#tag: no mourners no funerals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 2 months ago

Note

Good evening love

I was thinking about that last night!

When Daemon and Rhaenyra goes to brothel they sleep together and obviously she’s pregnant and coz it’s just before her wedding (we will says it just before) everyone thing it’s Leanor.

She gave birth to a little girl all Targaryen looks. They’re was always some rumors but since she looks like every targ it’s easier for her. Harwin played dad role for her and she’s really protective of her brother.

more time passed and everyone can clearly see that she looked exactly like daemon physically and mentally.

And it’s finally during the funeral of her aunt, Daemon see her and he understand that she is his. She’s everything he want and have a special bound with her (first child, heir of the throne, powerful dragon)

Fire in Her Veins

- Summary: During Laena’s funeral, Daemon recognizes you as his own blood.

- Paring: (daughter) targ!reader/(father) Daemon Targaryen (platonic)

- Note: The reader is the firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The reader is also bonded to Vermithor.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sea air on Driftmark is filled with salt and sorrow, the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea providing a mournful backdrop to the solemn gathering. You stand with your brothers on the stone cliffs of the island, your hands clasped tightly together in front of you as the funeral procession moves solemnly forward. Lady Laena’s casket is adorned with pearls and driftwood, her body wrapped in the traditional Velaryon colors, and you can feel the weight of your family’s grief pressing heavily upon your shoulders.

The mood is somber, the sky above gray and heavy, as if even the gods mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, and from where you stand, you see the faces of the royal family—Alicent and her children, all clustered together, keeping their distance from you and your brothers. Their green dresses stand out like bright flames against the dark ocean and black mourning attire.

You feel a familiar pang of protectiveness as you glance toward your brothers, who are standing just to your right, their small faces grim and pale. You notice how Jacaerys keeps his head down, avoiding the stern gazes from across the gathering. You recognize the unspoken tension between the two halves of the family, an invisible line that divides you all.

Behind you, you hear the murmurs of the court, soft whispers that seem to follow you wherever you go. They speak of many things—the death of Lady Laena, the grief of her husband Daemon, and the unspoken truth that seems to hang in the air around you. The truth of who you are.

"She looks more like him every day," you overhear a noblewoman whisper, though she thinks she is being quiet enough to go unnoticed.

And you know who they mean. Not Laenor Velaryon, who raised you as his own. Not Harwin Strong, who shielded you when you were small, his fierce protectiveness marking him as a father figure in your life. But Daemon.

Your eyes, so like his—stormy, burning with fire—scan the crowd until they land on him.

Daemon Targaryen stands just beyond the gathering of mourners, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, his silver hair blowing in the wind. There is something wild about him, something untamed, as though he belongs to the sea and the sky more than he belongs to the earth. He looks broken today, mourning his wife, but in his eyes there is a flicker of something as he catches your gaze—recognition, perhaps.

Your heart beats harder, and you lift your chin, a Targaryen through and through. You are not afraid to meet his gaze. In fact, there’s something in you that draws you closer to him, though your feet remain rooted to the ground.

Daemon's eyes narrow, the brief glint of recognition becoming a full realization. His mouth parts slightly as if he is going to speak, but no words come out. You see the flicker of memory in his gaze, a moment that stretches back to the night you were conceived—the night Rhaenyra escaped into the shadows of King's Landing, into his arms, if only for a single stolen moment.

The likeness between the two of you is undeniable, your shared features as plain as day to anyone who cared to look closely. Your high cheekbones, the curve of your lips, the storm in your gaze. And there is something more than just the physical—an energy, a fierceness that burns in you as much as it does in him.

"Y/N," Daemon murmurs your name under his breath as he steps forward, moving as though drawn to you by some unseen force.

You do not step back. You hold your ground, standing taller, your spine straight. You are not the little girl who needed protection anymore. You are Rhaenyra’s daughter, the rider of Vermithor, a dragon like no other.

Your brothers shift uncomfortably beside you as Daemon approaches, and you gently place a hand on Jacaerys’ shoulder, a silent reassurance that you will protect them. They are yours, just as much as you are theirs, and no one, not even Daemon, can change that.

“Do you remember me?” Daemon’s voice is low, so low that only you can hear it. His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, but words fail you for a moment. You do remember him through your memory as he was a ghost—and the stories your mother told you, the truths she revealed as you grew older. You remember the fire that courses through your veins, the unyielding bond with your dragon, the instincts that set you apart. It all comes from him.

"How could I not?" you reply, your voice steady, even though inside you feel like a storm is brewing.

Daemon’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something darker, something more conflicted. He glances toward your mother, Rhaenyra, who stands a little ways off, her eyes firmly fixed on Laena’s casket. There is a tension between them as well, a history that lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

“You look like her,” Daemon says quietly, but his eyes say otherwise. He knows you look like him.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. You have always heard the whispers, the stories, but standing before him now, there is something more intimate in the way he observes you. He is seeing himself in you, recognizing the dragon fire in your blood, the legacy of your shared heritage.

“I look like myself,” you correct, your tone sharper now. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

“And mine,” Daemon replies, his voice a murmur carried by the wind.

You hold his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest, but you do not back down. For years, you had wondered what it would be like to stand face to face with the man whose blood flows in your veins. Now that you are here, you find that you do not need his acknowledgment. You do not need his approval.

You are who you are, no matter who claims you.

"I didn’t need you before," you say, your voice low but firm. "I don’t need you now."

The wind blows harder, carrying your words with it, and Daemon stares at you for a long moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly. There is something in his eyes now—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely.

"You are strong," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That much is clear."

You nod, not offering him anything more, and you turn away, your brothers following you as you lead them away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the safety of your family. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you walk away from Daemon, though you can still feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you go.

As the sea crashes against the rocks below, you feel a sense of finality, but also a strange kind of peace. You are your mother’s daughter. You are bonded to a dragon as mighty as Vermithor. You do not need anyone to tell you who you are.

And yet, you cannot help but wonder what it might mean to carry the fire of both Rhaenyra and Daemon, to have the blood of two dragons raging inside of you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd daemon #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd platonic #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon platonic

416 notes · View notes

adverbally · 24 days ago

Text

I Can Never Go Home Anymore

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day twelve prompt “graveyard” | wc: 974 | rated: T | cw: death of a parent, references to abuse and neglect by a parent | tags: Steddie established relationship, funeral and burial (for Mr. Harrington), Harrington family angst, Steve’s complicated relationship with his mom

———

Steve’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Firmly positioned at ten and two, wrapped around the leather with the familiarity that comes from years of driving, and they’re still shaking.

“We can leave,” Eddie reminds him from the passenger seat. “You don’t even have to get out of the car.”

He shakes his head. They already missed the viewing last night and this morning’s mass. He can’t miss the burial, too. “No, I need to stay.” When Steve finally gets out of the car, Eddie follows without a word.

It’s not about paying his respects to his father. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since he found out about Eddie and kicked Steve out. A sick part of Steve, deep in the pit of his stomach, is almost glad that Richard Harrington is dead. He feels lighter without the weight of his father’s distant disapproval, can breathe and be himself without feeling guilty for his failings as a son.

But his mother had been the one to call and give him the news. God knows how she tracked down his number, but she cried to him about how sorry she was. How she regretted not standing up to his father when he disowned Steve, how she should’ve been more present in his life, how she was so lost and lonely now that she was a widow and her only son was halfway across the country.

All of it was about her, like all of his mother’s apologies, but Steve pitied her. She was just now learning the lesson he was taught in high school, that popularity was a hollow cage that trapped you while keeping everyone else out, surrounded you with people who could never reach you in the ways that mattered. All of her society friends, her husband’s business partners’ wives, would be present for the funeral mass, dressed to the nines, but not after. They would send flowers but they wouldn’t dirty their shoes for the trek to Richard Harrington’s grave.

So Steve agreed to come, at least for the burial. His parents’ church wouldn’t have appreciated his presence, but the open air of the graveyard feels safe as he and Eddie walk toward his father’s final resting place. There’s something welcoming about the gloomy setting, the overcast sky seeming to blend into the tombstones and monuments, the ground covered with dead leaves now that fall is shifting into winter.

He stands at the back of the crowd and holds Eddie’s hand without feeling everyone’s eyes or hearing the gossipy whispers about Dick’s boy, the queer. He watches the casket be lowered into the ground and tries not to feel relief. When he has to bury his face in Eddie’s shoulder for a minute as the small congregation sings “Amazing Grace,” he accepts the comfort of his partner’s embrace without shame.

It’s only when the few remaining mourners leave and Steve is face to face with his mother for the first time in nearly a decade that tears begin to prickle behind his eyes.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?” Eddie murmurs as they go to meet her on the other side of the open grave.

“Will you stay?” Steve asks, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

The silent squeeze he gets back is enough of an answer.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, bracing himself as they come to a stop in front of his mother.

Rosemary Harrington covers her mouth with her hands as she takes in the sight of him. “Oh, Steven.”

“Mom,” Steve greets her with an awkward nod.

“Can I…” Her voice trembles. “Would you mind if I—”

Steve steps forward to embrace her without a second thought. She’s a petite woman, and he towers over her despite her sensible black pumps. A lump forms in his throat when he hears her sniffle, delicate and muffled by the lapel of Steve’s coat.

When they pull away, Eddie offers her a bundle of tissues, which she gratefully accepts. She dabs at her eyes, the makeup there long since worn away, and Steve is struck by how much older she looks. He supposes he looks older, too.

“Mom, this is Eddie. My partner,” he introduces with a wave of his arm. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t wobble, even if part of him will always be terrified to say those words.

“Mrs. Harrington.” Eddie shakes her hand solemnly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Her mouth twitches into a rueful smile. “Please, call me Rosemary. I don’t expect the mother-in-law treatment. You probably need to be more of a mother in the first place to get that.”

Steve interrupts, “I don’t think we need to get into that right now.” He doesn’t want to fall back into the dynamic of constantly having to reassure her that she wasn’t a terrible mother while also having her ignore the things she could change to improve their relationship. He pinches his nose as his frustration builds.

“Maybe we can take you to lunch so you and Steve can catch up?” Eddie suggests in an attempt to break the tension. Rosemary enthusiastically agrees, of course, and she takes Eddie’s arm as he leads her to the car.

Steve pauses at the edge of his father’s grave. His headstone won’t be ready for another week, at least, so there’s no indication as to who is occupying the nondescript casket down there. It could be anyone. Steve pictures a stranger, a man who could’ve been a good father and a faithful husband, laid to rest with love and genuine grief. He pictures the way his life could’ve been different if his dad had been more like that, the way his mom’s life could’ve been different.

When he whispers, “Bye,” that life is what Steve is saying goodbye to. Not Dick Harrington.

#steddiespooktober #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine

170 notes · View notes

kiwriteswords · 19 days ago

Text

Tonight, you’re on my mind, so you’ll never know…

Chapter Two Out of Four (Possibly Five!)

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 7k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical themes, sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, pining, mutual pining, spoilers for Criminal Minds seasons 1-12, friends to lovers, first-time, loss of virginity, grief, trauma, timeline of 8 year old!Hotch—Post CM!Hotch–please let me know if I am missing anything!

Sypnosis: Years have passed since you and Aaron Hotchner first crossed paths, but the connection you shared has never truly faded. In the wake of personal loss and career demands, your lives have taken different directions, leaving unresolved feelings and unspoken words lingering in the background. As fate pulls you back into each other’s orbit, you must navigate the delicate balance between duty, grief, and the possibility of rekindling something you thought was lost forever. In a world of danger, distance, and emotional walls, will you and Aaron finally confront the past—or let it slip away once more?

When Haley died, not long after you saw him, you felt the earth shift beneath your feet.

You had known Aaron long enough to understand how much he loved her, how fiercely he had fought to keep her and Jack safe. The news of her death reached you like a punch to the gut, and you knew—without a doubt—that Aaron would never be the same.

You couldn’t bring yourself to go to the funeral, though you thought about it, agonized over it, until your hands shook with indecision. You wanted to be there, to offer your support, to let him know he wasn’t alone in this unbearable grief.

But every time you imagined standing among the mourners, watching Aaron from a distance, you felt like an intruder on his pain, an uninvited ghost from his past.

Instead, you sent flowers—a beautiful, understated arrangement of white lilies and roses. You knew it wasn’t enough; it could never be enough. But it was all you could bring yourself to do.

You wrote a simple note to accompany them: Thinking of you and Jack. I’m so sorry for your loss. – Y/N.

As you sealed the envelope, you wondered if he’d even know they were from you, if he’d understand that behind those few words was an ocean of sorrow and regret, that you were mourning for him too.

The truth was, you never stopped thinking about him. You thought about him constantly—especially at night, when the world was quiet and you were left alone with your thoughts. You wondered how he was holding up, how he was managing to be strong for Jack when his own heart was shattered. You imagined him sitting alone in the dark, trying to keep it together for his son, and it broke you in ways you didn’t have words for.

The business card he’d left for you all those years ago was still tucked away in your desk drawer. Every now and then, you’d pull it out and trace your finger over his name, over the number that you’d never dialed.

There had been so many nights when you’d come close, phone in hand, his number half-dialed, your thumb hovering over the call button. But each time, you hesitated, thinking that maybe too much time had passed, that maybe reaching out now would only complicate things, reopen old wounds.

You were terrified that he’d think you were only calling out of pity or obligation, not realizing that you never stopped caring, that you never stopped wanting to be part of his life.

So, you let the moment slip through your fingers, again and again, convincing yourself that staying silent was the best way to honor the memory of what you’d once had.

You could confidently say you were strong on all accounts, but the heartbreak that haunted you like a ghost caused by what could have been was a bear you did not want to poke or agitate more than already occurred.

What you didn’t know was that Aaron had been waiting for that call. He’d left his number for you because he thought—he hoped—that maybe you still felt something, that maybe you’d reach out when the time was right.

But as the days turned into weeks, and then into months, with no word from you, he took your silence as a sign of disinterest, as confirmation that whatever feelings you’d once had for him were buried and gone.

He convinced himself that you had moved on with your life, that you were happy and content without him, and the thought of that hurt more than he ever let himself admit. He buried his feelings for you the way he buried everything else that hurt too much to face—deep inside, behind walls that even he couldn’t always tear down.

In the days after Haley’s funeral, Aaron Hotchner’s world felt like it had been turned inside out. He moved through the motions, numb and detached, his focus entirely on Jack and keeping his son’s shattered world from falling apart. Grief clung to him like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every breath. It wasn’t until the house finally emptied of well-meaning guests, leaving him alone with Jack’s quiet sobs in the middle of the night, that he allowed himself to truly feel the weight of it all.

Amid the sea of sympathy cards, casseroles, and flower arrangements that had been left behind, there was one that caught his eye—a simple, understated arrangement of white lilies and roses.

Something about the elegance and restraint of it made him pause, a flicker of recognition passing through his mind. He reached for the card tucked into the blooms, the handwriting familiar in a way that made his breath hitch.

Thinking of you and Jack. I’m so sorry for your loss. – Y/N.

Aaron stood there, the note trembling slightly in his hand. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He read those words over and over again, feeling each letter like a whisper from a life he’d tried so hard to bury. You had sent them.

Of all the people who might have reached out, it was you. The person who had once been his anchor, the one who always seemed to understand him in ways no one else ever could.

He ran his thumb over your name on the card, his mind swirling with a thousand thoughts he didn’t know how to untangle. Behind those few words, he could feel everything you hadn’t said—an ocean of sorrow, regret, and something deeper that he’d never been able to fully let go of. It was all there, hidden between the lines, like a message meant only for him.

He thought back to all those nights when he would sit alone in the darkness, the crushing weight of grief threatening to pull him under. He had tried to be strong for Jack, to hold it together for his son, but there were moments when the pain was too much, when the silence of the house echoed with memories of Haley and all the things he couldn’t change.

And now, in the midst of that grief, knowing that you were out there somewhere, thinking of him—mourning with him—made it all the more unbearable.

The truth was, he had been waiting for something from you. Anything. A sign that you still cared, that he wasn’t alone in his grief.

He had left his business card with you all those years ago, hoping that maybe you would reach out when the time was right. He had clung to the idea that you’d still feel something when you saw his number, that you’d dial it when you were ready.

But as the days turned into weeks, and then into months, and still he heard nothing, Aaron convinced himself that your silence was his answer. That whatever feelings you’d once had for him were buried under the weight of time and lost chances.

He told himself that you were happy, that you had moved on, built a life that didn’t include him. It was a thought that hurt more than he’d ever let himself admit—a pain that he buried deep, behind walls he couldn’t afford to let crack.

What he didn’t know was that, in the quiet of your own nights, you held that same business card in your hands, your fingers tracing the letters of his name over and over again. That there were countless moments when you almost called, when his number hovered on your screen, and you hesitated—not because you didn’t want to reach out, but because you were terrified of what you might find on the other end of the line. That your silence wasn’t indifference, but fear of reopening old wounds, of complicating a life that seemed to have settled without you in it.

As he stood there, looking down at the lilies and roses you had sent, Aaron felt a wave of regret so intense it threatened to break him apart. He wished you had fought for him, wished you had asked him to pick you back when he still had the chance to choose. He had always believed that if you’d only said the words, if you had only asked him to stay, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

But now, in the quiet aftermath of his grief, he realized that he had been waiting for a sign from you all along—a sign that never came. And in its absence, he’d built a life that looked whole on the outside but felt empty on the inside. A life where the memory of you was always there, lingering just beneath the surface, like a song he could never forget.

He stared down at the flowers one last time, his fingers brushing over the petals, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He had spent so much of his life building walls, hiding the pain behind a stoic facade.

But now, in this moment of raw vulnerability, he let himself feel it all—the longing, the regret, the love he’d never quite let go of. And he knew, with a clarity that cut straight through his grief, that the only thing worse than losing Haley was knowing that he had lost you, too.

Because he had loved you then, in ways he never fully let himself admit. And a part of him still loved you now, even if it was too late to say it.

It did not take much to snap him out of the moment, though. Duties called--ones far greater and more significant than anything a badge could offer: Fatherhood. He knew he had to step up to the plate as a father, but more so now, trying to fill the very empty shoes Haley once wore.

After Haley's death, Aaron found himself sitting in the dim light of his office late at night, the house silent except for the faint sound of Jack sleeping down the hall.

He stared at his phone, your name already typed into the message field, his thumb hovering over the keys. The grief was suffocating, pressing on his chest in a way that made it hard to breathe, but you were the only person who had ever made that weight feel lighter.

He started to type, the words fumbling through his mind—I don’t even know how to begin...—but then he stopped, his hand trembling as the memory of Haley’s last moments flooded his thoughts.

Haley had been there through every transition, through the chaos of law school and the early days of his career. With her, things made sense. Their relationship was built on stability, on a history that he didn’t have with anyone else.

Even now, sitting in the quiet of his apartment, he knew that choosing Haley wasn’t just about love—it was about the life they had built together. It was about Jack, about providing a family, about keeping the promises he had made. Haley was his constant, the person who helped him stay grounded when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

With you, it had always felt like a choice he couldn’t afford to make, because choosing you meant tearing apart everything he had already built.

It wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t ready, and maybe, he told himself, neither were you.

With a quiet, resigned sigh, he deleted the message, tucking the phone away as the loneliness of the night settled back in.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself in the same shoes, your finger hovered over Aaron’s contact, hesitation gnawing at you. Before you could overthink it, you pressed the call button. After a few rings, someone answered, but it wasn’t Aaron’s familiar voice.

“BAU, Agent Morgan.”

You froze for a moment, taken aback. “Hi... I was looking for Aaron. Is he available?”

“He’s not here right now, he’s overseas on an assignment,” Morgan replied, his tone polite but measured, offering no further details. “Can I take a message?”

You hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. “No, that’s okay. Please don’t tell him I called. It’s nothing urgent.”

As you ended the conversation and the call, a sense disappointment washed over you. Your thoughts were taken over by your door bell ringing. The guy you decided to give a chance--the nice guy who looked good on paper, you finally agreed to a first date.

Here goes nothing, you thought.

The next time you saw Aaron was years later. By then, you were the head of trauma surgery at a major hospital near the BAU headquarters.

You’d built a life for yourself that you were supposed to be proud of—rising through the ranks, saving lives every day—but even with all your success, something always felt like it was missing. You told yourself that you were over Aaron, that your feelings for him were relics of a past life. But some part of you knew that wasn’t true.

You had moved back to D.C., you couldn’t stay away. The call to return too great to ignore. In some weird ways you wondered in the back of your mind if that pull was him.

Then, one afternoon, you got the call that changed everything. Agent Hotchner had collapsed, from internal bleeding and he was being rushed into your ER. The words echoed in your mind, your world narrowing to a single point as you tried to process them.

Your hands shook as you gave the order for your team to take over, citing a conflict of interest that left your colleagues glancing at each other in confusion.

You looked over his chart and felt as if the years you had missed were being connected through Aaron’s traumatic medical chart. Damaged hearing, a stabbing…it was all too much.

You watched from just outside the trauma room, your eyes fixed on Aaron’s pale face as your team worked to stabilize him.

Your heart ached with the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and unconscious, so different from the strong, composed man you remembered. The urge to be by his side, to hold his hand and reassure him, was almost overwhelming.

But the weight of all the years of silence, regret, and missed chances pressed down on you, keeping you frozen in place.

After a few tense moments, you saw the rest of his team gather in the waiting area, anxiously watching their fallen leader through the glass. They looked worried, their bond with him clear in their expressions. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you decided you couldn’t leave things unfinished, not again.

You approached them slowly, the sterile hallway stretching out before you as you made your way to the gathered group of agents.

Your white coat felt heavier with each step, like it carried the weight of your past along with the present. When you finally reached them, you offered a small, professional smile, even though your nerves were betraying you.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Y/N L/N," you said, your voice calm and steady despite the swirl of emotions beneath the surface. "I’m the head of trauma surgery here. I wanted to let you know that we’re doing everything we can for Agent Hotchner."

The team turned their attention to you, a mix of relief and curiosity flickering in their eyes. Penelope Garcia stepped forward first, her expression softening with gratitude and something close to desperation. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, her voice tinged with raw emotion. "He’s… he’s one of us, you know? We’d be lost without him."

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze drifting to the floor before looking back up to meet their eyes.

"I actually know Aaron," you said, the admission almost surreal after all this time. "We go way back—grade school, actually. We lost touch for a while but reconnected in college. We were close for a time before life took us in different directions."

As soon as you said those words, you noticed the subtle shift in their expressions. David Rossi’s eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of recognition lighting up his features. He exchanged a knowing glance with Derek Morgan, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. Rossi’s lips curved into a small, intrigued smile.

"Wait a second," Rossi said, his voice carrying that signature blend of curiosity and understanding. "You’re the one from that photo on Hotch’s bookshelf, aren’t you? The old picture from his college days. We always wondered about the story behind it."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, caught off guard by the revelation that they knew about the photo. The same picture Aaron had kept all these years, the one you didn’t even know was still a part of his life. You nodded, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

"I guess I am," you said quietly, your voice tinged with a touch of nostalgia. "We were close once, a long time ago."

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth dropping open slightly as she glanced back at Rossi and then at you.

"Oh my gosh," she said, shaking her head slowly. "We’ve all seen that photo a million times and tried to guess who you were. He never talks about it—never mentioned you, not once. But I guess that’s typical Hotch, huh?"

You gave a tight smile, your gaze softening as you thought of Aaron’s habit of keeping his deepest feelings locked away, even from the people closest to him.

"That sounds like him," you said, your voice laced with a fondness you couldn’t quite hide. "He’s always been good at keeping his mystery."

There was a moment of silence as the team absorbed the significance of what you’d just shared. It was as though a small piece of the puzzle that was Aaron Hotchner had suddenly fallen into place for them. They knew he didn’t open up easily, and to learn that you were someone important from his past felt like they were being let in on a part of his life they never fully understood.

With a slight hesitation, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper with your personal phone number written on it. You held it out to Penelope, feeling like you were offering up a piece of your own heart.

"When he wakes up," you said, carefully controlling the tremor in your voice, "could you give this to him? Just tell him that I was here and that I thought he might want to reach out, if he feels like it."

You knew you could call. Life seemed too chaotic for Aaron and you did not want to be an inconvenience. You wanted the ball to be in his court--you wanted him to make the move. You didn’t want to burden him.

Penelope took the paper from you with a tenderness that surprised you, her eyes softening with empathy. She looked at you like she understood more than she was letting on, like she could see the layers of unspoken history between you and Hotch.

"I’ll make sure he gets it," she said, her voice warm with kindness. "And, for what it’s worth, I think he’d want to know you were here."

You offered her a grateful nod, but the moment felt heavy, like you were leaving something unsaid, something lodged in the space between who you were and who you used to be. With one last glance at the group, you turned and walked away, each step feeling like you were tearing yourself from a past that refused to let go.

You stood just outside the hospital room, your hand resting on the doorframe, watching through the small glass window as Aaron lay unconscious.

Every instinct told you to go in, to sit by his side, to be there for him like you had been so many years ago. But something held you back—something more than the sterile walls of the hospital.

It was the weight of everything he had been through. Haley’s death. Raising Jack alone. His life was already so heavy, and you couldn’t bear the thought of adding another layer of complexity to it.

Was it selfish to want to see him? To reconnect, knowing how much he had already lost?

Your pulse quickened, your heart warring with your mind. You weren’t sure if stepping back into his world would heal old wounds or tear them open again.

Inside the room, Aaron stirred slightly, but he didn’t know you were there, just beyond the door.

Even in the haze of pain and medication, his mind circled back to Jack—his first thought always his son, as it had been ever since Haley’s death.

He had built his life around being a father, and any decisions, even those tied to lingering feelings for you, had to take that into account. He had pushed his emotions down for years, focusing on what Jack needed, on what the job demanded.

But lying there in the quiet of the hospital room, his thoughts kept drifting to you. What would it mean to let you back into his life, to let himself feel again, after everything he had lost? Could he afford that risk? Jack needed stability, not more upheaval, and Aaron wasn’t sure if he could be both—Jack’s anchor and someone who opened his heart again.

You lingered for another moment, torn between wanting to reach for the handle and the fear of disrupting a life that wasn’t yours to complicate.

In the end, you stepped back, leaving the connection between you suspended, unresolved. You weren’t sure if it was the right decision, but you told yourself that staying away was what Aaron needed, even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

You waited until Aaron was stable and as you left the hospital that night, your mind raced back to the picture Rossi had mentioned—the one of you and Aaron from those college days. The fact that he’d kept it all these years, through everything, felt like a thread that still connected your lives, no matter how far apart you’d drifted.

But when you went home to your fiancé—a man who was kind and stable, the kind of man you thought you needed—you couldn’t shake the image of Aaron lying in that hospital bed. And you realized, with a dull ache in your chest, that a part of your heart had never really stopped waiting for him to come back to you.

As the night wore on, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your carefully built defenses. You were living a lie. You couldn’t marry this man, not when your heart had always been tied to someone else, someone who still held a piece of you after all these years.

You broke it off with your fiancé, your voice shaking as you told him that he deserved someone who could love him completely. It was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but you knew it was the right decision.

When Aaron Hotchner finally woke up, the bright lights of the hospital room made him squint, his head pounding with the remnants of his collapse. As his vision cleared, he saw Penelope Garcia sitting by his side, her face lighting up with relief the moment his eyes opened.

"Aaron, thank goodness!" Penelope exclaimed, her voice wobbling with emotion. "You scared the hell out of us. Don’t you ever do that again!"

He offered her a faint smile, trying to sit up despite the weakness in his limbs. "I’ll do my best," he said, his voice hoarse. "What happened?"

Penelope filled him in on the details of his condition, but then her expression shifted, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Oh, and by the way, you had a visitor," she said, a little smile playing on her lips. "Dr. Y/N L/N, the head of trauma surgery. She was here when they brought you in. The one I looked up for you all those years ago!"

Aaron’s breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of your name. "Y/N was here?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

Hearing your name again, spoken aloud, was like a rush of warmth and memories flooding back into his chest. Memories of college, of late nights and soft conversations, of what could have been.

"Yep," Penelope said, her smile widening. "I didn’t realize she’s the one from the photo in your office. She even left her number for you to call her when you’re feeling up to it." She handed him the slip of paper with your number on it, and he took it, staring at it like it was a lifeline to something he thought he’d lost forever.

But before he could fully process what this might mean, Penelope's face softened with a hint of guilt.

"Okay, confession time," she said, wincing slightly. "I may have done a little updated cyber-stalking on Dr. Y/N, and well... she’s engaged, Hotch. To some guy who looks like he has an investment portfolio and a golf handicap. You know the type."

Aaron’s heart sank, the hopeful flutter in his chest turning to a heavy thud. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, your number staring back at him like a taunt. All those years ago, he’d left his number for you, hoping you’d reach out, hoping you still cared. When you didn’t call, he’d told himself that you’d moved on, that you were happier without him in your life. The flowers to Haley’s funeral were welcomed, but that time in his life was such a blur, yet he can still remember the arrangement if he closed his eyes long enough.

And now, here you were, engaged to someone else, seemingly on the brink of starting a new life that didn’t include him. It felt like history was repeating itself, like he’d opened himself up to the possibility of you again, only to be reminded that maybe it was never meant to be.

He tucked the piece of paper into his pocket, forcing a tight smile onto his face for Penelope’s sake. "Thank you, Garcia," he said softly. "But I don’t think I’ll be using it."

Penelope looked at him with a trace of sympathy, understanding the hidden hurt in his eyes. "You sure, Hotch? She seemed really worried about you. And... I don’t know, it felt like there was more there."

His fingers tightened slightly around the slip of paper, and for a moment, he was tempted to crumble it up, to discard the hope that had briefly flickered to life. But instead, he carefully folded the paper and placed it on the small tray table beside his bed, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks for letting me know, Garcia," he said simply, his voice steady and controlled, giving nothing away.

Penelope nodded, her usual chatter subdued as she took in the calm but distant look in his eyes. "If you need anything, or if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me," she offered, her voice softer now.

Hotch gave her a small nod, a flicker of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I appreciate that," he said, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more.

When Penelope finally left the room, Aaron lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he kept locked away.

He thought about you—about how you always seemed to show up in his life when he least expected it, like a constant he could never quite shake. The thought of you engaged to someone else, building a life without him, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he would never let anyone see that pain.

More time had passed since you last saw Aaron Hotchner, and you had tried to bury the memories of your connection deep within the responsibilities of your demanding career. You had almost convinced yourself that he was a part of your past, that life had moved on without him. But then, fate threw him back into your life once more.

The ER was filled with its usual chaos when you caught wind of the commotion coming from one of the trauma rooms. The sharp, familiar voice drifting through the slightly open door stopped you in your tracks. It was a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime, but one that still had the power to make your pulse quicken.

"No, I’m fine," you heard Aaron Hotchner say, his tone clipped and full of irritation. "I don’t need to be here; I need to get back to my team."

"Sir, you need to be evaluated," the attending doctor insisted, exasperation clear in their voice. "We don’t even know what drugs you were exposed to."

You pushed open the door to the trauma room, your gaze locking onto Aaron almost immediately. He was standing there, stubborn as ever, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. His suit was disheveled and dirty, his tie hanging loose, and a laceration marred his otherwise composed face. Despite everything, he still looked like the man who had once held your heart.

"Excuse me, Doctor," you said, stepping in smoothly. "I’ll take it from here."

Aaron’s eyes shot up to meet yours, the annoyance in his expression softening into something else entirely—something that looked like relief mixed with surprise.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth despite the circumstances. "What are the odds?"

You ignored the flutter in your chest as you gave him a stern look.

"Sit down, Hotchner," you said, crossing your arms. "Let me do my job, or I’ll sedate you myself if I have to."

He let out a small, resigned huff but obeyed, lowering himself onto the examination table.

"I see you haven’t changed much," he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

"And you haven’t changed at all," you replied with a grin. "Still as stubborn as ever."

You began checking his vitals, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist as you took his pulse. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding himself together, like he was fighting to keep control.

"Tell me what happened," you said, your voice more clinical now as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

He sighed, "The unsub we are dealing with," He shared the minor details of the case--what he could, filling you in on all he could share. It flowed easily talking to you though. Easier than it did over the years trying to tell Haley--or even Beth some of the gruesome details of his job. It was as if he knew you could take it--you were a different brand of strength than they were.

You gave him a pointed look as you adjusted the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"Humor me," you said, arching an eyebrow. "Let’s make sure there aren’t any lasting effects before you go charging off to save the day."

He opened his mouth to argue but then shut it, watching you work with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer that he didn’t quite let reach his eyes.

You ordered a few tests to identify the drug in his system, then turned your attention to the small laceration on his face. You took out a suture kit and began to clean the wound, your touch gentle but precise.

"Hold still," you said, focusing on your work. "I’d hate to be responsible for ruining that beautiful face of yours."

A ghost of a smile crossed Aaron’s lips, a rare lightness in his expression. "I didn’t realize you cared so much about my looks," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Just trying to keep the world’s best profiler looking his best," you shot back. "Can’t have you intimidating the bad guys with a face full of scars."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a warmth through your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. For a moment, it was like you were back in college, bantering over late-night coffee, before life got so complicated.

As you finished the last stitch, you gently dabbed the area around the wound. Your hand lingered on his cheek just a second longer than necessary, and when you pulled back, you could feel the shift in the air between you—like the unspoken words were almost too loud to ignore.

"There," you said, taking a step back, your voice a little shakier than you intended. "You’re good to go, Hotchner. No excuses now."

Aaron held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a vulnerability you weren’t expecting.

"Why didn’t you ever call?" he asked, his eyes never leaving yours. "All those years ago, I left my number for you, and you never called."

You felt the words hit you like a punch to the gut, all the memories and regrets rushing back in a flood you weren’t prepared for. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got tangled up with your emotions. You hadn’t expected this moment, hadn’t expected him to ask.

"I—" you started, then stopped, taking a breath to steady yourself. "I wanted to, Aaron. I really did. But I convinced myself it was better this way, that you had your life with Haley and Jack, and I didn’t want to complicate things."

He watched you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to read every thought, every hesitation you’d ever had.

"You never complicated anything," he said quietly. "You were the one thing that always made sense."

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "I was afraid," you admitted. "Afraid that maybe I missed my chance, that too much time had passed. I over thought time and time again, the email I sent…or the time you didn’t call me after you collapsed."

It was as if you were rambling now--the once confident and sure doctor now felt small and worried over details of what could fill a book with you and Aaron as the protagonists.

Aaron reached out then, his hand covering yours where it rested on the table. His touch was warm, grounding you in a way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for the two of you.

“I suppose we were both hesitant,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a steady intensity. “But it doesn’t have to be too late. Not for us.”

You looked up at him, your heart in your throat, the weight of all your missed chances hanging in the air between you. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope—that maybe this time, the universe would finally let you and Aaron Hotchner find your way to each other.

And in that moment, as he held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, you knew that this was far from over—that there was still so much left to say, and that this time, you weren’t going to let him slip through your fingers.

Aaron’s hand was still resting on yours, his eyes holding yours with a kind of intensity that made it impossible to look away. For the first time in years, it felt like the universe was giving you both a moment to finally be honest with each other, to close the gap that had always seemed to stretch between you.

But then, just as you opened your mouth to say something, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment. Aaron’s eyes flicked downward to the screen, his face softening slightly when he saw the caller ID.

“It’s Jack,” he said, a mixture of warmth and concern in his voice. You could see how quickly his priorities shifted; everything about him changed when it came to his son. There was a tenderness there, a fierce sense of responsibility that never wavered, even in the face of all the chaos around him.

You offered a small, understanding smile, even though your heart sank just a little. You were reminded of being there--seeing Aaron the day Jack was born. What, was that nine? Ten years ago?

“Go,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “He needs you.”

Aaron hesitated, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer. He seemed torn, like he didn’t want to leave without making sure you both knew where things stood between you. Finally, he gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin.

He answered the call, turning slightly away from you as he spoke to Jack. His voice softened, the way it always did when he was talking to his son, full of patience and love. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his tone gentle. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m at the hospital, but everything’s fine. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

When he hung up, he turned back to you, his eyes searching yours with that same intensity that always seemed to cut right through to your soul. “I have to go see Jack,” he said, and the regret in his voice was undeniable. “He needs me right now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, knowing that this was who Aaron Hotchner was—a father first, a protector. It was one of the things you’d always admired about him, even when it meant he had to walk away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Go be with him. He’s lucky to have you.”

Aaron took a step toward the door but then stopped, turning back to you one last time. His expression was conflicted, like he was fighting to find the right words. Finally, he asked the question that hung in the air between you like a lifeline, a chance to reach out for something real.

“What next?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but heavy with meaning. The vulnerability in his eyes was raw and unguarded, the kind of look that left you breathless.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized that this was it—the moment you’d both been waiting for, the chance to finally lay all your cards on the table.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice cracking slightly. “But I want to find out. I don’t want to keep missing our chances, Aaron.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face, like the answer you gave was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“Me neither,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m tired of being out of sync with you.”

For a heartbeat, you both stood there, neither of you quite willing to break the connection, even as the reality of his world and yours pulled at him. You could see the weight of his responsibilities in his eyes, the knowledge that his life would always be complicated, always full of shadows that might pull him away at any moment.

He reached out, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek, a gesture so tender it made your heart ache.

“I’ll call you,” he promised, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “This time, I won’t let it slip away.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, knowing that you’d hold him to that promise. “Be safe,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking.

He gave you one last lingering look, the kind of look that spoke of all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. Then, with a reluctant smile, he turned and left the room, his figure disappearing into the chaos of the hospital corridor.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, your heart still racing from the intensity of everything that had just happened. And even though he was gone, you felt a sense of hope that you hadn’t felt in years—a feeling that maybe, this time, the timing could finally be right.

As you turned back to your work, a small smile played on your lips, the warmth of his touch still tingling on your skin. You didn’t know what was next, but you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t going to let him slip away this time. Not without a fight.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #tonightyoureonmymind #kiwriteswords

53 notes · View notes

syllvane · 2 years ago

Text

beginnings pt 2- nikolai lantsov x reader

You don’t get the luxury of figuring out that it’s an ambush until after you’ve been clocked in the head with a rifle, too focused on scope of your rifle to hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

When you wake up, it’s to the impact of your body being dropped out far in the harbor, too far out for anyone from the shore to hear you scream and cinderblocks tied to your legs to drown you.

“Kaz!” You screamed, your voice hoarse. “Jes!”

No response, no sound other than your own struggling in the water.

A tide pulled you under and submerged you, pulling you further away from the shore, the city of Ketterdam becoming mere lights in the distance.

You swam up desperately, panting from the effort and lack of air.

You couldn’t survive like this for much longer.

You submerged yourself again and only as you instantly descended 10 feet as you gave up resistance did you realize that you had signed your death warrant.

There was no more going up for air.

And so, you sink.

No mourners, no funerals.

When you wake up, it feels like a horse has kicked you in the chest and your throat burns when you breathe.

You open your eyes to see three sets of unfamiliar faces looking at you and so, you use all of the little energy you have to fight, knocking the person on the left off-balance, though you’d attribute that more to surprise than the actual skill demonstrated in the swipe.

You manage to stand up- not without feeling nauseous, but at least you’re standing - as you move to engage with the other two.

“I had a feeling you would wake up and immediately start throwing punches.” A familiar voice said and your head whipped to the front of the ship to see none other than Sturmhond at the helm.

Of course.

“How did you-”

“You can thank the twins and Toma, our tidemaker. They’re the ones who sensed you out there and brought you in.”

You looked at the two people standing directly in front of you, who you now had the perception to see that they were clearly related.

You opened your mouth to speak and when no words came, you simply gave them a deep nod.

The woman returned it and the man, taller than her, gave you a smile.

“I’m not going to stop you from thanking me though as well.” Sturmhond said and you shot a glare at him.

“And what should I thank you for? Did you lift my body out of the water with your own two hands?” You asked and he shook his head, shrugging.

“I mean, you are on my boat, and I wasn’t planning on charging you for saving your life or passage. Perks of me liking you.”

You ignored the last part of that statement, ignored how warm your cheeks felt and how your heart sped up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the woman stifle a smile.

“I need to go back to Ketterdam.”

“We’re already a day away from Ketterdam, and we’re on a tight schedule to find the Sea Whip. I’m sorry.” Sturmhond said and you shook your head, looking around for any sign that he was joking or lying.

You felt a strong hand on your shoulder and you looked to your side to see the woman.

“He’s not lying, I’m sorry.”

tags: @a-disturbing-self-reflection

#beginnings #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov #sturmhond x reader #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #six of crows imagines #six of crows imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows

684 notes · View notes

euphoniumpets · 2 years ago

Text

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM PROLOGUE

Warnings: violence, blood and gore.

Prompt: ''As long as I can rememer, I've been protecting Alina, it's always Alina who I will protect,'' You told him, looking at Nikolai. ''But who will protect you?''

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Starkov! Reader

A/N: OK, SO, not going to lie, i fell in love as soon I saw Nikolai on screen and this has been on my mind ever since. And yes, I will publish this at the same time I'm writing No mourners, no funerals! Tag list are closed!. I haven't read the king of scars duology yet! so, beware that I've written Nikolai from what I think and from what I've seen in the series and he could be ooc! this series follows season two of shadow and bone but could have some flashbacks during season one.

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - epilogue

Y/N Starkov. That's all you've ever known of. The older sister of Alina Starkov and the second mapmaker of Ravka. Ever since you were a child, you were known to be at Alina's side and even Mal, your childhood best friend. However, when Mal gets into the Fold with the second Army, you knew, that Alina won't hesitate to do whatever it took to follow into his footsteps.

And you both did follow him through the Fold. However, it didn't go as planned when you get attacked by the Volcra. Seeing Mal on the floor and your sister being dragged by a Volcra, you didn't knew what was happening next.

A bright light that surrounded you and the next thing, your sister was being dragged away to the little palace. You and Mal tried to save your sister while the rumors of the sun summoner traveled fast around the world.

While trying to find the White Stag, you both realize that the plot of the Darkling was not the one you thought. With the betryal of the Darkling, and with Alina defeating him, the three of you is on the run.

While on the run, Alina is plauged by the nightmares as the three of you tried to find the next amplifier, the sea whip and the firebird. However, it was not an easy task and the question is: how long was you willing to go and save Alina, even if it meant to risk your life?

#nikolai lantsov x reader #alina starkov #malyen oretsev #jesper fahey #zoya nazyalensky #tolya yul bataar #tamar kir bataar #aleksander morovoza #the darkling x reader #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone x reader

627 notes · View notes

bubble--berry · 2 years ago

Photo

GVBBRMB 2022: “Duplicitous” by @fandomscraziness22 + @desidarling123.

“After months of silence, Kaz calls Inej for an undercover mission at a Ravkan gala. But all is not as it appears on the surface... and not just for the mission at hand.”

Read on AO3.

My piece for this year's mini reverse @grishaversebigbang! I’ve never had anything written based off my art before so it’s safe to say I am completely stoked and honoured to read this fanfic!!

62 notes · View notes

clarafell · 5 months ago

Text

BOLD any fears which apply to your muse. Italicize what makes them uncomfortable.

the dark. fire. open water. deep water. being alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation. public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection. abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched. sex. chains. inner demons. hallucinations. staring. going berserk. betrayal.

tagged by: @schxdenfreude (thank you!!)

tagging: @s-talking @wolfvirago @catncore @nagarese @heartbinders + anyone who sees this! Steal it from me!

#❛ ✧ ┊ she will not end the night again. dash games.#❛ ✧ ┊ no mourners; no funerals. chara study.#❛ ✧ ┊ blessed were the sins that stained our hands. tagged.

4 notes · View notes

lunarthecorvus · 2 months ago

Text

Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa Major Character Death fanfiction recommendations

part of Lunar's soc fanficiton rec series

-------------------------------✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧----------------------------------

Slipping away by @ven-brekker

Wordcount: 1,689 Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker

Tags: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Blood and Injury, Kanej - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Touch-Averse Kaz Brekker, Whump, Major Character Injury

Author's summary/notes: “Keep talking, Wraith. Don’t slip away from me.” “But it’s what I do best.” - Six of Crows, Ch. 12 Inej waits for her Saints to finally have her. My summary/notes: Now this fic is the of major character death whump. There is no ambiguous ending its a death fic to its end. It cuts deep and would definitely fulfill the death fic mood. It HURTS and will make you bawl.

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

for once, my teeth bleed for you by @pbandjeremiah

Wordcount: 1,903 Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa

Tags: this is upsetting, Major character death - Freeform, Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom, Mix of Show and Book Canon, Hurt No Comfort, kaz and inej loving and respecting each other SO DAMN MUCH, i'm sorry this is sad but like, married kanej, shadow summoner kaz, kaz is a grisha

Author's summary/notes: For once, Kaz Brekker didn't have a plan. For once, it was going to cost him all that he had. Kaz and Inej are put on trial for murder and crimes against Ghezen. Neither of them are going to survive this. My summary/notes: This was one of the first kanej death fics I read and I still adore it now. It really shows the lengths kanej will go to protect and respect each others wishes.

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

our youth will take the blame by @pinspec

Wordcount: 3,612 Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck

Tags: Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Denial, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Sad Ending, Protective Kaz Brekker, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, kaz is so in love with inej it actually hurts, neither of them can say 'i love you', please don't sue me

Author's summary/notes: A mission goes badly wrong, and amidst the carnage Kaz fails to save his Wraith. My summary/notes: This shit hurts. Just everything about this hurts. However in my opinion the ending provides a sense of comfort at least...

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

she was supposed to come back by maryadmitrievnalikesundays

Wordcount: 2,840 Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Wylan Van Eck, Jesper Fahey

Tags: Character Death, Death, Grief/Mourning, Madness, Descent into Madness, Insanity, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Author's summary/notes: She was always supposed to return. That was the deal—eight months at sea, four by his side. Eight months of letters and news clippings with her name saved in the locked drawer in his desk. Eight months of yearning, working, killing, waiting for her to come back and give it all meaning. And then The Wraith would roll into port, and the Ketterdam clouds would break, and the King and Queen of the Barrel would walk back home together, hand in hand. But ten months have come and gone since her last departure. And the sky is thick and dense with clouds, and the only thing in his hand is a knife. —— Or, the one thing that could push the Bastard of the Barrel past his breaking point. My summary/notes: I'm not kidding you, the title is enough to make my heart hurt. Be warned that this as depictions of very bad mental health, in case of any triggers <3

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story by leehab23

Wordcount: 4,717 Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar

Tags: Sad with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Some mourners some funerals, I just really think this whole city would go to pieces without him, Some rule of wolves spoilers related to Nina, Book 2: Rule of Wolves Spoilers, Minor violence in the beginning, Minor obstruction of correspondence at the end, somewhat happy I promise, or at least I think so

Author's summary/notes: He continued on, speaking of Kaz’s good deeds, of the great man that lay in hiding behind the terrible one. Of Kaz’s legendary brains, unbelievable grit, and overwhelming impact on the city he called home. As he spoke, he noticed movement in the back of the crowd. Fighting? Fleeing? Wylan couldn’t tell. The ripples grew wider, men and women tripping over themselves to move away from the center of the street. Suddenly a path cleared, as though the crowd had been cleanly torn in half by the point of a sharp knife. “Inej,” Jesper breathed. OR: All of Ketterdam is left reeling in the wake of Kaz Brekker’s death. Despite his frequent objections to the concept, there are mourners and a funeral. My summary/notes: When reading kanej death fics I have noticed that there is less Kaz death fics compared to Inej death fics. So if you're in the mood for a Kaz death fic (I have been many times, don't ask me why but I find it so interesting reading Inej's reaction to Kaz dying). You will feel Inej's pain and it hurts so much. And this fic has Nina helping Nina through the pain and them bonding over dead partners..

#inej ghafa #kaz brekker #kanej #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #soc #six of crows #kanej fanfic #kanej fanfiction #kanej fic #wylan van eck #soc fic #nina zenik #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #lunars fanfiction rec series ☾₊ ⊹#lunars fanfic recs #lunars fanfiction recs

24 notes · View notes

firebrand-witch · 11 months ago

Text

A GRISHAVERSE XMAS: THE SECRET SANTA VERSION

"Please, my darling anon, treasure of my heart, won't you do me the honor of acquiring me a new gift"

On popular demand, (7 people liked my post; mom, I'm famous) the grishaverse fandom's secret santa is here!

Whether you've participated in multiple or this is your first one, the rules are very straightforward:

You will be assigned a random blog to make a gift for. You must get to know them via anon asks. Ask them about their likes, dislikes and go through their blog to get a good idea of their preferences

Someone will send you anonymous asks to get to know you. Make sure to be prompt and courteous. If you have anon asks disabled, enable it otherwise the surprise will get spoiled!

The gift can be whatever you want: a gifset, an edit, a poem, a fanfic. Everything is fair game

Make sure to tag all your posts with #grishaverse xmas

If you're interested in participating, send me an ask before the 7th of December

Reblog this post if you made it this far💌

No Mourners, No Funerals

#grishaverse #grishaverse xmas #secret santa #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #v's op #king of scars #rule of wolves

52 notes · View notes

the-writer-nerd-ro · 2 months ago

Text

Ohhhh we are popping the biggest bottles, it only took writing 25 fics (plus a small number of fics from other talented writers) but Sara and Hunter are FINALLY a recognized relationship tag on AO3

To celebrate, please enjoy:

Sara and Hunter are Two Rats

Hunter was exhausted after a long day of overseeing funerals. It was a stressful job, because mourners don't always behave tactfully and also because most funerals were for crows and crows tend to eat rats.

Her parents had had a much more friendly relationship with the local birds, but they'd been lost in a tragic rat poison incident and now Hunter was left running funerals for creatures that could eat her if they decided they didn't like the flower arrangements.

So she was a little on edge at the end of the day. All she wanted to do was collapse in her little hole until she had get up and go to work for the next murder victim or piece of roadkill that deserved a touching tribute.

The second she got comfortable and closed her eyes the hole filled with noise. She didn't have to open her eyes to find the source, she knew it was Sara.

Sara had acquired a zune from the humans and so everywhere she went she had background music. It was weirdly endearing- when you didn't have a skull splitting headache from a day of hard work.

“Hey! You want to go to the rat rave?”

“The what?” Hunter asked, which was a mistake. Responding meant confirming that she was awake.

“It's a rave for rats.”

“I should have known.”

“It doesn't get as crazy as the bat raves but those are pretty exclusive. I mean I can get in and I'd vouch for you, you do fit their aesthetic… Do you want to go to a bat rave?”

“Mmph.”

“How do you feel about being upside down?”

Hunter cracked an eyelid and looked at Sara. She loved Sara's enthusiasm and obscure party knowledge, but she couldn't match her energy on a good day and this one had been especially bad.

“Look, I almost got eaten today, so I don’t really feel like going out.”

Sara's eyes seemed to glow with anger at this revelation, “Who?”

“No one you know,” Hunter said quickly.

“Tell me their name and I'll hunt them down to the ends of the earth and make sure they never party in this city again.”

“Or,” Hunter suggested gently, “you can come over here and snuggle.”

Sara thought about it for a second, turning off her zune right as it was in the middle of “I Am” by Bon Jovi.

She came over and lay protectively in front of Hunter, so that any predators that found them in the night would have to go through her first.

“I'll keep you safe.”

Hunter nuzzled into Sara, “It's enough for you to keep me company.”

“I can do that, too.”

“Thanks for skipping the rat rave for me.”

“There will be other rat raves. But there's only one you.”

As she was falling a sleep Hunter kind of smiled and mumbled, “Yeah, I love you too.”

#sara pena #hunter richardson #drawfee fanfiction #drawfee #sara x hunter #hunter x sara #sphere au #two rats au #two rats #i am really incredibly impressed at how many people have written two rats fanfiction ready #y'all should be proud of yourselves #decided to add a link to the ao3 fic

15 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 2 years ago

Text

Fly Away: Part 2

Pairing: Young!Aemond x Young!Velaryon!Reader | Side pairing: Rhaenyra x Alicent

Genre: Fluff, AngstAu: friends to lovers, childhood love, incest (duh), slight homophobia expressed, repressed feelings, mutual pining, teenage runaways, mentions of bullying, arrange marriages

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Young love overcomes all in a family full of broken bonds and broken hearts. When Princess Y/N Velaryon and Prince Aemond Targaryen are discovered missing from their beds, their mothers must come together to find them. The search might do more for their families than a mere marriage pact can.

A/N: want to clarify now that we stick with young!Aemond throughout the story. Ewan’s Aemond comes in at the very end. This is mainly done starting a bit before The Princess and the Queen and a little bit after the events at Driftmark. I do pull some scenes from the show, but it remains relatively loose throughout. Want to also point out that The Dance doesn’t happen in this universe, so…happy ending expected, because we need more of those.

Tagged: @yitish, @imjustboredso @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @discowizard88 @mddieeunson @nitimurinvetitumsposts

Previous Chapter < Part 1 | Next Chapter > Part 3

A few months later…

You felt bad for Baela and Rhaena. Your cousins who’d lost their mother after her childbirth complications. They not only lost a mother, but a sibling. You hoped to never understand or feel that pain. You stood on the rocky side of Driftmark with the rest of the funeral guests as they lowered her body into the ocean. You stared out into the waves as your Uncle Vaemond gave an emotional eulogy. You’d only met Lady Laena a handful of times because she lived so far away, but your father spoke highly of her. Baela and Rhaena looked a lot like her with thick silver locs and darkened skin. They had true Velaryon blood, some people said, unlike your brothers. You felt guilty for wanting the ceremony to end quickly, since you are laying someone to rest, but you couldn’t help glancing at the person a few feet away.

Aemond hadn’t changed much in the months since you left King’s Landing. Not that you expected him to. You had not been away very long. Yet, it felt nice seeing him again. You’d both exchanged letters since you left. Every letter read of good tidings, good news, and anecdotes from each other’s lives. He’d told you all about Helaena’s betrothal to Aegon; you told him about the time Joffrey threw up on Jace. You tried not asking him if he had a dragon, though he willingly lamented about it from time to time in his letters. After months of Aemond on paper, it felt relieving to see him in person.

As Laena’s coffin sank into the water, you turned to where Aemond stood with his family. You both grinned at one another softly; two happy people in a group of mourners. You wished to go to him right then. You thought of hugging him like you’d done the last time you saw him, but what if he didn’t like that?

The ceremony ended and everyone went to a patio nearby overlooking the oceans. You liked coming to Driftmark. You enjoyed the chilly breezes that went through the stone halls, the smell of the sea lingering in every gust. The waves that crashed on the rocks left their mark on the black rocks in salt and seafoam. You noticed the lack of ships on the horizon. The last time you’d been there, you’d seen loads of them off in the distance. Following your mother to the party, you found dozens of people already there. You noticed them all stare at your mother as she appeared. Their staring is the whole reason you left King’s Landing. You thought they’d have the decency to be discrete.

Your mother and you found Jace standing by himself in a corner near the railing. “Have you seen your father?” she asked him.

“No,” he shook his head, “Last I saw him, he was going onto the beach.”

You noticed the sad look in your brother’s eyes. The news had come to you by raven a few weeks ago: Ser Harwin Strong died in a fire at Harrenhal along with his father, Lionel. Your mother cried for days in her room, refusing to eat anything unless you came and fed it to her. Luke did not fully understand what was wrong, and you thought it best to lie to him and say Mother grieved over her close friend. Jace, however, did understand. He didn’t play as many pranks on you. He didn’t laugh as much or join you and Luke in your lessons or games. You touched his shoulder. He might annoy you some days, but he was your brother. Half-brother, but your brother nevertheless.

“Your little cousins have just lost their mother,” your mother said to you both, “They can use some kind words of sympathy.”

“I have an equal claim to sympathy,” Jace replied harshly. “We should be at Harrenhal mourning Ser Harwin and Lord Lionel.”

Your mother tried shushing him before anyone overheard him. She told him it wouldn’t be appropriate to do so. “Now, go give your condolences to your cousins,” she said, kissing both your heads and walking away.

Once out of earshot, you spoke to him, “I’m sorry about it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about it,” you repeated. “Ser Harwin was a good man who cared a lot about you and Luke.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

You hugged him, hearing him sniffle softly against your shoulder. There was not much to say in front of people, but seeing Jace upset brought you softness in you. “Don’t let this deviate from the fact that I still think you’re a brat,” you teased, hoping it’d bring out a laugh in him.

He released you, and gave you the response you wanted. “And I still think you’re a big baby.”

You punched his shoulder lightly, laughing, and then guided him through the party. You saw no sign of Aemond, which saddened you. Perhaps he hadn’t arrived yet, even though you spotted The Queen and Ser Criston together. You reached Baela and Rhaena, twin girls whose heads lifted when you approached. Tears streaked down their cheeks, the pain of loss on their faces in full view. You and Jace stood in front of them. Every possible word felt wrong to say. It did not feel like enough, but you wished to comfort them.

“We…My brother and I are…”

Baela reached for your hand, and Rhaena grabbed Jace’s hand. The simple touch brought warmth and comfort at such a sad occasion. You did not know how you’d feel if you ever lost your mother or brothers.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” you said, and Jace agreed.

“Thank you,” Baela sniffed. “It is good to see you, Cousin, after so much time. We’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” you gave a small smile. “Maybe sometime soon your father may visit my mother on Dragonstone. We live there now. I think it’s…it’s best if you’re with family.”

“I agree.”

Your grandmother appeared. Princess Rhaenys was your father’s mother, a confident woman with brown eyes and silver hair. Jace turned away to a brazier nearby for warmth, but she looked at you.

“Gods, how you’ve grown,” she smiled, sadness still on her face. She touched your jawline, “You’re looking more and more like your father every day. Not a smidge of your mother there.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

She bent down to look at Baela and Rhaena, and you took it as your cue to leave. Giving Baela’s hand one more soft squeeze, you walked away back into the party. A passing serving girl offered you a cup of wine, which you took politely. You didn’t drink wine very often. Your parents let you have one on special occasions, but never freely. Tentatively, you gave the fruity wine a sip, gagged at the sharpness of it, then put it down on a table. How people became addicted to it, you did not know. You searched for Aemond. He might be with Aegon or Helaena, so you kept your eyes open for them.

"Well, well, look at you." It was Aegon, holding a wine cup and grinning at you. "How you've grown into such a," he leaned into you, wine thick on his breath, "Lovely maiden."

"Hello, Uncle," you said, sipping your own wine. "I hope you've been well."

"Very well now that I'm talking to the most gorgeous woman in this room," he slid over to you on the railing, smiling still. His blond silver hair was a long tangled mess, and he stood tall and lanky. Nothing like Aemond, short and skinny. "You know…if my brother is ever unable to perform his marital duties," he chuckled, "I wouldn't mind doing the honors."

“I wonder how long you can go without saying a crude remark, Uncle,” you replied. “It must not be long.” You gazed around the room again, “Have you seen Aemond?”

“Probably sulking somewhere. I swear, I don’t know how you can stand his company. He’s so boring,” he then smirked, “You should come with me. I’ll show you a good time.”

You scoffed and made an excuse to leave, but that didn't mean he wasn't watching. More people (specifically men) made comments about your sudden emergence into puberty and beauty, charmed by your looks and envying Aemond for being your betrothed. Finally, you found him by the staircase leading onto the beach. He stood up straight when you approached him, and you smiled brightly at him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you said, “I was worried you’d gone to bed.”

“I saw you with your cousins,” he replied, “And I did not wish to interrupt you.” He gave you a look over, seeing you in your black gown and cloak. "I missed you," he said. "Watching the ships hasn't been the same since you left. I thought we might do it here, but…" he looked to the empty ocean, "I hope you've been well."

"I have. I got your last letter," you smiled shyly, "I really liked your poem."

"Thank you."

"Do I really remind you of flowers?"

"Um, yes, they do."

"Isn't my brother an absolute romantic?" Aegon approached, throwing his arm around Aemond’s shoulders. "He's always been a big, sappy boy."

"Go away, Aegon," Aemond glared.

"What? I only wanted to spend time with my brother and his very pretty friend," Aegon smirked.

"Come on, Y/N," Aemond took your hand. "We'll take the stairs. Aegon can't go down after a few cups."

"I can walk down stairs," Aegon retorted.

Aemond proved this false right away. Leading you down the stone steps, you both giggled watching Aegon clutch the railing while navigating the stairs. By the time you'd reached the bottom, he'd slumped down the middle landing and finished his newest cup. It made you pity him.

On the sandy beach, you noticed the sky starting to grow darker. The setting sun turned the sky shades of dark blue fading into orange. Winds blowing in from the sea became colder, and you hugged your cloak around you. Suddenly, you realized you both stood alone outside the party. You knew you shouldn't be alone; it was improper. Surely, your mother or septa will come looking for you soon, and you didn't want them interrupting.

"It's cold today," he then said.

"Yes, it is."

He nodded. You continued looking at him. You both got along so well back in King’s Landing. You thought seeing him again might be like no time passed at all, but the awkwardness set in. Your eyes stared at the sea ahead of you. It stretched far and wide, undisturbed by ships or people rowing through it. You wondered what it’d be like to sail across it to the lands far beyond like your grandfather before you. You thought about seeing the ruins of Valyria, or the bronze horses of Vaes Dothrak. The edges of the maps are even more mysterious. You had Starshine. You could ride her there. But, whenever you pictured this scenario, you’d usually imagine yourself alone in a foreign land. Seeing Aemond beside you, you liked the idea of him coming along.

“I hope you’ve been well,” you heard him say.

“I have. And you?”

“Better, now that you’re here.” He gave a soft smile, then said, "I truly enjoyed your drawing. I wasn’t aware you drew.”

“Not all the time. I started doing it a few months ago, but I wanted to wait until I was good enough to show you.”

You’d recently picked up drawing after reading about the famous painter, Sandal Dayne, a lord who’d created the most beautiful murals all over Dorne. Inspired by his landscapes and portraits of his family members, you gathered up pieces of charcoal, ink, and watered down paints to use. Your skills are not as wonderful or detailed as Sandal Dayne’s, but you hoped to be one day. The last picture you drew was Starshine sitting on a rock in Dragonstone. The tutor your mother hired said it was ‘a start’. You certainly enjoyed the new hobby; it made you think of Aemond sometimes.

“I went into the dragonpit the other day. I saw Dreamfyre."

You frowned, forgetting the drawing, "Why do you do that, Aemond? You could die going down there."

"I…" he paused.

“Did you think you’d come across an unclaimed dragon and be able to tame it on your own?” you asked. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

“I want one,” he snapped at you. “Everyone else in our family has a dragon except me. Even your brothers have dragons. I want…” he sighed deeply, digging his toe into the sand, “I want to be strong.”

“You are strong,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder, “And brave and intelligent and funny and kind and all those good things. You don’t need a dragon to prove that to anyone.”

“I’m not a real Targaryen without one.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Aemond. Of course you’re a Targaryen.”

“Not a real one.”

“Yes, you are a real one.”

“I want you to be proud to be marrying me,” he said, facing you.

“I am proud to be marrying you one day.” You stepped closer to him, "You'll have one soon," you said. "You have Valyrian blood in you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to control a dragon."

He gazed up at you when you said that. You hoped he understood your true meaning. Jaceryes and Lucerys could not have dragons if they were bastards. The logic made sense. Your mother expected you to swallow the excuse that she preferred Dragonstone over The Red Keep. You knew the truth: she wanted to escape the whispers. The entire court often murmured about your brothers and their true births. You only wanted to stay because of Aemond and Helaena, but your mother and brothers meant as much too.

"Maybe when we're married and I have a dragon, we can go riding together," he said, diffusing the tension. "Like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne."

You shyly smiled at the comparison. The tale of the Old King and his queen was one of your favorites in history. You always dreamed of a love like theirs: strong even at moments where it nearly broke. Even their dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, were soulmates. “Maybe…” you said. “I would like that very much.”

You both smiled at each other, and continued watching the ocean again.

* * *

‘They look sweet together,’ she thought. ‘He adores her.’

Rhaenyra stood at the edge of the balcony overlooking the ocean. She’d gone here to find some shred of peace amongst the funeral party. Her husband having disappeared off to the beach, she found herself standing alone in a room full of people. She’d caught sight of her younger brother and daughter standing together on the beach underneath the balcony. You enjoyed watching the ships that came and went from Dragonstone, playing your far-away fairytale game of guessing which ships went where. Rhaenyra knew how you felt. There’d been a time where she too imagined living another life with someone she loved. She wondered if you imagined Aemond going with you. Maester Gerardys said you often received ravens from King’s Landing, though he had no clue from who. Rhaenyra did.

Someone came to her side and she saw Alicent. She’d dressed herself in a dark green gown that looked black in certain lights. Her brown hair remained held back by another golden band, glimmering against her curls. Loose. Everything about Alicent remained loose and flowing as if like an angel on clouds. There’d once been a time where Rhaenyra took several seconds to admire the floating angel. But, those days passed many years ago. She took a spot beside Rhaenyra and looked down at the couple below.

“They’ve been writing to one another,” she said to Rhaenyra. “Maester Orwyle told me Aemond visits the rookery often to send his letters himself.” She looked over at her with a small smirk, “He thinks we don’t know.”

“It is the same with my Y/N,” she nodded. “She’s very fond of your son.”

“As she said when you left King’s Landing,” she smiled softly. “It was a touching moment. You should’ve seen it,” she said, “Your poor girl. She wept and wept and wept, telling Aemond how fond she was of him.”

Rhaenyra recognized that dreamy gaze. It often came about when Alicent spoke of the romantic stories and poems she recited. She turned away from the children, and looked to the room. She spotted her father sitting underneath an awning, tired and sickly.

“How has he been?” she asked Alicent.

“More or less the same,” she sighed, still watching the couple below. “The maesters said the infection in his finger spread to his arm, so they amputated it.”

“Was there no other way to save it?”

She shook her head, “No. They said if it kept spreading, the infection would eventually reach his heart and he’d…”

Die. Her father would die. Rhaenyra’s heart sank seeing her father, who’d once stood proudly, limping around on a walking stick. Now missing an appendage, his life became even more difficult. She wished she could do more than sit back and see him deteriorate. The inevitable day will come that the crown he wore will pass down to her, and she'd be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her sons will rule after her and so on for ages. There'd once been a time where she wanted it, and then a time where she did not. Feeling Alicent standing so close, she imagined them ruling together for the briefest of moments.

If only she'd been born a man, then she could’ve had her and the throne.

"Remember the first time we came here?" Alicent asked.

The question stung. "Yes, I do."

A blissful moment in a series of bad ones. They'd gone to Driftmark for Laenor’s grandfather’s funeral. Before the throne and the marriages, it'd been the two of them on this beach. Right where their children stood together, looking over the ocean and the world feeling so limited despite the expanse before them. A crisp nightly walk alone, the beach breeze in their hair and on their clothes, Alicent and Rhaenyra walked a world entirely their own that night. They’d walked hand-in-hand, talking about court gossip or about their lives. She’d never felt more comfortable around someone outside of her mother; Alicent filled a special place in her heart that night. When they’d finally rested on one of the dunes, their bodies out of sight of anyone else who might walk past, and how she talked about her possible betrothal to a Tyrell boy. She expressed deep dislike over the possibility. She didn’t know the boy; the boy didn’t know her. Rhaenyra said they could both run away on Syrax; they can escape this suffocating world and be just them. Alicent had blushed and laughed, thinking she’d jested, but she hadn’t.

They’d kissed. It’d been her first real kiss. Rhaenyra gulped thickly recalling Alicent’s sweet lips and the blushing giggles they’d shared. Their souls became one in that moment. Their hearts blended into one piece that would never break.

Then, she remembered what drifted them apart in the first place. She remembered how one word permanently wedged a rift between them.

‘No.’

“Do you ever regret it?”

Rhaenyra begged to ask what she meant exactly. She turned to see Alicent not looking at her, but their children. “No,” she said, “I do not. I only regret-”

“-Alicent.”

Lord Hightower appeared, his eyes flitting between her and his daughter. A small fire of anger flared inside her. Lord Otto Hightower and his firm religious beliefs; his strict moral code that forbid Alicent to have any sort of agency of her own. Rhaenyra knew now that it’d been him who influenced her father to marry her childhood friend. He’d wanted his daughter to be a queen, and his grandchildren to be heirs. It was why he pushed so steadfastly to have Aegon be named heir over the years; her father denied him every time. Alicent soon began feeling the same through his influence.

“Have you found him?” Alicent asked her father, straightening and putting her guard up again.

“Not yet,” he said, coming closer. “I’m sure he has not gone far. Aegon had too much to drink.”

“He always has had too much to drink,” Rhaenyra couldn’t help herself. “I can’t imagine the boy being able to make his own decisions when drinking his weight in alcohol.”

He read between the lines. “He can be if given strict discipline.”

“Keep looking for him, Father,” Alicent said before either can continue, “Have Ser Criston help you.”

The next name sparked another flame inside her, but she doused it out. She took one more look at you and Aemond, seeing you both sink into the sand together. Visions of her daughter’s first kiss flipped through her mind. She imagined her daughter having the same romantic night that she’d shared with Alicent. Any reasonable mother might stay to watch over them, but Rhaenyra knew how important privacy is for a budding romance. She kept Alicen’t gaze away from them, and said:

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, “But I must give my uncle my condolences.”

“Of course.”

Rhaenyra gave Lord Hightower one last glance before walking away. She hoped Alicent doesn’t see the couple and force them apart. Why should she not? Her father did it, and she is her father’s daughter.

* * *

But she had. Alicent saw them from the corner of her eye while her father talked to her about Aegon. It reminded her far too much of her own moment with Rhaenyra on the beach. Their children are much younger than they’d been, but she saw that care there. She saw the twinkle in Aemond’s light eyes whenever he saw you. Aemond is far more romantic than he lets on; he keeps his feelings far too close to his chest, never really revealing them to anyone besides his mother and sister. He knew you were a person he could confide in, and that made him happy. Alicent prayed the marriage is successful; that their love will be far greater and better than the one she’d dreamed for.

“What did she say to you?” her father asked her.

“We talked about Aemond and Y/N,” she answered. She turned to see his unconvinced stare, then said, “That is all.”

With all that occurred between them, Alicent suspected her father’s suspicions never fully disappeared. She noticed how he’d stare when she grew too close to any one woman in court. She recalled how he’d so eagerly urged her to meet with the king after his wife died; how the king then told her to keep their meetings a secret. He worried Alicent’s love for Rhaenyra might put a rock in his plans. She knew this now. She’d never forget the sharp words he’d said when she expressed displeasure at being dishonest with Rhaenyra.

“Do not let your feelings for her ruin your future.”

What future, Father? The one you’d so meticulously crafted?

“She thinks they will make a good match,” Alicent filled in the space. “I was only agreeing with her.”

“Hmmm.”

He continued searching for a lie. She hated it when he did that.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston Cole approached her, “We’ve had no sign of the prince anywhere.”

“He’ll turn up soon.”

Her eldest son often piled himself with cups during formal events. Alicent knew her son enjoyed the raucous debauchery of King’s Landing inns and taverns over the posh noble gatherings. She had no idea where she’d gone wrong with him. She’d noticed his absence sometime into the event, so she’d asked her father to find him. If anyone sets Aegon straight, it is her father. Unfortunately, he’d eluded his family somehow. Alicent hoped nothing terrible had happened.

Her eyes went around the room to find Rhaenyra again. Their moment by the railing moments ago is a rarity these days. Every time she might see tenderness, it immediately escaped her. Whenever Rhaenyra came to mind, she thought of that night and the missed opportunities. Then she recalled Rhaenyra’s blatant lie about what happened between her and Daemon in the brothel. She’d sworn on her mother’s grave that she never let Daemon touch her; that they’d kissed, and it meant nothing. She promised she hadn’t done it to hurt her. She knew the marriage to the King was not Alicent’s idea. The only person Alicent trusted completely shattered any piece of that trust when Ser Criston told her about what they’d done that night. How he’d taken her maidenhead, and then refused to leave Westeros with him like a pair of fairytale lovers.

Later on, Alicent realized if Rhaenyra wished to leave her life behind, she’d only do it with her.

What hurt most was Harwin Strong. Rhaenyra made herself clear by falling for Harwin, who then fathered her boys. Those boys will be heirs to the Iron Throne when Viserys finally dies and Rhaenyra ascends. The boys with dark hair and dark eyes are clearly not blood of the dragon unlike her daughter, Y/N, who is a perfect blend of Laenor and Rhaenyra. The treachery is obvious. The dishonor and lack of duty to her station were loud and clear for the court, but Viserys chose to ignore them. She knew his favor rested heavily on Rhaenyra, the child of his first wife, Aemma. If Rhaenyra takes the throne, her father says, war will break out. She must prepare Aegon for the throne, but seeing his behavior, she doubted he’d ever be fit for it.

Aemond, though. Aemond would make a great ruler. He studies. He listens. He does not shrink from duty or responsibilities like his brother. She heard he’d given both Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys his condolences without being told. He had a soft heart, even if he hid it behind sullenness. She hoped you took care of her boy and his heart.

“Shall I watch over them for you, Your Grace?” Ser Criston asked her. “The hour is growing later.”

“No,” she shook her head, “Let them be alone. They’ll come in eventually.”

“Alone? Your Grace, I highly doubt that is appropriate.”

“Aemond is not his brother.”

He will be a perfect gentleman.

* * *

Neither of you is sure how long you actually sat there together. You cared too much about the moment to keep track of time. Sitting on the sand, you’d slipped off your shoes to let your toes dig into the cool dirt. The ocean waves continued rolling up to the shore before sliding away back into the sea, a motion you watched closely.

“Do you think they’ll get along?” you asked him.

“Who?”

“Our families,” you looked at him, knees drawn up to your chest, “Do you really think us being married will fix things?”

Aemond hesitated. He often did this when he felt reluctant to speak his mind. He looked over at your face, then said, “No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“My mother hates your mother.”

“I don’t think so.”

“She does. The contempt she has for your mother’s behavior is clear. They’ve never liked each other.”

“That’s not true,” you said. “Grandfather told me that they’d been great friends once, but then something happened, and they started hating each other.”

“That is difficult to believe,” he disagreed. “Maybe a terrible thing happened that made them stop being friends.” He dug a stick into the sand, making swirling patterns in the dirt, and said, “But, I don’t think us being married will make them like each other again. They hate each other too much, I think. I didn’t think my mother would ever agree to a marriage proposal,” he then added, smiling softly, “But I’m glad she did.”

You watched him make patterns in the sand, and smiled, “Me too.” You shifted closer to his side, and said, “You promise never to hate me?”

“Why would I hate you, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. Do you promise?”

He stopped making his sand drawings, and shared a glance with you. “Never.”

Your heart fluttered hearing his answer. After months of writing to one another, your feelings for Aemond developed into more than fondness for your betrothed. You looked forward to every letter, every kind word, and every lovely poem. You’d never say a part of your newfound hobby came from Aemond’s sweet poems. You’d wanted to give him a gift to keep even when you didn’t write; a gift to remember you.

“I never will either,” you answered.

You spotted pink filling the tops of his cheeks. “Good,” he gulped.

You reached for the drawing hand so he dropped the stick. The gesture meant to reassure him of your feelings. The words caught in your throat, and you willed yourself to try saying them. But, Aemond seemed to understand, since he overturned his hand to hold yours. Supple fingertips brushed your palm and the top of your hand. Your eyes met him in the gentle breeze, the world growing ever darker around you but you couldn’t stop the warmth filling your body. You gasped, noticing Aemond leaning closer to you timidly. Was it happening? Is this how Harwin kissed your mother the first time? You stayed still as Aemond came within inches of you.

“Y/N?”

Aemond and you jumped apart as Luke appeared a few feet away from you. He stared at you innocently, swishing his cloak around his knees while he looked at you.

“What is it, Luke?” you asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone.

“Mother says we’re to go to bed now,” he said.

You almost threw a clump of sand at him. Right when you thought Aemond might kiss you, he shows up. You turned back to Aemond, sulky once more, and gave an apologetic smile. “It is getting late,” you said, “I suppose we should go.”

“You can,” he replied in disappointment. “Will I see you tomorrow morning before we leave?”

“You may, if you wish.”

“Y/N,” Luke called you again, “Mother says to come inside.”

“I heard you,” you snapped at him.

Hoping it’ll make him feel better, you kissed Aemond’s cheek. It was soft and warm on your lips. You probably should not have done it with Luke nearby, watching and waiting, but you wanted Aemond to know. Perhaps another time when you’re both truly alone. Pulling away, you saw his cheeks grow redder. You giggled, elation in your stomach, and walked away from him with a sheepish smile. Taking Luke’s hand, you couldn’t stop yourself from turning back over at Aemond, who remained seated in the sand.

Right as you reached the balcony again, you heard a loud roar in the distance. You looked up into the skies, hoping to see a large winged shadow amongst them, but the dragon flew too high. It reminded you of Aemond, who did not possess a dragon yet. He would one day, and then you two can go on flights together and have many adventures.

You’d like that very much.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x yn #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd drabble #hotd fanfiction #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer

273 notes · View notes