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💌 asoiaf:
🥝 aemond targaryen
lover you should have come over || 6.5k
after years of percieved pining after one brother, a house party changes the trajectory of things and aemond nearly ruins a good thing before it can begin
adoration and resentment (see link. currently on Ao3 and going through a re-write! - this will hopefully be finished eventually 😭)
🍒 aerion targaryen
coming soon!
💌 mcu:
🍊 bucky barnes
just for show || 3.1k
when a night out unravels, bucky and the reader's relationship starts to do the same
🫧 peter parker
i used to have a whole other blog too many years ago - all my old writing is still up and about him. you can still find it here: @lostparker
💌 criminal minds:
🍋 aaron hotchner
the sweetest sin of all || 3.4k
the sweetest sin of all (part 2) || 2.6k
who'd have thought aaron hotchner was a man so consumed by longing (lightly inspiredin the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's song 'too sweet'):
🌷spencer reid
safer dreams || 2.3k
it's not easy to keep someone safe in your nightmares, something Spencer knows all too well.
false god || 1.2k
it's never a good idea to reminisce about a relationship, especially one that ended with betrayal left you with a permanent scar
💌 misc:
the end of love || 1.1k
being cheated on is never cool - but it can be poetic. no specified characters mentioned, but if you want to read something else I've written this is the something
some stuff about my writing below the line:
my works are only posted here on this blog, or blogs mentioned and on Ao3, if you see them somewhere else, please let me know. 🩷
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peace, love and light on planet earth 🌎
link to my Ao3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x female reader / female reader x modern!asshole aegon targaryen.
words: 6.5k
content warnings/summary: after years of percieved pining after one brother, a house party changes the trajectory of things and aemond nearly ruins a good thing before it can begin.
a/n: hello! here is my modern hotd one shot (only a year and a half later). she's exceptionally dialouge heavy and for that i'm so sorry also not fully proof-read so again, apologies
Lying awake and staring at the ceiling had become Aemond’s new normal. For two weeks he’d been evading sleeps grasp, too busy thinking about her.
He’d been thinking about her every night.
A buzz similar to live electricity shimmered through his bloodstream keeping his thoughts disorganised and his heart confused. He knew he shouldn’t, and he considered the fact that maybe he had made a mistake that night but the constant reminder of her created by his mind was becoming harder to ignore.
It was cliché really, the whole situation.
He ran a hand through his hair, the silver strands threading through his fingers. The other clutched the bright screen of his phone, burning the corners of his eyes.
Ticking in the corner of his bedroom the clock served a constant reminder of the minutes bleeding into hours. Wasting his time talking himself out of committing to the simple three-word message that had been sitting unsent for hours. His fingers made the decision for him as the light from his phone illuminated his angular features in the dimness of the room.
—can we talk?—
The two little grey ticks beside his words indicated the successful delivery to her phone and he rolled over onto his side. He spent so long staring at the grey ticks that he flinched when they turned blue. Aemond’s heart dropping, pulse throbbing in his throat when he saw the little bubble that indicated she was typing. It was late - nearing 2am.
He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop himself. Every day for two weeks he’d considered reaching out, considered picking up the phone or just driving to her apartment. It was insanity inducing, how such a simple moment in time could have jarred his whole world.
There were things he wanted to say caressing the tip of his tongue, but his mind - oh his mind was twisting in and out of logic, sanity and reality. He’d known her for years. She was always close but at a distance and then in one evening everything had changed.
—sure, come over.—
Two weeks prior:
They were going to get a noise complaint. The bass of the music felt like it was about to burst Aemond’s eardrums, he could feel the pounding through his shins as he walked from room to room almost aimlessly. One beer, two beers, three. No matter how much of the amber liquid slipped down his throat it still did not feel like enough to make him enjoy Aegon’s end of summer party.
Everywhere he looked there were people. They littered every corner of the house with their drunken laughter and chatter. His temples began to throb a familiar ache.
As Aemond moved towards the kitchen he caught the eyes of some people he recognized as Aegon’s close circle of friends. He gave a tight-lipped smile and discarded his empty bottle on a side table - despite knowing that it would no doubt end up as his responsibility to clean up in the morning.
He paused at the threshold of the kitchen, not yet pushing open the frosted glass door that during a party would normally have been propped open with a half empty keg. The glass swirled the image of the occupants, whose muffled voices told Aemond they were in the middle of something angry and heated.
He could make out the shape of his brother, obscuring the figure he was gesturing wildly at. Aemond didn’t like the tone of his voice, didn’t like the wild movements his brother was making. But before he could intervene the door burst open, and he watched as she ran through the crowd of the party towards the stairs.
He could just make out the sheen of tears and the furious crimson of her cheeks before she disappeared out of sight.
“Stupid bitch.” Aegon slurred as he pushed past Aemond, plastering on a huge fake grin and slapping one of his friends on the back. Aemond heard him murmur something that sounded derogatory before the group erupted in laughter and drowned in each other's voices.
Something unsettling washed over him and he shook his head. Alone in the kitchen Aemond pulled another beer from the fridge with a sigh. There was a light tingle making its way down the back of his neck telling him the alcohol was just touching his system. But he was in no mood to stay at the party, he decided to take his drink to his room where he could lay down and try to ignore the ruckus happening in the rooms under his.
Before he could open the sanded wood door to hide from the party the cloaked sounds soft crying crept out of the crack between the door and frame.
Slowly he pushed the door, letting the light from the hallway cast into the room.
With what little glow that offered Aemond could just make out her figure. His breath caught in his throat, unsure of why it was his room that she’d sought solace in, and exactly what it had been that his brother had said to her to get her crying.
She was perched at the end of his bed head between her knees, shoulders shaking gently. He stood for a minute, just taking it in. Eye tracing her shape as she tucked your hair behind her ears, finally looking up to the sudden presence of light.
He held back a gasp as their gazes met.
“Hey, you okay?” His voice was low, filled with something she thought might be concern, but that didn’t feel right. He watched as she winced at his voice, carmine caressing her cheeks as he flicked on a lamp and closed the door, leaning against it.
She guessed she could explain that she hadn’t meant to hide in Aemond’s room and now with him standing watching her it felt a little silly to be caught curled up crying on the corner of his bed.
When she’d rushed out of the kitchen she’d just wanted to get away, at the top of the stairs she’d just pushed open the first door that the palms of her hands had come across. Realising only now where she was as Aemond stood observing her with air of calm curiosity and what felt like the seams of apprehension.
“Oh. I’m fine Aemond. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here… I just… I just.” She shuddered, wiping in a furiously embarrassed way at her red rimmed eyes to try and hide evidence of the sadness that had spilled.
Having been friends with Aegon since she’d been a child Aemond was hardly a stranger to her, by association she’d known him for years. She’d spent summers at their family home, countless movie nights curled up on the couch and attended almost every party Aegon had ever thrown. Aemond had always been there, never directly next to her but close enough in context.
Although, she couldn’t recall a time she’d been alone with him. He was always near and sometimes she’d catch him looking at her, with this glint in his eye that she didn’t quite understand but then it’d be gone, and he’d hide whatever it was behind his curtain of silver hair.
She presumed that to Aemond, all she was just Aegons best friend. Even if he’d linger a little longer near her or listen to her ramble even when Aegon huffed in disinterest. But under the surface she could sense something, unable to quite decipher what it was. A... A longing? No that didn’t feel right. Something indiscernible but nagging.
He had an intensity about him, something compelling and captivating. But she had always been so focused on the turbulence that was Aegon. Yet, for thirteen years she’d had this dull aching feeling that there was something she was missing, even if she was looking directly at it.
“No, it’s fine. I just… What happened?” His voice was soft as silk in its low tones, a contrast to his brother’s sometimes biting tone.
“Nothing. Really… It’s nothing. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” She just wanted to dismiss it, to apologise for being in his room and escape quietly. It was embarrassing to be caught, and she knew that if it had been Aegon who had found her curled up in a corner sobbing over him he would have laughed in her face.
But something about Aemond’s presence had her pinned in her place. He just watched her with a warm cadence, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood wordlessly, waiting to see if she’d talk to him. His silence a response of disbelief.
“I’m fine, it was just the same old somethings about how sad and pathetic I am. How I am too co-dependent and need more friends so l don’t have to follow Aegon around like I’m obsessed with him, and he can get some fucking space.”
The paraphrasing of his brother’s words in her sad tone made Aemond’s breath catch in his throat. He was almost shocked that his brother had been so cruel to the person he was supposed to be closest too - and even more shocked by the implication that it was not the first time. Almost.
She ran a hand over her face, chuckling hollowly. Aemond watched as she pulled her knees up to her chin. He pushed himself off the doorframe and shrugged off his hooded sweatshirt leaving him in just a t-shirt as sat gently on the edge of his bed, his body angled so he could look at her.
“He’s just drunk.” She murmured, a sad sigh escaping her bitten lips. Her eyes were dejected when she looked at him.
“Hmm.” He mused, the hum coming low from his throat. He glanced up meeting her eyes. They had a hint of honey to them and a deepened sweetness that made his knees feel strange. “It’s not an excuse to say something like that.”
She looked almost startled, a gentle crimson spreading across her cheeks as his gaze pierced her. In the low light of his bedroom, she could see all the angles and harsh lines of his face. He was sharper than his brother yet somehow softer. His eye seemed kinder, warmer pools of blue in comparison to Aegon's ice.
She felt almost too seen, like her skin was burning under his gaze. She shifted so her legs hung over the side of the bed. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, a not comfortable nor uncomfortable atmosphere shifted in the room and her palms spread over the fabric of his duvet, feeling the soft material under her fingertips.
“Sorry, I’ll go. This is your room I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off in a quiet hum. Suddenly she was all too aware that her senses were filled with Aemond. From the warmth of him next to her to the smell of his cologne faintly filling her nostrils - a mixture of musk, orange peels and something so unique it must have just been Aemond. He was surrounding her, making her feel almost comfortable but not quite.
“No stay. It’s ok.” His hushed tone of his voice made the hairs on her arms stand up on end. Had he always been so… so… so gentle? As if his voice was just caressing the air. It was the complete opposite to Aegon’s brash and boisterous tonality. Something about the way Aemond spoke made her feel like she was sinking.
There was a lingering pause before Aemond’s finger gently brushed against her pinky, drawing her attention away from the low tension in the room.
“Aegon doesn't deserve your friendship, you know.” He seemed to have shifted closer to her, his body thrumming as he spoke. His voice spread warmth in her chest, that felt like something just licking the edges of fire. She released a strangled scoff. Something similar to disbelief and acceptance, a knowing flash in her eyes as she tried to play off Aemond’s astute observation.
She couldn’t meet his eyes, ignoring the molten feeling spreading through her pinky where their skin touched.
She knew, of course she knew.
“I’ve never understood why you were friends with him.” His eye never left her, something hazy in his gaze that made her inhale sharply.
“I don’t know… I… He was the very first boy in the playground to pay attention to me. He noticed me and once he had, others began to.” A vacant look skimmed across her eyes like a pebble on water. Floating across the surface and the drowned by the inevitable pull of gravity. It felt as though her tongue had been tied in knots, rendering her unable to articulate the unknown answer to a question that she wished she knew.
Silence nestled in the corners of the room, a patient listener to whatever answer she came up with. Suddenly truth was the only viable option.
“He has this pull. I mean, you’re his brother and I know he’s said some horrible things to you. But you still love him.” Aemond huffed, something that sounded like indigence and denial. She pushed against his shoulder lightly, silencing the rumble in his chest.
“I can't explain why, but I… I suppose I’m scared of what it would be like if he weren’t in my life. I’m so used to being here, around you all. I’d lose all that if I stopped being friends with him. He’s been such a constant for so long it’d be like missing something in an obvious place. He’s one of the most interesting things about me, everyone says so.” It was nonsensical, but the words just rushed out of her mouth.
“That’s not true.” The indigence in Aemond’s voice clouded her senses like a thick fog.
Aemond’s anger crawled forward. It was an overwhelming feeling. He knew what it was like to stand in Aegon’s shadow - to live in comparison. But to hear her say she believed it was Aegon that made her interesting, the audacity burned through his blood - it was not true.
“Aemond…” Her voice was a sigh, and it only aggrieved him more.
“It’s not true.” Defiance huffed out. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the proximity of her, maybe it was the way time seemed to slow but Aemond couldn’t hold back anymore. His frustration bleeding into the edges of his reasoning.
Aemond had stood on the side-lines and watched the push and pull of Aegon’s tumultuous twists and turns friendship with this strange feeling in his chest. Was it jealousy? Maybe something kissing the seams of it.
His brother was not worth someone like her and he’d taken her for granted for far too long. Aemond couldn’t understand it really, how Aegon had come to be caressed by the warmth of her friendship, how he’d won that honor in the first place. Too often he’d watched his brother blaze and burn through a path of people uncaring about the damage.
Now he’d burned her.
He’d watched her be friends with Aegon for all that time, watched his unworthy mishandling of it. He could admit it; he was jealous of Aegon. Jealous because he never seemed to realize what was right in front of him. How could he stand so close to her and not be affected by her, to still treat her so cruelly.
Now he had the selfish chance to show her that she deserved better than Aegon - better than to think she wasn’t interesting, exciting and captivating all on her own. He had the chance to do something that for too long he’d talked himself out, something he’d convinced himself would only lead to complication.
But looking at her sat next to him in the warm glow of his room, he wondered why.
“You… You are so much better than him. He’s done what he always does when someone shines brighter than him. He dulls them, takes their sparkle for himself. You are… so much more.” His eye was hazy as he watched her in the twinkling warmth of the room. His words washed over her like a cleansing storm, something unsettling yet gentle in the tone of his voice - could it be called longing?
Sitting and basking in the easy comfort and soft tones Aemond was offering her she was finally realizing how unworthy Aegon was to stand on the pedestal of friendship. How she’d been blinded by his brilliance for so long.
Aegon was like the sun - bright and bold but it hurt to look at him. He was warm and dangerous, burning hot and quick and fast. Aemond was like the moon. Glowing in a delicate way, shimmering in the inky sheets of night. She had to wait for the sun to disappear to truly notice the opulence of the moon, and how much she realized she was enjoying staring into the night sky that was him.
Aegon had tried to drown out all others who’d tried to get close to her and keep her for himself. Aemond especially. Aegon knew that if there was nothing blinding her so completely, encompassing her so entirely then maybe she’d be compelled to seek out someone more deserving of her.
Something better, someone better, someone more like Aemond, the softer, kinder brother.
It was banal that it was Aegon’s callousness that had pushed her right into the solace of Aemond’s bedroom that night, where every ounce of regret over wasting her time, her care, her time on him spilled out of her like water.
Aemond wanted nothing more than to snap the bond between her and Aegon with his bare hands and offer her a new perspective, a new option. One that had been so close yet just out of reach for so long.
She was his brother's best friend, but Aemond didn’t want to be friends with her.
Her shoulders curled in on themselves with a disheartened angle and her mouth had this terribly tragic downturned slant to it. In her facial expression was a tiredness, something that made him want to pull her close to him.
So, he did.
In a bold, unexpected motion he wrapped a hand around her waist so he could pull her body to him. His back was against his pillow, and he shifted their positions so that he ended up cradling her in his arms.
He felt her stiffen slightly, a hint of a gasp leaving her lips at the smoothness of his movements. In his arms he felt her release the tension in her body and relax against him. Her hand found a curved spot on his chest and one of her legs rested atop his.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, his chin resting on the top of her head. She hummed against him and breathed so deeply he felt the rise and fall of her body under him.
There was something electric in the air, something tethered to what could be considered anticipation.
It would only take one simple move, and Aemond was feeling recklessly brave enough to make it.
She looked up at him, from where he’d laid and the realization and want washed over him, when she whispered his name from her cherry-stained lips he was done for.
“Aemond…”
It was selfish, the aching feeling building deep in his stomach as one hand tangled itself in her hair while the other pulled her waist closer to him. She smelt like citrus and vanilla, warm yet delicate as his sanity was as he poured himself into her.
Everything about it was hesitant, something unsure in the curve of her lips. Yet she inched closer and closer to him. She could still make out the cacophony of the party just outside Aemond’s door and in the distance, she could make out Aegon’s harsh drunken tone. She sucked in a breath, Aemond’s arm tightening around her waist.
Aemond’s eyes wandered over her face, his pupils dilated from the dim lighting. They were only inches apart now and she could see every freckle on his face, every edge that turned into a curve. All his harsh lines and delicate features.
Why had spent so long looking at Aegon when Aemond had been right there. Now she’d seen him so close it was impossible to look away. Not that she felt anything other than platonic for Aegon - now she wasn't sure she even wanted to feel that. He had hurt her, as he often did. But this time she was shown how it wasn’t her fault, by someone who had never done her harm.
She had been sad, maybe even a little bit tipsy - but now she knew exactly what she was doing, every move she made to inch closer to him intentional. She decided not to focus on anything other than the feeling of Aemond’s hand in her hair and his arm circling around her; and it felt good.
Subconsciously she wondered if she’d sought him out, knowing that hiding in his room could lead to this moment.
Knowing that for so long she’d pretended she didn’t notice his lingering glances, or the way he flinched whenever Aegon raised his tone with her. She pretended she was imagining it - how he huffed what could be considered a chuckle when she made a joke - even when Aegon would only roll his eyes. She’d always liked Aemond - but she’d never let herself believe that it could be mutual. If she allowed herself to believe it she thought she might realise how long she’d spent being mistreated by someone who called her his best friend because she’d refused to be more.
It was complicated. With the friendship and deluded sense of loyalty she felt for Aegon clouding everything for so long. But the fractures in it were weathering and growing to ravine cracks.
So, she let herself notice the way Aemond looked at her and decided not to ignore or pretend anymore.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
She wanted him in the way she’d never wanted Aegon. She wanted Aemond in a quiet unspoken way, in the same way she sought out a silent unanswered look from him in a crowded room and when she allowed herself to feel that it pushed her forward and her lips connected with his.
Her lips felt so familiar, like something he’d been waiting for. Like something he’d imagined so much in his head that he could almost have described exactly how it would have felt before it had happened. She molded against him like she’d been made to fit with him exactly. He flattened his hand against her spine pressing her to him with an intoxicating force.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling how silky it was in her hands. With it as anchoring leverage she pulled herself into his lap. Breaking the kiss for what felt like only a second as he sat up slightly allowing himself to wrap his arms completely around her waist.
What followed was a moment acted upon almost on instinct.
--- --- --- ---- ----
His knuckles knocked lightly on the dusky blue door of her apartment. He could hear the gentle hum of music escaping through the wood. There was a moment where he feared she’d changed her mind and wouldn’t open the door, or she’d fallen asleep, or he’d imagined she’d responded to his text. He double checked his phone, ensuring the three-word response was on his screen.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears; it almost drowned out the sound of the door hinges creaking.
Aemond held his breath, running his hand anxiously through his hair once more for luck, or support, or just for the sake of it. She was just visible behind the painted wood, lit in a halo of warm light from the apartment behind her.
Seeing her again was like being punched in the stomach.
He’d been telling himself not seeing her was the right thing, that he’d crossed a line that night and he was trying to fix his mistake. That he’s spent so long on the side-lines watching and that what had happened had been a lapse in his self-control.
To her his presence felt more like the slow prickle of a burn. Like he’d always been close enough that she could almost touch him, but then one moment she did and the next moment he was gone, and she couldn’t understand why.
With her eyes on his he realized how much he wanted to be wanted by her, no matter how much it would take out of him. He’d got his chance to show her that she was what he wanted, desired, and valued. All the things Aegon had wouldn’t and then he panicked, and almost proved his brothers point.
He’d wanted to show her that he was different to his brother - and then out of fear and a precarious self-preservation had retreated from her completely - just as Aegon often did.
He’d tasted what he wanted and had tried to push it away, convinced regret would weave into to memory of their connection. Convinced it was a fleeting moment conceived in the wake of heartbreak.
“Hi.” His voice was low, almost raw against his throat.
“You wanted to talk?” Her tone sharp, eyes unwaveringly planted on the space between his eyebrows, not quite meeting his own.
There was a mix of annoyance and curiosity creasing her face. Her eyes had a glazed sort of sheen to them. When she leaned against the doorframe he let out a breath of tension, watching how she quirked an eyebrow, her eyes running over all the small details of him. He was afraid she’d see something he didn’t realize he was revealing.
“You look surprised.” She whispered, knowing she should either invite him in or just get him to spit out whatever was bothering him without need for him crossing the threshold. His face was almost annoyingly neutral, bar the spark or hint of something in his eye that she couldn’t quite read. “What? You didn’t think I’d open the door.”
She thought it’d be easier after being so intimate with someone to understand them. Opening yourself up like that for another human to explore surely allowed some sort of unabashed ability to know what they were thinking. But all she felt from seeing Aemond at her door at 3am after so long without anything from him at all was confusion and complication.
Aemond hummed, a quiet melodic sound to expel some of the nerves that were bruising his spine.
“No, I… I just.” He stammered in an uncharacteristic blunder, and she rolled her eyes. He noticed the way her loose t-shirt hung off her edges and the way her arms were littered with goosebumps from the mid-autumn breeze that crept in when the sun lay dormant. With a shiver she stepped to make way for him to fit through the front door.
“You should come in and just get on with whatever it is that compelled you to come here tonight.” Her eyes fixed on the crack in a tile below her foot.
I shouldn’t have done that. I took advantage of you, it was wrong. You’re my brother’s best friend and you were upset, and we’d been drinking. You were within my reach, and I knew I shouldn't, but I wanted you. That night shouldn't have happened, I know why it did, but I shouldn’t, I spent years stopping myself…”
His expression was tight, eye a darkened slate. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his already messy platinum hair. He’d been obsessing over what to say to her and now that he was in front of her the words spilling out of him sounded wrong, his throat tight with the inability to say what he meant, cursed by inexperience.
He was trying to tell her that it wasn't how he’d wanted it to happen - when she was sad and tipsy. That he’d wanted to kiss her for the first time under different circumstances. But it just sounded like he was explaining a rejection. She cut off his rambling explanation with a whisper.
“Okay, okay I get it. I understand... You regret it, Aemond. I realize that. It's fine, I figured out as much when you avoided and ignored me after. You should go now.”
Everything about her seemed to close off to him. Her hands crossed defensively across her chest, and she turned away so she wasn’t looking directly at him, looking at him would hurt too much.
His heart sunk to his ankles and his pulse pooled around his feet. He could feel his fingertips turn cold. He felt himself shattering under her bright-eyed gaze now dulled with the threat of tears and angled away from him. Tears that didn’t seem like they should be there. Tears from misinterpreting Aemond’s convoluted attempt at explaining his damned feelings.
“Regret it? Regret it.” He turned over the words with his tongue, confused at where they came from. Regret? He frowned, eyebrows casting downward. The dismissive tone in your voice bruising him. This was not going how he’d wanted it to. He was not getting across what he was trying to. He was making a mess, again.
“Thank you for telling me, I guess. Good to know. You can see yourself out, right?”
Fuck.
“No! That’s...” He stepped forward taking your wrists into his hands, he hadn’t meant for his grip to be so tight but the desperation that clawed through him came out in his touch. “No wait, I… I need to tell you…”
He was fumbling it, the panic spreading across his chest, his words betraying him. He was trying to tell her that he cared about her, so much and he should have been more honorable than kissing her, touching her when she was in distress. He let out a frustrated sigh at himself and tried to pull her towards him, she winced lightly in his grip.
“Aemond. Let go of me. Need to tell me what? Did you just come here in the middle of the night just because you needed to tell me that you regretted what we did, just to hurt me? I didn’t need that; I could have figured it out on my own without the visit.”
“No. Stop trying to put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m trying to say. You don't understand.” He dropped his hands from your wrist and watched as you took a shaky step away from him. There was something glittering in your eyes that made him feel molten.
He was frustrated at himself, his clumsy way of dealing with the fact that he felt like he’d prioritized the satisfaction of finally getting a moment with you over how he should have acted and how you were interpreting it as him regretting your connection. He didn't, couldn't, wouldn't ever regret that - but he regretted how he’d handled it. How he’d initiated it. How he’d held in his feelings for so long. There was regret, but not because he’d been intimate with you.
“I’m just processing the fact you regret what we did, and I don’t. You implied... you implied that you did, and I thought that…”
“Wait. You don't?”
“No, Aemond.”
“How can you not?? I took advantage of you! You were sad and you were right there in my room, and I’d always longed to have you… You don’t get it.” His tone was strained, and it came out harsher than he intended.
“No A…After that night, you went back to ignoring me. I mean, you barely spoke to me my entire friendship with Aegon and I’m not sure why I thought what we did in one night might change that. I was so convinced you would think that what happened was a mistake. Aegon went back to being sweet and he was so apologetic - of course he did. I think he thought he could eventually have me as more. He would pull and push me away. He saw me as someone who would always be there for him. It was just another cycle of that. He could see that something was wrong, that I was feeling upset about that night and I guess he misinterpreted it as an opportunity because he tried to kiss me, tried to... He tried but I couldn't do it, and I pushed him away again. He hasn't spoken to me since.”
He froze, his whole body burning cold. Her words were feather light and whispered into the air between them, something achingly vulnerable. Jealousy and guilt tangled their limbs together in his stomach at the revelation of how he’d made her feel and how Aegon had tried to… He couldn't even think the word.
His heart was hammering in his chest with a ferocity of a caged bird. His ribs almost ached with the force. His eye widened ever so slightly and watched as she stiffened next to him, as if the honesty of her words had finally hit her. He was holding himself back from just reaching out for her.
“I always liked you, Aemond. But I thought you’d always see me as… I don’t know. An extension of your brother. That’s what most people see me as, that’s what even he sees me as. Maybe I was someone who was just there to you, in fact maybe it was presumptuous to think you even saw me at all. I mean, we were only in proximity because of Aegon so I figured I was imagining that you might have been able to see me as anything other than his ‘best friend’. But then that night you looked at me and it felt like you saw me, actually saw me and then we kissed and you… you… and it was perfect and then you didn’t speak to me again, you avoided me and I…”
Pain bubbled in her throat and made its presence known in your words; eyes welled with the uncomfortable weight of unshed tears. You turned away from him to hide the expressions creasing across your face, hugging your elbows.
“I wanted you. I let myself want you, and then…”
He inhaled sharply, the air hitting the back of his throat with a sharp twinge. Your confession tumbled out your lips at such speed he feared he might miss some of it and his stomach twisted on itself. He stepped towards her, his hand shaking slightly as he reached to place them on her hips. It was gentle, timid almost - as if he was scared, she might tear herself away as she had before.
Aemond pulled you flush towards him, you back hitting his chest - earning a gasp from your lips. His grip was firm, but not painful like it had been on your wrists. There was something gentle in the way his fingers had tugged you into him.
His head bent and he buried himself into the crook of her neck. You released a sigh as your body pressed against him, tilting your head so his chin could rest on her shoulder. His voice was low, and you could feel the vibration from him speaking down your spine.
“I didn’t mean for that. I didn’t mean to avoid you, or to make you think I regretted what happened between us. I just thought it would be better, for you. It would be less complicated, less messy. But I was wrong and I’m so sorry.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but he could feel the way she was holding her breath, trembling slightly. It felt like the room was spinning and the only thing keeping him grounded was the way his hands were tethered to her. He almost hated himself - hated how much he didn’t want to let her go.
“I could never regret you. I’ve thought about you every night, every day. I just never felt like I should act on how I’d been feeling. You and Aegon were so close, and I spent years just longing for the opportunity to be something like that to you. But I thought if I crossed that line then things would get complicated. Then that night he hurt you, and I thought ‘fuck it’, why am I ignoring how I felt? How I’d felt and tried to hide for a long time. For what? For a guy who didn’t appreciate you in the first place.”
“I never saw you as an extension of him. He never deserved you, and I’m not saying I do. But that night I just wanted to show you. Show you that you deserved to be… that I cared. I never wanted to make you feel like how Aegon did… But I ended up doing it anyway because…”
Because the truth of it all was cliché.
Aemond turned her round, his thumb hooking under her chin forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were made him feel like he was drowning in glistening pools, greedily gulping down water as if it might replace his need for oxygen.
“Because what, Aemond?”
“You know what.”
“Say it.”
Aemond paused, moving his thumb from her chin to run it across her cheek. The words seemed to fail him. Not because he didn’t know how to say them, but because of the sheer weight of them on his tongue. Instead, he dipped forward and let his lips do a different kind of talking.
Her hands grabbed his waist; he could feel the way she melted and stiffened simultaneously.
He wrapped a hand in her hair, the other going to grip her waist. Her hands moved up his arms and entangled round his neck. His body refused to let go and he contemplated how he’d stayed away for as long as he had. Even with the weight of complication hanging over him he could think about nothing other than how right it felt to have her in his arms.
“Aemond.”
“You want me to say it? Say how I was afraid that you’d realize I was just your best friend's brother. That for nearly thirteen years you have captivated me. For twelve years I’d been desperate for the same friendship Aegon had with you, and for eleven years I’ve been sick with jealousy. You want me to tell you that for ten years I’ve known it has not been friendship I have wanted and for nine years I kept my distance because any interaction with you made me ache for more. How I’ve been stuck in this purgatory for eight years, waiting for an opportunity for seven. Told how foolish I was for thinking that way by Aegon once he caught a hint of my feelings for six. That I’ve been denying the truth for five years, considering being honest for four, talking myself out of it for three, longing for two and arguably in something close to love for one or all thirteen?”
His breathing was heavy and the hands that held her waist tightened with every labored breath. His knuckles brushed across her cheek, delicately teasing.
“We could have saved ourselves weeks of torment if you had.”
disclaimer: i do not own the rights to any of the hotd characters - this is a work of fiction
content warnings/summary: alcohol consumption, angst - so much angst, unwanted attention (not from bucky). when a night out unravels, bucky and the reader's relationship starts to do the same
a/n: okay not really sure where this came from, but how funny i'm back to my mcu writing roots. also it isn't fully proofread so any mistakes you see no you didn't. also this is my first time every writing for bucky so i'm sorry if my characterisation isn't perfect eek (currently listening to 💌 fade into you - mazzy star)
Her first thought was that the air was too thick, her second thought was that she was quite shamelessly intoxicated.
The teams outing to the local bar after a particularly high stakes mission had turned one too many drinks into stumbling through the doors of a nightclub.
Nat had grabbed her hand and pulled her onto a dance floor that smelled like spilled tequila and poor decisions. They’d lost the rest of the team somewhere in the crowd, and for a while, that was fine. For a while, it felt good to let go. To not think. To move.
But time got slippery when she was drunk. And somewhere between “just one more” and “I need some air,” she’d lost Natasha, lost her balance, lost the thread holding her together.
And that’s when she saw him.
Bucky. Standing near the edge of the dance floor. Watching. Not in that overbearing way, but with that sharp, unreadable calm he always wore in crowds. Like he didn’t trust the world not to break into chaos around him.
He was all shadows and lavender light. The only familiar face she could make out in the blur of blue and purple.
In the daze of the crowd, she moved towards him
When she reached him, her sentence retreated into her throat as her balance faltered, caught her with a firm hand to her elbow.
“You should slow down with the drinks.”
“So what? I want to let off a bit of steam after a stressful week. Everyone in here is drunk, Barnes! Nat’s had almost a full bottle of Vodka, but I don’t see you lecturing her.”
Not that Nat could currently be found - but that wasn’t the issue, she didn’t need to be lectured by Bucky Barnes of all people. Bucky Barnes who she believed to be indifferent to her at the best of times. Yet oddly protective in the moments when he thought nobody was watching (like this one.)
“I’m not lecturing.” He retorted, a funny almost smile playing with the corners of his lips.
“I only came over here because I can’t find Natasha and you’re the first person I saw. Go educate everyone else about excessive alcohol intake and the dangers of the club environment if you feel so passionately about it.”
“You’re not everyone. Someone could take advantage of you.” There was a pause hanging in the air, a moment where she had the chance to challenge him. “You don’t know what effect you have on people.”
And there it was again. That almost-thing that always hovered between them. She wanted to brush it off, to laugh it away, to deflect like she always did. But the way he said it, so quiet, like a secret he hadn’t meant to speak aloud stopped her.
He looked away for a second, eyes flicking toward the dance floor, the strobing lights painting the side of his face in indigo swathes. When he turned back, the subtle smile was gone.
She turned away from him, the depth of his eyes making her dizzier than any of the liquor she’d consumed. She could feel her pulse in her ears, thrumming to the same beat that pulsed under her feet through the tiled floor.
A thought flittered through her mind, some kind of quippy retort that had she been clearer of mind she might have spoken. But the words never left her mouth. Her tongue running over the roof of her mouth as if holding onto them.
There was a hidden meaning to his words, something folded under the corner. Like a crumpled piece of paper there was a crease in the words he uttered. The air thick with a troublesome weight, like a revelation that almost happened.
Moments like this had happened before, in the unfocused shifts in time where it felt like Bucky Barnes may feel something in his cold heart for her. Something that he didn’t feel for anyone else on the team. More nuanced than protective, more masked than concern.
She told herself it was delusion in a mask.
Yet, in those moments she tiptoed around the thought, not quite letting herself look at the idea directly. But when tipsy the temptation felt like a precipice she could tumble over into any second.
In the dizziness that surrounded her and her desperation to create some space between her and the edge she didn't want to fall over she walked directly into the chest of a man who’d been watching her like she was prey that he was ready to devour.
“Hey, pretty thing.”
His tone was thick with sleaze, goosebumps rising on the back of her neck, every instinct suggesting towards something dangerous. Turning away from the invitation to converse, trying to slip away into the crowd. She’d lost sight of Bucky. Their unsettling exchange feeling like a distant memory under the blanket of panic now rising in her chest.
“You here all by yourself, sweetheart?”
A hand clamped around her elbow, stopping her cold, halting her body and pulling it towards him. When she turned the man grinned, head cocked, and eyes glassy with a sharp edge. His touch slid down her sides, uninvited. Fear bloomed in her cheeks with crimson.
The man’s breath was sour like the last sip of whiskey, everything about him was discomforting. She recoiled from his leering movements towards her.
“C’mon, honey. Why don't you give me some of your sugar.”
“No! No. No, I... I have a boyfriend.” The cold press of metal across the small of her back was firm. Solid. Familiar. Unmistakeably Bucky.
“He’s, he’s my boyfriend!” She gestured quickly, blindly, toward Bucky. He was standing closer to her than she thought he ever had before - except for maybe when in combat. Their shoulders were now barely not touching, and she could feel his body breathing next to her.
The man in front of her scoffed, eyes darting back and forth between them.
“Prove it.”
Her breath hitched.
The man’s words spun her world on an axis, any formulated explanation she could have come up with died a quick, breathless death as Bucky’s hand moved from her back to her waist. His other hand came up to cradle the side of her face, fingers brushing her jaw, his thumb resting just below her ear. It was instinct, like he didn’t even have to think about it. Not a question, just action.
Before she could speak his head dipped as he pressed his lips to hers.
It was all in the split second of a moment, a breath of time. Frozen in the gasp of time as they parted.
Bucky’s eyes travelled from her lips back to her eyes and down again, the conceited effort to hide the way his gaze had shifted between the two as his hand released its hold on her side.
It had been a bit too soft, too steady, too careful, for something that was never supposed to happen.
The insistent man (now irrelevant), scoffed in a point-proven huff and disappeared into the crowd, his ego bruised enough to send him in search of easier prey.
The first thing she realised was there was a problem.
For months she'd convinced herself that what passed between them wasn’t real. That the glances meant nothing. That the way he stepped in front of her during fights, the way his hand lingered an extra second on her back, those were just habits. Leftover instinct. Soldier stuff.
Now something had begun to unravel.
"Why did you do that?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the bass vibrating through the floor. The lights casting indigo swirls across them in ripples of breathless colour.
Bucky didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on her face, his expression unreadable but too focused, like he hadn’t decided whether to regret it or repeat it. Was he still trying to convince himself what just happened hadn’t meant anything. Or was he trying to convince her it had.
"You needed me to." It was simple, quiet. Yet the blow didn’t land softly.
She took an instinctive step back – a craving of something that wasn't quite distance but something kissing the seams of it.
She hated that she could still feel it. The gentle tingle across her bottom lip. Hated more that he hadn’t moved away, that she had been the first to.
They’d been arguing moments before, all sharp words and raised voices. Now she knew exactly how he tasted.
"It was just for show," she said quickly, like saying it first would make it true. As if the speed of her words could erase the heat blooming behind her ribs.
Bucky gave a slow nod, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that betrayed him. A reluctance in agreement that flickered behind the depth of his eyes. As if it was agreement for sake and circumstance rather than belief and truth.
"Yeah. Just for show."
Like a bruise gone unnoticed till someone pressed on it, she took a step back, feeling the sting slowly and then all at once. She swallowed hard, ignoring the sensation that seemed to be bleeding from the centre of her chest.
“Can you take me home?” A pause. “I want to go home.”
His response was wordless; his hand ran down her forearm with a precise caution and with just a gentle tug of her hand he led her away from the crowd and the threat of anyone asking her anything else that might make him kiss her again.
🪩
The night air hit her like a reset. Sobering and far too clear after the humidity-haze of the club and the closeness of bodies pressed against each other. She let go of his hand the second they stepped outside, as if the simple touch of his skin burned her. He didn’t try to take it back. When their fingers brushed again by accident as both reached for the door of the cab at the same time, she felt a jolt of lightning in her fingertips.
An hour ago, this was not how she’d have foreseen her night to have gone. Everything had been normal up until it hadn’t, and now nothing felt right.
“Just for show.”
In the closeness of the backseat all she could smell was his cologne, and she wondered how she’d never noticed it before. It was warm, something with notes of citrus and cedar – something familiar.
It was something that dusted the space between them when they were briefed on a mission, side by side. Something that lingered on her suit after a long flight home. Something that filled the gaps between the couch cushions on that one specific chair that they fought over on movie nights.
Beneath the intoxication of memory lurked the sobering reality that nothing between them may ever be simple again.
It disarmed something in her. And suddenly, she wasn’t sure where to put her hands or how to breathe like none of it mattered.
“Just for show.”
The cab slowed as they approached the tower building, headlights cutting yellow paths through the evening darkness. She felt the slight pressure of his leg against hers as the car turned, not intentional, just physics, but it sent electricity up her spine. Her mind raced with what to say when the car stopped, if anything at all.
He’d done what she’d asked him to; she was home and he’d taken her. Normally she’d wave goodbye on their way to their separate floors with a quickly uttered ‘see you next mission!’. But that didn’t feel remotely adequate this time around.
They sat in the cab for a beat after it stopped, neither moving.
“Just for show.”
"We're here," he said gently, like he wasn’t sure if she already knew.
She glanced down at their legs, his still barely touching hers, and for a moment, she hated how much she’d miss that contact once she stepped outside. Like something would shatter when the night came to an end.
She knew she’d asked for this; for him to bring her home. But now she was on the threshold and the liquor in her bloodstream seemed to have fizzled into nothing.
She wanted to act like none of this was complicated. Like she’d not been hit with an earth-shattering revelation within the curve of Bucky’s lips.
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable; it was just silence.
She almost thanked him. For getting her out of there. For kissing her. For not letting her fall, in every sense of the word. But the words burned her tongue like truth she wasn’t ready to tell.
“Just for show.”
She did the only thing that felt within her control. Fumbling with the doorhandle she stepped out, slamming the cab door with more force than necessary, as if shattering whatever illusion might have been building in the backseat.
For a second, just one long, aching second, she stood there letting the chill of the night bite at her skin. Watching as the tower building loomed in front of her. A few lights still glowed faintly in upper windows. Her floor, probably. The one just below his. She always left a light on, so she didn’t come home to darkness.
She was almost halfway to the main door when she heard it.
The cab door opening. Then closing. Tires whispering against the asphalt as the car pulled away.
She didn’t turn. Her breath was caught in her throat like a splinter, sharp and painful. She could feel him behind her. She didn’t want to see what was written across his face in case it was nothing. She didn’t want to see what was written across his face in case it was everything.
“Not going to say goodnight?” Bucky’s voice was just above a murmur.
When she finally looked over her shoulder, he was closer than she expected him to be. His footsteps had stopped just short of where her shadow met his and their silhouettes blended into one below the night sky.
“You said it was just for show,” she whispered. Her throat burned. She folded her arms around herself like a shield; from the cold, from him, from the memory of his mouth on hers.
“You said it first.” His tone was measured, like everything he did. Cautious but not callous, just neutral in tone
“You didn’t correct me.” Inside her throat her heartbeat thrummed with a relentless nervousness that was cascading like acid into her lungs. Her voice sounded like fraying fabric, all strung out and knotted.
Bucky Barnes stood in front of her, and for the second time that night she thought she could see something flickering under the surface, like a lake disturbed by the skimming of a stone.
But this time the flicker was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that steady, unreadable mask Bucky wore so well. But she’d seen it, and that made it worse. She could have convinced herself that the mix of alcohol and faux smoke in the club had confused her senses, that what she’d seen had been her imagination. But under the colder much clearer light of the night sky there was nothing dulling the moment.
She could have convinced herself Bucky had just been playing the hero to her damsel in distress, that he was just doing what he did so well – being a saviour. She could have bid him goodnight as usual and went to sleep forcing herself to believe that it had been ‘just for show’.
But something stopped her. Whether it be blind faith or delusion, something about each and every interaction they’d ever had had led up to this moment. Every moment that had seemed like nothing at the time suddenly looked like puzzle pieces she hadn’t realised she’d been collecting.
Standing beneath the low glow of streetlights with his shadow half-folded into hers, she couldn’t unsee the way they fit.
“Bucky?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t correct me.” Not a question. Not an accusation. Just a truth suspended in the cold night air like smoke, something impossible to hold, but impossible to ignore.
“I didn’t,” he admitted. It wasn’t defensive, it was like a mix of silk and honey – soft honesty. The steel of his eyes didn’t leave hers, even though she wished they would, his stare was undoing, unravelling. It was too much, and not enough, all at once.
“So, what was it, then?” she asked, her voice cracking in the middle like something old and delicate finally giving way, all dust and disintegration across her tongue. “If it wasn’t just for show... What was it?”
“I didn’t like seeing him touch you.”
That was it.
No lecture. No gentle reprimand about the drinks she’d had or the situation she’d put herself in. Maybe she’d expected a speech about boundaries or caution, one similar to their original squabble at the club – before things got tangled. Instead, the words that came out of him were soft and unguarded, not barbed, not wrapped in logic. They felt like silk caught on thorns.
Totally undoing.
There was nothing to say to that, not really. Not without unzipping the whole thing, spilling everything onto the asphalt underneath them where their shadows intertwined.
Bucky stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until she could see the smallest details in his face. The faint scar at his hairline, a ghost of the day a grenade threw him against the edge of a steel hatch. The line between his brows that only deepened when he was trying too hard not to feel something. The creases near his mouth, soft traces left behind by rare, hard-won smiles.
“I wanted it to mean nothing. I didn’t like him touching you and I told myself it was just to get him off your back. Just instinct.” He shook his head. “But the second I did it… I knew.”
The unravelling may have started at the club, but it finished right here. Not in the chaos of a kiss or the adrenaline of a dangerous moment, but here, now, in the stillness.
Unravelled.
She felt totally unravelled in front of him.
But she was not unravelling because of Bucky’s admission, rather unravelling as she finally let herself want him.
She didn’t know who moved first.
Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.
But the space between them disappeared like a breath in the winter air, one moment it existed, and the next it didn’t. Her fingers tangled into the front of his jacket, and his hand came up to her jaw, cradling it with gentle force - like it was made only to hold her.
This time, when their lips met, it wasn’t fast or reactive. There was no audience. No tension to diffuse. No one to prove it to.
pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x female reader / female reader x modern!asshole aegon targaryen.
words: 6.5k
content warnings/summary: after years of percieved pining after one brother, a house party changes the trajectory of things and aemond nearly ruins a good thing before it can begin.
a/n: hello! here is my modern hotd one shot (only a year and a half later). she's exceptionally dialouge heavy and for that i'm so sorry also not fully proof-read so again, apologies
Lying awake and staring at the ceiling had become Aemond’s new normal. For two weeks he’d been evading sleeps grasp, too busy thinking about her.
He’d been thinking about her every night.
A buzz similar to live electricity shimmered through his bloodstream keeping his thoughts disorganised and his heart confused. He knew he shouldn’t, and he considered the fact that maybe he had made a mistake that night but the constant reminder of her created by his mind was becoming harder to ignore.
It was cliché really, the whole situation.
He ran a hand through his hair, the silver strands threading through his fingers. The other clutched the bright screen of his phone, burning the corners of his eyes.
Ticking in the corner of his bedroom the clock served a constant reminder of the minutes bleeding into hours. Wasting his time talking himself out of committing to the simple three-word message that had been sitting unsent for hours. His fingers made the decision for him as the light from his phone illuminated his angular features in the dimness of the room.
—can we talk?—
The two little grey ticks beside his words indicated the successful delivery to her phone and he rolled over onto his side. He spent so long staring at the grey ticks that he flinched when they turned blue. Aemond’s heart dropping, pulse throbbing in his throat when he saw the little bubble that indicated she was typing. It was late - nearing 2am.
He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop himself. Every day for two weeks he’d considered reaching out, considered picking up the phone or just driving to her apartment. It was insanity inducing, how such a simple moment in time could have jarred his whole world.
There were things he wanted to say caressing the tip of his tongue, but his mind - oh his mind was twisting in and out of logic, sanity and reality. He’d known her for years. She was always close but at a distance and then in one evening everything had changed.
—sure, come over.—
Two weeks prior:
They were going to get a noise complaint. The bass of the music felt like it was about to burst Aemond’s eardrums, he could feel the pounding through his shins as he walked from room to room almost aimlessly. One beer, two beers, three. No matter how much of the amber liquid slipped down his throat it still did not feel like enough to make him enjoy Aegon’s end of summer party.
Everywhere he looked there were people. They littered every corner of the house with their drunken laughter and chatter. His temples began to throb a familiar ache.
As Aemond moved towards the kitchen he caught the eyes of some people he recognized as Aegon’s close circle of friends. He gave a tight-lipped smile and discarded his empty bottle on a side table - despite knowing that it would no doubt end up as his responsibility to clean up in the morning.
He paused at the threshold of the kitchen, not yet pushing open the frosted glass door that during a party would normally have been propped open with a half empty keg. The glass swirled the image of the occupants, whose muffled voices told Aemond they were in the middle of something angry and heated.
He could make out the shape of his brother, obscuring the figure he was gesturing wildly at. Aemond didn’t like the tone of his voice, didn’t like the wild movements his brother was making. But before he could intervene the door burst open, and he watched as she ran through the crowd of the party towards the stairs.
He could just make out the sheen of tears and the furious crimson of her cheeks before she disappeared out of sight.
“Stupid bitch.” Aegon slurred as he pushed past Aemond, plastering on a huge fake grin and slapping one of his friends on the back. Aemond heard him murmur something that sounded derogatory before the group erupted in laughter and drowned in each other's voices.
Something unsettling washed over him and he shook his head. Alone in the kitchen Aemond pulled another beer from the fridge with a sigh. There was a light tingle making its way down the back of his neck telling him the alcohol was just touching his system. But he was in no mood to stay at the party, he decided to take his drink to his room where he could lay down and try to ignore the ruckus happening in the rooms under his.
Before he could open the sanded wood door to hide from the party the cloaked sounds soft crying crept out of the crack between the door and frame.
Slowly he pushed the door, letting the light from the hallway cast into the room.
With what little glow that offered Aemond could just make out her figure. His breath caught in his throat, unsure of why it was his room that she’d sought solace in, and exactly what it had been that his brother had said to her to get her crying.
She was perched at the end of his bed head between her knees, shoulders shaking gently. He stood for a minute, just taking it in. Eye tracing her shape as she tucked your hair behind her ears, finally looking up to the sudden presence of light.
He held back a gasp as their gazes met.
“Hey, you okay?” His voice was low, filled with something she thought might be concern, but that didn’t feel right. He watched as she winced at his voice, carmine caressing her cheeks as he flicked on a lamp and closed the door, leaning against it.
She guessed she could explain that she hadn’t meant to hide in Aemond’s room and now with him standing watching her it felt a little silly to be caught curled up crying on the corner of his bed.
When she’d rushed out of the kitchen she’d just wanted to get away, at the top of the stairs she’d just pushed open the first door that the palms of her hands had come across. Realising only now where she was as Aemond stood observing her with air of calm curiosity and what felt like the seams of apprehension.
“Oh. I’m fine Aemond. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here… I just… I just.” She shuddered, wiping in a furiously embarrassed way at her red rimmed eyes to try and hide evidence of the sadness that had spilled.
Having been friends with Aegon since she’d been a child Aemond was hardly a stranger to her, by association she’d known him for years. She’d spent summers at their family home, countless movie nights curled up on the couch and attended almost every party Aegon had ever thrown. Aemond had always been there, never directly next to her but close enough in context.
Although, she couldn’t recall a time she’d been alone with him. He was always near and sometimes she’d catch him looking at her, with this glint in his eye that she didn’t quite understand but then it’d be gone, and he’d hide whatever it was behind his curtain of silver hair.
She presumed that to Aemond, all she was just Aegons best friend. Even if he’d linger a little longer near her or listen to her ramble even when Aegon huffed in disinterest. But under the surface she could sense something, unable to quite decipher what it was. A... A longing? No that didn’t feel right. Something indiscernible but nagging.
He had an intensity about him, something compelling and captivating. But she had always been so focused on the turbulence that was Aegon. Yet, for thirteen years she’d had this dull aching feeling that there was something she was missing, even if she was looking directly at it.
“No, it’s fine. I just… What happened?” His voice was soft as silk in its low tones, a contrast to his brother’s sometimes biting tone.
“Nothing. Really… It’s nothing. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” She just wanted to dismiss it, to apologise for being in his room and escape quietly. It was embarrassing to be caught, and she knew that if it had been Aegon who had found her curled up in a corner sobbing over him he would have laughed in her face.
But something about Aemond’s presence had her pinned in her place. He just watched her with a warm cadence, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood wordlessly, waiting to see if she’d talk to him. His silence a response of disbelief.
“I’m fine, it was just the same old somethings about how sad and pathetic I am. How I am too co-dependent and need more friends so l don’t have to follow Aegon around like I’m obsessed with him, and he can get some fucking space.”
The paraphrasing of his brother’s words in her sad tone made Aemond’s breath catch in his throat. He was almost shocked that his brother had been so cruel to the person he was supposed to be closest too - and even more shocked by the implication that it was not the first time. Almost.
She ran a hand over her face, chuckling hollowly. Aemond watched as she pulled her knees up to her chin. He pushed himself off the doorframe and shrugged off his hooded sweatshirt leaving him in just a t-shirt as sat gently on the edge of his bed, his body angled so he could look at her.
“He’s just drunk.” She murmured, a sad sigh escaping her bitten lips. Her eyes were dejected when she looked at him.
“Hmm.” He mused, the hum coming low from his throat. He glanced up meeting her eyes. They had a hint of honey to them and a deepened sweetness that made his knees feel strange. “It’s not an excuse to say something like that.”
She looked almost startled, a gentle crimson spreading across her cheeks as his gaze pierced her. In the low light of his bedroom, she could see all the angles and harsh lines of his face. He was sharper than his brother yet somehow softer. His eye seemed kinder, warmer pools of blue in comparison to Aegon's ice.
She felt almost too seen, like her skin was burning under his gaze. She shifted so her legs hung over the side of the bed. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, a not comfortable nor uncomfortable atmosphere shifted in the room and her palms spread over the fabric of his duvet, feeling the soft material under her fingertips.
“Sorry, I’ll go. This is your room I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off in a quiet hum. Suddenly she was all too aware that her senses were filled with Aemond. From the warmth of him next to her to the smell of his cologne faintly filling her nostrils - a mixture of musk, orange peels and something so unique it must have just been Aemond. He was surrounding her, making her feel almost comfortable but not quite.
“No stay. It’s ok.” His hushed tone of his voice made the hairs on her arms stand up on end. Had he always been so… so… so gentle? As if his voice was just caressing the air. It was the complete opposite to Aegon’s brash and boisterous tonality. Something about the way Aemond spoke made her feel like she was sinking.
There was a lingering pause before Aemond’s finger gently brushed against her pinky, drawing her attention away from the low tension in the room.
“Aegon doesn't deserve your friendship, you know.” He seemed to have shifted closer to her, his body thrumming as he spoke. His voice spread warmth in her chest, that felt like something just licking the edges of fire. She released a strangled scoff. Something similar to disbelief and acceptance, a knowing flash in her eyes as she tried to play off Aemond’s astute observation.
She couldn’t meet his eyes, ignoring the molten feeling spreading through her pinky where their skin touched.
She knew, of course she knew.
“I’ve never understood why you were friends with him.” His eye never left her, something hazy in his gaze that made her inhale sharply.
“I don’t know… I… He was the very first boy in the playground to pay attention to me. He noticed me and once he had, others began to.” A vacant look skimmed across her eyes like a pebble on water. Floating across the surface and the drowned by the inevitable pull of gravity. It felt as though her tongue had been tied in knots, rendering her unable to articulate the unknown answer to a question that she wished she knew.
Silence nestled in the corners of the room, a patient listener to whatever answer she came up with. Suddenly truth was the only viable option.
“He has this pull. I mean, you’re his brother and I know he’s said some horrible things to you. But you still love him.” Aemond huffed, something that sounded like indigence and denial. She pushed against his shoulder lightly, silencing the rumble in his chest.
“I can't explain why, but I… I suppose I’m scared of what it would be like if he weren’t in my life. I’m so used to being here, around you all. I’d lose all that if I stopped being friends with him. He’s been such a constant for so long it’d be like missing something in an obvious place. He’s one of the most interesting things about me, everyone says so.” It was nonsensical, but the words just rushed out of her mouth.
“That’s not true.” The indigence in Aemond’s voice clouded her senses like a thick fog.
Aemond’s anger crawled forward. It was an overwhelming feeling. He knew what it was like to stand in Aegon’s shadow - to live in comparison. But to hear her say she believed it was Aegon that made her interesting, the audacity burned through his blood - it was not true.
“Aemond…” Her voice was a sigh, and it only aggrieved him more.
“It’s not true.” Defiance huffed out. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the proximity of her, maybe it was the way time seemed to slow but Aemond couldn’t hold back anymore. His frustration bleeding into the edges of his reasoning.
Aemond had stood on the side-lines and watched the push and pull of Aegon’s tumultuous twists and turns friendship with this strange feeling in his chest. Was it jealousy? Maybe something kissing the seams of it.
His brother was not worth someone like her and he’d taken her for granted for far too long. Aemond couldn’t understand it really, how Aegon had come to be caressed by the warmth of her friendship, how he’d won that honor in the first place. Too often he’d watched his brother blaze and burn through a path of people uncaring about the damage.
Now he’d burned her.
He’d watched her be friends with Aegon for all that time, watched his unworthy mishandling of it. He could admit it; he was jealous of Aegon. Jealous because he never seemed to realize what was right in front of him. How could he stand so close to her and not be affected by her, to still treat her so cruelly.
Now he had the selfish chance to show her that she deserved better than Aegon - better than to think she wasn’t interesting, exciting and captivating all on her own. He had the chance to do something that for too long he’d talked himself out, something he’d convinced himself would only lead to complication.
But looking at her sat next to him in the warm glow of his room, he wondered why.
“You… You are so much better than him. He’s done what he always does when someone shines brighter than him. He dulls them, takes their sparkle for himself. You are… so much more.” His eye was hazy as he watched her in the twinkling warmth of the room. His words washed over her like a cleansing storm, something unsettling yet gentle in the tone of his voice - could it be called longing?
Sitting and basking in the easy comfort and soft tones Aemond was offering her she was finally realizing how unworthy Aegon was to stand on the pedestal of friendship. How she’d been blinded by his brilliance for so long.
Aegon was like the sun - bright and bold but it hurt to look at him. He was warm and dangerous, burning hot and quick and fast. Aemond was like the moon. Glowing in a delicate way, shimmering in the inky sheets of night. She had to wait for the sun to disappear to truly notice the opulence of the moon, and how much she realized she was enjoying staring into the night sky that was him.
Aegon had tried to drown out all others who’d tried to get close to her and keep her for himself. Aemond especially. Aegon knew that if there was nothing blinding her so completely, encompassing her so entirely then maybe she’d be compelled to seek out someone more deserving of her.
Something better, someone better, someone more like Aemond, the softer, kinder brother.
It was banal that it was Aegon’s callousness that had pushed her right into the solace of Aemond’s bedroom that night, where every ounce of regret over wasting her time, her care, her time on him spilled out of her like water.
Aemond wanted nothing more than to snap the bond between her and Aegon with his bare hands and offer her a new perspective, a new option. One that had been so close yet just out of reach for so long.
She was his brother's best friend, but Aemond didn’t want to be friends with her.
Her shoulders curled in on themselves with a disheartened angle and her mouth had this terribly tragic downturned slant to it. In her facial expression was a tiredness, something that made him want to pull her close to him.
So, he did.
In a bold, unexpected motion he wrapped a hand around her waist so he could pull her body to him. His back was against his pillow, and he shifted their positions so that he ended up cradling her in his arms.
He felt her stiffen slightly, a hint of a gasp leaving her lips at the smoothness of his movements. In his arms he felt her release the tension in her body and relax against him. Her hand found a curved spot on his chest and one of her legs rested atop his.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, his chin resting on the top of her head. She hummed against him and breathed so deeply he felt the rise and fall of her body under him.
There was something electric in the air, something tethered to what could be considered anticipation.
It would only take one simple move, and Aemond was feeling recklessly brave enough to make it.
She looked up at him, from where he’d laid and the realization and want washed over him, when she whispered his name from her cherry-stained lips he was done for.
“Aemond…”
It was selfish, the aching feeling building deep in his stomach as one hand tangled itself in her hair while the other pulled her waist closer to him. She smelt like citrus and vanilla, warm yet delicate as his sanity was as he poured himself into her.
Everything about it was hesitant, something unsure in the curve of her lips. Yet she inched closer and closer to him. She could still make out the cacophony of the party just outside Aemond’s door and in the distance, she could make out Aegon’s harsh drunken tone. She sucked in a breath, Aemond’s arm tightening around her waist.
Aemond’s eyes wandered over her face, his pupils dilated from the dim lighting. They were only inches apart now and she could see every freckle on his face, every edge that turned into a curve. All his harsh lines and delicate features.
Why had spent so long looking at Aegon when Aemond had been right there. Now she’d seen him so close it was impossible to look away. Not that she felt anything other than platonic for Aegon - now she wasn't sure she even wanted to feel that. He had hurt her, as he often did. But this time she was shown how it wasn’t her fault, by someone who had never done her harm.
She had been sad, maybe even a little bit tipsy - but now she knew exactly what she was doing, every move she made to inch closer to him intentional. She decided not to focus on anything other than the feeling of Aemond’s hand in her hair and his arm circling around her; and it felt good.
Subconsciously she wondered if she’d sought him out, knowing that hiding in his room could lead to this moment.
Knowing that for so long she’d pretended she didn’t notice his lingering glances, or the way he flinched whenever Aegon raised his tone with her. She pretended she was imagining it - how he huffed what could be considered a chuckle when she made a joke - even when Aegon would only roll his eyes. She’d always liked Aemond - but she’d never let herself believe that it could be mutual. If she allowed herself to believe it she thought she might realise how long she’d spent being mistreated by someone who called her his best friend because she’d refused to be more.
It was complicated. With the friendship and deluded sense of loyalty she felt for Aegon clouding everything for so long. But the fractures in it were weathering and growing to ravine cracks.
So, she let herself notice the way Aemond looked at her and decided not to ignore or pretend anymore.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
She wanted him in the way she’d never wanted Aegon. She wanted Aemond in a quiet unspoken way, in the same way she sought out a silent unanswered look from him in a crowded room and when she allowed herself to feel that it pushed her forward and her lips connected with his.
Her lips felt so familiar, like something he’d been waiting for. Like something he’d imagined so much in his head that he could almost have described exactly how it would have felt before it had happened. She molded against him like she’d been made to fit with him exactly. He flattened his hand against her spine pressing her to him with an intoxicating force.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling how silky it was in her hands. With it as anchoring leverage she pulled herself into his lap. Breaking the kiss for what felt like only a second as he sat up slightly allowing himself to wrap his arms completely around her waist.
What followed was a moment acted upon almost on instinct.
--- --- --- ---- ----
His knuckles knocked lightly on the dusky blue door of her apartment. He could hear the gentle hum of music escaping through the wood. There was a moment where he feared she’d changed her mind and wouldn’t open the door, or she’d fallen asleep, or he’d imagined she’d responded to his text. He double checked his phone, ensuring the three-word response was on his screen.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears; it almost drowned out the sound of the door hinges creaking.
Aemond held his breath, running his hand anxiously through his hair once more for luck, or support, or just for the sake of it. She was just visible behind the painted wood, lit in a halo of warm light from the apartment behind her.
Seeing her again was like being punched in the stomach.
He’d been telling himself not seeing her was the right thing, that he’d crossed a line that night and he was trying to fix his mistake. That he’s spent so long on the side-lines watching and that what had happened had been a lapse in his self-control.
To her his presence felt more like the slow prickle of a burn. Like he’d always been close enough that she could almost touch him, but then one moment she did and the next moment he was gone, and she couldn’t understand why.
With her eyes on his he realized how much he wanted to be wanted by her, no matter how much it would take out of him. He’d got his chance to show her that she was what he wanted, desired, and valued. All the things Aegon had wouldn’t and then he panicked, and almost proved his brothers point.
He’d wanted to show her that he was different to his brother - and then out of fear and a precarious self-preservation had retreated from her completely - just as Aegon often did.
He’d tasted what he wanted and had tried to push it away, convinced regret would weave into to memory of their connection. Convinced it was a fleeting moment conceived in the wake of heartbreak.
“Hi.” His voice was low, almost raw against his throat.
“You wanted to talk?” Her tone sharp, eyes unwaveringly planted on the space between his eyebrows, not quite meeting his own.
There was a mix of annoyance and curiosity creasing her face. Her eyes had a glazed sort of sheen to them. When she leaned against the doorframe he let out a breath of tension, watching how she quirked an eyebrow, her eyes running over all the small details of him. He was afraid she’d see something he didn’t realize he was revealing.
“You look surprised.” She whispered, knowing she should either invite him in or just get him to spit out whatever was bothering him without need for him crossing the threshold. His face was almost annoyingly neutral, bar the spark or hint of something in his eye that she couldn’t quite read. “What? You didn’t think I’d open the door.”
She thought it’d be easier after being so intimate with someone to understand them. Opening yourself up like that for another human to explore surely allowed some sort of unabashed ability to know what they were thinking. But all she felt from seeing Aemond at her door at 3am after so long without anything from him at all was confusion and complication.
Aemond hummed, a quiet melodic sound to expel some of the nerves that were bruising his spine.
“No, I… I just.” He stammered in an uncharacteristic blunder, and she rolled her eyes. He noticed the way her loose t-shirt hung off her edges and the way her arms were littered with goosebumps from the mid-autumn breeze that crept in when the sun lay dormant. With a shiver she stepped to make way for him to fit through the front door.
“You should come in and just get on with whatever it is that compelled you to come here tonight.” Her eyes fixed on the crack in a tile below her foot.
I shouldn’t have done that. I took advantage of you, it was wrong. You’re my brother’s best friend and you were upset, and we’d been drinking. You were within my reach, and I knew I shouldn't, but I wanted you. That night shouldn't have happened, I know why it did, but I shouldn’t, I spent years stopping myself…”
His expression was tight, eye a darkened slate. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his already messy platinum hair. He’d been obsessing over what to say to her and now that he was in front of her the words spilling out of him sounded wrong, his throat tight with the inability to say what he meant, cursed by inexperience.
He was trying to tell her that it wasn't how he’d wanted it to happen - when she was sad and tipsy. That he’d wanted to kiss her for the first time under different circumstances. But it just sounded like he was explaining a rejection. She cut off his rambling explanation with a whisper.
“Okay, okay I get it. I understand... You regret it, Aemond. I realize that. It's fine, I figured out as much when you avoided and ignored me after. You should go now.”
Everything about her seemed to close off to him. Her hands crossed defensively across her chest, and she turned away so she wasn’t looking directly at him, looking at him would hurt too much.
His heart sunk to his ankles and his pulse pooled around his feet. He could feel his fingertips turn cold. He felt himself shattering under her bright-eyed gaze now dulled with the threat of tears and angled away from him. Tears that didn’t seem like they should be there. Tears from misinterpreting Aemond’s convoluted attempt at explaining his damned feelings.
“Regret it? Regret it.” He turned over the words with his tongue, confused at where they came from. Regret? He frowned, eyebrows casting downward. The dismissive tone in your voice bruising him. This was not going how he’d wanted it to. He was not getting across what he was trying to. He was making a mess, again.
“Thank you for telling me, I guess. Good to know. You can see yourself out, right?”
Fuck.
“No! That’s...” He stepped forward taking your wrists into his hands, he hadn’t meant for his grip to be so tight but the desperation that clawed through him came out in his touch. “No wait, I… I need to tell you…”
He was fumbling it, the panic spreading across his chest, his words betraying him. He was trying to tell her that he cared about her, so much and he should have been more honorable than kissing her, touching her when she was in distress. He let out a frustrated sigh at himself and tried to pull her towards him, she winced lightly in his grip.
“Aemond. Let go of me. Need to tell me what? Did you just come here in the middle of the night just because you needed to tell me that you regretted what we did, just to hurt me? I didn’t need that; I could have figured it out on my own without the visit.”
“No. Stop trying to put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m trying to say. You don't understand.” He dropped his hands from your wrist and watched as you took a shaky step away from him. There was something glittering in your eyes that made him feel molten.
He was frustrated at himself, his clumsy way of dealing with the fact that he felt like he’d prioritized the satisfaction of finally getting a moment with you over how he should have acted and how you were interpreting it as him regretting your connection. He didn't, couldn't, wouldn't ever regret that - but he regretted how he’d handled it. How he’d initiated it. How he’d held in his feelings for so long. There was regret, but not because he’d been intimate with you.
“I’m just processing the fact you regret what we did, and I don’t. You implied... you implied that you did, and I thought that…”
“Wait. You don't?”
“No, Aemond.”
“How can you not?? I took advantage of you! You were sad and you were right there in my room, and I’d always longed to have you… You don’t get it.” His tone was strained, and it came out harsher than he intended.
“No A…After that night, you went back to ignoring me. I mean, you barely spoke to me my entire friendship with Aegon and I’m not sure why I thought what we did in one night might change that. I was so convinced you would think that what happened was a mistake. Aegon went back to being sweet and he was so apologetic - of course he did. I think he thought he could eventually have me as more. He would pull and push me away. He saw me as someone who would always be there for him. It was just another cycle of that. He could see that something was wrong, that I was feeling upset about that night and I guess he misinterpreted it as an opportunity because he tried to kiss me, tried to... He tried but I couldn't do it, and I pushed him away again. He hasn't spoken to me since.”
He froze, his whole body burning cold. Her words were feather light and whispered into the air between them, something achingly vulnerable. Jealousy and guilt tangled their limbs together in his stomach at the revelation of how he’d made her feel and how Aegon had tried to… He couldn't even think the word.
His heart was hammering in his chest with a ferocity of a caged bird. His ribs almost ached with the force. His eye widened ever so slightly and watched as she stiffened next to him, as if the honesty of her words had finally hit her. He was holding himself back from just reaching out for her.
“I always liked you, Aemond. But I thought you’d always see me as… I don’t know. An extension of your brother. That’s what most people see me as, that’s what even he sees me as. Maybe I was someone who was just there to you, in fact maybe it was presumptuous to think you even saw me at all. I mean, we were only in proximity because of Aegon so I figured I was imagining that you might have been able to see me as anything other than his ‘best friend’. But then that night you looked at me and it felt like you saw me, actually saw me and then we kissed and you… you… and it was perfect and then you didn’t speak to me again, you avoided me and I…”
Pain bubbled in her throat and made its presence known in your words; eyes welled with the uncomfortable weight of unshed tears. You turned away from him to hide the expressions creasing across your face, hugging your elbows.
“I wanted you. I let myself want you, and then…”
He inhaled sharply, the air hitting the back of his throat with a sharp twinge. Your confession tumbled out your lips at such speed he feared he might miss some of it and his stomach twisted on itself. He stepped towards her, his hand shaking slightly as he reached to place them on her hips. It was gentle, timid almost - as if he was scared, she might tear herself away as she had before.
Aemond pulled you flush towards him, you back hitting his chest - earning a gasp from your lips. His grip was firm, but not painful like it had been on your wrists. There was something gentle in the way his fingers had tugged you into him.
His head bent and he buried himself into the crook of her neck. You released a sigh as your body pressed against him, tilting your head so his chin could rest on her shoulder. His voice was low, and you could feel the vibration from him speaking down your spine.
“I didn’t mean for that. I didn’t mean to avoid you, or to make you think I regretted what happened between us. I just thought it would be better, for you. It would be less complicated, less messy. But I was wrong and I’m so sorry.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but he could feel the way she was holding her breath, trembling slightly. It felt like the room was spinning and the only thing keeping him grounded was the way his hands were tethered to her. He almost hated himself - hated how much he didn’t want to let her go.
“I could never regret you. I’ve thought about you every night, every day. I just never felt like I should act on how I’d been feeling. You and Aegon were so close, and I spent years just longing for the opportunity to be something like that to you. But I thought if I crossed that line then things would get complicated. Then that night he hurt you, and I thought ‘fuck it’, why am I ignoring how I felt? How I’d felt and tried to hide for a long time. For what? For a guy who didn’t appreciate you in the first place.”
“I never saw you as an extension of him. He never deserved you, and I’m not saying I do. But that night I just wanted to show you. Show you that you deserved to be… that I cared. I never wanted to make you feel like how Aegon did… But I ended up doing it anyway because…”
Because the truth of it all was cliché.
Aemond turned her round, his thumb hooking under her chin forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were made him feel like he was drowning in glistening pools, greedily gulping down water as if it might replace his need for oxygen.
“Because what, Aemond?”
“You know what.”
“Say it.”
Aemond paused, moving his thumb from her chin to run it across her cheek. The words seemed to fail him. Not because he didn’t know how to say them, but because of the sheer weight of them on his tongue. Instead, he dipped forward and let his lips do a different kind of talking.
Her hands grabbed his waist; he could feel the way she melted and stiffened simultaneously.
He wrapped a hand in her hair, the other going to grip her waist. Her hands moved up his arms and entangled round his neck. His body refused to let go and he contemplated how he’d stayed away for as long as he had. Even with the weight of complication hanging over him he could think about nothing other than how right it felt to have her in his arms.
“Aemond.”
“You want me to say it? Say how I was afraid that you’d realize I was just your best friend's brother. That for nearly thirteen years you have captivated me. For twelve years I’d been desperate for the same friendship Aegon had with you, and for eleven years I’ve been sick with jealousy. You want me to tell you that for ten years I’ve known it has not been friendship I have wanted and for nine years I kept my distance because any interaction with you made me ache for more. How I’ve been stuck in this purgatory for eight years, waiting for an opportunity for seven. Told how foolish I was for thinking that way by Aegon once he caught a hint of my feelings for six. That I’ve been denying the truth for five years, considering being honest for four, talking myself out of it for three, longing for two and arguably in something close to love for one or all thirteen?”
His breathing was heavy and the hands that held her waist tightened with every labored breath. His knuckles brushed across her cheek, delicately teasing.
“We could have saved ourselves weeks of torment if you had.”
disclaimer: i do not own the rights to any of the hotd characters - this is a work of fiction
pairing: just a little creative drabble - no characters specified
words: 1.1k
content warns/summary: infidelity, heartbreak, angst etc.
a/n: i actually never actually use any character names so this can be read with anyone in mind, also this is not proof-read and written really quickly but ahh enjoy!
Every tedious beat in her chest shimmered with the glittering shards of heartbreak. It was invisible to the naked eye - but so glaringly obvious that its fragments littered the atmosphere around them.
He stood before her, breaking beneath the weight of her unwavering clemency. The injury of being so entangled with another so closely bonded that the pain he had caused her ended up maiming him too. Bruises blooming across the expanse of his affection.
There was no explaining, excusing or understanding what led him to unfurl the only threads of value in his life. Silver strands stuck in the crevices of his skin where he’d tangled his grip in another.
In pooling sapphire before him she was uncovered, glinting in the
vulnerability with her ribs cracked open so he may see the damage he'd done. Every incarnadine bone was soaked with the agony born from the duplicity of his transgression as it leaked from each torn ventricle.
Forgiveness spent on the wind that whistled through the room and flickered the dance between the candles. There was none left to be offered to him, and he had no coin to acquire any having spent it all on fornication. The rain trickled down in secret patterns hinting at the undoubted end of all that was - his own personal doomsday.
Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears, not yet shed but on a dangerous precipice of slipping. That would be unfair - it would be a display of truth and openness that he did not merit. For allowing him to know how he had wounded her would be an outward acceptance that he had ever owned any form of her and that she had offered any attachment to him with open trust.
There was a certain flash of betrayal alight in the air, something archaic and distinguishable - known by women for centuries before her and would be known centuries after.
The way she burnt under his touch sent an ache through her very soul. Someone who had known her so openly and who had fed her poison from his gentle palm that was pressed so delicately to her cheek. The action itself screamed words that would never pass his lips - the violence in being vulnerable something he would never subject her to, no matter how much she craved the punch.
She could stand at the door of his heart and knock with all her might, scrape the wood with her fingertips and embed her DNA into the carvings but it would make no difference, he was bolted and locked with the silver key firmly out of her grasp.
He tasted like metal, leather and smoke. Harsh, abrasive and intoxicating. She couldn't give in, knowing that someone else had tasted what should have been hers and hers alone - in oath and vow.
Clad in black leather as smooth as the surface of the sky, protective and impenetrable it was a perfect representation of him. The moon shone above them, lighting the illicit emotion that curved in the hips he had moved his hands to. It was begging, desperate and false.
There was nothing that could be the unbinding to them.
Except his own actions.
Could there have been a time when she knew the depths of his soul, or was there always the abyss of betrayal waiting to devour her whole? Waiting to sink its darkness around her light and draw her into an inescapable absence. She had been lost in a labyrinth of him, yet he had been lurking in the shadows the entire time waiting to contain her.
Fear was such a powerful sensation - she stood in front of him tracing the edges of his silhouette with tainted eyes - fearing that everything she had given had been for a fabrication.
Sabotaged in the single breath of midnight that passed the moon's lips. There was enough love there for both of them, unevenly split and so easily covered by the presence of another outwith them.
What had possessed him to fall so ungraciously into the embrace of someone else? Did the devil in spirit convince him to ruin and vandalise the pure form of tenderness that flowed from her veins and through her?
His head fell low, burning with the molten heat of regret and the knowing that he was his own undoing. That the blush of her body would now never belong to him, that he had discoloured with disdain any flush of crimson that may have once been mistaken for devotion.
Spring would fall into summer who would dance with autumn who would be killed by winter and everything would still be the same. Change of seasons could not change the knowing that there was nothing monumental enough, not even love that could have saved him from his own demise.
He had seen to that.
Ensuring there could be no weakness from intimacy that was handed to him in front of god herself. He had to destroy the holy and pure form of adoration with a disposition so closely linked to desolation.
One moment in time was all it took.
In the cold hands of another, he had tasted the bitterness of depravity that flavoured adultery. Eschewing the comfort and honeyed sweetness that lay in the milky sheets of his own home. Where sleep could evade him and he could dream of her so safely next to him for something numbing and dark in their caress.
He had held her in the half-light of dawn when the shadows danced on her body. It had looked as menacing as he felt his soul to be and he knew the sweetness of the innocence of her admiration would decay in his macabre hands.
He slipped out beneath the moonlight, the call of motion into the sea of darkness as he pursued his weapon of destruction against the one he called his own.
The ghost of his beloved’s lips haunted his as they flushed with infidelity. The memory of her touch cascading over him in shivers while the harsh hands of that which he sought out bruised the path which they touched. He could savour the taste of her name on his tongue and know he had no right to speak it, not after the sin he had committed.
Had he little thought for consequence? Or was it exactly the outcome he had endeavoured?
That answer lay within the tainted heart of his lover, who stood before him as she uncovered the layers of his deceit and let the waves wash over them - drowning the memory of love from where it had once taken life and started to breathe.
summary: it's never a good idea to reminisce about a relationship, especially one that ended with betrayal left you with a permanent scar
word count: 1.2k
warnings: angst, no happy ending, major character injury, talks of general CM related violence and murder (nothing graphic), jeid you squint but its not endorsed lol
a/n: wrote this in an hour when i was feeling sad. its not proof read and i lowkey don't love it but whomp whomp
She always thought that the ground looked so far away just after take-off. Everyone below looked like specs of dirt that you had to really focus on to see. How insignificant everything looked compared to the vastness of the sky above. The illusion of importance shattered by the cover of clouds.
Pulling the blind down she sat back in her seat, headphones drowning out the noise in her head. The jet was silent, too focused in quiet contemplation of the reading material in front of them.
Her body instinctively leaned slightly to the left, seeking the comfort it once found in his embrace. But the illusion was shattered, and she knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she could no longer lean into the familiarity. She pushed her body towards the window, forcing her eyes out to the clouds.
Her thoughts, once filled with his presence, felt unmoored.
Now she could focus wholly on work. But the space that thoughts of him once filled was now left behind and filled with a silence that echoed through her. She was alone with the sky, the clouds, the vast expanse of the world below, and her thoughts.
His scent still lingered, he’d spent so long in the seat next to her that it must have melded with the fabric. A mix of pine and the cold winter morning air. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping, sliding down her cheek. She was left with nothing but the ghost of his presence, a cruel reminder of what once was.
But now, the seat remained cold and empty. Even the scent of him, hugging her senses, used to be a source of comfort, was now a bitter reminder of the fallout between them. She hugged herself as if trying to fill the void as vast as the sky.
She forced herself to breathe, each inhale a sharp reminder of the love that was no longer hers. But it felt different now, hollow and cold as if the warmth he once provided had faded.
You see, Spencer Reid had broken her heart, and he’d done it easily.
Spencer Reid had chosen to protect someone else over her.
She turned her head slightly, the dust from the room seemed to have uprooted and created a cloud of mist. Morgan looked like he was running towards her. Why was he running towards her? Why was she on the ground? Why did everything feel so cold? It was the middle of July, she’d been warm in her Kevlar vest. Why were her fingers so so cold?
‘Agent down!’
The words echoed in her ears. It was as if the fog cleared and she tried to sit up, pain lit up her body like electricity before going numb. Suddenly everything seemed so silent. The world shifted, she could feel the cold concrete on her back as clearly as if it were in her bones.
Morgan was fast, it must have only taken him seconds to get to her. Which was odd, she’d been standing next to Spencer, but she couldn’t see him from her line of sight. She tried to force herself up again. only to be met with Morgan’s strong hands pushing on her shoulders.
‘No, don’t move.’ She turned her head to the side and through the haze of what was happening she saw something that made her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Maybe she’d hit her head. She must have hit her head.
Spencer was standing in front of JJ, his whole body poised like a shield protecting her. His arms around her shoulder, her hands gripping the front of his vest. Then the confusion unravelled like a loose thread, tugged on.
Spencer had moved to protect her. He’d left her side to protect JJ from the Unsub’s shooting. He’d actively moved further away from her to go and stand in front of JJ. But he wasn’t in love with JJ. He was supposed to be in love with her, so why had he gone out of his way to protect JJ? Was he in love with JJ?
They’d always been close, she knew that. But this? This felt more than friendship, you don’t dive in front of just a friend instinctively if the supposed love of your life is right there in the line of fire. Surely, your instinct is to follow your heart, is that what Spencer had done? Had he followed the true line of his heart?
She wanted to ask him why. Why he had done this? But her voice had deserted her, her throat drowned in icy silence. She felt the darkness creeping in, wrapping around her like a shroud.
The pain of the betrayal was raw, every nerve in her body seemed to buzz with it. She felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut, left to crumble under the weight of her realisation.
Morgan was next to her, holding her, placing his weight on her torso, he was lit up in a golden halo and his eyes looked like they were gleaming with fear and un-spilt tears.
‘Where’s the damn medic?!’ He shouted backwards in what must have been the general direction of the team.
‘It’s five minutes out.’ The voice was level, in charge. It must have been Hotch, but her eyes were getting too heavy to check.
She wanted to tell Morgan to stop looking so scared, to assure him she'd pull through like always, but the words died in her throat. Her breath hitched as a new wave of pain washed over her.
'Hang on,' Morgan pleaded, 'just hang on.'
She could hear Spencer, his voice sounded panicked, high pitched and his breathing thready. He was muttering something that sounded like an apology and a lot of cursing or praying to God. She couldn’t tell.
She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the strength had left her body. The edges of her vision were blurring, and the last thing she heard was Morgan's desperate plea echoing in her fading consciousness.
'Stay with us,' a voice commanded, each word punctuated with a raw desperation. But the darkness was too inviting, too persistent. And as the world around her faded, she couldn't shake off the sinking feeling that something irrevocably had changed.
The hum of the engine lured her out of her memory. Maybe it was her fault. She’d loved Spencer like it was breathing, had worshipped at the altar of his love, only to find it empty. It was clear he hadn’t done the same, that convenience was simply his reason.
The false god she had created of him had fallen, shattered into pieces. The truth of his mortality, his flawed humanity, had never been so palpable. The feeling was both liberating and terrifying.
She looked out at the sky and the world below, the vast expanse seeming to mirror the emptiness within her. Emptiness echoed in her ears, filling her with a sense of loss that was almost unbearable.
The scar below her left collarbone throbbed beneath her shirt, it could almost be mistaken for heartache.
hello! i haven't posted in a while so here's sneak peek of the new spencer angst story 'false god' that i'm working on! eeek!!
His scent still lingered, he’d spent so long in the seat next to her that it must have melded with the fabric. A mix of pine and the cold winter morning air. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping, sliding down her cheek. She was left with nothing but the ghost of his presence, a cruel reminder of what once was.
Now, the seat remained cold and empty. Even the scent of him, hugging her senses, used to be a source of comfort, was now a bitter reminder of the fallout between them. She hugged herself, as if trying to fill the void as vast as the sky.
You see, Spencer Reid had broken her heart, and he’d done it easily.
Spencer Reid had chosen to protect someone else over her.
summary: part two! in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's song 'too sweet') - read part one here
word count: 2.6k
warnings: obesession, kissing, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):
a/n: hi! in a surprise turn of events my friend requested a sequel. so here she is!
Sunlight bathed the office in warmth, casting long shadows across the room. The brightness of the new day offered a similar newness to what Aaron was feeling in his chest. A glow from within, matching the sky of optimism. How was it that after finally giving into sin he was being rewarded with such virtue?
With newfound clarity, Aaron saw the remaining sins in a new light, no longer as abstract concepts, but as human desires that ran deep within all of us. He thought of envy - the yearning for what someone else had, wrath - the uncontrollable fury born out of injustice, and lust - the overwhelming desire for another. He understood, perhaps for the first time, the power these emotions held, and the destruction they could bring when left unchecked.
He found himself drawn to the memory of lust - the overwhelming desire for another. It was a sin he'd experienced first-hand, a sin that had changed him irrevocably, a wickedness he had no intention of seeking redemption for.
He allowed himself to be drawn to the unholy memory of the night before, eyes falling closed. It felt as though he’d never left the office. The bullpen outside his internal windows began to buzz and hum with the life of his colleagues arriving freshly rested and ready to reface the case.
Surrounded by the remnants of the night, he let out a deep breath, his mind wandering back to the sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his, and the soft whispers of their shared passion still echoing in the room. This was their shared iniquity, their secret temptation, a dance of desire they had surrendered to.
He could still smell the faint hint of her perfume in the air, the lingering scent of her dancing around his office. He was surrounded by the remnants of their night. He sighed deeply, flooding his senses with everything that had transpired over the last 24 hours. There was a watermark ring imprinted on his desk from their shared glass, subtle reminders of their hidden transgression.
His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of her, a sweet symphony of debauchery and his personal surrender. He traced the watermark with his finger, the texture grounding him, reminding him that it wasn't a dream. This was their secret, a clandestine dance only they knew the steps to. The memory of her gentle touch still lingering on his skin, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Morgan, his firm knock at the door reminding him that he had work to do and that there was still a killer that he should be focused on. Noticing Hotch’s unusually dreamy expression, Morgan eyed him suspiciously. The ability to read body language was a profiler’s best weapon, and Morgan was looking at him with knives in his gaze.
‘What’s going on?’ His voice was firm but even. Aaron felt like it could lead to an interrogation if he didn’t pull himself together, but with her scent in his head and the memory of her on his lips, it was harder than he would like to admit.
Before a response could leave his lips, his gaze was drawn to the sight of her walking into the bullpen, the memory of their shared secret making his heart race anew. He quickly composed himself, turning back to Morgan with a steely gaze, ready to face the day and with newfound confidence ready to catch the son of a bitch before he could take another sin as victim.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded curtly at Morgan, his voice steady as he said, "Let's get to work." He stood from his desk, posture straight as a soldier. He moved to follow Morgan with surety towards the roundtable where the team had gathered in quiet conversation.
He traced his fingers over the corners of the files in his hands. Each one was a call to action, a reminder of the duty he owed to the victims and their families. Yet, beneath the weight of responsibility, he found a new source of strength - her. Her words echoed in his head, her tone of confidence pushing him with a passion and determination he had never known before.
As he stepped into that circle of familiar faces, he allowed himself one last lingering glance at her - she was as bright as the morning that shone through the window. With a renewed sense of purpose, he began discussing their next steps in the case, her presence and the memory of her certainty; a powerful source of inspiration.
He could feel her gaze on him as he laid out the details of the case. Her eyes traced over his features and he could swear he could feel her touch. The presence of their shared secret added a new layer to the dynamic, a furtive thrill that spurred him on. He could almost feel the anticipation in the room, the team ready to delve into the depths of the details printed in front of them.
A sense of camaraderie filled the room as they all settled into their roles, ready to tackle the challenge that lay ahead. Each member of the team settled into their familiar rhythm which made their team unique. Hotch sat in his chair, eyes glancing over the summary of the crime, he could feel the weight in the room on his shoulders.
He felt wrapped up in more than just the case. He’d settled back into his dominance and role as team leader, but he hadn’t quite shaken the thrill of letting go, and he was excited by the chance to do it again once the case was over. The memory of her touch, the echo of their whispered promises, strengthened his desire to solve the case. Hotch felt an unfamiliar lightness, a secret sweet sense he could hold close to his chest that could drive him to catch the killer.
‘Garcia still hasn't been able to uncover any kind of paper trail linking the victims together.’ Spencer spoke, his voice typically rushed but there was a twinge of frustration, he pushed his hair from his face in a flurry. There was a pause amongst the team, a collective moment of thought.
'Perhaps the Unsub is choosing victims based on personal encounters, not premeditated selections.' She added. Hotch had already been looking at her, but with the sweet sound of her voice, the rest of the team’s eyes followed where his gaze rested. Hotch’s watch flicked away from her for a moment as if scared his colleagues would see the intensity in his eyes. With the attention on her, she continued. 'I know it’s hard but maybe we should focus on potential spontaneous interactions the victims might have had.’
Amid the team's collective returned concentration to the evidence, he couldn't help but steal another glimpse at her. The soft glow of her skin, the vehemence of her gaze as she poured over the case files in front of her - she had looked at him that intensely. He couldn't dwell on it too long or his mind would be flooded with all reminders of their shared connection.
'Let's explore that possibility then,' he said, his voice steady despite the rapid beating of his heart. He could sense they were onto something, a familiar drum in his chest caused by trust.
The morning sunlight seemed to brighten and illuminate the room with a renewed sense of determination. The team worked diligently, diving headfirst into the mire of possibilities and potential leads.
‘We know he’s focusing on the seven deadly sins to guide his mission but perhaps one of them is what he focuses on to find his victims and then he assigns them another.’ JJ mused, looking over some of the victim reports. ‘I mean, look at this, two out of the four had at one time used the same hook-up site, the other two might have used a different form of online dating site.’
‘He’s focusing on lust.’ She stated factually, and Hotch’s ears burned at the tips.
‘How can you tell, honey? The victims are different genders, different physicality's and different races? There’s no distinct type. How can you tell his motive is sexual?’ Morgan quipped, curiosity in his husky tone. Pet name making Hotch’s mouth twitch.
'If all of the victims so far were active on at least one form of online dating site.' She answered, her voice steady. 'And if you consider the sin of lust, it's about a strong sexual desire. Online dating, especially sites used for hook-ups, could be where the Unsub is selecting his victims. Maybe he’s using different aliases’ on different sites, which could be why we haven’t been able to find any similar connections.' Her words hung in the air, a new avenue of investigation opening up before them.
This new lead could be the breakthrough they needed. 'Let's pursue this angle. Everyone, start digging into each victim's online footprint, especially their activities on dating platforms.' Hotch commanded his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of excitement. He stole a second to look at her, her words still echoing in his mind from the night before. He felt a sudden confidence that they would catch the Unsub, just as she had said.
The Unsub's sanity mirrored Aaron’s own, he too was thinking of lust. His eyes remained trained on her once the team were back at their desks working the new angle. But where the Unsub's actions led to destruction, his had led to connection, a bond that invigorated him. He was living within a paradox, sinning in one breath and upholding justice in the next, he wouldn't trade this newfound complexity for anything.
He was drawn from his thoughts by the muffled voices of Spencer and Morgan.
Spencer was gesticulating wildly with his hands, his eyes filled with the spark of new evidence. Morgan, ever the listener, nodded along with a thoughtful expression, calling on the other members of the team to gather around. This was their rhythm, their way of working through the intricacies of the case, they were a well-oiled machine.
‘Guys, the kid’s got something.’ Morgan’s voice was clear across the bullpen, a sense of urgency running through it as the members of the team stood from their respective desks to gather around and listen.
Spencer cleared his throat, all eyes on him as he started unravelling his newfound evidence. His words filled the silence, a new rhythm in their symphony of investigation. The rush of the new lead, another piece of the puzzle.
‘Garcia and I looked over some of the victim’s online accounts and I think we’ve found something.’ He gestured in a typically enthusiastic manner, voice hitching in animation from the breakthrough. Once the team were hooked on his words he continued his explanation.
'While on different sites we found that each victim had a private chat with a user and their IP address can be linked to multiple accounts. Each account had an avatar with hidden messages and symbols related to the seven deadly sins.' His revelation echoed through the room, pushing them one step closer to uncovering the Unsub. ‘We know where he is.’
As Spencer spoke, Aaron didn’t try to hide the glance he shared with her, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. She’d been right. Of course, she’d been right.
His gaze was still on her when Morgan's voice echoed through the room, "Then let's bring him in.’ With a tilt of her head, she smiled at Hotch, a true and natural smile that made him feel like he was on fire. It was a smile that declared ‘How could you ever doubt me?’.
The room buzzed with renewed energy as everyone began to mobilize. Garcia worked her magic in the background to send the location and information they needed to their phones. This was it, the moment they had been working towards. The moment they would finally stop the killer before he took any more lives.
***
With the Unsub in custody, the team had headed back to the office, each slowly slipping away for the night, ready for a peaceful night’s rest knowing they had another success under their belt. From the security of his office, Hotch breathed a deep sigh. He was about to file away the closed case file, his back to his office door.
‘I told you.’
Her voice startled him, but it was not an unwelcome feeling. He didn't turn, he didn’t need to. He heard her heels stepping across the floor, heading to where he stood. He let her words wash over him, a sweet affirmation of their shared victory. He closed his eyes, absorbing the moment - the scent of her perfume, her voice, their shared triumph. She placed both hands on his shoulders, pulling on the right slightly so he’d turn to face her.
‘I remember.’ He spoke, low and deep. Lifting a hand to push a strand of hair from her face. She captured his hand in hers before it could fall. A strong and certain
‘Is that all you remember of last night?’ She tilted her head - intertwining her fingers with his - a smirk toying on her lips. He couldn’t think about anything other than how she tasted.
His eyes met hers, a spark igniting deeply within him. His senses were flooded with her. He didn’t think, he simply leaned in, capturing her lips with his.
Releasing the grip on his hand so he could hold her waist she moved her hands from his shoulders she tangled them in his hair, tugging lightly inciting a low moan from his throat. She was pulling him impossibly closer, their bodies sharing the same heat.
He didn't want to stop - to break the connection. But he knew they had to. He pulled back reluctantly, his breath hitching as he looked into her eyes. Darkened with the tension between them. He was lost in her, consumed by a sin that tasted so sweet.
He was a man who had always held onto his composure. But with her, he was willing to let go, a man falling, and he knew he would willingly drown in her.
He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He’d do anything to have her. He would repent, he would go to confession every Sunday and live the most virtuous existence.
‘God, save me.’ He whispered, breath fanning across her lips as they remained inches apart. More tangled together than separated.
‘Did you suddenly turn religious, Aaron?’ She giggled, hand tracing down the side of his face, mapping out his strong features. Her intoxicating laugh echoed through the empty office, a sound he wanted to become familiar with. He craved the softness, the sweet taste of her lips again, and again, and again. He’d do anything to hear the symphony of surrender he could find in her.
His response was non-verbal. he simply let his lips find hers again, their bodies pulling each other into a dance as old as the world itself, but as new and thrilling as the first time. He was used to bitter coffee, cold showers and his mind being corrupted with murder. She was new, she was all sunlight and syrupy covering his senses and submerging him in damnation.
He was a man lost, a man found - in her. Her, the sweetest sin, his only redemption. She was a vice that tasted like heaven.
Aaron Hotchner was a sinner, she would be his redemption.
summary: it's not easy to keep someone safe in your nightmares, something Spencer knows all too well.
word count: 2.3k
warnings: fluff || there was only one bed || brief talks of CM themes (nothing graphic)
Exhaling slowly and processing what she could see in front of her, she let out a small huff of frustration. Her feet ached and her back felt tense from the day. The team had pinned down their current Unsub’s geographical profile which had led them on a tense chase which, had it not been for Spencer’s quick trigger finger, might have ended with her meeting a bullet.
After such an intense case the team had decided to stay the night in a local motel and hit the runway early in the morning. Hotch had insisted, they all needed a night to rest and decompress before they had to go back and meet the paperwork waiting for them in Virginia.
All she wanted was to crawl into bed and rest her muscles. But of course, nothing ever happened that smoothly. There hadn’t been enough rooms for everyone at the motel, meaning everyone had to double up. It wasn’t something they hadn’t done before, and over the phone, the motel owner had promised the rooms all had twin beds.
The day had been exhausting, and now she realised after taking in the room in front of her that she had another problem to deal with.
Spencer let the door shut behind him as he came up behind her. Letting his go bag drop to the floor with a light thud. He flexed his fingers allowing the circulation to come back to where the straps of his bag had cut it off.
‘What’s wron… Oh,’ His own eyes caught the layout of the hotel room and landed on exactly what caused his co-worker’s reaction.
The room was small, the door to the bathroom tucked into the corner to the left of the entrance, there was no room for a desk or table but they’d squeezed in a small two-seater sofa. The burgundy plush carpet radiated the warm glow from the bedside lights and cast the room in a cosy ambience. But there was a problem, clearly just a miscommunication with the booking.
One bed.
‘I’ll go back to the front desk; I swear Hotch told me the motel owner told him earlier that there were twin beds for the team.’ He knew it was simply a case of human error. A case of mixed-up keys and booking information. It really wasn’t a big deal, so why did it feel like such a big deal?
‘Spence, we knew we already had to double up, and they had a no vacancies sign.’ She sighed, allowing her feet to travel across the carpet to the other side of the room. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Maybe they gave us the wrong room, I’m sure they can swap…’ His reasoning was futile, he didn’t need to be a genius to realise there was no negotiating with a no vacancies sign. It was almost like he was trying to talk himself down from a ledge, trying to make sense in his mind the panic he was feeling rising in his chest.
‘It’s almost 2 am. If it was a mistake, I’m sure the couple who have our twin beds are fast asleep.’ She had her back to him, facing the small sofa.
She dropped her own go bag on the blush cushion and stretched her arms above her head. The movement caused her shirt to rise just enough that a sliver of her back hit the light, showing two distinct dimples at the bottom of her spine. The image caught Spencer’s eye. It was an innocent move, but his gaze felt all too intimate. With the proximity of the four walls surrounding them, and the quietness of the room it caused an irregular beat in his heart that he was certain was audible and he snapped his eyes away. He swallowed thickly, glaring at the threadbare curtains shutting out the beams of moonlight.
‘We’re the FBI.’ He spoke almost factually as if the authority of the title could force the hotel to rouse a sleeping couple and get them to move rooms, simply for the convenience of guarding his own feelings.
‘Spence. It’s fine with me if it’s fine with you.’ Her voice was quiet, tiredness lacing its way into her speech. She rubbed a hand up her forearm absentmindedly, and if Spencer was in the right mind to focus on profiling her behaviour, he might have deduced that the action was caused by nerves.
‘If what’s fine?’ He stuttered, his brain not quite working to its usual capacity when he met her tired eyes. She raised an eyebrow, almost annoyed but not quite committed enough to it.
‘The bed. We can share for one night. It’s just one night.’ His eyes held a panicked glint. She wasn’t to know that the problem wasn’t that he was going to have to share a bed with her. The problem was he was worried she’d realise exactly how much he wanted to share a bed with her. His lack of response made her uneasy. Spencer Reid was very rarely lost for words. ‘If you’re uncomfortable I can sleep on the sofa.’
‘It’s tiny, and you almost got shot today…’ He stammered, suddenly regaining control of his runaway thoughts long enough to register the lengthy silence between them. She nodded, almost shyly, and his throat closed as he realised how she’d inferred his words. ‘I’m not uncomfortable, don’t sleep on the sofa. There’s no way I can let you sleep on the sofa. There’s enough room for both of us in the bed.’
There was a pause, a shift within the room as if the atmosphere had moved. A gentle smile crept across her face, and it managed to relax Spencer. The lamplight cast a golden haze across the room and her face looked angelic in the low lighting. A breathy sigh left her lips with the force of an almost chuckle.
They settled into their respective evening routines, turning off their lights in tandem before letting sleep wash over them as gently as the ocean.
___
Spencer jolted awake after feeling a swift kick to his shin. Panic ripped through his body as his eyes scanned the moonlit room. He couldn’t see any imminent danger and his brain fought through the fog of post-sleep confusion. His senses kicked in and he instinctively reached a hand across the bed in search of her. She was shaking, sighs and almost gasps slipping through her lips at a barely audible volume.
He held his breath while he watched her movements waiting. Her shaking continued, a strangled mix of a moan and a yelp left her throat and her arm shot out searching for something. Spencer’s heart picked up its pace, his brows furrowed in concern. He considered reaching for the light but before his sleep-drenched body could she sobbed, a garbled, purely fearful ‘no’.
She tossed side to side so violently Spencer thought she might throw herself from the bed. Without overthinking it he sat up and leaned over her. His body halted the thrashing movements and, in her sleep, she grabbed his bicep with wincing firmness.
He held her, with gentleness and enough security that she couldn't throw herself around. One hand went to her hip the other held himself up. Her eyes shot open, sparkling in the darkness with the wetness of un-spilled tears, a scream stuck in her throat, retreating when her eyes recognised Spencer’s soft gaze above her.
‘Hey... Hey, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.’ He breathed, hovering above her, he moved his hand from her waist to rest it at the side of her head as if to hold her in place and stop her from injuring herself. Her hand gripped his bicep loosely, the thin material of his pyjama shirt soft between the pads of her fingers. Her breathing matched the rapid beat of her heart and Spencer - without thinking - lifted his hand from the pillow to stroke the side of her face.
It was meant to be comforting, to show her that she wasn’t alone. But the gesture, in the cool pooling light of the late hour, seemed entirely too intimate. He watched as her breathing began to slow and her fear slipped out as a quiet whimper, leaving her in the quiet safety of their shared room, their shared bed.
‘I’m here…’ Spencer whispered, his hand lightly tracing the shape of her face. He felt a strange tightness in his chest as he watched her slowly find her way back to reality, her grip on his arm lessening.
His gaze lingered on her face, taking in the softness of her features in the dim light. The silence was deafening, yet comforting, a shared moment of vulnerability and intimacy in the aftermath of her nightmare. "You're safe," he reassured her, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.
He could smell her perfume, it mingled with the dusty smell of the motel, sweet and undeniably her. He didn't know how long they stayed like that; the seconds ticked by with no accountability. The moment felt suspended in time, her eyes went from glassy to sparkling in the pale light and he felt her relax under him. He finally pulled away, his hand lingering in the space between them for a moment before he retreated to his side of the bed, the echo of her nightmare still lingering in the quiet room.
It was Spencer’s turn for his heart to hammer in his chest. Her breathing had steadied and she shifted, hand stretching out to find Spencer's in the empty space between them. The reigniting of contact made Spencer's breath hitch in his throat. He turned to face her, but the fear in her eyes was replaced with something else. He didn't have to be a profiler to know what that look meant. It was the same look that haunted his own reflections.
At that moment, under the soft glow of the moonlight spilling through the window, Spencer thought how pretty she looked. Silence spilt between them, she swallowed gently, blinking her eyes rapidly to quell any tears building.
‘You kept me safe.’ Her voice came out as a whisper, a kind of admission with more behind it than just the nightmare.
Her words hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgement of the intimacy of the moment. He didn’t respond, because for once he didn’t know how to. He didn’t have a statistic or fact to explain how he felt at that moment. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently, a quiet acknowledgement.
‘Do you get them often?’ He whispered, genuine concern lacing through, the warmth seeping from his chest to his fingers where if he focused, he could feel her pulse. He wasn't sure if she'd even want to talk about it.
She paused, her gaze dropping to where their hands were intertwined. 'More often than I'd like.' Her voice was barely more than a whisper, a vulnerability seeping into her words that Spencer had never heard before. He realised just how close they were in that moment. So close he could see the exact shade of her eyes and the way her brow furrowed when she felt she was being too honest. She always seemed so confident, especially at work.
Being vulnerable was not a luxury many could afford in the BAU.
'And what about you, Spencer?' she asked, her gaze meeting his again. 'Do you ever have nightmares?' It was an unexpected question, one that caught him off guard.
'Sometimes,' he admitted, the truth slipping out before he could stop it. Her fingers lightly tightened around his as if bracing for impact. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his night terrors.
‘What are they about?’ She breathed, in a hushed way that sounded like she was almost afraid to ask.
‘You.’ His answer was faster and breathier than enunciated. As if that might take away from the confessional impact.
‘You have nightmares about me?’ She took a genuine pause, letting go of his hand and sitting up slightly so she was resting on her elbows looking down at him. He scrunched the duvet up in his now empty palm, holding himself.
‘No! Not about you. I mean, yes about you. About losing you. Like today, I thought I was going to lose you today, and without you, it’d be unbearable. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you like I do in my nightmares.’ His words were a whisper in the stillness of the night. Rambled at his usual speed as if the pace would disguise the weight of the feeling rising in his chest. It was panic, mixed with almost shame.
‘But you kept me safe.’ She stated, reaching out to unfurl his hand from the covers as if taking tension away from him like autumn takes the leaves from trees.
‘I don’t always manage to in my dreams.’ He sighed, looking up at her through his lashes. She was quite beautiful and in that second it scared him how much he cared.
"I guess we'll just have to keep each other safe, then," she murmured, a soft, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She rested a hand on his cheek and he instinctively leaned into her, as agreement settled over his features.
Spencer placed a hand atop hers as it stroked his face with more tenderness than he was sure he’d ever experienced. "I guess we will," he smiled a true and honest smile that happily made a home across his whole face.
They fell into a comfortable silence, and she lay back down beside him, this time with no space separating them. Their hands fell to their sides, fingers instinctively finding each other and intertwining. The fear and tension of the nightmare had evaporated, leaving the quiet intimacy that the two had just shared.
Sleep began to reclaim them and they both felt safer next to each other just from the knowledge that they’d be there, ready to protect each other from whatever nightmares the future held.
summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):
word count: 3.4k
warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):
a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!
a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)
From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.
His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.
He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.
Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.
There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.
Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss.
Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.
It was her. Of course, it was her.
She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.
She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.
‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office.
The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.
"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.
She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.
She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.
"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.
She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.
She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.
She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.
His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.
Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.
‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.
He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.
‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.
‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.
She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.
‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.
She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.
His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.
‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.
She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.
Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.
His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.
‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.
'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.
He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.
"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.
He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.
‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.
Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.
He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.
Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.
On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?
As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.
The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.
Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?
Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.
He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.
“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.
She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.
‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.
‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.
"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.
As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.
Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.
As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.
He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.
After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.
