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targaryen-dynasty · 9 months

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MINE AND MINE ONLY.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Aemond has gotten you pregnant six months ago, and seeing him with his infant niece during dinner with his family sparks something inside of you only he can satisfy.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, face sitting, slight anal play, slight breeding kink, pregnant sex, slight lactation kink

WORDS: 4.9 K

NOTES: Sorry, I’m kinda in baby fever right now don’t ask me why. 😭 This also is my gift for hitting 1850 followers a few days ago, which means I’m finally where I’ve been before deleting my old blog. Thanks for everyone following me on this journey. 🫶🏻

The days between Christmas and New Years usually are meant for people to take some much-needed downtime from the stress of the past days or weeks – unless you are a Targaryen or married to one.

It’s the fourth year in a row you’re spending one, sometimes even two, days at the large Targaryen mansion with every member of their family present.

What started as an opportunity to celebrate the New Year early with her family four years ago, since Viserys and Alicent wanted to celebrate New Year’s Eve on a yacht somewhere in the Sea of Dorne back then, has quickly turned into a tradition that no one could escape.

Not even the six-month pregnant you.

As an excuse to not travel to the family’s vacation home on Dragonstone, Aemond has begged for you to allow him to tell his mother that your back pain has gotten so bad you couldn’t sit in the car for four hours.

The fact that he didn’t fall to his knees while doing it was everything.

But you have told him no, seeing that your back pains have eased two weeks ago, and it is one of the rare occasions he gets to spend with his whole family, not just his mother’s side.

If he wants to or not.

“And how are you spending New Year’s?” you ask, lounging in the burgundy Lawson chair.

Helaena sits in the chair next to yours, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass. Every now and then you spot her lilac eyes flickering to your protruding bump, accentuated by the tight slip dress you wear.

“This year we’re embracing a night in,” she answers, nursing her alcohol-free wine. “Cregan doesn’t want to leave the children with his parents, since Lyanna is still breastfeeding, and Edrick doesn’t want to go without his little sister.”

You nod along to her words, smiling softly at the mention of her sons‘ protectiveness, and glance past her to Aemond, Aegon and Cregan. The men are standing close to the fireplace, glasses of whiskey between their fingers. Normally, they would be tipsy by now – some more than others – if it wasn’t for the infant cradled in Cregan’s strong arms.

Helaena follows your line of sight, the turning of her head prompting you to look at her again.

“What are your plans?” she asks.

You pucker your lips slightly, looking down at the glass of water you‘ve rested on your belly before meeting her eyes.

“Aegon has invited us to a party in White Harbor, a formal dinner with some of his friends. We wanted to go, because the place is stunning and it’s overlooking the iconic harbor fireworks, but it’s such a long drive, and Aemond doesn’t want to risk anything by us taking the plane,” you sigh, “so, we’ll probably stay at home or just go out for dinner.”

Ever since you’ve handed him the gift box containing four identical, positive pregnancy tests, Aemond has taken over a protective aura and has found it incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of you.

It’s a miracle he was able to talk to his brother and brother-in-law for so long without checking in on you once.

But speak of the devil.

What you aren’t expecting when Aemond makes his way over to where you’re conversing with his sister, is the little infant in his arms. Her head rests against his shoulder, while one of his large hands supports it and neck, and the other supports her bottom.

He’s swaying her gently as he walks over, a proud smile on his lips as he can’t tear his eyes off of his niece, coming to stand next to Helaena’s chair. The sight makes your heart swell with love.

Cregan trails behind him, and your eyes briefly fall to the abandoned Aegon still standing at the fireplace and balancing their three glasses in his hands.

“Honey,” the Northener’s gruff voice rings out, “your mother said that Edrick’s made a mess. Could you change him while I clean up?” Still standing offset behind your husband, Cregan pats Aemond on the shoulder once. “Our girl’s in good hands, and Aemy here can already practice for what awaits him soon.”

Helaena raises her eyebrows, before snickering at her husband’s remark. She bows her head once, smiling at you, “excuse me, Y/N.”

“We’ll talk later,” you assure her.

She brushes her hand over your swollen belly once as she rises, Cregan’s hand on the small of her back urging her out of the living space.

Aemond carefully sinks into the chair, and changes the position of the sleeping infant so she’s cradled in his arms.

“What have you been up to?” he asks, finally moving his head to look at you.

You were wearing a knitted sweater over your dress when you two arrived a few hours earlier, but with hot flashes attacking you every now and then, you have long opted to slip out of it and hang the sweater over a chair.

And the outfit change clearly is only now noticed by him.

His lilac eyes flickered between yours and your full breasts, and you can literally see the gears turning in his head.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he states, full on staring at your breasts.

Fine, maybe you have also done it to tease him a bit.

A blush creeps onto his cheeks, running down his neck, and he slightly shifts in his seat, turning his gaze away as he clears his throat.

Pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from curling into a smile, you quickly shush the urge by taking a swig of your water. “Wasn’t keen on spending the evening unable to think of anything else than how sore and uncomfortable I feel,” you tease. “Are you complaining?”

Aemond raises one hand in defeat, “certainly not, just pointing it out.”

You teasingly reach and bring your index finger to his chin, tilting it up for his eyes to meet yours again. “Then you better stop staring, we're not the only ones here.”

You glance briefly at the gathered party around you, watching Alicent chat with Rhaenyra and her husband, while Aegon seems to be deep in a conversation with Daemon, no doubt talking about the latest match between the Casterly Rock Lions and the Oldtown Saints.

“Fair enough,” he answered with a low chuckle.

The soft coos of his niece catch your attention, and you lean forwards to gauge at the little bundle. She’s stirring lightly in her sleep, grimaces and smiles alike gracing her scrunched features. Aemond brushes her cheek with his knuckles in feather light touches, until her coos are interrupted, and wide, blue eyes stare up at him.

Lyanna smacks her lips slowly, bringing her small hand up to her mouth. “What is she doing?” Aemond whispers, not daring to pull his eyes away from her in case she starts to cry.

“She’s hungry,” you answer with a chuckle, grinning as you notice his helplessness.

It’s so brief, but you spot his eyes flickering towards your full breasts, and you have to stop yourself from hitting his shoulder. One wrong word.

“You know there are barely four months left until your life looks like this, too, right?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I do, but they have not yet told us about this at the prenatal class.”

“Oh, come on, she’s not your first niece, and she’s not even crying.”

The sigh of relief Aemond releases as he spots Helaena’s silver hair in the far distance has you shaking your head, bringing your index finger up to your smiling lips.

“How did you three get on?” Helaena asks, noticing that her daughter is awake.

Your husband rises to his feet, and hands his niece over to her. “Easy, she’s just woken up and seems really hungry,” he notes, as if he has figured it out all by himself. “And how did you fare?”

Helaena releases a dry chuckle, brushing her free hand up and down Aemond’s biceps. “I’ll tell you another time, don’t want to scare you.“ She briefly glances over at you. “Just know that Creg has to bathe him right now, because the wet wipes were useless.”

The grimace on Aemond’s face at his sister’s words has you choking on a laugh.

Lyanna starts to whine and wiggle in her mother’s grasp, getting her attention. “Sorry again, it’s feeding time, obviously,” she states, muttering the last word under her breath, and shoots you an apologetic gaze before scurrying off.

You hold out a hand, and knowing what it means, Aemond takes it to help you up from the chair.

His heart melts at the sight of you before him, and he wraps an arm around you to pull you against his side as he brushes his hand over the gentle swell of your belly in tender affection. There were shy kicks meeting his hand, making him grin.

You return the embrace, and lean yourself against his frame, your head resting on his chest. “It’s different when it’s your own child, you know,” you say, the small glimmer of a smile blessing your features.

His head dips forwards, and he presses his lips to your temple, mumbling the words against your skin, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

—

Aemond has his arm slung around your waist as everyone has gathered in the vast living space to watch the children perform a play they have practiced.

Alicent, ever the proud grandmother, clings to Viserys as they watch in awe what the children of Rhaenyra have been up to. An oblivious Edrick appears in the middle of it all, but before Cregan can scoop him up, the little Viserys has taken his hands to include him in their mischief.

“Have I already told you how good you look today?” Aemond whispers, his head dipping forwards so his lips are level with your ear. He rubs your bump gently, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes.

You shiver from his touch, your body tingling from the attention your husband gives you. “You’re not paying attention,” you scold softly, nodding towards the children in the middle. A teenage Jacaerys, as well as Daemon’s daughters from his first marriage, stand before you, your view of the play slightly concealed.

“I can’t help myself,” he whispers huskily, “you’re just too distracting, Mommy.” A smirk tugs on his lips as the name leaves them, and the sight is only topped by him leaning in to brush his lips over your ear, before they press to the sensitive skin behind it. The very spot that always makes you putty in his hands, and with your hormones in full swing, it does a little more than just melt you.

“Aemond,” you whisper, though he can also hear the trace of a moan in it, “easy.”

His teeth graze your earlobe, and the ring of his baritone voice sends a shiver down your spine, “we should go to bed early tonight.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his words. It’s his subtle way to ask for something without directly asking, though you know exactly what he means. You lean into him, pressing yourself against his side.

Biting the tip of your tongue, it was impossible for you to stop your lips from pulling into a mischievous smirk.

“Do you think your mother will notice if we leave now?” you ask, innocently.

You’re greeted with a wide grin when your eyes meet Aemond’s, and the arm he has wrapped around you tightens just more, keeping you against his frame.

His lips brush your ear again, trailing down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. “If she does, she can tell me later,” he raps into your ear, “besides, we wouldn‘t be gone for too long, sweetheart. Just long enough for a little… alone time. Who could blame us for wanting to savor the last weeks where it’s only the two of us, mh?”

Aemond looks around one last time, noticing how everyone around you is mostly focused on the children’s show.

Bringing his hand to the small of your back, he gently guides you through the crowd of his relatives, before you’re on the way to his childhood bedroom.

It’s furnished in a minimalistic style, making it obvious that Alicent has spent some time decluttering her children’s rooms to make them more presentable for whenever guests stay over. The room basically is Aemond’s, and the rest belongs to Alicent.

Walking in behind you, he locks the door. You look around briefly before his firm chest is flush against your back with his arms around your waist, resting on your bump. He presses his lips to the curve of your neck, prompting you to tilt your head to the side, and a shuddered breath to escape your throat.

The feeling of his hard, clothed cock against the curve of your ass drives you to insanity, making you eager for more. He grinds against you as his fingers travel over your curves, and greedily fist the fabric of your dress.

“Let me help you undress, Mama,” he rasps against your skin, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

When he sinks to his knees behind you, you whimper quietly, immediately missing the heat of his breath and lips on your body.

“Aemond,” you breathe, looking down at him as he pushes your dress up.

The dumbfounded look that crosses his features with the skirt of your dress rucked up just shy beneath your bump has you chuckling, realization settling in.

“You went commando?”

Biting your bottom lip, you can basically see his excitement building, the bulge in the front of his slacks quite obvious despite him kneeling. “I was feeling… adventurous today,” you hum, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

He can’t help but to grin at your comment, and, on his way up, Aemond starts to press several kisses to the outside of your thigh, his fingers following in their trail.

Standing to full height again, looming over you, he keeps his hand beneath your bump, his fingers caressing your pubic mound.

You squeeze your thighs together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching at the apex of them, since his fingers aren’t touching you where you need them most. An anticipating moan slips past your lips, a shiver shaking your core.

“I hope you’re prepared for me to be just as adventurous,” he hums, “... and thorough.”

His fingers hook under the thin straps of your dress, tugging them off your shoulders to push the elastic fabric down your curves and onto the ground. It’s pooling around your ankles in a white puddle, leaving you completely bare to him with just a few touches.

You shudder under his intense gaze, practically devouring you with just his lilac eyes, and try to break the tension by pulling him in for a kiss.

You turn around mid-kiss, your protruding belly a barrier between your bodies. Before your hands can entangle into his strands, Aemond catches them and intertwines your fingers. He creates a small distance between your bodies, taking a few steps back and pulling you with him.

His steps are deliberately slow, careful, and you’re encouraged to climb his lap as he sits down at the edge of the bed. Both his feet are firmly planted on the ground, supporting your swollen body.

He groans as you trap him between your legs, his hands roaming your curves almost immediately. The knowledge that he was the one responsible for the changes of your body, and that everybody else knew that as well, does something to him, making him all the more hungry for you.

It was even more addicting to see you sit astride him like a goddess, ready to claim what was yours already anyways. Him.

Feeling his clothed member throb beneath you, the urge to grind above him is as inviting as never, and you’re more than ready to give into the urge. Your wetness soaks his slacks, and the groan Aemond releases at the friction has you whimpering with him.

Your lips meet for a fervent kiss, and while your hands rest on his shoulders, his are eager to explore the swell of your belly. His tongue finds its way past your lips, swirling around yours in a way that turns the kiss into all teeth and tongue.

Dragging your teeth over his kiss swollen bottom lip, he tilts his head upwards and nudges the tip of his nose against yours. You lick over his lips once, but when you lean in to connect your lips again, Aemond stops you with his hand around your throat.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he rasps, his voice husky.

You haven’t sat on his face in weeks, or rather ever since the round ligament pain kicked in and made even the simplest daily tasks difficult for you.

Your eyes widen. “But– I–”

“No, you’re not too heavy,” he interrupts, cocking one eyebrow at you.

There’s not even a chance for you to reject before he lies down and hooks his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up and pulling you towards his face. You sit on his chest, barely seeing his chiseled features from under your bump.

As the position you are in truly settles in your mind, a bright blush starts to cover the apples of your cheeks. His angelic looks don't help either, strands of silver hair splayed out around his head like a halo, and his piercing lilac eyes fixed on you and you only. “But you tell me when it gets too much, no?” you ask, coyly.

Aemond rubs his hands over your bare thighs in comfort, nodding. “Always.” Deep down you know it’s a lie, because he has told you on more than one occasion that he’d gladly leave the world suffocated by your delicious pussy, but you trust the feigned security he offers.

“No promises about how long I’ll last, though,” you tell him.

A gentle pat to your thigh is what has you eventually inching forwards until your knees are on either side of his head.

With your bump being quite protruding, you can’t even see him anymore, you only hear his groans and growls when you cautiously settle in the new position.

The attempt to slightly hover your pussy over his face is fruitless the moment your husband’s hands fly to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you down onto his face. Just his nose perfectly teasing your clit has you moaning out loudly already, even though he hasn’t even used his tongue yet.

And then it follows.

Aemond greedily laps at your entrance as his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place and playing you like a fiddle. It circles around your clenching hole, teasing it but never one dipping it inside.

You clench around nothing, and bring one hand to your bump while the other just rests above his hand on your hip, squeezing it. Chasing the friction and warmth of his tongue, you rock your hips back and forth as much as his grip allows, coaxing whimpers and mewls to leave your lips.

“Gods be good,” you whimper, the grip of your thighs around his face tightening. “I–I forgot how good you are at this.”

Seemingly keening at your praise, you’re almost disappointed when he pulls his hand off of yours to cup your ass cheeks, yanking you impossibly closer. The groans that vibrate against your pussy send shivers up your spine that make you lose yourself in the pleasure, not focusing on where his hands are.

At this point, Aemond was feasting at you like a man starved, all but devouring you with newfound vigor. His nose flicks against your clit with expert precision every time he tilts his head or you move your hips, drawing you closer to your orgasm.

His index finger comes into play, teasing your throbbing folds for a split second. His true intentions, however, only show the moment it starts to circle around your other hole.

“Fuck, Aemond, I-” you manage as he carefully dips his finger into your hole, the added stimulation almost immediately tightening the coil in your belly. A muffled groan of appreciation shakes your core as he feels your unused hole tighten around his finger.

You roll your hips against Aemond’s mouth on the race to completion, any thoughts of being too heavy for him long gone, and replaced by nothing else than raw need and desire.

It’s almost too much. Straddling the fine line between overwhelming and just the right amount. His nose rubs your clit, his lips lap hungrily at your swollen folds, and his index finger fills you pleasantly – he is redoubling his efforts.

You keep dragging your hips back and forth in rhythm with his movements, fucking his face on the brink of your release.

“Oh God, you-you’re so good– Aemond, I’m–I’m–” you ramble, breathy whimpers filling in between the words.

Hearing him slurp and groan beneath your trembling frame brings a blush to your face and stokes the fire in your belly, the sounds fanning through the room like your moans and whimpers.

When the coil finally snaps, you throw your head back in ecstasy and clamp your thighs around his head, hot, white pleasure licking its way up your spine. His name topples off your lips more than once, accompanied by desperate mewls and whines. He is relentless, licking you through your orgasm.

You don’t wait long enough for the aftershocks to fully subside, the overstimulation of his tongue dragging through your folds becoming too much, and cup your pregnant belly as you heave your frame off of his face, shifting backwards down his body.

“Fuck, I–I need you,” you all but beg, eagerly tugging on the collar of his black shirt.

Aemond seems to share your enthusiasm, and is quick to sit up again, meeting your lips for a deep kiss. Only when you cup his cheeks do you feel that they’re covered in your arousal, the taste of you on his tongue clouding your mind.

Your belly is between you again, but Aemond manages to swiftly undo the zipper in the front of his slacks nevertheless, and shoves them down just enough to free his aching cock.

“So desperate for my cock now, mh?” Aemond pants against your lips, a smug smirk tugging on the corners.

His hand wraps around his stiff member, fisting himself raw twice, thrice, before another pat served to your thigh encourages you to raise your hips. He aligns himself with your soaked entrance, and you feel his tip prodding gingerly at it.

As you sink down on him, your hands tightly gripping the collar of his shirt, you release a shuddered breath. Your husband, on the other hand, escapes a relieved groan, his head tipping back for a moment.

With your limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you bow your head forwards, lowering yourself on him until he is balls deep inside of you. “Mh, fuck, you didn’t even bother to take off your pants,” you taunt, “so desperate to be inside me.”

Aemond’s words die on his tongue as you start to sensually roll your hips over his, the added weight of the bump not allowing you to bounce up and down on him with the vigor you had used before your pregnancy.

But your husband doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes journeying into the back of his head at the sensation.

Moving his hands to grope and grasp at every inch of your body, they eventually settle on your full breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples between his nimble fingers while you unravel astride him. It prompts you to arch your back, all but shoving your breasts into his face.

“So fucking good,” he grunts, embracing it and wrapping his lips around your pert nipple while his arms snake around your body.

He licks and sucks at your little bud like he has done with your pussy before, and, just judging by the smacking and humming sounds he makes, it’s possible there ooze a few droplets of milk out of it.

Aemond places his feet firmly on the ground, and starts to buck his hips up into yours, seemingly impatient for his own release as he meets the sensual rolls of your hips and bullies the spongy spot inside of you with more determination.

Loud, wet sounds from where your bodies meet echo off the walls, indistinct to you with all you can focus on being his lips at your heavy breasts, and his cock deep inside of you.

You bite your bottom lip and stop the rolling of your hips, making it evident that you were close to your orgasm. The tingling at the base of your spine makes it impossible to move any further and you rely on him to take over.

Aemond pulls back and watches you gleefully as the force of his thrusts makes your body squirm and jerk, eagerly anticipating you to topple over the edge for the second time.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock already?” he asks, almost mockingly.

You frantically nod, breathing a yes.

His hands come to your hips, and with his fingers digging into your flesh, he drags your hips back and forth, your clit rubbing against the hem of his shirt with each movement. You’re not able to gasp more than yeses and pleases, clenching tightly around him.

The intensity of his thrusts increases while you have stopped moving, toes curling as the taut string inside of you snaps without a warning and white stars cloud your vision.

“Mh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders as you ride out your high, grinding and rolling your hips against his. Your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he chokes on a husky groan. “Oh God, I love you.“

And even though your orgasm subsides slowly, Aemond refuses to slow down, keeping his heedless pace and pursuing his own completion.

He has his lips around your other nipple by now, sucking and nibbling on it, the vibrations of his groans coursing through your veins. “Daddy, mh, cum for me, please,” you whine, desperate for his cum.

Your body, however, contradicts your words and moans, your thighs squeezing his in a desperate attempt to stop him from pounding into your overstimulated pussy – but to no avail.

“God, please.”

His pace is as reckless and merciless as before, his cock all but forcing its way in and out of your quivering walls as he doesn’t listen to your desperate pleas.

Pulling back from your nipple with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connects the dark areola and his swollen lips as he gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Hush now, Mommy,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss you. The nickname coaxes a smug smirk on his lips. “Taking me so well, such a good girl for Daddy.” With just his praise, a warmth overtakes your body that drowns out the burning, your chest swelling.

You sling your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in the silver strands of his hair in a way that is destined to ruin the little updo he had put it in this morning.

“Mh, fuck, I’m gonna–” his words are cut off with a stutter of his hips, and he feels his throbbing cock spill deep inside of you.

You ride him through his high with lazy rolls of your hips, biting through the overstimulation, and clench and unclench around him as you milk him for every drop of his seed.

If he hadn’t gotten you pregnant already, he surely would have knocked you up after this.

Aemond languidly fucks up into you now as the last spurts of his warm release fill you to the brim, grunting and groaning until the euphoria fades.

He collapses on the bed, a blissed out expression on his face, and reaches to trace his fingers over the swell of your bump up to the curve of your breasts. Rolling the darkened buds between them, he smirks as he watches you squirm, his softening cock still buried inside of you.

“You know,” he starts, folding one arm behind his head. His voice is softer than before, but has a teasing edge to it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew by now what we’ve been up to.”

You laugh breathlessly and plant your hands on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over it. “But at least they don’t have to worry about you getting me pregnant by accident,” you tease.

“True enough,” he chuckles softly, “Fuck, I’m–I just can’t help myself. Seeing your body swell just because of my seed fucking does something to me.”

His words make you blush, and you appreciatively run your hands over your bump.

You lean forwards and cup his face, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He smirks against your mouth, and subconsciously bucks his hips into yours as he feels you clench around him.

With a groan rumbling in his chest, he pulls back. Something dark flickers in his eyes, his intentions evident when he speaks again.

“Once our boy’s born, I’ll make quick work of making you a mother of two.”

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russellsppttemplates · 8 months

Text

Daddy's here, buddy (Lewis Hamilton)

A look into the Hamilton household now that they are a family of three

Note: english is not my first language. After a long time on hold (I know it has been a while, like, a really long time), I'm finally posting this one. I won't blame you if you have left, especially since it took me so long, but if you're still around, I hope you like this, anon!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions pregnancy, postpartum (difficulties walking, breastfeeding, soreness)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

As soon as Lewis was able, he flew straight back home, promising Toto and the rest of the team a detailed written debrief he worked on while he was on the plane.

When he landed, one of your friends was there to drive him straight home, "they are both doing well so the doctor discharged them this morning, they watched the race at home already with your mum", she smiled, noticing his antsyness, "we'll stop by my place so you can have a shower and change clothes, and then you'll get to meet him. I know I'm biased, and you'll be too, but he's the cutest little boy ever", she smiled, reassuring him that everything was well underway and that they were being careful with the baby's health.

"Carmen, can I have some water, please?", Lewis heard you call for his mother as he walked through the stairs that led the garage to the living area of the house, seeing the older woman pour the liquid into a mug and bringing it to you along with a straw.

"Hey, look who's here!", you smiled, handing the mug back to your mother in-law when you finished sipping from it.

Lewis walked closer to you, rubbing his mother's arm before he kissed the top of your head, taking a peek at the bundle in your arms. Baby Noah has been sleeping against your chest, pillowy lips agape without another care in the world, but he seemed to stir as he felt his father's presence in the room.

"Someone wants to meet daddy", you cooed as Lewis sat next to you on the sofa, arms expectantly held out as you transferred the baby to his arms.

Taking the baby wrapped up in the beige blanket and placing him on his chest, Lewis let one of his hands rest on his son's back to hold him close.

"Hey Noah", he whispered, looking up briefly to see his mother and wife smiling at them, "You were slightly early, weren't you? Daddy wasn't here when you came earthside, and I'm very sorry for it, but now we have all the time in the world", he whispered, softly touching his cheek and moving to stroke his head, feeling the soft baby hair.

Noah looked up at him as tears filled his eyes, "I couldn't wait to get home to you and mummy. I'm sure a lot of people want to meet you, I got told that much in the paddock", he smiled at the beautiful boy in his arms. "It's ok", Lewis whispered as the baby started getting fussy, opening his mouth and squinting his eyes closed as he cried loudly.

A quick look at the clock made you suddenly reach your arms out for your crying little boy, "he's hungry, it's just about time", you nudged, cradling him to you and kissing his forehead.

"I'm going to go, dears, leave you in your newborn bubble", Carmen smiled, "if you need anything, and I mean anything, call me, okay?", she checked, kissing your head and Lewis' before squeezing her grandson's little hand softly, "goodbye, baby boy, behave well for mummy and daddy, okay?".

After she saw herself out, you undid the top buttons of your shirt, unfastening the bra cover so you could feed your little boy, "That's it, good boy", you cooed, feeling your husband's eyes on you.

"We watched the race, congratulations on your podium", you smiled, your hand squeezing your husband's thigh once you balanced your baby on the feeding pillow.

"Thanks", he breathed out, "I still can't believe he's here, that he's ours", he shook his head, "we have our little boy here with us.

"Thank you for doing this for our family, I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner", he expressed, kissing your lips softly as Noah whined, "daddy can't kiss mummy, now? Oh, this is going to be interesting!".

"Am I doing this right? I think I am", your heard your husband say to your son as you started to wake up, "looks secured enough. Hopefully we won't have any explosions and nothing comes out of here".

Your hissing while trying to pull yourself up announced you were awake as your husband turned his torso slightly to face you, "mummy is awake, little love", he beamed, finishing popping the buttons on your son's clothes so he was comfortable.

By the time you found a way to pull yourself up and against the headboard, Lewis was sitting next to you, ready to pass Noah into your arms so you could feed him, "are you still feeling sore?", he asked, kissing your cheek.

"It's not as bad as yesterday", you assured him while you moved your boob so Noah could latch, ignoring the sting as his lips met your sensitive skin, "my back feels fine, but moving my legs might be tricky still", you offered.

"The midwife said that would be expected, so we'll just keep an eye out for anything serious, yes?", your husband said as you took the opportunity to rest your body against his naked chest, his arm going around your shoulders and softly tracing shapes on your bare skin.

"Can you burp him while I use the bathroom?", you asked as Lewis as he got up, burping him while standing up as you slowly got up as well, waddling to the en suite bathroom.

"Are you going to sleep now, little one?", he cooed, rocking him to sleep once all of the air trapped in his tummy got out, "you have a clean nappy, full tummy, and daddy needs to go and make sure mummy is okay", he chuckled, "with time, you'll see it takes her a while until she asks for help even though she's usually been needing it for way longer".

"Lew?", you called from the bathroom, "yes, darling?", he called back as he knocked on the door softly, asking for your permission to look inside, "I need to have a shower, but I don't trust my legs to keep me up, and sitting on the floor is not a good idea so, like - do we even have a stool I can sit on? -, I need something to support myself on", you asked.

"Noah is asleep, I can leave him here, in the middle of our bed, keep the door open and help you with your shower if that's okay", Lewis offered, "if I look around, I might find something, but I'm not sure we own a stool that can be put in water".

Weighing your options, you waddled back to your boys, kissing Noah's forehead and looking up at Lewis, "you don't mind helping?", you wondered.

Lewis placed Noah on the bed, making sure he was in an angle where you could see him from the bathroom, "c'mon, shower time, darling", he soflty nudged.

He turned on the warm water as you undressed yourself, disposing the underwear safely in the bathroom bin and walking into the shower compartment, thankful that Lewis insisted you needed a wide and ample space for it as it now perfectly accommodated the two of you once he had no clothes on either.

"Is the temperature good?", he asked and you nodded. Your body didn't feel wrong to you, just new, and Lewis seemed to be on the same page, tracing your hips and tummy softly while you wet your hair.

By now, the routine was so engraved in your lives that Lewis knew which steps followed which, only stopping when you needed to support yourself on him, to steal a few kisses or take a peek of Noah.

"Now he's sleeping well", you muttered chuckling as you wrapped a towell around your body, accepting Lewis' hand as he took you to the bedroom, "I have your underwear ready with those witch hazel round pads to help with the soreness", he added.

Helping you put them on along with the rest of your clothes he gathered from the drawers, your husband left a trail of kisses anywhere his mouth was close enough to your skin as he dressed you, "how about a nap? Noah surely kept us up so we could do with some sleep", he smiled, pulling you to lie against his chest while you cradled your son against your own chest.

"I know, baby, I know", you gulped, grabbing the silicone covers for your nipples while bouncing Noah on your bent legs, "mummy is trying to make this better for both of us, hopefully this works", you tried, fitting the piece and pulling Noah to you, encouraging him to suck.

The specialist had told you that using the covers would help you in days where the skin was extra sensitive, but its continuous use could mean that Noah would have to work harder to get his milk in, leaving him to get more tired and eat less, ultimately making him drop his weight.

"Hey, darling, I'm back", Lewis called from the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets as he stored away the things he bought from the shop.

"In the living room", you croaked out, holding the tears that threatened to fall as Noah seemed to drift off to sleep, "ah-ah, baby boy, you have to eat more, otherwise you won't grow", you groaned, taking off the silicone piece and biting your lip as his lips made contact with your skin directly.

The tears you worked on keep at bay fell down your cheeks as Lewis walked inside the living room, "hey, darling, I - what's the matter?", he checked you over, sitting next to you as you looked up at the ceiling.

"It hurts, a lot", you cried, "the only way it doesn't hurt is if I have these on, but with them he won't eat, so I have to compromise that", you allowed him to wipe your cheeks, "what a great mother I am, talking about compromise when I am feeding my baby", you scoffed at your own words.

"Hey, it's okay to talk about it if it hurts, darling. I'm so, so sorry, I wish I could do something to take that pain away", he comforted, kissing your cheeks as he pushed your bodies closing together.

"I will rub the cream afterwards, and we can try the silver nipple covers, we haven't done that yet", he suggested, his hands tracing shapes on your skin and squeezing the area, hoping to distract you from the pain you were feeling.

"I'll put him to sleep, okay? You can go and freshen up, darling", Lewis said as he bounced Noah on his arms after burping him, giving you time to use the bathroom and get a little bit of fresh air.

After splashing your face with water, you lightly dabbed the towell on your face before walking to the kitchen, opening the door that lead to the back garden and standing in the sun for a few minutes.

It was easy to get lost. A lot of people, specially the ones who were brutally honest about the whole experience, told you that much. Not out of spite or because they wanted to scare you, but rather because they cared enough to tell you about all of it. It was easy to lose yourself because all your focus was on your baby. Truth was, if you lost yourself, your baby would end yo suffering, too, so the whole situation required balance. Right now, the sun rays hitting your skin seemed to tip the scales to an even line.

"He's asleep already", you heads Lewis say, baby monitor on hand hand and another one with a cup of tea for you, "here, beautiful", he offered.

"Everytime I look at his face, I can't believe we made him. Such a perfect baby, how is he ours? But, it's also a lot sometimes", you breathed out, letting go of the guilt that was consuming you and recognising that you could love your family unconditionally and still admit that things could get hard. One didn't override the other.

"It's okay to admit that", Lewis said, pulling you to rest your back against his chest, "but we'll go, day by day, see what it brings us. You're doing so well, Y/N, you've been so strong for our family", he smiled, kissing the top of your head, "will you let me take care of you now?", he wondered, guiding you back inside for a little pamper session.

"Your tummy really is troubling you, isn't it, little one?", Lewis said as Noah didn't seem to settle down, cries and whimpers leaving the little baby's mouth as he rocked him back and forth, "should we try those massages daddy was taught in the baby classes?".

Laying Noah on the changing table, Lewis unswaddled him before holding his legs, "first we go into frog mode", he chuckled, pulling the little legs into position before wiggling his hips and tummy, "the nurse in the baby classes said to wiggle a little, and apparently you are very flexible at this point, so you're like putty almost. It's a bit scary, but you seem to be doing better, right buddy?", he said, noticing he was passing some gas already and his whimpers had died down.

As you came out of your shower, you watched the replied on your son's face as the noise coming from his diaper confirmed the reason from his previous pains, "Oh, that was a big one!", you giggled, approaching your boys as Lewis grabbed a new diaper, "I'm on it!", he said, kissing your cheek and taking care of changing Noah.

"Do you want to go on a walk this afternoon?", you wondered, "I feel a little better ans I want to start being a little more active. Nothing crazy, but rather a nice way to leave the house", you suggested, being met with your husband's sparkly eyes, "of course, darling. I'll get him a new outfit, we're going to be matching!", he smiled as he noticed the colour pattern you were going for.

#lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

My Whole Life : A Fear of God Story

(Joel Miller x OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary: The family celebrates Joel's birthday.

Content Warnings: Fluff and smut (like the fluffiest fluff ever); Miller Family Fun; Joel being overrun by wild little girls; Dirty old man & inappropriate groping; Established relationship; Joel Miller is a Wife Guy; Competence kink; Breastfeeding; Lactation kink; Oral sex (M! & F! receiving); Come eating; Pregnancy kink; Size difference; Daddy kink; Possessive behavior; PIV sex; Ass play; Romantic anal :) ; Body worship; Dirty talk; Pussy slapping; Over stimulation

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Happy happy happy birthday to our bestest and most beautiful old man. This might just be some of the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever written, and it’s all for him :)

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

MY WHOLE LIFE

And you’ll always love me, won’t you?

Yes.

And the rain won’t make a difference?

No.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

He’s still asleep. Laying on his side, bent elbow tucked beneath his smushed cheek, messy curls strewn across his pillow, overly long and floppy against his forehead. It’s time for a haircut, but he’s been distracted and busy lately, evading your managing fingers and scissors. The quilt is pulled up high over a thick shoulder, and that soft, full mouth is slightly parted, the near silent whistle of his breathing passing through each exhale. You close your eyes and listen for a moment. When you open again, you reach up to run the tip of your finger along the damp edge, and he puckers his lips slightly, mouthing at your exploration. Ah, awake then. You lean forward to press your mouth to his briefly, taking his breath into yourself.

Tell me you love me, you whisper the words onto his tongue.

“I love you, Birdie,” voice like falling stones; graveled, sluicing into your ears, eternally familiar. An everyday thing that’s a small miracle each time it’s whispered into the small shell.

“Happy Birthday, Joel.” And he finally opens his eyes, long lashes squeezing tight and spiky for a second before he blinks open, bleary with sleep. His half smile unfolds for you, slow and lazy, the lines around his eyes going deep and grooved, and your fingertips skim over the whiskered plane of his cheek, feeling the proof of his happiness around his eyes. Pulling his hand from beneath his cheek he reaches for you, skims the back of his hand down the front of your belly, undoing the buttons of his old, worn to softness flannel as he goes. Backs of his knuckles following again, skimming down the soft swell, dipping into your navel, and then sneaking around your waist to pull you into himself. Belly to belly he sighs deep and rumbly, closes his eyes again, nods his head just a smidge, settling back into the pillow. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You know that if he could skip this day every year, he would. Sleep through the whole thing of it, erase it from history. You know that it’s endlessly painful, eternally terrible, and that even after almost three decades it never hurts any less. Five years now, you’ve been married, and you’ve tried to make every year as special as possible. Not necessarily peaceful, an unachievable thing in a house full of four loud and scrambling little girls, but always special, always infused with as much happiness as you can give him.

The sallow purple light from early dawn seeps in through the sheer blue curtains over the wide bay window of your bedroom, and as he presses you to him, the course hair of his chest and belly rubs against the skin of your own stomach, your overly sensitive breasts, full and extra tender from nursing. You’d made his gift extra special last year, your last baby, little Connie, now nearing six months old.

“Another one?”

“Well, baby, that’s what happens when your husband can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, head falling back on his neck as he runs his palm over his mouth, two fingers tucked into his belt. Dad pose.

“We’re getting a nanny, Joel. Someone to help us – you go out there and find anyone, I don’t care who. There’s too many of them, we’re being overtaken. And we can’t keep asking Ellie and Dina – they’ve got JJ now, they’re busy too. You’ve saddled us with a whole kindergarten here because you can’t seem to stop getting me pregnant,” voice hitching with equal measures of anxiety and happiness, and an overabundance of hormones and love.

He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your full, heavy breasts gently, you gasp, extra sensitive already. He coos right into the soft shell of your ear, “Poor Birdie. S’just so fun makin’ ‘em baby. Can’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see, and you kind of want to claw at his face and rip all his clothes off, all at the same time. This is all his fault. All of your sense gone out the window, can’t get pregnant while you’re breastfeeding, as if you didn’t know better. Too desperate for your husband to be more careful. And now look at the two of you…

Your ass perks up, grinds back into his already growing erection, fucking beautiful, he murmurs with his forehead resting on your shoulder to look down at you, palming your ass. His hands sweep over you in an arc, skimming the soft dips and contours of your skin.

Then shyly, head tuning over your shoulder to press your temple to his forehead, “Are you happy?” Because you still just need to make sure, you still just need to hear it.

“You’ve never given me the option to be anything else but, my love.”

He’d gotten up in the middle of the night when he’d heard her fussing, bringing the baby to you still half asleep, cuddling her tiny, pink form against his naked chest, so that you could nurse her back to sleep. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, big hand cupped at the back of your skull as he’d looked down on you feeding his child from your breast, the look in his eyes like nothing you’d ever imagined before him. The birth of your children had infused a sense of tenderness, an intimacy so acute it brought tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much, into your relationship that had made the two of you closer than ever. More in love with each other than you’d ever thought possible.

The memory of your parents was worn and faded with time, but you remembered they’d always approached each other with a sort of comfortable respect. Never ones for overt displays of affection or physical intimacy. So you’d never expected that the love of a man like Joel Miller, stoic and reserved and brusque, could be like this; an overwhelming sort of thing, scalding and suffocating in a way you needed.

His hand skims back to your chest, undoing the rest of your buttons to get at the warmth of your breasts, rough palm gently, gently cupping the full weight. The dry abrasion of calluses catching at your sensitive nipples, handling you with such care. A low rumble in his throat, eyes still closed, “Gimme another kiss, little bird. It’s my birthday,” he whispers before sliding forward, taking your mouth with his. He starts off slow, a soft brush of damp lips, before he takes your upper lip between his, pulling gently, his hand moving back and down now, cupping your lush bottom to pull you up and into himself. Your hands flutter over his chest, still after all this time, easily overwhelmed by the heat and feel of him. You never want it to end, you never want it to lessen.

The sex is still filthy, but everything else is pure.

You can feel the hardening heft of his cock under his boxers between the two of you, and you skim your hand down the length of his soft belly, fingers tucking beneath the elastic to run the backs of your knuckles against the burning hot skin there, feel the tickle of his hair. He makes another one of those deep sounds, warm and masculine and smelling faintly musky from sleep, and you bring your knee up against his hip, pushing further into his boxers to feel the rapidly thickening base of his cock against the back of your hand, you brush the pad of your thumb there and his kiss becomes hungrier. Bringing his palm to the nape of your neck he rolls the two of you over suddenly, trying to take charge, licking deep and wet into your mouth, pressing his now full-on erection into your cupping palm. “Taste so good, Birdie. Is my little cunt wet and ready for me?”

“Joel–” you whisper, drawing your hand up to his shoulder to try and keep him at bay. His wet mouth moves down to your throat, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, settling more heavily between your spread thighs to grind his cock into your warmth. “We can’t,” you moan as his hot mouth pulls gently at your tit now, nipples dark and swollen. It’s been several hours since you’d nursed, and you feel the warmth of your milk as his tongue swirls around you. He groans, rough and hungry at the taste, bringing his knee up to lever himself over you, readying to rip your clothes off and take your cunt for himself, but as he moves to balance himself on one arm and knee while his other hand reaches for your panties, you press him off balance, dislodging him and rolling over as he goes, so that you’re left straddling the wide breadth of him. His eyes flash, provoked, and he jerks you forward, ripping the flannel off your shoulders so that your breasts are left bare and swinging heavily. With a rough grunt he bends his knees, shoving you up further on his stomach to wrap a big hand around your tit and bring it to his mouth. Mine, he growls, with your flesh in his mouth. He pulls on the taut peak again, another warm rush of your milk, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks from your nipple. It should be wrong, maybe it is, but like you’d said, the sex is still filthy, everything else is pure.

“We can’t,” you whisper, carding your fingers through the long locks of his messy curls, the strands cool and soft at the ends, but hot and damp at the roots. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your throat, the insides of your wrists, the back of your knees. The slide of your wet cunt against his abdomen has the heat between the both of you ricocheting up to a sweltering dampness, and despite your protests, you moan as his hands roll you against him. “They’ll be up soon and banging on that door, you know it. Ellie and Dina can only hold them off for so long.” The girls had spent the night, not only so they could be here for birthday breakfast, but so that the two of you could spend a few extra peaceful moments in bed without three raucous monsters climbing in with you.

“Don’t care – need you now.” He levers his head up off the pillow, following the swing of your breast until he can catch it with his mouth, teeth gently scraping across the bud. Joel, you whimper, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He makes a self satisfied noise low in his throat, crushing you to himself and sucking hard on your skin, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. Trying to pull away, grabbing his marauding hands, you try to pin him down with your entire weight, small fingers clasping around the thick of his wrists and pressing them back into the pillows. The two of you pause to take each other in for a second, I love you, he mouths up at you, silent, eyes on fire. You can’t help the deep flush, trying to swallow your smile and shake your head at him in mock disapproval, pinning him harder. “That isn’t gonna work, little thing. Got the strength of a butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You lean forward, pressing your mouth to the thick bulge of his bicep, dragging your teeth across the swell. “You’re mine – I do what I want.” He gives you a soft, conceding laugh, and you press kisses along his shoulder, across his collarbone, letting the long tresses of your hair snake like water over his face, his chest, his stomach. Scooting down his belly to nuzzle at the springy hair covering his chest, little tongue darting out against his nipple, smiling at the sound of his soft gasp. Further, further down, kisses to his soft belly, thicker around the middle now, sympathy weight, he calls it. But he’s so strong, and so endless, and you need him so much. You wiggle between his legs, forcing him to spread his thick thighs to make space for you and nip at the sensitive inner slope there. Nuzzling his hairy limbs, you pause to look up at him, cheek resting there, feeling the restrained strength of his muscles. The two of you go quiet for a second, taking each other in, and there’s so much said in his gaze. He brings his hand to the crown of your head, cupping the small bowl of your skull in his palm, and smiles a little, a teasing crook of his eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your face to hide your own smile in his thigh.

“What’cha gonna do, baby?” Hmm, he croons down at you, sliding his fingers through your hair. You sneak your fingers below the waistband of his boxers again, tugging them down to free the straining, thick cock and heavy balls. You press a barely there kiss to the skin just beside the base and watch as his length jumps, flushed head starting to leak. You give him another wry look, and he runs his fingers along the line of your jaw, up the slope of your cheek bone, hot touch following the wing of your brow. It’s all soft caresses and the sort of comfort that only comes from knowing another person almost better than you know yourself. You finally bend down and press a kiss at the tip, opening your mouth to let your tongue flutter along the soft, spongey curve. He lets out a long, restrained breath through his nostrils, fingers still roaming along your face, through your hair as you start to take him deeper into your mouth, levering yourself up over his groin so that he has a better view of your breasts and hair dragging over his thighs. A desperate groan, and you smile around his cock, you know him too well. You drag the flat of your tongue along the ridged base, a swirl around the fat head, his hand cupped at the nape of your neck. You can feel the pulse and throb of him against your tongue, and you moan around him, fluttering lashes tickling your cheeks, you want to feel that pulse at the core of you, deep where he owns you. “Yeah, baby,” voice soft and strained, trying to swallow the sound of his own pleasure in the hollow quiet of your still sleeping home. “Hum a little song around daddy’s cock, little bird.” And your eyes flash hot and desperate up to his own. A wash of heat spreads from the crown of your head to the tips of your curling toes, backs of your knees smarting, pussy going tight and desperate as a knot. You wrap both hands around the length of him and focus your suctioning mouth at the head, moaning wantonly, twisting your palms around the slick spit left by your tongue.

“Fuck, yes – yes, yes yes. That’s perfect, you’re doing so good, Birdie. Just like that.” He bears his teeth at you, a wash of color spreading across the crests of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You slide your slick hands down to cup his balls and take him to the back of your throat, moaning ragged and choked around the too thick length, swallowing repeatedly, trying to breathe through your nose, eyes smarting and thighs clenching. His fingers twist in your hair painfully, and he swells almost impossibly bigger in your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come, baby. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.” He hasn’t stopped looking at you, eyes wide and frenzied. You pull back, squeezing his sack as he starts to spurt, thick and salty into your mouth. “Don’t swallow, lemme see. Gimme my birthday present, show me–” You pull away from his soaked cock, mouth sticky with semen, and present your tongue for him, the milky viscousness dripping sloppy while you continue to jack his still spitting length. He sits up suddenly, cock still fisted in your working hand to grip your jaw in his strong fingers. His eyes are filled with a sort of mania only you know how to bring out in him now that he’s been mostly tamed, and you bring your other hand up to your face, scooping the spurted drops of come on your cheeks onto your white splattered tongue. “Perfect fucking thing,” he growls. “You do what I say,” he gives your captured jaw a rough, little jostle. “Swallow now.” You close your mouth and obey, “Open again – lemme see,” sticking your now pink tongue out at him, he leans forward and licks into you, tasting himself. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I fucking love you, you can’t tell who says it, it doesn’t really matter.

The farmhouse is a short ways outside of Jackson. He’d picked it after Lena was born, Kate and Clara had been two, and Connie would soon be on the way. The family needed more space, four children was a lot to manage, and he wanted his girls to have room to grow and play. You’d let him do as he pleased, and made the trek into the clinic every afternoon at first, but had taken on a partner two years ago, Jamie. She’d come to Jackson with her own medical background, and with four babies at home, the help was more than welcome.

The house is old, but made of strong bones that Joel had painstakingly refurbished and now cared for meticulously. Filled with sturdy furniture he’d mostly made by hand, thick rugs and soft glowing lamps and books, books everywhere. And something else, something unknowable and invisible, but that was immediately obvious, nonetheless. A sort of love that was in such overabundance; it was an unbelievable sort of thing that a creature that had lived as he had could have ended up here, surrounded by all this goodness. Joel knows it is only because of you, all only your doing, his ending up here like this.

As you step into the large dining and living space you stop abruptly, his chest bumping into your back, hands going to your hips to steady you. Your head cocks slowly to the side as you take in the new addition to the kitchen. “What’s that?”

He presses his face into the warm, fragrant skin of your neck, smiling against the tender slope. “Made it for you.” It’s a kitchen table, long and thickly built, the warm oak color polished and cured to a glowing sheen. He’d snuck it in from the barn last night after you’d gone to sleep.

“It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to be giving me gifts today.” He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand spanning across the soft swell of your postpartum belly. The change your carrying his children had wrought on your body was something that he’d not known would have such an effect of him. But the sight of you most days, wearing nothing but one of his oversized flannels, and his favorite itty bitty, pink, polka dotted panties. Swollen, leaking tits and the lush softness of your belly and hips underneath. Long hair, a tousled mess of a cloud around your head. Too fucking tempting. It brought out something not entirely civilized in him. How was he ever supposed to behave when you were prancing around your home together, surrounded by all your children, being the best mother the world had ever seen. Sometimes the urge to get you pregnant just one more time was almost irresistible. Soft and feminine and his, it did things to him, made him think unspeakable thoughts that he later acted out on you in explicit detail at night, in the privacy of your bedroom. Things had changed after the birth of your children, he had changed, in so many ways, in ways that Joel had never even thought possible. The intimacy, the closeness was something that he’d never even thought possible, something so vulnerable, so tender, his mind hadn’t had the capacity before this to imagine it. He’d never thought, never thought that he could love with an intensity like this, but you’d taught him so many things over the years. You taught him something new every single day.

“It’s for me too,” he murmurs. “And giving you things makes me happy. Seein’ you happy makes me happy. This is my gift to myself.”

You’re quiet for a second, and he feels you tense and hiccup beneath his touch, trying not to cry. Finally, when you’re sure your voice won’t break, “Don’t be cheesy, old man.” But you turn in his arms, going up on your little toes to press your mouth to his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He sighs into the kiss, tasting you slowly, savoring you, feels himself thickening again already, just at the feel and smell of you. When he pulls back to look down at you, sure enough, your eyes are wet and gleaming, a soft flush across your nose. “Thank you, I love it,” A small sniffle.

“Get in there,” he says gently. “Stop provokin’ me.” He gives your bottom a gentle squeeze before letting go.

After he helps you get the girls up and settled, he goes on a long walk with Ellie and Kate, leaving you and Dina to hold down the fort for a while. Sydney, panting along Kate’s gangly, coltish side as they lope ahead of him and Ellie. The old Newfoundland had shown up one day on the front porch, mud and bramble slewn, Kate and Clara had brought her in, told them her name was Sydney, and that had been it, the dog had stayed. The hound, covered in a nearly unmanageable chocolate brown mane, had what he called an old disposition, much like him, Birdie liked to tease, but gentle and slow. The perfect animal to patiently accompany the girls along their misadventures, but large and astute enough to herd and protect when necessary. They liked to wander sometimes, disappearing at any moment, hiding and jumping out to scare the two of you in your frantic searches for them. Trouble the two of them, Kate and Clara together. Clara especially, mind sharp as a whip and an inclination for trouble she could have only gotten from him, if he was being honest. Kate was always the cooler, more level headed voice of the two of them, even at five, nearly six, years old. With those deep blue eyes, like shards of sea glass with the very power of the sun shining through. They’d slipped out of the house a few months ago behind his back, and after his mad search he’d found them wandering, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Short legs setting a slow and stunted pace, Sydney had been following closely at their heels, towering over the two small frames. At the sound of his approach, she’d turned back with an aggressive growl, ready to protect the two vulnerable creatures in her charge, but he’d settled her with a gentle, It’s just me, Syd, and the hound had gone tame and sedate once again. He’d trusted her with them unfailingly ever since.

They were meandering slowly along one of his and Ellie’s favorite paths now, slowly, allowing for child and dog to pause and investigate at will, dew-covered spiderwebs, bright tufts of moss and old, rotted logs covered in bugs Kate begged him to let her bring home.

“Mom gets scared. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Mom doesn’t get scared,” Kate says, scrunching her nose up at him.

“It’s secretly him that gets scared, Katie. Don’t let him fool you,” Ellie tells her. They walk for close to an hour in mostly silence, their ritual of sorts, listening to the sound of the woods around them and Kate’s soft voice going on and on at Sydney, while the dog seemingly pays the closest and most attentive regard possible. The quiet walks, something that calls back to their long journeys all those years ago, a way to remind themselves of where they’d been and what they’d come to.

“What do ya think?” She breaks the silence after they’ve turned back toward home and the breakfast waiting for them.

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.”

He shakes his head, watching Kate’s short leap over a puddle, sighs long and deep, “Dunno – so many things. Nice walk–” He gives her a wry look out of the corner of his eye.

They reach the edge of the woods and pause to watch Kate breaking into a run towards the house, Sydney matching her pace. “I think we did good, don’t you?” He knows she means everything, all of it. Lena, three years old, bursts out of the propped open front door of the house, Dina on her heels. “We kinda made it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We did good.”

“I drew you a birthday picture, Daddy,” Clara tells him.

“C’mere, my angel. Let’s see it.” Sitting around the new kitchen table, he pulls her up into his lap, Lena following suit to scramble up as well.

There are seven figures: you, drawn with long hair that reaches your feet, Kate, Clara, and Lena, respectively, what he assumes is baby Connie drawn as a miniscule figure eight at your feet, something that resembles a tumble-weed more than a dog, poor Syd, and then… someone drawn as a big circle, with an even bigger head on top. “Where’m I, baby?”

“Right there.” She points at the big, round thing, “I made him soft like you, Daddy.” And she pats his belly so affectionately, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen, poor Syd – fuck, poor me, he thinks.

“Thanks, baby. I love it.” He squeezes her into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bent over the kitchen counter trying to strangle yourself in a kitchen towel to muffle the sounds of your hysterical laughter.

After scrambled eggs and hot breads with honey and jam, bacon and fruit and coffee, perfect girl that you are, you’d somehow gotten him a tin of beans as a birthday gift, you bring out what the girls call the pancake cake. A large, wide stack of the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes, all lathered in Dina’s whipped cream, and a mountainous heaping of bright red strawberries. He watches you, a thing akin to awe in his eyes as you set the red and white cloud down in front of him, you’d put on a soft blue dress, robins egg blue, with tiny lace cap sleeves that fluttered with your movements and made his stomach dip and swoop and ache to reach out and toy with them.

“The berries were a gift,” you say with a pleased smile.

“Oh, was it Jeff?” The grocer, Dina asks. “He’s so nice.”

“Who?” Joel frowns.

“Jeff, he works at the market. He–” You pause, a laughing smile playing on your lips. “He wanted me to wish you a happy birthday, baby.” His scowl deepens, your own smile widening.

As soon as the cake’s set in front of him there’s a chubby little hand sneaking forward to stick grubby fingers into the confection. “Lena,” looking down at her, and the hand is immediately snatched back. “Oh, the candles,” you remember as you’re about to take the seat next to him.

“Left them in the back room, with the other stuff I brought,” Dina calls as you head to what’s used as a makeshift laundry room at the back of the house. He gets up quickly, a murmured, I’ll help you look, following you and flicking the door shut behind him, the echoing sound of snickers and Ellie’s hooting, mesmerized by the swish and flow of the blue fabric around your legs, and with a bone to pick.

“You’re not allowed to go to the market anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Ellie or Dina with you.” He pouts and scowls and fumes behind you as you rifle through the bags they’d brought with them.

“Excuse me?” You say again, voice soft and patient, infused with just a tinge of laughter.

“You want me to say it again?” He steps forward, fingers ghosting through the ends of your long hair, hungry, possessive. “And who gave you permission to talk to other men?” And you snicker, not taking him seriously even a little bit. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you forward to squeeze your tits in his big hands, he’s obsessed, grinding his groin into the soft round of your ass. He drags his hands over the dips and contours of your body, squeezing lush curves as he goes, reaching to wrap around the delicate architecture of your jaw and pull your face around to look at him, taking in the beautiful heart shape of your mouth.

“Joel–” you chastise.

“Five minutes.”

“Behave, they’re gonna–”

“Don’t care. It’s my birthday.” He nuzzles your hair, searching for the small shell of your ear. “Just want a kiss, Birdie bird.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” but you turn in his arms anyways, pressing your mouth to his, licking into him before you’ve even fully got the words out. He gropes you, sliding a knee between your thighs to press against your mound and roll you against himself. Cupping the nape of your neck, he eats at you, sliding his tongue along yours. He can hear the desperate sound of his breath rattling in his own chest, and he slides his mouth down the slope of your neck, a soft nip to the tiny pulse there. He groans low in his chest, cock hard and straining against his jeans. “They takin’ them for the night, still?” He asks panting.

“They are,” voice a whimper, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging in frustration. You push him back by the shoulders, laughing gently, as you wiggle out from between his steaming, hard body and the counter. “Come on. Ellie’s gonna give you hell.” He braces his palms against the edge, head hanging trying to will his erection down and catch his breath. Jesus, Birdie.

“Mama, why did Daddy go in there with you?” Clara’s little voice sounds as he steps back out into the kitchen behind you.

“He was helping me–”

“They were making you another baby sister,” Ellie supplies unhelpfully, big fucking grin. Joel drags his thumb across his throat, staring daggers.

“How do they do that?” Kate asks.

Ellie’s mouth opens, readying to worsen the situation, “Ellie–” Joel warns.

Dina, ever the voice of reason, tells them patiently, “They write a letter to a stork, sweet. And then nine months later, he brings a baby.”

The girls are all quiet for a beat, digesting this newfound, eternally fascinating piece of information, until Kate says, in that solemn and level headed way of hers, hands primly set at the edge of the table, “I think the stork has come to our house too many times.”

Ellie cackles uncontrollably, Bridie’s giggle following suit, until the lot of them are caught in a net of laughter. Joel lets his head fall back, thumbs tucked at his belt, letting a long sigh out. “Jesus.”

“Jesus!” A little voice yells out in imitation.

“What is a stork?”

“A bird,” Ellie provides.

“Is that why mama is Birdie? Because she makes the baby come?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s why,” You tell Kate, smoothing a gentle hand over the crown of her bright blonde head. Inquisitive little thing. With your other hand you flick Ellie in the back of the head. Mother fucker, you mouth at her affronted look.

“Father fucker,” she mouths back with a snicker.

Once the candles are securely in the cake and lit, and Clara’s added her ever helpful, Mama, we need one thousand more candles, Daddy is so old, he nudges his head at you. “Come be a good girl, and sit on my lap,” he says quietly. You perch on the strong expanse of his thigh, one arm around the back of his neck, the other coming to entwine with the fingers of his hand at your waist, twisting the gold band of his ring round and round his finger.

The girls sing Happy Birthday, Daddy, at the top of their lungs, and you watch him watch them, the clenching of his jaw, those fine little muscles that wrap around his mandible, fluttering as he grinds his back molars together, the ripple of his throat as he swallows again and again. The corners of his eyes go a little wet, tears lining the edges of those gorgeous hazel eyes as he stares into the flames of his birthday candles while the girls sing to him – off key, off harmony, so full of love. Clara clambers up onto his other knee midway through, plants herself on the endlessly strong surface of her father’s thigh, the safest place in the whole world. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you,” she whispers up at him, laying her little head on his shoulder, gazing at him with those same hazel green eyes that reflect his own image back at him, remind him of another little girl he’ll never stop missing, and he brings his hand up to cradle the back of her skull in his large palm, presses his lips to her forehead, love you so much, baby girl, whispered into her skin. Your first baby. His eyes fill further, and they flutter closed, trying to contain all that you know he’s feeling right now. Your hand on the back of his neck strokes softly at the overly long curls, soft and thick. You press your thumb into the notch of his skull, anchor yourself there, I’m here, I’m here, we are here together, look at all we have, and he turns to look at you, his cheek resting on your daughter's head. “Thank you,” he says, and you know that he means for all of it.

Cheering squeals, laughter, and the padding rush of little feet over the floorboards as the rest of them start to run around the table, shrieking fills the air as they scramble over him, trying to climb up as well. He buries his face in your hair and shudders as he presses a tiny kiss to the soft lobe of your ear. Look at all we have. The whole world right here at our kitchen table.

The birthday of a perfectly happy man is spent like this: a long breakfast with the woman of his dreams and all his daughters surrounding, a lazy afternoon, trying to doze on the deep, lumpy couch, intermittently interrupted by a knobby knee and a sharp little elbow to the gut or thigh, lunch and peach cream popsicles on the porch, watching the clouds, searching for shapes like treasures in the deep blue sky.

He thinks of Sarah, as he lays there surrounded by her sisters. The sweet shape of her face, the dove green of her eyes surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes he’s still ever seen to this day, Lena’s eyes are the exact same shade, the texture of her curly hair beneath his palm. Her memory is faded now, after so long, but he works it like a muscle in his mind every day, a staunch refusal to ever let her go. And no matter how far away he moves from that day, he still asks himself sometimes: How does one grapple with the loss of something that big, something that essential? He’s lived with a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl for so long, decades, but now, with all of this surrounding him, he also has so many things that leave his heart so full he’s almost bursting with it. The two opposing feelings often leave him feeling bloated and without space within himself, and yet, he always finds another nook or cranny for more. Even when it’s left him tired, when his remembered past hangs over his head so that he feels, sometimes, like his edges are disjointed, not glued together symmetrically, you’re there to put him back to rights.

And the memory will always be painful, it will never not hurt. It’ll never not be agony. But it’s easier now, to recall all the wonderful, all the good. Sometimes, he almost feels afraid of the intensity of this happiness, but in those moments, when that old fear returns you’re able to recognize even that, like everything else in his heart you know as well as your own, and you take him into your arms, reminding him that his whole life is right here in this house now, that you’ve saved him.

“Look at the clouds, Daddy. There’s shapes.”

Sprawled in the lush grass in front of the house, the three girls surrounding him. He presses a kiss to Lena’s soft curls, “Look at that one,” he says, “What d'ya see there?”

“A bunny,” Kate says with all the self assurance of knowing she’s the eldest sister, and thus, the wisest.

“A bunny? You sure?”

“Yes, Daddy. Don’t you see it?” Clara interjects. “He has big ears and funny whiskers just like yours.” Raucous giggles and screeches after that as they jump over and across him, with claims that he needs reminding how a bunny hops and leaps.

Eventually, when they settle, Birdie brings out more cake, leaves the four of you to sit in a huddle criss-cross-apple-sauce and discuss the woes of kindergarten at the school house in town.

“Mama told me I’m not allowed to bite,” Clara gives an exasperated huff, abandoning her cake to melt into the grass and crawl into his lap. “She bites a lot,” Kate adds. Irritated, pushing unruly curls out of her strawberry red face, “But– but I don’t like that Mama said that to me, Daddy,” she continues, looking at him very seriously, “I like to bite so much,” followed by the most conniving smile he’s ever seen, besides Ellie’s, blooming proudly across her angel sweet face. He’s forced to swallow his laugh and explain the merits of listening to her mother, something they must all do. When he turns back to look at Lena, she’s licking the spilled whipped cream out of the grass. They have to go inside for baths after that.

At Kate’s behest, they have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner that night. Tommy, Maria and their son joining the family alongside Nancy, so that the table’s chock full of the people who care about him, all coming together to celebrate one more year of Joel’s life. By the end of the meal, he has all three girls perched on his lap, eating spaghetti off of his plate because, Daddy, it just tastes so much better from yours, obviously. He’s never been able to say no to them, and he isn’t about to start tonight, and you roll your eyes, but you also look at him with that gleam that tells him that if he asked you for another baby tonight, you’d probably not say no. They eat his food and yank on his hair and stab him with pointy sharp elbows in the ribs repeatedly, at one point someone sticks their finger up his nose, pulling his nostrils apart to look inside.

“Daddy, why do you have so many hairs all over?”

“It’s so dark and scary in there, Daddy.”

Clara nods so fast her curls bounce up and down around her head, “I feel scared when I look up there,” green eyes wide.

“What are they for, Daddy?”

Questions volleyed at him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to answer a single one of them. “If you eat spaghetti, will your boogers taste like spaghetti after?” Ellie, ever brilliant and helpful, suggests they try some to verify the theory.

“What is verify?” One asks.

“And what is seery?” Another calls. Birdie’s red in the face with laughter, and Joel feels very tired and very old and very ready to take his wife to bed.

“A theory is when you think about something,” Tommy says, and gives him that look he’s wont to throw his way when he’s about to make fun of Joel for not being able to keep it in his pants and stop procreating.

“And verify is to make sure,” Joel tells them.

“What is to make sure?”

“To know something.”

Kate nods solemnly, while Clara pauses, and then says, “I don’t think I know anything.” That worried sort of look only a five year old can get when an idea is just too big, crossing her little face.

Chuckles sound around the table, “That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.”

As they say good night, the girls packed and ready to spend the night at Tommy and Maria’s, Ellie and Dina taking baby Connie, Ellie pokes and prods at you.

“Would you quit, you little shit.”

“Dinner was nice, step mommy,” giving you a smarmy little smirk.

“You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s serious.”

She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Spit it.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re going through something right now? If you’re okay?”

“What? What do you mean?” Face twisted in confusion.

You snicker, pulling on the ends of her recently shorn hair, “Then what’s up with the new fuck ass little bob you’ve got going on?” She slaps you away, swatting at your arms, reaching down to get at your thighs too.

“Fuck you, mother fucker,” she laughs, trying to yank on your hair too.

“Stop it. You have to respect me. I’m your step mother, remember?”

“You’re so annoying.” You hear Joel call at the two of you to knock it off, but goes entirely ignored.

“Poor Dina’s gotta look at this mess. Let her know if she ever needs to get away from it, she can come stay here any time she likes.”

“I hate you,” she laughs, and you pull her in for a tight hug, another pinch to your side before she hugs you back.

“Tough shit, I love you.” She squeezes you tight, grumbles a little before returning the sentiment.

“Thank you,” she whispers into your shoulder, “For making him so fuckin’ happy.” You squeeze her tight as you can before she shoves you away, pretending not to sniffle and rolling her eyes at you. “Now stop being so fucking weird and sappy, and say good night to your football team.”

“Blood Meridian again?” You ask him from where you’re standing at the kitchen island, snipping the ends of the flowers Nancy had brought with her and arranging them in a vase. “How many times’ve you read that?” He’s sitting on the sofa, facing you, reading glasses sitting crooked and bent on his nose from where someone’s little foot had crushed the frames. You watch the flicker of his gaze as he peeks at the page number, and then snaps the book shut. He never uses a bookmark, always just remembers.

“Dunno–” big sigh, long stretch, “More than I can count now, I suppose.” He settles back into the couch, pushing his hips forward to slouch deep, tired, spreading his thighs wide, tempting you. You finish with the flowers, walking the vase to take center stage on the new table. At the far end of the table, right by your spot, he’s carved a tiny little sparrow into the surface of the oak. The etching so fine, so delicate, in comparison to the sight of him, big and brusque. It would be almost unbelievable to someone who didn’t know him as you do, who didn’t know the violence he’d endured to make him so gentle, someone who hadn’t watched him pull your newborn daughters from your own body, who hadn’t witnessed the incredible sight of him cradling those tiny little babies in his infinitely strong arms. You turn back to look at him over the hill of your shoulder, taking in the sight of him watching you, appraising your form. The slow rove of his eyes starting at your bare feet, moving up your legs as if his gaze was a physical manifestation of his hands on your skin, over the swell of your bottom, the slope of your spine, the fine crest of your shoulder, landing on your face. You can see his eyes moving over the planes of you, your chin, your mouth, cheeks, your eyes. He lands there, stays. You know he’ll be hard beneath his jeans when you go over to him.

“C’mere – come sit on me,” voice soft and sultry.

“Sit on you?”

“Mhmm, come tell me how much you love me.” He pats his thigh, and you move towards him slowly, shaking your head at him.

“Needy.” You reach him, hitching your knee over his lap to straddle him, and he pulls you close and tight against his warm, wide chest.

“So needy.” He nuzzles into the fine tendrils of hair over your forehead, his breath hot and soft on your skin. “Need ya so much, Birdie.” A soft kiss to your temple, another to the flared end of your eyebrow, and you squirm on his lap, hot and restless and needy also, a fine thrumming ache flaring throughout the various pressure points in your body. Your throat, the inner curves of your elbows, the backs of your knees, deep in the pit of your belly. You feel weak and trembling, and he fills his hand with your hair, bringing it to his face and rubbing the soft curls against his cheek. “It’s time I take you to bed, isn’t it?” You hum against his collarbone, taking in the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, cedar sap and sage and Joel, you nod slowly against him.

He runs a bath for the two of you, filling the deep clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. He’d outfitted the house from the get-go with the same system for electricity and water that Jackson ran on. And he pulls your clothes from you slowly, running rough, caressing hands over the sensitive slopes of your curves, gentle pinches and squeezes to the places he likes most which is all of you. When the two of you sink into the tub, he sits between your legs, wide back leaning back on your chest so that you can run your hands along the strong breadth of him. You taste the water off his skin and listen to the sound of him rumble and purr like some sort of overgrown wolf beneath your touch.

“Did Clara tell you what happened at school yesterday?”

“Said you told her no more biting.”

“Did you tell you she punched some poor boy?”

“She did what?” He tenses, long fingers wrapping tightly around the circumference of your ankle in his lap.

“She called one of the boys in her class, and I quote, a little fucker, and then socked him in the nose.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Clara,” he sighs, laying his head back on your shoulder. “Why in the hell did she do that?”

“She’s your daughter.”

He hums as if he can’t bring himself to disagree with the reasoning. “Little fucker probably deserved it.”

“You’re not supposed to call children fuckers, Joel.” He grunts. “She also told him that her dad was going to beat up his dad.”

“Oh my God. I’m too old for this shit.”

“They’re heathens because of you. I hope you know this.”

“They ain’t heathens. They’re perfect.”

“You weren’t saying that last week when they painted your face blue.”

“Jesus, you’re right. Thought it was never comin’ off.” You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but hugging him closer. The best father anyone could ever want for their children, surely. “Gotta teach her how to throw a good punch,” he adds to himself.

You wash each other’s hair after that, taking turns lathering each other up, rinsing out the suds, and when he’s finished with you, he carries you to bed. Lays you out like his own personal feast and tastes you everywhere. The pads of your water-wrinkled toes, the backs of your knees, the crest of each hip bone, cruelly bypassing the place you need him most. Dragging his mouth over your stomach, tongue savoring the silvery streaks left behind by the growth of your daughters inside of you, over your nipples, dark and swollen. His mouth rests at the notch of your throat lightly, and then, whispered against the moist spot he’d made with his tongue, “You’re the only dream I’ve ever had. You know that?” And you tell him that you do, you do know, your husband who is, in his own right, like a dream figure.

Finally, taking pity on you, he slides down between your thighs, making room for the incredible breadth of his shoulders, and gently as possible spreads you apart with his thumbs, takes in the sight of your embarrassingly slick, untouched cunt. He blows a slow stream of cool air over your pulsing clit, and bends his head to lightly drag his tongue over the swollen bundle. And you’re going to cry, real, desperate tears. “Joel, please, don’t be mean.” But he’s never been very good at that.

“Oh, I know,” he tuts, “My poor baby. Been waitin’ all day haven’t you?” He’d purposely not made you come all day. This had been his plan all along, you know it. Another, light as air slip of his tongue, his mouth, sliding down to your leaking opening, mouthing against it, barely there. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world, little bird. You know that?” And he licks your clit for real this time, the broad, flat of it pressing against you in one long, slow swipe. You can’t answer, ragged moan clawing up your throat. You reach for his dark head bent to your sex, one small foot propped against his thick shoulder to anchor yourself as he starts to eat you. Sucking hard and fast on your poor, throbbing clit, moving down to spear the strong muscle of his tongue into your pussy. You want more, you want his cock, you want it, you want it, you want it. He sucks the orgasm out of you, lapping and kissing at your cunt until you’re shuddering and shivering, clenching around that terrible, painful emptiness, leaking onto his tongue, and then surging up quickly. Massive fist around his cock, he presses the drooling head at your clit, teases you there slowly, watches the heave of your breasts as you struggle for breath. You bring your knees up, spread wider, inviting him in, and he notches the head slowly, giving you nothing more than the flared crown. He pauses there, thrusting shallowly, watching your swollen, red pussy swallow him, and head catching on the blushed rim, he spits, rubbing the flat of his fingers over the crest of your sex, the unsheathed length of his cock, and then presses in, in, in, in, all the way. You give a warbled whimper, trying to twist away, clawing at the sheets. You’ll never be used to it, never not enjoy the twinge of hurt when he gives you the whole thing. “Fuckin’ love it when you sing for me, little bird,” he moans. And he doesn’t give you a chance, doesn’t give you a second, he never does, setting a hard and brutal pace, riding your cunt like he owns it, because he does.

He wraps his hand around the round of your breast, squeezing, but still careful of how sensitive you are, thumb flicking at the tender nipple, and you spread your legs wider, one hand hooking beneath the sweaty back of your knee to pull yourself open, your other hand reaching down to cup the swinging weight of his balls as he thrusts up into you. He bares his teeth at you, wide palm landing with a little snapping slap low on your pelvis to press down, feel himself from the outside as you squeeze his balls. He shakes his head at you, fire in his eyes, “You’re gonna end up pregnant again, Birdie,” voice chastising, a little like a threat.

You close your eyes, back arching to take him deeper, don’t care, you want to say. “N– no, noooo, can’t” you pant instead, “Can’t get pregnant – breastfeeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, little girl.” He lets himself fall forward, the bone of his pelvis grinding against your clit, and your cunt goes tight and so, so fucking wet, throbbing and fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper, working around the hard invasion as you start to come. His sweaty, steaming head falls to your breast, mouthing wetly, fucking you through it, just like that, he murmurs, my perfect girl.

“Don’t– Don’t come in my pussy then.”

“No?” He slows his thrusts once he’s felt the trembling of your walls around him settle, lets his hips seesaw in and out slow and languorous, long provoking strokes. “Should I fill that sweet ass instead?” And despite the fierce blush that washes along the length of your body, you nod shyly at him, running your hands down his belly. The fact that he still possesses the ability to drive you to shyness after all this– “Say it, baby. I gotta hear it.” You flush impossibly deeper, little toes curling in humiliated excitement and lust.

“Please, daddy, please– I want it in my ass.” He pulls out suddenly, the lewd wet squelch of your cunt closing hungry around nothing. He spreads his fingers over the length of your sex, slick, gleaming cock, flushed so red it’s almost purple, veins pulsing along the length. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs as he starts to pet at your ass gently, thumb swiping, giving you light pressure, and then pushing in slowly, slowly. Your mouth falls open, gasping, eyes wide and wet and probably, definitely, a little pleading. “Lemme in, Birdie. Let me have this sweet little hole.” You nod, a marionette caught on his string, hips starting to hitch and follow the thrust of his invading thumb. “I’m gonna fill it with my come, and then watch it drip out of you. That what you want, baby?” Yes, yes. He pulls his thumb from you, slides his slick hand over your leaking sex again, and then fists his cock, the dull pressure of the wide head at your back entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel the stretch and burn of it. Your fingers claw and scrape against his chest and abdomen, trying to pull him towards you, push him away, legs shifting restlessly at his sides until he’s buried to the hilt, heavy sac pressed against the curve of your bottom. Sweat slides in steaming rivulets down his temples, his neck, and a bright red flush moves across his chest and up his thick neck. You watch a violent shudder jerk through him, lashes fluttering closed, and then screwing shut tightly as he tries to control the rush of his oncoming orgasm. He runs his hands up your stomach, the dips of your waist and hips, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re doing so well, my little love.” He opens his eyes to take you in, pulls his hips back, and then pushes in again. “Taking my fat cock in this tiny hole. Look how messy and wet your greedy cunt is. You want me to fuck you here too?” He pulls your lips apart, wide, thrums at your swollen clit, and then starts to press a single finger slowly into your pussy. And oh, it’s too much, it’s too much, stretched and stuffed so full of him everywhere, the play of his fingers also on your clit, he starts to fuck your ass in hard, jolting thrusts, growling your name through clenched teeth.

“Look at it,” he spits, “Look at where I’m fucking you open. Look at how you’re all fucking mine.” Your heart beating out of your chest, insides twisting and throbbing, you take in the sight of your blushed sex stretched to obscenity around him, his soaking fingers, two of them now, pressing slowly in and out of your cunt as he slams into your ass. You let your head fall back, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come – oh God.” You cross your arms over your face to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears, and he pulls his fingers out to slap the top of your cunt in a single stinging swat that you feel reverberate in the place he’s impaling you with his cock. “Nuh uh, you let me look at that gorgeous face when you come all over me.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – it’s too much.

He doesn’t give you a choice. There’s never been much of that where he’s concerned. Everything below your navel goes painfully tight, white light streaking across your eyes as you twist and writhe beneath him, and he follows suit, starts to fill you in thick pulses, the heat of his spend coating your insides with a savage snarl of your name, the breath nearly knocked out of you with the intensity of your shared orgasm. He lets his weight fall over you, pressing you into the bed, massive body shivering and jerking, buried deep inside of you, and after the last spit of his cock, he pulls from you slowly, moaning softly and rolls the both of you over. Draping your listless form over his chest, arranging your limbs how he pleases. You shiver and feel the sweat cool along the slope of your spine, enjoy the tickle of your lashes catching in the coarse hair of his chest. You feel him play with the long tresses of your hair, draping them over his chest and shoulders, rubbing the smell of you against himself. Picking up the hand curled over his shoulder, he absently draws the backs of your fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear, kissing and sucking on the soft tips.

“Tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“I love you, Birdie.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me.”

“I’ll always love you. For the rest of my life, as long as I live, I’ll love you.”

Nights later, after the excitement of celebration has died down, and the family’s settled back into peaceful routine, you think about when you’d first realized you were pregnant with Clara, and how you’d worried the news would disturb the happiness and peace he’d fought so hard to find for so many years, terrified that in some way, you’d force him into a situation he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared for. Now, looking across your large bed, two dark, curly heads, another bright, blonde as a star, separating the two of you while he sleeps deep and peacefully, Connie in her crib at your side, you are once again, like so many other times, hit with the full appreciation for the miracle this family is, how wrong you were to ever worry about it being anything but.

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neoarchipelago · 1 year

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Torn between :

Simon Riley who doesn't not/fears to have children because of his last trauma and hating his father. It's terrifying to him and it'll take a LOT of therapy to even consider having children. It's complicated to even see himself being a father.

And

Simon Riley who, every time he sees you, he sure wants you to be the one for the rest of his life. And he remembers how happy his brother was with his wife and little Joseph, just wants to have babies with you. He's scared but he wants to do better, and he is sure that he'll be better, because this is half of him and you. He'll love him/her like it's the only thing he breathes for. So he waits, he keeps the idea in mind, that only sleeps past his lips when he's buried deep inside your sweet cunt, praising and cooing about how he's going to fill you up with his cum.

And then he keeps it in mind, until he pops the question, until he sees you walk to the altar, until the first dance is over, until he's in the private plane offered by Laswell, going to the honeymoon in a secret place Price offered. Until he walks into the hotel room, holding you in his arms. Up to the point he slowly undresses you, eating you up like a madman until you're left shaking and sobbing. And perhaps it's a low blow but he slips his cock past your folds, slowly, raw, feeling you stretch around his fat cock as he coos:

"gonna make you mommy love? Do you want that?"

And you're already a mess because he had too much fun with you before even splitting you open. You register the words, not truly the full consequences of your answer though.

"y-yes... please... please..."

And he's gone.

You barely sleep that night. You wonder how that man has so much cum cuz you're left dripping every time. He cleans you up gently after, making sure to finger his cum back into you.

And it's the first try... cuz as soon as he's home his baby fever is off the roof. But he doesn't know that the first try was all it took. Cuz your next period isn't here, cuz he's in shock and ready to cry when he sees you, tears stained face as you hold a hand over your mouth and the over a small test with two bars clearly marked.

And then he's almost unbearable for the next 9 months. He tells Price first, and then the rest of the boys. They visit you back home with gifts, that Simon makes a point of checking each of them. This stuffed bear has buttons he needs to take them off, the baby might choke, etc etc.

The labor, he's in internal panic, but his military training and the love he has for you build up a facade of care and calm that helps you, oh so much, for your first delivery, that was long and exhausting.

It's all worth it for the look Simon gives your baby, holding them, skin to skin. He looks up at you, tears rolling down his cheeks, chanting 'thank you' again and again. It brings you to tears every time.

The way he looks at you when you're breastfeeding makes you blush and feel adored at the same time. You asked him once why he does it and he says:

"you're doing such a good job mama... feeding our little cub like that... fuck, it's going to grow big and strong, you're perfect."

You fight the urge to throw a pillow at him as you blush madly. You hold your baby too carefully to even consider moving.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Me right now because of my hormones:

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley with a baby fever

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

See No Evil, Hear No Evil {4}

Aemond Targaryen x deaf!fem!reader Summary: After the birth of your son there has not been any intimacy with Aemond, but that is about to change. Plus, Aemond being just a perfect husband and father. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, breastfeeding, smut, emotional instability from hormones etc WC: 3.4k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Gaelyn fussed at your hip, his chubby cheeks rosy from the fresh tears that he had spilled before the handmaids brought him to your tent. Your baby's cries had called to Aemond and shortly after Gaelyn was comforted in your arms your husband had arrived.

Aemond was filthy. Mud smeared up his riding leathers like he had been wading in the muck and dried blood was splattered across his tunic.

“Is he well?” Aemond asked as he stopped short of the clean rug that covered the forest floor where the camp had been set for Maelor’s name day celebration hunt.

You nodded with a smile as you settled onto the chaise and began unlacing the front of your dress with one hand. Aemond made to step forward and help but you cocked an eyebrow as his dirty boots and he froze as you spoke, “Wash.”

He grinned hearing your voice, savouring every time you chose to vocalise your thoughts and you were certain you could insult him and he would still be happy. He sauntered into the adjacent tent where a bath full of cold water waited and you followed his steps to see his clothing disappear piece by piece.

Gaelyn wriggled in your arms and you tore your eyes away from your husband to bare your breast. Your son wasted no time as he sought his nourishment and latched on with an ease that had not come naturally after his birth.

There had been many long nights spent with the maesters trying to get him to feed without it bringing you to your knees with the pain that erupted each time he latched. You had felt like you were failing Gaelyn, and Aemond too, when the situation turned dire and he started to lose the precious weight he needed to survive. The maesters had talked about your body as if you weren’t there reading their lips.

You shivered at the memory before the feeling of your milk dropping brought you back to the present and you watched Gaelyn’s mouth working to swallow the tide that flowed. The pain you had endured was worth it when you looked at your son who held the perfect balance of Aemond and you in his features. You would go through it all again in an instant.

A shadow pulled you away from Gaelyn’s violet eyes that were fluttering shut as he filled his little tummy to the brim and you found Aemond watching from the doorway with a towel slung low across his hips. “Don’t look at me that way, my love.”

It was hard not to when the drops of water running down the planes of his chest caught the light of the candles and reflected dozens of tiny flames, he looked like a god of fire. Longing grew in you with each passing second and you could not tear your eyes away from him. It had been months since you were intimate together but the trauma of Gaelyn’s birth and the tearing had left you fearful of trying to initiate sex.

Aemond, being a sweet supportive husband, waited patiently. He would not pressure you but you could see an equal longing in his eyes and beneath the towel.

He made to step forward and you held your hand up. He froze and a look of dejection crossed his face that sent a pang of hurt in your chest.

“Korolyn,” you called and the handmaid stepped into the tent with a curtsy. You held the sleeping Gaelyn out to her and she crossed the room to take your precious son for his nap only to stop as Aemond said something to her. You watched him follow so that he could press a gentle kiss to the tufts of white hair that peeked out of his bonnet before sending the maid on her way.

“I shall let you have your rest,” Aemond said as he tracked your steps over to the pallet bed that was hardly comfortable to sleep on in the wilderness.

You shook your head and patted the empty space beside you before continuing to unlace the bodice of your dress. Aemond’s throat bounced with the thick swallow he took and his chest rose with a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

Your hands shook with your response. I want to try.

Aemond’s eye darkened as the pupil erased the pale blue of his iris and the towel was discarded with his long strides he took to erase the distance between you. Your chest swelled with the deep breath you took at the sight of his naked body in all its glory, especially the size of cock as it swelled even larger with the invitation.

A slight tremor shivered through you and not all of it was in anticipation. Aemond was huge, and the grand maester had repaired the tears in your skin with stitches that had been pulled tight.

“I will be gentle, my love,” Aemond said he saw both the apprehension and the bravery in your eyes. “We can stop at any point, just tap my shoulder.”

You relaxed back into the bedding as his large hands began to massage their way up your legs. The tension in your body was evaporating with each press of his thumb along your muscles and soon you were exhaling deeply with contentment.

Aemond’s eye darted up to you when he reached your thighs and your sharp intake brought a smile of pride to his face before lowering himself onto his stomach so he could trail his hands with soft kisses. You could feel his lips moving against your skin but they were hidden between your legs and you were left to daydream of what he could say.

Your husband shifted closer and you felt his breath on the sensitive skin where you needed him most before it was his tongue. The wicked kiss sent fire streaking across your skin and your back arched off the bed as his tongue lashed through your folds and over your clit. The pleasure mounted when he eased one finger in, gently preparing you for a second, before curling them over the spot that had you seeing stars.

“Aemond,” you called, a plea for more. But your voice had the opposite effect and he broke away to look up in wonder. Your throat rumbled at the loss of his touch and your fingers laced into the damp strands of his hair to guide him back where he was. “Please.”

His eye narrowed with determination and he buried himself back between your legs to ravish you like a starving man. Perhaps he had been starved of your touch while your body recovered. On the heels of that thought came with a touch of guilt that ebbed away the pleasure that had been building.

A wave of frustration built where the climax had been and with each passing moment the bliss grew further from reach.

Aemond’s ministrations slowed as he felt the tension in your body once again and his eyebrows drew together in confusion as tears welled in your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” You shook your head but it dislodged the tears and he sat up to gather your shaking form in his arms.

I don’t know what is wrong with me. You weren’t sure he would be able to understand the signs with how badly your hands were shaking.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Aemond assured you as he tipped your chin back to talk to you.

“I want you,” you said aloud. You have waited so long.

“I waited my whole life for you, Y/N. I can wait until you are ready, no matter how long.”

I am ready, in here, you pointed to your heart before your shoulders slumped. But I can’t stop, you tapped your temple as you realised you hadn’t made a sign for it yet.

“Thinking?” Aemond offered at the perplexion on your face and you nodded. “What are you thinking about?”

You swept your hands in front of you, opening them palm up. Everything.

You looked at the carved horse on the floor, a present Aemond had bought for Gaelyn. I fear I am a bad mother, and a terrible wife who cannot perform her duty to her husband.

“You are neither of those things,” he disputed and he laid you back on the bed and hovered over your body. “The only duty we have is to uphold the sacred vows we promised. To love and cherish each other, even when our souls are no longer earthly bound.”

Your mood was a pendulum swinging wildly as your confession and his sweet words eased the lingering guilt and instead sent desire flooding through you.

You followed your instinct and shifted in his embrace to straddle him, lacing your fingers in his hair so you could pull him closer and show him how much his words affected you with a searing kiss. Slowly, your hips began to rock against him, rolling the head of cock through your folds, testing your body with each stroke that dipped deeper within you.

Aemond’s head fell back, lips parted and eye fluttering shut as you lowered yourself down his length and stilled as you adjusted to his size like it was the first time laying with him all over again.

His lips moved as his hands landed on your hips and his fingers dug in but the only word you caught was, ‘tight’.

Your confidence grew when his hands roamed your changed body, his palms cupping your breasts that had swelled with milk before dancing preciously over the stretch marks he had kissed as they appeared during those last months of pregnancy.

The fear and guilt seemed silly in hindsight. This was Aemond, your devoted husband. His love was neither finite nor conditional.

“I love you,” you said as an apology, as an oath and as a reminder before giving you both the pleasure that was long overdue.

You pushed Aemond onto his back and planted your hands on his chest as you rode him until your heart tried to escape your chest and your legs quaked around his hips. Stars danced in your vision before you were caged in strong arms and Aemond rolled with you in his embrace.

The air rushed from your lungs at the change in position and you felt him reach a new depth with each thrust. Your nails raked his back as you gripped him tightly and rocked wantonly against him, meeting each of his thrusts with your own in desperate need of more.

Aemond’s smirk grew as he licked his thumb with a long lash of his wet tongue before reaching between your bodies and pressing the pad to your clit. Darkness overcame you when you clenched your eyes shut and erupted at the circles he danced around the bundle of nerves.

You forced your eyes to open when you felt Aemond’s rhythm falter and his lips pressed in a tight line as he lost himself to the nirvana he found with your release.

The reassuring weight of his spent body draped over yours had been sorely missed and you enclosed him in your arms to bask in the moment while it lasted. All too soon he rolled off to he curl up behind you, his muscles more relaxed than you had seen them in months. He released more than just his seed when he came but the stresses you hadn’t known he was grappling with too.

Maelor’s celebration was in full swing as the rest of the hunting party returned and the camp took a lively turn. Musicians played flutes and lyres in the corner of the royal tent and you smiled as your niece and nephews danced together in the centre of the room.

Your smile only brightened as you spotted Gaelyn in Alicent’s arms, gently swaying him with the same timed movements of the other dancers.

“He woke not long ago,” Alicent said when you reached her. Her eyes followed the curve of Aemond’s arm around your waist and smiled to herself. “I thought you would appreciate the alone time.”

“Thank you,” you said as you dipped your head, unable to face your mother-in-law and the knowing look in her eyes.

Aemond had no qualms about it as he kissed her cheek and said his own thank you before taking Gaelyn into his own arms.

A few of the lords snickered and stared as Aemond spoke to Gaelyn while gently rocking him but your husband ignored them all, too caught up in the story of his hunt to care what others thought. Aemond had continually surprised you with how involved he had been with Gaelyn’s care, waking up in the night to comfort him and changing his messy diapers. From what the married maids had said, fathers tended to avoid their children until they could engage in conversation or ale.

Warm fingers delicately tapped your shoulder, stealing your attention away from the boys, and you were already smiling as you turned to greet your sister-in-law.

Helaena grew more beautiful with each passing season and the golden threaded dress she wore matched the strands of gold woven into the braids in her hair. “Dance with me, sister,” she said as she took your hands and began to drag you towards her children. Your feet refused to move as your arms moved away from you but with a strong tug that surprised you, you stumbled forward.

If it were anyone other than the Queen, the dance would have been deemed inappropriate as she placed a hand on your waist and tapped to the tempo for you to follow. You took some tentative steps, that you had seen done at countless feasts, before daring to look up and over Helaena’s shoulder to see the pride radiating from your husband.

“My turn, dear sister,” Aemond interrupted, taking her hand off your waist to replace it with his own. “I assume she has been giving you lessons once more?”

It was difficult to concentrate as his hand tapped the beat while it slowly slipped down to your waist to your hip and you stumbled losing count of your steps. He offered an apologetic smile as he lifted his hand back up but the darker look in his eye told you he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

Aemond’s fingers came to rest as the dance came to an end and he raised your hand to his lips to kiss the ring that rested on your finger, a small dragon engraved on the ridge of the band.

“You never cease to amaze me, my love.” Aemond laced his fingers with yours and led the way back to his mother who was cradling Gaelyn once again. You could see he was speaking to her but from his side it was hard to make out what they were discussing, but she nodded with whatever it was he asked.

“Let’s go,” he said as he made for the tent flaps.

“Where?” Aemond pulled you out into the open air where night had set in and the stars illuminated the sky with their shimmering winks. Walking backwards, he graced you with a smile that flipped your stomach. “For a ride.”

Aemond loved gliding on Vhagar’s back, he said he enjoyed the silence of the skies. The very thing that you had too much of was what he craved. The irony was not lost on you.

It had been many months since you had flown with Aemond. No matter how he tried to assure you it was safe to fly while pregnant you could not bring yourself to make the long climb up Vhagar’s netting to the saddle. But you had missed it.

There was something very intimate about sitting in the saddle with Aemond pressed to your back as he held the reins around your waist. Reading lips was difficult without twisting around so you just trusted that Aemond would keep you safe without having to communicate. It was an experience you could never share with anyone else, or ever want to.

Vhagar flew above the tree tops, climbing higher and higher into the night until you felt like you could reach out and touch the stars around you. It was peaceful despite the frigid air that invaded the layers of your dress and the cloak Aemond had draped over your shoulders before commanding his dragon to the skies.

It was almost like the wind blew away all the intrusive thoughts that had settled like cobwebs in your head.

Leaning back, you cosied into Aemond’s arms and rested your head on his shoulder while you admired his profile. His eye reflected the stars when he looked down at you and the length of his jawline softened when his lips curled up into a carefree smile that warmed your insides.

If only the moon were full, then you would have been able to find an empty page in your book and draw the milky light as it hit Aemond. Unfortunately you just had to rely on the memory of the picturesque sight and recall it again when you had candlelight.

All too soon Aemond pulled at the reins and Vhagar began to bank into a turn, setting her course for the campfires in the distance and the other dragons in the rolling fields. The fresh air had been as healing as the physical reunion with Aemond and you knew that going back to the Red Keep in the morning would be with a new sense of self, one that felt lighter and freer that the one that had left.

“Thank you,” you said after your shoes touched soil and Aemond released the grip on your waist from helping you off the last step in the netting. “I needed that.”

“You never have to thank me,” he reminded you for the umpteenth time before offering his elbow for the short walk back to camp. “Shall we?”

You winced as you remembered that it had been early evening when Gaelyn’s last fed and the thought left your breasts aching with their fullness. Slipping an arm through the crook of his, you nodded and used your free hand to massage the hard lumps through the bodice of the dress.

Aemond didn’t have to say one word but you saw the thought cross his mind and wagged a finger at him. “Not yours.”

A playful pout curved his lips down before he placed his palm over his chest arguing the fact they belonged to him. The argument continued all the way to the royal tent where Gaelyn awaited.

As if scenting his nourishment was arriving, your son began to fuss from across the room and his tiny fingers began to grab anything he could. Alicent’s lips parted with surprise or pain when Gaelyn found her long dark tresses and tangled his hand in them with a tug.

Aemond helped to untangle the mess as he apologised to his mother who waved it off with a reminder that her firstborn had been much the same - followed by a pointed look in King Aegon’s direction.

“Goodnight, my darling,” Alicent said before kissing your cheek. “It is delightful to see you looking refreshed.” She noticed your smile fade and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Being a mother is the hardest job there is, but you are doing wonderfully, my dear.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and threw your arms around the woman who had become more of a mother to you than your birth one was. Alicent returned the embrace just as strongly before pulling away and nodding in Aemond’s direction where he grappled to hold his son who wriggled more than an eel to reach for you.

“I don’t speak babe but I think he wants his supper,” Aemond said with a wry smile before his eye patch was stolen and tossed away. “That was uncalled for, my sweet boy.”

You picked up the patch and shoved it into your pocket before taking Gaelyn from Aemond, smirking as he instantly settled in your arms for the quick journey to your private tent. Your babe could hardly wait for you to bare your breast for him and an overeager latch caught your skin with a flash of pain before you could get him onto the nipple.

The relief of the weight in your breasts lessening was heaven and you knew you made a sound of satisfaction when Aemond’s head darted your way from where he turned down the bed. Needing to remind you, he pointed his finger at your breasts before placing his palm on his chest, reigniting his argument. Those are mine.

Taglist: @arcielee , @sheetalkalkhandey , @hydrationqueensworld , @matt-murdick , @avis15 , @caught-in-the-afterglow

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond smut #deaf!reader #house of the dragon imagine #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic

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