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imintoodeeptostop · 4 months

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something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

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Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

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imintoodeeptostop · 8 months

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"Through One Thousand Worlds and Ten Thousand Lifetimes" Chapter Six: "Last Chance" - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader - FINALE

a/n: catch up on this fic HERE. thank you to everyone who is still here six chapters later! i had so much fun writing and sharing this with you all, your reactions and support have meant the absolute world to me and i adore each and every one of you beautiful beautiful human beans!!!! this part specifically is based on a request from my beloved friend @hopelesswritergall for a bookshop au where reader keeps forgetting things... enjoy my loves❤️

Summary: You start working at the Last Chance Bookstore, finding something you never quite knew that you lost.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, mentions character death, light angst, sexual references

Word Count: 2,920 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/High Life characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

The morning of your first shift at Last Chance Bookstore, you don’t understand it, but you wake up with a feeling that today is going to be the most important day of your life. As you get ready, dressing to impress, you think of the whole reason you applied at this bookshop in the first place - the boy from your dreams. He’s never told you his name, and as you’ve grown older, so has he. He’s beautiful with silvery blond hair, a strong jaw, and a brilliant blue eye, the other replaced with a gorgeous sapphire. You feel as though you know him, as though you’ve known him forever. And for the last few months, in your dreams, he’s just been repeating two words, over and over.

Last chance.

When you passed by Last Chance Bookstore on your way back to your flat from your afternoon classes, it was like something suddenly became very clear to you. The owner was working the till, a sweet older woman, whom you dropped your CV off with and did a quick interview. She absolutely adored you and so hired you on the spot, stating that you could start Monday.

That night, the boy in your dreams had a contented smile on his face, saying that this was the last time he would see you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and faded from your view. As he disappeared, you felt a sense of loss you didn’t quite understand, like something was missing from you.

You settle on a red and black plaid skirt and white v-neck sweater, paired with black stockings and flats, wanting to look studious and professional. This is the best job you could’ve gotten, considering your sweet boss is willing to work around your classes at King’s Landing University, where you’re enrolled in a graduate program to earn your Masters. The shop is only about five blocks from your apartment building, so you grab your purse, nearly forgetting your keys as you do, and head out, ready to face the world.

Aemond Targaryen sits at the counter of Last Chance Bookstore, thumbing through a well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights, his guilty pleasure novel, though he doesn’t feel so guilty about reading it in the cozy shop he works at. He glances at his phone and sees that it’s nearing 10AM, when he’s meant to do his new coworker’s orientation. He hopes they aren’t a complete idiot, he can’t handle that after the last few he’s had to train. He goes back to his book, waiting for the tell-tale sound of the bell hung by the door tinkling to indicate someone has walked in.

When the sound does come, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger before glancing up. And he sees you, standing there, just like a dream. Just like you’ve always looked in his dreams. The girl he’s seen every night for as long as he can remember. His throat goes dry and he doesn’t speak, no doubt coming off as standoffish to you, considering he’s just fucking staring at you. You can’t possibly be the girl from his dreams… Can you?

You look at him as though you’ve seen a ghost before clearing your throat and offering a bright smile and introducing yourself by name (has he ever heard a prettier one?), “A.T. right? I’m supposed to meet you for orientation.”

Aemond clears his throat and nods, coming to his senses, standing up and running a hand through his hair as if to smooth it, “Yes, that’s me. Pleasure to meet you. Your orientation is pretty simple, just follow me to the back.”

You follow him, and he looks at you from the corner of his good eye, smiling as you question, “So, Wuthering Heights? You a hopeless romantic?”

“That would require me to have a love life in the first place,” he jokes, “It’s my favorite novel.”

“Mine too,” you smile brightly.

The sight of your smile, the sway of your hips, it all distracts Aemond. Long enough that he collides with a bookshelf.

Your eyes go wide with concern and Aemond feels utterly humiliated, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, um, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s fine,” he mutters, regaining his composure and looking over at you, gazing into your eyes and feeling completely entranced before he clears his throat, “Right, staff room.”

You frown at him, leaning in, and for a moment, he leans in too, wondering if you’re about to kiss him, “You have a cut on your forehead. Do you have a first aid kit in the back?”

Aemond feels a pang of disappointment at the not kiss, even though he knows he’s being completely delusional, and mumbles, “Yes, we do.”

Fantastic first impression, Aemond. This is why you’ve never had a girlfriend.

You continue following after him and give him a quick smile once you reach the back room and he pulls out the first aid kit, “I can clean that up for you. I was a camp counselor for two summers. This is kinda my jam.”

Aemond smiles at you awkwardly, handing you the kit, “Thanks…”

Is she going to tend to my cut for real? Gods, I hope she does… Fuck, her shampoo smells amazing- GET IT TOGETHER, AEMOND!

You use an alcohol wipe and begin dabbing at his cut, “I’m sorry if this stings,” you offer him your free hand, “You can squeeze my hand if you need.”

“It’s all good-” he cuts himself off when you simply take his hand in your own, so soft and petite in his own, “Thanks.”

Aemond winces and grits his teeth, squeezing your hand gently as the alcohol does its work, the cut smarting slightly.

“Sorry,” you give him a sheepish grin before placing a light gauze on the wound, covering it with a bandaid, “There we go.”

“Thanks for that,” Aemond smiles back at you.

He looks at you for a long moment, noticing the way your skirt hugs your hips, the hint of cleavage he sees with the cut of your sweater, those gorgeous thighs-

For fuck’s sake, Aemond, pull yourself together, you’re not a bitch in heat! This is work, not a hookup. Not that you’d know anything about those either…

He clears his throat yet again and looks at you, “Let’s get your orientation out of the way.”

You nod enthusiastically, “Yep, I’m here, ready to learn. Your padawan,” you visibly cringe at what you just said, “Sorry. That sounded funnier and less lame in my head. I’ll just stop talking.”

She’s too goddamn cute, I can’t deal with this.

Aemond smiles at you, “No, it was funny, don’t worry. I’m basically just going to show you around the store so you get the feel of it.”

And then maybe you and I get a feel for each other- STOP IT.

Aemond explains everything to you, telling you that you’ll mainly be in charge of helping customers find books and working the till for the time being. As the two of you walk back toward the front of the store, he gazes at the way your hips move, the spring in your step, and he has to physically hold himself back from just grabbing you and kissing you.

“So, have you worked retail?” he asks as the two of you stand behind the counter and he shows you how to work the register.

You nod, grinning at him, “I have, I’m not a complete noob, don’t worry.”

Why is she so fucking cute?! GET A GRIP, AEMOND!

“Fantastic, you should be sorted then,” his eye travels to your lips then back up to your eyes, admiring your long lashes, “Have you ever been in this store before?”

He watches as you hesitate before speaking, “Nah, just when I dropped off my CV and interviewed. I usually go to that comic shop down the street that does the release parties for all the fantasy stuff. It’s a problem.”

She’s a nerd too? I’m in love. I am this close to just getting down on one knee-

“I like your shirt,” you compliment, breaking him out of his reverie, “That’s the Hellfire Club one, right? From Stranger Things?”

That’s it. This is my future wife.

Aemond blushes a bit, “Thanks. I’m guessing you’re a fan?”

You nod, “Mhm. One of my favorite shows. I’m a Steve Harrington girl till I die.”

“Steve?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, he’s a great character, but why him?”

“He’s so cute!” you gush absentmindedly as the two of you ring up a client, “Character development, amazing hair, sense of humor, teen dad of six.”

“You make some good points,” Aemond smiles at you, admiring your profile view, “I think Dustin’s my favorite.”

“He’s definitely my favorite out of the kids,” you smile back at him, “Him and Erica.”

Aemond laughs, “I agree entirely. They’re the best.”

He lets you ring up the next customer on your own, watching you with admiration as you chat with them, charming them entirely, yet remaining completely professional. He doesn’t think he can take any more of this.

“You’re doing a great job,” he compliments.

“Thank you,” you chirp happily, “It’s all on you, showing me the ropes.”

“You’re too kind,” he blushes again, “I’m just glad I could help.”

Is she flirting with me? She’s gorgeous AND she’s into me? This day cannot get any better, fuck, I just want to kiss her, hold her hand-

Your hands accidentally touch and all of a sudden, it’s as though the two of you aren’t in the bookshop anymore. You’re in some old castle, or at least, the library of it. You’re dressed in some sort of gown, and he’s in rather regal clothes himself. When you blink, you’re back in the present. You both chalk it up to some sort of weird waking dream, and you head off on your lunch break, wondering what the hell just happened.

Weeks go by and you and Aemond grow closer and closer, developing something akin to a friendship. He often teases you for your forgetfulness, considering you’re always complaining about having forgotten something - your phone, your snacks, your keys - but most often? Your umbrella. Luckily, it’s only been light rain so far and you’ve been able to book it all five blocks home with minimal damage.

Aemond amuses himself by leaving pressed flowers in the pages of the books he knows you read on your break, smiling to himself when he sees the way you light up when you receive them. He leaves sweet little notes from a secret admirer at times too, complimenting your sweet nature, your pretty smile, your enchanting eyes. He doesn’t know why, but the whole thing gives him a strange sense of deja vu. As though he’s done this very same thing before.

Tonight appears to be the night that your luck with your umbrella runs out. It’s pouring rain as the two of you close up the shop. You let out a groan.

“Dammit, I forgot my umbrella!”

“What a surprise,” Aemond drawls, playfully nudging you with his shoulder as he passes by you.

“Shut up,” you laugh before looking outside, “Okay, I’ll make a run for my flat. It’s only five blocks-”

“You’re insane,” Aemond deadpans, “Don’t you dare go running in the rain alone. I have an umbrella. I’ll walk you home tonight.”

“But you live the other way!” you protest.

“I’m not letting you walk home alone,” Aemond’s voice is stern though not unkind.

You sigh, following him outside into the rain, ducking under his umbrella, which you’re seeing for the first time, “Yellow umbrella? That doesn’t seem very you.”

He shrugs, “I saw it and I just had this… Feeling that I should get it. You know what I mean?”

You think back to the day you first walked past the store. When you walked into the store and recognized your coworker as the boy from your dreams.

“Yeah, yeah, I get you.”

“Now, come on, get under here.”

“You’re so bossy,” you protest, linking your arm with his.

“At least I’ll get you home safe and dry,” Aemond retorts.

He glances down at you and it feels as though time stops. His heart is in his throat and all he can think about is his lips on yours. His train of thought is broken when you speak up.

“Fine. But you’re coming up to mine, though. I’ll fix you some tea as a thank you and if it’s raining too much, you can stay in the spare bedroom.”

“Deal,” he smiles at you, hoping the rain gets worse.

The two of you continue walking until, suddenly, a bolt of lightning strikes just in front of you, missing the two of you by mere feet. And at the moment it strikes, all of the memories from every life the two of you have shared come rushing back in a tidal wave. Aemond drops his umbrella, both of you frozen for a moment.

You turn to each other, and you gaze up at him, amazed, “It’s you…”

“My love,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you, “I’ve been waiting for you… For so long.”

You both remember it all. Your past lives, your love story, everything.

You move your hands to rest on Aemond’s face, rain pouring over the both of you, drenching you, “You always felt so familiar to me. The boy from my dreams.”

“My dream girl,” he echoes your sentiments, “I’ve known you for an eternity. Do you remember it all, my darling?”

You nod, “Aemond… Osferth… Tom… Billy… Ettore,” you laugh, “My name always stayed the same.”

As if drawn to each other by some unknown force, Aemond pulls you into a passionate kiss just as you reach for him. You stand there, kissing in the rain, holding each other, never wanting to let go, never able to get enough of each other. Thunder claps overhead, lightning strikes, but none of that matters.

“I never want to let you go again,” Aemond whispers, resting his forehead against yours, “You’re mine and I’m yours. Forever. One thousand worlds…”

“And ten thousand lifetimes,” you whisper back, “I’ve lost you too many times. Not this time. I won’t lose you again.”

“Oh, my love, I’ll never leave you again. I love you,” he says, pulling you close, grabbing his umbrella once again, “Let’s go, I want to get you warm and dry.”

The two of you all but sprint to your apartment. As you fumble for your keys inside your purse, you feel Aemond’s lips on your neck, kissing you, unable to stay away from you.

“Aemond!” you giggle.

“Oh, is someone ticklish? You always were right,” you yelp as he pinches your waist, “Here!”

“You suck,” you burst into laughter, finally opening the door, “Sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”

Aemond pulls you close by the hand, the two of you standing chest to chest as he whispers, “I’d rather kiss you, hold you in my arms, make love to you again.”

You pull him into another kiss before leading him to your bedroom, gently pushing him back onto the mattress and climbing over him, “My love.”

Aemond gazes up at you, kissing you once more, his tongue moving against yours in perfect harmony, flipping the two of you over so you lay back on the bed beneath him. Your clothes are removed in flurry of motion, the two of you seeing each other bare again, every time feeling like the first time. Aemond’s hands move all of your body, mapping out every part of you, committing it to memory once more, and you do the same. You have loved each other for what feels like an eternity, and you’ll love him for as many eternities that come.

“I’ve dreamed about you ever since I can remember,” you say between kisses, “I never understood till now.”

“You waited for me. And I searched for you,” he says, joining your bodies as one, the feeling being so perfectly divine, as though ordained by whatever gods exist, “Through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes. And we’ve found each other. Our love, our bond… It can’t be broken.”

As Aemond’s body moves against you, bringing you to the edge of paradise, you hold him close, kissing him over and over. After the two of you reach your peak, you lay in each other’s arms, kissing, locked in a tight embrace.

“I could kiss you forever,” you smile at him.

“Forever wouldn’t be nearly long enough,” he whispers, his lips finding yours again.

The two of you waste no time moving in together, getting married within the year. Your friends, both of your families, all of them wonder if the two of you have gone crazy. But the only thing crazy about it all is how in love with each other you are.

The two of you live on for many, many years, having children, then grandchildren, living a life full of love, the life that the two of you deserved. You pass on, warm in bed, holding each other, at the ripe age of 100.

When your eyes open, you find yourself in the Seven Heavens, Aemond gazing at you. You take his hand and he pulls you in for a kiss, taking his time with it, holding you close.

After all, the two of you have eternity together now, never to be parted again.

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imintoodeeptostop · 8 months

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All the Ewan Mitchell / Aemond Targaryen behind the scenes moments I could find.

Considering how camera shy this man is irl, I'll take all the Ewan Mitchell crumbs I can get

All rights to HOTD / HBO

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imintoodeeptostop · 8 months

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I don`t think I`ll ever get over Aegon making an additional effort to get to Aemond`s eye level:

There`s a fascinating dynamic here. In the 1st case Aegon is teasing Aemond from the height of his position as the elder brother, 'descending' to Aemond who is taciturn, inexperienced, dragonless. In the 2nd one the elder is pleading with the younger, reaching up for him - fierce, brave, worthy.

But at the same time I don`t think that for Aegon it`s all about 'looking down' v 'looking up'. Him trying to get to the same level as his brother, to get closer to him, is in part the end in itself.

Aemond is the only person whose proximity Aegon seems to search openly, in one form or another, the whole time they`re on screen (here are just a few cases):

Whatever difficulties (to put it mildly) the Targtower brothers have had in their relationship, Aemond is Aegon`s rock, his sword and shield - and Aegon is Aemond`s king, his charge, his beautiful disaster. Aegon knows it, Aemond feels it. They are brothers, Your Honor.

Both Ty/Leo and Tom/Ewan did a marvelous job portraying this complicated yet beautiful relationship and the ineffable bond between the two. So I have one request for the HotD team: Let. The Actors. Act.

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

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SHORT HAIR SUITS YOU – D.T. x FEM!READER

fluff, smut. english isn't my first language 🫶🏻

"Gods be good." You closed the book that was resting on your legs once you saw Daemon entering your chambers. Covered in blood that you prayed to the Seven it wasn't his. You got out of your warm bed, stood on your feet, and approached Daemon. He stepped back when you tried to cup his cheek, that gesture made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Is that blood yours?" You asked while you analyzed his face, looking for any wound or any sign that let you know that he was hurt. His silver hair was soaked in blood, his garment too, but Daemon shook his head, and you let out a sigh of relief. He finally ended the Crabfeader, you were gonna be able to have your husband back. You checked his clothes asking yourself why the hell he didn't wear armor to combat, and why the hell didn't wait for Viserys' men. Your back tensed when you found half of an arrow stuck in his chest, really close to his armpit. Did he fly all the way here with that in there?

"Ser Criston." You walked past your husband, out of your room, and quickly got the knight at your door's attention. "Could you call the maids, please? I need them to run a bath for prince Daemon. Oh, and we will need Grand Maester's assistance as well." The knight nodded, and left.

You got in your chambers again and helped Daemon with his clothes. He was trying to do it by himself but the obvious signs of pain on his face and the hisses escaping his mouth moved you to help your husband. You undid his belt, and Dark Sister fell to your feet from around his waist. Before you helped him to sit down on your bed, you took his trousers off, and you noticed that he had another wound a little below his knee. For the shape of it, you would say that it had been another arrow as well.

"You want to do it yourself?" You asked him. The arrow remaining stuck in his chest needed to be out so could keep undressing him. Daemon shook his head.

"You do it." The prince said, and he bit his lower lip down, closing his eyes. His head rested on your belly as you firmly grabbed the piece of wood. "Take a deep breath." You recommended him and he did as you said. When his lungs were filled with air, you pulled out the arrow. A shiver run down your husband's spine but he didn't complain, not even a groan left his mouth. A little bit of blood came out of his wound, staining your nightgown that was already ruined because of Daemon's hair against the fabric, but you couldn't care less.

As you both waited for the maids to arrive, you stayed in that position as you caressed his long hair. Finally getting some rest after days.

Then you carefully removed every layer of the clothes he was wearing from his body. The maids were already in the room, getting the water ready for the prince. "Oh, Daemon." You swallowed nervously and you could hear a stifled whimper from the maids when you discovered prince Daemon's chest. He had two open wounds, the one the arrow that was stuck in him did, and another one on his lower abdomen. His skin had bruises everywhere, but it was even worse around his wounds. They were covered with dry blood, the colors purple, black and red decorated his white skin, and it didn't look good.

The maids left and it was just you and Daemon in the room. The prince walked naked to the bathtub. The windows of your chambers were getting foggy as the smoke came out of the water. Daemon slid into the bathtub, letting the hot water cover his whole body and feeling all his muscles relax. You grabbed the sponge and you knelt next to the bathtub, dipping the sponge in the water. You felt your hand burning, You could be the wife of a dragon but you were still sensitive to these things. Daemon hissed and you apologized when you started rubbing his chest, careful to not touch his wounds.

"Why didn't you wait for King Viserys' aid?" You rubbed the blood out of his neck and Daemon just looked at you with his eyebrows raised. You pressed your lips together and nodded. No words were needed, but you still thought that it had been a dumb move to not wait, yet you were so proud of your husband for what he just did.

You cleaned his face, his white skin returning to its normal color and then you focused on his hair. It was so long, probably the longest you can remember Daemon having it. You started by undoing his braid and then you asked him to sink his head into the water so you could wash the blood away. He felt in heaven, this was why he did not let himself be killed at the Stepstones. He didn't need titles, he didn't need his brother's aid, he didn't need the Stepstones, he just needed you brushing his hair while humming a song to him. Daemon could die at that moment.

"Your hair is really long. I shall braid it again once your wounds are treated." You kissed one of his temples once you were done with his hair and you stood on your feet. You helped the prince to get out of the bathtub and you moved behind him to cover his body with a towel. His back had big bruises all over it and you could guess it hurt badly when he hissed after the fabric fell on his shoulders You apologized right after and Daemon turned to look at you. His facial expression was soft, his eyes were kind and he looked at you with hope because the night he left for the Stepstones, Daemon thought it would be the last time he would see you. The prince held your chin up between his thumb and index fingers and he attached his lips to yours. His shoulders relaxed and both of his arms traveled down the length of your body to hug it against his while your lips moved together.

"I fucking missed you." Daemon groaned against your lips and you hummed, agreeing with him. Your husband's hands were already working on the back of your dress when the Grand Maester knocked on the door of your chamber. Daemon's kisses moved from your lips to behind your ear. "Don't." He murmured and bit the lobe of your ear, making you whimper. You placed your hand on his abdomen, feeling the blood running down it and meeting your fingers.

"Daemon, you're still bleeding." His kisses on your neck didn't stop because he didn't care about what you were saying. You had to bite your lip down to stop yourself from moaning. "Come in!" You said loud enough for the Grand Maester opened the door right after. Daemon's kisses stopped immediately, his forehead resting on your shoulder, defeated. Your hand went to caress his hair as you giggled at his reaction. Daemon sat on the bed again and took one of your hands between his, playing with your fingers and kissing your knuckles while the old man treated his wounds. If it had been you in Daemon's place, you would have been crying and panicking all the time while the Grand Maester poked at your wounds, trying to find any more pieces of the arrows, cleaning and removing the hard sticky mess that formed on the surface of them. But it was Daemon, and he didn't like to show any weakness or any sign of pain. Sometimes he would squeeze your hands, other times he would hiss, closing his eyes shut and then opening them again, sending deadly glances to the old man. Your kisses on the back of his hand stopped him from picking up Dark Sister from the floor and do only the Gods know what to the maester.

"I'll be right back." You announced him and Daemond let himself fall backward, completely defeated on your bed as he nodded. You accompanied the maester outside of your chambers and closed the door behind you. The Grand Maester told you how to take care of Daemon's wounds and to not allow him to tear out the stitches. He had done it before, thinking that his wounds would heal on their own, and of course they did not. You understood and quickly got back inside your chambers.

You let out a sigh after seeing what your husband was doing.

"I really liked your long hair."

"I liked it as well."

Daemon was in front of your full-length mirror, completely naked and with the Maester's scissors in hand, giving his beautiful long and silver hair some deadly cuts. "Let me help you. You will completely destroy your hair." Daemon was way taller than you so you had to grab the chair at your desk for the prince to sit down and be within your reach. You didn't ask him why he did it but the short hair made him look different, more mature, as if he was trying to escape the Rogue Prince. Maybe that was the image he wanted to give to his brother now that he had finally taken the Stepstones.

You couldn't save the lenght of his hair because he had already cut some locks of hair really short when you decided to intervene before it got any worse. The new haircut fit him better, the short hair sharpened his features but at the same time made him look softer. Of course, you would never say that to him because he would go crazy. "Handsome." You stated once you were done. You moved between the prince and the mirror and using your thumb and index finger to hold his chin, you made him look up at you. You fixed his hair as the prince's eyes looked at you with pure adoration. Both of his hands caressed your hips over your nightgown. You enjoyed his gentle touch until his fingers started to clutch at the thin fabric covering your body, slowly revealing your legs to him.

"You must rest." You said, knowing his intentions.

"Haven't you missed me? Because I fucking have." With the skirt of your nightgown completely clutched in between his fists, he pulled you closer to him, almost sitting you on his lap. "You were on my mind every single day... and every single night." Daemon looked up at you, dutifully. "You were all I could think about on the battlefield. About being between your legs again and how wet you'd be when I told you that we had taken the Stepstones." Daemon got up from the chair slowly, his hands sliding your dress off your body at the same time and you didn't resist him undressing you. If you left out the fact that he came home covered in his own blood, he would have been right about what would have happened when he told you that they had won. But his words at that moment were doing the same effect.

Your hands dug into his short hair once he connected his lips with yours. The pulls from your fingers on his scalp were softer when he had long hair, but now his hair was short enough to make him groan against your lips every time you pulled from his hair. Daemon walked you to the bed, his hands never leaving your waist as he carefully laid you on the mattress. He held his weight using his hands on both sides of your head, his hard cock pressing against your belly. Your lips were swollen once Daemon finally moved from them to focus on your neck, making you squirm under him. Your hands traveled down all his back, being really careful with the bruised skin under your fingers, feeling his muscles clench under your palms, until you got to his ass. Daemon's tooth brushed against your neck as his lips sucked harder on the soft skin of it after your hands squeezed his butt.

The prince's hand moved to cup one of your breasts, the whimper you let out sending electric waves down his spine. Using one of his legs he parted yours even wider, the firm holds on his cock helping him to rub his cock up and down your slit. As much as you wanted to hook your legs over the swell of his ass and let him fuck you so hard that the morning after you would have people questioning if you were okay, as much as you wanted to feel his hips slamming into you and he his hands digging into your hips from holding you in place, Daemon was hurt, so the fewer efforts he made, the better for his recovery.

"Let me do it."

And Daemon didn't object. He took your place but instead of lying on the mattress, Daemon sat with his back against the wall so he could have a perfect view of you. You used one of your hands to steady yourself on top of him, and with your other hand, you grabbed his cock by the base of it to help you sink it inside you. Daemon opened his mouth in a perfect 'o' form, letting out a moan and sinking his nails into the flesh of your waist. You let your head fall backward and bit your lower lip, being careful to not press onto Daemon's wounds with your hand on his abdomen.

You started by rolling your hips, feeling his dick brush the deepest places inside you. The sex with Daemon had been always amazing, even when you two weren't married, but you could count on the fingers of one hand the times he let you ride him, and when he did, it was basically him bucking his hips upwards, and taking the lead. He just loved to be in charge, taking you from behind while his fingers work on your clit and he mumbles the dirtiest things in your ear, having your legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you, even sitting on your dressing table and having your legs around his body and your nails scratching down his back.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air when instead of rolling your hips, you bounced on his dick. Daemon couldn't help but move his hands to your hips to help you go up and down his cock. Your moans muffled and died onto the skin of his neck as the muscles of your thighs began to burn. He really tried to let you have your way with him, set the pace and guide him, but he had missed you so much and you needed to feel him closer. Every time he leaves your side, you don't know if you'll ever see him again. Daemon leaned to trap your lips with his as he couldn't help but buck his hips upwards, meeting yours. "It's fine. I've got you." Your husband mumbled in your ear and right after he started kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear. You knotted your fingers into his short hair while you rolled your hips adding more pleasure to Daemon's thrust.

He didn't care about the pain as long as it was accompanied by you clenching around him. You moaned his name, feeling your throat go dry as your legs closed and shook, stopping him from thrusting into you anymore. Daemon came inside you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder but still holding you in place so you won't waste a single drop of him.

"We will fly tomorrow morning to the Stepstones." Daemon continued kissing your neck while you both came down from your highs. You knotted your fingers into his hair and used that grip to pull him closer to you as you hummed feeling his lips working on your neck.

"We?"

"Yes. They will name you Queen of the Narrow Sea."

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

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"Through One Thousand Worlds and Ten Thousand Lifetimes" Chapter Four: "Near Miss" - Aemond Targaryen + Billy Washington x Reader

a/n: catch up on this fic HERE. if you wish to be added to the taglist. Ettore is next! ❤️

Summary: You keep nearly meeting Lana's younger brother, but it never quite happens.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, character death, angst

Word Count: 2,150 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Trigger Point characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

When you think of how many near misses you have when it comes to meeting Billy Washington, it’s almost laughable.

The first one is when you attend Christmas at the Washington household your first year working on the Metropolitan Police bomb squad. Your coworker, Lana, learns that your parents passed away a few years ago and you typically spend Christmas on your own, eating Chinese takeaway and watching horror movies. This is unacceptable to her and she demands that you come home with her for the holidays.

It’s raining when you show up at the Washington house and you’ve brought your trusty yellow umbrella. You don’t know why you adore the stupid thing so much. Lana teases you like crazy about it, saying what an eyesore it is, but you simply stick your tongue out at her and tell her it’s because of your sunny disposition. When you walk in the house, her parents immediately begin doting on you, happy to have two kids home, stating that their son, Billy, is at his girlfriend’s house for the holidays.

You’re given Billy’s room to sleep in, and for some reason, it feels so familiar to you. You feel almost at home in this stranger’s room, which makes absolutely no sense. You note that he doesn’t have any photos in his room, probably having taken them all to his flat. You’re left wondering what Lana’s mysterious brother looks like. You assume that since Lana is quite pretty that her brother must be a looker too and muse how unfortunate it is that you couldn’t meet him.

That night, you have a dream, a strangely vivid one of a man with long blond hair and a sapphire for an eye. He’s unearthly beautiful as he walks toward you. He takes your hands in his and smiles, gazing at you with a fondness, a deep devotion that you do not quite understand. You read somewhere that you can only dream of people you’ve seen or met before, but you know you haven’t ever met a man as beautiful as this.

Your mysterious visitor says one word to you before you wake up.

“Billy”.

When you wake, you wonder to yourself what the man meant. It was probably just a coincidence that Lana’s brother is named Billy, right?

Every night you remain at the Washington home, staying in Billy’s room, you have that dream. You chalk it up to stress from your job finally catching up with you and put the thought from your mind, deciding that there’s no point in freaking yourself out over your super sexy dream man or your friend’s potentially hot brother.

After you leave, you’re distraught when you realize you’ve left your umbrella behind. Lana chides you for being forgetful, saying that she’ll ask Billy to grab it the next time he’s there.

The next near miss? When Lana wants to set you up on a blind date with none other than said brother, stating that he and his girlfriend broke up and she thinks the two of you could get on very well. However, you’ve just gotten into a relationship with someone new and tell her as much, declining her kind offer. You absently wonder to yourself what her brother is like, again thinking to yourself he must be pretty cute.

That night, you have another dream of your sapphire-eyed friend. This time, he speaks to you a bit more. He tells you his name is Aemond. You arch a brow, telling him that’s the weirdest name you’ve ever heard in your life. He merely smiles at you and tells you that your name is the most beautiful one he’s ever heard.

And then, before you wake up?

He says it again.

“Billy”.

The third near miss is when you end up catching the flu just before Joel’s funeral. You’re devastated that you won’t be able to go mourn with your friends. You’re unaware that Billy will be at the funeral until Lana tells you not to worry, that her parents and her brother will be there to support her. You nod, wiping your eyes, falling into a deep sleep in your bed, courtesy of one Miss Nyquil, hoping that the world won’t be as fucking shitty when you wake up.

You cry in your dreams and “Aemond” comes to you to comfort you. But his words are cryptic after you’ve finally stopped sobbing.

“Time is running out,” he murmurs, “You don’t have much longer to find him.”

You knit your brows together in confusion and meet Aemond’s gaze, “What do you mean?”

“Billy. He doesn’t have much time. You must go to him.”

You shake your head, “Lana’s brother? I don’t even know him-”

He rests a finger on your lips, which slightly pisses you off, but you choose to ignore that, instead listening to him tell you, “You need him. And he needs you, more than you know. He’s lost. Only you can help him be found.”

“Lost?” you repeat, completely confused.

Aemond isn’t able to elaborate, considering you wake up moments later, your head still fuzzy from your flu. This latest dream is soon forgotten.

Maybe things would have played out differently if you’d managed to remember his words somehow.

The last near miss you have with Billy Washington is when you need a lift to the dentist’s office, your car being in the shop. Lana tells you Billy says he’d be happy to help you out and you find yourself getting excited that you’re finally going to meet her mysterious (at least to you) and handsome (you assume) brother. He shoots you a text the night before that he’s excited to finally meet you, complete with a smiley face. He also sends a picture of your yellow umbrella, sitting on the passenger seat of his car, with a message saying that it’s waiting for you. The thought makes you grin and you go to sleep, happier than you have in a long time.

Aemond is happy in your dream that night, holding you in his arms, kissing you gently, saying that maybe, just maybe, this time everything will be alright. You’ve long since given up on trying to understand the cryptic words he says, instead, just enjoying the attention and affection he gives you in your dreams.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re beyond excited. You play “Walking On Sunshine” as you shower and get dressed up a bit too fancy for a mere visit to the dentist, wearing a pretty sundress, putting your hair in braids, and putting on a pair of tennis shoes with cute lacy socks. You feel like an idiot, but somehow you think that meeting Billy is fate. Somehow, you feel like he is going to become a major part of your life. And you’ll get your favorite umbrella back!

Then, you get a call from Lana. Billy’s been arrested in connection with a recent vandalization of a halal butcher shop. The thought of the boy you’ve been building up in your head being islamophobic or racist makes you feel sick to your stomach. Had you really been excited to meet a guy like this? The illusion of this perfect guy who you’d been dying to meet is shattered, and you get yourself a cab and head to the dentist’s office, feeling completely dejected and depressed. You’ve never had great luck with guys. Why did you think Billy would be any different?

You have another dream of Aemond that night. This time, he looks sad, giving you a broken little smile.

“What is it?” you ask as he takes your hand in his.

“It’s too late for us this time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a heaviness in voice, a sadness that you don’t understand, “I’m sorry, my love.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?” you tilt your head to the side in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head and murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m so sorry.”

When you wake up, those three words repeat in your head over and over.

“I’m so sorry”.

Billy doesn’t know what to make of the yellow umbrella he finds in his childhood room when he stays the night with his parents shortly after the holidays, having had a bit of a falling out with his lady love. He wonders what kind of person uses a yellow umbrella. It seems obnoxious, almost, but at the same time? It makes him crack a small smile. He’s informed that it likely belongs to Lana’s friend who stayed over for the holidays. He wonders what said friend is like.

When he lays down in his bed, he’s surprised that there’s still a feminine scent of coconut shampoo on his pillow. It’s soothing, it calms him and makes him smile as he drifts off into an unusually peaceful sleep. He dreams of the most beautiful girl he’s seen in his entire life, with a kind smile and a sweet voice. She assures him he’s not the failure he thinks he is and that there is someone out there waiting for him.

Someone meant just for him.

These dreams continue for a long while. And as the near misses continue, he grows more and more fascinated with the idea of you, finding sleep and his dream girl being far more appealing than the waking world, with all that he’s dealing with.

As he gets into his car after Lana bails him out, he looks at your yellow umbrella and sighs. He’s well and truly fucked it up now.

And in his dream that night, his dream girl sobs into his arms, holding onto him tightly, saying she thought things would be different this time.

The first time you hear Billy Washington’s voice and he hears yours is the day he takes his car to Farringdon station. You hear everything as he’s directed to go to Cranstead Fields, everything except his voice, only hearing Lana’s side of the conversation.

She puts him on speaker for a moment, and you hear him.

“You’ve gotta tell Mum and Dad I’m sorry, yeah?”

Your eyes go wide at the sound of his voice and you murmur softly, “Aemond…?”

You hear Billy let out a choked gasp through the phone as he whispers your name, “Is it really you?”

The memories come rushing back to both of you and you begin crying, “Yes, it’s me…”

Lana looks between you and her phone in confusion and asks you to keep her brother calm, seeing that he seems to get on pretty well with you, at least over the phone, while she runs point with the team to try and figure out what to do.

“I bet you look beautiful right now,” Billy says, his voice thick with emotion, “You always did.”

You laugh breathlessly, “I did try to get pretty for when you were going to pick me up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it, love,” he murmurs.

“Don’t say sorry,” you protest, “You’re going to make it out of this. Lana and I and the team are all trained professionals-”

“You know I’m not going to survive, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, “That’s what the dreams last night were. The one where I held you in my arms as you cried.”

“No,” you shake your head vehemently, “No. No, we didn’t even meet this time. No, Billy, it doesn’t end like this! That’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry, love,” he says tearfully, “You know, I’ve got your umbrella sitting by me,” he remembers something and smiles, “A bit forgetful still, hm?”

You laugh, still sobbing, “Give it to me when you see me.”

“Tomorrow night,” he says, wiping his eyes, “At the bar round the corner from Lana’s. Seven o’clock.”

“You better not be late,” you scold him, “You’d better be there.”

“I will,” he says as you hand the phone back to Lana.

And when you see the horrified look on her face, you know what’s just happened.

Ettore wakes in his jail cell, looking around frantically, drenched in a cold sweat. That fucking dream again. The one where he’s blown up. The one where he speaks to some girl and then he dies. He stands up and folds the sheet back on his bunk, giving his cellmate a nasty little glare as he snores, wondering if it would be too coincidental for him to get shanked during the next riot.

That’s when the warden comes and tells him he’s been chosen to be among the death row inmates boarding the spacecraft suicide mission, to extract energy from a black hole.

Though it likely means certain death, Ettore can’t help feeling that this is happening for a reason.

And that maybe it’s tied to that beautiful girl he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Tied to you.

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

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The Poisoned Cup

request: Hey, dear! if you are taking requests could i get an angst imagine/oneshot Daemon x Martell fem!reader where she and Daemon are married (they really love each other) and she is pregnant and they are beaming, but reader ends up being poisoned and consequently loses the baby, feeling guilty she ends up running away, but before she leaves a letter for viserys asking for an annulment, before making any decision he talks to Daemon who is furious that she ran away and asks for an annulment + so he goes to Dorne after his wife, she doesn’t want to see him at first but he doesn’t give up, eventually they talk and reader expresses everything she is feeling just like he does, they cry together and he assures her that everything will be fine and asks her to come back with him, which she agrees to, please? (with a lot of angst, fluffy and happy ending)

pairing: daemon targaryen x y/n martell

word count: 3k (#oops)

warnings: fem bodied!reader, miscarriage, poisoning, reader’s feeling guilty and v depressed

a/n: i apologize if there are any mistakes regarding house martell, i don’t know much abt them. i also didn’t describe much of the reader besides longer hair

When your older brother Qoren Martell told you he’d arranged a marriage between yourself and Prince Daemon Targaryen with King Viserys, you were unbelievably angry with him that you wouldn’t speak to him for days. But eventually you came to accept that marrying the prince was your duty to keep peace between Dorne and the rest of Westeros following the war in the Stepstones.

Daemon talked to you before the wedding about how he wanted to wed you in the traditions of Old Valyria, and you agreed even though you were quite hesitant. In the end it was a beautiful ceremony and you felt undoubtedly connected to your new husband.

It wasn’t but three months after your wedding that your lady in waiting, Elaena, pointed out to you that you hadn’t had your monthly bleed. You visited the maester that morning and he confirmed you were indeed with child.

Everything was going smoothly until two months later, when Rhaenyra ended her search for a husband ended and King Viserys announced a marriage between his daughter and Ser Laenor Velaryon, son of Lord Corlys Velaryon of Driftmark. The feast of celebrations had begun and you sat at the end of the royal table in between Daemon and Lord Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King.

“Everything to your liking, my love?” Daemon asks, then sips on his wine.

You grin at him, pulling apart the sweet roll in front of you to get to the soft, warm center. “Mhm,” you hum. “We’re quite satisfied, dear husband.”

He reaches his free hand to rub your growing belly. You cover his hand with yours and continue on to dine on the fine food presented before you.

Unbeknownst to you, Ser Gerold Royce approaches the royal table.

“Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra, congratulations are in order,” Ser Gerold greets the king and princess.

Keep reading

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

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Hiii <3 idek if your taking new requests but modern aemond comforting partner that had plans with friends and they got cancelled or weren’t invited (smth like that #socialissuesfr) and he just makes them feel better i need it 🩷🩷

“do you want to order pizza for dinner?” aemond looks at you from his spot on the couch, but you’re too focused looking at something on your phone to pay attention to him. “i’m talking to you, love. are you listening?”

“yes,” you say, still looking at your phone. “whatever you want.” aemond senses that something is wrong and gets up immediately. one minute you’re doing margaritas, the next, there’s tears in your eyes.

“are you alright?” he places a hand on your back, looking down at your phone. his heart falls to the floor when he sees an instagram story from one of your friends, she’s having dinner with a lot of people—your friends. the following story isn’t better and once the third one appears, he takes your phone away.

aemond can’t believe what his eyes just saw. he checks the group chat he knows you have with your friends but there’s not a single message, which means they have a different group chat or they just didn’t want to invite you; either way what they did is horrible.

when a tear runs down your cheek and falls, aemond is quick to cup your face and wipe the ones that follow.

“look at me,” you do what he says, vision blurry for all the tears that threaten to fall. “they just showed you the kind of people they are and you don’t need them, you hear me? they don’t deserve you.” you know his words are supposed to make you feel better but the pain in your heart doesn’t let you see how right he is.

you sob, hiding your face on his chest and clinging onto his shirt. his arms around your body make you feel a little bit better after a while, his soft words in your ear too.

“you still have people who care about you and value your friendship. and they love you as much as i love you.” he kisses your forehead, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “forget about them, we can have fun too.”

aemond drags you to the couch, forcing you to sit down while he disappears in the bedroom. you look confused at the door until he shows up again, this time your favorite blanket and his phone in hand.

“you order whatever you want to eat while i go look for something, okay?” he says as he covers you with the blanket, disappearing before you can say anything.

you don’t move, confused and amused with his attitude, until he’s back and sitting next to you.

“i tried to read the instructions but i’m useless so i just brought all the face masks i found in the bathroom.” his excitement softens your heart, a whole new set of tears threatening to pour out, but this time for different a reason. “would you help me put this on my face?”

“yes,” you smile, moving closer to him and cupping his face, his confused expression is the last thing you see before taking his lips with yours in a gentle kiss. “thank you.” you whisper, forehead resting against his.

“don’t thank me just yet,” he gives a quick peck to your lips before pulling away and taking the remote to find a movie. “because i’m going to make you watch all my favorite horror movies.”

“i have no problem as long as you are by my side.”

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

Text

Obsessed with the idea of a Last Kingdom AU where Aemond just grew up with Team Uhtred

No reposts please | prints

544 notes · View notes

imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

Note

hiiiii I really love your stories and side note it’s my birthday, first one on my own so I plan on just having a chill day with my dog indoors, halfway through rereading your master list already, could I make a request or suggestion for something kinda angsty, like someone’s jealous or something? Thank youuuu

I am writing a continuation of reader wife going to that brothel we see in episode 9 and fucking that bitch up having words with the landlady. ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Prepare for some Robin Hood type shit from reader

These two fics go serve a good backstory for this fic.

Yes I had fun creating this banner muahaha

The night was young.

The wind chill on your face as you snuck outdoors, careful to not rouse your sleeping husband.

Aemond must not know what you intended; he would never allow it.

You had taken a moment to observe his sleeping form, his beautifully carved face relaxed in slumber, a stray strand of silver hair falling across his high cheekbone. You swept it away with a delicate touch and he smiled in his sleep.

The image of him fresh in your mind, the man your heart and body belonged to, in such an intimate and tender moment only stirred your anger to greater heights. You seethed; it was passed time you had words with a certain Madam of the Street of Silk.

You had your short bow with you, in case sharp words turned to something worse. You had wrapped your hands and wrists in fabric, as your father had once taught you, so in the event of a brawl you would be prepared to throw punches.

You knew just where to go, it was a well-known brothel, serving only higher-end clientele. Padding down the street with booted feet you made your silent way, not quite knowing what you were going to say or do upon arrival. So focused were you on your goal you took no notice of the shadowy figure following you down the steps of the Red Keep.

The women loitering outside the establishment, trying lure passing men inside, watched you approach with interest.

"'Tis not often we get ladies in here." One spoke, you valiantly tried to keep your eyes on her face.

"I'm here to speak to your Madam." Your voice was terse even to your own ears.

The courtesan frowned, her red lips pouting. "Mistress Trolunda is inside, though she's not entertaining guests personally tonight."

"No weapons allowed." The girl closest to the door held up a hand as you made to enter, her eyes were on the bow and quiver on your back.

"Bullshit." They gasped at your rude language, but your patience had taken leave this evening. "I'm sure you don't enforce that rule on your male customers."

You pushed your way passed, not a difficult feat and the women didn't put up much of a fight to stop you. Their glowering glares burned into your back as you walked through the doorway into a wide room lit with rosy fireglow.

The men inside did indeed carry weapons, those who were dressed anyway. It wasn't terribly busy inside the main room; several intertwined couples took up spaces by the several lit torches. You didn't look too hard at them, their states of undress and groping hands making your cheeks flush despite yourself.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" An older woman approached you from behind a clerical looking counter. She had light auburn hair and light eyes that looked you up and down calculatingly.

"Mistress Trolunda I take it?" You tilted your head, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

She gave your garb an appraising glance, a flicker of recognition crossing her froglike features. "I am she. If you're hear for business and pleasure you've come to the right place."

"Just business." You stepped forward, pressing into her space, pleased to note you were taller than her squat form. "To make sure no other children are victim to your debauchery."

"I beg your pardon?" Trolunda's voice had taken on an icy undertone, her eyes narrowing at you. "Who are you to dictate what goes on in my establishment."

"Someone who will make your life a living hell." You closed the remaining distance with a menacing step. "Or end it altogether."

She opened her mouth, her gaze searching behind you for help.

"Call for assistance and this knife will find your heart." You threatened.

Trolunda looked down and saw the knife you had withdrawn, poised at her ribcage. Her expression was wary as she met your eyes again. "What do you want?" Despite her effort to keep her reactions hidden you could hear the tremor of fear in her words.

"Children are to be left alone, not to be touched. Any girls you have working for you under the age of seventeen you will either find new work for or different jobs."

She snorted derisively, gasping a little as you prodded her with the sharp end of your dagger. "Alright, calm down." She raised her hands in submission. "I will do as you ask."

"Should patrons come wishing to see any workers under seventeen, you are to refuse them and report them to the King's Guard."

Her eyes widened. "The King's Guard? You cannot be serious. I would lose significant income."

"Did I stutter."

"No, no you did not." The Madam looked keenly at your face, before making a curtsying gesture, right before she hefted a heavy porcelain plate from the counter and smashed it against the side of your head.

White pain filled your vision as you stumbled to the side, falling to the ground, momentarily stunned. You felt a booted foot connect with your jaw, sending you reeling against the wooden floor.

Shouts and screams sent bolts of pain through your throbbing head, you squinted through bleary eyes, seeing the Madam approaching you with a curved dagger drawn and ready to slice at your vulnerable form.

You swept your leg out, knocking against her shins enough to cause her to stagger. The working women and half-naked men fled the scene as you lurched to your feet, bracing your weight against one of the oaken walls. You held your own dagger out in front of you like Aemond had taught.

Trolunda swiped at you once, clearly inexperienced with wielding weapons of any sort. You lashed out with your foot, catching her in the sternum and sending her falling back onto her tailbone. She shrieked a curse at you, her cry cutting through your aching temples like hot iron.

"Cease this at once!"

You were about to lunge at the woman, but Aemond's commanding voice stilled the very breath in your chest.

There he stood, framed in the doorway, those who had fled could be seen cowering in corners behind him. The hood of his cloak was thrown back, his long hair shining silver in the torchlight, he had not donned his eyepatch, the sapphire gemstone glittered menacingly as his lilac eye surveyed the scene before him with displeasure. His sword was drawn, though it was currently pointed at the ground.

The Madam righted herself, brushing down her rumpled skirts as her eyes flicked from Aemond to you and back again. A knowing smile itched up her unpleasant face. "Ah. I see now." Both you and Aemond glared at her as she smoothed back her mussed hair. "You are his." Her predatory gaze fell upon you once more. "I do hope what he learned in my care all those years ago has served you well."

With a cry of incandescent fury you fell upon the woman, pummeling each inch of her your fists could find. She collapsed beneath you, shielding her face and screaming inane curses as you continued beating her about the head.

Strong hands closed around your waist and hauled you off the woman, yet you still kicked out at her with your feet, making satisfying contact several more times as Aemond dragged you away.

"You've married a little beast, my prince." Trolunda gasped, wiping the blood from her nose off her lips. Though she was injured she still looked satisfied.

"Better a 'little beast' than a fucking child predator." You snarled, still trying to free yourself. "Aemond, let me go."

"You have made your point, Y/N." He sounded strained as he kept firm hold of your writhing form.

"Throw her in the dungeons, call in Vhagar, do something!"

"She has done nothing illegal." Aemond said softly, finally releasing you but placing a warning hand on your arm. "We need to leave, now."

"Wait for me outside." You turned to him finally, aware that the Madam watched you with a derisive smirk. "Please, Aemond. If you truly care for me, give me one minute alone with her."

His eye roamed your features for a moment before he looked at the woman over your shoulder. Something in his face hardened and he sighed shortly. "Fine. One minute, and no killing. That's an order."

"Yes sir."

He turned to leave, ushering the people still within the brothel to exit as well before closing the door behind him.

You turned slowly on the spot, facing the woman who once again had the dagger in her hand.

"He is powerless to do anything, as are you." She sneered. "Just as he was when his brother brought him to me."

In a flash you had drawn your bow off your back, notched an arrow, aimed and loosed.

With a cry of fear and grunt of surprise the woman was pinned by the sleeve of her heavy dress to the wall. She raised the dagger in her free hand as if to throw but your second arrow had already flown, pinning her other arm as well.

"I do not rescind what I said." You lowered your weapon, not hiding your smirk at her helpless state. "If any other children fall victim to this establishment you will burn in dragon fire, this I promise you."

After one last withering look, you turned on your heel and departed through the main door.

Aemond saw the Madam pinned by your arrows from the doorway as you left. His brow arched and he looked down at you with an expression you'd never seen before. "Are you finished?"

"Only because you interrupted." You were still in a foul mood; striding passed him and back towards the Keep.

The streets were empty now, apparently the citizens previously present wanted nothing to do with the unfolding drama, especially after Aemond arrived.

Aemond grabbed hold of your elbow, yanking you around to face him non to gently. "What did I say to you yesterday when you were so intent upon coming here?"

"Not to?"

"Ah, so your memory still functions." Aemond was becoming angry, his gaze taking in the blood trickling down from your hairline and the bruises forming upon your jaw. "Tell me why you blatantly disobeyed me."

"Children are being preyed upon, Aemond." You matched him with your own fiery anger, prodding his chest with your finger. "You are not the only on to be taken advantage of. I shudder to think what goes on in King's Landing. Since I am your wife, I have a duty to the people."

"Throwing yourself mindlessly into danger doesn't qualify as one of those duties, Y/N!" Aemond was close to shouting now, something that you had not yet experienced from him before.

"Mindlessly?" You raised your voice as well, your nostrils flaring. "What I did was very calculated, thank you very much."

Aemond passed a hand over his face, suddenly weary. You turned your back to him and continued back to your chambers, fuming. He walked in silent contemplation behind you as you stomped down the halls.

Once safe inside the room you threw aside your weapons and cloak, kicking off your boots and slumping upon the bed, staring unseeing up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later the mattress dipped beside you and Aemond's face hovered into view. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his expression had softened upon seeing the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I do not wish you to come to any harm, my fierce wife." He spoke softly now, watching as you propped yourself on an elbow to face him.

"I want to avenge the harm already done to you, Aemond." You traced his jaw with your fingers.

"Not if it puts you at risk." He shook his head. "Nothing is worth that." He tilted your own face to the side, examining your injuries with a severe frown. "And you seem intent on suffering for my sake."

"It's not suffering. I made progress in there, believe it or not." You took his hand in yours, lowering it to the mattress. "I just need you to trust me, work with me, and together we can break the cycle."

Aemond studied you for several silent moments, his lips pursed in thought, his lilac gaze suddenly seemed far away as he stared over your shoulder.

"I will think on it." He at last spoke. "For now, I am going to help clean and bandage you. On the morrow we will speak with the council about taking further action on this matter."

"Thank you, Aemond." You gently pressed your lips to his, lingering there to breathe him in. "That's all I ask."

"And no more personal vendettas for my sake." He combed his fingers carefully through your tangled hair. "We will make use of the proper channels as duty dictates."

"No sending in Vhagar?"

"No sending in Vhagar." He chuckled, a low delicious sound. "And I will know if you go to her yourself, Y/N."

You glanced guiltily into his eye, Aemond seemed to have been reading your thoughts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Mmhmm." Your husband sighed, shaking his silver head before getting out of bed to prepare the wash basin. "What am I going to do with you?" He spoke as if to himself as he gathered healing ointments.

"Hopefully something to take my mind off this horrible headache." You winced as you sat up.

"I'm sure I can come up with something." Aemond graced you with a small smile, a flicker of reverence and gratitude crossing his handsome face as he held your gaze. "For now, let me tend to the injuries you sustained while fighting for my honor."

You both laughed lightly, the crackling fire illuminating the room in a cozy glow as Aemond looked after you with gentle hands and soft kisses against your warm skin.

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

Text

My love is stronger than God himself

Osferth could be a little out of character but I wanted him to have the religious conflict. There's only so little osferth fics so I am doing my sacrifice for the better good. I'm sacrificing my grades. Also english is not my first language.

You can also read this on ao3

Summary:

Keeping a religious lifestyle turnes out to be a challenge for Osferth because of feelings he cannot resist.

She hissed at the feeling of cold air hitting the naked skin of her legs. She stood by the small lake alone due to the fact that she supposedly went to wash up. The real reason was to check on the wound on her side which during the last few hours felt like it was burning.

Two days ago, by accident, she took part in a small fight. But she didn’t regret it at all. When she and Uhtred's men stayed in a village, some locals drank a bit too much and chose the wrong person to infuriate.

She was talking to Osferth, like she always did, but then, two tall and dark-haired men, not very subtly tried to insinuate that she was too pretty to be talking to Osferth. He only shook his head.

“Pay them no mind.” He whispered.

She attempted to ignore them, but after a few minutes, they insisted that Osferth went to sit elsewhere. After he, yet again, took no notice of their words, they grabbed him by his collar and forcefully raised him up from his chair.

Then it was all a blur. Osferth punched them. She punched them. They punched back. She remembers the sight of a knife swinging, then Uhtred’s loud voice. He and Finan stopped the brawl.

Now, two days later, the wound from the muddy knife started to seem infected.

She rolled up the fabric to reveal the pale skin of her stomach. She didn’t know much about medicine, but it did not look to be healing.

She heard ruffling behind her, immediately turning around in fear.

“Oh! Sorry, I-” Osferth stumbled over his words, raising his arms in defeat.

Seeing her in only a thin layer of clothing, he stared at her in awe. Composing himself, he stood sideways, his cheeks turning dark red.

“I apologize. I only meant to inform you that we are leaving in a quarter of an hour.” He looked down at his shoes, visibly embarrassed.

He waited for her to scold him for breaching her privacy.

“Actually, can you help me?” Her voice cut through the silence.

He looked at her again. He could not refuse assisting her. He liked the girl. Adored her.

But he should not look at her. Not the way he did. He gawked at her half naked body. His cheeks becoming even more cherry-red. He felt his heart skipping a beat.

“Whatever could I help you with?” He asked, still standing a few meters away. Not moving a muscle.

A part of him, the rational part, wanted him to never step closer. Especially not now. Not now, when he wished for nothing more than to taste her lips.

“Can you tell if it’s infected?” Her voice was so quiet. So delicate. It barely reached Osferth’s ears.

She almost changed her mind when the man remained motionless. After all, she was bare, vulnerable. Osferth was a man of honour and a gentle person, would he as much as stand next to her? Right in this moment?

Before she could blink, he was just an arm reach away.

He knew what it meant.

He was fucked.

Once again, she rolled the fabric of her shirt. Osferth never looked away from her eyes. Not until the eye contact became too much for her and she lost her gaze somewhere in the line of the trees, behind Osferth.

The man slightly leaned down and was met with the sight of a small wound.

She tried not to focus on the faint feeling of his fingers. Now, not only the cut was burning, but also every part of her where their skins met.

“You cannot tell a soul about this.” She said suddenly. Their eyes met again.

Osferth raised his eyebrows.

“About the cut. They needn’t to worry.”

“Is it from the…”

“Yes.”

His fingers remained on her side. She got hurt fighting for his safety.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tis not your fault.”

He smiled slightly.

With every second, the air seemed to become hotter and hotter.

“It does not look infected. But it does need a bit of cleaning.” He informed after a while of silence.

“Thank you.” She expected to loose the feeling of his touch.

But that did not happen.

Instead, he straightened his back, his eyes still glued to her stomach. His hand started to escalade. Slowly, but the effect it had on her terrified the girl.

Y/N felt her ears burn with redness. She stared at his face wide-eyed in shock.

When his fingers caressed the side of her breast, she felt her heart stop.

Then, something snapped inside of Osferth. He grabbed her, harsher than before and crashed his lips onto hers. She did not expect the ever so religious Osferth kiss her at all, let alone this passionately. After a second she started to kiss back, seizing the back of his neck. Her head felt dizzy.

Her hands went to hold his burning face when his other arm brought her even closer.

Of course she thought about kissing Osferth. Sometimes she stared at him, sitting across from him. His face in the dim light of the fire flames. She would gaze at the way he smiled, wishing his curved lips were on her. She would watch his broad back, the shape of his arms, his hands. Even when she didn’t realize. No matter the situation, her eyes always found a way to look at the man.

Osferth was no better. Recently, he had to pray in the middle of the night. When they had to sleep next to each other. He could not fall asleep, because of his hammering heart. The peaceful sight of her, made his soul ache. His thoughts betrayed him and crossed paths he considered wrongful. Against the rational part of his mind, he imagined what it would feel like to lay closer to her. So close that her breath would mix with his own. What it would feel like to make her breath hitch in her throat. To kiss every part of her skin that he could find. To hear her say things so, so filthy…

The moment he realized how sinful his thoughts were, he got up and went for a walk. To breathe. He prayed. He begged for forgiveness, but with every word he found himself asking not for his lust to stop. But he prayed just for her love. For his feeling to be returned. Then he apologized to God, for his chaotic mind. He tried to convince himself that it was just a difficult night.

Next day he woke up and felt lighter. Since then, he tried so hard to restrain himself from thoughts like these.

She had to prevent herself from moaning when he pressed her against his body even harder.

The way she kissed him felt even more pleasurable than he imagined.

God, her lips.

God…

God-

He pulled away suddenly. Her lips were swollen and wet. She looked so perfect. No.

“I’m sorry. I-…” He stepped a few feet away, not meeting her gaze. “I should not have done that. I can’t”

She couldn’t look him in the eyes either. Instead she stared at the cross on his chest.

Without another word, he left her. She stared at the space were Osferth just stood. She felt tears in her eyes, but blinked them away.

***

“Are you here alone, girl?” A man asked her.

“She’s with me.” Osferth informed. He appeared out of nowhere, laying his hand on her shoulder protectively.

In the alehouse, sitting away from the rest of the group, she was alone, indeed. Osferth has been evading her since the day by the lake. She has been avoiding talking to him too. She felt hurt and a little angry. Angry that he left her like that. That for a second she let herself enjoy the thought of having Osferth. She was mourning something that she never had.

Maybe she was angry at herself.

Osferth on the other hand, felt ashamed, not only for loosing himself in his feelings, but also for hurting Y/N. He left her at the lake, half naked and heart-broken.

“Fuck God.” Finan said to Osferth after he told the man how he felt.

“What? You can’t say that!”

“If God is stopping you from being with her, then fuck him.”

“I was to be fully devoted to God.” Osferth protested.

“Fuck that.” Finan laughed.

“It’s not only that. Don’t you think she would want someone… Fitter for her?” He looked at the ground.

Seeing the confused look on his friend’s face, he continued.

“Braver? Stronger maybe?”

“You’re an idiot. She’s completely crazy about you. And you are brave. Strong? I’m not sure, but brave – yes. Don’t think only about yourself and your God. Think of her. Don’t you want to make her content? From what I know, she would be content with you.” With that, he hit Osferth’s back.

“She’s with you?” The man asked.

“Is that a problem to you?” Osferth asked with a serious face.

The man just groaned and frowned, after a few more seconds he left. For the first time in days Osferth dared to glance at her face. She didn’t even look in his direction. With a bored expression her gaze remained on the drink in her hand.

He slid into the chair next to her.

“I’m sorry.” He said. His words merely a whisper, it barely reached her ears.

The sound of his apologetic voice forced her to look at him. His body gave the expression like he wanted nothing more than to hold her. She shifted a little closer.

“What are you sorry about?” She asked quietly.

“For kissing you. Confusing you.”

She frowned and looked down.

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you out of nowhere, without expressing how I feel first. I should not have left you at the lake, but I felt horrible. I was confused myself. I’m supposed to be utterly devoted to God.”

Oh.

“I understand.” She shifted back.

She wanted to leave. To get away from him. To not see his ethereal face again.

“No, I don’t think you do.” He slowly embraced her hand and brought it to his heart. “There are two things I cannot live without. Faith and you. But if it wasn’t in God’s will for me to love you, he wouldn’t make it so effortless. If he wants to stop me – stop us – he can try. My feelings are stronger than God himself.” He stopped for a second.

He finally noticed the tears in her eyes. The small smile on her lips.

Under her palm, she felt fast and intense beating of his heart. Unsteady rhythm, the sign that this was real.

She was too stunned to say a word. Any sound would get stuck in her throat.

“I would be the most grateful man if you gave me a second chance. To make things right this time.”

She finally moved, bringing his face to hers. She kissed him.

This time it wasn’t so lustful and hungry. It was sweet, delicate, loving. When they pulled away for much needed air, he saw her blushed cheeks and her cheery smile.

Her smile.

She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

“You always make things right, in the end.”

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imintoodeeptostop · 9 months

Text

But Darling (I'd Still Die For You)

Description: You has arrive at Storm's End in place of Lucerys. While attempting to secure an alliance, you run into Aemond, and your reunion becomes a Greek Tragedy.

You glare at him from across the room, trying to hide your relief at seeing him unharmed behind your anger. He’s dressed in his riding leathers and that black overcoat, you always thought he looked particularly handsome in. Somehow, he still looks put together, but you’re a mess. Damp hair, wind chapped skin, and your cloak torn from a close call with a guard. His eyes devour you the way a starving man devours a feast, and you shiver, hoping you can blame it on the cold.

Lord Baratheon watches the scene and beckons Aemond forward before turning back to you.

“Prince Aemond has betrothed himself to my daughter in exchange for my loyalty, what does your queen intend to offer me?”

All of Rhaenyra’s sons were either betrothed or too young. “Me,” you say. Ignoring Aemond’s gaze on you. “I will marry you and give you a son.”

Lord Baratheon leans back in his throne. “A tempting proposal. Give me a moment to weigh my options.”

“Of course, my lord.” You bow your head and head towards the doors, intending to go and hide underneath Ziras’ wings until Lord Baratheon makes his decision.

The rain batters you, but you pay it no mind, searching the sky for your dragon. The heavy doors swing shut behind you, and you’re halfway across the courtyard when a hand grabs your wrist.

“You are already married, y/n.” Aemond hisses, spinning you to face him.

“So are you, Aemond, and yet you betroth yourself to a Baratheon girl.” You shoot back, shaking his hand off you.

He grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “You know I would never betray our vows. I would say the words, shut the doors, and she would be dead before dawn.”

“Will you fuck her first? I’m sure all of King’s Landing will be waiting outside the door for the bedding ceremony.” Your words are meant to come out venomous, but instead they sound pained.

Aemond’s free hand wraps around your hip and pulls you to him. “No one knows what she sounds like, I will stuff her corpse in a wardrobe and take you instead. Let the whole of the court know how well I bed you.”

Heat pools in your stomach, but you bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic blood taste reminding you why you’re here. “I will not have innocent blood on my hands because you were too much of a coward to marry me properly.”

“I married you in the ways of my house, and before the eyes of The Seven.”

“Your mother still does not know! She sent you here to make an alliance through marriage.” You protest, tears stinging your eyes.

Ziras circles above you, and you rip yourself from Aemond’s grip.

“I will tell her. I will tell the entirety of the continent after I dispose of the Baratheon girl, just do not marry her father.” He pleads, his hand brushing your arm as you step away from him.

You wonder if this is how Queen Alicent felt, marrying a man old enough to be her father for the good of those she loved. Having to stand in front of Rhaenyra and bear the brunt of her rage, knowing she would never understand her reasons. “How can you ask that of me?”

Aemond runs a hand through his hair angrily. “How can you think of wedding another man? Would you kill him as well?”

You throw your hands in the air and laugh, the sound watery. “Then one of his daughters would take his throne and neither of us would get his army. I do not wish to be married to anyone but you, but I would also rather an army go to Rhaenyra than Aegon.”

His voice turns cold. “You would rather follow a traitor than your own good-brother.”

“I am a loyal subject of the crown; I have always been.”

“Then why will you not return with me? Why do you insist on running?” His hands are shaking, and you longs to comfort him.

“Why will you not come with me? Do you not love me more than Aegon? The brother who has insulted and belittled you, your entire life. The drunken lecher who does not even wish for the throne.” Tears fill your eyes, and you blink them away, reaching a hand out to him.

He takes your hand, covering it with his much larger ones. “I love you more than life itself, but that does not change my duty. Duty must come before love. Rhaenyra cannot sit on the throne.”

You laugh again, the sound broken and hollow. “Is it because she is a woman, or because her sons are bastards?”

“A woman does not belong on the throne; it has never been done before.” His hands still shake.

You wipe at your eyes furiously. “So, if I said that it should be you, who is king. If I asked you to kill Aegon, to kill Rhaenyra so that you and I could rule together, would you do it?” You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Would take the Iron Throne and make me your queen?”

Aemond cupped your face, his silver hair plastered to his skin by the rain. “Do you wish that of me? Would you betray your queen to rule by my side?”

You close your eyes, tears mixing with the rain. “Aemond, I love you.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “and I love you, so if you wish to be queen, I will make you queen.”

Your voice broke. “I do not wish to be queen if the throne is covered in blood.”

Aemond sighs and takes a step backwards. “There are only two options, dear wife. You refuse to marry Lord Baratheon and return home with me. Or I kill my two eldest siblings and hope the smallfolk love you enough to ignore the fact that I will be both kin and kingslayer.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Those are not options, Aemond, those are impossible choices.”

“We are in an impossible situation.”

Ziras lands behind you, and you turn towards your dragon, seeking the comfort of his emerald eyes. “I will not be responsible for bloodshed, not in this way.”

Vhagar touches down above you both, her roar shaking the ground.

“Take one more step and Vhagar will attack.” Aemond’s voice is deadly calm.

You turn on your heel. “You would kill me, my love?”

“I would kill your dragon.”

You freeze, staring at him, every bit of warmth inside you freezing with you until there’s nothing left but ice and rage. “You would threaten my dragon. My Ziras?” You took a step towards him. “You nearly became a kinslayer for your dragon, and I nearly died, for mine. How dare you?”

Ziras roared behind you, his eye narrowing, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“I do not wish to tear him from you, I only wish to make you aware of the consequences.”

You could strangle him with your bare hands for the arrogance that radiated from his words.

“Harm my dragon and I will kill you before Vhagar can turn her ancient head towards you.” You seethed, reaching for the dagger at your side.

Aemond’s eye, always quicker than any movement of yours, saw the twitch of your hand. He had his own dagger out before you could close your fingers around the handle of your own. “Do not test me, wife.”

You circled each other, daggers in hand, eyes watching each other’s moves.

“I would never husband, I know better than tha—” Your words were cut off by a sudden impact and surprise flashed across your face. You dropped your dagger, your hand going to the arrow in your chest. Ziras let out a sound that could only be described as a scream, and he darted in the direction the arrow came from.

Aemond’s dagger clattered to the stone, and he lunged forward, catching you as you fell.

“Aemond.” You said, your hand bloody when it came away from the wound. Your eyes were wide, panic clear in your voice.

“Y/N, oh gods, Y/N.” He breathed, carefully snapping the arrow, so he could inspect the wound. The arrow had pierced your heart. He gently lowered you both to the ground and pulled you into his arms, his hair falling forward and hiding your faces.

“It hurts.” You whimpered, tears running down your cheeks.

“My heart, please, don’t leave me.” His words tumbled from his lips as he held you closer, resting his forehead against her.

You felt the warmth of his tears on your face and reached up to run your fingertips against his scar. “Let me see you husband. I want your true face to be the last thing I see.”

Aemond pulled off his eyepatch and you smiled weakly. “There he is, my love.”

“Y/N, please. I will side with Rhaenyra. Or I will fly us to somewhere far away, no one will know our names, we can start over. No blood will be shed, just please, stay with me.” He begged; voice thick with tears.

You reached for his hand, and he intertwined your fingers. “I want to, I want to stay, Aemond I’m scared.” Your eyes found his. “I do not wish to be parted from you.”

Aemond shook his head, “you will not be, Ñuha dōna, you will not be parted from me.”

You gave a weak laugh, “I’m dying, and you still live, we will parted.” You felt him press something cold into your hand, then his hand settled around the arrow in your chest.

“Do you love me?” He asked, an intensity You’d only seen once before in his eyes.

“Of course, Aemond you will never be unloved by me.” You said, lip trembling, when he positioned your hand over his heart.

“I wish to die by your hand, let me follow you to the Stranger.”

A sob fell from your lips when he yanked the arrow out. “Aemond, you do not need to follow me, I will wait for you.”

He placed his hand over yours. “Now, sweet wife, be swift.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you pushed the dagger into his heart. Realization settling in your mind. He was yours, your soulmate. You could feel the life leaving you, and you kissed him gently, your tears mingling together the same way your blood had all those years ago. “You were mine.” You whispered, before the darkness took you and you went limp.

Aemond held you, his lips still pressed to yours, savoring the last of your warmth. He knew what you meant; he’d known you were his soulmate since the moment you met. True, he did not have confirmation until your last words, but he did not need fate to tell him who his heart belonged to.

He pulled his dagger out and used his last remaining strength to pull you fully into his embrace as he laid back upon the ground. Your face, finally able to soften after moons of war, was the last sight he was blessed with before he joined you in the Stranger’s arms.

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