeks. Training exercise — long hours, no weekend leave.” He shrugged like it was normal. The syrup dripped onto her pancake stack as she processed that he would be away for a while.
“Two weeks? And you too, Mum?” she asked, Her eyebrows shot up, then down, frowning at what she heard.
Her mom sighed, setting down her fork. “Yes, two weeks. And no weekend leave is standard for those exercises. It’s part of military life.” She tried to keep her tone neutral, but there was a hint of disappointment there — she had never liked these extended trainings.
“That’s half a month… it will already be July by the time you return,” she frowned and pouted slightly, getting even angrier at Texas, as if it was his fault.
Her dad reached across the table and patted her hand — he hated making her upset, but duty called. “Yeah… July. But it’ll fly by, kiddo.” He forced a reassuring smile. Her mom added softly: “We’ll call every chance we get. And Dunk will check on you too.” The pancakes tasted slightly less good now that she knew they were leaving soon.
“No need…” She removed her hand. “I have Aerion.” She speaks as if she denies their words only out of spite and resentment.
Her parents exchanged a glance at that. They hadn’t expected her to have Aerion — of all people — as her comfort while they were gone. Her dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Her mom just nodded slowly, accepting it, even if she wasn’t entirely sure about Aerion yet. “Alright,” her dad said simply, going back to his coffee.
She chewed the pancakes slightly, pouting. Her mom watched her pout with quiet sympathy. She hated leaving her, but the military schedule was set in stone. She slid a second pancake onto her plate — her version of comfort food. “Shall we go into town today? I need to buy groceries for you for the next two weeks… maybe… we can go shopping.”
“Do you think there are normal clothes in this hole?” SonTeri just rolled her eyes.
Breakfast passed in silent tension and daughter's quiet resentment. The sun only grew fiercer.
・❥・
They drove in her father’s car. The sun was so hot they could fry inside. The car shook because of the uneven road. The fields were endless, and every now and then they saw cows on the road, which slowed them down. She pouted and looked out the window. The car bounced over potholes, the AC struggling to keep up with Texas’s brutal summer. Her dad white‑knuckled the steering wheel — every cow on the road made him sigh. Her mom leaned forward, fanning herself with a magazine. The scenery was beautiful — endless golden fields and grazing cattle — but it was also really boring if you were stuck in traffic behind them. A sign appeared: “Next town — 5 miles.”
Mom chattered about the grocery list, SonTeri's behavior, and how she could live alone. Her mom kept talking — mostly to fill the silence of the long drive. “Remember to lock the doors at night. Eat vegetables, not just chips. Text me if you need anything…” Her voice was warm but slightly nervous about leaving her daughter alone for two weeks. Her dad stayed quiet, focusing on driving — though he was clearly listening too. The cows finally cleared the road ahead, and he sped up slightly.
The town finally came into view — a cluster of small stores, a diner, and the inevitable Texan flag flapping in the heat. Her dad parked near the grocery store. Her mom grabbed her list and hopped out first. “Alright! Let’s get this done.” The parking lot was mostly empty — most people stayed indoors when it was this hot. A few tumbleweeds rolled by dramatically… because Texas had to be extra.This… this… was a hole. Small, almost one‑story buildings. These weren’t shops… they were… stalls… old, dried‑out signs. People, wary, stared for a long time at the foreign military visitors who had settled in old man Filch’s house next to the Targaryens. These… hillbillies, a cluster of white people… the Texas heat had turned their skin red, and the city had turned into a strange, living place. She and her parents walked to the local store, and she felt eyes on her. The stares were heavy — some curious, some suspicious. His military uniform and her clearly non‑local clothes made them stand out. Her mom kept her head high, ignoring the gawks. Her dad tensed slightly — used to it by now but never liking attention. A group of weathered men in cowboy hats lingered near a gas station, openly eyeing her as she passed. One muttered something under his breath — the kind of small‑town scrutiny that felt like judgment.Her mom squeezed her elbow gently — she felt the tension too. The local store was ahead: a weathered building with a flickering «Open» sign. Inside, the air was blessedly cool from an ancient AC unit. A bored cashier looked up as they entered — her gaze lingering on the unfamiliar face for half a second too long. Aisles of basic groceries stretched before them… nothing fancy, just survival staples.
“Hello,” she said, as they had taught her politeness in church.
The cashier — a middle‑aged woman with dyed red hair — gave a small, polite nod in return. “Morning,” she said flatly, not unfriendly but clearly not the chatty type either. Her mom headed straight for the canned goods while her dad grabbed milk. The store was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and occasional customer shuffling past. A few locals glanced at them from their shopping… but most were used to seeing military families by now.
Her mom filled the cart efficiently — canned beans, rice, eggs. The essentials for surviving two weeks alone. Her dad grabbed a milk and some beef jerky. He wasn’t one to overbuy — military life made you practical. The cashier rang up items mechanically. No small talk, no friendly “how’s your day?” Just… business in this dry little store.
She saw a shop in the window that caught her attention across the road. “Mom, I want to go there… can I?”
Her mom followed her gaze to the shop — a small boutique. She hesitated — it wasn’t on the grocery list — but then nodded. “Okay. Go look around. I’ll finish up here.” The shop looked airy and colorful compared to the dusty store she was in… a little oasis of creativity in this Texan town.Her parents gave her a couple of bucks, and she stepped out into the scorching Texas street. People around her immediately stopped talking to look at her. Is this a zombie town or what? She went into that little store. She walked in. It looked simple. A couple of customers were whispering. A gloomy elderly woman was standing at the counter. A clothing store. But everything here looked like 1950s Texas.
The shop smelled faintly of mothballs and fabric softener. Rows of vintage‑style dresses, plaid shirts, and cowboy boots lined the racks — nothing modern. The elderly woman eyed her as she entered… not hostile, just assessing. The whispering customers, two middle‑aged ladies, paused to look at the newcomer. This place was definitely not where she would find city fashion… but maybe something retro‑good?
The grim cashier — her silver hair in a tight bun, her glasses perched on her nose — gave her a slow once‑over. Her Avengers shirt clearly screamed not from here. “Help you?” she asked, voice dry as the Texas wind. The two ladies by the rack of sunhats exchanged another glance. One leaned toward the other and murmured something about «military kids.»
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll look around.” She looked around the store… it was a time machine.
The woman nodded and went back to her magazine behind the counter. The shop was weirdly quiet — no music, just the creak of floorboards as she walked. Racks displayed frilly dresses, denim overalls, and leather belts with big buckles. A mannequin in a poodle skirt stood like it was from 1952. A few pieces were actually… kind of pretty? In a grandma‑chic way.
“Is that you buy old Filch’s house?” asked an elderly customer with strangely penetrating eyes.
“Yes, my parents,” she said.The woman nodded, her gaze sharpening — like she was mentally cross‑referencing her with the Filch family lore. “Hmph. Your folks are military, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Old Man Filch rented that house to ’em after his grandkids moved out.” Her tone wasn’t mean… just nosy. Small‑town people loved knowing who lived where and why.
“Yeah, um… yeah.” She awkwardly looked at the clothes, as if pretending to be busy would make the woman leave her alone, but then another woman came up — younger, but a typical village woman with seven children and cows.
The younger woman — with flour‑dusted jeans and a faded T‑shirt stretched over her belly, probably pregnant with eighth. She examines some rags, glancing at the girl and her strange clothes. She picks up a stretched-out brick-colored skirt, handing it to the girl as if someone were asking her for help. "Dress properly," the woman says, almost sourly.
The girl, for some reason, takes the skirt, perhaps out of politeness. "Um..." She mumbled awkwardly until an older man approached.
“So it’s you… those… foreigners… what are they called… with the narrow eyes… I didn’t know they were recruited… in my time, there were only us… native whites,” grumbled the old man with a scraggly beard.
The old man’s words hung in the air — rude, racist, and uncomfortably loud. The shop went tense. Even the cashier stiffened. His yellowed eyes scrutinized her face — the “narrow eyes” comment clearly meant to be an insult about her Asian heritage.
“So the Targaryens are your neighbors, then?” the gloomy cashier intervened in the conversation.
“Yeah… um… their farm is nearby,” she said, still holding the weird denim skirt they had given her.
A village woman with many children intervened in the conversation. “These people… with their perfect blond hair and dead blue eyes… all the same… they even talk about incest in their fam… each new offspring is crazier than the last… whatever happens in the city… it’s all the work of a Targaryen… the old men of the city remember all the incidents of all the Targaryens…”
“What are you babbling about… cackling… what incest… they built the city… their farms are the work of half the city… their ancestor was a mayor!… Maekar Targaryen, without him our mayor can’t do anything,” that old woman with a strange, penetrating look intervened.
“What are you talkin’ about, woman… this offspring of his… the fair‑haired one… what has he managed to do in his years… milk has not yet dried on his lips and he already held our city on the brink,” the old man turned red either from the heat or from anger, while he spoke the words splashed.
She stood clutching the skirt in her hands. 'Do all Southerners have such hot blood?' She listened as the discussion turned into an argument. Well, at least they had already forgotten about her. She listened to their words about Aerion’s family, Mr. Maekar and Egg. 'It seemed this old man was talking about Aerion? Did he really do all these things?'The argument escalated — voices rising, the old man waving his hands dramatically while the village woman defended Maekar’s legacy. “Aerion? That wild boy? He ain’t done nothin’ but cause trouble!” the bearded man barked. But according to the sharp‑eyed elderly lady: “Maekar built this town! And Aerion — yes, reckless — but he works. Harder than any of you lazy ranch hands.” A few other customers murmured agreements or insults… clearly, opinions on Targaryens were split and passionate.
“What incest?” girl suddenly asked, not understanding. She had just been thinking about it, and her mouth moved. It was a terrible rumor.
The shop went dead silent. Every head swiveled to her — the question hanging in the air like a grenade. Even the cashier’s magazine lowered slightly. The old man grinned, loving an audience for gossip. “Incest,” he said loudly, “marryin’ cousins! Targaryens do it — always have. Inbreeding makes ’em crazy!” The village woman nodded solemnly, adding: “That’s why Aerion acts so… wild. Bloodline curse.”
The shop erupted in murmurs — everyone had a theory about the Targaryens’ “bloodline curse.” One customer whispered: “Maekar married his cousin, y’know…” Another added: “And their ancestors too! That’s how they got so rich — kept family money pure.” A teenage employee who had been quiet this whole time finally piped up from behind a rack of scarves: “They’re not related by blood anymore. It stopped generations ago.”
Everyone went back to their business and dispersed. She was standing at the counter, still holding the skirt in her hands, thinking about this new information, when suddenly the old man grabbed her hand, leaned against it and said: “The Targaryens are among those who built this city, that’s true, but they are also the ones who cursed this city… The Targaryens now support this city, that’s also true, but they are also the ones who poison it… Blood magic… madmen… be careful, girl, don’t look at their pretty faces… these blond bastards, visiting foreigners… gods, what’s going on here.” He looked at her piercingly, then let go and went to another counter.
She stared dumbfounded for a long time at the back of the old man leaving. 'Southerners… disgusting'. Quickly throwing the skirt on the first shelf she saw, she flew out of the store. 'Terrible Texas… terrible city… terrible people… terrible rumors… even their history was terrible. Her very first friend suddenly turned out to be a local Captain Ahab… or the Joker… Gods'. She longed to go back to the grocery store, seeing her parents still picking up groceries. 'Have they heard about this? Have they already been attacked with questions too? This is a hole'.
She burst back into the grocery store — face burning, heart pounding. Her parents were still calmly shopping, unaware of the drama next door. Her mom spotted her first and smiled: “Find anything?” The air in here felt safer… less hostile. The cashier, a bored teen this time, didn’t even glance up as she stormed past.
“Everything is disgusting,” she just said, walking up and rolling her eyes.
Her parents exchange glances, but dismiss it as the usual complaints and whining of their teenage daughter.
・❥・
They drove through the city. It seemed gloomy, even in the bright Texas sun. The people here were like those thrillers where the visiting family is either eaten or sacrificed. The town did look sinister now — the way the sunlight glared off dusty windows, how the old men sitting on porches stared as their car passed. Her dad gripped the wheel tighter. Even he was uneasy — military folks usually didn’t spook easy, but Texas small‑town vibes were… intense. A dog barked. A screen door slammed. Everything felt like a warning.
She sat there lost in thought. 'Madmen? Blood mixers? A curse? Blood mages? What the hell… Mr. Maekar… little Egg… he’s nothing like any of that. Aerion? Well, he can be rude… but… it’s awful… these ungrateful rednecks… Mr. Maekar helps them, and they talk like that about his kind. Maybe all this was 200 years ago… but who was normal back then? Especially in Texas… especially in this hole'. She shook her head. 'The more you believe these rumors, the more you’ll become like them'.
She decided then: she wouldn’t repeat that garbage to anyone — not even Dunk or her parents unless they brought it up first. Why let ignorant rumors fester?
They pulled up to some hardware store. Dad went in, and Mom went to the nearest bakery. She stayed by the car… she didn’t want to run into some redneck again. The parking lot was quiet — just a few pickup trucks parked haphazardly. The hardware store’s bell jingled as her dad entered. Her mom headed to the bakery next door, her sandals clicking on the pavement. She was alone for now… safe in the car with the AC running. A stray dog trotted by, sniffing at tires before wandering off. The Texas heat pressed down heavily.
In the distance, she saw a familiar figure… 'was it… Aerion?' She’d better not interfere, but he had already spotted the familiar car. 'Gods, it’s the only clean one here, and it’s foreign, expensive'. She just waved awkwardly at him; he probably only saw her head and hand from the car window. She saw him nod… 'was he calling?' She got out of the car. She walked towards him, her baggy jeans, baggy shirt, and hair fluttered slightly in the light wind. But the sun still melted even in the wind, and her forehead was slightly sweaty. She approached Aerion, who was smoking near some building.
Aerion leaned against the brick wall of the hardware store, cigarette dangling from his fingers. The smoke curled up around his sharp features — his usual smirk in place. When she approached, he flicked the ash and straightened slightly. Up close, she noticed: he was dressed down today — just a plain white tee and jeans instead of ranch clothes. “Hey,” he said casually… but there was something lighter in his tone than yesterday’s teasing roughness.
“Hi.” She stopped awkwardly in front of him, lingering her gaze on his face, his facial expressions, then on his hair and eyes… and they really were deathly blue.
Aerion exhaled smoke through his nose — those eerie blue eyes locking onto hers. Up close, they were stunning — like ice under sunlight. He didn’t seem bothered by her staring. If anything, he was amused… maybe even pleased. “Hot as hell today,” he remarked, voice rough from smoking. Then he crushed the cigarette under his boot and pushed off the wall to stand taller in front of her.
Aerion studied her face — the sweat on her forehead, the wind in her hair. For once, he wasn’t smirking or mocking. Just… looking. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead with his knuckles — a gesture weirdly gentle for him. “You’re burnin’ up,” he muttered before shrugging off his thin white tee and holding it out to her like a makeshift handkerchief.
“I’m not burning… I’m dark‑skinned, dark‑skinned people only tan,” she mumbled while he wrapped her head. The shirt smelled of sweat, motor oil, and grass, and strong cologne. “You’ll burn your entire torso... white guy.”
He laughed — a real, unfiltered sound — at her comment. “White guy?” he repeated, grinning. “Yeah. And yeah, I burn. But I’m used to it.” Still holding the shirt over her head, now shielding her from the sun, he leaned in slightly… close enough that she caught his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and ranch boy musk. “Your skin’s pretty,” he said abruptly — no teasing this time. Just a fact.
“My skin is dark,” she said, her cheek twitches.
He nodded, eyes tracing the contrast — her dark skin against his pale, sunburnt shoulders. “Yeah. Pretty,” he repeated firmly, like it was obvious. Then he did something even weirder: with his free hand, he gently touched her cheek — just a light brush of his fingertips — to test the warmth. His own face was already pink from today’s heat. “You’re not sweatin’ as bad as me,” he observed… weirdly fascinated by her for once instead of mocking her.
“You work a lot… I'm not.”
For some reason they decided to just speak frankly. She looked around. People were avoiding and staring, whispering… 'was it because of Aerion? Or her? Or both of them? These zombie people made the devouring town even more creepy'. She went back to Aerion. “You’re not working today?” He was hanging out in town; shouldn’t he be at the farm? His shirt was twisted on her head and was actually casting a shadow on her face.
He shook his head, hands tucked in his pockets. “Nah. Took a day off. Egg can handle the cows.” His tone was lazy — clearly enjoying not being on ranch duty for once. The shirt she was wearing shielded her face from the brutal sun… and Aerion kept glancing at that, like he was proud of himself for thinking of it. A group of teenage boys across the street stared openly — whispering about "Maekar’s son with that foreign girl."
“I’m shopping with my parents…” she just said, kicking the ground with her sneaker. She was itching to ask about his family and what he never told her, about the rumors and the “madness” and all that nonsense. But not now. Not in the center of this town. “You think my skin is pretty?” she suddenly asked, raising her head and squinting because the heat was cutting into her eyes.
He blinked at her direct question — then grinned, wide and unbothered. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty.” No sarcasm. Just a straightforward answer. The sunlight glared into both of their eyes now — the heat unbearable even in the shade of his shirt over her. He reached out again, this time using his thumb to gently push up the fabric, adjusting it so it covered more of her face like a makeshift veil. “You’re gettin’ sunburnt under there,” he muttered, concerned despite himself.
She removed the cloth from her face. “I can’t see where to go,” she said, removing the cloth from her eyes. She saw Mom coming back, and Dad had left the store. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
Aerion followed her gaze to her mom approaching, her arms full of bakery boxes. He nodded. “Right. Your folks are done.” For a second, he just looked at her — like he wanted to say something else… maybe ask if she would see him again? But then he thought better of it.
“See you later.” She looked at him awkwardly. Because of the rumors, she kept looking at his face and eyes longer and longer… trying to make out the «madness» — although… they were just rumors.
Aerion held her gaze — unflinching. Those icy blue eyes really showed some of the «madness» people whispered about. “Later,” he said quietly, voice rough but warm. Then he stepped back as her mom reached her — her mom gave him a polite smile, still sizing him up, while loading her pastries into the car trunk.
He greeted Mom lightly and then said goodbye, walking off casually into town, shirtless, just pink, sunburned skin, while the townspeople turned their noses up at him like he was a leper. She stood there watching him go, while Mom and Dad dumped all the groceries in the trunk. She still had his T‑shirt on her head, twisted like an Arab’s.
Aerion strolled down the street, completely unbothered by the judgmental stares. The townspeople hated him — they always had — but he couldn’t care less. He was used to it. His family owned half this town; their pride was thicker than his skin. Her mom side‑eyed her as she stood there with his shirt still draped over her head like a makeshift veil… but she didn’t comment. Not yet. The trunk slammed shut — time to go home.
They got in the car and drove off. Driving out of the city, she increasingly noticed abandoned buildings and strange stone structures of strange shapes. It felt like the longer you looked at them, the more they attracted you. You could feel it physically… like an itch… under your skin. Then they drove out into the fields… at least it looked better: grass, cows. She just looked out the window in the back seat as they drove, thinking about the city, the residents, the Targaryens… rumors. Smells filled her nose… sharp… oh yeah… the T‑shirt. She looked up, to her forehead… it was still on her head. She had forgotten to put it back. Her parents gave her a gaze.Her parents exchanged that look — the silent parental conversation that said: “Did you see that? What’s going on?” Her mom kept her eyes on the road, but her dad glanced back at her in the rearview mirror… then noticed Aerion’s shirt still wrapped around her head. A long pause. Then — “Uh,” her dad started awkwardly, “is that… Targaryen boy’s shirt?”
“Oh... yeah... Aerion gave it to hide from the sun,” she said, just shrugged.
Her dad’s eyebrows shot up. Her mom finally turned her head slightly, studying the shirt on her. Aerion Targaryen — the wild ranch boy with a reputation for trouble — had given her his clothes? That was… unexpected. “Huh,” her dad said, voice neutral but clearly processing this. Then he added: “He seems… decent.” Her mom stayed quiet, but her expression was calculating — like she was reassessing everything about Aerion now.
“Yes… Mr. Maekar raised him well… I guess…” she said.Her dad nodded slowly — respectfully. He had met Maekar a few times; the man was stricter than hell, and everyone knew it. “Maekar’s a good man,” her dad admitted. “Rigid as steel, but fair.” Her mom finally spoke up, her tone softer now: “So… Aerion isn’t some reckless delinquent? The townspeople make him sound…” A pause. She trailed off — not wanting to repeat gossip about his family’s history.
“The townspeople say a lot about us, but is it true? These local rednecks are all — ” She paused slightly to avoid saying bad words. She clutched the cross around her neck. “ — generally not the most decent.”Her dad chuckled darkly — he had dealt with small‑town bigotry before. “Rednecks love drama. They’ll talk anything about anyone who isn’t one of them.” Her mom sighed, gripping the steering wheel. “Especially foreigners… or military families. Or rich ranchers like the Targaryens.” A silence fell as they drove past endless fields — the truth being: half this town probably gossiped for fun, not fact.
She turned in her seat, looking out the rear window at the distant city… this city… this hole… it… seemed to be absorbing? She shuddered slightly, goosebumps from the city and the locals. She touched the T‑shirt on her head, not daring to take it off, as if it were his touch on the top of her head. They were going home.
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic. ``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 6 : The River.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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She walked into her room on the second floor, quietly. She wondered if maybe she should put on a little makeup. It was abnormally hot in Texas, and her parents always said modesty was beauty. And why should she wear makeup to hang out with Dunk? It was just Dunk, after all. Although... maybe... she would just put on some lip gloss. Definitely.
She sat at her vanity, pulling out a small tube of lip gloss — something light and shimmery. It felt silly to wear it for Dunk, but maybe just a little? Her parents’ voice echoed in her head: “Modesty is beauty.” But she wasn’t dressing up for anyone special — just hanging out with an old friend. She swiped the gloss on carefully before glancing in the mirror. Not too flashy… just enough.
She combed out her tangled hair and decided to change — leaving her baggy jeans behind, swapping her loose house t‑shirt for a pink ruffled top. If her parents stayed asleep, maybe she could sneak out without their lectures about being religious and chaste.
She changed into the pink ruffled top — something soft and pretty, not overly revealing but still more effort than she usually put in. The fabric was light, perfect for Texas heat. Her parents’ lectures about modesty flashed through her mind again… but this wasn’t immodest. It was just a cute top. They didn’t have to know. Quietly, she slipped out of her room and down the stairs — praying they were still asleep so she could avoid any questioning looks or sermons about propriety.
Although, she thought, if Dad knew this was in front of Dunk, he’d be happy. She was getting ready. What were they going to do? What did people do in Texas anyway? How did they hang out? She didn’t want to go to the base. She hoped Dunk wasn’t thinking about that.
She glanced around her room, trying to think of what “normal” Texan hangouts looked like. The base was the obvious choice — Dunk probably knew every corner of it — but she really didn’t want to go there. Maybe a drive‑in? A diner? Just sitting on someone’s porch, talking under the Texas sky while cicadas hummed in the heat?
She got ready. She was a city girl after all, and she couldn’t go out looking bad — not in front of Duncan. He seemed to… idolize her? Silly. She sat there a little longer and heard a car pull up. Looking out the window, she saw Duncan’s battered car — not a military one, but his own. He had worked all year in Minnesota to earn it. She quietly went downstairs so as not to wake her parents and left the house.
The car was parked haphazardly in the dirt driveway — clearly Duncan’s first time driving on rough terrain. The engine cut off, and a second later, the passenger door swung open. Dunk stepped out — tall as ever, dressed in simple jeans and a button‑up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked nervous but excited, like an overeager golden retriever spotting its favorite person. He spotted her immediately and broke into that soft smile of his — the one reserved only for her.
“Duncan the Tall,” girl greeted him with his childhood nickname.
Dunk’s face lit up the second she called him that — the nickname he hadn’t heard since childhood. It made his whole expression soften, like a puppy hearing its name.
“Teri!” he said brightly, taking a few quick steps toward her before stopping himself — suddenly remembering to be polite and not just tackle‑hug her like an overexcited kid. He rocked on his heels slightly, hands stuffed in his pockets as he grinned at her with those warm eyes.
“Hi… haven’t seen you for two days… that’s less than usual, yeah,” she said with smile.
Dunk nodded enthusiastically, his smile widening. “Yeah! It felt forever,” he admitted with zero filter — because that was just how Dunk was. If he thought something, it came out of his mouth unfiltered. He shifted on his feet again before gesturing to the car. “I… uh… got this for you. Brought some drinks and snacks from the base commissary.” A peace offering — classic Dunk move. Always thinking ahead about what she might like or need.
“Really?” She was struck by a flash of light. “Oh my god… there’s cola at the base? This place only has some strong yellow soda.” SonTeri chatted casually as usual — like when she was a kid.
Dunk laughed — a soft, boyish sound — as he saw her reaction to the cola. It was like Christmas had come early for her. “Yeah! The good kind too,” he said proudly, already jogging back to the car to pop open the trunk where a cooler sat packed with ice and drinks. He pulled out two bottles of cold cola — condensation dripping down them — and held one out to her with that same sweet smile from when they were kids sharing sodas under picnic tables.
“You’re my hero,” girl laughed slightly, taking the bottle. “My parents are sleeping… They said we should hang out… You know, like before.”
Dunk’s smile grew even wider at her words — like she had just called him a hero and handed him the moon. He popped open his own bottle of cola, taking a small sip before looking around. “Yeah… like before,” he agreed softly, glancing back toward the house to make sure no one had woken up. Then he perked up slightly, an idea forming. “Wanna go for a drive?”
“I don’t know… I don’t know the area well,” she shrugged, looking up at him.
“I know,” a slippery voice came from behind — from the side of the house, the neighbors’ side.
Aerion? He approached slowly, walking across the path to their lawn. He was still sweating from the heat, or maybe he had been working recently. He was wearing a tank top, faded jeans, and pointy boots. Those weren’t definitely work clothes. Did he… change clothes on purpose?
Aerion stopped a few feet away, his sharp eyes flickering between her and Dunk. The tank top clung to his sweat‑damp skin, showing off the defined muscles of his arms and shoulders — definitely not work clothes. He had changed just for this. He nodded at Dunk with cold politeness — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey.”
Then he looked at her, expression unreadable… but there was something intense in the way he studied her outfit, her makeup… everything about her right now.
The guy was definitely shorter than Dunk. Gods, the whole world was definitely shorter than this two‑meter giant.
“Um… right,” she said. “Dunk, this is Aerion, our neighbor and — ” She remembered and quickly added, “ — my new friend here. Aerion, this is Dunk, a family friend… he… serves with my parents.”
Aerion’s jaw twitched slightly as he took in Dunk’s towering height — the guy was massive compared to him. It made something primal and irritated flare up inside him, but he kept his face neutral.
“Family friend,” he repeated slowly, voice flat as he looked Dunk up and down.
Dunk — ever the polite one — extended a hand with an easy smile. “Hey, man. Nice to meet ya.”
Aerion stared at the outstretched hand for half a second too long before finally shaking it… loosely… like it physically pained him to be civil.
“Cool… two of my friends know each other,” she just pursed her lips, smeared with gloss, smiling awkwardly. “Do you need something, Aerion?” she asked politely. 'Well, maybe he wanted to ask for salt, that’s why he came over. Who knew'.
Aerion’s gaze dropped to her glossy lips, her pink cute ruffled top for a split second — annoyed that she was dressed up like this for Dunk — before he schooled his expression back into cool indifference.
“Nah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Just saw y’all outside. Thought I’d say hi.” Liar. He was absolutely not just saying hi — he came over to size Dunk up, and now that he had… well, the verdict wasn’t good in his mind. “And… I’m going with you,” he said in a carefree tone.
“What?” She was a little surprised by his self‑proclamation.
Aerion squinted slightly at her outfit. He clearly remembered that she had looked… simpler before. The rays of the Texas sun fell on her exposed parts — not like a slut, but more open than usual.
Aerion’s gaze lingered on her exposed collarbones, the way the ruffled pink fabric draped over her shoulders — too pretty, too nice for a casual hangout. It pissed him off that she had dressed up like this… for Dunk. Without thinking, he reached out and flicked one of the lace ruffles on her sleeve with his finger — almost mocking.
“Fancy,” he muttered under his breath before turning to Dunk again, jaw set stubbornly.
“Um… thanks?” she said with a slightly embarrassed smile — at his words, not his touch. She was used to touch. “Um… you said you wanted to come with us?” No, he had said he was going with them.
Aerion nodded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. I’m bored,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Um… Dunk?” she said, raising his black bean-shaped eyes to the tall guy, either asking for help or asking for a favor.
Dunk seemed annoyed by Aerion and his selfishness. His usually soft, easygoing expression tightened — just slightly. The polite smile on his face dimmed, and there was a new edge to his gaze as he looked at Aerion.
“Uh… yeah,” he said slowly, voice losing some of its warmth for the first time since arriving. “But I kinda had plans with Teri.” The air between them shifted subtly — tense now. Dunk wasn’t aggressive by nature… but even golden retrievers could growl if provoked enough.
Aerion’s eye twitched when Dunk said her name — Teri, not fully SonTeri.
“Yes, Aerion, I’m sorry… but — ” she started, turning his eyes to the other guy, nodding almost meekly at Dunk's words.
Aerion cut her off before she could even finish, his expression darkening further. The way Dunk said her name — Teri, not SonTeri — like it was some kind of nickname only he got to use… it made something snap in him.
“Nah,” he interrupted, voice low and final. “I’m comin’.”
It was not a request. It was a declaration — and the tone left no room for argument. He turned toward Dunk with a stare that could melt steel.
“I think… it’ll be more fun with three of us… right, Dunk?” She fidgeted awkwardly. She wouldn’t want her two friends to quarrel. Aerion was acting like he always did. She could put up with that, but Dunk didn’t have to.
Dunk hesitated — clearly not thrilled about the idea, but he was too nice to say no outright. He glanced at her, then back at Aerion… and sighed internally.
“Yeah… sure,” he forced a polite smile. “More the merrier.”
Aerion smirked — victorious. He hadn’t even had to argue; her desperation for peace had done it for him. Now Dunk was stuck with him tagging along on their plans whether he liked it or not.
“Thanks, Dunk,” she patted his hand lightly and smiled awkwardly.
Dunk’s hand flexed slightly under her touch — warm and calloused from military training. He gave her a small, grateful smile back, even though he was clearly not happy about Aerion intruding.
Aerion watched the interaction with narrowed eyes — the way Dunk softened just for her. It made his stomach twist in something ugly… jealousy? Possessiveness? He didn’t like it.
“Let’s go then,” he said abruptly, already walking toward Dunk’s car without waiting for either of them.
Dunk sighed quietly, shooting her an apologetic glance as Aerion strode ahead like he owned the place. The tension was palpable — thick enough to cut with a knife. He held the passenger door open for her first — always a gentleman — but when Aerion reached for the backseat door without asking, Dunk’s jaw tightened just slightly. It was his car… and this guy was acting like it belonged to him too.
They got in, and Dunk drove out of their area. The road was uneven and dirt. It was a good thing she had left a note for her parents — a note because there was no signal and the text message wouldn’t have gotten through — so they wouldn’t worry when they woke up. She had also made them some sandwiches for snacks.
“So… Aerion, you said you knew where we could go?” She turned her head from the front seat to the back, where Aerion was sprawled across all three seats, without a seatbelt, of course. Oh, and it seemed he had already opened the stash of food Dunk had bought for them both.
Aerion lounged in the backseat like a lazy king, one arm draped over the empty space beside him. He had already ripped open Dunk’s cooler and grabbed chips — taking a huge bite without so much as looking at Dunk for permission. At her question, he chewed slowly before swallowing.
“There’s an old swimming hole ’bout twenty minutes from here,” he said casually, crumbs dusting his tank top.
Dunk’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. That spot was private… and Aerion had just claimed it like it was his idea all along.
“Lake? Or river?” she asked, becoming interested.
Aerion grinned, clearly enjoying himself — both the food and the fact that Dunk was visibly irritated. “River,” he said with a lazy shrug. “It’s shallow but deep enough to swim. My dad used to take me there when I was a kid.”
“How cute,” she smiled slightly.
Aerion’s smirk softened — just a fraction — at her small smile. It was the closest thing to approval he had gotten from her since Dunk showed up, and it did something weird to his chest. Dunk glanced in the rearview mirror, catching that tiny moment of… whatever that was between the two of them. His stomach dropped slightly.
The car rumbled over the dirt road, the silence inside tense. Dunk kept his eyes on the road, but he was hyper‑aware of Aerion in the backseat — eating his food, sprawled out like a territorial cat. Aerion leaned forward suddenly between their seats — the scent of salt and chips clinging to him — and pointed ahead.
“Turn left at that oak tree up there.”
Dunk nodded stiffly and followed instructions… even though it pissed him off to be taking orders from this guy.
Dunk made the turn, tires crunching on gravel as the oak tree whizzed by. The road got even rougher — the kind of terrain that made a civilian car shudder. A few minutes later, they spotted it: a narrow dirt path leading down to the riverbank. The water glimmered under the Texas sun, clear and inviting despite its shallow depth.
Aerion perked up instantly — like a predator spotting prey. “There it is.”
・❥・
They stopped and got out. Since they hadn’t prepared for the trip, they only had food and drinks with them — no blanket, no swimming trunks.
“Wow, it’s so beautiful here,” she said, looking around at the green trees and grass, the blue river. Under the Texas sun, everything seemed like something out of a movie. The sun‑dried grass crunched underfoot, and the river quietly twittered as it ran.
Aerion hopped out first, stretching his arms overhead with a satisfied groan. The heat pressed down, but the river looked cool and refreshing — perfect for swimming. Dunk grabbed the cooler from the backseat, setting it carefully on a flat rock near shore. He wiped sweat from his brow and took in the scenery too — it was beautiful, peaceful in a way that made you forget about base life for once. Aerion kicked off his boots without hesitation.
Aerion peeled off his tank top next, tossing it onto the rock beside Dunk’s cooler. His torso was lean and toned from ranch work — sun‑kissed and dusty. Without a word, he started unbuttoning his jeans, clearly planning to swim in just his boxers. Dunk blinked, suddenly self‑conscious. He hadn’t brought trunks either, but he wasn’t about to strip down like that. Instead, he awkwardly sat on a boulder by the water — content to just watch for now.
She glanced at Aerion, slightly averting her eyes. Just a little. She had never seen men in underwear, although what difference did it make from swim trunks? She sat down next to Dunk on a stone, so hot you could burn your bottom.
Aerion didn’t seem to care about modesty — he stripped down without hesitation, leaving him in just his black boxers. They were simple, athletic, and definitely not swim trunks. Dunk stayed fully dressed beside her on the hot rock — his military‑trained posture making him sit stiffly despite the heat. Aerion waded into the water with zero shame, gasping as the cool river hit his skin. “Ahhh… that’s good.”
She looked at Aerion in the water and laughed softly at him. He just didn’t care. He was a regular Southerner, regular Aerion. “Is the water hot? I think it boiled because of the sun… what if you turn red as a lobster?” she told him slightly jokingly.
Aerion splashed water onto his shoulders, shaking his head with a wild grin. “Nah, it’s perfect,” he called back, voice loud over the river’s babble. “You city girls got weak skin or somethin’?” He dunked underwater for a second, letting the coolness soothe him, then resurfaced, running wet hands through his hair. His cheeks were already pink from the sun, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.
Dunk finally cracked a small smile at her teasing — Aerion really did look like a lobster baking in the sun. But he stayed put, still not comfortable with stripping down. Aerion, meanwhile, paddled closer to shore and leaned his elbows on a smooth river rock — dripping wet and completely unbothered by his near‑nakedness. “Y’all comin’ in or what?” he challenged, tilting his head at them both.
“Um… I don’t want to take my clothes off,” she said. “Dunk can.”
Dunk nodded quickly, relieved that she wasn’t stripping down either. He stood up. “Of course,” he said and started to undress. He was a military cadet; he had washed naked with thirty guys every day since he was fourteen, and he had been friends with her for a long time, so he shouldn’t be embarrassed. He was very tall and very strong; red freckles of different sizes were scattered all over his body. Red hair and blue eyes glowed in the sun. Dunk jumped into the water, splashing at her.
Dunk’s splash hit her square in the face — cold river water mixing with Texas heat. He laughed, a loud, unfiltered sound as he surfaced. Aerion watched Dunk swim with sharp eyes — taking in his strength, his freckled skin, the way water clung to him. There was something about how effortlessly natural Dunk was that pissed Aerion off. Without warning, Aerion dived under and popped up right beside Dunk — splashing him back even harder.
Dunk got a face full of water — hard — and sputtered, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t expected Aerion to retaliate like that. Aerion grinned, wild and competitive now. This wasn’t just swimming anymore — it was a challenge. He shoved Dunk playfully, too hard, with his shoulder. The river rippled between them as the two towering guys squared off, tension crackling under the surface of their little splash fight.
She got up from the hot rock and approached the shore. They seemed to have made peace with each other, but there was something passive‑aggressive about their «battle».
“Are you fighting there?” she asked naively, carefully approaching the wet rocks in her sneakers, the long, baggy legs of her jeans constantly getting in her way.
Aerion and Dunk paused mid‑shove, turning to look at her. Aerion was still grinning — all teeth — but there was something sharp in his gaze when he saw her stepping closer.
“Nah,” Dunk said quickly, wiping water from his face with a sheepish smile. “Just playin’.”
Aerion didn’t say anything. Instead, he waded over toward the shallows where her sneakers were getting wet, and without asking, grabbed one of her ankles — not roughly, but firmly — and tugged.
Aerion pulled her forward with surprising strength. Her balance wavered, and before she could react, her sneaker‑clad foot slipped on the wet rock. Dunk’s eyes widened in alarm as he lurched to catch her — too late. SPLASH. She hit the water hard, jeans and all. The river wasn’t deep, but it was cold enough to shock her system. Aerion blinked down at her like a cat that had just knocked something off a table.
She let out a small cry of surprise, and there she was in the water, in jeans and sneakers. Her hair was wet and falling over her face, her pink top wet and stuck to her skin. She grabbed Aerion’s bicep, squeezing. “Aerion! My clothes are wet.”
Aerion just grinned widely, showing dragon teeth. His gaze fell a couple of times on the wet pink top — well, maybe more than a couple. “What? Did ya want to grow old on the shore, darlin’?” He appreciated how she squeezed his bicep and almost pressed herself against him. “Why ya clutching like that? Are ya afraid of river snakes?”
“No… no… it’s just — ” She didn’t let go of him, swimming closer. “I’m not a good swimmer.” She lightly bit her lower lip, while Dunk just looked at her, like a childhood friend, worriedly. “Are there snakes here?” she asked naively, swimming even closer and looking at the water.
Aerion’s grin sharpened at her confession. He rolled his eyes. 'Of course that fool little girl was a bad swimmer, she was so weak'. Instead, his arm wrapped around her waist automatically, steadying her in the water. “Nah,” he said teasingly. “No snakes here.”
Dunk watched the scene with quiet concern from a few feet away — not interfering but clearly ready to help if needed. The way Aerion was holding her — protective? Possessive? Useless? It was hard to tell.
They continued swimming and splashing. Of course, the two guys were just hiding their passive aggression toward each other. She occasionally grabbed their hands while swimming, and it was suspicious that Aerion was the one who always ended up there with the wild splashing. Dunk just clenched his jaw. She was still in wet clothes clinging to her. She had taken off her sneakers and socks, leaving them on the shore.
Aerion loved the way she clung to him — her wet hands gripping his, her body brushing against his in the water. It made something possessive and smug flare up inside him. Dunk noticed it too — the way Aerion kept maneuvering closer to her during their splashes, using them as an excuse. Dunk’s jaw stayed clenched, but he forced himself not to react. At one point, Aerion “accidentally” shoved Dunk underwater with a splash — hard enough that it took a second for Dunk to resurface, sputtering.
“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly, of course not noticing what Aerion had done. “There are no snakes at the bottom?”
Dunk surfaced, coughing slightly but nodding. He glared at Aerion for half a second — that was absolutely on purpose — but he was too polite to call him out in front of her. “Yeah,” he rasped, wiping water from his face. “I’m fine.” The «no snakes» question was so adorably naive that it softened him despite the annoyance. Aerion just smirked innocently, floating beside her like an angel who would never do something mean. His arm slid around her shoulders again as if nothing had happened.
Dunk finally decided to fight back — subtly. When Aerion wasn’t looking, he swam up behind him and gave a sudden, firm shove to his shoulders. SPLASH. Aerion went under with a yelp — completely unprepared for Dunk’s retaliation. The water wasn’t deep, but the surprise attack was effective. Dunk floated there calmly after, pretending nothing had happened, though his lips twitched slightly in satisfaction.
Aerion resurfaced with a furious gasp, water dripping from his hair. His expression was pure outrage — how dare Dunk shove him?! For a split second, Aerion looked like he was about to lunge at Dunk and actually fight — no more passive‑aggressive splashes.
She surfaced slightly, not seeing anything. “Are you hungry? Let’s go eat now? My clothes are wet.”, She says, wiping her wet face.
Aerion’s murderous glare at Dunk faded slightly as she asked about food. He was hungry, and the cooler was sitting right there on shore — untouched since they got in. “Yeah,” he muttered, swimming toward land with long strokes. Dunk followed more calmly, glad for the distraction. Maybe eating would cool things down — literally and figuratively.
They swam away, forgetting about her, and she had to barely swim, then trek across the wet rocks. Water ran down her wet, baggy jeans. Although, because they were stuck to her legs, you probably couldn’t call them baggy anymore. She walked up to them, who were sitting by the large rocks. She sat down next to Dunk. Both guys were still in their underwear. She was soaking wet, like a duckling in the rain; her jeans were heavy with water, and her top was stuck to her shoulders and chest, so much so that you could even see the outline of a cross. But in Texas, even that wouldn’t save you from the hellish heat — at least things dried faster.
Aerion rummaged through Dunk’s cooler, pulling out sandwiches and drinks without asking. He tossed one to Dunk — not aggressively, but not friendly either — then grabbed two for himself. Dunk unwrapped his sandwich quietly, sneaking glances at her. Her clothes clung awkwardly, and the Texas sun was already starting to dry them, but slowly. Aerion eyed her soaked state too — his gaze lingering on the outline of her cross under the wet fabric.
They started eating snacks in silence. Dunk and Aerion weren’t talking, so she was the one doing the talking. She filled the silence with small talk — commenting on how good Dunk’s sandwiches tasted, asking Aerion if he came to this spot often. They both responded in short answers. Dunk was a polite listener, nodding and adding quiet remarks when appropriate. But Aerion? He chewed aggressively, his eyes darting between her and Dunk like he was calculating something. The tension wasn’t hostile, but it was there — like two bulls circling each other over territory.
She fidgeted slightly due to the discomfort of her wet clothes clinging to her while she chewed on her sandwich. This view evoked certain sensations in both guys.
Aerion’s gaze kept flicking to her — the way her wet top clung, the curve of her shoulders, how small she looked next to Dunk. It stirred something in him, something hot and restless. Dunk noticed too — though he tried not to stare. He was a gentleman through and through, so he kept his eyes respectfully on his food, but there was a slight tension in his jaw as he chewed. The air between them was charged — not just with rivalry anymore.
Aerion finished his sandwich first, crumpling the wrapper loudly. He leaned back on his elbows, stretching out like a lazy predator in the sun. Dunk was still eating carefully — methodical. But he kept sneaking looks at her when he thought no one was noticing, checking if she was cold or uncomfortable. The silence stretched again — heavy with unspoken things. Aerion broke it by suddenly sitting up and reaching for her half‑finished sandwich.
Aerion plucked the sandwich right out of her hand — without asking — and took a huge bite. It wasn’t hostile, just possessive. Like he had every right to finish what she had started. Dunk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the bold move. That was her food, and Aerion had just stolen it like it belonged to him. Aerion chewed with his eyes locked on Dunk, almost daring him to say something about it.
Dunk’s polite mask cracked — just a little. His grip tightened on his own sandwich wrapper, and there was a flash of irritation in his blue eyes. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t — Aerion was being an obnoxious jerk, but confronting him would escalate things, and Dunk wasn’t the type to start fights. Aerion smirked around the stolen bite of her food — victorious. The silent power play made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
She just kept eating her sandwich, taking bites where Aerion had. You had to share with your neighbors — that was what they said in church. Noticing the tension, she continued chatting to fill the tense silence. “…Tony Stark caught the bomb and then…” She talked about stupid things. “…well, it was cool, tell him, Aerion… we watched that movie together… well, at night too…” Then she fell silent. Could she tell Dunk about this? Dunk was her friend, of course, but he was practically her father’s secret agent.
Aerion didn’t respond right away, slightly distracted by her bite on top of his previous one. In his sick head, it was almost a kiss. No — belonging to him. Merging. Remembering the night of the movie, he just smirked, baring his upper teeth; he was willing to bet that she hadn’t experienced this with Dunk. Night, dinner, a movie, alone at home — she hadn’t let Dunk press against her, touch her knees, or touch her hair.
Aerion’s smirk grew dangerous — the kind that made his eyes glint with something darkly possessive. That night replayed in his mind: she curled on the couch, him beside her, the quiet intimacy of shared popcorn and whispered reactions to the movie. Dunk had never had moments like that with her. No late‑night movies. No accidental brushes of hands. That knowledge made Aerion feel superior, like he had won some unspoken competition Dunk didn’t even know they were in.
Dunk, oblivious to Aerion’s internal smugness, listened intently as she started explaining the movie plot. He nodded along — genuinely interested in what she was saying because she was saying it. Aerion watched Dunk’s face — the way he leaned slightly toward her when she talked. It pissed him off that this guy was so damn nice, so attentive. Without thinking, Aerion abruptly cut in: “We had popcorn.”
Dunk blinked, thrown by Aerion’s random interruption. Popcorn? That was the most trivial detail to bring up. But she remembered — the big bowl of buttery popcorn between them on the couch that night, how Aerion kept stealing handfuls even when it was her turn. Aerion kept his gaze fixed on Dunk, challenging him silently: You ever had a moment like that with her? His tone made it clear he thought not.
Dunk’s ears perked up. A movie… at night… with him. “You invited him over at night? Do your parents know about this?” Dunk and his close relationship with Mr. and Mrs. Bardot — he was practically their adopted son.
“Well… yeah…” she already realized she shouldn’t have said that. Dunk was a good friend, but he was like an extension of her parents — their favorite family friend. “It was a friendly thing… I know Dad won’t like it, but I was so scared alone at night… don’t tell my parents, Dunk.”
Dunk’s expression shifted instantly — from friendly to concerned father‑figure mode. His blue eyes darkened slightly, and he sat up straighter. “Teri…” His voice was gentle but firm — the same tone he used when her dad scolded her for sneaking out past curfew. “You know I can’t keep stuff like that from them. Your parents trust me.” Aerion watched this exchange with narrowed eyes, suddenly realizing how deep Dunk’s connection to her family really went.
“Well, right now I’m sitting with two guys who are in their underwear… will they like this? I’m always doing something wrong… they won’t die if they don’t know.” She rolled her eyes at first, then mentally apologized to God for saying such things about her parents. “Well… I mean… you know, Dunk, they can be strict sometimes.”
Dunk sighed, rubbing his temple. He hated being put in this position — her parents were basically his second family, and lying to them felt wrong. “Teri… I’m not gonna snitch on you for hanging out,” he said carefully. “But if your dad asks me straight‑up? I can’t lie.” Aerion stayed silent for once — watching Dunk with a new wariness. The guy wasn’t just some random friend; he was practically family to her.
She looked into his piercing blue eyes. They had a showdown in front of Aerion — so awkward. “Well, of course… if he finds out.” She smiled slightly, pursing her lips, and patted his bare shoulder. It was hot from the sun and seemed to have turned pink from the tan. These guys were still naked.
Dunk’s shoulder tensed slightly under her touch — not because he minded, but because the contact felt intimate in front of Aerion. The pink flush on his skin wasn’t just from the sun; it was a light blush. Aerion saw that. His jaw clenched. The silence stretched again — thick with something unspoken. Dunk pulled his arm back slowly, suddenly hyper‑aware of how little clothing they were all wearing and how close she was to him compared to Aerion.
“…Well, we watched The Avengers, then half of the second part, then the movie with Jim Carrey…” Girl continued the conversation and chattered. She loved to chat, especially about things she liked. “…That movie was funny… until Aerion started asking about — ” She hesitated a little at the end, remembering that night. “…I mean… then he left.”
Dunk’s eyes sharpened at her near‑slip — then he left. The implication was obvious: that night hadn’t ended well. Did they have a fight? Did he leave because of something awkward? Aerion tensed at the memory. That night had ended awkwardly — after Jim Carrey’s movie, he had asked her something too personal, maybe too forward. And when she hadn’t reacted how he wanted, he got upset and stormed out. Now Dunk was looking between them like a detective piecing together clues. The air felt heavier — charged with the weight of that unresolved moment from two days ago.
They continued sitting. Her clothes were starting to dry. The Texas heat wasn’t kind to the pale skin of both boys, and they were turning red. She threw awkward glances at Aerion, who was sitting casually as usual with his legs splayed. He was still in his boxers. SonTeri tried to remember her parents’ words about chastity, but…Aerion caught her glances — and liked them. The way she kept looking at him, even with that guilty tension about chastity, made his chest puff up. He knew she was looking at him. The way he was lounging, all lazy confidence and bare skin, was deliberate. Dunk, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably under the heat. His freckled shoulders were turning pink from sunburn — military training had never prepared him for Texas summers. He grabbed a water bottle to cool off. Dunk was angry, for some reason. He had been trying to get her attention his whole life. And now, of the two naked, muscular guys, she only glanced at the one who was a farmer. How long had they known each other? Three days? Dunk didn’t know what was burning inside him, but he tried not to pout so she wouldn’t notice.
Aerion, oblivious to Dunk’s internal turmoil, leaned back further — stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. The movement made the muscles in his torso flex, and yes, he was doing it on purpose. Dunk pointedly looked away when she glanced at Aerion again. He unscrewed the water bottle too aggressively, taking a long swig just to have something to do. The sun kept beating down. The river glittered. And the tension between all three of them was palpable — thick enough that even birds had stopped chirping nearby.
“Is it hot in Texas?” she said naively but seriously. “Do you think if I asked the likes of Reverend Tom if it’s hot in hell, how angry would he be?” She gathered her hair with one hand to wave the other at herself. She tore her gaze away from Aerion and continued the mundane conversation. She glanced briefly at Duncan. At least both guys were naked — it was easier for them.
Dunk snorted at her joke — the first real laugh he had had since they got here. The idea of Pastor Tom getting riled up over hell’s weather was too accurate. “Yeah, it’d be funny,” he admitted, voice warm with amusement. Aerion wasn’t laughing. He was frowning because she was looking at Dunk now — not him. And the way Dunk smiled so easily annoyed him for some reason. The heat wasn’t just from the sun anymore — it was coming off all three of them in waves: awkwardness, tension, rivalry, and something else neither guy wanted to name yet.
Dunk’s smile faded slightly as the conversation lulled again. The silence wasn’t comfortable — it was heavy, like a storm about to break. Aerion, bored of sitting still, suddenly stood up. Water dripped from his body onto the hot rocks below. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet too — his grip firm but not rough. “Let’s swim again,” he declared — more an order than an invitation.
“Again?” She stood up, slightly surprised, not so much by herself but rather because she had been lifted. She cast a confused glance at the sitting Dunk. “But my clothes had only just dried…”
Aerion didn’t care about her dry clothes. The moment she was on her feet, he started dragging her toward the water — determined. “Then take it off, stupid.”, he says with irritation.
Dunk watched, eyebrows shooting up as Aerion manhandled her toward the river. The sheer boldness of it — the way Aerion just grabbed and pulled — made Dunk’s stomach twist. Aerion wasn’t asking. He was taking what he wanted. She stumbled slightly in her half‑dried jeans, but he didn’t slow down until they were at the water’s edge — then he shoved her in with zero ceremony.
Dunk immediately stood up, abruptly, in a defensive tempo — just like in childhood.
Dunk moved fast — military reflexes kicking in. In one fluid motion, he was on his feet and striding toward the water, eyes locked on Aerion. There was a protective fire in Dunk’s gaze that hadn’t been there before — something fierce and old, like when they were kids and he used to punch bullies for picking on her. Aerion turned just as Dunk reached him; their shoulders almost touching. The air crackled with confrontation.
She emerged from the water coughing slightly. Her clothes, half‑dried in the heat of the sun, were wet again. Her hair was stuck to her face. She straightened up slightly in the water and looked up at the guys who were still standing on the riverbank. They seemed angry? Gods, they were arguing again. “That was a little rude, Aerion,” she said naively, with reproach but not malice — just like her parents had taught her.
Aerion whirled toward her, his face twisting with irritation — not at her, but at the fact that Dunk was glaring holes into him. “Rude? It’s just swimming,” he snapped, voice sharper than intended. The possessive edge in it was obvious — he thought he could do whatever he wanted to her. Dunk stepped between them like a human shield, arms crossed. His military posture made him look even taller and more intimidating up close. “You don’t shove people into water like that.”
“I don’t think Aerion meant it that way… just…” She splashed around in the water, barely holding herself together. She smiled, pursing her lips, smoothing things over.Her attempt to defuse things worked — sort of. Dunk’s rigid posture loosened slightly, and Aerion’s scowl lessened, but the tension didn’t vanish. Aerion waded into the water toward her, ignoring Dunk entirely. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that his chest almost brushed hers. Dunk watched from shore like a sentinel — arms still crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t like how close Aerion was, and he knew her dad wouldn’t like it either. “Sorry, hon,” Aerion spoke in a rough, hoarse voice. Of course, there was no sincerity, but this poor wretch wouldn’t be able to distinguish Aerion’s shadow from himself.
She immediately grabbed Aerion’s hand, of course almost not noticing that he was holding on tight and too close — she thought it was because of the current.
She grabbed him with both hands and held him. “Of course… it’s just… I’m not a good swimmer, Aerion… you were wrong.”
Aerion’s grip tightened around her hands — too tight, really. He wasn’t used to being scolded, especially not by her, and it showed in the way his jaw clenched. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stared down at her, those wild dragon eyes searching her face for something. “’Course, darlin’,” he said, almost rolling his eyes but holding back, brushing away a wet black strand of hair stuck to her face with his fingers. Dunk was fuming. The possessive way Aerion was holding her — the closeness — made his blood boil. But he stayed rooted on shore, refusing to intervene unless absolutely necessary.
Dunk finally broke. He stomped into the water — splashing loudly — and without a word, stepped between her and Aerion, physically inserting himself into her space. “Hey,” he said to Aerion, voice low but firm. It wasn’t hostile yet, but it was a clear boundary: back off. Aerion’s eyes flashed with outrage at being cut off from her like this.
Aerion’s face darkened. No one interrupted him — especially not some military boy with a hero complex. For a second, it looked like Aerion might shove Dunk right back, but then he just sneered and deliberately raised his voice: “You her bodyguard or somethin’, Dunky?” The nickname was mocking, dripping with condescension. The tension skyrocketed — this wasn’t playful anymore.
She was too busy to pay attention to the guys right now. Being pulled away from Aerion’s grip, she grabbed Dunk’s hand. She wasn’t particularly planning on drowning today.
Dunk’s hand was warm and calloused — military hands, strong from training. The moment she grabbed it, he immediately turned his full attention to her, ignoring Aerion completely. “Okay?” he asked quietly, scanning her face for any sign of distress. His protective instincts were in overdrive now. Aerion watched this exchange with pure disbelief — how dare Dunk just steal her like that? Like it was nothing? Like Aerion wasn’t even there?
“I’m wet again… well… are we going to swim?” She finally noticed the tension. “You don’t like each other, do you?… I guess not all my friends can be friends.”
Dunk exhaled through his nose — almost a sigh. He didn’t hate Aerion, but no, they weren’t friends. The guy was loud, reckless, and treated her like a prize to win. “Yeah… we swim,” he said neutrally — trying to keep things civil for her sake. Aerion scoffed at the question about friendships. His pride wouldn’t let him admit that Dunk wasn’t his rival… but something worse: competition. Without another word, he dived into the water dramatically — a splash meant to show off.
They continued swimming, but passive‑aggressiveness hung in the air. She swam poorly, so they held her up.
Dunk was the first to notice her struggling. Without hesitation, he swam up behind her and gently hooked an arm around her waist — steadying her in the water. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. He was used to helping rookies swim at boot camp; this was second nature. Aerion watched from a few feet away, irritation flaring when Dunk touched her so naturally, so protectively. Jealousy clawed at him.
Aerion, not to be outdone, paddled over too. He grabbed her other side — rougher than Dunk — and started dragging her through the water with zero finesse. “Just kick,” he ordered, his version of “helping” more about showing off his strength than actually teaching her. The contrast was obvious: Dunk’s patient guidance versus Aerion’s aggressive coaching. It was like two completely different worlds colliding in this river.
“If there are snakes in this river, will they have fins?” She talked nonsense, ignoring their behavior. She understood. After today, she would never put them together again.
Dunk actually laughed — a real, full laugh at her random snake‑fin question. It was a warm sound, lightening the mood despite everything. “Snakes don’t have fins,” he said gently, still holding her steady in the water. Aerion didn’t laugh. He thought her nonsense was dumb — cute but dumb — and rolled his eyes before dunking underwater to resurface near her again, like a stubborn dog demanding attention.
She smiled slightly as Aerion jumped out in front of her.
Aerion popped up right in front of her, water sluicing off his hair. His face was inches from hers — too close for a normal swim session. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at her with those intense, dragon‑like eyes, then suddenly flicked river water at her face with his fingers. It was playful — childish, even — but the gesture felt weirdly intimate after everything that day. Dunk watched this interaction with narrowed eyes from behind her.
Dunk watched Aerion’s antics with mild disgust. Flicking water at her? Really? That was his idea of flirting? But then — because Dunk couldn’t help being a decent guy — he reached out and flicked Aerion right back, sending droplets flying. A sudden, stupid water fight started between them, like two overgrown kids rather than grown men. The tension from earlier melted into something sillier.
The water fight escalated quickly — splashing, shoving, even a half‑hearted attempt at wrestling. Aerion was all reckless energy; Dunk was more controlled but just as competitive.
Of course, while they were trying to drown each other, some girl disappeared from sight.
Aerion stopped first, blinking as he scanned the river. No sign of her. Dunk followed his gaze — then frowned.
Dunk’s military instincts kicked in immediately. He stopped splashing and whirled around, scanning the water with sharp eyes. “Teri?” he called — no panic yet, but urgency. Aerion froze too, his playful smirk vanishing. The river wasn’t deep, but if she had been swept by a current or something — shit. Both guys started moving toward shore to look for her.
They came out looking for her in just their boxers. Dunk and Aerion scrambled out of the water, dripping and shirtless — boxers clinging to their hips. They didn’t even care about modesty right now. They scanned the riverbank, then further up shore. No sign of her.
“It’s because of you, idiot!” said Aerion, clenching his teeth in irritation. Where had that fool gone again? Dunk ignored Aerion’s accusation — now wasn’t the time for blame. He started marching up the riverbank. “Where are you, darlin’?!” said Aerion, not shouting, just raising his voice. He rolled his eyes. 'This fool could have been mistaken for a wet fish and dragged off by bears — she was just that stupid'.
“Aerion?” Her voice came from the edge of the trees.
Aerion spun around at the sound of her voice — relief flashing across his face for half a second before it was buried under annoyance. “Where the hell were you?!” he barked, storming toward her. His bare chest was heaving, wet hair sticking to his forehead. Dunk approached calmer but just as fast, checking if she was okay with quick eyes. The worry in him was quieter but real.
“I thought I was going to drown and swam out of the river… I went into the forest to collect stones.” She showed the dirty stones in her hands.
Aerion stared at the rocks in her hands — utterly baffled. “Are you stupid? You born stupid or…?” he said, voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation.
“I don’t think I’m stupid,” she said, frowning slightly and pouting.
Aerion opened his mouth to argue — obviously she was stupid, wandering off alone in a forest — but Dunk cut in first. “You shouldn’t have gone off by yourself,” Dunk said firmly, not mean, just serious. Protective. Aerion glared at him for «taking her side» again. The stones still looked ridiculous to Aerion, though.
“Sorry.” She pursed her lips slightly. Water was still dripping from her hair and clothes. She was still barefoot, just like the boys. Her top was stuck to her chest like it was constricting. She fidgeted with the stones in her hands. The Texas sun was setting a little, and now the heat was giving way to evening stuffiness.
The golden Texas sunset painted everything in warm hues — her wet hair, the rocks in her hands, the boys’ bare torsos. The air was thick with humidity now that evening had come. Dunk took a step closer to her — not angry anymore, just concerned. He reached out like he might brush water off her shoulder but stopped himself. Aerion watched this near‑contact with narrowed eyes again.
Dunk, ever the gentleman, finally did gently shake water off her shoulder — just a small, brotherly gesture. His hands were warm from the fading sun. Aerion’s jaw ticked at this display of tenderness. It pissed him off.
Aerion suddenly grabbed her wrist — not rough, but possessive — and pulled her slightly away from Dunk. His grip was firm as he studied the stones in her hands. “Why these?” he demanded, like the answer mattered more than anything else right now. Dunk frowned at Aerion’s manhandling… again.
“They are just beautiful,” she answered, just like yesterday, near the tractor, when she had been collecting stones near his field.
Aerion remembered yesterday — the quiet moment by the tractor when she had shown him stones too. Back then, it had been sweet. Now it was annoying because Dunk was witnessing this. He scowled at the rocks like they had personally offended him. “Uh huh,” he muttered, unconvincing. Then he plucked one from her palm and chucked it into the bushes — petty as hell.
“Hey,” she protested.
Aerion met her “hey” with a defiant glare — what? I can throw rocks if I want to. Dunk sighed. This guy was such a child sometimes. Without thinking, Dunk bent down and picked up one of the stones she had dropped when Aerion tossed it. He handed it back to her quietly — replacing what was lost.
“Thanks,” she whispered, looking at his freckled fingers as he passes the pebble.
Dunk nodded, his quiet kindness speaking louder than words. The way he had handed her the stone was gentle — almost reverent, like it actually mattered to him. Aerion watched this exchange and felt… weird. Not guilty, but something close to irritation that Dunk was being so damn nice. It pissed him off. The sunset kept deepening — shadows stretching across the riverbank.
“I think it’s time to go home,” she said, looking around the forest, listening to the murmur of water.
The three of them emerged from the forest and walked to the riverbank toward the car. The boys, still nearly wet, began to get dressed. She sat on a hot stone, looking at them. Dad would say this was inappropriate, but… Dunk dressed first — efficient, military‑style. He pulled on his dry jeans and shirt over his damp skin, not fussing about the water still clinging to him. Aerion took longer. He shook out his shirt dramatically before tugging it on, then wrestled with belt buckles — loud and careless. Her dad would say this was inappropriate, but right now she was just watching two half‑dressed guys in the fading light.
“My clothes are still wet… and my hair… I’m going to wet your seats.” She sat on a hot rock. Her clothes were stuck to her before they could dry. She held rocks in her hands. The Texas sun was setting, but the air was still hot, so they were all sweating.
Aerion scoffed as he shoved his feet into boots. “Nice view… and it’s nicer when you take it off.”
Dunk, ever the problem‑solver, grabbed a spare hoodie from his duffel bag — the military‑issue one that was always clean. Without asking, he held it out to her. “Here. For your seat.” Aerion paused mid‑belt‑buckling to glare at Dunk. Why was he being so helpful? So considerate? It was annoying.
“Thank you,” she smiled slightly and took it. They gathered their things and got into the car. She put the hoodie on the front seat. Aerion sprawled out on the back seat, putting his feet and boots up against the window — and yes, no seatbelt.
Dunk got into the driver’s seat — automatic, since Aerion definitely shouldn’t be behind the wheel right now. He started the car with a quiet sigh. Aerion kicked his boots up higher, resting them on the back of Dunk’s seat like a lazy king. The lack of seatbelt was reckless, but typical for him. The AC blasted cold air as they all piled in — finally leaving that chaotic riverbank behind.
・❥・
Dunk pulled onto the road, driving carefully despite Aerion’s mess. The silence in the car was thick — not hostile, but heavy with everything unsaid. Aerion stared out the window at passing trees, bored already. Meanwhile, she clutched Dunk’s hoodie on her lap; the fabric smelled faintly of laundry soap and military‑issued detergent. The drive back felt longer than it actually was.
“It’s good that I didn’t wear makeup… then it would all wash off with water,” she started chatting again.
Dunk nodded slightly at her comment — he wasn’t big on makeup himself, so it made sense to him. He kept his eyes on the road, hands steady at ten and two.
Aerion scoffed from the backseat. “Makeup’s dumb anyway,” he declared loudly — as if he was an expert on women’s beauty routines. The car hummed along the darkening highway. Cattle grazed in fields beside them.
“I like to wear makeup,” she said, in a sincere tone.
Aerion blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t considered that she might want to wear makeup — he just assumed it was a pointless girly thing. “Yeah?” he said, less dismissive now but still clueless. What did someone who wore makeup even look like? Pretty? Fancy? Dunk stayed quiet on the subject — not judging either way. But he was curious how she did her makeup… and if Aerion had ever seen her in it.
“Yeah,” she nodded, smiling slightly, glancing forward towards the window, at the endless road.
Aerion chewed on that for a second. The idea of her — her face — with makeup was weirdly intriguing to him. He pictured something dramatic, maybe red lips… not that he would admit it. “Whatcha wear?” he asked abruptly, like the question had physically escaped him. Dunk glanced at Aerion in the rearview mirror — surprised that he was actually engaging in a normal conversation for once.
“Um… a lot of things… mascara… eyeshadow… blush… lipstick… um… and… glitter, yeah…” She smiled slightly, thinking that Aerion was genuinely interested. “It’s cute.”
Aerion’s eyebrows shot up at glitter. Glitter? That sounded frivolous. But the way she said it — cute — made something in his chest tighten. “Like some whore?” he said mockingly with a smirk.
Dunk’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. That comment was way too harsh — even for Aerion. He wants to say something, maybe a few sweet words. But he keeps his mouth shut, not in front of SonTeri. No.
Aerion, meanwhile, just grinned at his own crudeness, pleased with himself for saying something provocative. The car filled with awkward silence again… but now it was charged with tension because of that insensitive remark.
“No, I have cute makeup… my daddy said so,” she said after a while, looking out the window, in a firm voice, without looking at him, frowningly continuing to look out the window.
Dunk relaxed slightly at her defense — her dad approved, so clearly it was not «whore makeup» like Aerion had implied.
“Yer daddy said so?” Aerion asked again, trying to contain his sneer. He rolled over onto his side, still lying on the back seat. “Darlin’, I believe yer makeup is ‘cute.’ I’d like to see it… I wonder if you can restore it when it smudges,” he joked mockingly, deliberately saying «when» instead of «if.»
Dunk side‑eyed Aerion in the rearview mirror. The joke was too forward, even for him — especially with her in the car. Aerion just smirked, proud of his dumb comment. He thought he was being smooth, but really it came off as a weird flex about smudged makeup. The car rolled on toward town, streetlights flickering to life along the roadside.
The car pulled up to her house — the familiar porch light glowing warmly. Dunk parked neatly, turning off the engine. Aerion stretched like a cat in the backseat before sitting up, his earlier teasing mood fading slightly now that she was home. Dunk got out first and walked around to open her door — a polite gesture he had picked up from military courtesy.
She stepped out onto the gravel, still holding Dunk’s hoodie. The night air was cooler now, a relief after the day’s heat. Aerion followed at his own pace — lazy as ever — shoving his hands in his pockets while eyeing her house. He didn’t say anything about leaving yet… just lingered. Dunk waited beside her.
Dunk hesitated, then said quietly: “Want me to walk you to the door?” It was a simple offer — protective, but not overbearing. Aerion scowled. He wanted him to walk her in. But he stayed silent… for now.
“I don’t know… probably… my parents would be happy to see you… although you saw each other at work…” She fidgeted with his sweatshirt in her hands.
Dunk nodded — her parents did like him. He was basically family at this point. “Yeah, I’ll go in,” he said easily, already heading toward the porch steps.
She smiled slightly. Then she remembered Aerion and turned to face him. “Aerion… you… will you come for dinner?” she asked only out of politeness, as they had taught her in church. She looked into his piercing eyes.
Aerion just frowned. Stupid politeness. He wouldn’t tolerate another second with this idiot Dunk. Aerion’s jaw clenched. The polite invitation stung — because it felt obligatory, not genuine. And having to sit through dinner with Dunk? Hell no. “Nah,” he muttered, turning away to light a cigarette right there on her porch — rude and rebellious as ever. Dunk heard the rejection but didn’t comment, just kept walking toward the door like nothing happened.
She watched Dunk walk away. “See you tomorrow, Aerion. It was fun with you.” She spoke quickly and smiled quickly, saying goodbye to him, patting his bare arm. “Bye.” She waved and ran after Dunk.
Aerion froze at the touch — her hand on his bare arm. The smile, the bye, the quick pat… it was too sweet, too normal. He hadn’t gotten a real goodbye. He watched her sprint after Dunk with a scowl that deepened as she disappeared inside together. The cigarette between his lips burned untouched — he had forgotten to take a drag in his irritation.
Aerion stood there for a long moment, smoke curling from his cigarette. The front door clicked shut behind her and Dunk. He felt… weird. Not angry exactly — more like left out. Which was stupid, because he never wanted to come to dinner anyway. With a grunt, he finally took a drag of the cigarette and started walking back to his house alone.
・❥・
・❥・
Dunk and she entered her house. There was noise inside; it was already evening, and her parents were awake. The sound of cooking came from the kitchen. She clutched Dunk’s wet hoodie in her hands.
“I’m home,” she said, taking off her shoes. Dunk, behind her, took his off too without her saying a word — it wasn’t his first time in their Asian house.
Her mother peeked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her face lit up when she saw Dunk — she had always treated him like a son. “Duncan! Did you come to dinner?” she said in warm surprise, then eyed her daughter — taking in her damp clothes and tired expression. From the dining table, her father glanced up from his newspaper. When he saw his dream son‑in‑law and family friend, he even got up from his chair to hug the two‑meter‑tall boy.
Her father’s embrace with Dunk was firm and proud — the kind of hug a dad gave the son he wished he had. Meanwhile, her mother rushed over to her, gently taking Dunk’s hoodie from her hands. “Oh honey, you’re soaked! Let me get you dry clothes,” she fussed immediately. Dunk stood patiently in the entryway — used to this family love. He could even smell dinner cooking… something delicious.
They went inside. “We were by the river…” girl said. Dunk sat down on the sofa next to her father, discussing military topics and something about rugby. “I’ll go change,” she said, walking up to the second floor to her room.
Upstairs, she quickly stripped off her damp clothes and pulled on dry pajamas — a soft cotton set. Downstairs, Dunk and her dad were deep in conversation about rugby tactics and military training — Dunk nodding along respectfully. Her mom called up: “Teri! Dinner’s ready soon!” The clatter of plates being set on the table drifted upstairs.
“Now!” she screamed and quickly hung her clothes on the drying rack. Her gaze fell on the Targaryen house in the distance from the window. The light was on; they were probably having a family dinner too. She remembered Mr. Maekar, little Egg and… Aerion. She quickly went downstairs, her hair tangled and fluffy from being wet and drying. She sat down next to Mom and Dad and rolled her eyes. Dad was always like that around Dunk… he would take him to church with her right now.
The dining table was set beautifully — her mom’s cooking always smelled incredible. Her dad had his arm slung over Dunk’s shoulder like an old buddy, still chatting rugby. Her mother gave her a gentle smile as she sat down, reaching to smooth her wild hair with her fingers — the way she had done since childhood. “Eat up,” she said warmly, passing the dish of steaming food toward her.
Dad, as always, praised Duncan as the local superman. He leaned in, voice booming with pride: “Duncan here could bench press a tractor — did you know that? And his grades are perfect! Military academy wants him next year!” Dunk didn’t brag — he just ate quietly, his cheeks slightly pink at the praise. He was used to it by now, but he also genuinely liked her dad. Her mom nodded along, adding: “Such a good boy.”
SonTeri just ate silently. 'Sometime during dinner they would both get tired.' girl rolled eyes.
She ate quietly, listening to the endless praise. It was sweet… but also tiring. Every meal with Dunk was basically a Duncan Appreciation Hour. Dunk kept glancing at her — subtly checking if she was okay. He felt bad for hogging all the attention. Her dad poured more tea into Dunk’s cup like it was an honor just to serve him.
“Aerion showed me and Dunk the local river,” girl suddenly said, to diversify at least today’s dinner. “So we were wet.”
Her dad’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of Aerion. He knew the Targaryen boy — everyone did — and he didn’t particularly like him. “Oh? That wild one?” he said, tone neutral but not friendly. Dunk nodded slightly, confirming that they had been with Aerion that day. Her mom just kept eating, curious but not judgmental yet.
Her father took a sip of tea and seemed to remember something. “Speaking of Targaryens… our neighbor Maekar Targaryen turns out to be more than just a farmer. Our military base works with him. The Targaryens are… sort of local farmers and businessmen… the face of this small town… they provide work on their plots… they are in contact with the local military base… and they are one of the founders of the town… it seems we are neighbors with the local ‘nobility.’ Maybe we should suggest going to church together on Sunday? If they help the town so much, then Maekar is a noble man.”
“A contract with the base? Aerion didn’t tell me,” she chewed thoughtfully. Surprised by every word spoken.
Her dad nodded, setting his fork down. “Yeah. Maekar supplies beef and vegetables to the mess hall. They’ve got a big operation — land, cattle, even some equipment leasing.” He sounded impressed despite himself. Dunk chimed in quietly: “My CO mentioned it once. Said the Targaryens are respected here.” Aerion had never told her any of this… probably because he thought it was boring farmer talk — not cool enough for him to brag about.
“So they have a network of farms? Not just that ranch and the field behind their house?”, She asks in a surprised voice, remembering Mr. Maekar's face and wondering if the new information she learned suits him.
Her dad waved a hand, gesturing to the vast land beyond town. “Oh no, it’s much bigger than that. They own several farms — cattle ranches, wheat fields… even an orchard on the outskirts.” Dunk added: “They lease some land to smaller farmers too. It’s basically their whole business.” Aerion came from money. Not just rough‑and‑tumble ranch money — actual farming empire wealth. And he acted like a delinquent anyway.
“You said they were one of the founders? Like some great‑grandfather of Aerion?”, she is interested now.
Her dad nodded, reaching for his tea again. “Yep. Old Maekar Targaryen — the original — helped settle this town back in the 1800s. His family’s been here generations.” Dunk explained further: “They built the first grain mill, donated land for churches… basically local legends.”
Aerion was descended from actual pioneers — rich ranchers with deep roots. No wonder he acted like a prince… because technically? He kind of was.
“Wow… how much you can learn on the base…”, the girl says almost skeptically.
Dunk smiled slightly at her comment — he loved learning things like this. Military life exposed you to a lot of local history. “Yeah, the base keeps records on all major landowners. It’s good to know who really runs things around here.” Her dad added proudly: “And Duncan pays attention! Not like some kids who only care about football…” He side‑eyed the TV where a sports game was playing quietly in the background.
“So our neighbors are good… how sweet…”, she makes a verdict based on what she's heard. It all sounds surreal, the military moved in with their business neighbors, the local 'dynasty.'
Her mom finally spoke up, her voice soft and approving. “Very sweet. It’s good when neighbors help the community. Maekar even sponsors the little league baseball team.” Dunk nodded in agreement — respecting anyone who contributed to a town. Aerion’s family wasn’t just rich — they were actively involved in making this place better. Meanwhile, Aerion himself probably thought charity was for losers.
“And I thought they were just simple hard‑working farmers… Aerion works from morning until night… but it’s apparently for their own farm.”, she can't believe her new friend didn't tell her this.
Her dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Simple? No — those Targaryens are businessmen. Aerion working hard doesn’t mean he’s just some farmhand. He’s learning the family empire.” Dunk pointed out: “That ranch behind their house? That’s probably one of the main properties — their headquarters, basically.” Aerion wasn’t just working — he was being groomed to take over everything. And he acted like a lazy rebel… ironic.
“And yet… you would have found out about it yourself if you had visited the city, and not sat in your room for two days,” said her father.
Her dad gave her a look — the classic «I’m disappointed in your lack of curiosity» face. The kind that made you feel guilty for sitting around. “Yeah,” he sighed, “if you went to town more, walked around, talked to people… you’d know things like this.” Dunk stayed quiet — he didn’t want to scold her too. But he did agree with her dad: getting out helped.
“The city is a hole, Dad… even if the Targaryens are thriving,” she said, just picking at her plate.
Her dad sighed — he got it. The town was small, boring, and full of gossip. But that didn’t mean she should isolate herself. “Still… ignorance isn’t an excuse,” he said gently. “Even a ‘hole’ has things worth knowing.” A tense silence fell over dinner. Dunk glanced between her and her dad — awkwardly chewing his food to avoid getting involved in a family argument.
“Okay,” she quietly agreed just for show and kept chewing. Texas is a hole. And why am I the only one who understands this? Even if the Targaryens are so noble and all… this is still not Minnesota.
Her dad exhaled — he knew that tone. The I hate Texas tone. He had lived in Minnesota once too, after all. “Minnesota was better,” he admitted quietly, surprising her. But then he added: “But this is our life now.” Dunk stayed out of it entirely — Texas wasn’t his home either; he was from Georgia. This conversation felt too personal for him.
“It’s good that I found a friend here… at least…” She meant Aerion. “Who knew that he would turn out to be the heir of a feudal farmer.” She smiled slightly to ease the tension.Her dad softened at her smile — he was glad she had found someone. Aerion might be reckless, but at least he was a local kid. “Yeah… Targaryen blood or not, the boy’s got roots here.” Dunk stayed silent, not daring to tell about Aerion’s obsessive, possessive, and overly intimate behavior that day, not to mention throwing her into the water twice and his insulting, joking words. How could she be «friends» with him?
The dinner mood lightened slightly now that the tension had eased. The rest of dinner passed peacefully — her mom asked Dunk about his training, her dad brought up church plans for Sunday, and the clinking of silverware filled the cozy kitchen. She ate quietly, thinking about Aerion… that heir title changed things. Did it make him more interesting? Or just weirdly pretentious? A cool night breeze drifted through the open window.
After dinner, she helped clear the table and wash the dishes. Dunk wanted to help too, but Mom kicked him out of the kitchen to entertain her dad on the couch. Her mom shooed Dunk out with a playful shooing motion — “Go, go! Men don’t do dishes!” — even though Dunk wanted to help. Now he sat stiffly on the couch next to her dad. Her dad flipped through TV channels while Dunk stared at the screen, awkwardly sipping tea. Meanwhile, she and her mom scrubbed plates in warm soapy water — the familiar rhythm of cleanup.
The kitchen filled with the quiet comfort of shared chores — her mom humming a little tune as she dried dishes. The tension from earlier was gone; this was familiar, safe. Outside, crickets chirped. A dog barked somewhere in town. Dunk and her dad’s conversation drifted in — they were now debating which NFL team would win next week. Typical man talk.
“Mum,” she said softly.
Her mom paused drying a plate and turned fully to her at the soft call. Her face was all gentle concern — the way it got when she sensed something was on her mind. “Hmm, sweetheart?” she asked softly, wiping her hands on her apron before resting them on her daughter’s shoulders. The kitchen felt suddenly smaller… more intimate. Like a safe space for confessions.
“Are we really going to invite the Targaryens to go to church together?”
Her mom considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Maekar’s a good man — he deserves the invitation. And it would be polite.” She smiled slightly. “Aerion can come too… if he wants to.” She didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about Aerion, but she also wasn’t opposed. Her dad had suggested it, so that meant they were serious about this church plan.
“I don’t think Aerion particularly likes the church,” she paused. “Is that bad?”
Her mom sighed — not in anger, but resignation. She knew Aerion’s type: rebellious, loud, probably skipped church. “Well… it’s not ideal,” she admitted honestly. “But if Maekar wants to go, we can’t exclude his son just because he might misbehave.” A practical answer. Her parents weren’t about to kick out a whole family over one wild kid’s attitude toward God.
She wanted to ask another question… about… strange attraction… but she thought… it wasn’t chaste. “Do you think my makeup is provocative?” For some reason she asked that instead, remembering how Aerion had called her “like a whore” in the car. Maybe he was right? Had he seen whores? She hadn’t.
Her mom blinked — surprised by the sudden question. Then her face softened with motherly reassurance. “Oh, no honey,” she said firmly, cupping her daughter’s cheek. “Your makeup is pretty. Cute. Not… that other thing at all.” She tilted her head, studying her. “Who said that? About it being… provocative?” Her voice was calm, but there was a protective edge — she wanted to know who dared imply something negative about her daughter. Aerion’s stupid comment flashed in her mind. Her mom would not approve of that language at all.
“Nobody, I just think about things… you know me,” she said, putting clean plates on the drying rack.
Her mom studied her for a second — she knew that “nobody” was usually someone. But she didn’t push… yet. “Mmm,” she hummed, stacking the last dish before turning off the water. She gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle squeeze — her version of saying: I trust you, but I’m here if it’s about something serious.
After finishing, they went into the living room. The living room was warm and cozy — Dunk sat stiffly on the couch beside her dad, who was fully engrossed in a rugby match replay. Dunk gave her a small, polite smile as she entered. Her mom headed straight to her armchair with her knitting. The TV glowed with flashing stadium lights and roaring crowds. A comfortable silence settled — the kind that came after shared meals and family time.She knew Dunk would stay overnight. This wasn’t the first time. He would get up in the morning and go to the base. “I’ll go to my place,” she said quietly.
Dunk nodded at her — he knew the routine. He would sleep on the guest couch like always, up early for his five a.m. base drills. “Goodnight, Teri,” he said softly. Her dad barely looked away from the TV but muttered: “Sleep well.” She headed upstairs to her quiet bedroom — the house settling into its nighttime rhythm around her.
She sat down on the bed. The phone didn’t work; she couldn’t even scroll. She didn’t feel like drawing. She got up and went to the shelf. There were stones there — the ones she had collected near the Targaryen fields, the ones she had had in her pocket when she was riding with him, pressed against him, in the tractor cabin. Girl picked them up and examined them. How could Aerion have hidden the fact that he was such a big shot in the town, always laughing at her because she was rich and a city girl? Although, they had only known each other for three days. Maybe he needed time? SonTeri hoped tomorrow he wouldn’t be so busy with work; she would like to chat with him.
She took one of the most beautiful stones and went to the window, looking at their house in the distance. She felt something… she didn’t know… but this was what she had been looking for when she arrived… Texas inspiration. Girl sat down to draw. The moon cast silver light through her window as she sketched. The stone sat beside her sketchbook — its smooth surface catching the glow. Across the fields, the Targaryen ranch house was dark… everyone asleep. But in that distance, something felt right — a strange pull she couldn’t name yet. Her pencil moved on its own — drawing not just rocks or landscapes, but maybe… a tall boy with wild hair? A laugh? A river at sunset? Texas wasn’t Minnesota. But it was starting to feel like hers.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic. ``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 5: A Call to Dunk.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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She cooked lunch. Simple. Regular scrambled eggs and toast. Eggs and bread. All the variety in this hole. July was still merciless and seemed to want to burn Texas off the face of the earth. She looked out the kitchen window at the road… They should be arriving soon. She had cleaned the house. And she was looking forward to end the first two days alone in Texas. This was not Minnesota. But who had she been with these days? With Aerion. Her friend. Now her friend. She remembered yesterday on the tractor. It had even been fun. She heard the roar of an engine and looked out the window — it was them. Her parents. She went out onto the porch. They stopped at the house and climbed out, tired, sweaty, with thick sports bags. Service at the base… a pilot and a doctor… what hard workers.
They approached the porch. “Daddy, Mommy,” she said, and they hugged each other in turn. The hot crosses on their necks fell onto her face.
Her parents wrapped their arms around her, drawing her into a tight hug as they returned home from the base. They were both covered in a fine layer of sweat and dirt — the result of a long shift at the base.
“It’s good to be home,” her mom murmured, her arms around girl almost protectively as she held her against her.
Her dad let out a sigh, slinging a heavy bag over his shoulder as his gaze flicked over the house. “It’s very hot out here,” he muttered, his expression weary.
He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair; the humidity immediately made it stick to his sweaty forehead. “Tsk. Could do with some of that damn Minnesota weather right now,” he grumbled.
Her mom looked at doughter with a small smile, a subtle gleam of concern in her eyes. “How are you, sweetheart? Been keeping yourself busy out here alone?”
Girl just rolled her eyes at his words about Minnesota. It’s because of their work that she stuck here, she thought. “I’m just hanging out at home… hanging out with my neighbor,” she said as they entered the house. It seemed like it should have been easier, but it was even stuffier inside than on the street.
Her mom’s eyebrows raised at that, her curiosity piqued. Her dad grunted as he set his bags down in the living room. “Neighbor?” He raised a brow. “Who’d you go making friends with already?”
“Mr. Targaryen’s boy,” she said. “Mom knows him, we met during a visit to them… well, that one… Aerion… the second one… not that eight‑year‑old Egg.”
Mom smiled slightly, remembering that boy during tea — Aerion, who looked like his father. “Oh yes, dear, I remember. He seems like a good boy. I asked the neighbors to look after you… did he do well?”
Girl nodded, and her mom looked relieved to hear that. “That’s good,” she murmured softly, the slight worry in her expression fading.
Dad grunted as he settled into a nearby armchair and rubbed his temples. It was clear that he was exhausted from the trip. “Good boy or not, you be careful around him,” he muttered gruffly, eyes narrowing as he regarded you. “Lots of bad things happen to girls out here, especially if they’re too naïve.”
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “You wanted me to find a friend and stop complaining about Texas.” She poured tea. “Sit down, I made lunch.”
They started eating. “Of course, you know I’m used to being alone because of your work,” she said.
Dad paused mid‑bite, his fork hovering over the plate as he stared at you. There was something unreadable in his expression — part frustration, part guilt. “Yeah… we know,” he muttered gruffly before shoving another bite into his mouth.
Mom reached across the table to pat your hand gently. Her fingers were warm and slightly calloused from work. “We didn’t want it like this,” she admitted softly, “…but I’m glad ya got someone to talk to.”
“So… how are things at the base?” SonTeri asked. “How are youre flights, Daddy and youre medical care, Mommy? Everything’s the same as always, military‑style? How’s Dunk?”
Dad and mom exchanged a weary glance before her dad spoke up with a low grumble. “Base is the same as ever,” he said gruffly, stabbing at his eggs. “Long hours, not enough rest, but we get by. And my flights are the same, as are your mom’s shifts.”
Mom chimed in, taking a sip of her tea as she gave her a small smile. “And Dunk’s fine, sweetheart. As usual, he’s a kind and sweet big boy.”
Her dad let out a soft scoff at that, the corner of his lip curling slightly in a small smile. “Yeah, Dunk’s good. Still as sweet as ever,” he said gruffly, his voice holding a hint of fondness.
Her mom nodded in agreement, her expression softening. “That boy’s like sunshine, I swear,” she mused softly. “We could use more like him around here. He brings a bit of brightness to this place.”
“He asked about you,” said her dad with a smile.
“Dad, don’t start,” young girl rolled her eyes. Not a day has gone by that Dad hasn’t tried to matchmake me with his military cadets… especially Dunk - she said.
Her dad’s smirk widened at your reaction, clearly enjoying pushing your buttons. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watched you with a knowing look. “What? Can’t a man ask about his favorite guy?” he drawled gruffly — his tone laced with teasing smugness.
Mom sighed and flicked her husband’s arm lightly before turning to you with an apologetic glance. “Don’t mind him… he just thinks the world of Dunk.”
“We’re just good acquaintances… like friends,” girl said. Her dad snorted at that, shaking his head firmly. “Yeah, that’s how all the best love stories started, darlin’,” he drawled gruffly, his gaze fixated on girl like a hawk.
Her mom rolled her eyes affectionately, reaching over to pat your hand. “Ignore him, sweetheart,” she murmured softly. “If he’s just a friend, then he’s just a friend.”
After a long pause, SonTeri spoke again. “We could hang out… with Dunk… well, if he’s in Texas and I… when he has a day off… if he wants, of course. In Texas, I only know you and him… and also Aerion… but…”
Her dad’s expression brightened at her words, a sly, satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He was clearly pleased that she were finally willing to consider his matchmaking. “Atta girl,” he murmured gruffly.
“That’s my girl.” Her mom offered her a warm, reassuring smile, her eyes softening with a mother’s love. “I’m sure Dunk would love that,” she said softly. “He’s always asking after you.”
“As friends,” SonTeri said. “Just because for some reason, wherever our family goes on your job, Dunk is always there…” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call him later… when I find a connection in this hole…”
They finished eating. “Well, or rest and wash up… I’ll clean up,” doughter got up and cleared the plates. “You need to sleep.”
Her mom smiled at you affectionately. “Yeah, we definitely need some rest.”
Dad let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. He looked older now, the lines on his face more pronounced, weary yet still sharp and strong. “Thanks for the food, darlin’,” he murmured gruffly. “We’ll take a nap for a few hours.”
Girl watched as they both stood up from the table, weary from their journey and the heat. They both hugged her tightly before shuffling off to the guest room to rest.
After finishing cleaning, she went to her room on the second floor. Her parents were asleep. She was drawing something, but… Dunk had been asking about her? That idiot was always so poor… and sweet, she thinks. She turned her head and looked at the cell phone on the bed. 'Dad had brought back the connection for phones from the base today'. She picked up her phone and quietly left the house so as not to wake anyone. It was so hot outside — it was as if Texas had a built‑in yellow filter. She dialed Dunk and tried to get a signal. There was no reception near the house. Maybe… She went up and stood on their wooden fence. It wasn’t very high, only half a meter.
She climbed up onto the fence and tried to hold the phone over her head, desperately searching for a signal. The heat baked through her thin clothes, making her feel even hotter and stickier. “C’mon… c’mon…”
Aerion, standing shirtless in jeans on his porch, lighting a cigarette, saw this scene from afar.
Aerion’s gaze flicked over to her, perched on the fence with her phone raised above her like some kind of bizarre ritual. He watched for a moment, taking a drag off his cigarette and leaning lazily against the porch railing. There was a slight quirk to his lip as he took in the sight of her trying desperately to get a signal.
He slowly approached across the long road with a cigarette in his teeth, his torso red and burnt.
Aerion strolled lazily over to her, his steps slow and easy. There was a slight swagger to his gait, like he owned the whole damn stretch of dirt road. As he got closer, she got a better view of his muscular chest, red from the sun and covered with a light sheen of sweat. His cigarette hung lazily from his lip as he stopped just a few feet away.
He looked at her, one sharp eyebrow raised. “Whatcha doin’ there, huh? Trying to send signals to Mars or somethin’?” He took a lazy drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke towards her.
“I’m catching a connection in blessed Texas,” she said. “Hi.” She greeted him awkwardly, looking up at him and barely keeping her balance. At least the fence was thick so she could stand.
Boy snorted at that, taking another drag before flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. He studied her for a moment — her wobbling balance on the fence, her flushed face from the heat. “Connection? Ain’t no damn signal out here,” he muttered gruffly. “You’re wastin’ yer time.” He raised his head to look at her, but the sun blinded him and he frowned even more. “…Who’re ya callin’, anyway, darlin’?”
“Uhm… Dunk,” she said.
Aerion’s smirk faded — just for a second. His jaw clenched slightly, his grip tightening on the cigarette as he processed that. “Dunk?” he repeated gruffly, his voice lower now. Almost like it was an accusation. He took another drag before exhaling sharply through his nose — his gaze flickering over her face with something unreadable in it. “And why the hell are ya callin’ him from up here?”
“Just… ask how things are and stuff,”, she answers, not looking down yet.
Aerion exhaled a slow, sharp stream of smoke — his expression darkening just slightly. He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette again before taking another drag. “Huh,” he muttered gruffly. “And why not just text like a normal person?” He leaned in closer now, his free hand coming up to brace against the fence beside her as he studied her face with an almost mocking intensity. The heat between them was unbearable — both from Texas’s merciless sun and from something else entirely.
“Well… I don't know” she said. “My parents get along well with him.”
Aerion took another drag of his cigarette, his gaze flickering over her face again before he glanced away — as if looking at her for too long was almost painful.
She got the connection. She was standing on the fence with her legs wide apart so as not to fall, but the legs of her baggy jeans were slightly preventing it. “Hello?” girl said into the phone.
Aerion watched her for a moment as she balanced on the fence like some kind of acrobat. His gaze drifted down to her legs — wide apart, almost indecent in a way — before quickly snapping back up. He huffed softly in irritation. “Damn, darlin’. You’re gonna fall on your ass like that.”
“Hi, Dunk,” she said, busy on the phone and unable to hear Aerion.
She listened to his boyish but low voice on the speaker, almost puppy‑like — as if he had been guarding the phone for these two days.
Dunk: “Uhm, hi! Teri!”
Aerion stiffened as he heard Dunk’s voice — too damn sweet, too soft. Like the boy was waiting for her to call. He scowled and leaned in closer, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “Tell that idiot I said hi,” he muttered gruffly under his breath — almost like a challenge. His eyes burned with something sharp and possessive as they locked onto hers.
“Um… Aerion says hi,” she said into the phone. “Our neighbor, you don’t know him.”
Aerion’s scowl deepened at her words, his grip tightening on the fence as he heard Dunk’s confused response through the phone. His jaw was practically grinding now — like he wanted to yell something but knew that would ruin this little moment for her. “Tch.” He flicked ash off his cigarette with a sharp jerk of his wrist.
Dunk sounded flustered: “O‑Oh! Tell him… tell him I said hi back!”
Aerion stiffened as Dunk’s voice crackled through the speaker — too damn soft, too damn eager. He leaned in closer, his jaw tightening. “Tell that idiot to stop waitin’ for ya calls,” he muttered gruffly under his breath — just loud enough for her to hear. There was something possessive in the way he looked at her now… like he wanted to snatch the phone right out of her hand and hang up on Dunk himself.
“What? I’m not going to say that,” she whispered, covering the speaker with her hand. “How are you doing at the base? My parents had a good trip, by the way.” She returned to the call. Aerion put out his cigarette with his pointed boot and lit a second one, not taking his eyes off her, frowning — and it wasn’t clear why. Or maybe he had been born this way.
Dunk’s voice crackled through the speaker again — that damn too‑soft, too‑excited tone that made Aerion want to throw his cigarette at her.
Dunk: “Oh, that’s great! I’m doing well.”
Aerion let out a scoff. That stupid idiot was probably pacing in his room, phone in hand, waiting for her call like a damn puppy. It was pathetic.
“Dad said you were asking about me?” she said, for some reason slightly regretting it and embarrassedly pursing her lips. Dunk is probably like a tomato right now, she thought.
There was a slight pause on the other end, as if Dunk was caught off guard by her question, and suddenly a soft laugh crackled through the speaker. Dunk: “Uhm… yeah, I was.”
That soft, almost bashful tone was even more annoying to Aerion right now. His jaw tightened, and he took a deep drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the hot southern evening air.
“So?” she prompted.
Dunk: “Uh… I was just wondering how you’re doing, that’s all.” He sounded a little flustered — like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out or something. Aerion couldn’t help but let out another scoff. He watched her as she talked to him — the way her face lit up, the little smile on her face, the way the setting sun caught her hair.
Dunk: “And… I wanted to say I miss you…” he added, his voice so soft it almost got lost in the static.
“Oh, Dunk… I thought about you sometimes too,” she said, said honestly, honestly to her childhood friend.
Aerion stiffened as she said that — his gaze flickered to her face, something flashing in his eyes that was almost like resentment. He took a long drag of his cigarette and stepped closer to her — closer than before — as he listened to Dunk’s reply through the phone.
Dunk: “Really?” There was an almost hopeful tone in his soft voice, like a puppy excited to be praised… and Aerion wanted to throw up.
“Yeah, I… I thought you had a day off?” she said. “We could hang out… Well, that’s what my dad decided, you know… Although it’s almost a two‑hour drive from the base… You don’t have to.”
Aerion’s grip on the cigarette tightened, his jaw clenching hard enough that she could practically hear his teeth grinding. His eyes burned into hers — sharp and demanding. “Tell him no,” he said, raising his head and exhaling smoke through his nose.
Dunk: “Oh! I‑I’d love to! Just… let me talk to my CO first.” His voice was too damn eager — like he’d been waiting for this invitation forever. Aerion scowled deeply at that, looking like he wanted nothing more than to take her phone and throw it in the shredder… or at the head of this unknown Dunk.
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Call me later then, okay?” She smiled slightly. She was balancing, but the fence wobbled and she spread her legs even wider, almost tripping on her baggy jeans.
Aerion’s gaze darted down to her legs again — wide apart, almost indecent in this setting. He was distracted by the sight, something dark and possessive flickering in his gaze as he watched her, as if he could just reach out and touch her. The thought pissed him off even more.
Dunk: “Okay, I’ll call you back later.” That soft, boyish voice was still too damn excited for Aerion’s liking.
“Well then, see you later?” she said, squinting from the sun.
Aerion’s grip on the fence tightened — his knuckles turning white as he watched her say her goodbyes. He could already picture Dunk rushing to his CO like an overeager puppy, and it made him want to punch something. “Yeah, see ya later,” he muttered gruffly under his breath — almost mocking.
Dunk’s voice crackled one last time through the speaker.
Dunk: “Bye! I’ll call soon. Promise!” And then there was silence again… just the two of them and that stupid Texas heat pressing in from all sides.
She turned off the phone with a smile. Dunk is a fool… like a puppy, she laughed inside. And then the fence suddenly tilted, and she fell with a small cry, landing on her feet but still falling to her knees. Her phone flew out of her hands onto the ground, causing a small crack.
While she had been grinning at her phone, Aerion calmly took one last drag, tossed the cigarette aside, and stubbed it out with the heel of his boot. The sun blazed down on his torso and bare arms. While she, like a dumb slut, was chatting with that dumb guy, he things, Aerion walked closer to the fence and kicked it hard, causing it to stagger. She fell, landing on her feet, but still tripped and fell to her knees again… 'what a loser. At least she didn’t break her neck'.
Aerion slowly and relaxedly ran to the other side of the fence. “Gods, are you okay?” he played the worry very sincerely.
“Yes, I… lost my balance,” she said, standing up and shaking off her jeans.
A light smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he assessed her, taking a moment to appreciate her flustered and slightly disheveled state. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah, I saw that, sweetheart,” he said, his tone bordering on mocking. “You were too focused on talkin’ to that fool, huh?”
She, not understanding the real reason for the fall, just stood there. Aerion bent down and kindly handed her the phone. “Thank you,” she said.
Aerion’s smirk widened as he straightened up, towering over her. His eyes flickered with something dark — almost smug. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered gruffly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want ya to trip again… especially not when you’re so damn distracted by that idiot.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took a step back — still watching her like a predator sizing up prey.
“There’s a scratch left,” she said quietly, stroking the screen. “My knees hurt.”
Aerion’s gaze dropped to the scratch on her phone, and for a second, he looked almost disappointed that it hadn’t shattered completely. But then his eyes flicked back up to her — her bruised knees — and something in his expression shifted. “Shoulda been more careful,” he said with fake worry.
She bent down and lifted the legs of her baggy jeans up to her knees. There were some light scratches, nothing serious.
Aerion’s gaze lightened as he watched her lift the hem of her jeans — exposing those slender legs and those small scrapes that looked almost too damn innocent. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he commented gruffly, as if he was trying too hard to sound nonchalant.
“What’s yer date with that little pilot?” Aerion asked suspiciously calmly, narrowing his eyes.
“What? Date?” She was still preoccupied with her scratches, so the question caught her off guard. She pulled down the legs of her jeans and straightened up slightly.
Aerion’s gaze sharpened as she reacted to his question, like he could sense her surprise. He took a small step closer, his expression calculating. “Yeah, your date with that dumb pilot,” he said, his tone still calm but with an undertone of something else — almost possessive. “You guys makin’ plans or somethin’?”
“This is not a date,” she said, clarifying for him, or for yourself?
Aerion scoffed softly, his gaze never leaving hers. There was something dark and sharp in his expression, as if he was struggling to control it. “Then what is it, darlin’?” he asked, his voice gruff but oddly soft at the same time. “Just some friendly hangin’ out?”
“Well, yeah,” she stood awkwardly. “Just like you and me.”
Aerion’s eye twitched at that, his jaw tightening as he took another step closer — towering over her now. “Me and you? Same as you and him?” He looked almost insulted by that — like the very thought of being in the same category as that idiot annoyed him.
“Are you mad or something?” she said. “I’m sorry I’ll be busy today…” She looked at him. “Don’t you have work?”
Aerion’s gaze darkened as she mentioned his work. He took another step closer, invading her personal space. “I ain’t mad…” he muttered gruffly, his eyes narrowing as if he was struggling to control something. “I’m just wonderin’ why you’d rather hang out with that damn fool than me.”
“Dunk is my friend too… he’s not a fool,” she said, not attaching any importance to his closeness. “You’re upset, right?” She raised the corners of her eyebrows. “Dunk and I rarely communicate at all, but you and me see each other almost every day… I’m stuck here.”
Aerion’s jaw clenched — hard. He stared at her like he wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in his throat. His hands flexed slightly at his sides before curling into fists. “Stuck?” he repeated lowly, almost as if testing the word on his tongue. “Yeah… I guess ya are.” He took a sharp breath through his nose and stepped back finally — but there was still something restless in him now… something that didn’t settle easily with her dismissal of him compared to Dunk.
His gaze flicked over her face again as if looking for some kind of weakness in her expression. “So… you’d rather spend time with that fool just ’cause he’s convenient? Rather than hang out with me?” He almost hissed the word and took another step closer, like he was fighting the urge to either grab her or shove her against something — he wasn’t really sure himself.
She frowned in confusion. Is Aerion angry? He probably doesn’t like Dunk… “I…” Then her phone rang.
Aerion’s gaze hardened even further as her phone rang, his jaw clenching like he was holding back a storm inside. He watched her expression keenly, waiting for her next move. “Go on… answer it,” he muttered gruffly, even though it was clear he was not at all happy about it.
Dunk’s voice crackled through the speaker — too damn eager, too soft. Aerion hated it.
Dunk: “Teri! I got approved for leave! Can we hang out soon?” Aerion’s expression darkened instantly. His hand twitched like he wanted to snatch the phone from her and throw it into a ditch. “Tell him no,” he growled under his breath — low enough that only she heard him, but loud enough that there was no mistaking the command in his tone.
“Why?” she looked at Aerion in confusion, whispering away from the speaker so Dunk couldn’t hear.
“Yes, I think we can today,” she just returned to the conversation, not intending to listen to Aerion. Why is he so angry today?, she think. “Will you come to our house?”
Aerion’s eyes narrowed to thin slits as she responded to Dunk. He could see the way she ignored his command — intentionally — and it made his blood boil. But he had to bite his tongue. He would look even more insane if he tried to snatch the phone away right now. And then he heard that bastard’s response.
Dunk: “Yeah, sure! I’ll be there in an hour or so.” Aerion’s jaw clenched again as the words left Dunk’s mouth… like he was fighting the overwhelming urge to do something really stupid.
Aerion could barely control himself as the conversation went on — the way Dunk agreed so readily, the eagerness in his stupid voice. It was making him want to smash something. But he took a deep, shaky breath and tried to compose himself as best he could. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, struggling to keep his tone even. It was taking every ounce of his self‑control to not grab the phone out of her hands and tell Dunk to stay the hell away.
She turned off her phone and looked at Aerion. It was as if the gears were spinning in his head, and suddenly, as if he had switched on, his face became deceptively calm. With his signature dragon smirk. He lit a third cigarette, taking it out of his back pocket, squeezing it tightly in his fingers, as well as his jaw. “Fine,” he said, “hang out with your male friends, my 'chaste one'.” He frowned, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes, exhaled smoke onto her face and grinned falsely. “I still need to sort out some things in the barn now.”
Aerion took a deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around him in a way that would look almost poetic if the whole situation wasn’t so damn infuriating. His expression was calm on the surface, but there was a dark gleam in his eyes that betrayed his true feelings. He blew the smoke out in a long, lazy exhale as he spoke, the words like soft poison in the hot air. “You do that, darlin’. Spend your time with your little friends. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
“So, you’re okay?” she asked cautiously. 'Why did this situation even piss him off? But everything seems fine now… he’s even smiling'.
Aerion gave a sharp, almost sarcastic laugh at her question — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. His smile was so fake it was painful. “Yeah, darlin’. I’m just peachy,” he drawled, his tone almost mockingly cheerful. “Never felt better.” He took another quick puff on his cigarette, his gaze never leaving her face — watching her like a hawk to see if she would buy his bullshit… She believed that he had calmed down.
“Good… you are so good, Aerion,” she smiled slightly. “Good luck to you in the barn.”
Aerion’s smirk faltered for a split second at her words — her stupid, naive belief that he was fine. It made his chest burn with something hot and sharp. But then he schooled his expression back into that lazy, cocky grin. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he muttered gruffly. “I’ll need it.” He watched her turn to leave for a moment before taking one last drag of the cigarette and flicking it onto the dirt road below him. The ember died in the dust as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off toward the barn — his posture too stiff to be relaxed… too tense to be anything but dangerous right now.
She headed home to prepare for Dunk’s arrival; her parents were still asleep at home. She walked across their lawn while Aerion slouched back to his own territory. She had no idea he had something planned for their get‑together with Dunk.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 4: The Broken Tractor.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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Her parents’ second day at the base. Daytime in Texas wasn’t as scary as night. She got up and had breakfast. June, as always, melted everything around. The heat was unbearable; she was sweating even from just cooking. Memories of last night’s “movie night” with Aerion haunted her. It had been even fun and cozy… before his questions about guys and before he started getting angry. She shook her head. It was just a neighbor… with whom she might try to befriend… who knew. She looked at the window above the sink — a large Targaryen farm in the distance… It wasn’t that early now; she had gotten up late. Aerion had probably been working for a long time… well, never mind. She sat down to breakfast… alone… as always.
The day outside was hot — almost oppressively so. The sun beat down, and the air felt heavy with humidity. It was the kind of weather that made even standing feel like a chore. Aerion had been awake for hours already — out in the heat, working the farm that his family owned. His shirt was already soaked through with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. The muscles on his back rippled with every movement, glistening with sweat in the sunlight. He paused for a moment, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His gaze flicked over the farm — at the acres of cotton, at the barns, at the tractors and tools scattered in the fields. Everything was familiar — a routine he had followed for so many years now, it felt almost like second nature. But as he took another breath, trying to catch his breath in the sticky air, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night… To the moment at her door. The way her body felt close to his, the tension in the air. He gritted his teeth slightly, pushing the images away. He wasn’t the type to get hung up on a girl.
But he kept glancing toward the direction of her house, his jaw tight. The fields stretched between them — too far for him to walk over without a reason, but close enough that he could see the smoke curling from her chimney. He wiped his brow again and muttered under his breath: “Damn girl’s got me thinkin’ stupid shit.” Aerion grabbed a water bottle from the fence post and took a long swig — then hurled it at an empty feed bucket with more force than necessary. It bounced off loudly as he scowled at nothing in particular.
After finishing breakfast and cleaning the house, as per her mom’s protocol, she sat down in her room on the second floor. Gods, what do people do for fun in a hole like Texas… oh yeah… they all work, she thought. She got out of bed to drive away thoughts of her mediocrity compared to the hard‑working farmers. She went down to the couch to watch TV and lie down. It was unbearably stuffy… but she decided to force herself to get used to Texas… even if she didn’t love it, as an artist she could find aesthetics and inspiration here. Putting on a turquoise top, baggy jeans, and a weird Panama hat, she left their huge house. And Gods… it was like hell here. She leisurely walked along the edge of the path from their house. There wasn’t a soul around — it was like she was in a post‑apocalypse, but God had been cruel and thrown her into Texas instead of New York. Except that she could hear the sounds of metal and cattle in the distance… the Targaryens.
Aerion was out in the fields, working on fixing a tractor that wouldn’t start. It was hot — hotter than hell — and he was covered in sweat, grease, and dirt. As he pulled his wrench out from the engine, he looked up and saw her walking down the path. He paused for a second, watching her from a distance, his gaze sharp and alert. He had been on the farm all morning, and the sight of her felt almost out of place — like something from another world.
She was very far from their fields, walking leisurely, looking for something on the ground, not even noticing the tractor. Aerion watched her for a few more seconds, trying to figure out what the hell she was even doing. Eventually, he huffed and pushed himself out from underneath the tractor, wiping his greasy hands on his pant legs.
“What the hell you doin’ out here, darlin’?” he called out as she got closer. “You ain’t gonna get some fancy photo for your Instagram or some bullshit like that?”
She raised her head from the ground and only now saw the tractor in the Targaryen field and Aerion, all grimy. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t hear him.
“What?” she shouted back. He really was far away. She decided to approach him across the field, careful not to step too hard on the ears of grain.
Aerion watched her approach, his expression almost amused as she tried to navigate the field. He watched her hesitant steps, the way her feet avoided the grain, and let out a low chuckle. “You look like you’re walkin’ on eggshells,” he called out, his voice carrying easily across the field. He straightened up from the tractor as she got closer, crossing his arms and leaning against the machine. “What are you doin’ out here, city girl?” he muttered, his eyes studying her as she approached — taking in her turquoise top and baggy jeans, the way her hat seemed a bit too big for her. Terrible baggy jeans, like a sack of potatoes — an insult to the local Texas skinny, faded jeans. If the locals saw them, they’d eat the poor thing.
“Hi,” she greeted him amiably, wincing in the sun. “I was collecting stones.” She was just saying it; her jeans pockets were filled with stones. She looked at Aerion, sweaty and oily, clutching a wrench in his hands. His hair was stuck to his forehead, and he was also grimacing from the sun — or maybe that was just his usual expression.
Aerion grunted a greeting in response, his gaze flickering over her pockets, packed full of rocks. “Stones, huh?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell are you gonna do with all those?” His expression was a mix of amused and incredulous, like he couldn’t quite understand why a city girl would be wandering around collecting rocks like some sort of Texan magpie.
“Well… I don’t know myself,” she said. “No one knows. They are beautiful.” She said it simply and naively.
Aerion couldn’t help but let out a snort at her response. To him, she was the picture of innocent naivety — walking around in her city girl jeans and talking about stones like they were something special. “Beautiful stones…” he muttered, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “You know there’s lots of rocks in Texas, don’t ya?”
“And you…” She examined the tractor, which hummed heavily as if complaining about a breakdown. “…working, right? Maybe it doesn’t like the June heat either.”
Aerion snorted again, shifting his gaze from her to the tractor. It let out a low grumble, as if echoing his irritation. “Workin’,” he confirmed bluntly, his eyes narrowing at the defiant tractor. “Or tryin’ to, at least. This old thing won’t start. Damn thing hates this heat as much as I do.”
“Are you fixing it?” she asked.
Aerion wiped the grease off his hands onto a rag, then nodded toward the tractor. “Yep. This old thing’s been givin’ me trouble all morning.” He gestured to an exposed part of the engine with his wrench. “Need to check this wire — see if it ain’t fried from sittin’ in this damn heat too long.” His eyes flicked back up at her, studying her face like he was trying to figure out why she was still standing there watching him work.
She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, the stones in her pockets making sounds. Should we discuss last night? Should I leave? Am I bothering him?, girl thinks. She started to feel awkward, deciding to continue the conversation, her eyelids overheated from the sun. Aerion was no longer waiting for her and continued to fidget with something in the hood.
“Does the tractor have a name?” she asked. “Something farm‑related?”
Aerion glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Name?” He snorted. “It’s a tractor. Ain’t no need to name it. It ain’t a damn horse.” He turned back to the tractor, his hands working expertly over the engine. Despite his brusque answer, there was a certain affection in his voice — like this tractor might be the closest thing to a pet that he had out here.
“But… he’s so old…” she said. “He probably existed even before you were born… I think he needs a name.” She liked to keep up a conversation. Usually she liked being alone, but for some reason it was especially boring in Texas to be home alone. And Aerion, he was… dangerous? She thought he was attractive… although she couldn’t take her eyes off his bare arms covered in sweat, oil, and dirt. God, forgive me… I didn’t mean to, the girl thinks feverishly.
“How do you just call him… ‘tractor’?” She fidgeted with the cross on her neck — an old habit, usually when she thought about things like… like Aerion… all of Aerion.
Aerion let out a low huff, half‑amused, half‑irritated by her insistence on giving the tractor a name. He didn’t even look at her as he answered, his hands still working over the engine. “Can’t just go ’round namein’ every piece of machinery that comes through here,” he muttered gruffly. “Besides, he ain’t old — he’s just… experienced.”
She was still standing there while he worked, with stones in her pocket. She felt like an unemployed loser. 'Should Ileave?'
“Am I bothering you?” she asked him point‑blank.
Aerion glanced up from the engine, his gaze flickering over her. He looked her up and down, taking in her city‑girl jeans, stones in pocket, and the way she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Botherin’ me?” he muttered, his voice gruff and gravelly. “Nah. Ain’t like you’re doin’ anythin’ important anyway, just standin’ there like a lost puppy.”
“What should I do then?” she asked, a little nervously.
Aerion shrugged, his fingers deftly turning a screw in the engine. The motion was so natural — almost absentminded. He had clearly done this a thousand times before. “Hell if I know,” he muttered, not bothering to look up at her. “Just can’t figure why you’re just standin’ there like a damn fool. Not helpin’. Not leavin’. What are you waitin’ on?”
“I… I think it’s not good to distract a worker,” she said. My parents would scold me… especially if I stare at him - girl thinks. “Sorry… I’ll probably go… continue what I’m doing.”
Aerion’s grip on the wrench tightened slightly at her words — like he hadn’t expected her to actually leave. “Yeah, sure. Go collect more damn rocks,” he muttered, his voice rough but lacking its usual edge. He still didn’t look up as she turned to go — his jaw clenched just a fraction tighter than before. The tractor groaned again under his hands like it sensed something too.
“Or…” For some reason she opened her mouth. “Maybe I get you some water? Are you dehydrated?” She looked at the sweat on his forehead and the stuck hair, his bare hands were sweaty. Something still didn’t let her leave his company. And Aerion was somehow irritated by her decision to leave. It was strange, although he himself had clearly made it clear that she was just an eyesore.
Aerion finally lifted his head at that — his gaze sharp, like he was surprised she even offered. His brow was slick with sweat, and his shirt clung to him in a way that made it hard to ignore just how much heat he had been working in. “Water?” he repeated gruffly. Then, after a beat: “Yeah. Sure.” He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead again — more out of habit than necessity now — and gave her a slow once‑over. “You ain’t gonna run off halfway there though?”
“Do you think I’ll leave you?” She chuckled slightly, looking down at the yellow grass beneath her feet — sunburned.
Aerion’s lip quirked up in a faint, almost reluctant smile. He leaned back against the tractor, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made his muscles even more pronounced in the intense heat. “Can’t blame me for wonderin’,” he muttered. “You city folk ain’t exactly known for your follow‑through.”
“Should I go to my house or… to yours?” Well, logically, their house is closer. I went far from mine in search of stones. But I’m kind of afraid to go there in search of water - she reflects.
Aerion’s gaze flicked up, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips. The tractor behind him gave another loud groan, as if it, too, was invested in the direction this conversation was going. “My place is closer,” he muttered after a moment — his gaze locked onto her face like he was watching her for a reaction.
“I’ll… go get some water,” she said, smiling awkwardly, pursing her lips. “Is anyone home? Mr. Targaryen, Egg?…” 'or maybe his older brother, whom my mother and I didn’t see on the day we met our neighbors.' - she thinks.
Aerion’s smirk deepened at all her questions. He leaned back farther against the tractor, crossing his arms over his chest — his muscles tensing and rippling from the movement. “Nah, ain’t nobody there. Old man’s out runnin’ errands, and Egg’s somewhere in the barn doin’ gods know what. Nobody’ll see you if you stop by.”
“I’ll be there soon.” She headed to his house while he continued to fix the tractor. She had only been to his house once, that day when her mom and she had brought them a pie as an introduction. Then she had been only in their kitchen. Well, now that was all she needed.
Aerion watched her go for a moment — his gaze lingering over her form as she left. There was a slight crease between his eyebrows, like he was trying to make sense of her, of himself, of this entire situation. The tractor behind him let out another loud groan, its engine still not cooperating. “Damn piece of junk,” he muttered under his breath.
She entered through the back door of their old but sturdy house. Inside it was the same as the last time she had been here: a Texas house with a smell of wood and… corn? She looked up above the kitchen door — 'oh yes, that stuffed deer head again. Gods, it’s just as scary as the last time'. Once inside, she found a glass and filled it with water from the faucet — very cold. They didn’t have a filter like she had at home. The house was indeed empty.
She was about to leave with her glass when she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head. The red color stood out against the background of the kitchen interior. Is it… a red barrel? She knew that in the South, especially in Texas, it was normal; her dad was a military man, and they had been almost the only ones with a gun in their apartment in Minnesota. But she approached it, staring at the barrel. It seemed to beckon her… it had a different quality, maybe because of its color… maybe because it belonged to Aerion. If it was just lying in the kitchen, did that mean it was frequently used? Egg, the little boy, could come in at any time… it was dangerous. She stretched out her unoccupied hand toward the barrel… but she didn’t touch it; her hand hung in the air. And yet she touched it. It was hot, almost scorching, from being exposed to the sun… but the feeling… it was like she was touching Aerion himself… his skin… just like he had touched her last night. She quickly removed her hand. God forgive me for the thoughts that crossed my mind; I don’t think I have control over them. Aerion is… just a neighbor boy… my supposed friend - thoughts ran through her head, like repentance for sins.
She quickly left the kitchen and their house. She walked through the field to the distant silhouettes of the tractor and the boy. And yet… why is it red? Very, very bright red… almost… blood red. She approached Aerion and handed him a glass of cold water.
Aerion paused for a moment in his work as she approached, his gaze flickering from the tractor to her face as he noted the water in her hand. He took the glass with a gruff nod of thanks, his calloused fingers brushing over hers briefly in the exchange — the touch almost casual, but still somehow deliberate. He guzzled the water down in a few gulps, wiping the sweat from his forehead as the heat seemed to intensify even more. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gruff and slightly breathless.
She looked at him while he drank. Greedily. His Adam’s apple felt like it was about to fly out of his throat. She took the glass from him. From the touch of his fingers, hers were slightly stained with oil. She was still thinking about the red barrel… what do local guys do with their own personal guns… shoot at poor ducks? Or at cans? Could Aerion do that?
She watched as he returned to the tractor. “Doesn’t give in?” she asked, breaking the awkward — maybe for her alone — silence.
Aerion’s grip tightened on the wrench as he leaned over the engine again — his jaw clenching slightly at her question. The tractor groaned in protest, its parts still refusing to cooperate. “Nah,” he muttered gruffly, not looking up at her. “Just needs a little more… persuadin’.” His hands moved with rough efficiency — adjusting bolts and wires like he was wrestling something stubborn. But there was an edge to his movements now, almost restless. “You got somethin’ else to do? Or you just gonna stand there starin’?” He asked without looking at her, still with his back turned and rummaging around in the tractor.
“You don’t want this, don’t want me to stay?” she asked naively, still holding the empty glass in her hand, wiping the drops of oil from Aerion’s fingers onto her jeans.
Aerion stopped mid‑motion, his back stiffening slightly at her words. He didn’t turn around — just kept his face half‑hidden in the tractor’s engine. “Didn’t say that,” he muttered gruffly, like the admission was being pulled out of him against his will. He finally straightened up a little and glanced at her over his shoulder — his gaze sharp but unreadable. His voice dropped lower when he spoke again: “Ain’t exactly chasin’ you off.” But then he got that dragon grin again. “Wait here… such a hot cutie… maybe the tractor will start working from overexcitement… well, if not the tractor, then I will,” he said with a cheeky and nasty wink, turning back to the tractor.
She frowned slightly at his words but still decided to stay. She sat down on the dry, burnt grass next to the tractor while Aerion puffed away at the repairs. She lightly squeezed the empty glass in her hand. Maybe it’s the hellish heat, or maybe Texas… or maybe his pointy boots… but she don’t mind his company… even if he just made a nasty, Southern, patriarchal ‘joke’ about her.
Aerion chuckled softly at her frown but kept his attention on the stubborn tractor. His fingers worked tirelessly, tightening bolts, adjusting wires and cables. The machine groaned and clanked in protest as he forced it to yield — but little by little, it started to comply. The air filled with the sound of the old engine sputtering back to life. Even though he was focused on his work, he couldn’t help but steal a few sidelong glances at her from time to time. His gaze was less guarded now, but still intense — like he was studying her.
And suddenly the tractor hummed louder and shook. “Did it start working?” she asked with admiration, sitting on the ground.
Aerion let out a sharp, triumphant laugh as the tractor finally roared to life — the engine sputtering and growling like an old beast being forced back into service. “Damn right it did,” he muttered with smug satisfaction, wiping his grease‑streaked hands on his already dirty jeans. He glanced down at her sitting in the scorched grass — her face alight with admiration. His smirk sharpened just slightly at that look of wonderment on her face. The sound of machinery filled the air as he tested it for a moment before turning fully toward her. “Ain’t nothin’ city girls can fix,” he teased gruffly, “but I reckon ya got pretty eyes when ya watch me work. Even if you lil fool, yah.”
“What?” she asked, confused, while Aerion collected his tools in a box.
“Why are you still holding it?” he said, leaning over and taking the empty glass from her hands. He headed to the nearest small shed to put his things away, and she stayed by the tractor. It hummed and shook; she was a little scared, and she moved away from it slightly.
He came back. Aerion stepped out of the shed, tossing a rag over his shoulder with an effortless flick. He was still covered in sweat and grease, but there was something almost predatory in the way he moved — like he knew exactly how much space he took up when walking toward her. He stopped just inches away from her, towering over where she sat. His gaze dropped to her face for a long moment before speaking: “Scared?” he asked lowly — his voice rough and teasing all at once. “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of… unless ya got somethin’ else on that pretty little mind. I’m not going to run you over with him… not you, nah.” He was close now — enough that she could almost feel the heat radiating off his body. And yet there was something strangely hypnotic about his closeness. His gaze remained fixed on her as he added almost casually: “I might have a better idea than just watchin’ me work, if you still feel like stickin’ around.”
She got up from the ground, now standing in front of him. But she still had to raise her head. “Right? So what?” she asked with interest.
Aerion’s smirk deepened as she stood, his gaze dragging over her face — lingering on the way she had to tilt her head up just to meet his eyes. “Right,” he repeated gruffly, taking a slow step closer. His hands were still grease‑stained from fixing the tractor, and he didn’t bother wiping them clean before reaching out toward her. His fingers brushed against her chin — light but deliberate — tilting it upward so he could look at her better. “I was thinkin’…” he started lowly, “… maybe we could go for a ride.”
“Okay?” she frowned slightly, not understanding his actions. But for some reason she didn’t pull away from him. For some reason his strong fingers felt good… even if they had smeared her chin with oil.
Aerion noticed the tiny frown on her face, but he didn’t remove his fingers. Instead, he slowly dragged the pad of his thumb over the streak of oil on her chin. “Good,” he muttered gruffly, his gaze drifting to her lips — almost like he was distracted by them — for just a moment. Then his eyes flickered back up to hers as a sly smirk slowly curved his lips. He moved away and removed his hand, leaving his oily mark on her. He turned and headed toward the tractor. “Ever been on a tractor, city girl?”
She stood there, slightly surprised. Then she wiped her chin. Even without a mirror, she knew the oil hadn’t completely worn off. “No, in Minnesota, only one farmer in the entire town had a tractor.” She stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, but then she decided to follow him. She walked up to him. He was standing there, waiting for her — probably to help her climb in.
As she walked up to him, Aerion smirked again. He took in her hesitant steps before reaching out a hand to her. His hand was still stained with grease, streaked with dirt from working on the tractor. But it didn’t seem to cross his mind to wipe it clean — like the mark of his labor somehow didn’t faze him at all. “C’mere,” he murmured, his low voice tinged with amused condescension. “I’ll help ya up.”
SonTeri hesitated just slightly as she looked at his outstretched hand. There was something in the way he said it — the tone, the rough drawl — that made the act feel a little more personal. He was still watching her expectantly, his expression amused and just a bit arrogant, like she was the one delaying things. After a moment, she took the offered hand. His fingers closed securely around hers, and his grip was firm. He tugged her forward, helping to hoist her up into the tractor cab.
And then she was in the cab, awkwardly sitting on the vinyl seat — her body still warm from the Texas heat. It was a tight fit, and she found herself sitting closer to Aerion than she would have preferred. He climbed in after her, sitting in the driver’s seat, and suddenly the space felt even more crowded. He glanced over at her, his gaze skimming over her form with a hint of that earlier smirk. “Comfortable there, darlin’?” he drawled. His voice was low, teasing.
“It’s quite cozy,” she said. The stones in her pockets made noise; Aerion’s close body made it even hotter.
Aerion’s smirk deepened as he heard the clink of stones in her pockets. His gaze flicked down to where they were stashed before slowly dragging back up — like he was cataloging every little detail about her. “Cozy, huh?” he repeated lowly, his voice rough with amusement. “That ain’t exactly the word I’d use.” He shifted slightly in his seat, deliberately taking up even more space — his arm brushing against hers as he reached for the gearshift. The tractor rumbled beneath them both like a living thing responding to its master’s touch. He shifted again, turning his attention back to the tractor as he steered it forward. It jerked a bit as the gears shifted, the movement causing both of their bodies to lurch closer together. And suddenly his arm was pressed against hers, his bare skin still warm from the heat and now covered in a thin sheen of sweat and grease. The scent of him was almost overwhelming in this close proximity — that subtle combination of sweat and earth and something uniquely Aerion. The air felt even more stifling than before.
The tractor lumbered forward, its old engine growling back to life as the wheels churned through the scorched grass. It was a jolting, bumpy ride, but Aerion guided it easily as the tractor picked up speed, bouncing over the rough terrain on the back roads. The cab was cramped and hot. Their bodies pressed together in the close space, every movement sending another jolt of awareness through her veins — and from the look on Aerion’s face, it wasn’t one‑sided.
Girl sat there awkwardly in the cab. 'Are we friends now? He’s giving me a ride on his tractor. It’s almost like a car… although… in Minnesota, if a guy gave a girl a ride in a fancy car bought by his daddy, it meant they were up to something… No one ever gave me a ride… and no one talked to me either' SonTeri can't stop thinking. “So you… like, you plow the land?” 'Stupid'.
Aerion let out a snort at her question, obviously amused at how little she knew about farming. There was a hint of a smirk on his face. His gaze flicked briefly to her before returning to the path ahead. “Yer a damn city girl, ain’t ya?” he drawled, his voice tinged with teasing condescension. “Yeah, we use the tractor. What’d you think we do, plow the land with our bare hands? Yer rlly stupid, aren’ ya?”
As the tractor bumped and jostled, Aerion’s arm brushed against hers again. This time his hand landed on her knee, as if to keep his balance. The touch was brief but deliberate — and it sent an unexpected shiver up her spine. His fingers were still dirty from earlier, and the grease left a slight mark on her jeans, right on her knee where he touched her. It was somehow such a normal, casual thing — but given the current situation, it just made him seem somehow rougher and more masculine than before.
He removed his hand and went back to driving. She was still staring at the mark he had left on her jeans. 'Did he touch it by accident? Or did he mean to?… God, I’m overthinking it'. “So how long will this last?” she asked, looking up at the endless Targaryen fields around her. From the top of the tractor, it was a beautiful view… even if it was a dump in Texas. Girl smiled slightly to herself.
The tractor ride fell silent then as the vehicle rumbled over the scorched grass. SonTeri was such a chatterbox that she couldn’t sit in the awkward silence inside the stuffy cabin. “My parents are coming home from the base tomorrow,” girl said, just to say something. “Now I won’t be so scared to sleep in the house.” She peered into the distant forest outside the tractor window and thought about whether to speak or not. “Thanks for staying over for movie night last night… and for checking the locks and windows. I wasn’t so scared with… you.” She turned to him. 'Although then he had started asking questions and acting rudely… the first half he had been normal. Although… he only tried to touch her or snuggle… but… all Southerners were like that, right?'
Aerion listened to her words as he piloted the tractor over the bumps and potholes in the field, his expression unreadable. But there was a slight flicker in his gaze as she brought up the previous night — the memory of them lying together on the couch, the TV flickering dimly in the background. He glanced over at her, studying her face for a moment before replying gruffly: “Yeah, well… it ain’t a problem. You’re a real jumpy thing, always afraid of every little sound.”
His gaze was still fixed on the dusty road ahead, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice — as if he had been wanting to broach the subject himself. “So… Your folks are stationed on base, huh?”
“Yes,” she said. “A military pilot and a doctor.”
Aerion let out a low whistle, his grip on the steering wheel tightening just slightly. He kept his eyes forward, but she could practically feel the weight of his gaze as he processed that. “Military pilot and doctor?” he muttered gruffly — almost like it was an insult to him personally. “That explains why ya act all high and mighty.” He shifted in the seat again before adding, “…Guess that makes sense, though. Yer too damn soft for Texas.”
“Soft?” she repeated, bowing his head slightly in confusion.
Aerion cast a sideways glance at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, soft,” he drawled, his voice slightly mocking. “Can’t even handle a tractor ride without complainin’. And ya get all jumpy every time a cricket chirps in the bushes. Yer soft, city girl.”
“Maybe,” she said, she may not deny it, it may be true. She paused. “Daddy said he’ll bring me Wi‑Fi from the base so I don’t get bored… My phone is like a brick right now… it’s only useful for photos.” She continued blabbering.
Aerion snorted at that, his smirk deepening as he glanced over at her. “Wi‑Fi?” he repeated gruffly, shaking his head slightly. “Ain’t no signal out here worth a damn. Yer lucky if ya can get one bar in the middle of town.” He shifted in the seat again — his shoulder brushing against hers briefly as the tractor hit another bump — before adding with a teasing edge: “Guess ya’ll just have to entertain yerself some other way then.”
“Collecting stones?” she offered, raising his eyebrows, with a slight shadow of a smile and inspiration.
Aerion let out a short, sharp laugh at that — his gaze flickering over her with something between amusement and disbelief. “Collectin’ stones?” he repeated gruffly, shaking his head slightly. His smirk deepened as he added: “That the best ya got? Yer lucky I ain’t throwin’ ya off this tractor for bein’ this damn dull.” He said it as if he was serious, but who knew.
Aerion navigated the tractor over the rough terrain, his gaze flickering from the road to her every now and then. Something about his expression had changed now — it was as if he was lost in thought, his mind drifting off to something else. He remained quiet for a moment before finally breaking the silence with a gruff voice: “Ya said yer old man’s a military pilot, right? And Dunk too?”
“What?” she asked, as if he hadn't heard from the hum of the engine, or was simply surprised that the guy was asking about Dunk.
Aerion turned his head to look at her directly now — his gaze searching, his expression turning almost serious. There was a hint of something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. “Did I stutter?” he grumbled gruffly.
“No…” she said. “What does Dunk have to do with it?” She shouldn’t have started a conversation about the base… 'it seemed Aerion didn’t like Dunk… or liked him, since he asked about him. Maybe he wanted to be friends with him?'
Aerion remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her face — as if he was trying to assess something in her expression. “I asked you a question.”
“No, he’s not a pilot,” she suddenly answered quickly.
Aerion arched an eyebrow at her hasty response, his gaze flickering over her again. There was a hint of skepticism in his expression — like he was trying to decide if she was telling the truth. “Hm,” he muttered gruffly. “No? What does he do then?”
“He’s nineteen,” she said. “He’s still too young for a contract… he’s still a cadet.”
Aerion grunted at that, his jaw clenching slightly. There was a hint of irritation in his voice now. “Too young, huh?” he muttered gruffly. “But they let him strut around in that pretty uniform and all. I bet that gets the girls all hot and bothered.”
“Don’t know,” she said, trying to read Aerion's mood from his profile as he drives the tractor.
Aerion let out a sharp, humorless laugh at that — his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he kept his eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah? Well, I guess ya won’t be knowin’ then,” he muttered gruffly. There was something bitter in his tone now. He shifted slightly in the seat again before adding with a smirk: “But if you were real curious… maybe I could show ya what military boys are really like.”
She frowned slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?” The July sun beat down mercilessly on her head; even her Panama hat didn’t save her.
Aerion’s smirk deepened at her confusion, his gaze flickering over her — taking in the way the sun gleamed on her skin, the way her frown creased her forehead. He let out a soft scoff at her question. “Yer really that damn naive, huh?” he muttered gruffly. “Do I gotta spell it out for ya? Military boys know how to have a good time, that’s what I mean. Do ya know what those shitty military boys do with fool girls?”
He turned his head to look at her now, his gaze drifting down her body in a slow, almost deliberate motion. There was something like hunger in the way he looked at her — like he was picturing things that he wouldn’t say out loud. “They show ’em a real good time,” he muttered gruffly, his voice dropping lower — almost as if he was talking to himself.
“I’m not interested about that… about them funny times,” she said, trying to sound ironcladly convincing “And… Dunk is not like them too.”
Aerion stiffened slightly at her words, his grip tightening on the steering wheel again. His jaw clenched visibly as he processed that. “Dunk ain’t like them, huh?” he repeated gruffly — his voice laced with something bitter and mocking. “And what makes ya so damn sure of that?” There was a sharp edge to his tone now — like he was genuinely curious about why she would defend Dunk. Like it personally offended him.
“I’ve known him for a long time,” she said, tapping his fingers on his knees, either from nerves or from awkwardness.
Aerion’s frown deepened at that, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over at her. It was like her words struck a nerve with him — he looked almost… jealous. “Long time, huh?” he muttered gruffly. He shifted in the seat again — his arm brushing against hers — before adding: “And in all that time… you’re tellin’ me Dunk ain’t ever done anythin’ with a girl?” He paused. “With you?”
“Wha—” she started.
Aerion didn’t let her finish. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as he turned to look at her fully — his gaze sharp and unreadable. “Yer really gonna stand there and tell me that boy ain’t ever put a hand on ya?” he muttered gruffly, his voice laced with disbelief. There was something in the way he said it — like it genuinely bothered him. Like Dunk having touched her was some kind of personal offense to him.
“What do you mean? Like touching? Well, yeah… that happens between people…” She started speaking...
Aerion snorted and shook his head at that, his expression somewhere between disbelief and frustration. He muttered gruffly: “No, not like that.” He grumbled, his voice almost angry now. “I mean like touchin’ ya. Touchin’ your body. Touchin’ ya in ways a man ain’t supposed to touch a girl, ‘ceptin’ his wife.”
“What?” She suddenly understood and blushed deeply, like a pomegranate on dark skin. If you didn't know the context of the conversation, you could attribute it to the sun and heat. “No… God… he respects my daddy… and… Dunk, he’s naive…” she subconsciously protects him, remembering that silly face of the boy with whom she sat in the garden, playing with worms.
Aerion’s smirk faded slightly as he watched her reaction — the way she flushed, the sudden tension in her body. He let out a low chuckle at that. “Naive?” he repeated gruffly, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah? Well… maybe ya just ain’t been around enough to know when a man wants somethin’.” He leaned back in the seat again — his gaze lingering on her for another moment before adding with an edge of mockery: “… Or maybe yer daddy taught ya real good how to keep yer legs closed.”
She turned her body slightly towards him in shock at his words and frowned slightly with indignation. The stones in her pockets rustled. “Why are you telling me such things? And why did you again… again… start talking about Dunk?” the girl asks, almost sincerely, almost expecting an answer, why is he treating her like this. Her lips pouted, and her black eyebrows furrowed, either from incomprehension or from resentment, but definitely not from anger, not yet.
Aerion snorted and glanced over at her, his gaze flickering over her face before returning to the road ahead. “I’m tellin’ ya because you’re so damn clueless. You got no idea how the world works. Dunk, and all them other boys… they ain’t like what ya think they are.” He paused for a moment, his grip tensing again on the steering wheel. “And I bring up Dunk… because I know he’s just like all the other guys.”
“So what does it mean for you?” she asked.
Aerion’s smirk sharpened at her question — his gaze flickering over her with something unreadable in his expression. He kept the tractor moving steadily, but there was a tension in the way he held himself now. “Means I know what men want,” he muttered gruffly. “And it ain’t never about respectin’ daddies or bein’ naive.” He glanced at her again before adding: “…But maybe ya just like bein’ clueless. Makes things easier, don’t it?”
She frowned slightly and turned her head towards the window. “How much longer do we have to plow the land?” she asks, making it clear that she is running away from the conversation and she wants to get out of here.
Aerion snorted at her avoidance and resentment, his gaze lingering on her turned face before focusing back on the plowed fields. “Not much longer. Sun’s startin’ to set.” He kept the tractor moving steadily, the tires bouncing over the bumps on the terrain. The air was still stiflingly hot, but a slight coolness was starting to creep in as daylight faded.
They continued driving in silence. She was still not happy with Aerion’s previous topic and looked out the window. Aerion drove the tractor steadily, his focus on the road ahead. The silence between them was almost stifling now — only the sound of the tractor engine and the rustle of the wheels on the ground. Despite the tension, however, Aerion occasionally glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His gaze swept over her face, taking in her expression — the slight frown on her brow, the way she looked out the window. He was clearly not satisfied with the shift in mood. He shifted in the seat again, the tractor bouncing over a bump.
While the girl sat sulking, Aerion realized he had been harsh. 'He didn’t give a real fuck, but this stupid sheep was offended, so he needed to pretend he was sorry… maybe apologize.'
His gaze flicked over her as she continued to sulk, the frown on her face clear in his peripheral vision. He let out a soft scoff, his voice low and gruff. “Yer really still mad about that? I was just tellin’ ya the truth. Dunk ain’t what ya think he is. None of them boys are.” He paused for a moment before reluctantly adding: “…But I guess I shouldn’t’a said it like that.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he said hoarsely, taking a long look at her.
He wasn’t sincere. He was used to quick apologies. With all the local girls, he had… lost his temper… insulted them… hit them… called them a whore during sex? Just “sorry” and his pretty face, and everyone forgave him. Seeing how she finally turned around and looked like she believed him, he just fought not to smirk and roll his eyes. 'Stupid idiot… brain like a sheep… but with a face like that, you can get used to it'.
“Are you really apologizing?” SonTeri looked at him with almost disbelief, but the hope in her eyes outweighs everything. He pouted his plump lips. His hair was stuck to his forehead from sweat, and his eyebrows were pitifully raised. He looked almost… cute?, she thinks.
Aerion’s face did something complicated at her question — his pout twisting into a scowl for half a second before he forced it back into something softer, more contrite. His sweat‑damp hair stuck to his forehead like he had been wrestling livestock all day. “Yeah,” he muttered gruffly, though the way his jaw clenched betrayed him. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He shifted in the seat again — deliberately nudging her shoulder with his as if to punctuate the point. The tractor bounced over another bump just then, forcing them closer.
“Yes… I… forgive you,” she said, pursing her lips and looking down awkwardly. Maybe she doesn't fully believe him, or maybe she's very understanding, maybe she wants to believe and forgive? For some reason, she still wants him to be with her.
Aerion’s smirk flickered for just a second — like he couldn’t quite believe how easy this was. But then his face smoothed back into something almost tender, the kind of expression that made it seem like he actually meant it. “Good,” he murmured gruffly, reaching over to pat her knee — his thumb brushing against the fabric in a way that felt too deliberate to be casual. “Knew ya weren’t really holdin’ a grudge.” The tractor rolled onward, dust kicking up behind them as Aerion finally eased up on the steering wheel… content with having won this round.
She looked at her knee; 'now there were even more oily burn marks… but his hand had been nice? And he had immediately apologized… so he was still good'. “Aerion…” she started, looking at her knees, as if her eyes were stuck. “Do you… do you think we can be friends?” She raised her head and looked at him, studying its sharp features. 'Maybe with a friend like that, life in the backwater of Texas won’t be so terrible?' she thinks with an almost hopeless justification for continuing to communicate with this boy next door.
Aerion paused at her question — his gaze raking over her. There was something almost mocking in the way he regarded her, like he almost wanted to laugh in her face or tease her for asking such a stupid question. But he stopped himself — forcing on a small, almost genuine smile instead, like he was actually trying for her sake. “Course we can, darlin’,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle. “Reckon we can be the best of friends.”She smiled slightly.
“That’s good… I’ll tell my parents when they arrive.”, girl purses her lips, biting her inner cheek, and tries to smile, she doesn’t know why.
And so they stayed together on the tractor until evening, until it got late and they said goodbye. Aerion went to do some work; his father and younger brother returned. She went to her place to clean the house and get ready for her parents’ arrival tomorrow.
Aerion drove the tractor back to the barn, feeling both relieved and annoyed. Being stuck in that stuffy cab with her for hours had been… interesting. He unloaded the tractor and headed out to finish up the rest of the evening chores before the sun set, his mind still occupied.
Aerion finished up the remaining chores as night fell on the ranch, his mind still preoccupied. The sky was dark and the air quiet, save for the crickets and the occasional coyote in the distance. There was a tension to the air, an almost palpable stillness. He could still remember how she had looked at him earlier in the tractor — her soft voice and innocent eyes. Such a contrast from the women he usually spent his time with. For some reason, he kept thinking about the way her shoulder had brushed up against his.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic.``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 3: Movie Night.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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She stepped inside, cleaned up, cooked dinner, and sat alone. A movie flickered on the cable service her father had arranged—an attempt at normalcy. She had always been solitary, but in an apartment with neighbors just beyond the wall, loneliness never felt so vast. Here, in the belly of Texas, the silence wrapped around her like a second skin.
Outside, evening smothered the ranch in darkness, broken only by the hoot of an owl or the distant cry of a coyote. The old house settled into the soft Texas heat with creaks and groans, as if whispering secrets to the night. She tried to focus on the film, but then—a light knock at the door.
The door creaked open. Aerion stood there, still in that dusty shirt, his hair tousled as if he'd been running his hands through it. He hesitated on the threshold.
"Movie's loud," he muttered. "Heard it from halfway across the yard."
No real annoyance—just an excuse. His eyes flicked over her, then past her shoulder.
"Really?" she said. The TV was barely audible even in the hallway, but she was stupid enough to believe him. Behind Aerion, the night was pitch black. No streetlights, only stars. Fresh air blew in, but he smelled only of sweat, cigarettes, and some rough Texas cologne. "Sorry," she added.
Aerion exhaled—almost a laugh. He leaned against the doorframe like he belonged there.
"Nah, I lied," he admitted with a shrug. "Just thought you might be bored." His gaze cut to the TV, then back to her—sharp, assessing.
"Well, almost," she said.
His smirk deepened. "Almost," he repeated, low. He pushed off the frame and stepped inside—uninvited but not unwelcome. "You watchin' this junk all alone?"
She was surprised by his nerve. But she was alone… at night… in Texas. Maybe she could tolerate his terrible manners. "Do you want to join? Or do you need to work?"
Aerion quirked an eyebrow—almost surprised she'd ask. He glanced around, debating, then stepped fully inside. "Naw, I'm done for the day. I reckon I can spare a minute or two." He moved closer, towering over her—dirty, sweaty, smelling of Texas heat. "Move over."
"Um… take off your boots." We are still home-rules for our asian family - she thinks.
He looked down at his dusty boots as if he'd forgotten them. He grunted, kicked them aside. "Happy?" Still towering, but now in socks.
"Come inside and sit on the sofa." She was hosting a guest like her mother taught her… but a guy… at night… well, her parents left her alone. "Do you want to eat? There are leftovers. I cooked."
His eyebrows rose again—polite, this one. He moved to the sofa, sinking down and sprawling like he owned the place. "Leftovers, eh?" He mulled it over, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm hungry." A sidelong glance, lazy and intense. "You made it yourself?"
"Yes, of course." She went to the kitchen and brought food to the table: macaroni and cheese with chicken, a bottle of strong lemonade—apparently only in Texas—no Coke, and a small teapot with oriental floral patterns. Night in Texas was scarier than an apartment in Minnesota.
Aerion sat up, eyeing the spread with curiosity and skepticism. He watched her with lazy intensity. "Scariest thing 'bout nighttime in Texas is havin' to listen to the cows mopin' all night," he muttered, half‑joking. Then a smirk.
"And here I was thinkin' the Avengers was supposed to make things less scary." She chuckled, pouring tea. Aerion attacked his plate without warming it, lounging. The movie played on—just the beginning.
He ate like a man who'd worked all day: quick, rough, no manners. He chewed loudly, watching the screen from the corner of his eye. "Tch. Superheroes," he muttered between bites. "They don't do shit in Texas." An edge to it—not quite mocking, but close. He grabbed another forkful, then paused. "You really watch this junk?"
"I'm a fan." She settled into the couch, sipping tea. Having a guest wasn't so bad; it distracted from the murderers and maniacs of the Texas night.
Aerion grunted, still eating like a race. "Fan, eh?" He watched the action and explosions with skepticism. "Ain't nothin' real 'bout those 'superheroes.' Just flashy lights and fancy costumes." Another obnoxious bite. "You got a thing for guys in spandex and capes?"
"I don't watch it for the men. I just like the action.", she protests slightly.
He arched an eyebrow, amused. "So the spandex ain't doin' nothin' for ya, huh? You just like explosions and lasers. Not the pretty boys in tight clothes."
"So you don't like them? Even Scarlett Johansson?", she tilts her head to the side, trying to find something in common.
He scoffed, almost offended. "Nah, they're a buncha idiots playin' dress‑up, savin' the world like that's somethin' people can do. All flash, no substance." He paused, then slid a glance at her. "Scarlett Johansson's somethin' else, though. She can save me anytime."
She laughed. "Oh my god, it's horrible…"
He flashed a lopsided grin—proud he'd made her laugh. "Hey, I'm just bein' honest, darlin'. You tellin' me you ain't got a soft spot for the Black Widow?" He watched Scarlett Johansson's figure in black leather with an appreciative eye. "Damn, I ain't complainin' about that outfit."
They sat together. Aerion devoured everything she brought. The movie continued. Owls called from the street. He leaned back, plate empty, watching with boredom and mild interest.
"How the hell do they get into those tight‑ass suits anyway?" he grumbled. An owl's mournful call drifted through the open window.
"Damn birds." He stretched like a cat, one hand on the back of the couch behind her.
His cologne—something rugged and masculine—drifted over her. He glanced sideways. "You never get scared out here? All alone in the middle of nowhere with all the damn noises?" He nodded toward the window where the owl still hooted. In the distance, a coyote answered. He turned back to the screen—to Scarlett Johansson. "Like that's not even a real outfit. You'd freeze your goddamn tits off."
"It's scarier here than in Minnesota," she said quietly. "How do you sleep at night?"
He grunted, almost amused. "I'm a Texan, darlin'. We ain't scared of nothin'." A pause, another sidelong glance. "You afraid of a couple animals and the dark, eh?"
"Alone in the house… yes.", she admits nervously but honestly.
He studied her for a second, expression unreadable. Then a slow exhale through his nose. "Nah," he said gruffly, "ain't right to leave ya like that." He leaned forward. "I'll walk ya through the house real quick. Check all the locks and shit."
She watched him stand—smooth, measured, a wall of muscle and sweat and Texas heat. "C'mon," he muttered, tilting his chin toward the hallway. "Let's get it over with. No use sittin' here gettin' worked up about coyotes and owls." He started down the hall, boots thunking. Over his shoulder: "Keep the TV on."
She got up. "Well, Dad said everything should be fine before my parents left for the base… if anything happens, they said to call the base and Dunk will come check…"
Aerion grunted as he checked the front door. Locks in place—not that he expected otherwise. "Your dad seems like the type to know what he's doin'." He moved to the other doors, checked windows, eyes scanning the darkness outside. Then a sidelong glance. "Dunk, huh?" Skepticism, maybe annoyance. He looked back out the window.
His expression darkened at the mention of Dunk—jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. A low, humorless chuckle. "Oh, that guy. Yeah. I reckon he'd come runnin'. Military boys always do." Bitter, sharp, unspoken. He turned back to her. "You want him to come check on ya?"
"Well… you're still closer, right?", she suddenly says, without expecting it. Is this a hint? Or a simple fact of existence?
He arched an eyebrow—a taunting smirk. "Yeah. I am. Closer and faster." His eyes met hers, sharp and assessing, daring her to say something else about Dunk.
"It's so nice to have good neighbors, right?", she tries to get back into the role-playing game, nervous that she has suddenly crossed a line, the line of her parents and her cross.
His smirk deepened into a full grin. He leaned back against the window frame, shadows making him more imposing. "Neighbors, eh? That what we're callin' it?" Mock‑innocence, but the edge was clear. Lazy intensity, like a predator watching prey. "I guess we're 'neighbors' then."
"So what now?" she asked. Should we finish the movie? Or is it time for him to go? Will he stay? My first lonely night in this huge house.. I'm desperate- thoughts run through her head a little feverishly, she would like him to stay, but can she afford such courage against her parents' rules?
Aerion studied her, weighing options. Then a slow exhale, pushing off the frame. "Movie's still on, and I ain't in no hurry." He nodded toward the couch—the unspoken offer hanging between them like a riddle. His expression remained unreadable, but the way he lingered said: if you want me to stay, all you gotta do is ask.
"The Avengers sequel had recently come out. Will the film end and you leave? Or... or you want stay for the second part?", she's trying to hint, but she doesn't want to be alone on a scary night, or... she doesn't want him to leave?
Aerion's eyebrow quirked. "You plannin' on watchin' the whole damn thing?" He sauntered back to the couch, not waiting for an answer—as if it was already decided. He flopped down, sprawling like a king, and nodded at the screen. "Might as well see how this stupid thing ends."
They understood each other's hints. Stay a little longer.
"I have popcorn," she said with some satisfaction, unable to hide a small smile.Then girl brought the popcorn and sat down. SonTeri didn't notice how he'd moved, arms spread over the back of the couch. She was engrossed in the movie — a «stupid» fan.
Aerion watched her, expression neutral, but something in his shift betrayed him. When she sat, he didn't move his arms from their lazy sprawl. "Popcorn," he muttered, "real gourmet." But when she was distracted, his eyes flicked to her profile—just a second too long. His smirk sharper into something unreadable as he leaned back.
The movie played on—action, jokes, special effects. Aerion made the occasional snarky comment but mostly watched. His arms stayed spread; now and then his fingers brushed her arm or hair, so light it could pass for accidental. Almost like he didn't notice.
As the movie progressed, tension thickened in the room—subtle, almost imperceptible. The air felt heavier, charged. The sounds of Texas night drifted through the open window: a distant cow, an owl, mingling with the film. Aerion made his proximity feel both casual and possessive. The way he leaned, half‑sprawled, felt intentional.
Young girl didn't notice, captivated. "Tony Stark is about to catch a bomb, yeah.", she pointed at the screen, so absorbed she didn't think of spoilers. He rolled his eyes. She'd gotten used to the smell of cigarettes and cologne, didn't think about his dirty clothes staining the couch.
Aerion smirked at her enthusiasm—her attention so full on the movie that she didn't notice how close he sat, his leg pressed lightly against hers.
"Yeah, the rich dude in the flashy suit. Typical Hollywood bullshit." A challenge in his voice, daring her to defend it. But his eyes were on her.
She felt warmth and didn't suspect why. "Don't you like it?" girl asked suddenly at the ending. She turned her head and only then noticed his body sprawled, his legs spread and touching hers, his fingers playing with her hair. 'What should I do? Is this a move from movies? Or normal for southerners? I heard they're uninhibited.' - girl thinks with worry. She felt the heat from the cross on her neck and tried to move away discreetly.
His hand didn't disappear. "If you want, we can skip the second part… We can watch another movie…"
'But I'm not kicking him out. I'm offering another movie—planning his presence for two more hours', but she doesn’t reject it, for some reason for herself it doesn’t, she doesn’t know what to do, but she needs this, this feeling.
Aerion's fingers stilled for a second—just long enough to let her know he noticed. His smirk was slow, deliberate, his gaze flicking to where their legs pressed together. His hand tightened slightly in her hair—an unspoken claim. "You got anythin' else? Or we stickin' with this superhero nonsense?"
"Dad got cable from the base… you can choose anything." She tried to ignore his fingers. 'Normal for Southerners. Mom says try to fit in.' - the girl tries to calm herself down, or at least convince herself. "Do you like art house?" 'Stupid question. Of course a rough‑and‑tumble farmer loves art house—which even your urban parents didn't understand.', girl thinks.
Aerion snorted—loud, disbelieving. "Art house? The hell is that? Some pretentious crap where nobody talks and everything's black and white?" His fingers tangled in her hair—not rough, not gentle, like he owned the place. "Nah. We're stickin' to somethin' I can actually understand."
"Comedy?", she raises her eyebrows asking, her cheek twitching nervously once from the movement of his leg.
He considered, fingers twisting idly. Finally, a low huff. "Comedies, I can deal with. As long as they ain't too sappy."
"Sappy isn't funny." She turned on a random Jim Carrey comedy. "Um… I think we need more popcorn." She took the empty bowl and got up, heading to the kitchen. Just to avoid his touch. How did she not notice this before? Maybe it's friendly. She told her dad she'd rather be friends with a farmer than with his military. She guess there's nothing wrong with that?
Aerion watched her get up—eyes tracking like a hawk. His smirk faltered for a split second, then he schooled his expression back to cool indifference. His fingers flexed on the couch back. "Yeah. Popcorn sounds good."
While she was in the kitchen, Aerion shifted, tension barely noticeable. He leaned back, arms still sprawled, but his gaze sharper. He watched the screen without seeing it.
When she returned with fresh popcorn, he looked up. "Took ya long enough." His tone gruff, with an undercurrent. He reached for the bowl without looking away.
"Were you lonely?" She smiled awkwardly, jokingly, then sat down a little farther than before and turned to the screen. "Jim Carrey is funny."
Aerion snorted softly—agreement and amusement. "Ain't nobody ever accused that guy of not bein' funny." His eyes lingered on her, studying the distance she'd put between them. He toyed with the popcorn bowl, but his gaze was fixed on her. "He's alright. For a comedian."
The room fell into strange silence. Jim Carrey's antics seemed distant compared to the tension. Aerion sprawled as usual, gaze flicking between her and the screen, but the air was different—charged. He looked like he was about to say something, then just took another slow handful of popcorn. When he looked at her, his eyes held a challenge, testing the distance.
"Scootch over," Aerion muttered suddenly, breaking the silence. More command than request, his gaze flicking to where she sat.
She turned slightly, busy with the film. "What?"
His smirk faded a fraction. His eyes narrowed—for a second, he might have growled. "You heard me. Scoot over." Something in his tone made it impossible to ignore—not quite threatening, but close. Like he expected obedience.
Girl frowned in confusion. Did she hear correctly? Or did his accent mix up words? "Um… why? Are you cold?"
Aerion stared, almost incredulous. Like he couldn't believe she'd asked. "No, darlin'. I'm not cold." A hint of irritation. "But you're way over there. Scoot over." An impatient gesture, motioning her closer.
She stared at him. His posture was relaxed, but his jaw was clenched, sharp. He looked handsome. His furrowed eyebrows—always like that, from the sun, when happy, when angry. His piercing blue eyes stared impatiently. She thought… she actually enjoyed sitting with him. It was comfortable. But she'd wanted to be a well‑mannered daughter, so she'd distanced herself. She thought about her cross, her parents. No. It doesn't mean anything, does it? I'm just trying to make friends in this Texas dump. - she thinks. She moved hesitantly toward him. Even from a distance, she could smell his scent. "Why are you giving orders…" she babbled—earnest or jest.
Aerion watched her approach like a hawk with prey. "Orders? Makin' a request, darlin'. Ain't the same as an order." He shifted, his muscular thigh pressing against hers—almost a challenge. The heat from his body was tangible through the jeans. When she was close, he let out a low huff. "Better."
They continued watching. She didn't know what that was… but she'd blame it on southern temperament.
Aerion seemed more relaxed now that she was closer. His arm still stretched over the back, brushing against her more often—almost on purpose. His eyes fixed on the screen, but his gaze flicked to her almost as often. A subtle tension simmered beneath the surface.
The movie played on—laugh tracks, sound effects. But she felt every subtle movement: his arm against her shoulder, his leg pressed closer, the heat of his body like a brand. Every now and then, he reached over her for popcorn, his fingers grazing hers. A lazy possessiveness, like marking territory.
After a while, Aerion asked in a relaxed tone, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. His fingers toyed with her sleeve. "You ever dated anyone, darlin'?" Low, lazy drawl.
She slowly turned. The question stunned her so much she didn't even notice his fingers. "How does this even relate to the movie?" Wincing in confusion.
His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Movie? Nah. Just wondered." His fingers curled into her sleeve—an anchor keeping her in place while he waited.
His smirk deepened, grip tightening. He leaned in a fraction—close enough to feel his warmth. "City boy. Ain't like country boys don't think about this shit too." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "So? You ever had a man touch ya?"
"I…" She awkwardly removed his hand from her shoulder. "No… no, never." For some reason she answered his vulgar questions. But his eyes left her nothing else. "Why?"
Aerion let her push his hand away but didn't retreat—if anything, he leaned closer. His gaze was sharp, almost predatory, locking onto hers. "Never?" He repeated slowly, as if the word tasted strange. His eyes flicked to her lips for a second, then back. "Guess I'm just curious what city boys are missin' out on."
The tension was thick, palpable. His body so close she felt his heat. His hands itched to touch her again. "You ever been kissed before?" The blunt question snapped through the quiet.
"Did Jim Carrey inspire you to ask such questions?", she tries to somehow smooth over the edges of his strange questions.
He scoffed. "Nah, darlin'… just wonderin' why no man's ever touched you yet." He leaned closer, voice dropping lower. "Or kissed you."
She moved away slightly. "This is not something young guys should think about…"
He rolled his eyes, his gaze following her. He sat back with a huff, expression annoyed. "Bullshit. Any young man worth his salt thinks about kissin' a pretty girl like you."
"Thank you?" Awkward, taught by her parents. "But I don't want to talk about it… it's weird, isn't it?"
His gaze flicked back, somewhere between amused and annoyed. His fingers twitched in his lap—wanting to reach for her, but he kept them still. "Weird? You've never been kissed, darlin'. I'd say that's a damn crime."
She leaned back awkwardly on the sofa. She still didn't want to discuss it. Jim Carrey made faces on the screen.
Aerion's gaze narrowed, irritation barely disguised. "Fine. Let's talk about somethin' else then." He turned back to the screen—the movie now just background noise—but his mind was elsewhere. His fingers clenched into fists on his thighs, as if physically holding back.
"What about?" she asked.He exhaled sharply—almost a laugh. "Don't know. Weather? Cattle?" Sarcastic, his eyes still on the screen as if it offended him. His jaw tensed, then he glanced at her again—dark, unreadable. "Or we could just watch the damn movie."
"Are you angry?" she asked innocently, noticing how quickly he changed.
He let out a low, rough sound—frustration and disbelief. "Angry? Nah. Just wonderin' why you keep pullin' away when I ain't done nothin' wrong." His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and intense, waiting for an answer that made sense.
"Sorry?", she says it in a quiet voice, not even knowing why. Is this how she was taught?
His expression didn't soften. If anything, his eyes hardened with a challenge. "You keep pullin' away when I get close." He said it simply, like fact—but with an undercurrent that said he didn't like being pushed away. His fingers curled into the couch cushions.
"It's already quite late… time to sleep.", finally, she speaks, almost confidently, almost with a core inside, with a hint. She doesn't like these questions and conversations. She adjusts her hair, feeling it prick her neck.
Aerion's gaze flicked to the clock, then back. His jaw tightened—fighting some inner struggle. "Late, huh?" Something almost like irritation. But then he slowly pushed himself up—a smooth, powerful movement. His eyes locked onto hers, and he took a deliberate step forward. "I guess it is late."
She walked him to the entrance.
He followed, face neutral but gaze still connected. At the door, he paused—a little too close. Inches away, close enough to touch. His fingers twitched. His voice was gruff, rough with tension. "Guess I'll see you 'round, darlin'."
"See you tomorrow." She pursed her lips awkwardly. "Thanks for the company… you're a… good guest."
He snorted softly, irritation less visible. "Good guest, huh? Ain't often people tell me that." He paused, gaze flicking over her face as if memorizing every detail. His hand lifted slightly—almost wanting to touch—then dropped. "Good night, darlin'."
And then, with a final lingering look, he walked away, boots thudding on gravel as he headed to his pickup. She stood at the door, watching him go. The night was quiet—almost too quiet. But tension still lingered in the air. Aerion's presence, even in absence, seemed to fill the space. An oddly empty feeling—like something missing.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic. ``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 2: The Trip to the Military Base.
(Please read the previous and next chapters in my profile. ♡)
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
They got in the car. Her mom and dad had to go to the base for work, and she was just coming along for a tour. Dad had been making arrangements, and of course, one of his boys would give her a ride on the way home. A cunning plan, Daddy.
Her dad raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension in her voice. He studied her for a second before speaking.“Targaryens? That’s the family that lives next door?” he asked, his tone casual but probing. “Maekar’s a solid man. Hardworking.” A pause, then he added, “Aerion one of his boys?”
There was no accusation in his question—just curiosity mixed with military-grade observational skills.
“Second son,” she said. “Favorite.”
Her dad hmmed in understanding. “Second son, huh? Favorite? That’s usually a recipe for trouble, in my experience.” He glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “He bother you at all?” There was a hint of protectiveness in his voice now.
“No,” she replied. “Our neighbors are good. Only the other two sons were missing…”
Her dad nodded, still studying her—like he was trying to read between the lines. “But this Aerion guy… How’d he seem?” There was something in his tone that said he wasn’t just asking casually. He was still in military mode, and his eyes were sharp.
“Moooom, Daddy, do that again,” she whined.
Her mom sighed loudly, shooting her dad a glare. “SonTeri,” she said firmly, “your father is just trying to look out for you.” She crossed her arms over her chest—the universal mom-sign for no whining. Meanwhile, her dad raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone but didn’t back down. He was still waiting on an answer.
“Model face,” she said in an “artist” voice. “Not for a country bumpkin.”
Her mom laughed softly, shaking her head. She shared an amused look with her dad. “You’ve got an artist’s eye, that’s for sure.” She paused for a second, then added, “Handsome, huh?”
“Why should I go with you to the base?” the girl asked. “You’ll stay there… who will give me a ride later?”
Her dad exchanged a glance with her mom—like they were silently passing the baton of this conversation. “Dunk,” he said.
“Dunk? That two-meter-tall poor guy? No, Daddy.”
Her dad raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk but just barely. “You got something against tall people?”
They arrived at the base. They were checked at the entrance. Then they drove into a large military installation.
The base buzzed with activity. Soldiers in military fatigues moved efficiently through the space, their boots thumping on the concrete. The sounds of drills and helicopters filled the air, the hustle and bustle of army life all around. Her dad drove through the base with a sense of familiarity, navigating the maze‑like layout with ease. He finally parked the car in a designated spot and shut off the engine. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Still think Dunk’s too tall?”
“He grew to 190 cm at sixteen, Dad,” she said. “What kind of genes are these? We Asians look too low next to him.”
Her dad let out a sharp laugh, clearly enjoying this. “Tall genes,” he said with a shrug. “Got ’em from his granddad—big Irish bastard. Six‑foot‑four.” He unbuckled and stepped out of the car, stretching slightly as he glanced back at her. “And yeah, Asians are small compared to some folks here. Not your fault.” A pause. “But Dunk’s not gonna hurt you—if anything, he’ll bend over just to talk to you like an idiot.”
While her parents gave a short tour, they met Dunk, who was cleaning the floor like a new recruit.
Duncan was a newly arrived recruit at the military base in Texas, around twenty years old. He was extremely tall and broad‑shouldered, with long arms and the slightly awkward movements of someone who had grown into his body too fast and never fully got used to it. Under his loose‑fitting uniform he was strong and well built — the kind of guy who could lift heavy crates or push a stalled truck without much effort. His hair was light, sun‑bleached, cut short in a simple military style. His face was open and honest, with the calm, slightly uncertain expression of someone who would rather help than boast. He was very close to her father, a military pilot, and had spent a lot of time around the base growing up. Because of that, he already knew SonTeri — they had crossed paths many times near the hangars, at base family gatherings, or during visits with their parents. Duncan was the kind of person who might awkwardly scratch the back of his neck before speaking — but if someone needed help, he would always be the first to step forward.
Her parents led her through the base, with her dad pausing periodically to exchange nods or brief greetings with other military personnel. They passed by groups of soldiers, some practicing drills, others heading to and from various buildings. The atmosphere was more relaxed here—more like a small city than an army base. Finally, her parents came to a halt in front of a large hangar.
“He’s in there,” her dad said, nodding toward the hangar. “Dunk will take ya home on his way back. You wait here—I’ll go find him.”
She nodded and waited there, glancing around at the activity in the hangar. A few soldiers looked at her curiously—curious about the new face among them. It wasn’t every day that a pretty teenager stood around waiting for someone.
Dunk stopped mid‑swipe, his mop clattering to the floor as he straightened up—towering over her at 190 cm. His face was a mix of surprise and embarrassment, cheeks flushing slightly.
“Uh,” he said intelligently, blinking down at her. “Hey.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck before adding, “Your dad said I’m driving you home?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Dad likes to hustle the new recruits. Hi, long time no see.”
Dunk looked slightly amused at her words. He grinned sheepishly, reaching up to fix his messy blond hair. It was clear he was still getting used to the attention his height commanded. “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” he said with a shrug. “Been a while, eh? Still the shortest though.” His tone was light‑hearted—almost teasing.
“Everyone around you is short,” she laughed a little. “Duncan ‘the Tall.’”
Dunk chuckled sheepishly, his cheeks flushing a shade darker at the nickname. He looked around momentarily before replying with a lopsided grin. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I got lucky in the height department.” He glanced at her, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat. There was a hint of nerves mixed with something else in his expression—something he was trying to hide. “You’ve… grown.”
“Yes, you too,” she said. “You look manly in uniform. How’s the service?”
Dunk’s head ducked slightly at her comment—almost embarrassed at the unexpected compliment. He rubbed the back of his neck again, a nervous gesture. Despite his size, there was something almost bashful about him. “It’s… not bad,” he said finally. “Long days, but the people are cool.” A pause. Then he added, “Thanks. Uniforms make us all look better.” His eyes lingered on her again—studious. Taking her in.
He jolted out of his thoughts, suddenly aware that he had been staring. He snapped to attention, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” He picked up his mop and headed toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. “My truck’s out back. C’mon.”
They got into the service truck and drove out of the secure area. The truck rumbled as it pulled out of the base, leaving behind the controlled chaos of military life. Dunk kept his eyes on the road—mostly—but there were brief glances in her direction when he thought she wouldn’t notice. He cleared his throat awkwardly after a few minutes.
“So… Texas still sucking for you?” he asked, voice rough but not unkind. There was a hint of curiosity under that gruff exterior.
“I hate Texas,” she said.Dunk let out a sharp, surprised laugh—like he hadn’t been expecting that answer. His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That bad?” There was a pause as he glanced at her again—this time longer than before, studying her face like it might tell him something important.
“It’s a hole,” she said.
Dunk flicked his gaze between the road and her, an amused smirk on his lips as he responded. “Hole? That’s a bit harsh.” He shook his head in mock despair before asking, “What’s so bad about it? The state’s got everything—football, barbecue, big hats.”
“Do I look like a white guy with a cowboy hat and a gun in his bosom?”, she said.
That elicited another laugh from Dunk—this one louder and more genuine. He shot her an amused look as he replied with a slight drawl: “You can’t go makin’ generalizations like that. Not everyone in Texas is a redneck, you know.”
“You haven’t been to our town,” she said. “You should have seen them. This is the first time they’ve seen an Asian religious military family.”
Dunk’s laughter subsided, replaced with a knowing grimace. He shook his head, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Damn. Yeah… They’re not exactly the most…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Diverse, are they?”
“Whiter than white light,” she said.
That elicited a snort from Dunk. He was grinning now, the gruff exterior slipping away just a bit. “Whiter than a snowman on a sheet of paper.” He paused, shooting her a sidelong glance. “Must suck tryin’ to fit in.”
“I’m not trying,” she said. “I was alone in Minnesota and I’ll be here. I’m fine… but my parents want me to find friends. Dad is advertising his new recruits again.”
Dunk grimaced sympathetically, nodding slowly as she spoke. There was a glint of understanding in his eyes—a recognition of what it was like to be an outsider. “Parents, always worry. Can be a pain in the ass… but they mean well.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Advertisin’ recruits? Your dad really that desperate?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Didn’t notice? He made you give me a ride on purpose.”
Dunk stiffened slightly—like the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now. He blinked, his grip on the wheel tightening for a second before he forced a chuckle.
“Huh. Guess I walked right into that one.” He rubbed at his jaw, clearly reassessing everything. “So… this is some kinda setup?” His tone was light, but there was something cautious in it too—like he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
“Don’t listen to my father,” she said. “I’ll figure out my life myself… but I was glad to meet you again.”
Dunk exhaled—almost a laugh, but softer. He nodded once, firm. “Yeah. I get that.” A pause as he kept his eyes on the road ahead before adding, “Glad to see you too… even if this was your dad’s idea of matchmakin’ or whatever.” The smirk was back now—lopsided and teasing.
The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment or quiet conversation. There was a subtle comfort in the air, a familiarity from a past friendship. It felt like old times. Eventually, they pulled up outside her house.
Dunk put the truck in park and turned to her, clearing his throat awkwardly. “So… here we are,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. “Home sweet hell.”
She got out of the truck. In the distance, near the Targaryen house, she saw Aerion, who was mending a fence. He definitely saw the military truck. “Thanks, Dunk, for the ride…”
Dunk watched her for a second before nodding. “Uh… Yeah. No problem.” His gaze flicked up—following hers to the Targaryen house. A flicker of something crossed his eyes when he spotted the guy, though it disappeared almost immediately. He looked back at her, hesitating for a brief moment before asking, “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “They’re our only neighbors for a mile. My mom and I met them. She asked them to babysit me. Sucks.”
Dunk frowned, his brow furrowing. “Babysit? You can take care of yourself.” There was a hint of protectiveness in his voice—a subtle tension in his shoulders. He was looking at the Targaryen house again.
“Thanks, Dunk,” she said. “Would you like a drink? It must be hot in the sun with your uniform on.”
Dunk hesitated—his eyes flicking to the Targaryen house one last time before landing back on her. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Uh… Nah, I should probably get back.” He gestured vaguely toward the base with a slight grimace. “Gotta report for duty soon.” A pause. Then he added, “… Rain check?”
“I hope,” she said, smiling slightly. He was a family friend, after all. “Good luck.”
Dunk gave her a small, lopsided grin—almost like he was trying to reassure both of them. “Thanks. I’ll need it.” He nodded once before putting the truck in gear and pulling away. His gaze lingered for just a second too long on the Targaryen house as he drove off. Then, with one last glance at that house, he shifted gears. “Later,” he muttered gruffly.
Aerion was still there—posture relaxed as ever—but his eyes tracked the retreating military truck with narrowed focus.
Aerion watched the military truck disappear down the dirt road, his expression unreadable. The fence he was mending was forgotten for a moment as he leaned back on his heels—sun‑bleached hair catching the fading light. Then, like a switch flipping, that reckless smirk of his reappeared. He pushed to his feet in one fluid motion and started toward her house with long strides.
“Hey,” he called out when he was close enough, “you just ditchin’ me after I spent all day bein’ neighborly?” There was an edge to it—playful but probing too. Like this game between them wasn’t over yet by a long shot.
“Aerion,” she said.
Aerion smirked at the sound of his name—like he already had her right where he wanted her. “That’s me,” he said in that typical Texan drawl. “You been avoidin’ me or somethin’?”“No,” she said. “I… I was at my parents’ base. They made me listen to a tour all day.”Aerion let out a snort of laughter at that. “A tour, eh? Sounds excitin’. Almost as much fun as watchin’ paint dry.” He shook his head wryly, crossing his arms. “And what was that two‑meter‑tall cabinet? Your personal bodyguard in a cool military car?”
“Dunk?” she said.
Aerion rolled his eyes exaggeratedly—like he was already annoyed just hearing the name. “Yeah, Dunk.”
“Family friend,” she said.Aerion’s eyebrow quirked up at that word. “Family friend, eh?” His tone was light—casual even—but there was a sub,tle edge to it. “Y’all close?”“Well… close acquaintances,” she said. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” She paused. “Why?”
Aerion shrugged—almost too casually—but his gaze remained on hers, searching for something. “No reason. Just curious.”
Aerion seemed irritated for some reason. He took out a cigarette and lit it, wincing in the sun and looking somewhere to the side. Now he was wearing a sleeveless T‑shirt and jeans. He trampled the ground with his pointed boots, blowing smoke. She winced a little at the smell. Aerion was all dirty and sweaty from work.
“Were you fixing the fence?” she asked.
Aerion ignored the question, looking at her again. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asked in a slightly mocking tone, but his jaw muscles twitched and he took another drag. “Are you expectin’ a guy from the front or somethin’? Or do you have a thing for the military? Like your lovely daddy?”
“What?” she said.
Aerion exhaled smoke through his nose like an irritated bull, eyes sharp on her. “Don’t play dumb. That towerin’ clown just dropped you off—looked at me like I was some kinda stray dog.” He flicked ash with a rough jerk of his wrist. “So what’s the deal? You collect military boys or somethin’?” There was something under the mocking tone—something almost like jealousy, but he would never admit it. Not even to himself.
“No,” she said. “I’m not… I’m not dating Dunk. If his look offended you… I’m sorry.” They were standing by her lawn. She couldn’t stand the smell of cigarettes, but Aerion was acting weird. “I thought we could be friends.”
Aerion scoffed—more at himself than at her. He stomped on the cigarette and glared off toward the Targaryen house. “I ain’t offended,” he muttered. But there was a tension in his eyes, like he was caught up in his own thoughts. He turned to her again, and the intensity of his gaze seemed to soften a fraction. “You ain’t datin’ then?” His voice was still gruff, but there was less of the edge from before.
“No,” she said. “Are you… mad?” She asked, not knowing why. His tense posture was a little scary, but somehow it was alluring. Maybe this summer in Texas would be more interesting if they became friends. “Daddy wants me to be ‘friends’ with his military guys…” She made air quotes.
Aerion took out a second cigarette and lit it, lowering his head to the lighter, but his eyes didn’t leave her even like that. He took another drag, the nicotine calming his nerves a bit. His eyes were still locked on her, though the edge had faded somewhat. “Mad—nah,” he muttered. “Just curious ’bout the military boys your daddy wants you hangin’ around.”
Aerion took another long drag on the cigarette, watching her through the smoke. “You gonna listen to your old man?” he asked, his voice rough and a little guarded.
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
Aerion studied her for a second—like he was trying to figure out if she was serious. Then, with a short huff of smoke, he grinned. “Good.” He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “Military boys ain’t your type anyway. Too damn serious.” There was something smug in the way he said it—like maybe there was another option that interested him more than those soldiers ever could.
She paused. “You… were working?” she asked, looking at the fence in the distance.
Aerion stubbed out the cigarette and nodded toward the fence. “Yeah. Fence needed fixin’,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders like it was nothing. His face was sweaty, his shirt stained with dirt. He looked every inch the hardworking rancher. Then he gave her a sidelong glance. There was an almost challenging glint in his eyes as he said, “It’s a ranch, darlin’. There’s always work to do. Unless you’re afraid of gettin’ your hands dirty.”
“I need to clean the house too,” she said, standing there awkwardly while he smoked.
Aerion took another drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke up toward the sky. He glanced sidelong at her again. “Cleanin’,” he grumbled. “Sounds real back‑breakin’.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice, but also a trace of something else—almost like he was teasing. He stubbed out the cigarette and turned fully to her. “You like cleanin’?”
“Not really,” she said. “But I turn on ‘true crime’ and listen… you could clean the whole house like that.” She chuckled slightly.
Aerion arched one eyebrow—almost amused by her comment. “True crime, eh? Makes cleanin’ less boring, huh?” He paused for a moment before his eyes flicked up and down her—almost assessing, subtle, almost imperceptible. Then he gave another short huff of smoke. “What’s your favorite murder story?”
“None,” she said. “I hate them all. How can you kill people?”
Aerion gave her a curious look—almost like he hadn’t expected that response. “Hate them all, huh?” His voice was gruff but a little softer than before. “Guessin’ you ain’t into scary movies then neither.” He shrugged his shoulders. “People kill for a lot of reasons. Greed. Anger. Hate. Love. Recklessness.” He said it matter‑of‑factly, but something in his gaze told another story.
She looked at him, and it seemed his eyes were shining when he talked about murders. “Well… I have to go,” she said. “And you too, I guess?”
Aerion’s smirk faded—just slightly. He studied her for a second, like he was debating something. “Yeah,” he muttered eventually, “I got work to do.” But he didn’t move right away. His eyes stayed on hers—sharp and assessing, as if trying to figure out what had just passed between them. “You comin’ back this way soon?”
“I’ll probably see you tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe.”Aerion’s gaze lingered on her for another heartbeat before he nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.” He sounded almost casual, but there was a flicker in his eyes—like maybe he was hoping for it.
And with that, he turned and strode off toward the Targaryen house—a lone, tall figure against the setting sun. The air still smelled faintly of smoke. The sound of his boots on the ground faded as he walked away. The evening was quiet again… but the air felt heavy with the promise of something—of what, she didn’t exactly know yet. But it made the ranch house on the hill seem somehow different; less like a place to sleep and more like the center of an unknown world. Was this what this summer would be like? Time would tell.
•─────⋅☾ ○ ☽⋅─────•
— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)
`` Modern Texas AU (Aerion Targaryen). Southern Gothic. ``
(with fem. OC!)
● Description: She moved to Texas expecting nothing but heat and boredom. What she got was Aerion Targaryen – a shirtless, chain-smoking farm boy with a cruel streak and dead blue eyes. He’s a bully, a liar, and exactly the kind of disaster her religious parents warned her about. But when he looks at her like she’s the only real thing in this godforsaken town, she starts to wonder: is he protecting her or collecting her? What follows is a toxic slow burn – unhealthy, obsessive, and impossible to look away from.
Chapter 1: The Move. First Week.
(Please read the next chapters in my profile. ♡)
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The sun didn't let up. Never did. That heavy, sticky kind of hot that glued your clothes to your skin and left your hair damp at the roots. Aerion couldn't stand it—never could. But he'd learned to live with it by then. Helping out on his old man's fields when there wasn't school, hiding out by the quarry come Sunday instead of sitting through mass, chucking stones at the neighbor's mangy cats from the back porch. The heat was as sure as sunrise. Same as the boredom that came with living in this godforsaken town. He raised hell at school more often than not, but he knew where the line was—just how far he could push before they showed him the door. His daddy'd tan his hide for it, sure. Suspended for busting some kid's lip, talking back to a teacher. Maekar had tried every trick in the book to straighten that boy out. Washing his mouth out with soap, beating the soles of his feet, shearing off his hair, laying into him with a belt. All it ever did was make Aerion dig his heels in deeper.
Then came a scorcher of a day in June, right after he'd walked the stage and got his diploma. Old man Filcher from across the road had keeled over from a heart attack back in October, and the real estate sign on his lawn had vanished about a week ago. The moving truck rolled in seven days after his younger sibling got out of school. Aegon was chasing a garter snake around the front yard. Daddy told Aerion to keep an eye on the little pest, so he did—by turning the garden hose on him. The newcomers settling in across the street were a husband, a wife, and their kid. Aerion almost felt sorry for 'em. Who in their right mind chooses to move to a dump like this? Kid was a girl around his age—easy on the eyes but tiny, an Asian thing with long black hair and big brown eyes. A little cross dangled from her neck, resting just above the curve of her flat chest. He watched 'em from his porch for a good while. Her eyes met his. Then she turned away without a word. He went back inside.
A full week passed before he finally said something to her. She was out in her yard, dressed in cut-off jeans and a pretty purple top patterned with flowers. He ambled over, his boots crunching on the loose gravel.
"Poor thing ain't used to the heat, huh?"
She casually turned her head and looked up, wincing from the sun’s rays and not being able to see his face because of it. She was wearing dirty gloves.
“What?” she said.
She turned around at the noise, putting down the seeds. She saw a guy of average height, about her age, with furrowed brows and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was sweating, and his hair was stuck to his forehead. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a dirt smudge as he squinted at her. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite annoyance.
“Y’hear me fine,” he drawled, “or them gloves stuffed up yer ears too?” His gaze flicked down to her hands—gloved in garden soil—and something dark and amused flashed behind those wrinkled eyes. He took another step closer, gravel crunching under boot heels. Hotter this close; sweat rolled off him onto the dirt between them.
“You ain’t from ’round here,” he said flatly. Not a question. A fact carved out of summer air like bone.
“Yes, I’m… new here. From Minnesota.” She strained her ears slightly, trying to understand the guy’s southern accent. “And you?… Our neighbor?”
“Minnesota,” he repeated, rolling the unfamiliar syllables. He whistled softly through his teeth. “That’s a long way from here, darlin’.” He studied her for a moment.
She looked so out of place here, with her clean, pretty clothes and that little cross on her neck. Too damn soft, too damn sweet.“Daddy and Mommy had to move to Texas for work,” she explained.
He gave a snort at that, the sound somewhere between amusement and disdain. “What kinda job requires moving all the way from Minnesota to here?” He shook his head, his gaze traveling again over her soft, clean clothes.
“Dad is a military pilot at a local base. Mom is a doctor.”
He chuckled at that, the sound rough and dark. “Military and a doctor,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Well, ain’t that just the perfect little family. Bet you lived a real good life in that city, all pretty and comfy.” He eyed her up and down again, a glint of something else in his gaze.
“Well, yeah,” she said.
He leaned even farther back against a nearby tree, tilting his head to the side as he considered her. There was an almost cruel tilt to his mouth now—something in her soft innocence bringing out the darker side of him.
“Bet y’got everything you ever wanted, too,” he sneered. “No problems? No struggles? Pretty princess like you, with daddy’s money and momma’s job. Life handed right to you on a silver platter.”
“My parents work a lot… and I still have to study hard. My parents are religious Asians, which is a combo for horniness.”
That got an honest laugh out of him—a deep, rolling sound that shook his lean shoulders. “Religious Asians,” he repeated, amusement coloring his tone. “So they’re strict, right? Always on your ass about church an’ grades an’ no boys?”
“A little,” she admitted.
He shook his head, a little smirk still playing on his face. He pushed off from the tree and took a step towards her. “A little,” he scoffed. “Bet they’d have a fit if they could see you now. Talking to a strange male across the road. Alone. On a damn Saturday.”
“You are our neighbor,” she said. “Mom wanted to bring you a pie later to celebrate our acquaintance.” She paused. “I saw a little boy with you a few days ago… Do you have a big family?”
He snorted at that. The thought of pie and “celebration” was too damn quaint to take seriously. “The pie thing is a little outdated, ain’t it?” he drawled. He shifted against the tree—a subtle tensing of muscles. “That’s my little brother. Aegon. Pain in the ass.”
“So it’s big… and I’m alone,” she said.He studied her for a long moment, the smirk fading into something unreadable.
His eyes narrowed—just slightly. “Alone?” he repeated, voice low. “No siblings? No brothers to chase snakes ’round the yard with ya?” There was a pause. The air was thick with summer heat and something else—something sharp in his gaze as he took another step closer.
“No,” she said.
He exhaled through his nose, a slow, considering sound. “No,” he echoed. The word sat heavy between them for a second—like he was weighing something in his mind. “Lucky you.” There was no real venom in it; just the usual sharpness laced with something that might almost have been pity if Aerion knew what to do with that kind of feeling.
He finally pushed off from the tree and turned halfway toward her house like he was about to walk away—then stopped. Glanced back at her over his shoulder. “That pie better be good.”
Just then, her parents arrived by car from the local town. They had been going to buy groceries. They pulled up to the curb, the engine cutting out with a shudder. One door opened, and her dad stepped out of the driver’s side. Her mom slid out of the front passenger door. Both of them looked up, taking stock of the neighborhood, their expressions turning curious when they saw her standing in the driveway with her gloves still on.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” her mom called across the yard. “Making friends?”
“I’m planting your flowers,” she replied.
Her mom walked over, dad trailing a few steps behind. She crouched down by the flowerbed to see her daughter’s handiwork. “Looks good, hon.” She smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear. “You’re so good at this.”
Her dad peered over her mom’s shoulder, taking stock of the freshly tilled dirt and planted seeds. “Nice job,” he said with a nod of approval.
“I don’t like Texas… It’s hot… It’s a dump… The rednecks… The internet doesn’t work.”
Her mom let out a laugh at that, while her dad just rolled his eyes. He walked over to stand next to her, resting a broad hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it,” he said with an easy shrug. “And the internet thing… well, that’s just country livin’. Comes with the territory.”
“When does your shift start at the base?” she asked.
Her dad checked his watch, the silver face glinting in the hot sun. “Two hours,” he said gruffly. “Got a briefing on some new fighter specs. Then patrol.” He studied her for a second—her pout, her dirt-streaked gloves—before adding, “You comin’ with me? Or you too busy hatin’ Texas to ride along?”
“Mom said we’re going to bake a pie,” she said. She did not want to go to the base. She hated the base. Because of base, she was stuck here.
Her dad exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. He exchanged a glance with her mom, who was already pulling out her phone to check an oven timer. “Pie it is, then,” her dad said dryly. He nudged her with his elbow—not hard, just enough to make her stumble sideways toward the flowerbed. Her mom shot him a look.
“You want cherry or apple?” her mom asked pointedly.
“Maybe orange?”
Her mom’s eyebrows shot up. Her dad actually laughed out loud. “Orange pie?” he repeated, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well, that’s a new one.” He ruffled her hair—a rare affectionate gesture. Her mom rolled her eyes at the two of them.
“We’ll see what we have,” her mom said. “No promises.”
“Cool.”
Her mom headed back to the car, probably for another grocery run, while her dad slung an arm across her shoulders—half a hug, half a way to guide her back inside. “You can’t keep whining about Texas forever, you know,” he told her as they walked. “You’re gonna have to get used to the heat, and the internet. Maybe even the rednecks.” He squeezed her shoulder.
She shrugged, knowing he was probably right but not wanting to admit it. The screen door creaked as they walked inside—the air-conditioned coolness jarring after the sun’s heat.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, anyway,” her dad threw in casually as he let go of her and headed for the couch.
“Really? What is that?”, girl said in surprise.
He plopped down on the couch, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. “I was talkin’ to one of the guys at the base—another pilot,” he said as he scrolled through channels. “He’s got a couple boys, similar age to you.”
Her ears perked up at that. “And what I should do with them? It isn’t a surprise.”
Her dad flicked off the TV, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He fixed her with a look. “He said his oldest son is about your age. Maybe y’all could hang out, since you’ve been complainin’ about being bored and lonely all day.” His tone was even, but she knew the underlying message in his words: no more whining. Make friends.
“I already have… uh… an acquaintance,” she said. No way. Worse than my father’s military assignments. Military boys from his base. A dirty cowboy would be better - she thinks.
Her dad froze for half a second, then leaned back on the couch with a slow, knowing smirk. “Oh?” he said, too casually—like he had just found out something interesting and was deciding whether to poke at it. “Acquaintance? That ain’t what I called that boy from next door.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the military way of saying I know more than you think.
She frowned slightly. “Don’t make Texas any worse, Daddy,” she said. “I won’t hang out with the military. Don’t look for a groom for me.”
Her dad raised an eyebrow at that—a little surprised by her reaction. He seemed to mull over her words for a second before replying. “I ain’t trying to make things worse, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, his expression softening. “Just tryin’ to help you adjust. It’s a big change, I know that.” He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “The military guys aren’t all bad, you know… Most of them are decent.”
“I will be fine.”, girl frowned slightly, pouting her lips.
He exhaled through his nose—almost a scoff. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Fine?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You were fine in Minnesota. You’re not fine here.” His tone was firm—not angry, just the way he got when he was trying to be patient and failing slightly. “Fine means you don’t complain about everything under the sun for two weeks straight.”
“I’ll try to get used to it.” She rolled her eyes. Maybe Texas’s aesthetic would inspire her to draw - she thinks.
Her dad watched her roll her eyes and exhaled through his nose again, clearly frustrated. He wasn’t used to dealing with teenage girls, much less one as stubborn as this. “Well, tryin’ is better than complainin’, I suppose,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the front door opened and her mom came back, bags of groceries in her arms.
Mom breezed in, already talking before she even set the bags down by the kitchen counter. “Found everything I needed. The oranges look nice this year.”
She looked over at the two of them, taking in the tension in the air. Her gaze flicked from her daughter—arms crossed, leaning against the wall—to her husband, lounging on the couch and still eyeing the girl. “Is everything okay?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes,” she said, coming up to help her mom.
Her mom handed her a grocery bag—still warm from the car. She gave her dad a pointed look, but he just shrugged and reached for his keys. “Gotta get to base,” he muttered, already heading toward the door.
Mom sighed as she watched him leave, then turned back to her daughter with an apologetic smile. The pie filling waited in the fridge—ready for when they finally decided this house felt like home, too.
“This house… is big… not like an apartment in Minnesota… that’s good,” the girl said.
Her mom smiled as she took over unloading the groceries. “It is bigger,” she said, placing a carton of orange juice in the fridge. “More space for you to get settled, paint your nails or…” She trailed off, like she wasn’t quite sure what teenage girls did to occupy their time these days—except complain, apparently.
They started cooking. The kitchen filled with the sound of clinking dishes, the hum of the oven, and the occasional instruction as her mom guided her through the steps of assembling the pie. She was patient, even as the girl’s fingers got covered in flour and she made more of a mess than she was probably helping with.
“Mix a little gentler,” her mom instructed, a smile in her voice. “You’re not making concrete.”
“Dad is talking about his little soldiers again,” the girl muttered.
Her mom let out a small laugh as she added sugar to the mix. “He does get a bit carried away with that,” she admitted, shaking her head slightly. She glanced over at her daughter, a knowing expression in her eyes. “Military men and their boys, am I right?”
They both fell into a comfortable silence as they worked, the kitchen filling with the sweet smell of fresh-baked goods. It was almost soothing—the domestic task a far cry from the earlier tension with her father. Her mom leaned against the counter, taking a minute to just watch her.
“You know,” her mom said suddenly, her voice soft, “your dad’s just worried about you, sweetheart.”
“I never had friends… Why does he think it will be different in Texas?”, girl speaks sincerely, a childish wrinkle appears on her forehead.
Her mom’s expression softened. She took a step closer, placing a hand on her daughter’s arm—the touch gentle and reassuring. “It’s not about here versus there, sweetheart. It’s about trying—it’s about putting yourself out there. Making an effort.” She looked at her daughter, the concern in her gaze clear. “And it starts by being a little less… pessimistic.”
“I am not pessimistic,” the girl said. “I’m making a pie with you.”
Her mom let out a laugh at that—part exasperated, part fond. “True, true.” She gave her daughter’s arm a little squeeze before returning to the pie mix, continuing to stir it. “I just think you’d be happier if you found someone to… you know… socialize with. Make a friend or two.” She glanced up. “Have a boyfriend, even.”
“Ew… Mommy… ew.”, girl winces, as if on purpose, showing her dislike for this whole topic, like a rebellious teenager.
Her reaction made her mom laugh again. “What’s so ‘ew’ about boyfriends?” she teased. “They can be fun, you know.”
Her mom chuckled, watching as she finished adding the orange zest on top of the pie mix. She leaned back, a satisfied look on her face as she surveyed the finished product. “We did good, sweetheart. Nice work.”
“And when are you going to the base? How long will you and Dad be gone?”
Her mom sighed, some of the lightheartedness leaving her expression. She checked her watch and grimaced. “Your dad’s briefing is soon. I should probably get ready.” She looked at her daughter, her gaze apologetic but firm. “We’ll be gone two days. Can you manage on your own?”
“Of course… just like before.” The girl drooped slightly while her mom packed the pie into a plate.
Her mom patted her on the arm, the gesture meant to be reassuring even as she packed the pie away. “We know you can take care of yourself, sweetheart. Still…” She hesitated for a moment, almost as if debating whether to bring up the topic of “friends” again. “Maybe you could find something to… occupy yourself while we’re gone.”
“Why are we taking the pie to our neighbors?” the girl asked. “We’re the new ones… it should be the other way around.”
Her mom rolled her eyes at the logic, but there was a hint of amusement on her face. “Oh sweetheart, don’t be such a stickler for decorum. It’s called neighborly courtesy, you know. And I heard our neighbor Maekar Targaryen is a widower with four sons. And the two eldest are very problematic.” She checked the pie once more, making sure it was presentable. “Besides,” she continued, her tone soft but firm, “it’s a nice thing to do. A gesture to show we’re trying to be part of the community. We want to make a good impression, sweetheart.” She picked up the pie, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting through the air. Her eyes met her daughter’s. “Come with me, yeah? Just to be polite.”
The girl pressed her lips together slightly. Will I see that guy… Aerion? “Okay,” she said.
Her mom smiled at the reluctant agreement, relieved that she wasn’t putting up too much of a fight. “That’s my girl,” she said, slinging a casual arm around her daughter’s shoulders as she guided them toward the front door, pie in hand. “Now let’s go be neighborly.” With that, they stepped out into the Texas heat—the afternoon sun beating down as they made their way across the street.
They saw a two-story house. Simple and old. Shabby. Definitely Texas. The US flag fluttered. Children’s toys were scattered on the lawn. And in the background stretched vast acres of land and a ranch.
Her mom paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the house—a mix of old Texan charm and the remnants of a simpler way of life. The children’s toys on the lawn hinted at a large family, while the acres of land and the ranch visible in the background painted a picture of wide-open spaces. She took a deep breath and led her daughter up the walkway, pie in hand. Each step closer sent a ripple of anticipation through the girl’s gut.
Her mom hesitated for just a second—knuckles hovering over the door before she finally rapped twice against the wood. The sound was loud in the quiet of the porch.
Footsteps approached from inside, slow and deliberate. Then the knob turned.
Aerion stood there, shirtless this time, sweat glistening on his chest as he blinked down at them both with mild surprise. “Ma’am?” he said gruffly to her mother—then spotted the girl behind her and quirked an eyebrow up toward his forehead, like he was already judging this situation wrong on principle alone.
Her mom smiled politely, seemingly unfazed at the sight of a near stranger shirtless on the doorstep, pie still in hand. “Sorry to bother you all,” she said with in a friendly tone. “We’re your new neighbors. I wanted to introduce myself and bring you this.” She held the pie out, as if it somehow made the situation less awkward.
Aerion’s gaze flicked between her mom and the pie for a moment before he stepped back to open the door wider. His expression was unreadable, his gaze lingering on the pie before finally meeting her mom’s again. “That’s real neighborly of you,” he said after a beat, the words delivered in that typical casual Southern drawl. “Come on in.” He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.
The interior of the house was simple—country chic with hints of old Texas. Photos were scattered around the walls, a large Texan flag sitting over the mantel next to a mounted deer’s head.
Her mom stepped inside, glancing around with a mix of curiosity and interest. Her eyes lingered on the photos and the various Texan decorations, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she took in the ambiance. She turned to Aerion, who was still standing by the door—arms crossed over his bare chest. She was trying to be subtle, but there was a gleam of curiosity in her gaze as she took in his appearance.
Then his father appeared. Maekar Targaryen. A tall, broad-shouldered farmer of about forty, with sun-bleached blond hair and a heavy, stubborn gaze. His face was weathered, with hard lines around his mouth—a man more accustomed to work than to talk. He wore an old hat, worn jeans, and boots dusted with the red Texas earth.
Maekar stepped into the room, his presence alone making the air feel heavier. His gaze swept over her mom—then landed on the girl.
Aerion straightened slightly at his father’s arrival, though he didn’t say anything. The tension in the room was palpable—a silent standoff between two different worlds colliding under one roof.
Her mom cleared her throat softly before extending a hand toward Maekar. “I’m SoTeri's mother,” she said with polite firmness. “We just moved in across the street.”
Maekar studied her for a long moment before nodding once—gruff acknowledgment of an introduction made but not quite accepted yet. Meanwhile, Aerion watched from the sidelines, quietly smirking almost imperceptibly, as if entertained by the whole situation unfolding before him.Maekar Targaryen removed his hat and nodded briefly to his new neighbors. “A pilot and a doctor, then…” he said, squinting into the sun. “Good neighbors. One guards the sky, the other repairs men.” He chuckled slightly. “Welcome. The land here is stubborn, but it treats its own fairly.” He smiled faintly. Or was it a snarl?
Her mom seemed pleasantly surprised by Maekar’s comments. “Thank you,” she said, her smile genuine. “We’re happy to be here.” She glanced around the room again, taking in the Texan charm—the mounted deer head, the photos, the worn-in furniture. Her gaze lingered on a picture of a young Aerion—maybe five or six years old, grinning widely as he sat on a horse.
Soon they were sitting at the table, sipping tea and eating pie. Maekar had turned out to be an overly respectable neighbor and wouldn’t let them go without tea. Aerion devoured the pie, still bare-chested, sunburned and pink. Their parents chatted. Maekar’s youngest son, Aegon—or Egg—had joined them, a funny, joyful boy also with fair hair like Aerion. They looked alike, but they didn’t seem to get along at all.
Her mom chatted politely with Maekar, occasionally casting glances over at Aerion and Aegon. The contrast between the two boys was striking—Aerion with his bare chest and defiant attitude, Aegon small and cheerful. Aerion continued to demolish the pie without a word, seemingly oblivious to the conversation around him. Aegon watched him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, though not daring to say anything in front of his father.
Mom and Maekar moved on to discussing child rearing. The girl sat silently, sipping her tea. From time to time, her gaze met either Aerion’s or Aegon’s. Or the bare chest.
Aerion noticed her glances—specifically the ones lingering on his bare chest. He paused mid-bite, pie fork hovering in the air as he locked eyes with her.
There was a beat of silence before Aegon piped up, “Aerion, quit starin’ at her like that.”
Aerion kicked him under the table without looking away from her. “Shut it,” he muttered to his brother before smirking and taking another slow bite of pie—deliberately chewing just to make a point.
Maekar nodded slowly, his voice gravel-deep as he leaned back in his chair. “Discipline,” he said firmly, “that’s the key. Without it, you got nothin’ but trouble.” He eyed Aerion pointedly—who was now wiping pie filling off his chin with the back of his hand—then flicked a glance at Aegon too for good measure.
Aerion scoffed under his breath but didn’t argue. Her mom smiled politely, though there was something guarded behind her expression when she replied: “I think balance is important… Guidance without crushing the spirit.”
Then her mom started talking about her and her dad’s work and how they always disappeared for a few days or a week.
That information caught Maekar’s attention. He sat a little straighter, his gaze sharpening. “Away a few days at a time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “For work, you say?”
Her mom nodded, sipping her tea. “Yes, we’re both busy with our jobs,” she explained matter-of-factly. “So our daughter always stays alone… we worry.”
“No, Mommy, I’m fine,” the girl said. Oh my god, Mom can’t embarrass me for at least one day - the girl thinks.
Her mom’s expression softened slightly, but she still gave her daughter a pointed look—one that said I know what I’m doing. Meanwhile, Maekar studied the situation with quiet intensity before gruffly adding, “Kid’s got sense. If she ain’t causin’ trouble or burnin’ the house down while y’all gone? Let her be.”
Aerion snorted into his tea at that comment, clearly entertained by this family drama unfolding right in front of him.
“So I was hoping you’d keep an eye on my daughter?” her mom continued. “Not closely… just… from a distance.”
Maekar considered the request, studying the girl over his cup of tea. His gaze was assessing but without malice. “Can’t see any harm in that,” he grumbled finally, though there was a glint in his eyes that didn’t quite match his nonchalant tone. “I’ll make sure my boys keep an eye out.”
The tea party continued. “Mom… I don’t need nannies,” the girl whispered quietly to her mother.
Her mom sighed quietly, patting her daughter’s hand under the table. “I know, sweetheart,” she quietly reassured her. “But it’ll put my mind at ease. Please?” She gave her daughter a pleading look—one that was hard to say no to.
The girl just turned away, continuing to drink her tea. While the adults talked, she caught Aerion’s eye. His gaze flicked up from his pie a few times, catching her watching him. His eyes were sharp, and there was a gleam in them that made it clear he was aware of everything going on around him. When their gazes met again, he smirked—the barest twitch of a lip, cocky and confident. It was hard to look away.
Her mom finished her tea and stood, smoothing her skirt. “I suppose we should be heading home,” she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
Maekar rose with a grunt, his gaze still weighing the girl silently. “Thanks for the pie,” he said gruffly. “And the… conversation.”
“Lovely house… Mr. Targaryen,” the girl said, smiling slightly. “And Aegon… and… Aerion.”
Maekar grunted in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He was pleased by her politeness—that much was clear. “Thanks, girl. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Aerion stood too, his chest still bare, a smirk still plastered on his face. His gaze flicked to her again, eyes glinting. “Yeah. Come back any time.”
Her mom nodded, giving her daughter a gentle push toward the door—her version of be polite but not too chatty.
Aerion leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. The smirk was still there. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said, his tone laced with something unreadable.
Aegon bounced on his toes behind him. “Yeah! We got cows to feed and everything!”
Maekar watched them leave with a grunt—half approval, half dismissal. Aerion lingered in the doorway, his smirk lingering as he studied her back. Aegon waved enthusiastically from behind him. “Bye! Come see the cows!”
Her mom smiled politely before steering her daughter toward the car—though not before casting one last glance at Maekar over her shoulder, like she was mentally cataloging potential allies in this new Texas life of theirs.
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— (There will be a continuation. English is not my native language. I don't write fanfiction. This is my first work. I promise it will be better.)