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potatoplace · 13 days ago

Text

A Match Into Water

Feysand x Vanserra!Reader

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | Request

Summary: You fall ill, slowly, until it takes over your life. Your mates watch helplessly as you're torn from them too soon.

Warnings: chronic illness leading to death, seizures, fainting rapid weight loss, let me know if I missed something

Words: ~5.2k

Author's Note: So this is for the lovely 🪐 anon, inspired by the song 'A Match Into Water' by Pierce the Veil - I hope I got the vibes right for it, I went with mega angst 🙏 let me know how you guys like it! I didn't start crying til the end, but uh... yeah this one was tough for me to even write, it just feels very heavy. So read with caution. It's up on AO3 too! 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

It began with a cough.

Not often enough to cause any concern. Not even every day.

And when it did become every day, you had gone to see Madja, who told you to drink plenty of fluids and gave you a special tea to help soothe your throat, which had grown increasingly scratchy.

Of course, you’d done your best to hide it from Rhys and Feyre at first. They were always so busy and stressed as High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, and you didn’t want to burden them further.

But when you had fainted during Starfall, tumbling off the edge of the House of Wind?

Rhys had caught you, thankfully, and you awoke to the sight of his violet eyes filled with worry. When you turned your head to the right, you saw Feyre, her blue eyes sparkling with tears, some of them already pouring down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asked you, one of her hands cupping your cheek softly.

Your head hurt and you were exhausted, but other than that you felt fine.

You didn’t have to open your mouth, Feyre already curled against the inside of your mind just how you liked. “Good, good. Madja’s run all the tests, but she wasn’t able to conclude what made you faint.”

“And, Madja told us that you’ve had a cough for a few weeks?” Rhys questioned, though you knew he was asking why you hadn’t told them.

With the little energy you had, you pulled him into your mind, showing him how worried you’d been for him and Feyre, how overworked they’d been the past few months, and how you only wanted to save them any worry for you, over something as silly as a cough.

Darling, he whispered into your mind, his midnight voice filling your head and washing away the ache that had been building. A cough isn’t silly, when it lasts for weeks. We want to make sure you are healthy, above all else.

You’re our mate, Y/N, a very important piece of our whole, Feyre cooed, climbing into the cot you were on and cradling you in her arms. We wouldn’t know what to do without you. So please, if you keep having problems, let us know?

You hummed in agreement, nuzzling into Feyre’s chest. I will.

Rhys’s head came to rest on your chest, listening to your heartbeat closely, but shot up a moment later when the door swung open.

Madja stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Ah, Y/N, it’s good to see that you’re awake,” she said as she stepped towards your cot, standing at the end of it. “Now, I wasn’t able to find the cause of your fainting tonight with any of my tests. I was wondering if you had any abnormal symptoms before you did? Anything like shortness of breath, lightheadedness, chest pains?”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting between Rhys and Feyre. “Uhm… I started feeling lightheaded when we arrived at the House of Wind, I think?” you said quietly. “And just before I went out my chest started hurting pretty badly so I went to the balcony for some fresh air…”

Rhys inhaled sharply at the news, and you turned to look at him. “You fell from the House, darling.”

Oh.

“Hm. If it happens again, make sure to sit down immediately, and try having something to eat or drink. And I’ll have you come in once a week-”

“Twice a week,” Feyre interrupted as she stroked your hair.

“Very well, twice a week until you’ve had no incidents for three months. I also want you to take more baths, they should help with the coughing you’ve been experiencing, in addition to the tea I gave you,” Madja said, writing out the instructions for you care and passing the paper to Rhys. “If you feel able to have your mates winnow you or carry you home, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a long soak in warm water, followed by plenty of sleep.”

Do you feel ready? Feyre asked softly. You nodded against her, and a moment later you were pulled into her arms and whisked through the fabric of the world, landing next to the bathing pool in Feyre’s old room in the Moonstone Palace. Rhys appeared just after, tugging you and Feyre into his arms. He pressed a kiss to your head, then to Feyre’s before letting his arms fall.

Let’s get you into the bath, love, Rhys whispered, a soft caress in your mind.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Just like your cough, the fainting only happened every so often.

Until it began happening weekly. And then daily.

Feyre had stopped most of her duties as High Lady, passing all those that didn’t require her directly off to Mor, who was more than happy to help, given the circumstances.

Rhys set foot in Illyria and the Hewn City maybe once a month, with Cassian taking charge of wrangling the war camps and Azriel overseeing Keir’s rule.

They much preferred staying with you whenever possible, taking you on short walks on the edge of the Sidra or snuggling on the couch, reading the latest novels Nesta had recommended together.

That was all you seemed to be able to do these days, if you wanted to stay conscious.

Currently you were sitting on a cot that had become so familiar to you, it was practically your second bed. Madja was standing before you, her hands hovering in front of you as she used her magic to scan your body.

She sighed and lowered her hands, writing something down in your chart. “I’m sorry, dear, but I still can’t find anything that could be causing these symptoms,” Madja said softly, giving your hand a squeeze when your eyes filled with tears.

“Do you… Could the Dawn Court possibly have answers?” you asked, rubbing your forehead to try to help with the pounding headache that had been building the past hour.

“I could ask some of my contacts there, they might have more experience with what’s happening to you,” Madja sighed, and you could tell she wasn’t hopeful. “It’s worth a try. Now… Have you reconsidered telling your family? I’m sure they would care to know, your mother and eldest brother at least.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to burden him, he’s just taking charge of the court now that father’s been eliminated,” you sighed. “I’d like to wait until I’m better.” You stood slowly from the cot under Madja’s disapproving eye, though she didn’t fight you on your decision to keep the news limited to the Velaris, following Madja to the door. It swung open, revealing Azriel, waiting to take you back to the River House.

If you couldn’t go to your appointments with Rhys or Feyre, you preferred going with Azriel. Cassian always had tears in his eyes, and Mor was overly cheerful, to the point your head ached from the positivity. Azriel was a perfect, neutral party. You knew he was worried for you, yes, but he never had misty eyes or tried to cheer you up, instead giving you the space to process whatever Madja had told you that day, usually the same news that she’d found nothing that would tell her what’s causing your health problems.

Today was no different. He let you walk through the clinic and out the door before stooping to lift you into his arms, taking off into the sky a moment later.

Our little secret, he had called it after one particularly bad appointment. You’d barely been able to walk that week, and had been so depressed at your situation. All you had wanted to do was go for a short flight, but Rhys and Feyre refused, worried that it might cause you to faint or have some other problem pop up. But Azriel had taken you to your appointment that day, and after had taken you into his arms, slowly ascending into the sky.

You’d cried in his arms, the freeing feeling of the wind in your hair washing away most of your worries, at least until you touched back down, just outside the River House.

Today, you looped your arms around his shoulders and looked around, gazing with lovesick eyes at the city you cared for so deeply.

The city you’d barely been able to be in, with your condition.

Your eyes traced the path of the Sidra, marked each building that you used to regularly visit, where your friends live.

Until the right side of your body started tingling suddenly, the pain in your head kicking up a notch-

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“We told you, NO. FLYING. How simple of an ask was that, Azriel?!” Rhys shouted in the distance, loud enough to break through the fuzziness in your ears. “Do you realize that you could have killed her?!”

A voice murmured something softly, and you tried opening your eyes to see what was happening.

But they were so heavy, and you were so tired.

You listened to Rhys yelling for a while longer, drifting in and out of consciousness until you felt a soft hand grip yours.

“Would the two of you shut up?!” Feyre asked angrily, her voice clear and close. “Y/N can hear you.”

An instant later, your other hand was held in between two large, warm ones, and you knew instantly that it was Rhys. Two hands gently grasped your feet, through a blanket.

It took you a few more minutes to muster the energy to open your eyes, blinking wearily up at Rhys and Feyre’s worried faces.

You hated that it was becoming a familiar sight.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Feyre said thickly, tears shining in her eyes as she stroked your hair. “How are you feeling?”

You inhaled slowly, thinking. My mouth is dry, you pushed down the bond, your tongue like cotton in your mouth. Feyre beamed at you, lifting your head gently while Rhys grabbed a glass sitting on the table next to your cot, carefully pouring cool, soothing water down your throat. You finished most of it before you had them pull it back, feeling a bit more awake now.

What happened?

Rhys inhaled sharply, shooting a glare towards your feet. Standing there was Azriel, looking guilty and… scared.

“You seized in Azriel’s arms, mid-flight,” Feyre answered. “He brought you back to Madja’s immediately, but you’ve been out for an hour.”

It’s not Azriel’s fault, you whispered to her. I insist on us flying home, my puppy dog eyes are too good.

Feyre smiled at you, a sad thing. I know, love. Rhys will realize that in a bit too, and apologize.

You gave Azriel a soft smile, hopefully conveying that you in no way blamed him for what happened.

But you knew he would still blame himself.

Madja walked into your room, famous clipboard in hand and an assistant healer by her side. “Y/N, I’m going to be keeping you overnight for observation, just to be sure you won’t seize again without immediate care. Rhys, Feyre, you can stay if you’d li-”

“Yes,” your mates answered in unison, and Madja smiled at them.

“I thought that would be the case. Now, we can get you moved into one of our overnight rooms, the beds in there should be big enough to fit the three of you, but most certainly two of you,” Madja explained. “Now, Norelle will be doing most of your care overnight, but I will still be in the building, available at any moment if you need me. Right now, we still don’t know much about you condition, so tell her if anything changes or gets worse, okay?” she asked, expectant eyes on you.

“Okay,” you agreed, not missing the way your mates also nodded their agreement to her.

“Good. Now, let’s get you into that other room, it should be far more comfortable,” Madja said with a smile.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

You’d been discharged the next morning, with Madja repeating her instructions to sit down and have something to drink if you start feeling off, as well as having one of your mates call for her or Norelle’s assistance.

Only three days later, you had another seizure, hitting you while you were walking in the backyard with Feyre.

You were kept overnight again, and released in the morning, still with no answers as to why your body seemed to be slowly falling apart.

Five days later, you seized again, this time hitting your head on the living room coffee table when no one was in the River House.

You woke to a familiar face hovering above you, glowing hands tracing over your body. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Thesan said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Your head ached terribly, much like it did before each seizure you’d had, and your entire body was sore.

Feyre relayed the information for you while Rhys carefully gave you small sips of water, his eyes completely devoid of stars.

“Hm,” Thesan hummed. “My magic can’t find anything wrong with you. Madja said that this all started with a cough, correct?” You nodded slightly. “And you began fainting at Starfall, preceded by lightheadedness and chest pains?” Another nod. “Those grew in frequency until you began seizing, yes?”

“Yes. Is there… Do you know what might be wrong with me?” you asked hoarsely.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve seen a case similar to yours before,” Thesan answered, somewhat hesitantly.

“And?” Rhys asked shortly, his eyes finally ripping away from you.

“She… It was a difficult road for her, before she passed.”

Feyre sobbed beside you, and you managed to turn your head to look at her, ignoring the stabbing pain in your head as you did so.

Hey, it’s going to be okay, you whispered into her mind. It’s going to be okay.

Her eyes locked onto yours, the anguish in them bringing tears to your own. I know, baby, I’m just scared for you.

Don’t be, we’ve got the second best High Lord helping me now, you told her with a tiny smile.

Feyre chuckled wetly before turning to Thesan. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I’d suggest transfusions of my blood once every other week, and one of yours on opposite weeks,” Thesan explained, and you made a face. Ew. “That should help heal your body from whatever is happening to it, as well as plenty of rest. And since I’m here now, we can start your first transfusion today."

You nodded, ready to get it over with, and hopefully you would start feeling normal again soon.

Maybe you’d even be able to go shopping in the Palaces again, without being carried by one of your mates the entire time.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

A week later, and you’d had no seizures, and only two fainting spells.

Which was perfect, because your brother’s first ball as High Lord of Autumn was tonight, and you desperately wanted to attend.

“Please?” you begged Feyre as you pulled a gown made in autumn colored silks from the closet. “I really want to see Eris be crowned, Fey.”

Feyre sighed beside you as she tried to avoid your eyes, failing miserably. “Fine, but only because you’re so damn cute,” she cooed as she pinched your cheek, pulling you in for a sweet kiss a moment later. “But once we get back, it’s bedrest tomorrow, alright?”

You scrunched your nose, but nodded anyways.

Twenty minutes later, you and Feyre were dressed and ready to leave, meeting Rhys in the living room. He looked mildly upset that you were dressed for the ball, but a moment later he smiled softly at you, likely after Feyre had told him your reasoning. “Are we ready, sweet mates of mine?”

You both nodded before Feyre and Rhys sandwiched you between them, winnowing to the Autumn Court in the next moment and landing in the entrance hall of the Forest House.

Your head went fuzzy for a moment before clearing, and you ignored the worried looks your mate shot you as Eris approached.

“Eri!” you squealed as you flung yourself into his arms, relishing in the way he squeezed you tightly. Before, hugs like these were saved for behind closed doors, one less piece of information for people to use against him. “Being High Lord really suits you, you look amazing!”

“You look lovely as well, sweetheart,” Eris replied, though you could see the worry in his eyes.

You’d lost the smallest amount of weight, you supposed, but it must have been noticeable to him…

“Dinner is just about to start, but once that’s done, I’d like to steal you away from your mates for a dance," Eris said as he led you into the grand hall, the table already set for dinner service, roasts and all.

Dinner was lovely, even with some of the tensions shared between the seven High Lords and their Ladies - or High Ladies, in the Night Court and Winter Court’s cases.

You felt fine all throughout it, and felt well enough to dance once with your brother, after he was crowned with the gold leaf crown of the High Lord of Autumn, adorned with glittering rubies, diamonds, and emeralds.

But halfway through the dance, a dull pain shot up at the base of your skull before spreading further, your body tingling, and you were just able to contact Feyre before all went dark.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“And when were you going to inform me?!” your brother asked furiously. “She is my sister, I deserve to know if she’s seizing every other day!”

A soft sigh came from your right, a hand gently squeezing yours.

More yelling, but you didn’t care to listen to it, instead shrinking into your mind, where Feyre was curled around you entirely, the inky night cocooning you so nicely.

You’d stay here forever, if you could.

Another hand clenched around your left one, so familiar that you knew it could only be your mother’s.

You drifted off again, coming out of your mind to the sound of more yelling. Your eyes cracked open, moving to the right to meet Feyre’s. Make them be quiet, please, you asked, the pounding in your head only worsened by the fighting.

She nodded, and mere seconds later the arguing ceased, Rhys and Eris making their way to your bed in your old quarters of the Forest House.

“Darling, it’s good to see you awake,” Rhys said quietly.

“Y/N, why didn’t you want me to know you’ve not been doing well?” Eris asked, his amber eyes locking to yours.

Because you would’ve dropped everything to see me, and you needed to secure the court, you told Feyre, and she passed the words on to Eris.

He sighed, but didn’t fight the truth of your words. “Still, I expect to know every detail of your care from now on, and for the two of you to contact me if anything even more serious occurs,” Eris demanded, eyeing Rhys and Feyre carefully.

Rhys nodded, and you knew that he’d keep his word.

“Now, I’m going to have the three of you stay the night until you feel well enough to travel, alright Y/N?” Eris asked, though you knew it was more of a demand than anything. You nodded. “Good. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning. Mother should be back in no more than an hour, she’s off grabbing some tea for you, she insisted on being the one to make it for you,” Eris said, his eyes softening.

“Night, Eri,” you said quietly, watching him leave your old room before looking at your mates. “So… Bedrest?” you asked sheepishly before yawning wide.

“Bedrest,” Feyre confirmed, tears in her eyes.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

The transfusions helped, in a way. You were seizing less, but your appetite had vanished entirely for the first few days following them, no matter how you tried to stop it. You began losing weight rapidly, even as you were feeling slightly better from the healing properties of both Feyre and Thesan’s blood.

But the reprieve it brought you dwindled quickly as your health worsened once more, only two months into the new course of treatment.

Nothing could save you, it seemed.

You tried to keep your darker thoughts from Rhys and Feyre, but you were so exhausted most times that you existed within their minds, leaving your tired, sore body behind for most of the day. So they heard the loss of hope happening within you as you stayed bed-bound for over a week straight, seizing too often to even leave your room now.

Eris had begun visiting at least once a week since your incident in the Autumn Court three months ago, and had been coming close to twice a week for the past three weeks. Your mother joined him most times, but today had stayed home.

“…Going to try that, okay?”

You blinked yourself back to awareness, eyes focusing on Eris’s. “What?”

He smiled patiently at you. “We’re going to try something different today. Thesan believes that you have a blood condition, and that my magic may be able to burn it away,” he explained.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to try and understand his words. All you really wanted was to be in your bed at the River House, snuggled on both sides by your mates.

Instead, you’d been stuck in this room, an overnight clinic room of Madja’s that had been set aside exclusively for you, almost all of your things having migrated here, with how often you had to be here.

Rhys squeezed your hand lightly, afraid to bruise your now-delicate skin. “We’ll be right here, darling,” he said softly, and you could hear how he was fighting tears.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, blinding pain shot through your body, heat burning you from the inside. A scream ripped from your throat and the pain stopped, but your nerve endings were on fire, every inch of your body feeling like a gaping wound as your clothes, the bedding, air touched it.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!” a voice roared from beside you, amplifying the pain in your head until you went unconscious, darkness overtaking you.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Mount Ramiel quaked beneath him as he slammed his fists into the ground, roaring into the air with a sound of pure pain and rage.

Pain, because his mate was dying, in pain every waking second of every day.

Rage, because the Mother had seen this fate fit for his mate, one of three pieces to a whole, who he could not imagine living, breathing, without.

The creature within him burst through his skin, night exploding around him and covering the mountaintop as he raged, waiting to calm enough to return to her side.

To watch her wither away, losing weight, losing consciousness, losing life.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Feyre sat at your bedside, quietly speaking to Thesan about any possible treatment routes that they hadn’t gone down.

Obviously, the thought that burning your blood with Eris’s healing fire was a misguided one, one that had sent you into a days long coma, still sleeping beside her. At peace, for once.

“I’m sorry, Feyre, but… I think it’s time to consider her quality of life, how much the treatments have affected her,” Thesan said carefully, watching as Feyre’s eyes sparked with rage, before calming into the numbed acceptance she had been displaying for weeks now.

“What would…” she sniffled, rubbing a few tears from her eyes. “What would you suggest, if we… If she wants to stop treatment? To make her… More comfortable?” Feyre hiccupped, grabbing your hand tighter.

Thesan sighed heavily. “We could give her medicine for the pain, but aside from that… I think the presence of her mates, her family, her friends would be the most helpful.”

Tears tracked down Feyre’s cheeks, and she nodded.

She could make that happen.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

You woke to the sound of quiet chatter around you, your eyelids leaden curtains that refused to part.

Hello, love, Feyre cooed into the expanse of your mind, sinking down next to you on the bed. Can you hear anyone besides me?

Yeah, you replied softly, curling into her presence.

Good, people wanted to talk to you. It’s alright if you can’t answer, they just wanted to let you know that they’re here, alright?

You hummed into your mind, the corners of your lips tilting up when Rhys joined her in cuddling you, physically and in your mind. You let yourself sink into the midnight darkness of them, let them hold you safely as your friends and family spoke to you.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Eris said thickly, and you felt him grasp your shin. “I can’t stop thinking about when you were ten, and you walked around declaring yourself as the High Lord’s heir apparent to all of our brother’s, me included. I’m glad I followed you, or Doran would have thrown you against a wall for it,” he chuckled. “And Lucien-”

“I made you a crown of leaves from outside, and the three of us had a ceremony in the woods, crowning you High Lady of Autumn,” Lucien finished. “It’s one of my fondest memories at Forest House, along with you covering for my dates with Jesminda. It took you an awful long time to learn how to read spellbooks.”

You giggled in your head, thinking of how happy he’d been, winnowing back into your room after seeing his first great love.

“Well I love how you were always ready to go shopping with me, even if you didn’t need anything yourself. We would chat for hours and have lunch and…” Mor sighed. “I loved having that time with you, Y/N.”

“You’re an amazing cook, probably the best I’ve ever met,” Cassian said, earning a few chuckles and a light slap, probably from Nesta. “And I’ve always thought of you as a sister of my own.”

“Y/N, you know that I love how you can beat me in chess, and we both have the same perfect taste in teas. You’re the one that I confide in, and you feel like a sister to me, as well,” Azriel said softly.

“I loved getting to work with you in the kitchen, Y/N, it was so amazing to learn from someone who knows so much. You’re also so kind, and you treated me so warmly from the moment we met,” Elain said with tears choking her throat, and you heard her turn and begin to cry, muffled, likely by Lucien’s shoulder.

“Maybe I didn’t trust you with my sister at first, but you have the exact same taste in novels as I do, and that… May sound silly, but it made me realize that you loved my sister and her mate, even without the bond. And I’ll always love you for loving her,” Nesta choked out, the most emotional you’d ever heard her in the fifty years you’d known her.

“My… My darling daughter,” your mother sniffled. “You have always been there, by my side. You kept my hopes alive Under the Mountain, and seeing you love so freely has brought me so much joy.”

The pain in your head kicked up when you tried to open your eyes to look at her, to see her once more. Suddenly every noise worsened it, before a wave of night washed down your spine and deadened your senses, and you heard almost everyone shuffle out of the room.

Mates stayed, though. Your Feyre, and your Rhys stayed behind, holding you close before sinking into your mind once more. They held you there, the sound of their heartbeats lulling you to sleep as they sent you images of Velaris, as if the three of you were flying again.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Soft music floated through your mind as you came to, your eyes opening slowly to the sight of your room in the River House, and a careful, slow glance to the left and right let you know that your mates were laying beside you, their arms and legs tangled around you.

Hello, darling, Rhys purred into your mind as he nuzzled your cheek.

Good morning, love, Feyre whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead softly. Are you hungry? Thirsty?

Thirsty, you groaned, letting her and Rhys adjust you and pour water down your throat, easing the aching dryness that had taken root there.

It never seemed to leave you for long, always coming back to make you cough, to make you lightheaded, to make you fall unconscious.

I love you, Feyre cooed when they settled you back against the pillows, letting her lips meet yours gently.

I love you too, Fey-ruh, you said after a moment, your brain working slowly to pull the words together.

And you know I love you too, Y/N, Rhys said before pressing his lips to yours next, softer than ever before, like you would break at the slightest pressure.

Your lips pulled up at the corners, your eyes meeting his blank, teary violet ones. And I love you, Rhysie. You breathed heavily before putting another sentence together. Don’t either of you ever forget it.

Hey, now, Rhys said softly. Don’t be talking like that, love.

You felt Feyre shaking beside you, her grip around you tightening. It’s going to happen. Just… Don’t forget me. But don’t… You coughed, your entire body going rigid until your lungs calmed. Don’t forget each other, you pleaded with them, looking between them slowly, seeing the tears in their eyes. Promise me, you demanded. Please.

You might be leaving your mates, but you would be damned if they left each other to join you, lost each other after losing you.

Okay, we promise. I promise, Rhys assured you, stroking your hair.

I promise, we won’t forget us, but most importantly, we will never forget you, Feyre said, tears streaming freely onto the pillows now.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. Good. I love you, you said tiredly, relaxing as much as you could into your mates’ hold.

You hardly noticed as you went unconscious, the feeling slipping over you with the next push of your lungs.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“This is it,” Madja said from the foot of the bed.

Your chest barely moved now, each breath growing shallower and shallower. You hadn’t woken in five days, the only liquids your body was receiving being from ice cubes, lifted to your lips to wet them.

Your frail, near lifeless body lay before them, and they could hardly breathe.

The sight of you withering away, the life in your eyes slowly dulling had been difficult, but nothing had prepared them for this.

Your death.

Rhys and Feyre crawled into the bed next to you, and pulled you against their chests, tears freely falling onto your skin, your hair, your nightgown.

They felt as your breath slowed further, your heartbeats growing fewer and fewer as your body finally gave out to the disease that had sapped your life from you in half a year.

When your last breath left you, when the golden thread that tied the three of you together shredded, severed, shattered inside of them…

Night erupted, covering the land in darkness, their anguished cries echoing throughout the Night Court as their mate lay in their arms, dead.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

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eristarlight · 4 months ago

Text

Happy birthday, @bc-jpeg!

You're incredibly cool, and I admire your work

I hope you have a wonderful day and month and year and life-

In general, Happy Birthday 💜

#bigbst4tz2 #bigb fanart #bigb #bigbstatz fanart #bigbstatz #traffic life #traffic smp #trafficblr #traffic series #life series #bigbst4tz2 fanart #mumbo jumbo #mumbo fanart #mumbo jumbo fanart

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covenofagatha · 5 months ago

Note

If you are able to. Could you please write an AgathaxReader where reader is very inscure about herself. Specifically the size of her breasts and Agatha shows reader just how much she appreciates every part of even the parts reader doesn't like. Maybe some soft smut.

(I don't see a lot about this.) But as always, only write this if you are comfortable with it.

💜🖤

Hope you enjoy!

What makes you beautiful

When you're feeling a little self-conscious about your body, Agatha takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2400

Warnings: body issues, low self-esteem, soft sex, oral, fluff, praise

It’s your fourth date with Agatha and you wonder how mad the older woman would be if you cancelled.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see her – because of course you do, she was great company and so hot and her lips on yours made you see stars – but you’re having a bit of a rough day.

Before one of your classes, you had gone into the bathroom only to find one of the most perfect-looking girls on the planet complaining about a microscopic pimple on her face to her just-as-perfect two best friends.

You know it shouldn’t have set you off the way it did, but watching three girls who were naturally gorgeous with clear skin and big boobs and curly hair talk about how “awful” they looked touched a sore spot.

Going into the big stall, you tried really hard to ignore your reflection in the mirror. You’re not really sure when that started happening, but ever since middle school, when you had the worst acne you’d ever seen, you stopped wanting to look at yourself.

It’s a lot better now, six months of Accutane did wonders for you, but you still have scars on your cheeks and wrinkles and just so many more blemishes than anyone else seemed to have.

But that had been enough to send your insecurities flaring up, about your face, your body, your age, your inexperience, especially when you thought about Agatha. And now you’re in a spiral of low self-esteem and doubt.

You had met Agatha while working as a barista. The first time she had walked through the doors, you had found yourself absolutely enchanted by everything about her: her long dark hair, her blue eyes, the confidence absolutely radiating off her. She was perfect.

And you were the tongue-tied barista who kept stuttering while repeating her order because of her intense gaze on you.

She just smirked though.

She then started making comments about how pretty you were when you would bring her the coffee, but you thought she was just being sweet.

Until Agatha finally asked you out, teasing you for not picking up on her flirting. You had just stared at her, completely dumbfounded, feeling like a complete idiot.

And things had gone well! She had taken you out to a nice dinner on your first date, a movie on your second, and pottery painting on your third.

Dropping you off at your dorm after each one like a perfect gentlewoman, never doing more than brushing a soft kiss against your lips.

And now, tonight, the fourth date is at her house.

Mostly by your doing.

When you had found out that the older woman had never even seen an episode of The Office, one of your favorite shows, you made it your personal mission to change that.

You can’t cancel, you know that. Plus, you don’t really want to. The older woman always finds a way to make you feel better.

But you sigh while putting on some light makeup, cursing your brain for being so affected by the girls earlier.

You know Agatha likes you. You know this. You can see it in the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles at you and the way she laughs when you say something silly and the way she gives you the best hugs when she drops you off after your dates.

And there’s no way Agatha would be with someone if she didn’t want to, least of all with a college kid half her age.

You chant those facts in your head like a mantra on the drive over to her house and all the way to her front door. You raise your hand to knock but it swings open to reveal Agatha in jeans and an oversized button-down shirt.

“Hey, baby,” she says, stepping aside to let you come in. You press a kiss to her cheek and she returns it and then leads you to the living room. It’s your first time at her house and you can’t help but take everything in.

It’s very her. From the artwork on the walls to the decor on the coffee table, you can tell that it’s her house, and you love it.

“So, do you want to eat now or just dive right in?” Agatha asks, grabbing the remote to the television and offering it to you. It’s still early afternoon and you aren’t too hungry, plus you’re really not in the mood to eat.

You take the remote from her and click the power button. “Can we eat in a little bit?” She nods and sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. You happily sit down and she wraps an arm around you to hold you close. It’s the most contact you’ve had with Agatha and her fingers against your lower back are heating you up.

Navigating to the show, you find the pilot episode and warn her that the entire first season is bad. She laughs melodically and kisses your temple.

Halfway through it, you start getting antsy. Your leg begins to bounce and you tap your fingers absentmindedly against your thigh.

You’ve already seen it and it hasn’t gotten any less cringey, plus you can smell Agatha’s sweet perfume.

“You okay?” Agatha asks quietly, noticing that you’ve gotten restless. You hum in agreement, tilting your head to look up at her, when you find her staring back at you.

More specifically, at your mouth.

You close the gap before you can even think about it, and she smiles against you in surprise. At first, it’s just tentative, small grazes but then it becomes more; your lips part for her hot tongue to slip inside and you moan at the feeling and taste of her.

The kiss gets heavier and her hands blindly help you maneuver until you’re sitting in her lap. She fumbles for the remote and then you can hear the television go quiet before she gently sucks at your bottom lip and her fingers slide down your back until they’re resting at your waist.

“Agatha,” you breathe, tugging at her hair, shifting on her. She plays with the bottom of your shirt and then slips her hands underneath it so her skin is bare against your hips. You gasp at the warmth and you begin to feel a pull in the lower part of your stomach.

But then she grabs onto the hem and, looking right into your eyes, asks, “Can I take this off?” Panic slowly starts to fill you even though you try to fight it.

“Oh, um, yeah, okay,” you say, nerves evident in your voice, and her eyes widen.

“Is everything okay? Sorry, I don’t mean to push, we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do,” she says, yanking her hands away from your body, and you can tell how guilty she feels.

You take her hands in yours, interlacing your fingers. “No, I want to, it’s just…” you trail off, looking anywhere but at her in the room.

“What, doll? You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m just a little self-conscious. Like about myself and my body.” And then the words start to pour out of your mouth. “I just wish my face and my stomach and my boobs and like all of it were different.”

Tears prick your eyes from embarrassment at your outburst and you dare to glance at her, expecting her to be laughing or something.

But she’s solemnly looking right back at you. “Baby, you are so perfect,” she says so softly that it almost makes your heart melt.

You scoff in disbelief and she kisses your nose, your forehead, and then both of your cheeks. She tilts your face up so she can kiss your chin.

“Every part of you is so beautiful.”

You blush furiously. “M’kay.Thank you,” you mumble, not knowing how to deal with the praise. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Say what, doll? The truth?” You try to squirm away but she doesn’t let you. “Can I show you how perfect I think you are?”

You look, really look, into her eyes and see only compassion and earnestness. You nod. “Okay.” She smiles and turns your face so she can press her lips against every blemish you have on your right cheek, and then repeats on the left side.

You’re almost completely overcome by emotion when she whispers “Beautiful.” You drag her mouth to yours, needing to feel more of her.

This time, you don’t wait for her to ask to take your shirt off. You reach down and pull it over your head and get immense pleasure in the way she looks down and groans.

“Oh, doll,” she sighs, hands tracing over your stomach and up to the edge of your bra. You chew on your bottom lip, still feeling hints of insecurity. You know boob size is something that you rationally shouldn’t be bothered by, but you still wish they were bigger. Agatha reaches around you to toy with the clasp. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, tensing just a little when she slides the bra off you. You fight the urge to cover yourself but Agatha just sharply inhales.

“God, look at you,” she says, more to herself than to you, and then her hands are cupping you. Your head rolls back as her thumbs play with your nipples. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Your body is so fucking perfect.”

She leans down and licks up your breast, chuckling at your moan. Her teeth nip at the undersides of the slight curvature and your breathing has quickly increased, the heat in your stomach rapidly growing. When her tongue flicks over your nipples and she sucks them into her mouth, it’s like there’s a wire running straight from your breasts to your cunt and she’s lighting it up.

“Agatha,” you plead but she stays right where she is, dragging her mouth over every square inch of your chest until you’re dripping. She goes painstakingly slow, paying so much more attention to your breasts than you ever thought possible, and you’ve turned into a whimpering, needy mess on top of her.

“Why don’t you lay on your back, baby?” She suggests and you move quicker than you’d ever have to climb off her lap and readjust on the couch, all your insecurities forgotten and washed away with Agatha’s lips.

But she’s committed to making sure that you feel good about yourself. Her mouth moves downwards, scraping her teeth gently against your ribs and stomach, against the little pouch that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try, leaving a trail of saliva. It tickles when she dips her tongue into your belly button and you giggle, but her featherlight kisses make you feel more accepting of yourself than ever. Goosebumps have risen all over you even though there is a fire in your belly.

“So pretty,” she whispers, eyes flicking back up to you to take in your needy state.

“Agatha,” you whimper again, begging for more, desperately needing for her mouth that feels so good against you to just go a little lower.

She chuckles and you can feel the vibrations against your skin, making you roll your hips. “Patience, honey,” she shushes. “Let me worship you and show you just how much I appreciate all of you.” A small sound escapes your lips when she playfully bites at your pelvic bone and she goes back to painting your stomach with her mouth.

And when she finally, finally, tugs at the waistband of your shorts, you don’t have a single doubt or insecurity in your head. You raise your legs up to help her take them off and then she drags down your underwear so slowly it makes you even more crazy for her.

“Baby, you’re so wet,” she remarks, hands stroking up and down your inner thighs.

You clench around nothing and whine. “Please, Aggie, I need you.” She sinks her teeth into the sensitive flesh on the insides of your legs and then soothes the spots with her tongue.

“You’re so perfect, princess. You’re so beautiful, every part of you. Just the picture of flawlessness,” she says, at last stroking through your folds with her tongue. Your head falls back against the pillow at how good, how hot, she feels against you and a moan slips out of your mouth. You’re already so worked up from her teasing and she knows just what to do to build up your pleasure quickly. She knows it won’t take long and she’s not going to drag it out.

“So pretty, such a pretty pussy,” Agatha says absentmindedly, dipping her tongue inside you, curling it, and then dragging it up to swirl at your clit. Your hands tangle in her hair while she continues moving her mouth on you, making little noises that reverberate against your cunt and only heighten the pleasure.

“Agatha, so close,” you groan, grinding her hips against her face even more to chase the feeling building up in you.

She pulls away for one second. “Cum for me, my perfect, beautiful princess,” she says and you gasp, the praise getting you to the edge. And then her teeth scrape against your clit and she sucks hard on it, which throws you over and you cum all over her face, hips still rolling while she continues to lap at you.

You whimper when it becomes too much and you tug on her hair to pull her back up into a long kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

She smiles against your lips. “Feel better, baby?” You nod your head and clasp her cheeks to kiss her even deeper. “Do you want to turn the TV back on?”

“Can we just cuddle for a bit?” You ask hopefully, and her face lights up. Your heart soars with so much fondness for this older woman.

“Of course, doll.” She wraps you up in a blanket from the couch and you settle in next to her, wrapping an arm and a leg around her. She kisses your head. “You’re so perfect, don’t ever think otherwise.”

And for maybe the first time ever, you believe it.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along #covsfics

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specialagentlokitty · 8 months ago

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11th doctor x reader - tired rambles

Hi, hope you're doing well. Could I request a Doctor Who 11th Doctor x reader with this prompt that the reader will say "I love it when you're half asleep, hair sticking out everywhere and rambling nonsense. It's cute"? - Anon💜

It wasn’t often the doctor slept, it was even rarer that the time lord would stay in place for more than a few days at most.

But sometimes all his adventures would get to him, and he would always find his way to your front door, and today was no different.

You hadn’t long woken up when you heard the sound of him knocking on your door and calling out your name repeatedly.

Unlocking the door, a very tired but still slightly hyper doctor came stumbling through with a bright smile on his face.

“You’ll never believe what I just saw! The sun as a person! It had arms and legs!”

Blinking a few times, you close the front door and turn to face the doctor who was now wondering around your living room rearranging things it out realising.

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“The sun? With arms and legs…?”

“Exactly! Yes! A whole burning planet with a body! Why did it have a body you ask! I don’t know!”

The doctor ruffled his hair and turned around to look at you.

He was clearly tired, and his clothes slightly disheveled.

He had clearly just gotten back from an adventure.

“And all I could think about was how much you’d love to see something like that! I wanted to come back and get you to show you but then I lost control of the TARDIS and she wouldn’t move and the sun just swatted me around like a bouncy ball!”

You nod along, walking over to him and gently take his arm to lead him to your room.

The doctor placed his hand over yours and followed behind you, still telling you all about his latest adventure and everything that happened, even as you sat him down on your bed.

Carefully you remove his blazer, setting it aside and take off his bow tie, undoing the top button on his shirt before guiding him to lay down.

Putting his blazer and bow tie on the chair in the corner you come back over to sit next to him, smiling softly.

“Turns out the sun was just young, and wanted somebody to play games! So that’s what we did, we played all sorts of games! I taught the sun some games you taught me!”

The doctor looks at you and pauses his rambling when he sees you smiling at him, and he smiled even brighter.

“Why are you smiling?” He asked.

This makes you laugh a little bit, and you gently place your hand on his head, carefully running you fingers through his hair which makes him hum happily.

"I love it when you're half asleep, hair sticking out everywhere and rambling nonsense. It's cute.” you say softly.

The doctor smiles a little more, closing his eyes as you carry on running your fingers through his hair.

“You think I’m cute…?” He asks tiredly.

“I think you’re really cute, now go to sleep.”

He goes to protest but a yawn cuts him off, and he rolls on to his side, holding your hand to his chest as he falls asleep within seconds

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #doctor who x you #doctor who x y/n #doctor who imagine #11th doctor #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x you #11th doctor imagine #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader

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absurdthirst · 1 year ago

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Mother's Day Surprise {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: Menstrual blood/cramping, violent attack, near death, surgery, comma, mentions of blood and disturbing scenes, recovery, assistance with basic needs, helping Joel shower, confessions of feelings, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, mentions of family planning, breeding kink, dirty talk, cream pie, infertility, depression, feelings of worthlessness, death, harsh and cruel world, babies

Comments: Helping Joel Miller recover from a horrific attack leads to a life you never knew possible.

**🚨🚨 Contains spoilers for Season 2 of The Last of Us🚨🚨**

A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all those lovely moms out there and anyone wishing to become one in the future. Being a mom doesn't necessarily mean biologically. 💜

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You grunt, squinting as you struggle to see in the dark. It's the middle of the night, the sun not yet peeking through the curtains, and you wonder why you woke up until your stomach twists and you realize you're wet between your thighs. "No. No. No. No." You cry, tears in your eyes as you scramble out of bed and rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You shove your shorts down and sob at the blood that's gathered there. You got your period. Again. You sit down on the toilet and gather some paper to clean yourself up while you try to smother your cries but there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice resonates through it, "are you okay, sweetheart?" He asks and you choke out, "the bed." Joel walks over to turn the lamp on, his eyes widening at the blood on the sheets. "Oh sweetheart." He sighs, resting his forehead against the door frame. "I'm sorry, baby. I - I am useless." You sob and he rattles the door handle, "let me in." He demands and you flush the toilet, washing your hands before you open the door. Joel immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. "We will try again." He promises, "I didn't give up when I was recovering and we won't give up now." He assures you while you sob into his chest.

He sighs, not even going to deny his own disappointment, although people who used to know him in the Boston QZ would never believe it. Joel Miller, disappointed that you aren’t pregnant. The very obvious sign of his seed not taking root staining the sheets of the bed you share. He shouldn’t want a child. He’s closer to fucking sixty years old than not, just a few years shy and yet he finds himself wanting to see you round with his child. His second child by blood, his third in his heart. Ellie is staying with Dina tonight, so he doesn’t have to worry about waking her up as your sobs wrack your body. “You aren’t useless.” He soothes, frowning when he remembers your emotional words. Standing in the bathroom, he wishes there was something that he could do, fertility doctors from twenty plus years ago were a thing of the past. Most people do not want to bring children into this fungi infested world, but here in Jackson, he has hope for the future. Hope for a chance to pass on a legacy.

You cling to him, knowing he's disappointed. Lord knows you've been trying enough but you just can't seem to get pregnant. It's like you are cursed and you wonder if Joel's injuries hurt your chances.

****

You gasp when you look up to see a mangled man carried into the hospital. You set your cup of coffee down and stand up, the resident doctor rushing around to try and stop the bleeding. "What the hell?" You ask and a teenage girl is clinging to his hand as the team try to wheel him into the surgery room. "Joel. Joel. Don't leave me." She pleads, tears in her eyes, and you reach for her. "He's in good hands, sweetheart. Come here. Let the doctor work." You manage to drag her away and she wraps her arms around you and sobs, "I didn't know - she nearly - they nearly- it's all my fault." She chokes and you rub her back, frowning at the doors where the man disappeared.

Hours later, the door swings open and the doctor comes back through, his work scrubs stained with blood. Ellie had been impatiently sitting and leaps out of her seat. “Is he alive? Where is he? I want to see him.” She demands, making the doctor lift his hands slightly. “He’s alive.” He reassures her, making her tense shoulders slump with relief and tears prick her eyes. “There was massive trauma to the head, and-“ Ellie interrupts him. “Of course there is, that bitch tried to beat him to death with a fucking golf club.”

Your eyes widen at the news that he was nearly beaten to death. You wrap your arm around Ellie’s shoulder. She had rambled about how Joel saved her, how much she loves him, how he’s the father she never had. Her words made your heart melt and you silently prayed he pulled through. “It’s going to be a long road to recovery. For now, we will monitor him and see if he pulls through the night. It’s touch and go still.” The doctor warns Ellie who nods, “he will pull through. Joel is a stubborn fucker.” You chuckle and rub her upper arm, “let’s get you something to eat and a shower and we can come back when he’s settled in a room.” You suggest and she’s reluctant to leave but the doctor nods, “he’s unconscious. Will be for a few days at least. His body needs rest. Go get some food and he will be waiting for you.” Ellie nods and lets you guide her to your house. Her home needs to be cleaned up and you don’t want her to see the aftermath of the battle that occurred in her home.

Joel had put up a fight. Furniture is broken, the mirror in the hallway - one he had grumbled about every day when it showed him how old he is - is shattered. Shards of glass and spurts of blood splash the walls. Ellie grimaces and stops at the blood stain on the floor right by the open front door. Obviously no one had cared about closing up the house when rushing Joel off to the hospital. “Right.” She sighs, turning when she hears someone running towards her. “Ellie! Fuck, is Joel alright?” Breathless, Tommy stops in front of the teenager and his face almost begs her to tell him that his older brother is okay. “I tracked her, but she got away.” He explains; that being the reason he wasn’t at the hospital earlier. “She went to the river and I couldn’t track her from there.”

Ellie straightens her back, shaking her head, “that fucking bitch.” She growls and you answer Tommy’s question. “Joel had surgery. He’s unconscious right now. Still in the air as to him waking up without brain damage. The doctor did the best he could but it…it was bad.” You admit and Tommy closes his eyes, needing to see his brother. “I need to see him.” He says and you nod, “he’s unconscious still. I’m going to get Ellie changed and get her something to eat.” You tell Tommy who reaches out to squeeze Ellie’s shoulder. “Get something to eat, kid. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Tommy promises and Ellie doesn’t say anything else, going quiet. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

You nod, “go clean up. I’ll get started on trying to clean this up.” You tell her and she makes her way upstairs. You sigh, looking over at the pool of blood and you feel sick. You’ve always had a crush on the older Miller brother since he arrived at Jackson, but you’re certain he doesn’t even know you exist.

****

You check Joel’s pulse, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids. He’s still unconscious, has been for a few days, and the hospital isn’t equipped with equipment to test brain function. All you can do is watch and wait to see if he will wake up.

Joel hurts, every inch of his body hurts and it feels like he’s trying to move mountains just to open his eyes. Fingers twitching and he opens his mouth, groaning quietly.

You gasp when you hear him groan, watching his eyes flutter, and you let go of his wrist, calling for the doctor. The doctor comes in and you gesture to Joel, “he is waking up.” The doctor nods, checking Joel over, his bandages wrapped around his head, and they had to shave his head to perform the surgery. You wonder if he will be angry about losing his hair. Ellie is in the waiting room so you head out to see her. “He’s awake.” You tell her and she stands up, “he is. I want to see him.” You shake your head, “the doctor is checking him over. Let’s give them some time.”

It takes a long time to understand what the doctors are telling him, frowning in confusion and wondering why his head feels like it’s been squashed like a grape. Moving is slower and he hisses in pain when he learns that his ribs have been broken and his leg is also fractured. Opening his mouth, it’s hard to get a word out. “E-E-El-Ellie.” He manages, needing to see her.

The doctor nods, “she’s okay.” You escort Ellie into the room, wanting her to see her father is awake, and she rushes over to the bed. “Joel. Joel. I’m sorry.” Ellie chokes, reaching for his hand. He groans as he squeezes her hand, silently assured that she’s okay.” You watch their reunion with tears in your eyes from the doorway.

“D-d-don’t bl-ame y-your-self.” Joel rasps out, still fuzzy on what happened. He doesn’t remember anything much before waking up in the hospital. Although he gets the sense he was angry- desperate. He groans in pain when she lunges forward to hug him, but he doesn’t push her away.

You watch Ellie hug him and you know in that moment you’ll do whatever you can do to make sure Joel gets better. Ellie pulls back after several moments and the doctor checks Joel’s vitals. “He needs some more time here so we can observe him.” Ellie nods at the doctor’s words and you walk over to rub her back.

“I’m going be honest, Mr. Miller,” the doctor tells him as he pulls back. “I am surprised that you even woke up. There was significant bleeding and swelling of the brain. Tests seem positive but there could be damage that hasn’t manifested itself yet.” He tells Joel. “It’s going to be a long road to recovery for you.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. He was nearly murdered. He knows he shouldn’t be alive right now. Ellie sniffs as she steps back and Joel attempts to squeeze her hand. The doctor grabs his clipboard and looks at Joel’s recent vitals. “Waking up was half the struggle. Let’s monitor you and go from there.” The doctor says, “and we will keep running tests.” Joel grunts out an “okay” and you offer him a smile, “you’re a fighter just like Ellie said. She’s lucky to have you.”

You’re familiar to him, he can’t place it, but his thoughts are still fuzzy and jumbled. “How- how long have I been here?” He asks after a moment. “Three days.” Ellie answers and he frowns. “Who- where have you been sleeping?”

Ellie says your name, “I have been staying in her house. She has been cleaning our house because there was too much blood and - and it was a mess.” Ellie reveals and Joel’s eyes are hazy as they meet yours, silently saying goodbye thank you and you nod in response. “Just focus on getting better, Ellie and I are enjoying some girl time.” You tease, winking at Ellie who chuckles.

****

Joel stays in hospital for two weeks and you look after Ellie, preparing his home for his return, and when the doctor declares him fit to leave, he says that he needs someone to look after him. He still can’t shower by himself, he needs help eating and he struggles to walk alone. It’s going to be a long recovery for Joel. “I can help,” Ellie says without hesitation as Joel sits on the edge of the bed.

“You can’t help me do everything.” Joel grunts, knowing that he could never allow the teenage girl to help him shower or get to fucking bathroom. “I- Tommy-“ his brother has been by to visit every day, and he’s talked to him about taking Ellie. He doesn’t know how he will manage, but he also knows he can’t burden Maria and their baby with his convalesce.

“Tommy is out of town on a scouting mission.” Ellie says, knowing Joel’s brother was set on revenge for his brother’s condition. He just had to track Abby down. “I can help.” You volunteer, feeling close to him despite not having a full conversation with him. Spending time with Ellie, hearing her stories about Joel and his bravery had made you fond of him. “I can help him at home.” You offer and the doctor looks to Joel for his answer.

His eyes slide to you, unsure why you would volunteer to help him, but the doctor immediately nods. “That would be a good idea.” He agrees. “You can check his bandages and make sure that he doesn’t get an infection.” He smiles at the three of you like it’s a done deal and Joel frowns slightly, not sure if he likes the idea of you helping him.

You nod, noticing Ellie’s grateful smile, and you look at Joel, “it’s for the best. I can monitor your health and help you. I’m a nurse. It’s a medical decision.” You tell him and he grunts, knowing he doesn’t have a choice. He’s discharged and you wheel him to the doctor’s truck, knowing Joel won’t be able to walk home. You arrive outside of the house and Joel grunts, “I can walk.” He doesn’t want a wheelchair so you let him wrap his arm around you to guide him into the house. “Take your time.” You reassure him, “no need to rush.”

The shuffle is slow and painful, making him huff in irritation that he can’t move like he would want to. Even as he’s gotten older and been slower, he’s been able to move how he wanted to. Now, in a cast and recovering from nearly dying, he needs help. Ellie jumps forward to open the door and he’s glad to see that the scene that had been left from the attack you told him about has been cleaned away. He will have to thank you for that. “Fuck.” He pants, out of breath and in pain just because of the short walk from the truck to the house. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m getting upstairs.”

“We moved a bed downstairs.” You tell him, “you won’t be going upstairs for a while.” You escort him into the living room and help him settle down on the bed. He’s only wearing socks so he groans as he sits down and you help him lay on the bed. “You need to rest as much as possible. Let me get you some water. Are you hungry?” You ask, helping him settle against the pillows.

“Can you cook better than the shit they served at the hospital?” He grumbles, having not enjoyed the food there. He’s relieved to be home and his head hurts a little bit less today than before. He’s got a plate covering the fractured portion of his skull and they actually had to remove a large chunk of the bone.

You chuckle, “I like to think so. I’m glad your appetite is back. What do you feel like? I make a mean mac and cheese.” You adjust his pillow and Ellie comes to sit down next to him. “She’s a really good cook. Like really good. I’ve been helping make cheese and we even made a cake.” She tells Joel with wide eyes, shocked at how this place is like life in books she read.

“Sure.” Joel agrees, the little fissure of pain at the mention of a cake isn’t as rough as it might once have been. The last night she had been alive, Sarah had wanted a cake desperately for Joel’s birthday. “Make something the kid likes.” He suggests. “I eat anything.”

You smile, liking how he caters to Ellie, and you know that Ellie told the truth about the man she considers a father. “What do you want, sweetheart?” You ask her and she nods, “Mac and cheese.” You ask if she wants to help you while Joel gets settled in and Ellie follows you into the kitchen so you can get started on the food and you pour Joel a glass of water. “You want to take this to Joel?” You ask Ellie who takes the glass and takes it to her father figure.

Joel listens to the sound of people talking in the kitchen and it’s so strange. He can’t make out what’s being said, but he can hear voices. It’s almost unsettling that there is someone else in the safe, cozy home that he and Ellie have managed to carve out for themselves. Tommy told him that Abby, the girl who had attacked him, was the daughter of the doctor he had killed to save Ellie. His past sins were coming back to haunt him, but he doesn’t regret not letting the teen sacrifice herself for a lost cause.

Ellie comes back out to hand Joel the glass of water and he takes it, taking a sip. “Thanks, kid.” He says and she sits down at the edge of his bed. “I- I thought I was gonna lose you.” She whispers, her brown eyes meeting his, “I was scared.” She admits and Joel feels his chest tighten, tears stinging in his eyes. “But you didn’t. I survived and I ain’t going anywhere, kid.” He promises, reaching out to squeeze her hand with his free one. “She been looking after you?” He asks her, jerking his chin towards the kitchen. “Yeah. She’s been great. She cleaned this place up. Made sure I ate and showered and slept while worrying like fuck about you. She’s a good one.” Ellie says and Joel trusts her opinion. You hear what Ellie says from around the corner, some homemade chips in a bowl in your hand and you smile, liking that she trusts you. You carry the bowl in and set it down , “hope these are good. We fried them earlier today.” You say, looking between Ellie and Joel.

Joel’s brow raises and he nods. “Thanks.” It hurts to nod so he just sends you his thanks with his eyes. “For taking care of her and me now, I guess.” He sips the water and grunts when the cool liquid slides down his throat to quench his thirst. “I’m sorry for all the cursing I will be doing.” He warns you, knowing he’s never been a good patient.

You chuckle, “curse away. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” You promise and make your way back into the kitchen to continue making dinner. It’s going to be a long path of recovery but you’re happy to help Joel get back on his feet.

****

“Shit.” Joel hisses as you help him into the downstairs bathroom to shower. “Do you, uh, I can help take off your pants.” You offer, cheeks burning as you try and help him shower for the first time since he left the hospital.

Joel isn’t a shy man, never has been, but the idea that you have to help him bathe like he is a helpless baby makes him burn with embarrassment. There’s not a goddamn thing he can do about it though, his body is still healing and he can’t get his head wet because of the stitches and staples. “Fuck.” He grunt, hoping he doesn’t really embarrass himself. The fact that he’s not gotten an erection since he’s woken up makes him wonder if something is wrong with that function. “Fuck, what the hell else am I going to do? Shower with my fuckin’ clothes on?”

You shake your head, “no. I- I have to help. I’m a nurse. I am a professional.” You tell him even though that doesn’t hold much weight in today’s world. “Let me help you.” You reach in to turn on the water to heat it up and you reach for Joel’s shirt. “Keep still.” You murmur, working the buttons open. He probably prefers t-shirts but the button down is required so he doesn’t jostle his head. He is still weak so he lets you push the shirt off of his shoulders. “Pants next.” You declare and hook your fingers in the sweatpants, dragging them down his legs and he’s naked under them so it's easier for him to use the bathroom. He steps out of them and you try not to appraise his naked form. He’s still healing but he’s gorgeous.

“Sorry.” He huffs, knowing that the last thing you want to do is to help an old man bathe, his still bruised body on display. Luckily, there were still medical supply devices like a chair to sit in the shower to make it easier for him, although he knows you will get wet helping him. His dormant cock twitches slightly and his eyes widen at the sensation.

You focus on looking after him and not on his body, which even though bruised, is still beautiful. You know your clothes will get soaked but that’s okay, you don’t want to strip off and make him uncomfortable so you step into the shower and help him sit down on the chair. “Temperature okay?” You ask and he nods. You grab the soap you made last week and hold it out. “You want to do it or shall I?” You ask, knowing you’ll need to wash his face so he doesn’t get his head wet.

He hates to admit that he’s so damn tired after getting into the shower, he just wants you to do it. Grunting, he shakes his head slightly and winces when he feels a little pain. “Just do it.” He tells you, not wanting this to become some kind of pissing match. “Feel like a damn baby.”

You nod, “I understand but this is the best thing for you, honey. You need to focus on healing. You nearly died so being showered isn’t the worst thing in the world.” You put it in perspective for him. You lather up your hands and work on washing his back. He groans and your stomach twists with forbidden arousal. He’s injured, recovering, you shouldn’t feel attracted to him.

“Does it hurt?” Your soft question is almost arousing, murmuring in his ear but he grunts. “No.” His voice comes out raspy and raw. “Feels good.” He’s still so damn sore and your hands on his skin feels like a massage. “It’s feeling really good.”

You continue working on washing him, mindful of his bruises. “Good.” You murmur, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You say as you massage the soap into his black and blue back. “Tommy tried to find them but they were gone.” You reveal, “they are gone.”

“It’s my fault.” Joel murmurs quietly, closing his eyes and trying to forget the moment he had killed that doctor, but it plays behind his lids. “How could you deserve something like this?” You snort, but he sighs softly. “I killed her father.” He reveals. “He was a doctor, for the Fireflies. They believed Ellie was the answer to a cure.” He opens his eyes, frowning. “They were going to remove her brain.”

You gasp, your hands freezing on his back. "They - does she know?" You whisper and Joel shakes his head. "She can't." You declare, having gotten to know Ellie enough to know that she would sacrifice herself. He nods, "I can't - I lied to her. I can't lose her." He confesses and you rub his back, "you won't. Secret's safe with me." You promise, "you didn't deserve this, Joel. No one does. This world...it's cruel but we have our little piece of paradise here. We just gotta protect it."

Even though he knows it would never absolve him of his sins, your words are a balm to his spirit. Soothing him and making him relax even more. “It’s nice here.” He murmurs softly. “Sarah would love it here.”

Ellie had briefly discussed the daughter that Joel lost on Outbreak Day and you rub his shoulders, “we are lucky. Not QZ, not the Wild West. We are safe and our commune is thriving.” You hum, “Ellie is lucky to have you.” You murmur and he hisses when you press a little too hard, “I’m sorry.” You grab the rag and lather it up, “you, uh, want to wash your -” Your cheeks heat up at the thought and he takes the rag without a word.

Joel washes his groin quickly, gritting his teeth when his long neglected cock starts to stir from the simple touch and the smell of your soap. He has noticed it every time he gets your help to use the bathroom and he is now covered in it. “Help me.” He grunts, trying to push to his feet so he can wash his ass.

You wrap your arms under his armpits, helping him stand and he grunts as he washes his ass. When he’s done, you rinse him off and shut off the water, grabbing the towel around his waist. “You good?” You ask and he nods, “yeah. Just feel like a fucking baby.” You chuckle, “at least you don’t need breastfeeding.”

“Fuck.” He huffs and blurts out, “that would be more fun,” before he even realizes how inappropriate it would be. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He grunts, blushing slightly.

You snort and smile, “I think we are beyond apologies now, huh?” You say, knowing you’ve helped him to the bathroom and now helped him shower. “Let’s get you redressed and I’ll heat up the soup I made earlier for you.” You tell him and grab the clean clothes you set aside for him.

His bedroom is what used to be the downstairs office. It’s got some doors for privacy, but more often than not, they are kept open until he needs to change. It makes it easier. “I didn’t ask, how do you like that bed?” His bedroom upstairs had become yours since they had broken down the smaller bed from the third bedroom. Joel wouldn’t let you sleep on the couch, telling you he could piss in a bottle in the middle of the night if he needed to. You deserved to sleep in a real bed for helping him.

“It’s good. Nice and comfy. I have no complaints.” You tell him, knowing your roommate, Sandra, will be enjoying the peace and quiet on her own in your house. “I hope it’s comfortable here.” You help him pull the shirt over his head and you kneel down so he can step into the sweatpants.

“It’s a bed.” He’s going to be uncomfortable regardless of where he is because of how badly he had been beaten. The only reason he’s alive is because she had started swinging on other parts of his body besides the head. “I think I’ll appreciate it more when I can move without wanting to cry.”

“Not too long now. You’ve overcome the worst. You’ll get there in the end.” You promise him, “you’ll get better. Ellie needs you.” You pull the sweatpants up and stand up, patting his chest. “All clean.” You smile and guide him to sit on the bed. You swing his legs onto the bed and stand up, “I’ll go get your soup, Miller.”

He watches you go, his eyes dropping down to your ass, not for the first time either. This time though, there is a punch of lust that his body responds to. Making him grunt and reach down to adjust himself slightly. You are beautiful and now that he has spent time with you, he can see why Tommy called him a lucky bastard.

****

You spend eight weeks looking after Joel. Helping him bathe until he can manage himself, feeding him, making sure he has water. It’s your priority and you are so happy he’s recovering well. He can walk properly now and the bruises have faded. “You want some cake?” You ask Joel as he walks into the kitchen where Ellie is trying to lick the spoon of the jam you made to go in the sponge cake.

“God, yes.” Joel groans, the irony of cake not being lost on him. You have been positively spoiling him and Ellie and he hates to think about when you will leave. He’s getting better and it’s about time you go back to your own life. “Are we doing a shower tonight?” The stitches are out, but he still has staples and needs help in the shower.

You nod, “yes, sir. Gotta make sure you avoid a nasty infection. We don’t have any oral antibiotics left.” You sigh, knowing that even if someone found some, they’d be expired. You and Ellie put the cake together and you cut out a slice for each of you. Setting the plate down in front of Joel, you love the way he smiles at you. It’s been impossible to keep your affection for him at bay. You’ve fallen for him, knowing that you will have to return home at some point but the grumpy yet funny man has gotten into your heart.

“Thanks.” He sends you a grateful look and sets his elbows on the table as he waits for you to sit down. “It smells incredible. You seem to enjoy cooking, or is it just something you do because you know Ellie can’t?” He teases, making the teenager huff and roll her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve had a chance to learn, man.”

You giggle and nudge Ellie, “you’ve been learning. You’ll get there. No, I, uh, I love cooking. Always have.” You admit, “I missed it a lot when I was on the outside. Cooking rabbit on a fire isn’t quite the same as cooking in a warm kitchen.” You sigh, forking up a bite of the cake.

“Yeah, campfires are temperamental, and cooking on them is even worse.” He snorts. Ellie chuckles. “When you would let us have them.” Joel shrugs slightly. “It’s dangerous out there.” He reminds her. “Hell, it’s dangerous in here too, but it’s better than out there.” He glances towards the entryway where he had collapsed when Abby nearly beat him to death.

You notice his glance and you realize once again how close to death he was. “You’re here now. Hopefully you don’t have to go back out there anytime soon.” You reach out to squeeze Joel’s hand and he smiles at you, his fork in his other hand, “you are safe for now.”

You have been incredible, and it’s almost amazing to see how you have slipped past the shell of his heart, something that only Ellie has managed since Tess. It’s hard to believe Tess has been gone as long as she has, but Joel has been slowly trying to heal emotionally as he heals physically. Thoughts of you have crept into his waking hours, causing some embarrassing moments in the showers when he gets hard, or you wake him up from an erotic dream that features you.

****

“So, the doctor gave you the all clear. Just to be careful and not do too much.” You smile at Joel as you enter the living room after the doctor left. He had done a full assessment of Joel and called his surgery a miracle - the fact that he survived is a gift from God. Ellie is out visiting Dina and you sit down next to Joel on the sofa, “I guess I can get out of your hair now. You can have your bed back and I’ll go back to my place.” You finish softly, sad to be leaving him.

Joel wipes his hands on his sweatpants, still wearing them out of habit over the past few months. “You’re probably happy as hell to be getting away.” He snorts as he looks over at you and wonders how you have become even prettier than before. He’s crazy about you, how kind you are, how you have taken Ellie under your wing and how you never rebuke him for when he gets sad and introspective. You have helped so much and he hates that you are leaving. “Maybe I need to get the shit beat out of me again, make you stick around.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No need to do that. All you have to do is ask me to stay and I would." You confess and your eyes widen at the way you blurted that out. You close your mouth, turning your head to stare across the room, avoiding those dark brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I-" You begin but he interrupts you. "Stay." You turn your head to look at him again, "what? You - you want me to stay?" You ask, feeling breathless.

He rolls his eyes at your question and huffs. “Do you think that I’m getting hard every time you help me shower because getting clean turns me on?” He asks bluntly. “I’ve been trying to think about anything else but you, but nothing works.”

You stare at him in shock, “I- I can’t believe - I just thought you were horny because you couldn’t jerk off.” You snort and close your eyes for a second. “I think about you. All the time.” You admit, reaching for his hand, “I had a crush on you before I came to help.” You tell him honestly, “always thought you were handsome, but now that I know you? You’re - fuck, I love you.” You confess just as breathless as your prior revelation.

His own breath stops, caught in his chest as you confess your feelings. A year ago, hell - a few months ago, he would have been denying that you felt that way. Ignoring it or being unable to respond in kind because his world was still ground to a halt, but that had changed. You and Ellie, that attack, it had changed things and made him realize that even though he had lost so many, he still had those to live for. He lunges forward and presses his lips to yours. “Love you too.” He murmurs as you gasp.

You can’t believe he’s kissing you but you reach up to cup his cheek, pressing your lips back to his, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You shift closer, cupping his other cheek and you rest your forehead against his when you pull back, caressing his stubbled cheeks. “I love you, Miller.” You smile, unable to fathom that the man you’ve fallen for loves you too.

He's panting and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. Already turned on again and starting to tent his sweats and all you've done is shared one kiss. Reaching up, he caresses your neck and shoulder. "Are you sure? I'm fuckin' old, baby." He jokes. "And a little decrepit."

You shake your head, "you're not decrepit. Or too old. I love you, Joel. No matter what. Hell, if I can look after you like I have and still think you are sexy, you're good to go." You promise with a giggle, sliding your hands down to his chest. "And I haven't stopped thinking about you between my thighs. Inside of me." You confess in a hushed tone.

The kid is off with her friend and Joel groans quietly, having thought of nothing else for the past few days. "I don't know if I can perform worth a shit." He admits with a shake of his head. "Haven't cum since I woke up."

"I don't care. Just want to be close to you." You murmur, "don't care if you cum right away. I can ride you." You want to be close to him, to feel all of him. "I keep thinking about how you'd feel inside of me."

He's still in his downstairs bedroom and he nudges his nose against yours. "Close the doors." He rasps out, nodding towards the French doors that close off his makeshift space. "I don't want to tire myself out trying to get upstairs."

You stand up, hands shaky as you shut the doors and turn to face him. You take in the details of his face, his head shaved from his surgery so his hair is growing back patchy but he’s still so attractive. You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and you swiftly remove your bra. Hooking your fingers in your leggings, you push them down along with your panties to stand naked in front of him. “I’ve seen yours, figured it’s only fair if you see mine.”

"It gets bigger." He jokes, aware that you have seen and politely ignored the times he's gotten hard from you helping him in the shower. "Fuck, you are beautiful." He praises breathlessly, eyes drinking in your body as he licks his lips. It's been a long goddamn time since he's been with someone, the last person was Tess, but he feels like he's about to bust if he doesn't touch you.

“So are you.” You respond as you walk towards him. “So brave. A fucking fighter.” You murmur, shifting to straddle him as he sits back on the bed. His hands immediately find your ass and you chuckle, knowing he’s watched it enough times. You cup his cheeks and lean in to kiss him, “wanna see if it gets bigger.” You joke, grinding down onto the tent in his sweats.

Joel groans, twitching underneath you and he knows he won’t have any problem performing. The problem might be that he doesn’t please you before he cums. His hand slides around your waist to dip between your thighs. Hissing when he finds you starting to get slick as he starts to slowly rub your clit.

“Oh God.” You pant, rocking down onto his hand. It’s been far too long since anyone touched you and you are whimpering at the way his thick fingers rub your bundle of nerves. You tilt your head back and he leans in to kiss along your neck, your fingers digging into his shoulder as you absorb every touch.

He groans as he learns your body. He and Tess had been comfortable, completely familiar with each other and what the other liked. The whimpers and groans rockets his arousal higher as you grind down against his fingers and he feels like he’s going to bust in his sweats. Turning his wrist, he presses his thumb against your clit and slides his fingers through your slick folds so he can press them inside you.

“I want to touch you.” You whimper and he shakes his head, “not yet. Otherwise this will be over sooner than you thought.” He grunts and you rock onto his thick fingers, stretching you out in the most delicious way. “Fuckkkk.” You exhale as he presses his finger against that spongy spot inside of you. He’s good. He knows what he’s doing.

He loves the way you respond to him, how wet you get. Sliding his hand up and down your back as he kisses along your shoulder and down to your tit. Wrapping his lips around a stiff nipple as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your wet heat.

“Shit.” You hiss, caressing his head as he suckles on your nipple like he’s trying to root. It has you quivering and you’re so close. So many nights of imagining how he’d touch you has led to you getting worked up faster than you have ever known. “Joel. Oh God, Joel. You’re gonna make me - I’m gonna-” You don’t finish your cry as you cut yourself off with a strangler choke and clamp down on his digits, soaking them with your cum.

“That’s it, fuck, good girl.” Joel pants against your breast as he pumps his fingers to help you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so goddamn good to me, ain’t ya? You creamin’ all over my fingers, making me harder than a fucking rock.” He coos praises into your skin, enjoying the way your nails bite into his shoulder through the shirt. Your pretty cunt soaked his fingers and he can only imagine how good you will feel around his cock.

His words make you choke on your breath as he works you through your orgasm. You never imagined he’d be so dirty but you love it. “Fuck, baby. Yes. I need - I need you inside of me but I want to suck your cock.” You whine, reaching down to tug on the hem of his shirt, wanting him naked beneath you.

“You can’t.” Joel moans, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t last a minute. And I want to feel you, fuck, imagined it so many times.” He pants, pulling away from the back of the bed so you can pull his shirt off. “Maybe- later, if I can get it up again.” He chuckles.

You pull his shirt over his head, still mindful of his injuries, and you slide your hands down his chest, admiring his broadness. “You’re so sexy.” You murmur, reaching down to pull his cock out of his sweatpants, wanting to see him in this light. You’ve seen his cock plenty of times but now you know he’s hard for you and it’s intoxicating. You pump him and he groans out a warning so you shift to lift your hips, positioning him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto him.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” His hands grip your hips harshly and he clenches his jaw as you take him. You are hot and tight like a glove around his cock, clenching around him as your walls flutter. Your ass presses against his thighs and he rocks his hips up. “Fuck, that’s - fuck, gimme a minute.” He begs, feeling like he’s about to cum. “Let me- calm down.”

You nod, stilling on top of him, and you caress his chest. He exhales shakily and you lean in to kiss him, “take your time, baby. I’m in no rush.” You promise and kiss along his jaw, loving how he stretches you out.

It’s been so long since he’s felt this close to anyone, your breath blows against his skin and he shivers. Closing his eyes as he holds you still. “Fuck, I love you.” He murmurs quietly, aware that this is something that he shouldn’t even have, he should have died. But he’s here and he’s going to live for the moment and bask in the forgiveness of your touch.

You close your eyes at his words, loving how he caresses you, and you tilt your head to look at him. “I love you too. You’re so much more than you think you are.” You murmur, caressing his cheek, and you experimentally rock your hips. His groan makes your stomach clench and you rock again, starting slow as he moves inside of you.

“Shit.” He hisses quietly, opening his eyes to watch as you start to move. “You’re so pretty, so fuckin’ pretty.” He promises as he starts to slide his hands up and down your back. “You feel so good, does it feel good for you?”

His words make your heart pound in your chest and you nod, “feels so good. You feel so damn big inside of me.” You confess breathlessly, “stretching me out. It’s been so long since I had sex. You need to- to pull out so tell me if you’re close.” You remind him, not wanting an accidental pregnancy right now.

Joel grunts, looking into your eyes as he nods. “I will.” He promises. Safe sex isn’t really a thing to be had but hopefully there’s not something to come of this. You are right to remind him. “I’m good baby, ride me.”

You take his word and start to move faster. Your hands gripping his shoulders as you start to move on top of him, moaning at the way he twitches inside of you. "Fuck, you feel so good." You pant, chest heaving as his cock curves just right inside of you.

Joel grunts and leans forward to press his lips to yours, biting your bottom lip after he kisses you. Your breasts brush against his chest and he pulls you closer, craving the feel of your skin against his.

You moan into his mouth, loving how strong her feels, how he’s recovered and he’s stronger for it mentally. You rock down onto his cock, loving the way he twitches inside of you, and you are getting close. Just the feel of having the man you love inside of you is pushing you higher. “Oh shit.” You whimper when you find the right spot and you reach down to rub your clit, pushing yourself closer to the edge.

“That’s it pretty girl, making yourself cum.” Joel groans, watching you touch yourself with dark eyes. It’s so sexy and he can’t get enough of it. “Make yourself cum on my cock. I want to feel it, see it. Show me what you look like.”

You nod, mouth open as you work yourself higher until you finally fall over the edge. A cry escapes your lips as you cum, moaning his name and you clamp down on his cock, soaking him while your orgasm rocks through you.

His eyes roll back in pleasure as he feels you squeezing him and he knows he will be cumming any second. “Sweethea-rt, you gotta-“ he grits his teeth as he jerks your body up off his cock so he can keep his promise to you, panting as he spurts all over his stomach and chest.

You watch him as he cums and you love it. The way he looks is intoxicating and you lean in to kiss him. “Fuck, I love you.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him as he pants your name.

He kisses you back eagerly, reaching for his shirt to wipe away the mess so you can lean against him. “Fuck, that was- I can’t even-“ he chuckles quietly and kisses you again. “What do you think about moving in permanently?”

You smile as he looks at you, his dark eyes soft, and you cup his cheeks. “Yes. Absolutely.” Your smile turns into a grin, excited to explore this next step with Joel. “I was dreading going home and I would miss you and Ellie like crazy.” You confess, “I want to stay.”

“Good.” He pauses for a moment and then he admits, “it’s felt like a proper home with you here. Ellie, she loves you too.” He tells you softly. “I think she imagines we are a family.”

“I imagine that too. She’s like a daughter to me.” You confess, “I want to make this a home and I want to be yours. Be in your bed every night. Be by your side no matter what.” You promise and Joel smiles, cupping your cheek, “sounds amazing, baby.”

****

“Joel.” You say his name as he takes a sip of whiskey. Ellie is watching a movie with the other kids in the barn and you decided to cook a romantic dinner for Joel, wanting to ask him something. He looks at you and you tilt your head, appraising him. You pick up your glass and take a sip, your throat suddenly dry. “Everything okay, baby?” He asks and you nod, squaring your shoulders. “I want a baby.” You announce, bracing yourself for him to say no.

Joel freezes, waiting for the familiar ache to take over his chest. For this vision to blur and his breathing to turn into short bursts as thoughts of Sarah take over. As the sounds of her rapid, panicked last breaths fill his ears. It never comes.

He doesn’t panic at the thought of having a child that could remind him of Sarah. Ellie does in some ways, but she’s a completely different type of girl. One raised in the world outside the safety of the walls of Jackson. If you had a child here, they would be innocent in some ways Ellie was not, more like Sarah. “A baby, huh?” He murmurs after a moment. “With me?” He asks. “I’m nearly sixty, baby. You want that?”

You sense his hesitation and you feel like backtracking but you think about the nights you’ve spent awake pondering this, weighing the pros and cons of having his baby in this world. You reach for his hand, “I know and I still want it. Spending time with Ellie, helping with your nephew, it’s made me realize that I can do it. It’s hard, always hard being a mother, but I’m ready and I want a baby. I want a baby that will carry our legacy, a baby that will grow up safe and capable. We will make sure of it. Unless you don’t want that, which is - it’s fine. I’ll handle your decision. We both have to want this, Joel. Not just me. Don’t do it for me. I want you to want this too and if you don’t, then that’s case closed.” You promise, not wanting to pressure him.

Joel squeezes your hand gently, reminded of the nights he had woken in a cold sweat, sometimes from the broken memories of him being attacked or the memory of losing Sarah. You have been right beside him, offering him comfort and solace. He’s told you about that night, sharing with you memories that he has kept bottled for over twenty years. You had cried in his arms like you had been Sarah’s mother, assuring him that he had done everything right to try to protect his baby girl. The fact that he’s not immediately said no is very insightful and he bites his lip and watches you with a softness that even a year ago, he was unsure he was capable of. “It’s been a looooong time since 2 AM feedings and my hearing is shot.” He snorts, smiling slightly. “You’ll have to poke me to wake me up if you want me to get up with a baby.”

You smile, loving the way he has agreed to having a baby with you. “You’re forgetting the best part about deciding to have a baby….” You trail off and smirk, “the trying.” He returns your smirk and you giggle, standing up from your seat and you round the table to sit in his lap. “I love you.” You murmur when you’re settled in his lap, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I want you to fuck a baby into me, Joel.”

“Fuck, that’s hotter than I ever imagined.” Joel grunts, twitching underneath you. His sex drive isn’t completely on par with yours, but he keeps up and keeps you satisfied in other ways. You’ve told him you don’t regret being with him at all. Which is another balm on his battered soul. “You want me to cum in that pretty pussy?” He asks, squeezing your ass. “Imagined how you would look dripping me a few times.”

You moan, kissing along his jaw as his words wash over you. “I want you to cum inside of me. Put a baby in me.” You plead, wiggling on his lap. His hair has grown back now, more gray in it, but you love it, and you reach up to run your fingers through his hair.

He groans and captures your lips with his, licking into your mouth immediately as the easy passion blooms between you. His hands move to start stripping you down.

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to be naked. You stumbled up the stairs to your bedroom, clothes scattered on the trail upstairs and when you lay down on the bed, Joel is immediately hovering over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest and his hand slides along your thigh, cupping your pussy. “I don’t want foreplay. I just want you. Want to feel all of you.” You murmur, caressing his shoulders.

There are times when you want the burn of his cock stretching you out and tonight is one of those nights it seems. That’s good because Joel is impatient to get inside you. He takes his cock in hand and pumps it a few times as he shuffles forward to press against your entrance. “I love you.” He murmurs.

He pushes inside of you, stretching you out, and you gasp out “love you too.” He pushes inside of you until he’s fully seated and you take a deep breath, enjoying the weight of his body on top of yours and the weight of the moment. Deciding to take this step together has your body primed and ready for him. He starts to move inside of you and you wrap your legs around his waist, moaning at the way he rocks into you.

Nearly dying hadn’t had the lasting effects that the doctors had feared when Joel had been brought in. His thrusts are steady, if not a little harder than normal, although he keeps the pace sedate. Not rushing, but he enjoys burying himself as deep as he can go and watching your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Gonna knock you up.” He grunts out.

His words make you clench around him, your hands sliding down his back to squeeze his ass. His recovery has been a miracle from the man who was on death's door to the man currently making love to you trying to get you pregnant. You whimper when his lips find your neck and you rock your hips up to try and meet his.

Every time the two of you come together, Joel remembers how lucky he is. His kisses trail along your throat as he groans into your skin. Both of you give and take from each other. “Fuck, baby.” Joel moans, his body tensing when you clench down around him again. “You gonna cum before I fill you up? Love it when you soak my cock.”

You nod, "yes baby. I - shit - you always feel so good." You slide one hand down between you so you can rub your clit. He immediately bats your hand away after shifting his weight onto one elbow. You moan when he rubs your clit just right, his hips pushing into your ass as you take him deep inside of you. "Shit. Joel. You - I'm - God." You cry out as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him.

“That’s it, good girl, goooooood girl.” Joel moans, clenching his teeth as you come apart around him. He feels his own body is ready to cum, excited by the situation and it only takes a few more thrusts. Instead of pulling his hips back, he plunges them forward, embedding himself deep as he paints your womb with his seed. “Fuck, fuck.” He pants, closing his eyes as he rides out his orgasm, amazed at how good it feels. “You’ll be pregnant in no time.”

You smile against his lips when he leans in to kiss you and you’re so hopeful for the future with Joel. A baby that looks like the two of you combined. You are excited and when he pulls out, you keep his cum inside of you, trying to make sure that it takes. You’ll be pregnant in no time.

****

“Sweetheart….I’m supposed to go ride the southern border and check the area.” You’ve quieted down over the past few hours, but he can still see the sadness lurking in your eyes. You’ve stopped blaming yourself but he knows those thoughts are bouncing around and he’s reluctant to leave you. “Do you want me to have Tommy go? Stay here with you?”

You shake your head, eyes sore from crying, “no baby. Just go. I’ll be fine. Ellie will be back soon.” You murmur, keeping your back turned towards him. You feel useless, you feel broken, and you feel exhausted. You’ve tried so hard to get pregnant. You even researched old wives tales about how to get pregnant. You’ve taken herbs, teas, anything you can to get pregnant and after trying for so long, you’re exhausted.

He worries about you, leaning over and pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible and I’ll make dinner tonight.” He offers. It’s the historical Mother’s Day today, and he knows you will be extra glum since you are once again not pregnant. Sometimes he wonders if he should just tell you that he’s changed his mind, taking the guilt and worry about it off your shoulders. You can blame him for not having a child. “Okay?”

“Sure.” You murmur, closing your eyes as a cramp contracts in your stomach, making you curl into a ball. You really thought this was it. Your period was two weeks late and you didn’t tell Joel because you wanted to surprise him and then you got your period. You sniff and Joel sighs, shuffling out of the bed to get ready for his shift. You can’t blame him. He’s had a kid. It’s got to be you that’s the issue.

He’ll look for some wildflowers for you while he’s out. They always make you smile and tonight, he will do his best to make sure that you know that no matter what, he loves you. He thinks about all this while he puts his clothes on and brushes his teeth, coming out of the bathroom to find you still curled up. “Go soak in a hot bath, baby.” He suggests, walking over to the bed and kissing your cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

You listen to him go and you know it's technically Mother's Day today. Salt in the wound. You swallow harshly and wait until the front door closes before you allow yourself to sob again. You can't believe you aren't pregnant. You've tried so hard. Maybe you aren't meant to be a mother.

Saddling the horse and getting let out of the gates of Jackson has Joel on autopilot. Most often the scouting parties are in groups, but today had been just singles, most men in the community wanting to spend time with their wives and celebrate them. The grass is green and lush; there's a certain beauty to the mild spring transitioning into warmer weather. Urging the horse forward, he is eager to finish the patrol so he can get back to you.

You have your bath, eyes sore from sobbing, and you try to come to terms that you’re never going to be a mother. It’s just not in the cards. You love Ellie and you think of her as your daughter but you wanted a baby, a combination of you and Joel to love and care for in this new world. That isn’t going to happen and you curl around yourself in bed after you’re dry, trying to cope with that fact.

Pulling the reins, Joel listens carefully, certain that he has just heard a cry. His hand goes to his rifle to pull it off his shoulder. Wary of traps or ruses to draw unsuspecting people in, he scans the area. Silence lingers long enough until he’s almost convinced he was hearing things when there’s another, louder cry. A baby. His eyes widen and he nudges the horse forward again. “Hello?” He cups his hand and calls out, wondering if there is a group traveling nearby. There must be, if there is a baby. Mountain lions and things that can sound like a baby crying are farther up in the mountains. Instead of the sound quieting, the crying turns into screaming, giving him a direction to head towards. Joel keeps his rifle up and guides the horse with his knees when he almost stumbles upon the scene.

“Shit!” There’s a woman lying on the ground, face down with a carrier on her back, a small baby - no more than three or four months old - screaming from the restraints. He scans the areas again, looking for a trap, but there’s nothing moving. The baby's howls prompts him to dismount and move towards the woman, his rifle pointed at her until he reaches them and nudges her with his boot. Wondering if she’s been changed and cannot get to the baby, although he’s never seen one go dormant with a human around and making noise. “Hey…” prodding her doesn’t make her move and Joel scans the area again, the open range not a good spot to plan an ambush, but someone could be hiding in the tall grass. Carefully kneeling down, he grabs a bony thin shoulder and turns the woman enough to see that her gaunt face and shrunken eyes are lifeless. “Shit.” He hisses, looking back at the baby who is almost as bad as the mother. From what it looks like, this poor woman had been traveling to find shelter, food, anything for her and her baby and she collapsed less than two miles from salvation.

Joel sighs as he sets the rifle down and rolls the body on its side. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs quietly, his heart clenching at the reality of the situation, reaching out to close the woman’s eyes before unbuckling the strap for the carrier that is across her chest.

Ellie returns before Joel does and you offer her a smile as she says hello. “I, uh, I made you something.” She says, handing you a piece of paper. It’s a card. “Happy Mother’s Day” it says and your heart clenches. A genuine smile on your face as you realize she made this for you. You open it and tears sting in your eyes as you read her scrawled handwriting. “Thank you for being the mom I never had.” She wrote and you choke, reaching for her. “I love you so much sweetheart.” You pull her close, reminded that you have a beautiful daughter who loves you. “I love you too.” She murmurs, holding you just as tight. The front door opens and you pull back as you hear a baby crying. “Joel?” You gasp when your partner walks into the kitchen.

“Ellie….go to Tommy’s and get a bottle.” He orders the teenager as he starts to pull the baby carrier off his own chest to take the baby out. He had brought the body back, but this baby needed milk as soon as he could get it for her. “I found her,” he explains. “A woman collapsed two miles away from Jackson, she starved to death.” He motions you over. “At least, I think it’s a girl.”

Your eyes widen as he cradles the baby and you reach out to take them into your arms. The baby’s diaper is dirty and you shush them as you walk over to grab an old dish towel from the drawer as a makeshift diaper. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” You coo, unwrapping the baby on the kitchen table and you tell Joel to get a wet cloth. You work on cleaning up the baby, “it’s a girl.” You announce and wrap her in the dishtowel, using the pin from her old diaper. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’re okay, sweet girl. You’re safe and we are going to get you milk.” You promise, cradling her as you turn back towards Joel. “Her poor mother. So close to salvation.” You sigh, shaking your head at the tragedy.

“I brought her back.” Joel tells you quietly, watching as you bounce the baby girl in your arms and coo at her to calm her down. “Hoping something in her bag would tell us where she’s from, what the baby’s name is.” He sighs softly. “I couldn’t leave her out there.”

“Her mother deserves a service, a burial. We must give this little one a place to visit her mother.” You murmur, stroking her cheek. She’s gorgeous, her eyes watching you, and you try to not get too attached to her, knowing that Maria and Tommy will be handling the situation.

Ellie comes bursting into the house. “Got a bottle!” She yells, thundering down the hall to rush into the kitchen. “Tommy and Maria are coming too.” She pants, quickly handing the full bottle of milk to you. The baby is obviously hungry because the second that you brush the nipple against her mouth, she shakes her little head furiously as she tries to get it in her mouth, crying out before the nipple is in and immediately starting to suckle hungrily with great, greedy gulps.

“We will need more. Tommy and Maria have everything for a baby. We - they should take her.” You murmur, knowing it will be hard to hand the baby over but she isn’t yours and the leader needs to make a decision on her placement.

Joel takes one look at the way you hold this baby while she’s eating and knows that’s not what needs to happen. This baby is your chance to be a mother, to feel like a mother. It’s like it was fate for him to be out there and find her today, to bring her to you. “I think we should keep her.” Joel tells you, coming up and laying his hand on your shoulder. “Tommy and Maria have a lot on their plate with one baby already.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him then back at the baby. “We - us - are you - Joel.” You whisper, a soft smile on your face as you dare to hope that you can keep the little girl. It feels wrong. Her mother just died, but she can’t be left alone. She needs someone to look after her.

The front door opens. “Joel?” Tommy’s voice floats through the house and Joel keeps looking at you with the baby. “In the kitchen.” He calls out. The guards at the gates had kept his horse with the poor woman’s body and he had known Tommy and Maria would come to find out what the hell happened, but he wanted to get the baby here first. Footsteps quickly sound out, two sets of them like he expected and the baby is still greedily sucking away at the milk when his brother and sister in law come into the kitchen.

You look up as Maria walks in, her baby strapped to her chest, and she immediately comes over to see the baby in your arms. “Oh, she’s a sweet little thing. She needs fattening up. Poor girl, her mom was so close to our gates. She needs a mother. You should be her mother.” She says and you stare at her, “are you sure?” Maria smiles, stroking the head of her son. “She needs a mother and you are a more than capable applicant.” She gestures to the way you’re holding the baby. “I- I know this sounds insane but I feel like this is my purpose.” You murmur, looking down at her as she suckles.

Tommy smirks at Joel, who is obviously relieved by the decision. He’s talked to Tommy about the issues you’ve had trying to conceive and wished that there was some way for you to figure out what was wrong, but there just aren’t the medical resources here in Jackson. Joel had even been thinking about trying one of the universities, but couldn’t risk it again. “We both feel that way.”

You smile, cooing at the baby. “Did we find out what her name is?” You ask and Tommy nods, holding up a note that was in the mother’s satchel. “Her name is Hope.” Tommy reveals and you smile, “Hope.” You murmur, pulling the bottle away when she’s done. You shift her to your shoulder to burp her and you cradle her once she’s burped. “She’s our hope.” You declare as you look at Joel and he comes over to wrap his arm around you, looking down at the baby. “Our new daughter.” Joel murmurs, kissing your hair and he beckons Ellie over. “She’s kinda cute.” Ellie says and leans in to stare at the baby. “Hi Hope. I’m Ellie. Your big sister. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Especially about our grumpy dad.” She jokes and Joel chuckles and rolls his eyes. “We will gather everything you’ll need and we will make sure her mother has a proper burial. For now, you guys settle in as a family.” Maria says, stepping back towards Tommy. “Oh and Happy Mother’s Day.” Maria says to you and you smile, “you too.” You may not be able to have a biological baby but you have Ellie and you have Hope. The two girls who have made you a mother.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #hbo the last of us #tlou #Happy Mother's Day

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apricot-blossomss · 6 months ago

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If you're still accepting requests would you be willing to do Hermes with fem!reader who has body image issues? Like not feeling like she's worthy of him or will hold his attention? I LOVED the way you wrote the last one of him stealing all of reader's stuff; no pressure tho if you don't want to do this subject. Thanks for your time! 💜🐝

☛ hermes x mortal! fem! reader with body image issues

☛ sfw; cw: body image issues, self deprecating thoughts, anxiety

It felt utterly unreal. The temples and palaces, shining in a golden hue, the impossibly delicious food and, most of all, the guests of the party. Was it a wise decision to have your first time on Olympus be visiting a divine festival? No. Were you utterly overwhelmed by everything here? Yes. Definitely.

A hand found yours and you turned around, startled, only to find Hermes smiling at you. His hair was uncharacteristically orderly, bronze curls framing his face carefully, not as disheveled as usual, after a day of work and flying around. "Hey sweetheart, enjoying yourself?" You nodded and hoped your smile didn't seem too forced. And it was beautiful here, just too much for your poor mortal eyes to comprehend.

It wasn't only gods attending the festival. When you looked over the crowd, you spotted centaurs, nymphs and satyrs as well, and even a few mortals like you, if you were seeing correctly. But the majority of the guests were major and minor gods and goddesses, though in their human form, still almost too beautiful to look at. Like Hermes in the beginning. But during the last months, you had seen him almost every day, and could at least look at him without having an an aneurysm- or a body image crisis.

Hermes squeezed your hand and you looked up at him. The excited grin he gave you had you a little worried. It was the grin of cream smeared in your face when eating cake and several items disappearing in strange correlation to his frequent visits. The god leaned down to your height - even in his human form, he was still a lot taller than you. "Wanna meet my family?"

No, gods, please, no.

"Uhm," you said, unconsciously fiddling with his fingers which always calmed you down. But he knew that, too. Hermes caught your restless fingers and brought them to his lips to press a light kiss onto them. "You don't have to. We can just stay here, if you want. All your call, baby."

Having lost the ability to fiddle with his fingers, you chewed on your bottom lip. When you looked back at him, your voice was thin and full of doubt. "I don't get- I mean, why would you want to introduce me to your family?"

The god's smile widened even further and he pecked the tip of your nose affectionately. "I want to show my amazing girlfriend off, obviously." You wanted to glare at him for messing with you, but he looked so earnest that you couldn't help but believe him. Instead, you let out a small and only slightly bitter laugh. "Show me off? Have you ever even looked at me, Hermes?"

"Plenty," he hummed, covering your cheeks and temple with kisses. "Why would I not look at my stunning girlfriend?" Embarrassingly, you realized that quite a few bystanders were giving you stares and whispers. Not him, he was a god. You. Probably wondering if the god's newest fling really was the ugliest girl at the party.

"'M not," you whispered, because you suspected some of these people had an excellent hearing beyond the limits of your mortal one. You put your hand over Hermes lips, but he only peppered your palm with kisses, moving up your arm to the ticklish spot and you giggled involuntarily. The triumphant smile he gave you was so utterly endearing you would have jumped him. If you weren't here.

"Please?" How were you supposed to say no to those eyes?

"Fine," you sighed, already regretting your decision. But Hermes was ecstatic, throwing an arm around you and guiding you through the crowd that made way for him wherever he walked. You tried to keep your head down and seem as invisible as possible, which, fortunately, wasn't that hard if you were standing next to a glowing diety.

"Brother!" someone called, someone the crowd made way for just as quickly, if not hastier, than Hermes. Your lover held you a bit more tightly but gave you a reassuring smile when a young man, decked out in gold that couldn't compare to the color of his shoulder-length locks, approached you. He ruffled Hermes' hair and then, his gaze wandered down to you. At first, he seemed surprised, no doubt because he was underwhelmed by your appearance, but the next second, he gave you a blinding smile. "And who do we have here?"

Hermes introduced you and then him as Apollo. The god huffed. "Do I really need an introduction? If so, I can give it for myself." You were a little unnerved by his smile, if was too bright, almost hurting your eyes. "I'm Apollo, god of all things beautiful and helpful to you mortals and thus, your favored diety."

"Spot's taken," Hermes said but he was grinning. With one look at your stressed glances, he leaned down to whisper: "he's harmless" You highly doubted that.

"So," the god drawled while looking you up and down. You were extremely uncomfortable. "You are the reason I've barely gotten a glance of my brother these last months." You were? Glancing at Hermes, you tried to think of the right answer. "Um... sorry"

"Where have you been hiding, Hermes?" a female voice called from behind and when you looked at the approaching you, your stomach dropped. It had to be Aphrodite, it had to be. Out of all the indescribably beautiful guests, she was the most striking and perfect. And the one you had dreaded seeing the most. You weren't stupid. You knew you were on the brink of spiraling into an abyss of body-hatred, and you were scared she would push you into it.

When she greeted Hermes, not even registering your presence, you suddenly remembered that they had had a kid together at some point, which only made your anxiety worse. You felt so utterly unworthy of Hermes in between all these gods that you wanted to carefully slip your hand out of his. Who were you to be holding a gods hand after all? But, realizing your intentions, Hermes only gripped it tighter. "Aphrodite, this is my girlfriend."

The way his voice was overflowing with boasting pride did warm your heart a little- until you saw the way Aphrodite looked at you. Surprised, at first, then undeniably sceptical. Her rose eyes looked you up and down and you started sweating under the weight of her gaze. Should you have worn something different? Was it ridiculous of you to be showing up in a dress this beautiful, attempting and failing miserably to be pretty? You were nothing but ugly and desperate and pathetic.

The goddess greeted you and you greeted back quietly, your flight instincts kicking in. "Hermes?" He turned to you, smiling brightly, but it faded a little when he saw the distress in your eyes. "I'm- I'm a little hungry, can I bring you something from the buffet?" Hungry. Great. Couldn't you think of a better way to get out of this situation? Not daring to look at the goddess, you kept your eyes fixated on Hermes who was searching your face for hints of what was wrong.

"Sure," he then said and leaned down to peck your cheek. "That cake looked fantastic." You were thinking more like drowning in misery.

Giving everyone a small smile and goodbye without looking at either of them, you slipped away as fast as possible. Getting to the buffet was way harder without Hermes, because the crowd got more and more dense, so you gave up and opted to break from it, finding a bench somewhere with less people. The buffet had never been your objective in the first place.

You couldn't cry. Not here. Not surrounded by the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Your gaze wandered over stunning nymphs and glowing goddesses with their perfect bodies and perfect smiles, looking so graceful in their flowing dresses. Why were you here? If you had been able to shed your skin right now, you would have. You would still be hideous, but not comparable to these women who you shrank next to.

Why were you here? How could Hermes endure your presence, knowing he could have so much more beautiful women instead, women who didn't get anxiety from parties and rudely ran away from him and his family. Women who laughed, and danced, and made other people laugh. Who were so much fun and so much more worthy than you. You were a nothing. A miserable, ugly nothing.

"Sweetheart?"

You didn't want to look at him. Instead, you opted to fix your gaze on a particularly stunning lady wearing blue. You felt longing well up inside of you. If you could only have her body, her face, her smile, her flowing hair. Maybe you could love yourself. Maybe Hermes could love you.

"The crowd by the buffet was to dense, I couldn't get through," you said quietly, not sure if he was still there. He was. Hermes sat down on the bench next to you and there you sat in silence for a few minutes. When you finally glanced over, you were surprised to find him fiddling with his fingers in his lap. Was he nervous? Did he want to break up with you?

"I'm sorry," you said. "Back with your family... that was so rude of me."

"What's wrong?" he asked and you were surprised at how worried he sounded. Finally, you looked at his face and his pleading eyes and your heart roared. Now you had made him worried. A great girlfriend you were. "Please," he said, getting a hold of your hands and leaning down to eye level. "Tell me. I want to help, but I'm not Apollo, I don't just look at someone and instantly know what they're feeling."

"It's nothing," you said quietly. "Just a bit nervous, I guess." He didn't say anything, and you realized he was waiting for you to elaborate. When you looked at him and saw the helpless look in his eyes, you felt yourself breaking and hid your face in your hands. "How can you even look at me?"

"What?" He sounded completely perplexed.

"I'm hideous!" you sobbed, stubbornly hiding your face away because you felt your hands dampened by tears. "I'm ugly and unattractive and unworthy and even attempting to be anything but that is an insult to all the beautiful women here. And I don't get why you are here with me, why you are with me after all, I mean- why would you do this to yourself? I'm not worthy of you, I-" Your rambling was interrupted by a desperate and tearful gasp for air but you hid your face away stubbornly.

"What?" His voice sounded thin and utterly confused. Then, you felt his hands on your wrists, softly prying them away from your tear-dampened face. You didn't have it in you to fight them.

"Listen... You are... better at this than me," the god said with a nervous chuckle. "Remember the time I was so exhausted I fell out of the window? And you ran me a bath and you made me get in and you... listened to my endless tired ramblings and laughed at my stupid jokes so hard the soap slipped out of your hands and hit me in the face? And then, you... made me go to bed and tell you what was really stressing me out and you just knew what to say. Like, the exact words to make me feel better. And I still don't get how."

Hermes breathed in through his mouth, fidgety but hopeful at the fact that you hadn't interrupted him yet. "Do you remember that hiking trip? I was wearing you out, it was probably too much for you, but you were so determined to get to the top in time for the sunset. And we did and you were so full of wonder. And sure, the view was amazing, but I couldn't look away from you because- I just couldn't. And I had planned to throw you off the edge and catch you a few meters down but I couldn't bring myself to do anything because you were so in awe and so beautiful-"

"I'm not," you said. "Have you even looked at-"

"Sweetheart, my eyes are in perfect shape," Hermes interrupted you firmly. "Yours aren't, because, apparently, you can't see just how beautiful you are. And how good you feel. How fun it is with you. Do you know why I am always so out of breath when I knock at your window? Because every second of the day I want to spend with you, all the time I possibly can, because it feels so right to be with you. So I rush and I show up gasping and sweating at your door and it always feels like coming home."

You were stunned. Could you believe him? How could you not? Hermes seemed to sense your conflict and you felt him slump against you. "Do you have any idea how many times my father has scolded me in the past months for being late to my duties? I don't care if you think you aren't enough. You've always been enough for me. You're more than that. You are in all of my dreams, always on my mind when I'm away."

He caught his breath. This was hard, but he had to convince you of the honesty of his feelings towards you, and he had to get all that crap out of your head. "I'm a god, why would I be with you if I didn't want to be, if I thought I could do better?"

"You can!"

"No, I can't!" he pressed, almost shouting. "No one makes me feel the way you do. Don't you see? You hold me in the palm of your hand, I'm yours!"

With widened and tearful eyes, you stared at him and his gaze softened. "May I?" You nodded, unsure what he was asking exactly. Hermes pulled you into his arms and you couldn't help but feel so loved when he held you tight.

"Can we leave?" you asked quietly and felt him laugh shakily against your shoulder. "Yes, let's get out of here."

Reluctantly, he pulled away and made you look at him. "Would you please believe me that I love you? Because I don't know what else to do. Do you want my shoes? My gardens? My palace? All my temples? I'd give them all to you, if you would just believe me."

"I think I might need a little while to get it," you sniffled quietly and in full earnestness. "I'm a little stuck here." You managed a small laugh.

The god looked at you with such tenderness you felt yourself blushing under his gaze. "Then I'll remind you every day until you believe me how beautiful you are."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

#greek mythology #greek gods #greek gods x reader #greek mythology x reader #hermes x you #hermes fluff #hermes angst #hermes x reader #hermes

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stormyoceans · 1 month ago

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Congrats on the gay sex in the firefighter show!!! 👏🏽🥳🎂 Sorry if this is a spoiler! 😬🙈😓

FINALLY WATCHED THE EPISODE AND I'VE NEVER DONE DRUGS IN MY LIFE BUT IM ASSUMING THAT GETTING HIGH ON COCAINE CAN'T FEEL TOO DISSIMILAR TO WHAT THAT ENTIRE MAKE OUT SCENE IS CURRENTLY DOING TO ME

the way they were stumbling around in the dark pushing each other against the wall giggling having fun shedding their clothes as they went barely letting each other breathe being unapologetically horny and happy and comfortable!!!!!!!!!! the way buck led tommy in by pulling his shirt while wearing the biggest grin on his face!!!!!!!!!!! ON NATIONAL TELEVISION!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and then buck - buck who spent his time feeding everyone else to deal with the break up, who knows love and self-worth only in the measure he can be useful to others - wakes up to tommy cooking in his kitchen making him a full spread for breakfast!!!!!!!!! and he hops on the counter all giddy like he wants to be eaten out (again) too!!!!!!!!! and he finally had a good night of sleep with tommy back by his side!!!!!!!!! and they both wanna be together so badly but they're both SO STUPID

I NEED TO CHECK MYSELF INTO THE PSYCH WARD RN IMMEDIATELY

#I LOVE HAVING TWO GROWN MEN BEING UNAPOLOGETICALLY QUEER ON NATIONAL TELEVISION #IM GIVING THEM A CONGRATS ON THE SEX CAKE #NOW PLEASE COMMUNICATE #ANYWAY. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW ANON!!!!!!!!!#also please don't worry i really don't mind spoilers!!!!!#hope you're having a wonderful day!!!!!!! 💜#911 #911 abc #bucktommy #m: ask

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nicksolemnlyswears · 10 months ago

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hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

ESCAPADE

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Hi, how are you?

I was wondering if you could write something like "Dean reads you wrong" but with Sam Please

Hey, lovely!

I'm doing well, thank you. 💜 I hope you are too! Hmm, I'm still working through my current bank of requests, but since "Dean reads you wrong" is so fresh, it got me thinking about how Sam would go about this...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: It's hard for Sam to admit he wants you...when he thinks you might want his brother.

Song Inspo: "If You're Gone" by Matchbox Twenty

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Sam reads you wrong.

When Sam falls for someone, he's...well, what he would call self-aware.

But also cautious.

He knows his own track record with women. He knows the life he leads, and has resigned himself to giving up most kinds of normalcy or domesticity.

And maybe, a part deep in the back of his brain has given up on the idea of love.

That's why it's so damn confounding...how you've managed to take him by surprise.

He's always been able to rely on you. Whether it's sharing the brunt of the research with him when Dean loses focus, or staying up with Sam on late nights, sharing mugs of tea and quiet conversation, bonding over familiar tastes in books, and '90s grunge music, of all things.

You also confessed to him, late one night, that you have a growing collection of mugs, fuzzy socks, and vinyl records, despite the fact that your record player has collected more dust than the bunker's old storage room.

You're wonderfully weird.

And you're unfailingly loyal to who you consider "your people." And Sam thinks (knows) he's fortunate enough to be included in that small circle.

Sam also knows, deep in his gut, no matter how much he tries to "rationalize" it away, that you're special. And special to him.

You've managed to do more than just slip under his skin. When he thinks too hard on it, he can admit it (just to himself). You've infiltrated all four corners of his heart so deeply, he doesn't have a prayer of scooping you out.

Some days, it's all he can do not to reach out while you're chatting away, filling the silence.

He can picture it like a scene in his mind: of interrupting your mouth with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to his and showing you, with or without words, that he wants you...

And yet.

He can't help but watch how you are with Dean.

You two tease each other, bicker and gripe over coffee grinds left in the coffee pot and who ate the last of the leftovers. You fight with Dean over the remote on movie night (once, damn near smothering him with a pillow).

But you also dote on him, making sure Dean has one of his favorite desserts every time you go out to buy groceries. You swap his beer out for water when he's not looking. (And though Dean frowns and grumbles, he doesn't argue with your raised brow and imploring look.)

It's not quite flirting, but it's not quite platonic either—at least in Sam's eyes. You and Dean seem to have something.

And sometimes, your playful banter with his brother makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Like today, when Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading while you're making a cup of tea. The silence between you two is amiable, like usual.

Sam steals a glance at you and has to smile.

"Going with purple polka dots today?" he asks.

You look over with knitted brows of confusion, until you follow his gaze. You laugh sheepishly and wiggle your toes through your fuzzy socks.

"The floor is cold as hell," you defend yourself.

Sam's smile deepens a fraction as he turns back to his book.

"They're cute," he adds.

You turn your face to hide your blush. The mild thunder of heavy boots announces Dean's presence as he pops into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're cooking. What's for dinner?" he asks. You turn to give him a familiar narrowed look.

"Who says I'm cooking?" you counter.

"Well, you're doing something on the stove..." Dean peers over and catches a whiff of the concoction you're brewing. He grimaces. "Second thought, I'm good. That smells like ass, whatever it is."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's just green tea, Dean. You know, health?"

He levels a deadpan expression at you as he opens up the pantry.

"I see your 'health' and I raise you...Doritos," he says. He digs his hand into the bag he's just pilfered and crunches a mouthful in your face. You can't help but splutter a laugh and push Dean away.

"You're ridiculous. If you catch a heart attack at 50, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, at least I'll die happy."

"Oh, right. A silver lining there. I'd hate to see what your arteries look like," you tease.

"Has anyone told you that you're unsavory?" Dean asks, continuing to crunch with an open mouth.

You smirk. "Is that your way of calling me sweet?"

He snorts. "Sure, sweetheart. We'll call it that."

"You know, I'm not your sweetheart," you point out.

Dean discreetly glances his brother's way with a sly glint in his eyes. Sam doesn't see it; by now he's trying his damndest to keep his eyes in his book and ignore the way his stomach is clenching, chest tightening.

Dean shifts his attention back at you and reaches down to brush your chin with his thumb.

"Not yet, but you could be," he says, in a flirtatious edge that he's never quite taken with you.

You're wide-eyed for a moment. In the end, though, you choose to take it as teasing. You push his hand away and give him an annoyed look.

"God, you're such a clown. Order a pizza if you're that hungry," you rejoin, and you pour two mugs of freshly brewed tea. "I won't even bother offering you one."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the "p." He walks out of the kitchen, giving Sam a firm slap on the back. Sam coughs and shoots his brother a frown.

Dean has the gall to wink at him before he walks out. Like he's having his own little private joke.

Well, Sam isn't laughing. He stares down hard at his book. He tries to ignore everything he just heard and saw out of the corner of his eye.

It becomes too much. He takes up his book and heads out of the kitchen.

He just doesn't see the way you frown as he walks away. There you stand, left holding two mugs of tea for you and him.

Sam returns to his room for a while. He's not hiding. He's...reading.

There's a knock at his door, and if it's Dean, he swears he's going to open his mouth and tell his brother to leave him the hell alone, like he's some kind of moody teen.

But it's you.

"Hey," you greet, after the door creaks open. Sam softens.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "What's up?"

"You," you reply. You bring him his hot mug of tea and set it down on the desk where he sits.

"Thanks," he says.

You nod and place your mug beside his (Lord of the Rings themed, of course), and cross your arms as you lean against his desk.

Sam turns toward you in his chair. His hands rest on his thighs. His gaze travels back up to your face as he tries to keep his neutral, but welcoming to whatever you want to ask him. (He buries his heart deep, as he instinctively does whenever you're near him.)

"You okay?" you ask. Your brows furrow the longer you gaze down at him. Just staring, like you know he's hiding something. Like you can see straight into him, into the shadows where he keeps most of his thoughts of you.

This is perhaps the only area of his life where he's a coward.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, in a tone that suggests, Why wouldn't I be?

You quirk a smile. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sam swallows. For once, he's not sure what to say to you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you say softly. You take a subtle step into his orbit, almost between his open legs. Your demeanor says that you'd gladly listen, do whatever he asked of you. Because you're just that kind.

Sam's mouth twitches upward. "I know. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine, or you're Winchester fine?" you raise a brow.

Sam chuckles then, showing a flash of his smile. It lightens you.

"Maybe a bit of the second one," he admits.

You smile and inch closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Tell me," you say. Your voice is soft, but not quite a whisper.

It leads Sam to sigh. He grasps your hand where it lies on his shoulder. For a moment, he debates internally. He realizes then that Dean's antics earlier might've been more than just teasing. Maybe it was a subtle nudge—to stop wasting time.

Damn it, just do something, Sam thinks.

When you squeeze his hand back, it's just the small push he needs. He glances up at you.

Then he takes your hand and holds it between both of his, with care. He tugs you forward, surprising you as you step forward between his legs. Your mouth parts in soft surprise when he reaches a hand up to your cheek.

You still look surprised, blushing up to your ears, but you're not pulling away. In fact, your widened gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

Sam smiles. He tugs you down to him and enacts a living daydream, finally kissing you with everything he has. Everything he’s had locked inside.

You respond to his mouth in kind; the subtle gasp of breath against his lips sharply cuts off as you sink into his kiss. Your trembling hand comes to his cheek, grazing the dull prickle of stubble. When your fingers dive into his hair next, it’s his turn to take a deep breath.

With each new kiss, he explores more of you. His hands find your waist, and he gathers you against his chest. You find purchase on his strong shoulders and give into the opportunity to straddle his hips, sitting in his lap while he continues to make your heartbeat wild in your chest.

Sam slows the kiss, only because his brain is starting to catch up with his heart. He wants to see your face, to make sure this is what you want.

He finds that and more when he looks up at you.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, with a soft laugh. You join him and press your forehead against his.

"I don't know,” you tease. Your eyes are dancing, both with amusement and relief. Because your heart has wanted this for even longer than Sam's.

You lean back in to whisper close to his lips. “Maybe I need a little more clarity."

Sam takes you at your word.

AN: It's been a long time since I've written for Sam! 💜 I got in another request for him a while ago. I may dust that one off soon... Until then, let me know what you think of this!

(And don't worry. I didn't forget about the Soldier Boy imagine I promised. That will come out at the end of this week, most likely!)

Read Dean's version: "Dean reads you wrong."

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sebscore · 2 years ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do female driver and her side of the garage shenanigans. Like her and her team just being besties and entertaining. Love your work can’t wait to see what you do next!

MONTE-CARLO MADNESS

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader

warnings: swearing. slight slander of two dutchmen (nothing too serious). mention of checo’s quali crash last year.

author's note: i was bored during the race so i wrote this :) I know it’s not exactly what you asked, but it does include more of her and marco 💜 (also, I know that gif is from 2021, but it was too beautiful not to use lol)

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Y/N!'' A hand on her shoulder pulled her attention away from her conversation with her engineer, and to the older German man next to her. ''Norbert! Hey, how are you?''

''I'm in Monaco!'' He exclaimed, pulling the young woman in a hug.

The driver's face broke out in a smile, endeared by Norbert's excitement over being in the foreign country. ''Yeah, you are!'' She laughed, her face resting on his shoulder.

''Can I get a hug too?''

Her eyes widened as she recognised the voice, pulling away from the older man, she was met with the bright smile of Sebastian. ''Seb!''

Y/N almost jumped into her mentor's arms, delighted to see him for the first time in months. ''What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming.'' She held an accusing but disbelieving tone, shocked to see him in Monte-Carlo out of all races.

''Surprise!'' He joked, holding up his arms as if it were a surprise party.

The woman slapped his arm in return. ''When did you get here?'' She asked him, still in shock about the former driver's appearance.

''Just now, my dad and Fabian got here yesterday- I came by car.'' Sebastian answered, pointing at his father who was busy catching up with the Aston Martin team.

''Of course you did,'' Y/N chuckled at the mention of his transport, ''are you staying here the entire weekend?''

The German shook his head. ''No, just today- Stefano invited me, I'll be there for the driver's briefing, though.'' He clarified, pouting at the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

''That's nice, everyone will be happy to see you.'' She was slightly let down about his one-day visit, having hoped he would at least watch qualifying on Saturday.

Sebastian nodded. ''Yeah, it will be nice to see all the drivers again.''

''You know,'' Y/N spoke up, catching his attention, ''retirement doesn't really suit you- I think you should come back.'' She smirked, a mischievous grin on her face.

The older man let out a chuckle, shaking his head. ''I put on some nice clothes for you today, I'm hurt.'' He feigned to be hurt by her words, an overdramatic pout hanging on his lips.

''It's definitely better than the usual attire, for sure.'' The driver glanced his outfit up and down, the man wearing blue pants and a white loose shirt.

Sebastian simply laughed, scratching his voice. ''So, uh, how are you feeling about the race?'' He asked her.

Y/N unsurely nodded her head, not too confident. ''The car felt good today so I think there's a good chance for pole.'' The first free practice of the GP had gone well, taking the second top spot right before Lewis.

''Well, I'm quite confident you're gonna take pole.'' Sebastian retorted, matter-of-factly.

The young woman snorted at his response. ''Thanks, I'll keep that in mind when I'm in the car.''

The German patted her shoulder. ''I hope you win,'' he confessed, a serious expression on his face, ''I like Max, but the Dutch anthem is not to my taste.'' Sebastian grinned

''You won last year. Who says you can't do it again or at least make it onto the podium?'' He didn't expect an answer out of her, he just wanted her to feel more confident in herself and especially at a circuit she had consecutively done well at.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''Last year, I got lucky with Checo's crash during quali and with the Ferrari strategy. The Red Bulls are way too fast, Seb. I'll be happy with a podium.''

The young driver knew a win would be practically impossible if either one of the RBR cars made it in front of her in qualifying. The previous year, she managed to qualify P3 behind the two red cars and due to Ferrari's disaster class, she was the first to take the chequered flag.

''But you still held up the Red Bulls last year, you're being too negative.'' Sebastian argued, discontent about her certainty that she wouldn't win again.

''It's whatever, anyway- I have to discuss some things with Marco. I'll see you later?'' Y/N made the move to leave, sticking out her fist.

Sebastian bumped his fist against hers. ''Yes, Turn that frown upside down, Y/N!'' He yelled after her as she walked away, resulting in a joking middle finger from the young woman.

''What's the best time now? I have one more lap in me, if I need to.'' Y/N asked her engineer over the radio, on an out lap.

There was silence on the other side for a few seconds. ''Uh, the leaderboard is very chaotic right now, it changes every time a driver crosses the line.''

''Who is on top now?''

''De Vries.''

''Are you fucking serious?''

She knew Monaco qualifying would be absolute madness, but an Alpha Tauri on top of the leaderboard? She was not expecting that.

''Push for one more lap- we're safe, but everything is changing very fast.'' Marco encouraged her to do one more flying lap, wanting to be confident they made it into the next round of qualifying.

Y/N was the last car on the circuit starting her last lap right before the time of the quali session ran out. She had the fastest second sector and crossed the line, moving up to P2 and being safe from elimination.

''We're good, nice job!'' Marco complimented her, confirming that she made it into Q2.

''He he, that was a little scary.''

''You gotta push like a beast now, Y/N! Verstappen on pole now and no one is behind you.'' Marco's words sounded over the radio, doing his best to hype her up as this was their last chance to take the pole position.

''Copy.'' She simply answered, before starting her flying lap.

''Y/L goes faster than Verstappen in the first sector. Look at how she's pushing the car to its limits! It's absolutely unbelievable!'' Crofty's voice boomed through the speakers.

''A purple second sector as well! Is Y/L going to take her first pole position in Monaco? She's very close!'' Ted continued, his eyes glued to the big screen.

''UNBELIEVABLE STUFF! Y/N Y/L TAKES THE POLE POSITION HERE IN MONACO! SHE SURPASSES THE RED BULL OF MAX VERSTAPPEN TO SET THE FASTEST TIME! WHAT A PERFORMANCE BY THE TALENTED YOUNG WOMAN! WHAT A LAP!'' The commentators couldn't believe it as they saw her name rising to the very top of the leaderboard, not expecting her to set a better time than the Red Bull car.

''YOU DID IT! POLE POSITION, Y/N! YOU DROVE LIKE A MANIAC!'' Marco shouts over the radio, trying his best to give his congrats as their entire team jumps around him.

Her eyes widened as she took in the news. ''I'M ON POLE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? WOOOOO!!! MONACO BABY!'' The driver loudly exclaimed, so loud that her team had to remove their headphones from their ears.

''Guys, I'm so proud of all of you! Everyone worked so hard and this is for the entire team, thank you so much!'' Y/N expressed her appreciation for her team, knowing she couldn't have done it without them.

She made it to Parc Fermé and parked behind the No. 1 standee, already seeing Charles and Max there. It took her some time to get out of the car as it was difficult to turn everything off with shaking hands.

The young woman stood on top of her car and threw her hands in the air, pointing at her team who cheered for her- along with the crowd who went crazy at the sudden turn of events.

She ran to her team, immediately hugging Marco upon spotting him at the front of the fence. ''I told you to drive like a beast, not a maniac!'' He laughed, patting her back.

''I don't remember anything from that lap, I think I blacked out.'' Y/N told him, pulling away from him and shaking the hands of the rest of the team.

Charles was the first one of the drivers to congratulate her. ''That was crazy, congrats.'' The former Prema teammates hugged each other.

''Thanks, it was absolute chaos out there,'' she sighed, taking off her helmet and balaclava, ''I know you wanted a different result, but you still did well.'' The younger one told the Ferrari driver who simply brushed it off.

''You fucker!'' A sudden slap on her arm, took her focus off Charles. ''How did you do that?''

She found the smiling face of Max, holding out his hand for a typical driver's greeting. ''Dude, I don't know! I for sure thought it was over for me.'' She told him, a shocked expression still on her face.

''Congrats, you deserve it.'' The Dutchman praised her, a genuine tone found.

Y/N nodded her head at him. ''Thanks, appreciate it.''

''It's the three of us again.'' The Red Bull driver laughed, pointing at the three of them as it was also the same trio in Baku, just a different order.

Charles sighed. ''I have to meet with the stewards after the interviews so I don't know if I'm gonna stay at P3.'' He told them, confusing the two other drivers.

''What do you mean?'' Y/N asked him.

''Lando was on a flying lap and I got in his way- in the tunnel.'' The Monégasque explained, informing them on the unfortunate moment.

Max frowned. ''That's not good, no. You didn't saw him coming?''

''The team didn't tell me.'' Charles answered, holding in the urge to roll his eyes.

''They didn't tell you that Lando was coming? That's fucked up.'' The youngest one said, puzzled on why this even happened in the first place.

The Ferrari driver shook his head. ''I'm gonna get a penalty for a mistake I didn't make.'' The defeated look on Charles' face upsetted both of his competitors, disappointed that the Monaco curse had found its way to him again.

A silence fell upon them, not knowing what to say as the three of them were all feeling very different emotions after the chaotic qualifying session.

''Well, I'm gonna grab my award.'' Y/N sheepishly smiled, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

The two men nodded at her as she walked away, but she turned around as a thought came into her brain. ''Oh and Charles?''

''Yes?''

''Tell them it was just an inchident.''

taglist :: @cl16version @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @alonsogirlie @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123 @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis @champomiel @ooooohmicky @koufaxx @flannelforthetoads

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #f1 x female driver #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x you #sebastian vettel x you

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aspenmissing · 2 months ago

Note

Hiiii, firstly I love all your arcane works but recently I have been re-reading the ones related to pregnancy you wrote and oh my god they are so cuteee (as all your other works, of course 💜)! Secondly, I am sooo happy that your requests are back on! I have had this idea in my head for a while now and I wanted to ask if you can write it! Yeah I know I am rambling (sorryyy 😅) so this is the actual request:

can you write the arcane characters having a kid/kids with the reader and they have been absent lately due to having a lot of work (you know, they get home late, don't spend a lot of time with their kid/kids, stuff like that) and they share their concern of not being good enough as a parent and the reader comforts them? 🫶

Hope you have a wonderful day/night! 🌞🌛

ᴀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ɢᴜɪʟᴛ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5831 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴀᴅ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀɪʟɪɴɢ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ/ɢᴜɪʟᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ!! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! <3

JAYCE

The soft glow of the hextech lanterns illuminated the master bedroom, casting long shadows against the walls. You sat on the edge of the bed, gently rocking Elias in your arms. The little boy, barely four years old, clung to you sleepily, his tiny fingers grasping the fabric of your nightgown. He had waited up far longer than he should have, his soft brown curls messy from exhaustion. You hummed softly, the quiet lullaby filling the dimly lit room, hoping it would ease him further into slumber.

The sound of the front door clicking open echoed through the quiet house. You sighed, pressing a kiss to Elias’ forehead before looking toward the doorway. Heavy footsteps carried up the stairs, and soon, Jayce appeared, looking utterly drained.

His shoulders sagged, the weight of Piltover's future pressing down on him. His once-pristine white coat was slightly wrinkled, and dark circles had begun to form under his honey-brown eyes. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, eyes softening when they landed on you and the sleeping boy in your arms.

"You're home late again," you murmured, rocking Elias a little more, even though he had already drifted off. You couldn’t help the tinge of sadness in your voice. You knew how hard Jayce worked, how much responsibility rested on his shoulders, but seeing Elias longing for his father every day was beginning to wear on you.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "I know... I know. There was another council meeting. More debates, more paperwork—more problems to solve."

You stood, carefully setting Elias down in his bed before making your way over to Jayce. Your hands found his shoulders, squeezing gently. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jayce. And you can’t keep doing this to Elias."

His expression crumpled slightly at that, guilt flashing across his features. "I know I haven't been around as much as I should be." His voice was low, rough with exhaustion. "I just… I worry that I'm not good enough. For him. For you. I’m trying so hard to make Piltover better, to build something that’ll last—but what if, in the process, I’m failing as a father?"

Your heart ached at his confession. You knew Jayce loved Elias more than anything, and yet, his fear of not being enough was something you’d seen weigh on him more and more as the months passed. You cupped his face, thumb brushing against his cheekbone, urging him to truly see you, to believe the words you were about to say.

"Jayce, look at me." He did. His tired eyes met yours, searching for reassurance. "You are an amazing father. Elias loves you so much. Every time he wakes up, he asks when you're coming home. He talks about how he wants to be like you when he grows up. He’s proud of you. And so am I."

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he buried his face in your shoulder. You felt the tension in him slowly unwind, his weight pressing against you as if he were finally allowing himself to rest.

"I just wish I had more time with him," he admitted, voice muffled against your skin. "I don’t want to be just a story he hears about from you. I want to be there. I want to wake him up in the morning, take him to the market, teach him things. I feel like I’m missing so much already."

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers threading through his hair. "Then be here. Even if it’s just for bedtime, for breakfast, for stolen moments between all your responsibilities. He doesn’t need grand gestures, Jayce. He just needs his dad."

Jayce pulled back slightly, looking at you with a grateful smile. "How did I get so lucky with you?"

You smirked, poking his chest. "Oh, you were very persistent."

A low chuckle escaped him, the first genuine sound of ease you'd heard from him in days. "I did chase after you, didn’t I? Took me how long to finally get you to agree to a date?"

You hummed in amusement, recalling the way he had practically begged you to have dinner with him all those years ago. "Weeks. You were relentless."

"Worth it," he murmured, brushing his lips against yours before pulling you closer once more. "I’ll do better. For both of you. I don’t want Elias growing up wondering if I loved him enough. I need to show him."

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the beat of his heart against your own. "We know," you whispered, leading him toward the bed. "Now get some sleep, love. You deserve to rest too."

Jayce sighed, the exhaustion catching up to him now that he had finally let go of his worries, if only for tonight. And as he pulled you into his arms, the weight of the world seemed just a little lighter. For now, this moment was enough.

VIKTOR

The house was quiet when Viktor finally stepped through the door, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. The dim light from a single lamp in the living room cast long shadows across the walls, making the space feel colder than it should. A deep sigh left him as he rolled his shoulders, exhaustion settling into his very bones after yet another grueling day in the lab.

He hadn't meant for it to be this way.

Late nights, early mornings, barely seeing you or Luka—his absence was becoming more frequent, and he felt it like a weight pressing against his chest. The work was important, revolutionary even, but what was it worth if it meant sacrificing time with his family?

He glanced around the living room, noticing the faint glow of embers still burning in the fireplace. A couple of Luka’s toys were scattered near the coffee table, a few picture books stacked neatly on the side. He swallowed thickly at the sight of a small, worn-out stuffed rabbit lying by the armrest of the couch. It was Luka’s favorite—one he always clutched when he fell asleep, and it was yet another reminder of what Viktor had missed tonight.

"You're late again."

Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but he could hear the exhaustion in it. Not anger, not resentment—just tiredness.

Viktor winced as his gaze flickered to you. You were curled up beneath a thick knitted blanket, legs tucked under you, your fingers gently tracing the edges of a small sketchbook resting on your lap. The dim light illuminated your face just enough for him to catch the sadness lingering in your eyes. He hated it. Hated that he had caused it.

"I know," he murmured, using his cane to steady himself as he took slow steps toward you. "The research, it—" He hesitated, running a hand through his already-messy curls before exhaling heavily. "It is no excuse."

You watched him for a moment, your expression unreadable before you sighed and patted the empty space beside you. "Come here."

He didn’t hesitate.

Lowering himself onto the couch, Viktor let out a small grunt as he leaned his cane against the armrest and sank into the cushions. The exhaustion hit him in full force the moment he allowed himself to relax, and he instinctively let his head fall against the back of the couch.

"You missed Luka's bedtime again," you murmured, flipping open the sketchbook in your lap.

Guilt twisted inside his chest.

"I know." His voice was barely above a whisper.

You didn't say anything for a moment, simply running your fingers over the page before turning it toward him. "But he left you something."

Viktor forced himself to sit up properly, his curiosity piqued. When he finally looked at the page, his breath hitched.

It was a drawing.

A childish, slightly wobbly sketch of him—Luka’s small, uncertain strokes capturing the shape of his cane, the messy scribbles of his curls, and a bright red heart floating beside him. His coat was a little oversized, the lines uneven, but the little details were there—his golden eyes, the way his cane curved at the bottom, even the faintest attempt at drawing the symbols on his vest.

But what hit him the hardest were the words scrawled in shaky, uneven letters above the drawing:

"I love you, Papa!"

Viktor swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced over the lines of the sketch, lingering on the small heart. His vision blurred for a moment, a mixture of exhaustion and raw emotion clouding his sight.

"I fear…" His voice faltered. He let out a slow, shaky breath before trying again. "I fear I am failing him. Failing you."

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining, grounding him. He looked up to meet your gaze, and for a moment, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

"I am here so little," he whispered. "What if I am not enough?"

Your brows furrowed, your grip on his hand tightening. "Viktor." You spoke his name with such tenderness that his chest ached. "You are more than enough."

He let out another shaky breath, his fingers clutching the sketchbook as if it were the only thing keeping him steady.

"Luka loves you," you continued, your voice warm, reassuring. "Every night, he waits at the window, watching for you coming up the road. When you're home, even if just for a little while, he soaks up every second. That picture?" You nodded toward the drawing in his hands. "That’s how he sees you. Not as someone who’s absent, not as someone who doesn’t care, but as someone he loves unconditionally."

Viktor shut his eyes for a moment, letting your words wash over him. He hadn't realized just how much he needed to hear them.

"You don’t have to be perfect," you reassured him. "You just have to be here, in the little ways that matter. And I know your work is important, but we miss you, Viktor. Luka misses you."

A sharp pang struck his heart at those words.

He turned to you fully now, his free hand reaching to cup your cheek. "I miss him too," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "I miss both of you more than you know."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment before offering a soft smile. "Then let’s make more moments. Luka will be thrilled to see you in the morning. Maybe you can wake him up instead of me tomorrow?"

Viktor let out a quiet chuckle, the corners of his lips curving upward despite the exhaustion weighing him down. "I would like that."

"You can make him breakfast, too."

His chuckle turned into a full laugh, soft and warm. "Now, that is a dangerous idea. Do you want our kitchen to survive?"

You laughed too, and it was a sound that made his heart feel a little lighter.

Shifting closer, you rested your head against his shoulder, and Viktor instinctively leaned into you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he continued to stare at Luka’s drawing.

A reminder that despite the late nights, the missed bedtimes, and the endless hours of work—he was loved.

JAYVIK

The late-night moonlight seeped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the quiet bedroom. The air was warm, filled with the slow, steady breathing of four figures tangled together in the middle of the large bed. Y/N lay in the center, arms wrapped protectively around their three children—Elias, the eldest at ten years old, who had his father Viktor’s sharp mind and quiet nature; Lillian, their eight-year-old daughter, who carried Jayce’s confidence and endless curiosity; and little Theo, only five, with a heart as big as the sky and a giggle that could brighten even the darkest days.

All three children were nestled against her, sound asleep, their small bodies pressing against her warmth. Y/N, exhausted from another long day without Viktor and Jayce, had drifted off as well, her hand resting on Theo’s back, the other tangled in Lillian’s hair. Elias clung to her side, seeking the comfort he had been missing with his fathers away so often lately.

The soft creak of the bedroom door announced Viktor and Jayce’s return. The two men stood in the doorway, exhaustion clear in their postures. Viktor leaned against his cane, his golden-brown eyes filled with quiet longing as he took in the sight before him. Jayce ran a tired hand through his hair, guilt pressing heavily on his chest.

“We missed bedtime again,” Jayce murmured, voice thick with regret.

Viktor let out a soft sigh, nodding. “Yes… and more than that. We have been absent too long.” His grip on his cane tightened. “I fear we are failing them, Jayce. Failing her.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched as he looked at their wife, the mother of their children, exhausted but still holding their family together. “I know. I feel it too.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to wake anyone, his broad hand brushing Elias’s hair back. “We need to do better,” he whispered.

Viktor slowly made his way to the other side of the bed, seating himself gingerly. His free hand ghosted over Y/N’s, fingers tracing the back of her knuckles. He swallowed hard before whispering, “I love them more than anything, but I fear I am not enough. I fear they will resent us.”

At that, Y/N stirred. Her lashes fluttered, eyes heavy with sleep, but she knew that tone of voice, knew the weight behind those words. She reached out, catching Viktor’s hand in hers before turning her head to Jayce. “You’re both more than enough,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “The kids adore you. They understand that you’re working hard to give them a better future.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath. “But we aren’t here enough. We keep missing moments. We’re missing them.”

Y/N shifted, careful not to wake the children, and reached out, cupping Jayce’s face. “You’re here now,” she reassured him, thumb stroking his cheek. She turned to Viktor and pulled him closer, resting her forehead against his. “And you’ll always be here, with them, with me.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, his body finally relaxing into her touch. “I want to be better. I want to be here more.”

Y/N smiled softly, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “Then we’ll find a way together. But you have to stop thinking you’re failing them. Viktor, you are brilliant, kind, and loving. Elias watches everything you do and tries to mimic it because he admires you so much. He sees you, even when you think you’re not there enough. And Jayce, you are their hero. Lillian lights up whenever you come home, and she tells me all the time how much she wants to be strong like you. Theo carries both of you in his heart like you are his whole world. You are here. Even when you’re working, even when you’re away, you are always with them.”

Jayce closed his eyes, pressing a kiss into her palm. “I just… I want to be the father they deserve.”

“You already are,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around both men. “They love you so much, and they are so proud to call you their fathers. And I’m proud to call you my husbands”

For a moment, the guilt lingered, but it was softened by her warmth, by the quiet breathing of their children surrounding them. One by one, they carefully shifted, making space in the bed. Jayce lay beside Elias, his arms instinctively wrapping around his son, and Viktor nestled close, his cane set beside the bed, Lillian curling against his chest.

Y/N let out a contented sigh as Theo nuzzled against her, small fingers curling into her shirt. “See?” she whispered, smiling sleepily at them both. “You belong here. Always.”

Viktor brushed a kiss to her temple, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Jayce, pressing a gentle kiss to Lillian’s forehead, let out a deep sigh, finally allowing himself to relax. The weight of the world could wait until tomorrow. For now, they were home, together, exactly where they were meant to be.

And with that, the family drifted off together, the warmth of love wrapping around them like the safest haven in the world.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual. The hum of voices downstairs had dimmed, leaving only the occasional clink of glasses and the murmur of lingering patrons. The air smelled of ale and worn wood, a scent that usually reminded you of home.

But tonight, as you sat at the edge of your shared bed, your arms wrapped around your knees, it felt…lonely.

Vander had been distant lately. Not emotionally—no, he still held you close when he was home, still pressed his lips to your temple when he thought you were asleep—but physically, he was absent more than ever. Late nights at the bar, ensuring the safety of those under his protection, handling deals, disputes, and all the other burdens that came with being the Hound of the Undercity.

And it wasn’t just you who noticed.

Your daughter, Isla, had been asking about him constantly. "When will Papa be home?" or "Why doesn’t Papa tuck me in anymore?" Her small brows furrowed whenever you tried to explain. It broke your heart to see her tiny hands clutching one of Vander’s old gloves, as if holding onto it would bring him home sooner.

Tonight was no different. She had asked for him again, her little face peering up at you as you tucked her into bed. "Will he be home soon?"

You had stroked her soft brown curls, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Of course, sweetheart. He always comes home."

She had nodded sleepily but didn’t look convinced. Even after you whispered "Sweet dreams," her small fingers held onto the blanket loosely, as if she was waiting just a little longer for him to appear in the doorway.

Now, as you sat alone in the dim candlelight of your room, the door creaked open.

Vander stepped inside, fatigue weighing down his every movement. His broad shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his greying hair, letting out a slow breath as if releasing the weight of the world for just a moment.

You didn’t greet him right away. Instead, you watched as he loosened the straps of his boots rolling his shoulders with a grunt before dropping onto the bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"Long day?" you murmured, reaching out to smooth your fingers over his rough knuckles.

Vander let out a breathy chuckle, but it was tired, worn. "Feels like a long year."

Silence settled between you, stretching like an unspoken conversation neither of you wanted to have. Then, after a pause, he exhaled deeply.

"I… I ain’t been here enough." His voice was low, weighed with regret. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his temples. "I see the way Isla looks at me. Like I’m some stranger who just drops in every now and then."

Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice. You turned to face him fully, threading your fingers through his, grounding him in the warmth of your touch.

"She loves you, Vander. We both do," you reassured him softly. "She just… she misses you."

"I miss her too," he admitted, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. Then, softer, "Miss you."

You squeezed his hand. "Then come home earlier. Even if it’s just once or twice a week. Just to sit with her, play with her. She doesn’t care about anything else, Vander. She just wants her Papa."

His jaw tightened, his gaze lowering as doubt flickered across his features. "And if I ain't good enough? If all this responsibility makes me a terrible father?"

Before you could answer, the bedroom door burst open.

"Papa!"

A small whirlwind of brown curls and a tiny nightgown sprinted across the room. Isla’s little feet pattered against the wooden floor, her plush bunny dangling limply in one hand as she ran straight for Vander.

Without hesitation, he caught her mid-run, effortlessly lifting her into his arms with the same ease he once lifted bar kegs. She squealed in delight, her small fingers curling into his vest as she snuggled against his chest.

"Well, look who it is," Vander rumbled, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. His voice had softened into something unbreakably gentle. "My little princess. Shouldn’t you be sleepin’, sweetheart?"

"You didn’t say goodnight!" Isla huffed, tightening her arms around his neck as if afraid he’d disappear again. "You’re always busy!"

Vander’s face fell, guilt flashing in his blue eyes as he held her closer. He pressed a large, calloused hand against her back, rubbing soothing circles.

"I know, love. I’m sorry," he murmured, resting his chin atop her head.

Isla pulled back just enough to frown up at him, her small hands cupping his face, thumbs pressing lightly against his stubbled cheeks. "Do you have to be busy all the time?"

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in her little voice.

For all his strength, for all his resilience, Vander crumbled in her grasp. He swallowed thickly, his large hands cradling her tiny form as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

"Not always," he admitted softly, his forehead leaning against hers. "Not tonight."

Her little face lit up instantly, eyes sparkling. "Promise?"

Vander chuckled, rubbing his nose against hers in an affectionate Eskimo kiss. "Promise, princess."

Satisfied, Isla nuzzled back into his chest, her tiny fingers gripping onto his vest as if anchoring herself to him. "Can I sleep with you and Mama tonight?"

Vander looked over at you, silently asking for permission. You smiled, nodding as you shifted to make space.

"Of course, sweetheart," you murmured, brushing some curls away from her face.

Vander settled back against the bed, making sure she was securely tucked in his arms. As she nestled into him, his large hand moved in slow, soothing circles over her small back, his fingers tracing invisible patterns.

"I love you, my little princess," he whispered into her hair. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

She let out a sleepy hum, burrowing closer. "Love you too, Papa…"

You watched as Vander held her close, something easing within him. The once-tense lines on his face softened, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like weeks. He met your gaze over the top of her head, and for a moment, neither of you had to say anything.

This was home.

Not just these four walls. Not just The Last Drop.

Home was here. In the warmth of your arms, in the tiny girl curled up against him, in the love that wrapped around him like a safe embrace.

Vander let out a breath, his grip on both of you tightening as he finally, finally allowed himself to rest.

SILCO

The nursery was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lantern, its golden light flickering against the walls as Y/N sat in the rocking chair, cradling her daughters in her arms. Elysia and Seraphine—tiny things with their father’s sharp features but her warmth in their expressions—curled close to her, their soft, sleepy breaths the only sound filling the room.

Y/N hummed a gentle lullaby, one hand smoothing over Seraphine’s wild tufts of hair while the other gently patted Elysia’s back. The two had been fussing earlier, restless without their father’s presence. It had been weeks now—Silco came home late every night, exhausted, distracted. They hardly saw him, let alone the girls. Y/N understood the weight of his work, the burden of his ambitions, but it didn’t make the ache of his absence any less sharp.

The door creaked open, and Y/N lifted her gaze to see Silco standing there, his frame bathed in the dim light of the lantern. He looked tired—more than tired. The shadows under his singular, piercing eye were deep, his expression drawn and hesitant. He lingered by the doorway, as if unsure if he belonged in this quiet, peaceful moment.

For a long moment, he just stood there, taking them in. His family. His wife and daughters, wrapped in a warmth that he had long felt slipping from his grasp. His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally moved, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. Instead of reaching for them, he lowered himself into the chair beside Y/N’s, exhaling deeply as he settled in. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together tightly as if bracing himself.

His gaze traced over Elysia and Seraphine, their small bodies curled against Y/N’s warmth. He could hear the faintest sighs of their breaths, the way their chests rose and fell in unison, utterly at peace. He swallowed hard. Had they already grown this much in the time he had spent away? Had he missed too much?

He ran a hand over his face before speaking, his voice hushed. "They are beautiful”

Y/N smiled softly, shifting slightly so he could see them better. “They are. They take after you more than you think.”

Silco let out a breath, shaking his head. “I see you in them, too. The kindness in their eyes, the way they reach for you even in sleep.” He hesitated, his fingers drumming against his knee. “I wonder if they’ll ever reach for me the same way.”

Y/N frowned, tilting her head. “They will, Silco. They already do.”

He let his gaze linger on them a moment longer. “I want to be here more,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t know if I can give them what they need.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She reached out, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing against the scarred skin he had long since stopped flinching away from. “You’re not failing us, love,” she reassured him gently. “You’re carrying so much… but you’re still here. That matters.”

Silco exhaled, his fingers twitching before he reached out to gently take Y/N’s hand in his. He studied the way their fingers intertwined, as if grounding himself in the moment. “Sometimes, I feel like a stranger in my own home,” he admitted. “Like I’ve spent so much time chasing something that I lost sight of what was already here.”

Y/N leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. “You haven’t lost us. You never could.”

Silco closed his eye, inhaling deeply as he absorbed her words. He shifted, hesitantly reaching toward the sleeping girls, his fingers barely grazing Seraphine’s tiny hand. She twitched slightly in response, a soft murmur escaping her lips as she settled again. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

“They’re so small,” he murmured. “So fragile.”

“But strong,” Y/N whispered. “Like their father.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed across his features before he nodded. “Let me take them to bed,” he murmured, carefully reaching for them.

Y/N nodded, watching as he carefully lifted both girls into his arms, one in each. They stirred slightly, their little faces scrunching up before they nestled against his chest, soothed by his presence. He held them close, cradling them with a tenderness that few ever saw in him.

He remained still for a moment, feeling their small, rhythmic breaths against him. A warmth filled his chest, a feeling so foreign yet familiar. He was always fighting for something, for survival, for power, but in this moment, he fought for stillness. For this.

Y/N stood, following as he carried them to their shared crib, gently laying them down. Seraphine let out a tiny sigh, her tiny hand twitching before settling into sleep. Elysia, ever the clingy one, whined softly, only to be soothed when Silco brushed a careful hand over her back.

He lingered, watching them, reluctant to pull away. His fingers ghosted over their blankets, ensuring they were snug. Y/N wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her head against his shoulder. “They know you’re here,” she whispered.

Silco let out another slow breath before wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they watched over their sleeping children. He had built a world of shadows, but here, in this quiet nursery, he found his light.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice low, meant only for her.

Y/N pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Always.”

They stood there, holding each other, watching over the two tiny lives they had created, wrapped in the quiet warmth of family. And for once, Silco allowed himself to believe he truly belonged.

CLAGGOR (AU)

The door creaked open just as the clock ticked past midnight, and the heavy boots that stepped inside were all too familiar. Claggor let out a long, weary sigh as he shrugged off his coat, his fingers stiff from the cold night air. He rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion clinging to him.

The house was quiet—too quiet. The only light came from the dim glow of the kitchen lantern, casting long shadows over the wooden floor. And there you stood, arms crossed, waiting.

Despite the tension coiled in his shoulders, his heart softened at the sight of you. The exhaustion in your eyes mirrored his own, but where he expected frustration, all he saw was understanding. That hurt even more than if you’d been angry.

"You're home late again," you murmured, your voice gentle, but the weight of your concern was clear.

Claggor exhaled deeply, running a hand over his buzzed hair. "Yeah... I know. Work's been piling up. Vander needs me on extra runs, and with everything going on in the Lanes..." His voice trailed off as his gaze flickered toward the closed bedroom door—the one that led to your son’s room.

Your heart clenched as you followed his stare. You had tucked Finn in only an hour ago, after he had stubbornly fought off sleep, waiting for his father to return.

"He was asking for you again," you admitted softly, stepping forward. "He kept asking when Papa was coming home. He wanted to wait, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. I had to carry him to bed when he fell asleep on the couch."

Claggor sucked in a sharp breath, his hands clenching into fists before releasing. He glanced at the door again, as if expecting to see Finn peeking out, but the house remained quiet.

His broad shoulders slumped. "I missed bedtime again." It wasn’t a question—it was a realization, heavy with guilt.

You nodded, stepping closer, reaching up to cup his face. Your thumb traced the tired creases near his eyes, the ones that hadn’t been there when you first fell in love with him. "I know it’s important," you murmured. "But you’re exhausted, Claggor. You can’t keep running yourself into the ground like this."

He leaned into your touch, his warm skin rough under your fingertips. For a moment, he simply closed his eyes, breathing you in, letting himself exist in the space between work and home—the space where he belonged.

But even then, something was still weighing on him.

"I’m failing him, aren’t I?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his words raw, as if speaking them aloud made the guilt all the more real.

Your heart ached at his vulnerability. "Claggor—"

"No, just—just listen," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I wanted to give him a good life. Better than what we had growing up. I wanted him to have everything we didn’t, but I’m barely around." He let out a humorless chuckle, but there was no amusement in it—only pain. "What good is working this hard if I can’t even be a father to my own kid?"

You sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his chest. He was solid, warm, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he held himself too tightly, like a man carrying the weight of the world.

"Claggor," you whispered, voice firm but full of love. "You are not failing him."

He didn’t respond immediately, just buried his face into your hair, his arms locking around you as if afraid to let go. You held him tighter, letting the silence stretch between you, giving him time to let your words sink in.

"You’re doing everything you can to provide for this family," you continued. "Finn loves you—adores you. He asks about you all the time, talks about how strong and cool his Papa is. He shows off to the other kids, saying his dad is the bravest man in the Undercity."

Claggor let out a soft breath, his grip on you tightening slightly. "Yeah?"

You nodded, pulling back just enough to meet his tired gaze. "But he does miss you. And he’s not the only one."

His expression softened, and he reached up to brush his calloused thumb along your cheek. "I miss you too," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "I miss both of you. I hate coming home this late. I hate not seeing him before he goes to bed. I hate not seeing you."

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "Then let’s figure this out together," you said, determination creeping into your voice. "Maybe cut back on some late runs? Find more time for Finn during the day?"

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in weeks. "Yeah... yeah, I can talk to Vander, work something out."

"Good," you whispered, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss against his lips. He melted into it, the stress, the exhaustion, the guilt all momentarily fading away.

When you pulled back, you smiled softly at him. "Because at the end of the day, all Finn really wants is his Papa. And all I want is my husband."

Claggor let out a breathy chuckle, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I don’t deserve you, you know that?"

You arched a brow. "Damn right, you don’t," you teased, nudging him playfully. "But lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere."

His chest shook with a quiet laugh before he pulled you back into a tight embrace.

Tomorrow, things would start to change. Claggor would talk to Vander, adjust his work, and make more time for Finn. It wouldn’t be perfect—it never was in the Undercity—but it would be better.

For now, though, you pulled him toward the bedroom, where the warmth of your shared life—and the quiet, steady breaths of your sleeping son—waited for him.

Because no matter how late he came home, home would always be where his heart was.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #claggor x reader #claggor x you #Au!Claggor #arcane angst

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