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lullaebies · 2 months ago

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HII your jaehaera x aegon iii has taken over my brain like OMGGG him & jaehaera >>>> but my request (if your still taking them) is how team green and black see how Aegon iii is infatuated/fixated/in love with Jaehaera. it's moments like Aegon talking to his brothers until he suddenly goes silent, his eyes tracking Jaehaera who's passing by. Or Jaehaera dancing with another man and his jealousy. No matter the situation the way he looks at her is the same. Gentle and tender but intense. Like I need this man to be a devout simp 😩🫡

a/n: thank you so much love!! they have genuinely took over my brain i'm so happy i'm not alone in this lmaoo. now i didn't really have time to write the past few days sadly (which is why other reqs are still pending - sorry guys!), but for this request i actually had something in my drafts that fit to it. i am writing a chaptered fic au for jaehaegon (...and jaehaerys/viserys ii lol) and i've been testing writing interactions for them to get the vibe i want... it changed a lot since then, but this was one of the test fics. i hope you will enjoy it! this is viserys ii pov, but there are lots of mentions to other characters.

It is deep into the night’s feast when he notices Aegon playing with the ruby ring upon his pinky.

Well. Viserys supposes the more proper word is fiddle, though his brother is hardly a restless man. He is far more fitting into the description of rigid, filling the black of his doublets with broad shoulders of deliberate posture and a sense of responsibility.

Or at least so he had been, until their estranged family had come for a visit. Their uncle and aunt had come out of the woodworks that had been Oldtown to request to build a Keep to the west of it. That had been for their son, who had nothing to inherit, as it stands. Viserys’s mother had allowed them to make their case, his father had allowed them to see his smirks, but nothing yet had been set in stone.

It is an art, to convince those who never planned on being convinced. While Prince Aegon the Elder and Princess Helaena had been mostly unsuccessful in their endeavours, their daughter Jaehaera, had entered the court with prideful flare to her step and an ever-determined gaze. One could not say she had charmed his mother and father, but Viserys thinks they had hardly been the ones she had her mind on setting her claws in.

Instead, his own brother, usually so clear-headed and mindful, had his dark purple gaze almost unwaveringly on her. A genuine fool, he thinks. Viserys does not know what the witch has done to make him so dim-witted, but gods be good, she had known her plays.

While her twin and younger brother had sat nearby him at the table for the better of the event, Jaehaera had entered the feast late, much after everyone’s introductions. The announcement of her arrival had music forced to a stop, setting the majority of eyes to the entrance.

A lady pleasing on the eyes would steal a man’s thought, that is evident with his own brother, but a lady with strong enough wit would steal a man’s mind. And as music restarted with the appearance of her smile, and men flocked by her for a dance, Aegon could not be more obvious he had not been at peace, drinking vintage he had prior declared abhorrent.

In truth, Aegon the Younger paralleled Aegon the Elder with the sudden swallow of drinks. And while his brother had been staunchly, unabashedly, moronically staring at Jaehaera, her father had been dead on Aegon the Younger himself, looking just about ready to toss his goblet at him.

The atmosphere from her brothers hadn’t been much better. Sitting between Jaehaerys and Aegon the Younger, Viserys had felt a proper wall of separation. The man beside him may have known he needed to keep quiet if he wanted to get his damned Keep, but he had been looking at his brother with intense scrutiny for days now.

Little Maelor on the other hand had the gall to laugh while remaining within his mask of an innocent lamb. And when he next does, it is at the same time Viserys wishes to sink into his chair and disappear into it from embarrassment.

Some golden-haired man had invited Jaehaera to a dance. Not an unexpected occurrence; dancing does happen in feasts. But while his brother had attempted to busy himself with playing with his food like a child, he lifted his head again when the dance ended - only to see said man holding onto Jaehaera’s gem earrings while speaking to her in proximity that is questionable — and there, his brother had to stand. Literally.

Jaehaera looked towards Aegon in the eye then, as everyone else did, but within capturing her gaze, his mouth had become voiceless despite it being opened ajar.

And he stood there uncomfortably, unable to even cuss the man whose offense he stood up against to begin with. As if he’s going to make a fucking toast, or something. I cannot believe this. Baela had told him and Jace alike that she thinks they may be ought to bind their brother to some post to prevent him from acting up. Jace, kind crown-prince he is, completely dismissed it, but now looking at him, he thinks he too just realized their sister had been right.

Meanwhile mother looked properly frazzled herself, sharing a look with his father that had been so pointed, even King Consort Daemon himself realized he had to give a damn. “Continue the music,” his mother had told the musicians not far away from them, while father had gestured to Aegon to come his way, and now.

Whatever point words their father had decided to rebuke Aegon with, his brother had received them with properly flushed cheeks, should it be from the embarrassment, or the drinking, of whatever blood that didn’t manage to make it to his brain.

Aegon had soon left the table for the grand floor, finding himself some girl to dance with instead. A daughter of one of their loyal courtiers, he believes. Viserys releases a sigh of relief when he sees that. Perhaps now his blood pressure can calm.

His cousin — Jaehaerys, that is — seems to release a lousy scoff.

Viserys turns to him with a frown. “You have something to say?”

Viserys will admit; he is defensive of his brother, as foolish as he may have acted these days. He would not hear giggles or scoffs at him. Jaehaerys, on his part, is unfazed, staring yet still on the floor, and at the dance that has partners swapping left and right.

“There is little to say in this situation, no?” Jaehaerys answers. “Even little that can be done, or prevented, don’t you agree?”

Viserys doesn’t bother acting the fool, but his cousin better not either. “On your side, mayhaps,” he answers. “Your sister will lose you your Keep if this continues, you know this?”

Jaehaerys eyes grow daggered, and he lowers his voice. “There isn’t going to be any damn Keep given from your parents, even if my own ones’ grovel,” he says cutthroat. Viserys stares at him. He knows well enough, huh? “Don’t assume me stupid. Nor should you assume my sister stupid. This had been a losing game since arrival, for the lot of my family… but she’ll cut her losses even in the most futile of dances.”

When Viserys looks back at the dance floor, their siblings are dancing together. Viserys licks his lips. There is something there that can’t be prevented, perhaps, but also something that won’t quite be approved by all of their parents. What would it do, in the long run? Nothing.

“And throwing herself at my brother would be cutting her losses?” he asks back, more sincere than he even planned on sounding. He even tries to pick his words carefully. “It would not do her good either, to end up seeming a… seductress.”

Jaehaerys tsks. “No need to dance around it. I’ll say it as it is, fully and wholly — she has no plans on being your brother’s whore,” he brings a hand forward; the one with six fingers, and lays above the back of Viserys’s hand on the table. His fingers fill the spaces between his, the little extra pinky standing up purposefully. Viserys freezes for a moment, and nearly takes his hand back when Jaehaerys opens his mouth again. “It only takes one extra step to make honey from enticing, to trapping.”

The extra finger curls against Viserys’s palm as Jaehaerys intertwined their fingers, squeezing lightly with a smile. Viserys swallows and only manages to remember to snatch away his hand when Jaehaerys’s chuckle comes along with the brush of his thumb against the side of his palm.

What the fuck. He rises himself from his chair, needing some damn distance. Whatever the fuck his cousins have in mind, they live in their own world, as do their father and their mother.

By the time he manages to absolve himself from the almost scorching feeling of Jaehaerys’s hand on his, the feast is over, and they all go their own ways, Viserys himself remaining rushing to his room.

The morning after, when he sees Jaehaerys’s face again, he has a look in his eye that is ever-knowing. And for a moment, he thinks in mortification it is all about him — but it is not. It is only then, that he starts understanding what her brother truly meant the night prior.

Jaehaera is standing by her twin, smiling absentmindedly and fiddling with a ruby ring on her bony thumb, and his brother, his dear, foolish brother, stares at her with his bare fingers and doting eyes, ready only to give more.

#jaehaegon #jaehaera x aegon iii #aegon iii x jaehaera #viserys ii x jaehaerys #visrys #(???? idk how to tag them)#aegon iii targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #viserys targaryen #answered #hotd #hotd fanfic #my fics #reqs #requests #i really have amnesia at how to tag things here lmao #anyway enjoy!

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myokk · 6 days ago

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fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

#the girl’s name and gender tbh is subject to change #I’m having a lot of fun writing this up but it was all just written up on a whim #idk when I’ll FULLY be able to commit to this #but I always have so much fun writing his POV #SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! & forgive the messy sketch😆#honestly most of this is subject to be edited and/or changed #bc you are getting my writing before any editing whatsoever here😳#I just love the idea of Ominis being so full of conflicting pride and shame and lots of confusion #and the love interest to be so annoying and bratty and headstrong #basically an Elizabeth Bennet you know…she always thinks she’s right (she isn’t) and her first impressions are the law #I’m actually reading Mansfield Park now…Jane Austen please bless me as I write tonight😌🙏#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hphl #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanart #also I have WAY MORE WRITTEN!!! mostly just unconnected ramblings from his pov about how he thinks about life #& snapshots of his first year at Hogwarts 🥺🥺🥺#I really am an Ominis girl…#hogwarts legacy fanfic

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zackstriker · 7 days ago

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“What are you thinking about?” Phil asks, chlorine trailing down the brushstroke curve of his long, lean neck. Ivory and charming and all his, his, his.

Dan wants to say, every brutal thing I have ever wanted to do to you. The asthmatic ‘I Love You’s that keep getting caught deep in my lungs. How even under a full-toothed sun you are bright enough to chemically alter the cells of my skin. You sick form of radiation. You lovely sunburn of a man.

“If you were an animal figurine what animal would you be?” He says instead.

Read the rest: Here.

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its-actually-minicika · 2 years ago

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Hi, love your works so much! Can't wait for more updates 🥰🥰 I was wondering maybe you'd like the idea where book!Aemond and Velarion!(Strong?)Reader are in an arranged marriage. But Reader just knows what to say and how to act so that Aemond is wrapped around her finger (kinda thought of Margaery and Joffrey situation, she was such a talented schemer, worthy of winning the Throne 😭). I don't really know about the setting, like if it's before, during or after the Dance... just thought it'd be interesting to see this kind of plot with our beloved Prince 🤴🏼🐉

If you don't like it, just ignore me 🙈

Dragon Sickness (18+)

Pairing: bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader

Warnings: No usage of (Y/N), Greens win AU, bookcanon Greens, the obvious Targaryen incest, mentions of major character deaths (we're entering spoiler grounds, but not really), blood, gore etc.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: I fell in love with this idea the moment I saw it! I ended up altering the plot line for this one-shot a little bit - the reader will definitely grow into the Margaery architype, but today you shall see her as she was when she just learned how to make ends meet with her newfound life at Court.

I don't know if I should turn this into yet another series, but if you guys enjoyed this, let me know

Also, thank you so, so much for your kind words ♡ i'm hugging you to the moon and back!

PART 2 IS OUT NOW ♡♡♡

Who could ever blame you for your indiscreet acts? Alliances change when the world you know suddenly turns upside down.

She remembered how weak she was. How scared she had been.

How her eyes widened into two brown specs of uncertainty, how her mouth fell agape, as she mulled over Alicent’s words.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her. Much less her demanding and scornful father.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead. Driftmark wouldn’t matter, her legacy wouldn’t matter. Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

Never mind that he’d never partaken in a fight; save for the one that killed her stepfather, Daemon, and sent her poor mother in a downward spiral. Aemond had chosen his adversaries wisely, and managed to go through the whole war without as much of a scratch upon his silver armour.

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out.

‘You will do exactly as demanded.’

‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

A monstrous beast. That is what Aemond was.

And that is what he shall remain. No matter how many gifts he brought to her. No matter how many hours of their days and days in their weeks and weeks in their months they spent promenading those ghastly gardens.

‘You will if you know your best interests. Your own head may hold no value to you, but a single swing of my son’s sword would be enough to bring forth the ruin of House Blackwood.’

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

The slight breeze of the cathedral mended her flesh from the heat of summer. And no one dared to approach or talk to her. The quietness was a welcomed deed.

During the first night of their betrothal, her glossy eyes scanned Aemond’s face. His hands wantonly gripped at his thighs and a slight twitch of his mouth, accompanied by an elongated hum escaped his lips.

There was no other discernable expression. And when he led her to the chambers of her early girlhood, he merely bowed and kissed her hand.

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months. Her wedding date was approaching swiftly, and she found herself faced with the abhorrent truth. She had no allies. No more friends at Court. The girl had shut herself in her tiny room, losing her mind with the pain and grief that flooded her at night: the faces of her mother, her brothers, her father. The sound of their screams and their endless pleas for help.

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in.

‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

The echo of his mellow voice deterred her to let out a blood-curdling scream, that would have rivalled even the one of the late Queen Rhaenyra, after Aegon the Usurper ceased her at Dragonstone, and reeled his dragon to eat her whole.

‘Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck out of my room!’

Her sobs pierced into the man’s heart, but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn. He clenched his fists ruefully by his side, and spat out an apology in a low and dangerous tone.

‘As you wish.’

And how dearly he loved those words:

‘As you wish.’

'As you desire.’

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

Her face contorted into the mirror, and a faint sigh beleft her lips. Carefully she turned around, reflecting his stance with a subtle arch to her shapely brow.

“It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding ceremony.”

“An old wives' tale. And one that applies only on the day itself.”

“Perhaps we should encourage tradition more. Make it so we don’t cross paths at all til then.”

Just as fast as it came, the feral look dissolved over his tired face. Aemond heaved out a heavy exhale and merely settled to growl at her maids.

“Leave us. Now.”

A discontented look painted over her fair features. His niece opened her mouth in protest, to try and stop the fleeing girls from truly making their escape.

“I must remind my Prince that the engagement assembly will be held in less than an hour. I believe I should like them to stay.”

The gathered women exchanged lost and protruding glances, until the former King Regent spoke again.

“They will leave us at once.”

“They’ll do no such a thing. They must make haste to get me ready. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

“I’m more than capable of lacing up a loose bodice.”

The tight expression on her face deserted her features with the leave of his smug retort. She swallowed thickly in enraged abandon, and silently beseeched her ladies not to leave her all alone.

Still ravishing her with his bold stare, Aemond stepped another foot into the cosy confinements of her tidy prison. “If I’m to turn around now and find any of you standing before me, I’ll arrange that you’re all flogged and defiled beyond the utter of salvation.”

Brisk footsteps swallowed the room, echoing wildly through the narrow dark hallways. The former Velaryon shook her head in disarray, and graced her soon-to-be-husband with a tight smile and a nod.

“Congratulations.” She uttered humorously, “I should enjoy looking like a fool tonight much more than being proper by your side.”

As if drowned below a trace, Aemond took another step in the direction of the frowning Princess. His face remained impenetrable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice ran meek, unsure and hoarse.

“Turn around.” He commanded her gently, whilst grabbing a deep green garment from the cluttery made on her bed. Despite her lack of desire to abide by his request, the woman turned her back to him and muttered slowly, though much softer than intended.

“I don’t like that one. It’ll make the skirts look out of place.”

“Which one do you want, then?” His whisper had made her draw in a sharp gasp; the warmth of his breath fell soothingly over the nape of her neck, caressing her delicate skin in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“The red one with black lacings.”

His hand came to spin her back around, and their noses nearly touched together. A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

“Your petticoat won’t be those colours.”

A conceited scowl graced her face. She reached her hand behind him and skillfully snatched one of a different design. “Fine. I want to wear this one, then.”

The obnoxious blue and silver danced across her paling skin. And if Aemond weren’t so dazed by their proximity and lack of air, he might have laughed at her feeble attempts of vexing him.

“Those are Velaryon hues.”

“Perfect. I shall honour my house well.”

“You are not a Velaryon to grace them with such a feat.”

“No, you are absolutely right. Your brother did name me a Targaryen.”

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

“Yet I can’t wear black and red either.” A prompted look disarmed the Prince, “It is all very confusing.”

His lone orb descended to her puffing bosom, but Aemond soon directed himself upon a more elusive image. His fingers twitched with the need to grab a hold of her – to pull away those last pieces of cloth that shielded her away from view.

“You know full well why I can’t allow that.” He hummed in unmoving disapproval, “As much as I enjoy your voice and the raptures of your closeness, I must say this conversation bores me.”

“I should be able to wear what I want.” Came her prompt and swift reply, “But of course, Your Grace, forgive me. ‘Tis not for men to pounder on laces and brims.” Her palms took to rest upon his bulging chest, and the girl nearly removed them at once, as the thrumming of his heart enterlaced with her slim fingers. Still, she furrowed her brows in a most perplexed of mockeries, and insatiably drove on, “Indeed resilient men such as yourself occupy their time much better.”

The callouses of his hands fell heavily upon her cheeks.

“Fucking their ways through brothels, getting their pricks wet, and fantasising about wars.”

The harshness of his next tug nearly broke her brave facade – her eyes widened in mistrust, and a slight recoil braced over her straightened back. Her small fingers clasped over his shaking wrist, which held onto her face with a gentleness untoward; one completely mismatching with the predatory glimmer in his eye.

The man he was, and the man he was trying to be would surely never mend to one.

A Kinslayer. A monster. A divergent freak.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

His thumb played absent-mindedly at her lower lip, and the young Princess tried her damnest not to bite him. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?”

“You are as imprudent as you are beautiful. A family trait, I assume.”

“You have my gratitude for the flattering commentary. I’m very proud of my heritage.”

His lilac orb bore into her, and the man let out a reserved laugh, “Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.” The rough end of his hand gripped her own painfully, before she could make for a swing at his handsome face. “Lost in the seas, rotting at the bottom of an ocean, nestling inside Sunfyre’s belly.”

While her hands were clasped together, her mouth wasn’t sown shut. With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

Though his nostrils flared up in disdain, the man graced her with a calculated smirk. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?” He mocked her with feigned interest.

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

“Oh, but I have every right to talk about your family. Given that I will be yours quite soon.” Once more he forced her to turn around, and kneeled over to her spasming form, to begin dressing her up; in nought else, of course, but the mundane silks of his choosing.

"Doesn't the prospect thrill you? To become my lady-wife, to finally bear a true Targaryen inside your royal womb?"

So hopeless and defeated she felt, that the youth jerked herself relentlessly, while repeating him the same plethora of words. “You cannot force me to be your whore. You cannot force me to wear this. I will not bear your Hightower green.”

Aemond could feel his patience running thin – and when her foot came into contact with his setting knee, the man let out a ferocious growl, and promptly trapped the girl in his arms, with the aid of a nearby wall.

“So you want to be difficult? You don’t want to wear this? Hmm? Well, who am I not to abide my Lady’s burning wishes?”

The sharpness of his dagger came into quick contact with the milky skin of her thighs. And she might have almost screamed, if Aemond didn’t immediately pull himself away. His hard chest grazed hers for but a moment, as the Prince cast his attention to her moving shadow.

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

She huffed out a dispensing pant and pursed her lips into a tight line.

She remained rigid and poised, until a spark of amusement swirled into her eyes.

The first crack was that of a lax smile. The next, a tremor to her lips. The calm before the storm approached, until all rattled down with a mirthed laugh cascading from her reddened lips.

“Do you mean to frighten me with this promise?” She asked through the arch of an uncertain brow, “As if every man in this cursed Keep won’t get to watch me whore myself out to you anyway, when our wedding night will come?”

His face suddenly hardened at the notion of their reality – as if he didn’t give much thought to the bedding ceremony. To his Lady being watched by a thousand other eyes but his.

Aemond suddenly darkened, and his fist came into contact with a near spot on the wall, so awfully close to her frightened, paling face.

She watched with wide eyes how his stare contorted from one of realisation to one of fury. He stiffly peeled his body away from hers, and strained himself to leave her be. The jealous and possessive knots that churned painfully inside his stomach burned his skin upon the surface, and constricted the air he brashly took in.

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him. Behind his eye danced a look of seldom shame – he gnawed harshly at his bottom lip, and pondered, for a while, on apologising to his niece; for his lack of princely conduct, for his show of impropriety – for his inability to keep himself at bay.

Still his thoughts failed to merge to words, and so the man ran his eye one final time over her defensive pose, and merely left her standing there.

As if turned into a statue, the girl barely registered the lethargic closing of the door, the hurried and heavy footsteps that travelled further and further away from her quaint and cluttered space, and the animated curse that slipped past her uncle's throat.

Did he just dare to leave her there, with her petticoat half up her legs, in nought else but a flimsy nightdress?

At first she thought that his avoidance was a blessing in disguise.

For after clashing wits with Aemond, and after his swift hurried departure, the man had barely graced her with another word.

His hand held onto hers for the whole duration of the procession. He wordlessly forced her to dance two dances, and led her to her Quarters as soon as she mentioned that she was tired.

But his palms didn’t linger on the shape of her narrow waist – his lips barely grazed her knuckles, and Aemond turned with lest a word to add after their fake sympathies were exchanged.

Had he gotten bored of her? Realised what a terrible match they made, and begged his mother on his hands and knees to break off their ill engagement?

For the first time in a while, a new notion of fear engulfed her.

The Greens couldn’t kill her. Of that, she was almost certain. It wouldn't be a wise move, and it would anger the North beyond the power of salvation. The war had had its say on every army that fought into it, yet the Crownlands were especially weak.

But if Aemond were to sever their solidary alliance, then her future would be most uncertain.

Otto Hightower would make her join with an old and withered Lord, no doubt – one with more than enough sons to further on his pesky line. One who couldn’t even get it up to her, who’d never procreate and mend their blood, who’d make sure Rhaenyra’s line would end with her.

Or perhaps she’d be sent to join the Faith – become a Septa or a Silent Sister, among the infamous Maris Baratheons of the Realm. Yet another girl who wouldn’t keep her tongue when asked.

And history might remember them as ‘the women who couldn’t be tamed’, but their lives would be thrown to ruin. Their existence would remain a sham.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

… And if she had to whore herself to him to do it, she would obediently assume her role.

“I beg your pardon?” Aegon asked through another gulp of bitter wine, “Gods be good – I believe that now I’ve heard it all.”

Aemond paced about his brother’s room, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his face set into a deep grimace. He hummed in admission to his brother’s words, and glanced his way with the instance of a hooded eye.

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

His brother smiled and raised his brows in nothing else but blinding wonder. A small shake of his head indicated his perplexion, and a sharp inhale his drawn decision.

“Mother insisted upon it. You know that well.” The man steadied himself in his chair as he spoke, whilst letting out a small grunt at the contact that the wood made upon his burnt remnants of skin. “I don’t see any reason to annul it. Especially now, an eve before.”

Another sip of the stinging liquor interrupted his smooth and ready trail of thought. The Targaryen brushed off Aemond’s concerns, and gleefully bided his teasing.

“It’ll do the two of you good – you’ll get to see she’s as pure as a bastard girl can be; and she’ll have no deniability that any of her future heirs are yours.” He pointed his weary digit in the direction of his stiffened form and swallowed down a hefty laugh. “Not to mention that Lord Redwyne and Tarly already placed bets on the state of her maidenhead. Would be a shame to disappoint them both, don't you think?"

“What mother thinks is of no consequence. And the amusement of the Realm matters not to me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

“Nonsense, Aemond. It is our duty to upkeep the Realm – and to entertain its inhabitants if need be.”

When his reckless teasing was met with glacial silence, Aegon sighed as he briskly leaned forward. He watched his sibling with an indiscernible expression across his scorched veneer, and yawned greatly at his indisposed behaviour.

“Of course, we’re here to talk it out. But after so much time spent in your company, I fail to see the necessity for such a thing.” A sly smirk danced across his puffy lips, “Are you concerned that she won’t bleed? Or that you’ll be too cunt-struck by her to last enough to make a statement?”

Aemond’s fists descended upon the polished wood of Aegon’d desk. He thrashed his brother with a defiant glare, and hissed through his gritted teeth, and tight-set jaw.

“There will be no bedding ceremony for my niece and I. Tell that to every Lord that wishes to glance upon my wife – if they do so much as to cast their eyes on her, they’ll be fucking their own wives with a wooden cock.”

Amusement laced with grave concern – the finality of Aemond's words ought to have vexed him, irk the King in his sibling's weighty insolence. Instead Aegon nodded, pushing back the feeling of dread that settled deep within his bones. His head jerked towards his closed oak door, signalling to his brother that his visit had been overstated. “What sort of brother would I be, to not grant you with this simple whim?”

The younger Targaryen mirrored his stance, and turned abruptly on his heel after a low grunt of gratitude.

His hand reached for the golden handle, but Aegon's words deterred him to a halt.

“But be careful with that one, Aemond. She’s brash and wholly unpredictable. Make sure the blood that stains your sheets come morning isn’t somehow your very own.”

Perma Tag List: @welcometothelioncage @kravitzwhore ♡

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trashydez · 1 day ago

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like a phoenix. (2.7k words)

what if phoenix- instead of being virtually indestructible, actually wasnt? what if he was actually incredibly prone to death, but he just… never stayed dead?

(trigger warning for a multitude of causes of deaths!! some in detail and some not. other tw’s include implied suicide attempts, implied child neglect, derealisation and thinking one is already dead. be warned! take care of yourself!)

at 9, he wakes in his bed after having a high fever and his mom ships him off to school hours after it began. he finds it odd, because last he’d checked his temperature (that morning, when he told his mom he felt like he was going to die and his mom had left to go run errands, barely sparing him a glance), his temperature had been at 107 degrees farenheit. that was definitely high, but after he slipped into unconsciousness, writhing and restless and in a lot of pain, he woke up to his mother checking his temperature and saying he was fine to head off to school. he didnt feel fine, but his temperature had gone down significantly enough that his mother felt like he had no excuse not to go. hes glad he went to school though, even as he shivered, sneezed and sniffled, because there he found a friend in a boy with a funny bowtie and a heart made of gold.

he crunches and chokes on glass shards and poison but doesnt die. the doctors dont find anything wrong with him, aside from feeling a bit ill, so he goes back into the courtroom and dollie is convicted of murder. hes happy his roommate is away for some theatre troupe thing, because the sickness eventually catches up to him and he throws up shards of glass, acid and blood. it cuts into his throat and burns his eyes and he swears, he swears he dies right then and there, freezing and shaking and everything hurts. but when he wakes up hours later, the sun having set and the only light source in his dingy dormroom the moon outside, hes amazed to not feel sick anymore. but the puddle of sludge is drying beside his face and he considers himself lucky, or maybe unlucky, because unlike dahlia’s other victims, he actually lives to tell the tale.

phoenix arrives early to the office, having been in the public library nearby reading a book on reincarnation. he enters the office and promptly has his skull caved into his brain. he does not see his assailant, but when he wakes, theres an oddly dressed girl crying, crouched over his boss’ cold body. he doesn’t think about the drying blood in the back of his head, or how cold mia’s body is (and why he can even tell, considering the fact he has not touched her corpse) or the chapter in the book he’d been reading that talked about quantum immortality— all he thinks of is proving maya fey’s innocence.

as it turns out, being constantly anxious and terrified of mortal peril actually has its perks. maybe the fact he’s a lawyer whose only ever dealt with homicide cases definitely wasn’t benefiting his mental wellbeing either. in any case, its that fear of literally everything and constant feeling of impending doom that makes his body react before his mind does. taser! danger! maya! so, he gets tasered. and it fucking HURTS, but he feels more relieved than frightened as the searing pain shoots through him, because he’d been able to push maya away before von karma got to them both. wasnt a symptom of death by electrocution an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and imminent death? maybe he was going crazy. when he comes back though, its to his head in the lap of a crying spirit medium, so maybe a psychotic break isnt too bad if it means everyone else gets to escape with no damage to their own psyche.

its only after she stops screaming in terror- oh my god, nicks a zombie!! kyahh!!!- and nearly beating him with her bulky magatama necklace, that she tells him what she saw. (“like, there was a sudden bright light and then i realised it was coming from you! but when i tried to touch your glowing skin,” she says it like its the most absurd thing she’d ever seen, which really said something considering the fact she was from a family of people who could channelthe dead “it was HOT! like, japanifornia summer hot! blazing! i was only able to check your pulse after you cooled down a bit…”). maybe its this that makes him less alarmed by the way his skin glowed in the dark of his trashed bedroom, after drinking himself to death following a certain phone call from a terribly sad, newly bossless detective. he doesnt think he can bear the taste alcohol ever again, after that.

maybe the number of times he’s died of blunt force trauma to the head should be a cause for concern, even more so when he wakes up without any of his memories. he’s terrified, and doesnt even knows who he is, until he does, and is able to prove maggey byrde innocent. fun times! he should probably watch out to make sure his next death wasn’t to the head, lest he be as mentally impaired as a number of people liked to say he was… (and he should probably also be concerned by the fact he was already thinking of the next time he’d die, but ah well, blame it on the concussion).

as it turns out, getting whipped to death was not on his list of ways he thought he’d die next, but life liked to mess with him like that, it seemed. still, dragging his delirious self to the bathroom of his office to try and save the infected wounds from killing him wasn’t all that fun, and he’s immediately reminded of his first death, slow and painful, alone and scared of what came next. he feels bad for feeling relieved when maya shows up and screams upon seeing the state he and the bathroom (that’d he’d accidentally trashed when his legs gave out after he opened the door, a number of bottles fallen to the floor beside him) were in. he stops her from calling the police- there was no point, he didn’t have much time left. but when she asks what she could do, he goes quiet. (…just… stay here? i dont- he coughs up a distinctly red shade of spit. maya makes a noise between a choked cry and a whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. but phoenix was shivering worse now, and hugs himself tigher. i dont want to die alone.) so she stays with him, on the cold bathroom floor, as his labored breathing eventually slows. when he awakens, he finds maya asleep leaning against him, and promises to get her burgers as a thank you.

who knew death by a monkey throwing a giant bronze bust of max galactica at you could happen? at this point, he’s almost glad he was basically immortal, because there was no way in hell he’d allow his autopsy report to say ‘cause of death: monkey manslaughter’! edgeworth would laugh himself to tears if he saw! not that he could see. or cry, because he was dead. and not coming back. damn.

so edgeworth isnt dead! yippee? he thought it was his thing to get reanimated after death, not edgeworths. when he saw him, standing in the middle of the police department, alive and breathing and very much not dead, he nearly started laughing. he must’ve finally gone insane! curse the amount of times he’d died of brain related injuries, not that he knew how many of them there were at this point. he might actually have laughed a bit, because pearls was looking at him like he was losing it (he was) but he couldnt really bring himself to care as he had more pressing issues at hand, like saving his best friend from a crazy serial killer holding her hostage, and punching his other best friend in the face for faking his own death (because really, dying was his thing! not edgeworths!). and if he pulls edgeworth into a hug immediately after, throwing caution in the wind (you only live once, right?), the warmth- a normal, human temperature, unlike his burning hot when he came back from death- is enough to stabilise his harried mind for just a moment, before he has to return to his guilty client and his hopeless situation.

by some crazy turn of events, he actually doesnt die from having boiling hot coffee thrown at his face. it burns, and maya screams when she sees the boils on his face after that first trial with godot, but after throwing a wet towel over his face and putting him in timeout on the sofa for 12-hours, the burns go away as if they were never there. he fell asleep at some point, and after alot of back and forth debate, they eventually came to the conclusion that 1. his body heat rising to burning levels when he dies must have caused his body has to grow immune to heat and 2. since sleep was like a ‘temporary death’, a ‘temporary wound’ would just heal like it did when he died of normal wounds, right? he didn’t want to dwell on it too much, because maya was looking at him like she wanted to test that theory for real, so he quickly changes topics before things got out of hand.

so their theory on the immunity to heat thing was correct! …almost. larry had tried to stop him, but it was fire and he was basically immune to heat, right? nope! his skin burned and boiled but he didn’t die as he tried to run across the burning bridge. even so, nothing hurt more than falling through one of the burnt planks and slamming onto the surface of the freezing cold rushing stream below. luckily the death was near immediate, but unfortunately he came to while in the water still, so he swallowed a sizeable amount of water before paramedics arrived. he hears the doctors find his survival miraculous, despite the scorching hot fever he was now under. he blacks out again, and comes to in the hospital, feeling absolutely terrible.

the horribleness feels familiar though, and when edgeworth walks in, he realises what it must be, when the man presses the back of his hand to his temple and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. (oh. he thinks, tearing up despite himself. it must be the fever. i’m going to die like this again.) his internal monologue must’ve been external though, because edgeworth balks (‘again?!’). but phoenix was crying in hiccups and sobs, feeling terrible and like he was nine years old again, wishing his mother were there to nurse him back to health like she’d never done before. he faintly hears edgeworth sitting down on his bed and reaches out, gripping the mans waist like it was a lifeline. in a sense, it was. “don’t go.” he whispers, gripping the man tighter like he’d disappear into thin air (again). “please, please don’t go.” in his delirium, he nearly wails in despair when he feels edgeworth move, but he was only moving to readjust himself so he’s lying next to him, their bodies so close that it must burn, but the only sign edgeworth shows that he’s in pain is a wince and the crease of his brow. he allows himself to be cried on, curling a protective arm over phoenix’s burning body. “i- i dont know what’s going on, wright, but i’m not, i’m not going anywhere, okay?” he seems to be attempting exasperation, but it comes out terrified and concerned, but phoenix is fading quickly, so it might just be his waning mind making up things that don’t exist. “i am terrified. your body is life threateningly hot and— wright? wright!”

he comes to with nurses surrounding him, and a distressed edgeworth swearing on his life that that man was dead, his body was seizing and on fire and- and his heart stopped beating! but phoenix couldn’t dwell on it, because the mention of fire immediately brought him back to why he was in the hospital at all. and plus, it gave him the chance to use his best friends sensitive treatment of him afterwards to convince him to play defense attorney, so that was nice. still, he feels like he dies when he finds out dahlia had actually been iris and that godot was actually his dead mentors apparently not dead boyfriend. oh, and he was also a murderer. he also feels like he dies when dahlia- actual, serial killer and dead by execution dahlia, was exorcised from maya’s body. but that had more to do with his soul leaving his body in terror rather than actually dying, so that was a nice change of pace… probably.

later, he’d had to have a conversation with edgeworth to give him an explanation on just what the hell he’d witnessed in that hospital room. although, apparently his re-aliving symptoms must’ve started becoming more dramatic, because miles describes it as his whole body glowing as bright as the sun, and then his eyes opening for a moment to reveal nothing but white, glowing eyeballs with no irises. phoenix has to convince him to still board his flight the day after, that he was okay… probably. maybe not safe, but definitely okay. (still, edgeworth stays the night at his, and they hold eachother close, basking in the shared warmth of two alive bodies in heat equilibrium, listening to eachothers breathing and rhythmic heartbeats, no signs of impending mortality in sight, save for, what did the french call it? la petite morte? most of all, phoenix basks in the promise miles makes to him. “i’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, over and over like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was phoenix. “i’m not going anywhere, i promise.”)

and when he loses his badge, he thinks he really does die, permanent and definitively. he feels far away from his body when the forger is called to the witness stand. feels like a ghost when the council walks out the room and past him, making no eye contact and answering the unanswered question on the tip of his tongue. feels his life crumble to pieces when a blonde man with a pleasent, almost saintly smile gives him the most maddeningly sympathetic look and tells him he is sorry for his loss, as if there really was someone dead. only, the only one dead must’ve been him, because there was no one else there who had just lost their life. he couldn’t even hear himself as he laughed, which turned into sobs, as he excused himself and fleed to his bicycle. not one pedestrian bats an eye at the state he is in, so he must really be a ghost, cycling past speeding cars and large trucks and buses as if it couldn’t kill him, because he wasn’t there, he was already dead. when he reaches his office, freezing and quiet and dreadfully void of any human life, he passes by the window his boss had died at and sees his reflection, unkempt and red faced and badgeless. he wants to scream, but he couldn’t because no one would hear a ghost scream, so instead he just sits down in the spot his mentor had lost her life in, and mourns.

when two weeks later a warm, incredible alive life falls into his hands in the shape of a little girl with a too big tophat and a joy for being alive that he’d lost years ago, well, maybe he is glad that he couldn’t die for real, if only to be able to wake up to that beaming grin as his little girl tries to pull her daddy out of bed because she’d made breakfast, and it only smells burnt because of the magic something she’d added as a special ingredient. he eats it, char and all, because he can’t taste the burnt-ness of it anyway, but he could taste the love and care put into it, and that was more than enough to take his mind away readying himself for his next death. instead, he thinks of his daughter’s next performance at the wonder bar, and their next trip to kurain, and miles’ next visit. for once, he thinks of living.

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medecineformelancholy · 6 months ago

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"Phone in hand, and wrapped in a soft throw blanket, Trent slid the balcony door shut behind him. He had the borrowed sweatpants back on from the evening before, and his feet were bare as he stepped onto the prickly all-weather carpeting. The fall breeze slipped between his toes and playfully tugged at his untamed hair as he closed his eyes and faced the rising sun. Trent shivered as cool air met the damp spots where Ted had kissed his neck and lips before coming outside, knowing something inside of himself had woken up for what felt like the first time."

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For Chapter 13 of I Really Enjoyed Getting to Spend This Time With You by @rngaredead ❤️

Yes, Ted and Trent are holding hands in the second one. No, you wouldn't know how else they are spending their precious limited time together unless you head to the story!

Thank you, my friend, for each and every beautiful quiet moment ❤️

#rngaredead #I really enjoyed getting to spend this time with you #tedependent #tedependent fic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanart #tedtrent #trent crimm #trent crimm fanart #my art

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emeraldoodles · 1 year ago

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Shigeo is asking Reigen for advice on asking out a special boy!

I really love @pearliegrimm fic "Sometimes That's Better". It's hilarious and I was literally laughing out loud while reading it. I hope to draw more comics from the fic (adding to my long list of WIPs).

This is a scene from the very first chapter, so if you enjoyed it go check out the fic!

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #serizawa kastuya #shigeo kageyama #serirei #pearliegrimm #comic #fanfic #fanfiction #idk why I put so much effort into the sign #I just really wanted to color a neon sign #Reigen being ADHD asfuck thinking about tomatoes #anyone catch the one punch man reference?#I enjoy drawing Mob suffer to much to be healthy #Shigeo not being the sharpest #but together with Teru they make one brain cell #once again a comic that was suppose to be more simple until I decided to ink it then color it sigh

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ravawrites · 1 year ago

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Invaluable

THIS IS UNIMPORTANT PART 2!!!!!!!

summary: your boss finally realises what you mean, and how he feels. warnings: smoking, drinking, sexual situations (not smut!) a/n: this is based on that time aaron SNATCHES that cigarette out of the unsubs mouth and it’s hot. If you want a smut part please comment or leave a thing in my inbox. love ya <3

wordcount: 4687

The next few weeks nothing had changed between you and your boss since his confession of you being important to the team. But at the same time, everything had. He had become less dismissive once you handed him the usual bitter black coffee he gets. Instead of the usual “Thank You,” just thrown your way without a sparing glance.

Now, you were still thanked. However, he turned his head towards you, making eye contact for a slightly lingering moment before continuing on with the case and turning back to the drawing board. It was pity, you assumed. Pity for the fact that you had almost been shot and killed in a police precinct bathroom.

Another small change was the way he asked for things. He had went from harshly barking orders at you to have papers ready, collect that box of files, prep the interrogation room. To coming up to you directly, asking you quietly and politely.

On the other hand, something completely different, never happened before, your boss, Aaron Hotchner had brought you a coffee on the jet. Albeit, the rest of the team were passed out in a deep sleep. Em had her head rested on JJ’s shoulder as they slept together. Spencer had a book over his face and Morgan had his music playing in his ears.

“You’re not sleeping?” He asked as he bent down to place the coffee on the small table in-front of you. Lifting it up you take a scalding sip from the mug. Boiling hot, burning your tongue but exactly how you liked it.

“How do you know which way I like my coffee?” You ask, the shock evident in your tone and get given pointed look because the answer to that was obvious. “I can’t sleep when something is moving, car, train, private jet.” Your mouth quirks up at the last one. You see him nod in understanding and he makes his way back to his seat and to bury his nose back into the files. “Thank you.” You whisper out loud enough for him to hear but not enough to wake the team.

The rest of the flight back to Quantico was peaceful. Silence after a long and hard case was always welcome, the calm after the storm.

Silky sheets caress your legs as the loud blaring of your alarm rings in your ears. The orange beginnings of daylight peek through a small gap through the curtains. Rolling over, the blue light from your phone glares in your eyes. New email. Meeting at 8:30. Urgent.

One thing you hated about your boss was his inability to elaborate when things were important. Rushing to get ready and throwing your work clothes on as fast as possible, your mind races. Skimming over every mistake you had made in the past few months that could lead to you getting fired. Or anything the rest of the team could have done to prompt an urgent meeting.

Arriving at the office the rest of the team stand in the bullpen, equally confused.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asks you as you join the huddle at her desk.

“No idea.” You reply with a shrug and the six of you turn to look up into Hotch’s office. He has the landline up to his ear and seems to be talking intensely to the person on the other end. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea.” Spencer echoes your words from earlier. “He doesn’t look happy though.”

Then without a word Hotch opens his office door and with no more than a nod, orders you to the conference room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look that way. Stoic, serious and unmoving.

“We’re all fired.” Pen squeaked out with a determined nod. She then marched up to the conference room, the rest of you following in her stead.

The conference room was not a stranger to long intense silence. It usually happened when one of the team had made a mistake that Strauss wouldn’t let go. Usually a mistake that your unit chief’s job was put on the line for. Hotch is sitting when you enter.

“Have we got a case?” Derek asks with a nod to the remote in Hotch’s hand. The screen behind him lit up and he stood up.

“Not exactly.” A look of disgust was commonly shared around the circular table at hearing about the heinous crimes that the team solved regularly. However, a look of panic, was rare and was prominent at what Hotch said next. “We have been invited to the FBI christmas gala.” Groans and eye rolls were shared around the table.

“We are on orders from Strauss to not take any new cases until after the event,” He continued, “As we are most likely going to revive an award.”

“When is it?” JJ asks, her chin in her hands and her hair falls over her face.

“Next Friday. We all get a plus one.” Hotch finishes and gets up, striding out of the conference room and back to his office to stare at more files until late in the evening.

“You know what this means ladies.” Penelope starts, her body pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Dress shopping!” The huge smile on her face made everything more bearable. At least one of you was excited.

A few days later the girls and you were standing in some high-end boutique, browsing the multiple colours of dresses. Racks upon racks of different cuts, shapes and lengths are everywhere. Penelope was rushing through them at a speed you'd never seen, picking out what she thought would look best on the three of you.

"Em, you just have to wear red!" She gushes and hands Emily a stack of different shades of red. "Go try them on." Pen gives her a shove toward the fitting rooms. "Same for you." She says to JJ, her pile filled with a variety of blues, pinks and purples.

They both come out one at a time, showing you and Pen all of the dresses she had specifically picked out. Naturally, Pen loved every single one they came out in, smiling every time. Until they both came out at the same time and she let out a dramatic gasp.

Emily was wearing a deep red velvet dress that came down to her ankles and was tight-fitted down her body. JJ's was light pink with light lace flowers all over in lace. It flared out from her hips and draped over her legs. "Those. Are. Perfect." She squealed at the pair as they both did a spin. They both blushed at your and Pen's extensive compliments about how well the dresses fit them.

"You guys look amazing!" You say from your seat and Emily's look turns from appreciative to mischievous.

"Now it's your turn," Emily smirks and she and JJ take their place on the plush bench that you and Pen were just perched on. JJ hands you the pile of perfectly curated dresses Penelope had picked out for you, in many different colours. You pick out all of the colourful ones and leave them on the bench. You catch the girls confused looks.

"While a gala is a break for you, I'm still on the clock." You explain and shake the black dresses in your hands. "I have a dress code, black only." You watch Penelope's face drop.

"But, that green one would look so good." She says, obviously disappointed you wouldn't get to wear the one she had envisioned you in. "Try it on for me?" She asks and gives you a look you couldn't resist.

"After, I find my one for the night." You put emphasis on after as your friend was not one for patience.

A few dresses later, varying reactions from the girls as you came out. Some 'oohs' and 'ehhs' gave you a clear opinion of what they thought. Penelope had found her dress almost instantly, it was a silky champagne with black lace over the bust. Finally, you had thought you had found the one. It was black, of course, and didn't come down too low at the bust, stopping just before inappropriate. The fabric stopped at the floor and didn't restrict your walking movement.

"Oh, that's lovely," JJ says as you pull the curtain back to reveal yourself to them.

"That is the one!" Penelope jumps up and gives you a hug.

"I think I'm all dressed out." Emily slumps against the wall as you make your way to get changed back into your normal clothes and bag up your dress of choice.

Making your way to the till, you all pay for your dresses and head your separate ways home.

The fateful day had finally come. Hours upon hours of explaining that you are not a profiler to a part of the BAU team but their PA. Then having to listen for hours upon hours on why the BAU was favoured by the director as they had a private jet and a PA. Looking good was crucial if you were a benefit, you had better be a good-looking one.

If the dress had to be black and plain with a simple shape and a boring unappealing neckline. You'd dress it up with dainty jewellery and amazingly high heels in a matching black. You had turned a simple dress that was gathering dust in the back of the racks into a sublime sleek look. The ding from your phone catch’s your attention as you grab your clutch.

It read ‘We’re outside’ and quickly you smooth down your hair one last time and make your way out of the apartment building, seeing the girls waiting in one of the SUV’s for you. Emily at the wheel with Jj in the passenger seat and Penelope in the back.

“You look stunning!” Penelope shouts from the window as you walk towards the car and you can’t help but produce a huge smile on your face.

“So do all of you.” You say as you shut the car door behind you. The drive to the venue wasn’t long, small talk being the main focus of the conversation.

“Are any of you looking for a man tonight?” Jj asks, a smirk on her face. She had brought Will as her plus one and he was currently residing in the men’s car who were trailing not too far behind them. “Or woman.” She adds, casting a small glance at Em.

“If something happens, it happens.” Emily says with a shrug, knowing that she would be approached many a time during the night.

“I’m fine with my chocolate thunder.” Pen says, her face lighting up. “But you never know.” A few hums of agreement echo around the car. “And what about you, beautiful creature of the night?” Penelope asks.

“I’m working.” It was a short answer but you didn’t miss the simultaneous eye rolls of the three others. “What was that?” You ask with a scoff, looking between the three of them.

“Oh yes. ‘Working’” Pen says, “Until you go out for a smoke.” She smirks as she says this.

“You’re just jealous it works.” You snark back, as you pull up the the grand hotel that the gala was being held in. “I am now officially on the clock.” You say, getting out of the car and opening the doors for all of the girls. At the same moment the men’s car pulls up behind you. You do the same for each of them. Each of them thank you as you open their car doors.

“I hate treating you like this, you’re our friend not our employee.” Spencer complains as you walk in on his arm. “It feels strange.”

“It’s one night. And technically I am, your employee.” You smile up at him. “Your assistant.” The room you were in was huge, the carpet was a deep red plush, the cushions on the chairs matching. The ceilings held up by marble stone pillars that towered over everyone.

You and the BAU find their way to their large circular table in the middle of the room. Not a single corner of solitude where they could not be observed by the rest of the FBI. They place their, clutches and Jackets on the table and you turn to them.

“Drinks?” You ask looking around the table.

“You don’t have to.” Derek starts but you cut him off with a hand wave.

“I am being paid.” You say sternly, “Drinks?” You ask with a stubborn tone. “The usual?” You continue and receive nods from around the table. Making your way to the bar you rattle off the teams orders. “A whisky on the rocks, a neat whisky, two glasses of house red, a glass of house white, two jack and cokes and a lemonade. Please.” You receive a nod and wait for the poor bartender the make all of those drinks. “Oh and a tray please!”

You weren’t a stranger to the looks of envy from other departments as you carried the tray of drinks to the table. Or from the patrons stood at the bar fetching their own drinks.

“I come bearing gifts.” You say and hand out their drinks accordingly around the table. Whiskey on the rocks for Rossi. Near whiskey for Hotch. House red for Jj and Emily. House white for Pen. Jack and coke for Derek and Will and a lemonade for Spencer. “Now go socialise, you important people.” You say and they disperse around the room in pairs to go and talk to the other agents. That was your queue was to go and stand in the corner of the room as all of the people who thought better of themselves, boasted about their achievements in the field and out of it.

It took thirty minutes until it was announced it was time for dinner and all of the patrons made their way to the assigned seats. Wait staff flew out of every door, brining everyone the meal they had chosen a week prior. And that was your cue to go for a smoke.

It was dark outside when you push the door open. The pebbled ground crunches under your heels as you make your way to the back of the building and there is your solace. A bench. It was wooden and was sat in the middle of a small green patch of grass.

These FBI things had been few and far between with your with the BAU. The team rather spending their time on cases and saving people’s lives rather than spending time being paraded around by the director. However, that had meant that in the couple times you had been at these things, you had a tradition.

Men loved being saviours. So when they see a poor woman, sat in the cold, waiting for her cigarette to be lit. But in reality, you had a lighter placed in your bra. Dinner had just started so you pull out said lighter and light your first cigarette and take a drag. The smoke flaying out in-front of you in the light as you sit on the table of the bench, your feet on the seat.

The team sat around their round table, slowly eating and sipping on their drinks, longing out the process to avoid the socialising that was to come again next.

“It’s just not fair how she doesn’t even get a seat at our table,” Spencer huffs as he puts another forkful into his mouth. “The team would barely work without her. She’s a part of the team.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“If it was up to me, she would.” Hotch says, also continuing to eat his food and sip his drink.

“Well you could push harder for it.” Spencer says, his mood sour and he fiddles his fork around his plate as he mumbles.

“Don’t worry Spence.” Emily said from next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s just fine.” She says smirking at Jj and Penelope from across the table.

“Pump your brakes, what does that mean?” Derek says with raised eyebrows looking between the three of them. “Is she with someone here?” His eyes flit between them and waits impatiently for one of them to answer.

“Not yet.” Jj barley whispers into her wine.

“And what does that mean?” Derek pushes again and looks towards Penelope. “Babygirl, what do you know?” He asks leaning towards her and she hides behind her hands. “Penelope.” Everyone around the table was interested in what the ladies of the BAU knew about your love life.

One thing about the team was they were nosy. Specially about the love lives of the other members of the team. Behavioural analysis made it easy for them to tell when a night was spent out of bed.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” Pen squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual, feeling the pressure of all of the curious eyes on her. But her reddening face and the pitch in her voice getting higher and higher indicates that she was going to spill and soon. Even Hotch was engaged and listening. And spill she did. “Hot rich men carry lighters.”

“And what does that have to do with sleeping with other agents?” Rossi chimes in, his hand resting around his glass and his finger tapping against the side.

“When time comes to dinner and she doesn’t get a seat at the table, she makes her way outside with two cigarettes,” Emily starts to explain. “She lights and smokes the first one while dinner is happening.”

“Then after dinner, she waits for someone to come and offer to light her second cigarette.” Jj picks up from Emily. “It’s actually quite smart.” She smiles as she finishes.

“Then they get to talking then she’s got somewhere to sleep for the night.” Penelope finishes. “The FBI is so cheap, they don’t even book her a room.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip, clearly getting tipsy. “She never tells us who she’s been with, i’m dying to know.”

“Who would have thought she had it in her huh?” Derek says with an impressed smile.

“Literally all of us.” Emily laughs at him and wait staff begin to collect in empty plates and people begin to stand and shuffle and talk about boring corporate nonsense.

They watch Hotch get up abruptly from his chair and stride toward the bar, he doesn’t order anything he just stands there and waits for the team to disperse around the room.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Will laughs out towards Rossi who gives a small shrug before turning around and shaking the hands of agents from all over the US.

The shine of your shoes caught your attention, the patent dark material reflecting in the light. Circular rings dance across them and reflect in your eyes. Your first cigarette had long been smoked and shoved into the stones beneath your feet. You’d began to wonder if you just hadn’t gotten lucky this time round. Maybe you hadn’t grabbed the attention enough for anyone to follow you outside. Your eyes hadn’t left the ground yet, and were now tracing the irregular pattern of the stones. Just about to give in to the temptation and time, reaching into your bra to pull out your lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your head shoots up and your hand goes heck to its original position by your side. It was him, your boss. Aaron Hotchner,one of the richest and hottest men you knew. You hadn’t heard the stones rustle on the way over, he always walked quietly. His voice didn’t travel far in the large empty space.

“I thought you were meant to be a profiler, sir.” You say smiling up at him and scooting over, making room for him next to you. “Get tired of all the questions?” He sits down, mirroring the way you were perched.

“I’ve already told you.” He says, the lights that were wrapped around the leaf filled arch lit up his face in such a perfect way, you couldn’t describe it. “It’s Aaron.” He repeats from weeks ago and you see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye. Now, it was time to test if your theory was correct.

“Ok. Aaron.” You put specific emphasis on his name with a laugh and you look over to him. “Do you have a lighter?” His eyes meet yours.

“You shouldn’t smoke, they’re bad for your health.” He says avoiding the question, maybe you were wrong. “But I do. There.” He pulls it out of the inside pocket. It was fancy, silver with an engraved pattern with his name next to it.

“This is a fancy lighter.” You comment as the orange flame shines on your face. Pulling the cigarette to your mouth you take a drag. “Lots of things are bad for your health.” Your hand passes the imaginary line between you and you hold the cigarette in front of him and you raise your eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” He takes it from your hand and pulls it up to his face but pauses. He stares at the deep red circle around the paper. “It was a gift from Rossi, he just likes to spend his money.”

“That he does,” You smile at him and notice his hesitation. “It’s just lipstick.” Resting your elbows on your legs you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulders. “It’s safer than shaking hands or whatever Spencer says when he meets someone new.” You joke. He laughs deeply at that and finally takes a puff of the cigarette.

His face contorts in slight disgust. “Those don’t taste like I remember.” But he keeps it in his hand.

“That’s because they were incredibly cheap.” Giggling, you realise you are still holding his lighter in your hands and it shining in the light.

“So you won’t mind then?” He asks and you look towards him confused.

“Mind what?” You reply, the line between your eyebrows prominent.

“This.” He smirks and throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. You make a noise of protest as you watch the small orange glow disappear.

“I’m in a right mind to keep this lighter now.” Looking down into your lap shyly where your hands lay. Fiddling and flipping open the lighter. He made you nervous, usually you were able to take charge of these men and lure them to bed without a word. However, this man, your boss, was terrifying to you as he sat there breathing steadily, while your heart raced erratically.

“You’re welcome to.” He says with a shrug and brings his hand up to adjust his tie.

“It’s beautiful out here, it looks like a wedding venue.” You were deflecting and refuse to even look in the man’s direction.

“It is.” His answers were getting shorter and shorter and your heart was getting faster and faster.

Adrenaline ran through your veins as the next words flew out of your mouth before you could spare a second to think about it. “Do you know the FBI don’t even pay for my room at these things?”

“Really? I’ll look into it.” He says and taps the side of his head and keeping it in there for later.

“Thank you.” The two of you sit in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the grand garden and taking note of the potted plants dotted around the place. The night was clear and the stars were out, looking close to the small fairy lights that surrounded the pair of you.

“You’re part of the team, just as much as me or anyone. They should get you a room.” He says, his pinky finger inching across to yours, laying millimetres away.

“You’re the Unit chief and they’re agents.” You laugh. “I’m just an assistant.” You continue. “I’m not-.” You realise you go to say important and your mind flies back to your conversation in the parking lot.

“Important?” He sighs and you turn towards him and he says your name in the same airy voice. His tone suddenly changes back to his normal firm one. “You know what?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not important.” He states.

Your face morphs into confusion. “What?” You scoff at him and you lean back, also pulling your hand away from the closeness of before. You stand up abruptly and start to quickly walk away from the bench, grabbing the bottom of your dress up and keeping it away from your heels.

He says your name again but this time it’s a shout. “Wait!” He shouts again and you spin around and shake your head at him.

“What! Sir!” You shout at him harshly and take a step towards him in anger.

“You’re not important because.” He starts and you roll your eyes and he takes a step towards you and the gap gets smaller and smaller. Your breath getting shorter and shorter.

“Because what?!” You shout again and wave your arms around in emphasis.

“Because.” He says your name softer this time. “You’re invaluable.” Your mouth hangs open and all of your air leaves your lungs and you stand there for a moment. Your boss had rendered you speechless once again. Staring at him with his perfectly tailored suit and that sexy fucking red tie and just his sexy fucking face. “You’re invaluable to me.”

Dropping your clutch on the floor you quickly walk at him, trying not to trip in your heels on the uneven ground. “You stupid, stupid man.” You say and the two of you hover close to one another. “Aaron Hotchner, you massive idiot!” You gasp at him and grab his tie and pull him down to you and kiss him.

It was quick and rough and you pull away after a few seconds. “Shit, you’re my boss! Fuck!” You exclaim and look up panicked, running your hands through your hair and take a large step back. Your chest heaves, as you look him in the eyes. “I’m invaluable to you.” You say dumbly and blink quickly in more confusion than before.

“Yes, you are.” He says and takes a large step forwards, putting you toe to toe. His hands run up the tops of your thighs and over your hips and land in the small of your waist. ��Say my name again.” His nose runs up your neck towards your ear.

The realisation hits you then. “I’m invaluable to you, Aaron.” You say smugly and he leans into kiss you this time and he hums in agreement inside your mouth. You’re pressed up against him as his large hands on your waist have you pulled against him.

You’re own hands start to wander as his tongue enters your mouth, they slide their way up the back of this suit and into the nape of this neck and the top of his hair. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He sighs as the two of you separated for breath.

“Me too.” You smile as the two of you hold each other. “Your room?” You ask and intertwine your hand with his.

“Definitely.” He says and you begin to walk to the back door of the hotel, you leading the way.

“I’m your invaluable assistant.” You smirk at him as you open the back fire exit door. You felt smug being invaluable to the man. The man you’d had a crush on since you’d joined the BAU.

“Yes, you are.” He repeats and reaches down to give your arse a squeeze, in your tight dress.

“Oi!” You reach down and smack his hand away with a laugh. “Just for that, you’re going up the stairs first.” You say and push him towards the staircase.

“I’ll have you know my eyes are always front.” He says and starts to walk up the steps to his room, key card already in hand.

“Mine aren’t.” Your eyes and centred directly on his arse as he walks up the stairs to his room.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner is dumb about feelings #i’m so sorry this took so long to post i really hope you enjoy love you sillies

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