#but I’ve have some sort of pain Every Day of this month so far | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

egcdeath · 1 year

Text

clean sheet

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: nothing stirs the pot like your ex-husband, gossipy soccer moms, and a weekend-long soccer tournament. (part two of spectator sport)

word count: 7.7k

warnings: canon divergent: no apocalypse, implied past emotional abuse, jealousy/misunderstanding, kinda angsty in the beginning but verrrry fluffy at the end, insecurities, there was only one bed, mutual pining, sarah and chloe being menaces as usual

author’s note: this past week has been extremely rough. like, ao3 author’s note apologizing for being gone rough, so i’m just as surprised as you are that i was able to write 7,000 words of a part two to spectator sport. enjoy!

part 3 / series masterlist

Tournament season was nothing short of an absolute pain in the ass. It was a pain in the ass when you were married and able to evenly split your responsibilities, and it’s even more of a pain in the ass now that your ex-husband has decided to participate minimally in all soccer related ventures.

To be completely honest, it seemed like it wasn’t just soccer ventures your ex wasn’t too enthused to partake in, as Nathan had ditched most of his fatherly duties whenever a new, younger girlfriend was in the picture. But that was neither here nor there.

Despite Nathan taking Chloe to her past few games this season—you were completely swamped with work and you had practically gotten on your knees and begged for him to take her to them—he didn’t seem to have any interest in assisting you with tournaments.

That was fine and good. You knew about the events far enough in advance to move some meetings around, block off some time, and cross your fingers and hope that nothing came up unexpectedly in the days prior to your game. Although, what you couldn’t account for was your car completely breaking down on your way back from a bagel shop the morning before you were meant to be on the road for the next three hours.

But alas, the universe had its way of kicking you when you were already down, leaving you biting back tears in the passenger seat of a tow truck as you attempted to figure out a Plan B.

“Please, Nathaniel,” you pleaded over the phone, pacing back and forth in your bedroom as you tried your absolute best to hold the last bits of your composure together.

“I’ve been at her last three games,” it was impossible to miss the sneer in his voice as if his own daughter was the biggest burden in the world. “And where have you been? It’s practically been a month.”

“Where have I been?” you laughed out of anger and at the absurdity of his words. You knew that he knew for a fact that you’d been drowning in work. “Nathaniel. You know how my work has been. Please just do this one thing for your child. It’s the fucking weekend. It’s not like you’re doing anything else.”

“It’s always work with you. You know, this is why I couldn’t be with you anymore. You were always so selfish with your time and inconsiderate with mine,” he sighed dismissively. “And for the record, Claire and I have a reservation tonight. So I am doing something else.”

It was staggering how minimized and powerless he made you feel after every interaction despite how little he actually was in your life. Every time you interacted with the man you thanked whatever forces out there that you somehow found it in yourself to leave.

You huffed and blinked away tears, hugging yourself to attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort. After signing the papers, you told yourself you would never waste one single tear on the man again. You wouldn’t let a little argument like this change that promise.

“Can I at least borrow your car?” you sounded so meek and desperate, but you were running out of options, and with every passing minute you had less and less options.

Instead of responding, Nathan simply laughed at you before ending the call. Humiliated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt about the whole situation.

You angrily wiped away the hot tears that had slipped down your face without your permission and sighed as you evaluated what options you had left. You could take an Uber, but it would be ridiculously expensive. You could rent a car, but Chloe was bound to get stains and dirt tracked throughout the vehicle. Anything else was far too short notice.

You flopped down onto your bed and screamed into your pillow. The stress from your overfilled work week combined with an extremely inconvenient situation was taking its toll on you, but you needed to figure something out.

Maybe you could carpool with someone. Although, you weren’t sure who was still in town, as most of the families liked to leave at the ass crack of dawn. If that wasn’t enough, you weren’t exactly sure you wanted to sit in a small contained space with some of those families for a prolonged period of time.

Maybe you could ‘borrow’ Nathan’s car regardless of what he said. You were sure his new girlfriend had a car–if she was even old enough to drive one–and they could certainly take that car to their ever-important reservation tonight. Although, maybe getting a grand theft auto charge in order to make it to a soccer tournament wasn't your greatest idea.

You were deep in the eye of a brainstorm when a soft little knock rapped against your door, seconds before Chloe peeked her head in.

“Hi mom,” she greeted, completely unaware of the extent of your conundrum. “Sarah can’t find her cleats and wanted to know if she could borrow one of mine. Where do you keep my old ones?”

Joel.

Oh shit, Joel.

Joel who you’d accidentally ghosted after the promise of a date. With work and ex-spousal drama, you hadn’t even had a moment to think about the date. A knot tied in your stomach as you thought about how you’d treated him. He probably thought you were icing him out on purpose.

“They should be downstairs in the front closet under the coats,” you informed her. “You almost ready to go?”

“What does it look like?” she retorted sassily, doing a little spin for you to show off her full soccer attire.

“Alright,” you chuckled, trying to keep it together for just a while longer. “Go find those cleats.”

With that, she was off, and you were alone with just one option.

You dialed the number that you’d only texted once, and bit your lip as the phone rang out. The knot in your stomach tied and untied with each ring of the phone, nausea rattling you as you thought about all the ways he could answer. He’d probably be pissed that you were only reaching out to him now, only when you needed something from him. He’d probably tell you off, just like Nathan, and laugh at you over the phone over the mere prospect of hitching a ride with him.

After three rings, Joel finally picked up, saying your name aloud, as if he was genuinely surprised to be hearing from you.

“Joel, I’m so sorry,” you took a deep breath and attempted to hold back the wave of emotions coming over you. This stupid stressful morning. This stupid stressful month. And stupid you for leaving a good man waiting for you. A good man who was probably moments away from becoming a bad man, like every other one that seemed to appear in your life.

“My car broke down this morning and I don’t have any other way to get to the tournament. Is there any way we can carpool? I’ll literally pay you to take us. I’ll drive Sarah to school for the rest of the school year. Hell, I’ll take her to games too. Just… please.” It felt like you were talking a million miles a minute.

“Hey, take a breath,” he said, clearly picking up on the frantic energy you were radiating through the phone. “We’re heading out in about twenty minutes. We’ll swing by your place. And don’t worry about all that other stuff, okay? Just take a big breath. I’ll see you soon.”

You were flooded with relief as you spoke your gratitude and hung up. It almost felt odd to not have someone go off on you for waiting so last minute to reach out for help, or for not reaching out to them after you said that you would. You were puzzled, and not completely sure what you did to deserve someone like Joel in your life, but you were grateful to have him regardless. Especially now that he was coming to save the day.

Sure enough, around twenty minutes later, a pickup truck arrived in front of your house, and Chloe was sprinting to go sit with her friend in the backseat, still overjoyed from the news that she would be traveling with her friend.

Timidly, you entered the car, still anticipating a stern lecture or even a scolding for being a shitty mom, and an even worse potential partner. “I really can’t thank you enough for this, Joel,” you expressed before he had the chance to speak, hoping that if you expressed your gratitude before he had the chance to yell at you, the blow would be lessened. You kept your eyes down as you sat down and set your overnight bag in front of you.

“Of course. You know, I still owe you a favor after that dinner fiasco,” he glanced over at you and smiled, and some of that fear you had been holding onto began to melt away. Although, you blanched at the mention of the date that you were meant to go on, but hadn’t had the chance to do so. Yet, there didn’t seem to be any malice behind Joel’s words.

“I guess we’re even?” you offered, looking over at the man to attempt to read him as he slung his arm around the back of the headrest and looked through the rearview mirror as he pulled out.

“Yeah,” he said shortly, almost… dejectedly? Maybe you were reading into it too much. After all, his attention was split between you and getting out of your driveway safely.

Regardless of what anyone was feeling, your journey began with the girls in the back chatting amongst themselves and a slightly weighted silence between the two of you in the front while the sound of radio filled in for the lack of conversation between you and Joel.

You spent the majority of the ride looking out your window, deep in thought. You tried not to let Nathan get under your skin all that often, but maybe he was right about the way you spent your time. You’d practically thrown away your shot at any relationship with the man next to you, simply because you were too busy and forgot about a promise you’d made.

You tried to focus on the excited chatter in the seat behind you, and less on the venomous words Nathan had given you over the years, but it was a difficult task. Paired with the fact that you were still waiting for the shoe to drop and Joel to go off on you, it wasn’t the most pleasant time.

After about an hour of driving (and in your case, brooding), you had to make a stop at the gas station, as the truck was running low on fuel. You reached for your wallet and grabbed a twenty dollar bill, then passed it back to the girls behind you. “Go get some snacks for us?”

“Of course!” Chloe cheered, hopping out of the car and racing Sarah into the entrance of the gas station.

Joel was definitely going to go off on you now that the kids were gone. You held your breath as you got out of the car, leaning against the hood of the vehicle as Joel stood by the pump, his eyes fixed on his vehicle.

“I can’t tell you just how sorry I am. About not reaching out to you to go out sometime, and for having to ask you so last minute to take us to the tournament. I’ve just been absolutely swamped with work, and Natha-“

“You’re fine,” Joel cut you off as he acknowledged your apology, keeping his gaze trained on the car. Here it comes. “You don’t need to apologize. Sometimes life just throws a bunch of shit at us at once.”

You nodded in agreement, your breathing picking up as you waited for the condescension or lecture to begin. Yet… it never came. You weren’t sure if he was as upset as you suspected, but Joel was certainly feeling more than he was willing to let on. The lack of eye contact and his slightly off responses told you that much.

“Is everything okay?” you finally asked, trailing off. “You’ve barely said a word all trip.”

“Everything is fine. I’m just tired,” he rubbed his forehead with his hand.

“Well, if you’re tired, I can drive us the rest of the way over and you can sleep. That way you’ll be rested for the game,” you offered, taking a daring step towards him, and setting your hand on his bicep—a peace treaty of sorts. And maybe a hint that you were still interested in whatever sparks had been evident before.

Joel immediately stiffened under your touch, and subtly rejected the motion. He glanced over at you for just a moment before looking back down at the gas pump and shut his eyes. “That’d be great. I’m really exhausted.”

While you could believe that maybe Joel was just tired, there had to be more to the story. The way he rejected your subtle touch and the way he just couldn’t seem to meet your eyes told you that much. Perhaps you underestimated just how hurt he was by you not making plans with him, although it wasn’t like he’d reached out to you to set something up. In fact, the last time you heard from him was the night before the girls’ game following their team dinner.

“Of course. Go ahead and get back in the car, I can take everything from here.”

The rest of the ride wasn’t too long, but you were happy to contribute after asking for such a last minute favor. You drove straight to the grounds that the team was playing on that afternoon, as you were already pushing it on time, and certainly did not have time to go check into your hotel yet.

Your kids jogged off to greet their team and warm up with them, leaving you alone with Joel once again as you grabbed fold-out chairs from the back of his truck.

“You feeling any better now after sleeping?” you asked, turning to look at him and inspect his face for any suspicious expressions.

“Yeah, definitely,” he affirmed, but his words didn’t exactly match what it was you had observed. He closed his trunk and began to walk away, and you followed after him, feeling a bit like a lost puppy.

“Joel, really. You can tell me what’s wrong,” you practically pleaded, part of you still waiting for the moment he would tell you off.

“I already told you,” his tone was defensive, and when he turned back to look at you, the agitation was clearly painted on his face. “Nothing is wrong.”

You were taken aback, but understood that you had crossed some sort of boundary in your continuous pressing of what was wrong. You felt more like a kicked puppy than a lost one as you walked out to the fields behind Joel, setting your chair up close to him, but with a little more distance between the two of you than what you would have preferred.

You didn’t talk much during the game, outside of cheering for your daughters and momentarily celebrating when one of them pulled something impressive off.

Although you didn’t interact much, it still felt nice to be back at a game after being gone for the past few weeks. And honestly, it felt even more nice to be back in Joel’s presence after those weeks, even if it was clear that something had shifted between the two of you.

When the second game began, you were surprised to come back from your short leg-stretch walk to find another chair placed next to Joel’s—and a woman happily chatting his ear off.

A pang of jealousy struck your gut as you observed the two of them. It was no secret that most of the moms (and some of the dads) on the team (and other teams) saw the same things in Joel that you did. But you had absolutely no right to feel jealous, considering the way you’d basically led him on, and you had absolutely no reason to believe that there was anything romantic going on between them.

But you felt unwell anyway.

You urged yourself not to look at them for too long, instead focusing on the game in front of you, but the sounds of their voices and the way their conversation easily flowed was far too distracting. Just the rotten cherry on top of an already shitty day.

You felt ridiculous and childish sitting there with jealousy burning deeply in your stomach as you mentally ran through all of the things you could have done differently. Maybe if you’d texted Joel the night of your dinner and found a day where you both weren’t busy to go out together, or if you’d just said no to taking on a few extra hours, you’d be the one giggling and playing with your hair as you chatted up Joel.

It was official: you couldn’t torture yourself with staying one more moment with the two of them. Instead, you shot out of your uncomfortable little chair, and hauled your jealous little ass over to the concession stand. If you couldn’t go back in time and fix all the mistakes you’d made leading up to today, at least you could stuff your face full of peanut M&Ms until you felt better.

As you focused on tearing the yellow plastic with a little more force than what was necessary, you completely missed Alice—one of the more gossipy mothers on the team—approaching you.

“Hey babe,” she greeted cheerily. “We haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Where’ve you been?”

Your mouth was currently filled with candy, so it took you a second to respond. “Work,” you said in between chewing. “I barely had time to breathe, let alone bring Chloe to her games, so I had to basically beg on my knees for a little help from her father. Speaking of which, how was Nathan?”

“Oh,” Alice paused and looked off to the side, a little too guiltily for your liking. “Yeah, he was fine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, brows furrowed at her strange reaction.

“Yeah! He was great. It’s just…” she trailed off and offered you an awkward smile. “We thought you two were maybe back together. You know, with the whole co-parenting thing.”

Your eye twitched. So the parents of the team were gossiping and theorizing about your love life. Great. That’s probably what was wrong with Joel—word had gotten back to him that you and Nathan were playing house again. No wonder he was putting such distance between you.

“Babe,” you tried not to let the annoyance you were experiencing reflect too much into your tone, “why would you tell people we were back together? Bringing your own child to their sports events is not exactly groundbreaking or relationship material.”

You were now gritting your teeth as the irritation really started to sink in. Joel probably didn’t reach out to you for your date since these fucking real housewives you were surrounded by had decided to spread baseless rumors about you from the moment your ex had stepped onto the sideline.

You were wrong. This was the rotten cherry on top of the absolute dogshit milkshake of a day you’d had.

“I’m sorry,” Alice didn’t sound as remorseful as you wish she did. You knew that deep down, she was enjoying this little game and would be more than happy to spread this information back to her friends. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s fine, the damage is done,” you sighed, shoving a handful of candy in your mouth.

“Have you seen Joel and Cindy, though? They’re so cute together!”

It was now clearer than ever that Alice was only interacting with you to stir the pot, so you simply put on the best fake smile you could muster and nodded. “Adorable. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go sit back down. I haven’t seen Chloe play in a few weeks, and she was doing so well in the last game, I’m sure she’s doing great now too!”

You didn’t wait for a response before walking off, attempting to suppress all of the feelings you were having with this new information you’d been given. In the three weeks you’d been gone, Alice had convinced the team that you and Nathan were back together, and Joel had already moved on. If you hadn’t cared so much about Chloe’s passions, you would’ve had her quit on the spot. You simply could not handle any more of this soccer parent culture.

Sitting back down in your seat, you offered Joel an M&M, to which he politely declined. You wondered if there was a way for you to casually explain that you and Nathan were not and would not ever be an item again, but then again, it seemed like with Cindy in the picture, the ship of making anything work with you two had sailed.

You attempted to focus on your daughter, who unsurprisingly was doing quite well in the game. You were glad that no matter how shitty your day was turning out, your kin was at least having a better day—and having fun doing it.

You simply went through the motions through the rest of the day, squeezing your daughter tight with a hug when all of the games for the day were finished and telling Sarah about how great of a job she did, then falling back into a somewhat uncomfortable silence on your drive to the hotel.

Checking in had proved to be… a bit of an odd situation. As you pocketed your room keys, Chloe made an odd offer—her and Sarah would share a room while you and Joel would share your own.

It shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did when your daughters proposed that you and Joel share a room so that they could have a sleepover, but it caught you off guard regardless.

You were hesitant for several obvious reasons, but their room was adjoined to yours, and there was a perfectly nice pull-out bed in the sofa, which meant there was absolutely no need to share a bed with Joel. After some consideration and discussion with the man who would be your roommate for the night, you ultimately settled on allowing it. You would take the sofa. Joel would take the bed.

Besides, it’s not like he’d be spending the majority of the night in the room. After a short conversation, he was getting dressed and going off to dinner with Cindy.

You tried not to feel bad for yourself for too long. You’d already spent the majority of the day feeling bad for yourself, whether it was for the shitty situations you found yourself in, or the way the moms on your team treated your love life like their favorite reality show.

Knocking on the door adjacent to your own, you were happy to see Chloe crack open her door.

“Hi girls,” you greeted. “What do you say to a pajama party?”

“Yes!” Chloe squealed, swinging her door wide open. Conveniently, they were already dressed the part, and were seemingly ready to wind down after a long day of physical activity.

After ordering an absurd amount of room service and having nothing short of a feast with your favorite pre-teens, the three of you sat on the floor under a blanket fort you’d constructed as you played Uno with some random network romcom playing in the background.

It felt like after a long day of holding your breath, you could finally let go of it, winding down with your two favorite children.

“Do you feel like you had a good day today?” you asked, placing a green three on top of the pile of cards.

“Yeah! I missed having you and my dad together at our games,” Sarah remarked, drawing a card.

Chloe nodded in agreement, setting down one of her own cards. “You really spice up our games. I think Joel yells a little louder at us when you’re here. He was pretty quiet when dad was bringing me.”

You tried not to let your emotions show on your face too much in front of the children, but it was undeniably sweet that you being around brightened Joel’s light, even now, when things were a little more awkward between the two of you. You simply hummed as you set down your card.

“Yeah, he kept asking me if I knew where you were,” Sarah drew a card then placed the card back down on the pile. “I think he missed you.”

So maybe Joel wasn’t as mad at you as you thought he was. Asking where you were had to be a good sign, right? Maybe it really just boiled down to him thinking you were back together with your ex-husband, and him not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“I think you’re our good luck charm. Did you see how well we played today?” Chloe asked, discarding a card. “Uno.”

“I think you guys are just good,” you set down a card. “Uno.”

“I dunno, when you were gone we kept losing,” Sarah set down a skip, causing Chloe to exclaim in frustration.

“Our friendship is over,” Chloe announced to Sarah for what must’ve been the third time that night.

“Mean it this time?” she teased.

“I swear!” the pair broke out into giggles as you set down your final card.

“We need to team up on you! How is it that you keep winning?” Sarah asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“She’s a dirty cheater,” Chloe tutted. “Just ask her why we don’t play Monopoly anymore. Right, mom?”

“Hey!” you exclaimed. “It was a rough patch. I keep winning Uno because you two keep targeting each other. What happened to team work?”

“No such thing in Uno,” Sarah shrugged.

You laughed aloud, feeling some of your stress melting away with the motion, “you guys are too funny.”

Chloe yawned and reached for the pile in the middle of your little circle. “You can’t compliment your way out of this, cheater.”

“Ugh, whatever. I didn’t realize I raised such a sore loser.”

“Takes one to know one!” Chloe jeered.

“Sure,” you chuckled. “Well, I think it's this cheater’s bedtime. Can I help you guys undo the pillow fort?”

The girls agreed, and you helped take down the mess of blankets, chairs, and pillows as they began to wind down and settle into bed.

“Goodnight, girls,” you bid farewell as you approached the adjoining door. “If you need anything, just come on over, okay? Sweet dreams,” you blew kisses to both of them before going back over to your side of the room.

When you made it back to your room, Joel was already in bed, the soft light of the television illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room. The light from the screen and his pajamas were doing him all sorts of favors, making him look like he walked straight out of your domestic fantasy.

“When did you get back?” you asked as you grabbed your phone charger from your bag and approached the pull-out bed.

“Like, an hour ago,” he shrugged, leaning back against the headboard.

“You should’ve come over and played Uno with us,” you suggested, attempting to get cozy in your makeshift bed as you pulled the threadbare hotel blanket over your legs. “We had a little fort and everything.”

“Didn’t wanna intrude on your girls’ night,” he mumbled sleepily, hugging a pillow as he adjusted himself in bed.

“We would’ve been happy to have you,” you muttered, trying your best to relax in the rather uncomfortable makeshift bed.

Joel simply grunted in response, his eyes now shut. You could only assume that sleep set in quickly, and you’d now lost him to dreamland.

You stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Part of you wished that this whole day was just an awful dream, and that you’d wake up the morning after the team dinner at Joel’s house, able to do everything all over again.

Rolling onto your side, you hoped that the shitty pull-out bed would become even slightly more comfortable, but your hope was to no avail. You sighed softly and closed your eyes, wondering if you started counting sheep, if it’d be any easier to fall asleep.

About fifteen sheep in, Joel’s soft voice calling your name pulled you out of whatever sleepy daze you’d been in.

“Hey, are you sleeping yet?” he practically whispered.

“No,” you responded, voice far above a whisper. “The floor would probably be more comfortable than this.”

“I told you you shouldn’t have taken the pull-out bed,” he goaded.

“You wanna get down here and sleep on it for me?”

“No. Well… Would it help you sleep better?”

“Joel,” you huffed.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” you listened as the bedsheets began to rustle.

“No, no, don’t do that. Your body needs an actual bed after all that hard manual labor you do. Lay back down.”

“Not if you can’t fall asleep because of that shitty bed. Trust me, I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Now I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”

Joel paused for a second, and you assumed he’d finally given up. Good.

Until he called your name once again. “Come up here and get a good night’s rest.”

“No,” you argued, though your sleepy brain was practically begging you to move to the comfier location. “You need it more than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You snickered, “whatever you want it to mean.”

Silence on his end once again. Time to start herding your sheep.

“Why don’t we just share? There’s probably room for three of me on this bed.”

A bold proposition from a man who got back from a date only a few hours ago. A bold proposition that you were probably a bit too enthusiastic to take.

“Fine,” you huffed. “Only to get you off my ass.”

Every part of your body was thanking you as you slipped out of the shitty couch-bed and padded over to the empty side of the real bed. Tentatively, you got in bed and under the sheets, making sure to keep yourself on your side and keeping your back facing his.

“Goodnight, Joel.” you finally whispered.

“Goodnight,” he softly said your name, and you imagined the look on his face. Maybe in a different world, one where you’d gone on a date with him when the offer was on the table, you’d be in bed with him without the argument, with his arm wrapped around your waist as he wrapped you in a warm embrace, or with him hovering above you as you attempted to keep quiet in a hotel filled with guests who were more than willing to speculate about you.

It was nice to have someone in bed with you again. Even if all you had was the heat radiating off of the man next to you, and the sound of his deep breaths as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. Despite all that had gone wrong in the day, and whatever Joel’s situation was with his date, somehow laying in bed with someone else made you feel at ease.

You didn’t have to count any more sheep to fall asleep that night.

When you woke up, Joel was already out of bed, pulling on a hat and slipping on his shoes. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he commented as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “Wanna get complimentary breakfast before it goes away?”

You stretched out as you listened to the proposition, wondering if the phantom feeling of an arm around your waist during the night was real or just a dream. “You know me so well.”

Somehow, the tension between the two of you didn’t feel so heavy that morning. Maybe sleeping in bed together had helped to break the ice, or maybe some other variable was at play. Regardless, you were happy to feel like your relationship had gone back to what it had been a month ago, even if Joel really was beginning to form something with Cindy.

The hotel lobby wasn’t too busy when you and Joel went down. You were certainly grateful, as the fact that you had just rolled out of bed and gone to breakfast was more than obvious to anyone who’d looked at you for more than two seconds.

You were stirring endless circles into your coffee when Joel sat down across from you, sighing as he leaned back into his chair.

“Sleep well?” he asked before taking a hearty sip of his own coffee.

You held back a laugh and exchanged it for the slightest hint of a smile. If only he knew just how well you slept. “I guess,” you admitted. “I always sleep well in hotel beds.”

You were completely uncertain of how to address the bed-sized elephant in the room, or if it was even a good idea to do so. But the lack of coffee in your system and the remnants of sleep clouding your brain had lowered your inhibitions significantly, causing the next words to tumble out of your mouth.

“Thank you for letting me join you,” you involuntarily held your breath after saying so, too afraid to openly wait for his reaction.

“Of course,” he hummed, beginning to stab at some of the food on his plate. “I couldn’t just let you break your back on that couch-bed.”

“Well I appreciate it,” you began to pick at some of your own food, the two of you falling into a far more comfortable silence. Obviously something had shifted between the time of the game and now, but you couldn’t quite place it. Since you were already in the mood to address elephants in the room, you had no issue blurting, “How was your date last night?”

“Date?” Joel looked up from his scrambled eggs with a furrowed brow.

“With Cindy? From the other team?” you took a bite of toast and didn’t back down from the loaded eye contact going on between the two of you.

“Well, it wasn’t a date. Cindy’s married. Happily, I might add. Just catching up with a family friend.”

You were slightly taken aback, but not necessarily in a bad way. Suddenly, you felt silly for all the energy you’d wasted the day prior feeling jealous and bad for yourself, when you didn’t even know the full story.

“Well, what about Nathan? Is he a family friend?” it came out defensive, and you couldn’t particularly blame him for it. Finally some proof that this was what that weird tension had been all about.

Maybe if your mind was slightly more clear, you’d find it cute that you were both a little jealous over each other. Maybe you really hadn’t thrown away your chance at this thing the way you’d thought you did.

“No! I told you, I’ve been swamped with work. Like, getting home so late that I only see Chloe in the mornings and when I tuck her into bed, late. She needed to go to her games, and I knew there was only one person I could possibly guilt trip into bringing her. But I would rather marry the actual incarnation of Satan himself before spending another day with her father.”

“Oh,” Joel said quietly, lifting his disposable cup to his lips and seeming rather deep in thought.

“But you thought I was with him this whole time?”

“I guess?”

“And you still invited me into your bed?” you pressed, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“There was nothing inherently romantic or… sexual about that. I just didn’t want you to wake up in pain,” he set down his cup, but continued staring you down.

You shrugged. Solid answer, although you certainly wouldn’t be opposed to either alternative scenarios.

“But even if there was, it’s only because you deserve better than that man. And from what I’ve seen, pretty much any man is better than him.”

“Including you?” you pressed.

“What do you think?” the little smirk he was obviously trying to fight only egged you on.

“I think I agree with you. Except, I don’t love that you just assumed something about my relationship status because one of those human rumor mills told you it. Next time, you wait until you hear it from me, okay?”

“I normally would’ve, I guess I’m just so used to things not working out with me, my brain was just looking for a reason why this wouldn’t work out either.”

“To be fair, not contacting you after saying I’d go out with you is pretty solid grounds for thinking we wouldn’t work out. But at least let me take you on a date before we try to figure out if we’ll work out or not.”

“You still want to go on that date?” Joel asked, sounding more astonished than you would’ve expected.

“What do you think?” you winked, tossing his words right back at him.

Just as your exchange began to wrap up, you were joined by two sleepy kids, who most certainly heard part of your conversation about going on a date. You couldn’t even bother with feeling mortified, too high on the knowledge that you had yet another shot with Joel.

“How was your sleepover?” you asked the girls without missing a beat.

“Fun. We missed you, though,” Chloe sighed as she buttered up a bagel.

“Yeah, Uno’s not the same without you,” Sarah added as she began to cut up her pancakes.

“I’m flattered, girls. We’ll have to have an Uno tournament sometime and get Joel on it too. Mostly so he can witness me beating everyone’s ass at it.”

“Language, mom. And we all know you’re a cheater.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.”

“I don’t know, I kinda believe it,” Joel teased.

“Not you too, Joel! You’re supposed to be on my side,” you laughed.

Your table fell into comfortable conversation for the rest of breakfast before you had to send the girls off to go get ready for their games. You almost wanted to pinch yourself to check if you were still dreaming after waking up in this domestic paradise following the terrible day you’d had yesterday, but even if it was a dream, you weren’t sure you wanted to wake up.

The rest of the tournament went smoothly, with the ice sufficiently broken between you and Joel, and you even joining in on his conversations with Cindy as the three of you sat together. The girls’ team ultimately won, leading to some very happy passengers as you drove back home. As you exited Joel’s car, you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and a whispered promise of going out with him soon. To think, when you’d started your weekend, you never would have believed it would end in this manner.

——

“Mom, hurry!” Chloe yelled up the stairs at you, sounding a little more impatient than what you would’ve liked.

You could understand where she was coming from. Following the end of the soccer season, Joel had been quite busy, and Chloe hadn’t been able to see her closest friend outside of school hours for quite some time. If you were Chloe, you’d probably be anxious to see Sarah too.

Hurrying down the stairs with a newfound sense of urgency, you gave your daughter a little side hug.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, understanding her urgency a little too well.

“Don’t be sorry. Just be efficient,” she pulled away from you and checked out your clothing. Sure, it was 6 PM and you were already in your pajamas. Sue you for wanting to come back home after a long day at work and put on your softest cat-printed pajama pants. “That’s a good outfit.”

“Oh, thank you. I was actually invited to Paris Fashion Week, but-“

“You can tell me in the car!” she exclaimed as she scurried off, with you following behind the little slippery bastard.

In the car, Chloe seemed to be acting a little… suspicious. Although, you didn’t pay much mind to it, making small talk on the short drive over to her friend’s house. Her friend whose father you still hadn’t found time to go out with.

“Oh yeah, being here reminded me that Joel had something to tell you,” Chloe announced as you pulled into their driveway. “Come in with me?”

By now, you were slightly suspicious, but the idea of having some sort of confrontation by Joel about you not following through on your word once again overrode your suspicions of your child.

As Chloe rang the doorbell, Sarah swung the door open, smiling at her friend, then up at you.

“Hi, come on in!” she said sweetly, opening the door all the way and leading you inside.

As you walked in, your eyes caught on a makeshift pillow fort—one that oddly resembled the one you’d helped the girls make during their tournament. Cute.

“My dad’s inside. He wants to talk to you. See you later, bye!” Sarah talked quickly, and even quicker than her speech, she disappeared up the stairs with your daughter.

Something was definitely up.

You approached the fort with trepidation, and slowly pulled up a flap, where you found Joel dressed similarly to you in a loose shirt and plaid pajama pants, comfortably splayed out on his back while he seemed to be playing Candy Crush on his phone.

“Oh, hey,” you said awkwardly. “The girls said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Oh, hey,” he parroted back, seeming even more taken aback by your presence as he immediately sat up. “Uh, I actually didn’t know you were coming over?”

Oh.

It was always something with your kids. They knew how to scheme, and they knew how to scheme well.

“That’s fine,” you laughed to yourself about the situation. “I was gonna head out anyway. It was good to see you, and for the record, you clean up pretty well,” you teased, alluding to your similar mid-evening pajamas.

“Wait!” he said quickly, nearly cutting you off. “Sorry, wait. Don’t go yet. Unless you have somewhere else to be…?”

You shook your head and shrugged.

“I mean, obviously our kids set us up again, but we also haven’t followed through on that date yet. So maybe we can do it now?”

“Maybe,” you hummed as you sat down next to him on a mountain of pillows. “What would you want to do?” you asked, gently tapping his leg with your fuzzy-sock clad foot. (Chloe didn’t need to know that what was taking you so long was finding these god-forsaken socks.)

“Well, I’ve been wanting to take you out to some snobby, fancy restaurant,” he began.

“Oh?” you voiced, brows raised.

“But I don’t really think that’s either of our speeds.”

“Agreed. I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I’m liking it so far.”

“We also probably shouldn’t leave the girls home alone at night,” he continued to think out loud, his soft eyes never leaving your own. You almost felt like you were caught in a trance by them.

“So what do you suggest we do, Joel?” you asked.

“Well, we have this wonderful pillow fort already at our disposal. Maybe we can order some food and watch a movie?”

“I think sitting in a pillow fort while eating food and watching a movie is my love language. That sounds lovely.”

You two smiled at each other, and you could hear your heartbeat pound in your ears as a warm feeling filled your chest. It had been far too long since you’d felt any semblance of this feeling.

An abundance of Thai food and an argument over what movie to watch later, you were curled up like a cat beside Joel admiring the look of his face under the lighting of the fairy lights that were hung up throughout the little fort.

“Ugh, why haven’t we done this sooner?” you asked, lifting your head out of the dip of his shoulder.

“We’re both too busy,” he murmured, looking away from the television screen to look over at you.

“I’ll literally take sick time off just to do this again,” you remarked.

“I think that’s just the Thai food talking.”

“It was fucking amazing.”

“Told you.”

“But it’s not just the Thai food. I really like you a lot, Joel. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you and arguing about whether a shitty romcom or shitty action movie is better. I like doing mundane shit with you, like putting up fairy lights in a fort to enhance our ‘fort experience’. I like cuddling with you. Has anyone ever told you that you’re basically a human furnace? Anyway, I hate the fact that our daughters had to make an elaborate scheme just to get us together. I wanna make more time for you, because you deserve it. But like, only if you also wanna spend more time with me,” you confessed.

“Of course I want to spend more time with you. And in the spirit of honesty, I really do have the time, sometimes. I guess I just worry that you wouldn’t want to spend your free time with me.”

“Joel, I would sit and watch paint dry on a wall if you were there with me. From the moment you entered my life, you’ve made everything a little better. If I have the time, I’m never gonna say no to being with you.”

He paused for a moment as he seemed to process that information, only coming back with a quiet, “Can I kiss you?”

You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him like no one you’d ever kissed before. It felt like the Fourth of July in your stomach as a moment you felt you’d been waiting for all your life finally came to fruition.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless and felt warm all over. You could go out on a limb and say that as far as dates go, this one was pretty successful, and to think, if it wasn’t for your daughters’ intervention, none of this would’ve happened.

Yeah, you definitely needed to treat them to something.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller imagine #soccer parents au

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throneofsapphics · 9 months

Note

Can we please have a part two to some questions are better left alone? I’m obsessed!!!

some questions are better left alone, part 2

Rowaelin x f!Reader

(part one) (part three)

Summary: They want you here, I repeated to myself. If I said it enough, I might start believing it. Or the words would lose their meaning.

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: drinking, angst, y/n is a bit impulsive

A/N: I’m glad you liked it, here it is! This is a bit shorter than the first one! I’m thinking about doing a part three

I thought about it for days. Whether I should stay - or go back home for some time to sort my thoughts out. I promised we would speak about it, but I never gave an exact time or date.

Here, their presence was intoxicating and everywhere. I was drawn to them, and everything in me wanted to please them, to do what I had to to stay close to my mates. Maybe that was part of the problem, I couldn’t have a clear head here. And speaking to my family and friends back home about it …

The journey wasn’t incredibly long - maybe one week, but with how busy everything had been I’ve only seen them a few times in the last couple of years. Every time the conversation about visiting home popped up, there seemed to be another event going on. I have been brushing it off as a coincidence.

She looked right at us, her body stiff and her throat swallowing. “I need to visit home for a bit.”

It felt like all of the air left her lungs. She said they would talk about it, would have a conversation, why would she need to leave?

“Why?” Rowan asked bluntly.

“I can’t …” She covered her face with her hands, dragging them down before exhaling slowly. “I can’t think here. I need space.”

“We can give you space here,” Aelin said hesitantly. “You have your own space.”

“That’s not the same.” She could see the pain in her eyes - the indecision, the doubt.

Do you think she’ll come back? If we let her go. Rowan asked her, glancing her way.

“As long as you swear you’ll come back.” Aelin’s eyes bore into me, like a brand. It sounded vaguely like a threat. Promises are some of the only things immortals deal in anymore - promises and bargains.

There was a momentary, too-obvious, pause. “I swear it.” I promised. Not a date, or a time.

She’s keeping everything vague. Rowan’s voice sounded in her mind, before he asked her, “When will you come back?”

A fair, reasonable question but the hesitation in y/n’s eyes worried Aelin.

“I don’t know yet,” her fingers tapped against the wooden table. “I won’t be long, but I haven’t seen my family in a while.” A tang of guilt ripped through Aelin. Y/n had barely been away from them since she first moved here. Her family didn’t live that far away, y/n could reach them rather quickly. She got the keen sense that if they offered to go with her, it would be shot down - shot down quick enough it might sting, so she didn’t bother asking.

“A month.” Y/n finally said, before her or Rowan could speak. “I’ll be back in a month.”

About one week of travel each way, two weeks with her family. It was all reasonable. So reasonable Aelin couldn’t find a way to shoot it down, not without seeming unhinged herself.

“You know why mates are put together, right?” My cousin glanced at me. I’d told her about my doubts and fears - about everything. She’s the only one I trusted to keep her mouth shut. As far as the rest of my family was concerned, it was a surprise visit home. I played it off well, but my cousin knew me better than the rest. As two only children, we were raised like siblings.

“Because they’re equals.” I answered automatically, “or to make the most powerful babies.”

She snorted. “I hope you don’t get pregnant anytime soon.”

“I’m not planning on it,” I laughed. The thought of a pregnancy made me shiver. Something I was certainly not ready for.

“But,” My cousin turned to look at me, grabbing my hand gently, “we were also taught that doesn’t mean mates are always a perfect fit.”

I dropped her hand. I can’t imagine life without them. Not now, not now that I’d been with them so long. But … they had lived a life without me, and could probably picture it perfectly well. “Do you think they would be better off on their own?”

“I don’t know them,” she raised a brow, “and that’s not a question you should be asking me.”

The rest of the visit went well, and I did feel a freshness - but also an emptiness at the same time, like a key part of me was missing. I found myself both dreading and anticipating leaving. Dreading the conversation we’d be having on my return, but eager to be back with them, to have that part of my soul fulfilled.

Aelin and Rowan were on edge the entire time she was gone.

Rowan managed to sit in one place, even feign concentrating on a report, but Aelin wore a path back and forth across the room.

“She’ll be back tomorrow.” He finally said, putting down the papers he’d been staring at, not really reading or comprehending any of the contents.

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“Has she ever broken a promise?”

“No.” His fireheart sighed, walking towards him instead, before perching on his lap, her head against his shoulder.

“She should already be on her way,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her spine. “And before you ask, I won’t go check.”

Aelin let out something between a grumble and a growl - enough to tell him he was right. They needed to show her they trusted her, trusted that she would keep her word.

I was surprised I didn’t see any white-tailed hawks following me back to the castle, or scouting out my path. I was keeping my eye out for any birds that might be in the area. None followed me home, or checked I was on my way back. The show of trust surprised me. At least they know I’ll keep my promises.

We were all toying around the conversation, the one we all knew needed to happen. It was unlike us, really, to be so hesitant about things like this. It was me, of all people, who brought it.

“One of the thoughts I had.” I swallowed, “I’ve been taught mates aren’t always a perfect fit. That they’re paired together for either whoever can make the most powerful children, or who are equals, and I know something doesn’t have to be perfect to make it work, but sometimes I wonder why you’d want me when you’re already a perfect fit and if you were happier without me.” I thought of Fenrys’s warning - of pretending those words never came out of my mouth. Gods, what if I’d made a big mistake … what if this would make them think, make them realize they really would be better off without me, if they were happier.

I found the courage to look at both of them. They looked crestfallen. Aelin reached out and covered my hand with hers. “We want you. We’re happy with you. Now that you’re here, we never want to let you go.” An unusual softness was present in Rowan’s eyes as well and he reached out, covering my other hand. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

They talked, and talked, and talked. Thank the gods they didn’t have any meetings or plans today, otherwise they would have been very very late, and not in the best mood to deal with anyone else.

“Do you,” Aelin swallowed harshly. “Do you want to go home, permanently?”

“I don’t want to leave you.” Not a direct answer, but good enough that her shoulders visibly relaxed.

Rowan and Aelin were more before we realized we were mates. Enemies. Friends. Carranam. My Blood-Sworn. Lovers. Husband and wife. Mates. A progression, a timeline. Comparatively, y/n jumped right in at that last step, without the other experiences to form a solid rock or foundation. But, they could build those experiences over time.

Rowan thought he’d be prepared for things like this, having been mated for a decade already, but it was so damn different. Aelin and y/n aren’t the same, and he can't treat them exactly the same. Where Aelin will tell him off, y/n doesn’t - she holds all of that in. He needs to work on being … nicer, and she needs to work on saying what she’s feeling, or thinking.

“We won’t be mad at you for the things you’re thinking, or feeling. We can’t fix a problem if we don’t know it exists.”

“Right.” She hesitated for a few moments, but kept speaking, “part of this is my fault, for putting words in your mouth.”

“We haven’t been very considerate of you, and your feelings.”

Awkward, but good.

I dragged Fenrys back to my rooms again, the day after we talked.

“I assume I’m summoned here because of a certain talk you had.” His eyes glinted with amusement. I groaned, but motioned to the chair in front of me. He sat, looking half amused and half worried. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It was fine,” I hesitated.

His face grew taut. “Fine?”

“They asked if I wanted to go home permanently.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I don’t want to leave.”

A heavy silence filled the room. I gave them a half-answer. I don’t want to leave here.

“You’re thinking about it.” Fenrys didn’t pose it as a question.

“I’m always thinking about …” I didn’t want to finish the sentence, didn’t want to put the words out into the open - into the air.

“Don’t tell me.” He said quickly, before I could gather my thoughts enough to continue speaking. He might get the urge to tell Aelin, if I said anything that could cause her any kind of hurt - emotional included. He stood, rolling his shoulders back. “You need a night out,” his eyes danced in amusement. “Invite your friends. Especially the pretty one.”

“That sounds perfect,” I managed to say in between laughs.

“Write a better note this time,” he winked. “I’ll meet you at the gates in half an hour.”

I scrambled for a pen and paper.

Going out with Fenrys, I’ll try not to walk into any pillars this time. Don’t be too nosy.

They’d likely find that funny. Gods I hope they will.

Rowan picked up the note, ‘I'll try not to walk into any pillars,’ he sighed. Fenrys definitely pulled her into this, well aware he and Aelin would be in an important trade meeting the next morning. He handed it to Aelin, who snorted in amusement.

“They’ll have a good time.” She turned to him with narrowed eyes. “And you won’t make a big fuss this time.”

“I didn’t make a fuss.” He countered, arms crossed. His mate only raised an elegant eyebrow. Really? I think you started a fight. Rowan ignored the barb, stalking from the room to find something to do. There were always reports to read. Aelin snickered, right on his heels.

The night out was exactly what I needed. Laughter, friends, alcohol. Fenrys and I made our way back, drunk off our asses. Failing to hide our laughter as we made our way down the halls. I didn’t walk into any pillars this time, didn’t beat anyone in a drinking contest, and avoided Effie’s homemade liquor.

Fenrys was too drunk - or too lazy to make his way back to his rooms, and shifted right in the sitting room, curling up on a rug. I sniffed the air. Drunk dog. That’s a new scent.

I bit back another laugh, changing before stumbling into my bed.

Rowan woke a bit earlier than necessary, intending to check on y/n before the meeting. Aelin grumbled at him, but didn’t follow him out of bed this time.

It took a lot of self control not to laugh at the wolf curled up in her sitting room, sleeping like the dead. Alcohol and dog - he rolled his eyes, headed for the door.

He opened it quietly, just enough to peer into the room. Y/n was sound asleep, one arm hanging over the end of the bed, mouth open and drooling slightly onto her pillow. At least she doesn’t reek of alcohol this time. The dawn rays were beginning to stream in through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her face. Without thinking too much of it, he fetched a tonic for headache, and a glass of water, setting it on the side table. He let himself brush a few strands of hair away from her face. She didn’t move, didn’t stir, the entire time.

Rowan frowned. Anyone could sneak into her room and … he cut off that line of thinking, but made sure to double check the locks on the windows before leaving.

Aelin rubbed her eyes, yawning as Rowan trailed back into the room.

“All okay?” She drawled. It was cute that he woke up early to check on her. Fussy buzzard.

“Yes,” he grunted. “There’s a drunk wolf sleeping on the floor of her sitting room.”

She snorted at the idea. A wolf-sized pony in her sitting room. Fenrys was either too intoxicated or too lazy to make his way back to his own rooms. Maybe next time she’d get y/n to glamor her, just so she could go out with them.

“Two of them is enough.” Rowan must’ve seen the look on her face. “I don’t need to worry about three of you stumbling through the streets. You’d empty all of the alcohol out of that tavern.”

Aelin gave an innocent shrug, ignoring his sigh before rising to get ready for the day. She wasn’t excited for this meeting.

I woke up to the faint scent of pine and snow, and some blessings on my bedside table. Rowan can be sweet from time to time, in his own way. I downed the tonic in one gulp. The night out may have been a temporary relief, but the seed of doubt started to drift back into me.

They want you here, I repeated to myself. If I said it enough, I might start believing it. Or the words would lose their meaning.

Pushing the door open, a great white lump of fur dozed on the floor, a few feet in front of me.

I poked him in the ribs, before jumping back out of the way. His lips curled in a snarl, the canine body poised to strike, before he realized who I am, and huffed. Fenrys shifted back into Fae form.

“Good morning,” I chirped, unnecessarily loud. He winced, sending me a vulgar gesture. I rummaged my cabinets, tossing a tonic over my shoulder.

I heard a curse, then a swallow. “Thank you,” he muttered. I turned and grinned at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing courtly things?”

“Nope,” he snorted. “Their Majesties get to handle this one.”

I hummed. He hung around for tea, before leaving to do … whatever else Fenrys does.

“Are you still having doubts?” Aelin brought up randomly, over dinner a few weeks later. It was just the two of us, Rowan out late training some new guards. Poor souls.

I blinked in surprise. “Are you?”

“No.” She said a bit too quickly. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“I’m not.” I said slowly, the words feeling like a half-lie on my tongue. Nothing had been unusual the last few weeks. If anything, things had been better. I forced a smile onto my face, and changed the topic - asking about their upcoming meeting with some delegates from Melisande. I listened to her complaints about the various ‘assholes,’ she’d have to deal with, but my mind swirled on how quickly she answered.

I had Effie post a discreet letter for me the next day.

Aelin wondered if she sent the wrong message with her answer. She didn't have doubts, not about their relationship. No, doubts if y/n was feeling more secure here. The female did seem a bit distant the rest of the night. She decided not to think about it too much, to push it to the back of her mind and bring it up with Rowan later.

The next week, an urgent letter came for me. I opened it with Rowan and Aelin, taking careful notice of the seal - my family’s seal. My eyes widened as I read it. A summons. The letter I posted arrived quickly.

I handed it to Rowan and Aelin silently, settling my face into a lost and confused mask. I'm completely aware they're watching my every move, my every reaction.

“Do you want company?” Aelin asked gently.

I swallowed harshly, “I should probably handle this alone.”

#rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin #poly!rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader #angst not really comfort I'm sorry

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aita-blorbos · 3 months

Note

AITA for naming my son Doomed?

A few months ago I gave birth to twin boys. In my culture each child gets two names, one from their mother and one from their father. Usually the father names the child first, and then the mother gets some time to observe them as they get older and pick a name based on what they’re like. With my previous children I’ve taken anywhere between one and ten years to choose a name for them.

The exception to this practice is when, while pregnant or shortly after giving birth, a mother receives a prophetic dream about her child’s future. These dreams are understood to indicate the name the child should receive. This is rare, and it’s never happened to me before, but this time it did, and I had an incredibly disturbing dream about the ultimate fate of one of my boys. Don’t ask me to elaborate, because I won’t. Suffice it to say that it was horrible. I definitely didn’t want to name my son after what it showed me, but I knew I’d be lying if I named him anything else.

Eventually I decided to just let him share his twin brother’s name. I told my husband I was going to call them both Red-haired (this is translated, of course, and it’s a typical sort of name in my culture), but my husband objected vehemently to my giving both twins the same name. It was really none of his business - this name was completely mine to give, and my husband also gets to name each of the boys whatever he chooses. But he kept complaining about it, asking why I wouldn’t give them each their own name. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it - I couldn’t explain why without revealing the dream, and I didn’t want to do that to my husband - but he kept insisting. Finally I thought, you know what, he wins. If he wants to know so badly, let him. He can live with this just like I have to. I know that wasn’t really fair of me, but I was just so tired of keeping this a secret and having my husband act like I was wronging him and my sons, when I was actually just trying to spare them pain.

So I told him, fine, okay, I’ll tell you the second name. I’ve had a dream, and this one’s name is Doomed. Happy now? And my husband decided to react by pretending he misheard me. Since then he’s been calling the second twin Exalted (very similar-sounding to Doomed in our language). And listen, my husband is a linguistics fiend. He’s got an ear for phonemes like you wouldn’t believe. I know he didn’t mishear me. Not that “Exalted” would’ve made any sense with how upset I was, either! I just - I mean, I’m happy to keep calling both boys by the first twin’s name, Red-haired. But neither my husband nor I appreciate dishonesty, so the fact that he’s going this far to pretend the name is something other than what it is - that struck me. Should I have stuck to my guns and refused to reveal the name? Gone further and given the second twin his own, false name? I don’t know if I could have done that, called him by it every day of his life, knowing why I chose it, but - I don’t know. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 7

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ SMUT (yeehaw), angst, canon-typical violence

a/n | happy TLOU night, y'all :) at long last, Joel fucks, but not until after some serious angst

It’s been two weeks since she first came over to listen to records. Since Joel finally made a fool of himself for her. She spent the night with Joel, after that shared moment, just holding onto each other, talking. She’s spent the night every day since, listening to music, lazily kissing like teenagers. Joel’s learning how to talk to her, draw her out, without pressing too hard to the point she shuts down. He doesn’t ask about the childcare center, though he hears from Maria that she’s been visiting daily. He doesn’t ask anything about Steve or Alex, or her time in Seattle. She likes to talk about Ellie, whom she’s grown pretty fond of, and they can trade stories about the girl. He lets her ask a lot of questions about him and he does his best to be open, even telling her about Sarah. And if all else fails, Joel’s figured out that she can talk about music until she’s blue in the face.

She’s been turning up around the same time every night, dusk settling in. She’s still strangely polite, knocking lightly on the door, even though Joel has started unlocking it right around sunset for her, told her to just come in. When he opens the door to her, she’s always got this worried look, a warbly smile and furrowed brows, like she’s questioning if she’s still welcome. It’s no different tonight. Joel easily pulls her in by her wrist, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her in tight. She’s quick to slip out of his hold though, and Joel can see that worried look is still on her face.

“Don’t even ask me,” Joel speaks first, before she can needle at him.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” she huffs, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You were gonna ask me if I’d talk to Tommy about getting you back on shifts. The answer is still no.” Steve’s been doggedly working to keep her off of patrol and Joel can see that she’s getting restless, the last two nights asking him if he’d talk to his brother about getting her back on the schedule.

“I’ve been back for almost a month, I feel fine, all the bruising is practically gone, but everyone’s treating me like I’m fucking broken or something.”

“You’re not broken. We’re trying to keep you safe.” She scoffs, “I don’t need to be looked after like a child. I can handle myself perfectly fine, I was handling myself perfectly fine. I just… slipped.”

“So why risk slipping again? There’s plenty— “ Her eyes flash at Joel and she’s instantly up in his space again. “Do not tell me there’s plenty of work around town when you know that’s not what this is about.” He huffs, stepping back and dragging a heavy hand down his face.

“No, of course not. It’s about some sick pride you have in constantly putting yourself in danger. People love a martyr, right? And you’re more than happy to give them one. Pfft, you worried people are gonna stop calling you the saint? Is that what it is? Some sort of self-righteous bullshit?” She swallows hard, getting small, and Joel realizes too late he let his frustration push too far. He goes to reach for her, but she shuffles back, bumping into the banister at the foot of the stairs. She keeps her gaze on the floor as she speaks.

“I didn’t ask for that, any of it. I did what I’m good at, tolerating danger, pain, risk. That’s what I’m good at. I don’t give a fuck what sorta meaning people give it. That’s not my business. But don’t you ever suggest that what I do is done for pride because lord knows I haven’t got any.” Joel’s come to find that she doesn’t really cry, her voice gets a little shake to it and her eyes get watery, but that’s it, no tears fall. That’s the state he sees her in as she says this to him, harshly scrubbing at her nose afterwards.

Joel opens and closes his mouth a few times, drowning in what he wants to say. Before he can get anything out, she sighs, “Think I should probably just go home.”

“Oh, right, because god forbid anyone push you even a little bit. You act so tough, but really if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way you wilt. What you said? About being good at tolerating pain? That’s bullshit. You ain’t as tough as you think you are, darlin. You’re just real good at running.” The frustration in Joel has snapped, and now it’s all just racing loose in him. He knows he’s going to regret what he just said, but right now, all he feels is relief in telling her how he sees it. She shoves at his chest, a hard push that makes him stumble back.

“Fuck you, Miller. Stay the fuck away from me.” She cuts towards the front door, Joel still too stunned by her seething anger to do anything but watch her slam it behind her.

Joel lets out a ragged exhale. What the hell just happened? He knows what he said came out all wrong, but he also knows there’s some truth to it. He was walking on eggshells around her, worried he’d bring up the wrong thing and she’d spook. It seems like it finally happened, he pushed too hard and she bolted. He had been open with her, was it so wrong to expect the same thing in return?

Joel doesn’t sleep that night. When Ellie comes home later, she finds him, sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands.

“You messed up, didn’t you?” She’s smirking at him. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re looking pretty pathetic, old man. That and I saw her shooting darts with Steve at the bar. She only does that when she’s really pissed.” He huffs at that, standing up with a groan.

“Got any advice, genius?” Ellie shrugs, “not really, just don’t let her stay mad at you too long. If she doesn’t like you anymore she might stop spending time with me.” She’s already shuffling off to the garage as Joel mutters “gee, thanks.”

…

Things go back to how they were before, and Joel is embarrassed to admit how agonizing it’s been. He only got close to her for a blink of time, but it was enough that her absence feels like a physical wound. He goes out on patrol, and goes straight home most days. She left her albums at his house, and he listens to them all night, even though he doesn’t like either of them at all. He can picture her listening to them, that content look she’d settle into, and sometimes it’s enough peace to send him to sleep.

Ellie tells him that she’s back on patrol shifts with Alex. No raids anymore though. He supposes that’s her idea of compromise.

Finally, after two weeks of what Ellie has been referring to as his “recluse routine,” Joel is coaxed out to the bar by his brother. There’s a small group formed around Roger, that young man Joel had started taking shifts with previously. The town was in a bit of a stir, heard that Roger had handled a proper hoard of clickers that morning up at the dam. Watching Roger, Joel thought to himself that the kid was acting a little too big for his breeches, regaling his audience with his over-dramatized kills. He also saw her, throwing darts in the back with Steve. Joel did his best not to look at her too long. Johnny Cash was playing tonight.

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

I keep the ends out for the tie that bands

Because you’re mine, I walk the line…

Joel’s only partly engaged in the conversation he’s having with Tommy, keeping an ear to Roger’s musings.

“You know, I think we’re all capable of killing, really, when it comes down to it. It just gets drawn out of us by different things. I think for most it’s purely a matter of survival. When it comes down to life or death, I think we’d all kill.” Joel watches her and Steve pass off the darts to another pair, sitting down at a table in the back. Both seem keenly interested in what Roger’s spouting off, sipping idly from their glasses.

I find it very, very easy to be true

I find myself alone when each day’s through

Yes, I’ll admit that I’m a fool for you

Because you’re mine, I walk the line…

“Now, don’t get me wrong, there are other folks that it doesn’t take much to get them to kill. Loose cannons.” She’s getting up to leave, squeezing Steve’s shoulder before starting to push through the crowd.

As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line…

“Take the saint, for example. Now, if you ask me, that one’s got a dark streak in her. I don’t care how holy you folks think she is. I’m telling you, that girl’s got a few screws loose.” Joel’s already on his feet, ready to shut Roger up himself, but she beats him to it, spinning on her heel where she stands and walking back to his table. Everyone parts for her and she hoists him up by the collar, punching him square in the jaw. Roger falls to the ground and she’s on him in a flash, jostling him by his shirt.

“You better watch who you talk about Roger, those loose cannons are prone to friendly fire.” She stands abruptly, briefly catching Joel’s gaze before shoving out of the bar.

Joel looks to Steve, “you gonna go check on that?” The young man shrugs, taking a swig of his drink, “don’t see the problem, she handled it. No use talking to her when she’s mad.”

Joel huffs, shouldering his way out of the crowd and into the cooling night. He finds her out back of the bar, leaning against the wall, head tipped back with her chin jutted at the sky.

She glances at him as he nears, sighing.

“Busted my fucking hand on that asshole’s face.” Joel snorts at this, “He had it coming, way he was running his mouth.” She scoffs, “gonna be the talk of the town tomorrow.”

Joel presses his back against the wall next to her, their shoulders brushing. He grasps her wrist, pulling her hand up to study the damage across her knuckles.

“Why don’t you come with me, get this cleaned up?” She nods mutely and lets Joel lead her back to his house.

They’re in his bathroom. Joel has her sit on the edge of the sink as he stands between her legs, daubing a washcloth at her bloodied knuckles. She’s keeping her focus on her hand, not glancing up at him.

“How have you been?” He pauses, lets out a humorless chuckle, “you’re asking how I’ve been?” She just shrugs, “haven’t seen you around.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Joel murmurs, getting ready to wrap some gauze around her knuckles. She sighs, bringing her hand over his.

“I need to apologize, Joel. For how I reacted that night.” He stops his ministrations, flipping his palm to let their hands entwine. “I’m sorry too. Shouldn’t have said all that, let my frustration get to me.” She shakes her head, looking up at him.

“No. What you said. It hurt. But it had some truth. I am good at running. I’m always running. From everything, everyone.” She lets out a shaky exhale, “but I don’t wanna run anymore, not from you, if you’ll still have me.” Joel feels his shoulders slacken, not even realizing the tension that had been simmering in them. He swallows thickly.

“Don’t even gotta ask. Even if you did have a few screws loose like Roger said, I’d still have you, darlin.” She laughs wetly at that, and Joel didn’t realize how badly he wanted to hear that sound again.

They fall into a simpering silence as he finishes wrapping her hand. When he’s finished, he rests both his palms over the tops of her thighs, giving a light squeeze before stepping back to let her hop down from the sink. She brings her hand to the side of his neck, thumb brushing the curve of his jaw as she draws him down to a fluttering kiss. She whispers a thank you before taking his hand, drawing him out into his bedroom. Joel feels like he’s in a hazy dream as she gently presses him to sit on the end of his bed, standing in front of him.

Joel’s breath hitches as he watches her start to work at the buttons of her shirt. She keeps her gaze fixed to his, and he doesn’t dare look away, only catching glimpses of skin in the periphery as she reaches the last few buttons. And she finally slips the shirt down her shoulders, letting it fall around her feet, and Joel’s heart is hammering so hard he thinks she can hear it. She’s smiling and Joel can see the nerves jumping in the corners of her eyes, her lips, as she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms until the fabric falls to the floor as well. Suddenly, Joel is painfully aware of the fact that it’s been a long time since he’s seen a naked woman. His hands are shaking where they’re balled in the bedsheets, and he has to remember how to breathe for a second.

She steps forward, gently grabbing his wrists to pull him up with her. She guides his palms to splay across her stomach, fingers curling around her waist. He can feel the push and pull of her breath, the way it’s catching on each inhale. Slowly, he lets his hands wander, mapping the curve of her sides, grazing over her ribs, flickering over the birds tattooed below her collarbone. He drags his fingertips across her shoulders, down her arms until he tentatively circles behind her. He takes in the expanse of her back and can feel how she tenses under his gaze. The scars that he remembers glimpsing are there, both heartbreaking and breathtaking in the endurance they suggest. Joel drops his head, letting his lips drag across the tops of her shoulder blades, the hilt of her neck, from one shoulder across to the other, murmuring the word “beautiful” like a prayer into her skin. She draws in a ragged breath before turning in his hold, pulling him in by his neck until they meet in a hot tangle of tongues and teeth. The way she licks into his mouth draws a low groan from Joel’s throat, wrapping his arms around her to pull her in deeper. She draws away for a moment, fumbling with the hem of his shirt before he’s quick enough to yank it over his head by the collar. When they pull back together they’re pressed skin to skin in a way Joel thinks he could become addicted to. He walks her back until they both stumble onto the sheets, huffing with the awkward shifting and tangling of limbs before they’re meeting each other again, dragging desperate kisses.

She lets her nails graze down his torso before settling on his belt. Joel pulls back when he hears the metal clinking as she undoes it. Her eyes are blown wide as she looks him over.

“Is this ok?” Joel can barely get an answer out, just grunting an “mm-hmm” and then she’s smiling as she pops the button of his jeans, moving her hand through the thatch of curls there before taking him in the softness of her palm. He lets out a broken moan, head falling into the crook of her neck where he starts to leave bruising kisses that make her gasp his name. She’s stroking him as best she can in the confines of his boxers and he’s letting the most pathetic whimpers ride from the back of his throat. He grasps her wrist, drawing her hand to rest by the side of her head.

“Too much?” He breathes a laugh, “just don’t want it to be over too soon.” She smiles, craning her neck to peck the corner of his mouth. He presses back so he’s kneeling between her legs, drawing his palms down the sides of her torso until settling at the waist of her pants. He looks to her and she nods, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, hiding the quirk of her lips. His hands are shaking again as he unzips her pants, whispering a hoarse “hips up, darlin” as he slides them down her legs, shuffling back so he can get them all the way off. Joel’s mouth goes slack. She’s left before him, bare, save for a pair of plain cotton underwear. He leans back in before he can think too hard about this being the prettiest sight he’s ever seen, resting his elbow beside her head before meeting her for another drawn kiss. He lets his other hand wander down the center of her chest, fingertips grazing over her peaked nipple before sliding further down the dip and swell of her stomach, finally slipping under the band of her underwear. He swipes through her folds, drawing the wetness pooling there to slide over her clit, and she preens, stretching out her neck and pressing her head back into the sheets. Joel rests his chin on her sternum, watching how her brow furrows, the little whines he can draw out of her with how he moves his fingers through her.

“So wet, baby. It’s all for me?” She gasps as he slips one finger into her curling it just so. “Yes, Joel. It’s all you. All for you.” He grins big at that, pressing another finger into her, knees feeling a little weak at the stretch, the tightness. He lets his mouth smear across her chest, head dipping to take one of her nipples into his mouth, grazing her with his teeth. The noise that draws from her, from the back of her throat, makes his cock pulse.

He can feel her getting tighter around his fingers as he brings his thumb to swipe over her clit. “I want you to come for me, baby. Can you do that? Come undone for me?” She nods hard, gasping as he continues to thrust into her, eyes scrunched shut.

“Yes I wanna come for you– please don’t stop– p-please don’t stop,” her one arm has come to wrap around Joel’s back, nails digging into muscle.

“Open your eyes for me, baby. Wanna see you when you come. Let me see you, darlin,” her eyes blow wide, staring up at Joel as he dips down to kiss her. And then she’s pulling away, letting out a broken cry and Joel can feel how she flutters around his fingers. He works her through her high, pulling away only when she starts to squirm. Her eyes are bleary, chest heaving as she cards her fingers through his hair. He leaves kisses along her jaw, her cheeks, before settling for a firm peck at her lips. She smiles up at him.

“I wanna feel you. I want you.” His head spins at her words. He leaves one more kiss on her lips before slowly standing, shedding his jeans and boxers in one sweep, finally aware of just how painfully hard he is. She shimmies her underwear off her legs before sitting back on her elbows, feet planted on the mattress with her knees bent wide as she watches him stroke himself a few times. The image is obscene. The image is divine. He kneels back between her legs, drawing her ankles to wrap loosely at his low back while he hovers over her. Her hands fall at his shoulders, one reaching up into the back of his hair, scratching lightly. He slides his cock through her wetness, both of them breathing ragged, trembling. He slowly starts to press into her and she gasps, a broken whimper in her throat. Joel stills.

“Did I hurt you?” She shakes her head, looking up at him with watery eyes, “just need it slow. Been a long time.” He nods, pecking her temple before tentatively starting to press further in, drawing gasps out of her with each experimental thrust. How he hasn’t come already is beyond him, the way she’s throbbing around him. Their hips finally meet and she lets out a sharp sigh, pulling him down to wrap her arms fully around him.

“Need a minute like this.” He nods into her neck, leaving light kisses across her collarbone. Her grip on his neck slowly loosens and he presses up to gaze at her. She nods, letting him know he can move. Joel groans as he pulls out, letting his hips roll back into hers, keeping his pace slow and drawn out. She’s a vision beneath him, flushed and preening, little pants of his name as he finds a steady rhythm to push and pull them to.

He reckons that nothing has ever felt like this before, so terrifyingly right. He dips back down, keeping her close, chests brushing with each thrust, limbs tangled and slick with sweat, lips swallowing each other's sighs.

Pleasure is pulling taut at the base of his spine, his pace starting to falter. “‘M sorry, baby, gettin close. Need you to come for me. Need to feel you, darlin.” His voice is thick, whatever’s left of his Texan accent rolling deeply now, making his words feel like molasses in his mouth. She grips the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing a low groan from him as she nods desperately, “gonna come for you, Joel. Please– make me come.” He brings his hand back to her clit, a firm and fierce pressure that makes her clench around him. His eyes roll back at the sensation, and he can vaguely hear himself muttering please, please, please into her sternum, feeling himself teetering at the edge of release. She gasps his name when she comes undone and it takes all his strength for him to pull out, stroking himself a few times before he’s releasing over the soft planes of her stomach. They’re both breathing hard as they come down, Joel shifts to the side, laying down beside her.

“Get you cleaned up in a minute. Just– need to not move– for a little while.” She laughs at that, throwing a forearm over her eyes before glancing over at Joel. He feels like he’s died and come back, white noise behind his eyes, heart still racing.

He finally starts to calm down, turning his head to look at her, being met with her very smug appraisal of him. “Thought you might be done for, Miller.” He scoffs, rolling over to stand up and walk around to her side of the bed, pulling her up by her hands. “Can you blame me?” She blushes at that and he dips his head to give her a brief kiss before leading her back into the bathroom.

They shower together, both touching the other like they might break. She still flinches when his hands pass over her scars, but she’s also starting to soften. Joel has never felt anything as gentle as when she washes his hair for him, letting her guide his head back into the stream of water. All clean, he gives her one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers to sleep in. They slip into the sheets and she rests her head on his bare chest, right above his heart. He reckons it’s all hers anyways. He lets his fingers idly brush along her arm. She clears her throat.

“I-I’m gonna try– to let you in. And I’m probably gonna do a shit job at it. But I’m gonna try.” Joel pauses, holding his breath, before he dips slightly to press a kiss into her hair. Words fail him, so he settles for holding her a little tighter and bringing his hand down to entangle with hers giving a firm squeeze that she reciprocates.

Both of them sleep soundly, wrapped up in each other. A silent understanding settles between them in the still of the night.

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou

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saintseed-family · 5 months

Text

“Thorny, darling, yer still up?”

It was long after sunset, and they had been in bed for hours, but Thorn was still working, the pages of the journal illuminated by the pinprick of magical light coming from his finger. Janus couldn’t move very fast with his heavy belly and the numerous pillows they had added to the bed to support him and the cub, but he made an effort to roll and face his husband. Thorn turned another page in his book and nodded, scribbling something down.

“I think I have the details down,” he answered. “Want to cast the spell as soon as I can.”

They were nearing the sixth month. The time a normal orc pregnancy would be over. Visits with Thorn’s mother had confirmed, the cub was nowhere near fully developed right now - firbolg slow, not orc quick, Janus reminded himself. If Janus went into labor now, they could easily lose the child. Thorn had been hard at work drafting a spell to do something that, as far as they could tell, no one had done before - trick the body into extending the pregnancy beyond its natural conclusion.

Janus trusted Thorn, and trusted his magic. It had saved his life before, and it helped the people in their village every day. They had promised they were going to do everything they could to give this cub the best shot at a good life, and Janus knew Thorn had taken that especially personally as a magic user in tune with a goddess of life and growth. Lately he seemed close, looking into things like transmogrification spells, into the gender changing spells some used to transform or the medical magic that helped people regrow limbs, as well as ancient maternity magic his mother was a specialist in.

“When you think you’ll be ready?” Janus asked.

Thorn paused his reading for a moment, ears cocked as if he was hearing something far away. Then he turned to face Janus.

“I’m ready right now,” Thorn said.

“What, really?” Janus said, surprised. He was expecting a few more days at least.

“I’m at a point in my crafting that I’ll only know for certain it works by casting it,” he admitted. “We could wait a few weeks and try it out on the goats before they kid for the summer but…”

“But you don’t know how long I’ve got left,” Janus finished, scooting his body up to a sitting position. “Yer mother said cubs run a tight schedule.”

Thorn kissed Janus on the forehead.

“I can explain what the magic will do if that will ease any nervousness you may have,” whispered Thorn, though they were the only two here in the dark bedroom. “I know it can be unnerving to trust untested magic.”

“I trust you with my life, and I trust you with our cub,” Janus answered, “...But it never hurts to know.”

“In simple terms,” Thorn began, “Science tells us that when a baby is almost ready to be born, the parent’s body is preparing to soften and stretch in places to assist with labor, and those changes eventually cause the baby to move into the birth canal.” Janus nodded. He still felt really new to all this, but at this point he had read many books on the subject. “This spell will assure your body that it is not time yet for those preparations to begin, keeping your body as it is and delaying it for as long as we can while also allowing the baby to continue to grow.”

“So we’re sort of… extending the time in the oven,” Janus mused. “To let the little one finish cooking.”

Thorn laughed. “In a sense. I also wove in enchantments to help with the pressure and pain,” he continued, “Since we’ll be pushing your body far past what your species is equipped to do. And something to soothe your poor skin from getting too stretched out.”

Janus thought about the discolored stretch marks already appearing on his belly, and nodded. If he was going to get bigger, there would certainly be more of them.

“If this works, you should immediately feel a difference in the tightness you’ve been feeling in your belly,” concluded Thorn, “and I will need to cast it every day or so to keep the enchantment going. Right now we can be flexible with it, but the longer we cast it the more imperative it is that we keep the spell on a tight schedule so you don’t immediately go into labor as soon as it wears off.”

“And this won’t affect th’ cub? Won’t freeze them up too?”

“The spell will not touch our cub at all,” Thorn assured. “It’s a bit of a mess from out here determining where you start and the child begins, but the spell is tailored to target only you, and it knows you as well as I do.”

He felt confident that Thorn knew exactly what he was doing. “Alright then, what do I need to do?”

Thorn shuffled some pillows so he could move forward on the bed, closer to the foot of it. “Lie back a bit with your belly exposed.”

Janus did as he was instructed, pulling down the covers of the bed and pulling up the tunic he was sleeping in. Once he was in place, Thorn placed both hands just above the belly button.

“Ready, my darling?”

“Ready.”

Thorn began to whisper in the breathy language of his people. Janus had heard him use Sylvan a few times for religious ceremonies, and it always sounded as though the words were being carried away on a breeze. But here in the darkness of their silent bedroom, those words seemed to hang in the air, still breathy and soft, but at the same time powerful and full of reverence.

As he spoke, Janus could see Thorn’s hands begin to glow with the sunlit-golden magic his family was known for, illuminating his belly through the night air. It felt warm, and relaxing, and Janus found himself almost drifting off in the comfort of it.

He had no idea what Thorn was saying, he didn’t speak Sylvan, but he could feel the gravity of the magic and the intense love Thorn put into every word. And when he was finished, Thorn leaned forward and gave the crest of Janus’ belly a gentle kiss.

From his lips spilled out a tendril of magic, almost like a vine, wrapping around Janus’ belly in a spiral pattern until the entire thing was covered. It flared brightly, and then went out, leaving the two of them once again in the dark.

Instantly Janus noticed he felt different. Lighter? Less cramped. It was hard to explain, but it was though he had loosened a belt that had been tightly buckled around the biggest part of him.

“Did it work?” Thorn asked, scrambling to rejoin his husband at the top of the bed. “Did you feel it?”

“I felt it!” Janus said, amazed, “Feels like my body… relaxed a bit.”

“Wonderful,” Thorn said with a heavy sigh, and Janus realized his face was suddenly so tired, “And I’ll be happy to keep casting it as we continue on, as long as you need it. You both have my full and unwavering support, darling…”

It seemed for a moment that Thorn nodded off right there, and Janus had to pull him gently down into the bed to get him back to the pillow and under the covers.

This spell was most likely very powerful, he would have to remember to ask how much energy it took, since it would need to be cast every day, But for now at the very least the relief and pride at the spell being cast properly had clearly washed over him, and Thorn needed to sleep. Janus did too. After being certain his husband was tucked in, Janus settled back into bed himself.

And he felt a new form of safety and warmth he had never experienced before settle over him like a blanket.

#artist: nekosd43 #oc: theathorn wheatseed #cw: pregnancy #writing #oc: janus saintsire #tmpreg

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 2 months

Text

Heart of the Weave - A Baldur’s Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 13 - IS IT A BOY OR A GIRL?

As each day passes, strange sensations within the brain continue to haunt me, though they aren’t consistent. I wonder if it’s just paranoia or trauma, though the feelings are oddly familiar. The baby is due any day now and the excitement and fear of the birth intertwine with one another like a thread. My belly has grown like a weed and it’s become very heavy to walk around with, though the feeling is hard to explain in the best way possible. Gale has been teaching at Blackstaff and having to come up with magic assignments for his students, so he’s been pretty hard at work. Luckily, he will have a month-long break soon enough, I think in two weeks.

My body aches have been pretty intense, so I’ve been on bedrest. Luckily, a doctor from Baldur’s Gate has been sent here to Waterdeep and has been keeping tabs on me. A new hospital has finally opened up after the high demands (some of them coming from me), and I am excited. I was worried to death I would not have any prenatal or postnatal care, but also that our little one would not have the support he or she needs.

I get up from the bed, feeling every ache and pain throughout my body, and holy mother of the Gods, I just want it to end. I can hardly walk. I need Gale home as soon as possible, because today might be it.

“Take it easy, Emmy,” Tara says. “Don’t you move around too much if you don’t have to.” I groan as I try to take a few steps, but I’m so thirsty; I definitely haven’t been drinking enough.

“I just need…water…” I’m nearly running out of breath as I try to make my way into the kitchen. A contraction so strong suddenly takes over my body, and I hunch over in pain as my water begins to break. I stare at the floor in sheer panic, my eyes wide in fear. “I need Gale!” My voice carries a strong tone of agony as I beg for him to come home, tears streaming down my eyes as I fall to the floor.

“Oh, oh no! Um, Shadowheart is closer. I’ll go grab her and then when she makes it here, I’ll grab Gale. Oooh! How exciting but scary. I’ll be back quickly!” Tara flies out of the house as quickly as she can; so quick, in fact, I could hardly see her. The pain continues to radiate through my body like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Could it really be much worse than being shanked by a rogue or whacked with a battle axe? I begin to scream as the pain gets worse, hoping and praying that Gale will be here soon, though who knows how long it could take?

“Sȇlune, please… Guide me, heal me, help me…” The contractions get worse, feeling like intense cramps while being shanked in the stomach. Shadowheart bolts through the door after only about five minutes, which means Tara is on her way to get Gale. Shadowheart notices me on the kitchen floor writhing in pain and begging for help. My eyes are moving side to side, hoping for some sort of interference that can help me. My heart is racing and the world around me spins as I try to stay calm.

“Ssh, I’m here. I’m not quite sure what to do, but let me see. Astarion and Tara went to grab Gale.”

“Great news! Um. I don’t know how much longer the baby will stay in there… Shar’s BONES!” I scream. I’m surprised my shrieks haven’t broken any glass.

“I’ll need to remove your trousers.” I nod, unable to say another word. She removes my pants and I can feel the baby coming, and I’m hoping Gale doesn’t miss the birth, though I’m sure he could live without seeing any of this disastrous mess. I continue to search around the room, wondering if I can spot a shadow or reflection of Gale, but nothing so far.

Each minute that passes feels like a lifetime, but after about ten more minutes, my contractions start to die a little and I feel more at ease. I notice the front door swinging open, and here comes Gale flying through the door in panic. He’s trying to catch his breath as he rushes to me and holds my head with his strong hand.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he says, smiling at me with the same one that caused me to fall in love with him. That smile. He knows damn well his smile keeps me calm. “Shadowheart! Will you grab her pillow off the sofa please?”

“Will do.” Shadowheart grabs the red velvet pillow – my favorite pillow that has our wedding date embroidered in it – placing it underneath my head. Somehow, this helps, and I can’t explain why. Then again, I don’t think anyone wants to willingly lay their head on a wooden floor for long periods of time. “I hope this helps.”

“It does. Thank you,” I say, trying to catch my breath. The contractions continue again, only this time I feel the baby moving and attempting to make a rapid appearance. Gale’s eyes widen and while he has an expression of discomfort, I can see a particular glimmer in his eye; the reflection of our baby making earthside.

“Um, yeah, I’m going to hang outside with the handsome vampire man,” Tara says. “Good luck!”

After a solid hour of lying on the floor, our baby finally arrives. Gale brings the baby out, holding a tiny body in his hands. He smiles at our child, completely content as his eyes are glistening with happy tears as he welcomes him – or her – into the world. The little cries can be heard and they’re ever-so gentle and the sweetest sign that our little person is alive. We did it.

“Oh…my gosh…” I say, closing my eyes as I feel my body relax. “It’s finally over.” It’s as if my body went from a sharp, piercing pain throughout every crevice of my insides to a feeling of the soft float of a feather, every inch of me ascending into a feeling of numbness and peace. My mind feels relaxed, and my chills are gone. Is it asinine that I want to take a nap now?

“The most adorable…”

“Don’t leave us hanging, Gale. Is it a boy or a girl?” Shadowheart asks. I lean my head back from exhaustion and while I’m extremely fatigued, I feel a sense of clarity in my soul as I notice strings of the Weave floating around the room. I feel alive again and so incredible.

“It’s a girl,” Gale whispers. “Our beautiful girl. Oh, but you know what? We never discussed names.”

A baby girl. I never expected to have a daughter, but I’m thrilled. Ecstatic. Joyful. A part of us has entered this world, and I’m so excited to experience every second of her life as she flourishes and becomes her own person. Gale hands her to me, and I stare at her sleeping face as she yawns, her tiny body stretching as I hold her close. As I admire our daughter, Gale kisses the top of my head so delicately and brushes my sweaty hair out of my face. This is probably the most human I’ve felt in months; sweat dripping, exhaustion, but feeling whole.

“I’ll go get a washcloth to wipe her down. Once she’s clean, I’ll get her dressed. Shadowheart, could you help Emmy to our bed please?” Gale asks. She smiles and nods.

“Of course I will.”

It’s been a very long, intense morning but I survived it, like I always do. Baby girl has arrived. Despite everything, it was worth it. I finally get to lie in bed now with Gale by my side and our newborn on my chest, soaking in this beautiful moment that I will never get to experience again.

“I love you,” Gale says softly. His words bring chills across my body like a sweet song I can’t get enough of. I wish I could just press ‘repeat.’

“I love you too. So much.”

“I’m so thankful for you. If I ascended into Godhood or used the orb to kill myself at the Netherbrain, we wouldn’t be in this moment together. We wouldn’t have her.” As he speaks, I can hear his words shake, as if he’s trying to fight tears. As much as he tried, the tears won. I wipe the tear drops falling down his cheeks with my free hand, smiling at this man I call my husband.

“Gale. You always saw my potential. You made me feel good from the very moment we met. Giving up what we have would have killed me. I could never let you die.” He leans his head on mine, staring admirably at our daughter.

“I don’t deserve you.” His warm lips press against the side of my head, which is still sweaty but he doesn’t care. It’s like he said when we were on our adventures: “I rather enjoy your musk.” From that moment, I knew I loved him and everything about him.

“Why don’t we name her Jenevelle? You know, Shadowheart’s real name?”

“That’s perfect. Oh, Shadowheart will cry.” At that moment, I hear a small gasp from outside our door, and I just knew she was listening. I smile; without a doubt, she will cry.

It took some major adjusting over a course of a few days, but after about two weeks, both Gale and I seem to be doing just fine and our baby is on a schedule now. I nurse her every two hours, she naps every two hours, and she gets changed every two hours. She doesn’t even really wake up in the middle of the night except maybe once or twice. Unfortunately, I have to wake myself up to make sure she’s fed and clean.

We’re now ready to introduce her to our friends. Today, we have a plan to have our friends come visit and say hi to our new addition. I’m a little nervous about it, simply because no one other than Gale and I have held her yet. I need to quit being selfish over my newborn.

“I give it a few minutes before Karlach shows up,” I say. “You know she’s been dying to meet her.”

“Karlach can be heard from a mile away. I’m sure we’ll know before she’s even here,” Gale says, shaking his head but chuckling. “Oh Karlach.” It was at that very moment, we heard her voice and I almost want to believe we summoned her. She always did have great timing.

“I CAN’T WAIT!”

“Can you keep it down, Karlach? We aren’t even at the door yet,” Astarion says. “Lord knows their child is asleep and gets woken up by an overexcited tiefling.” I head for the door and open it before anyone has the chance to knock. Gale is holding Jenevelle, who is staring directly at him with her dark eyes. Her hair is long, thick and very dark, and you can definitely tell she’s our child.

“Come on in, everyone,” I say, smiling as the group begins to walk inside. They either must have all met up beforehand or they conveniently showed up at the same time. Karlach is so hyped, I’m wondering how she’s even able to contain herself. I assume the self-control is at a minimum.

“Oh. My. Gods,” Karlach whisper-yells. “Look at that baby.” Jenevelle coos, looking toward Karlach as she enters the room. Her bright crimson tiefling skin must be catching her attention. She doesn’t look afraid but rather interested in Karlach; it doesn’t help that she has the energy of a Golden Retriever.

“It seems she already has a fascination in you,” Gale says. “Would you like to hold her?” Karlach turns around with excitement to look at Wyll, who is laughing lightly at her frantic behavior.

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells her. “I know how excited you’ve been.” Gale gently hands Jenevelle over to Karlach, placing the baby in her arms. Another blessing of not having that old engine is that Karlach will now not light herself on fire when she’s excited or angry. Jenevelle looks up at her in admiration, her mouth shaped in a circle as if she’s about to say “oooo” as she focuses into her flaming orange eyes. Gale wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me gently toward him as we watch our child and Karlach exchange amused gazes. If parenthood is enjoying your baby being happily entertained by the presence of tieflings, then I’m glad I’m living in this moment. It’s been a ride so far.

“So, how is it going as parents? Are you two doing alright?” Halsin asks. “I imagine it’s been quite the adjustment, being first time parents and all.”

“It’s not bad,” Gale responds. “I introduced the Weave to the baby and it keeps her soothed. That’s been a blessing. We have her on a set schedule now, thank the stars.”

“You’re doing great. I can tell you are very protective and care so much about your little one. May the challenges stay at a minimum and health flourishes within all of you.” Karlach’s eyes get wide and she stares directly at both Gale and I, immediately handing Jenevelle back to Gale as she spontaneously yet clumsily makes her way off the couch.

“Here you go, Gale. Fireworks? LET’S GO!” She takes Wyll’s hand and off they go, bolting out to our front yard to set off fireworks. I can’t help but raise an eyebrow, for the sky isn’t even dark yet.

“Karlach, what – Oh…” Gale sighs, looking at our daughter with a crooked smile, then glares playfully at Karlach as she runs outside. “I guess I’m changing her. I’ll be back.”

“And I’ll get the grill started,” I say, laughing lightly. “I’ll get the next one.” I kiss Gale’s cheek as I run outside with the others, getting the grill ready for some fresh meat and delicious sides for dinner. We’re long overdue for a get-together, and it feels great to be around the people I adore. I just wish Lae’zel were here. Maybe soon. With the tadpoles gone and evil has vanished for the most part, it seems life is full of normalcy and, in Karlach’s case, extra excitement since she won’t burn places down to a crisp. The question still remains: How is Astarion able to stand out in the sun?

{find my fanfic on AO3 here 👇🏻}

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glazesunflower · 2 years

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The Liyue Women Confessing To Their S/O

Characters: Beidou, Ningguang, Xiangling, Xinyan, Yanfei, Ganyu, Hu Tao and Keqing. Warnings: Mentions of food.

A/N: The request, can you write abt how the liyue women would confess to their S/O ?? please and thank you :)

Beidou would be quite straightforward with her affections for you. She isn’t one to be usually found around Liyue, instead finding herself in all kinds of adventures at the seas; but when she comes back to land, you’re always the first person she comes to find, making up some excuse of a celebration to have you over at the Alcor for a feast, basking in your presence and your familiarity next to her again. You always make her feel at home like nothing else does.

She’s a very affectionate person physically speaking, always having one arm over your shoulder when speaking, grabbing your waist when walking through a crowded street, playing with your hair as you relax after a meal; so unless you’re usually oblivious with these kinds of signals, you’d catch on to her feelings. She would dismiss her crew for the rest of the evening and invite you over to the Alcor.

You’d watch the sunset together while she tells you of her last adventure, the familiar excitement written over her eye that you’ve grown to adore, and then she’d turn to you, a wide and proud smile on her face.

“I’ve traveled far and wide across these waters and I’ve met all kinds of people. You, however, are special. It’s no secret that the feelings I have for you are much bigger than friendship. Simply put, I want you. All of you. And I would be honored if you’d be willing to stay by my side.”

Ningguang wouldn’t confess to you. Or not directly, at least. Being the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, all of her is in the center of the attention at all times, her every move carefully studied by every person in Liyue who wishes to gain some advantage on her, the most influential person of the city. Ningguang is well aware of her situation, and plans all of her life accordingly, making sure to never place you in harm’s way in any way. It pains her heart, really.

Were her situation to be any different, she’d be overjoyed to bask in your presence publicly next to her, to hold your hand while walking the streets of Liyue and claim you as hers to every passerby that laid their eyes on you, have the whole world know that you belonged to her and her only, the most valuable treasure in all of the good things she owns.

Ningguang oftens finds herself fantasizing about a public life with you; about being openly, truly, yours. But as of now, she’d made the decision to keep your identity confidential to the public and have you be her secret precious lover.

That doesn’t stop her, however, from whisking you away to the Jade Chamber and enjoy your presence next to her, wrapping her arms around you in the privacy of her personal chambers, giving you all sorts of gifts for the simple pleasure of watching your eyes light up with happiness, a sight that lingers in Ningguang’s mind and warms her heart all the way down to her veins whenever the weight of her position got too much for her to handle.

Still, she knew that you’d always be by her side, holding her hand through every eventuality, and that makes her the happiest she can be.

Xiangling would confess over food. She’s always been a good friend of yours, having been by her side for as long as you can remember.

You’ve watched her grow as a chef and she’s watched you blossom into a beautiful and resourceful person, and every day she takes ahold of how being by your side makes her chest bubbly and her personality all giddy whenever you stand near. It doesn’t take her too long to catch up on how her affections for you have turned from simple friendship to something more, and she’s not bashful about it.

When she’s ready to confess her feelings for you, she prepares a grand feast. She makes sure to include all your favorite meals, even those you mentioned you liked one time several months ago, because she’s always listening carefully to all and everything you tell her, even more so if it’s about food. Her father sees her working so hard and joins her in the kitchen, supportive and proud of her little girl’s decision to ask for your love back.

When the food is ready, she hurries to find you, making some sort of excuse about a competition for you to try all the delicious food that she’s made for you. You enjoy the feast together, laughing like old friends, and when it’s over and you’re relaxing, enjoying each other’s company, she turns to you with a wide smile drawn on her lips.

“I like you. I know I say this constantly, but this time I mean it. Like, really really mean it. I like you as a friend, but also as something more. I would be super happy if you agreed to be my date!”

Xinyan would write a love song for you. Not the cheesiest of love songs, not a slow one either, but a rock-n-roll version of her emotions, all flashy music and guitar riffs, every chord and tug of the strings filled with her strong emotions towards you.

She wouldn’t tell you directly that she wrote a song for you. She’s strong-headed and straightforward most of the time, but when it comes to her most vulnerable emotions, Xinyan grows just a tiny bit bashful. But she still wants you to hear the song she’s poured her heart into, so she sets up a performance and asks you to attend. All of your friends come to see her too, of course.

The evening and the streets of Liyue are filled with Xinyan’s words and her hidden message that’s meant for your ears only, her heart overflowing at the sight of you in the crowd, as close as the stage and her as you can get, your eyes shining brightly from adrenaline and admiration, and she feels butterflies bursting on the vault of her chest. When the concert is over, she’s quick to find you, a silly smile still hanging from your lips when she speaks.

“I wrote that song for you. I hope you understand my feelings a little bit better. If you do, please, go out with me!”

Yanfei would write you a letter confessing her feelings towards you. She’s a very busy person, always caught up in some affairs of the law, so she doesn’t have all the time in the world to spend with you as she would like.

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her job dearly, more than almost anything else in her life, but having the time to spend together with you is ultimately what makes her the happiest, even if she isn’t one to be very vocal about her emotions. Yanfei’s always talking about other people, mingling in other person’s affairs, but when it comes to her own emotions, to her own affections, she grows quiet, so it’s not easy for her to catch up on her feelings toward you.

But she loves you, oh, she loves you. She often finds herself with her mind wandering to the thought of you when she should be writing a paper, thoughts of you leaning over her, your hair framing your face and your eyes slightly sharpened, your hands traveling to Yanfei’s jaw and sitting there, basking in the glow of your eyes as you draw a smile, and Yanfei feels her cheeks burning when she remembers that no, she’s supposed to be working, why is she thinking so much about you?

Until it hits her. She likes you, as way more than a friend, apparently, and she isn’t going to calm down and be able to work again until she figures this out. Better to be direct about it, but she doesn’t think she can say the words aloud if you were standing in front of her, so she resolves to write you a letter. It’s concise and not too revealing, but she’s true to her affections for you, and she dearly hopes you reciprocate them.

Ganyu would need all the help she can get to confess to you. She’s been mostly on her own for the last three thousand years, having only been around her coworkers and out of strict necessity. Whenever she’s tried to fit in with other people, they’ve often told her that her whole mindset is fundamentally different from them, and that has stuck with Ganyu. She accepted that she’s meant to be always in the middle, never part of the humans nor part of the Adepti, a place reserved for her alone, as the days and years and centuries pass and she goes on with her work as usual.

That is, until she met you.

You came into her life and suddenly everything was out of place in her neatly built world. You barged in her her life the way you now use to barge in the Yuhei Pavilion, Qingxings in hand and the sweetest smile Ganyu has ever seen drawn on your lips. You bring her lunch on her breaks, make sure she’s safe as she naps next to you in the shadow of a big tree, place Qingxing flowers on her hair and tease her when she can’t control her hunger and she eats them, keep her company when she has to stay over working at late hours in the night.

Ganyu watches your face, peacefully sleeping on the desk as she finishes the last report, the stars shining beyond the window, and she feels a tightness on her chest she hasn’t felt in all of her centuries roaming this world. Something warm, something new but familiar at the same time, something that settles in her chest and grows roots there, basking in your soft features as you softly snore, and Ganyu swears she’s never seen such a beautiful sight.

It’s actually Keqing who pushes Ganyu to confess to you, having had enough of her wondrous stare towards the front door waiting for you to come in, of her dreamily sighs whenever her mind escapes the concentration of the report she’s supposed to be writing, wandering to the thought of you instead.

Keqing has had enough, and she sets up an expedition to retrieve something apparently very important for the Liyue Qixing and urges Ganyu to go, stating that she’s the only one capable of such an important job, knowing full well you’d be in the area at that time.

Ganyu, ever the hard-worker, goes to the place Keqing indicated, and she finds you there. It starts raining, and you’re quick to shelter Ganyu under your umbrella. She’s incredibly shy, being so close to you, her cheeks blooming with crimson colors at your proximity, but she also feels like this, being under the umbrella with you, is the safest place in the entire world for her. She takes in a breath when you smile at her, you smell of lillies and summer, and Ganyu’s chest overflows with affection for you. The confession simply slips out her lips before she can stop it.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue. Truthfully, you always seem to find a way to be there for me, even in the simplest of things. I love you dearly for that, for always being by my side. Honestly, I’m not sure how I can ever repay— Huh!? Did I— Oh, for Rex Lapis, please, forget what I just said, I— Ah. Why are you laughing? Please, don’t laugh! Huh? You… You love me too? Ah… I… I’m not sure what to say… Thank you. Thank you so much, I… I meant what I said. I do love you dearly, and I’m endlessly grateful that you see me in such a light too. I couldn’t ask for a better person to be by my side.”

Hu Tao would joke about it, and you wouldn’t know if it’s one of her jokes, one of her pranks, or the real deal. She’s a very affectionate person with everyone, but even more so with you, always jumping on you so you’d catch her, hugging you from behind to surprise you, playing with your fingers as you’re lying down together, or initiating a tickle fight that you’re sure you’ll never win.

When she discovers that all the bubbly emotions she feels for you are, in fact, more than friendship, she starts taking her affections to her next level, testing if you’ll catch on. She takes you to dates, though she really doesn’t call them dates, and has you follow her plans and schemes. She takes you to the woods at night, sets up a picnic and places flowers in your hair with a giggle.

She makes food for you that looks questionable, but she insists that she did it with her utmost love, and who are you to refuse her when she looks at you with big puppy eyes. She has constant sleepovers with you, simply entering your room through the window that you leave open in case she feels like snuggling after one of her midnight walks and she’s quick to wrap her arms around your middle and drift off to sleep. One day, she simply decided to tell you, given that no matter how obvious she was, you never confronted her about it. She tells you with a big grin drawn over her lips, her eyes full of that well known affection you’ve come to recognize and cherish, her chest fluttering with the certainty of you.

She’s sure you won’t turn her down, or that’s what she wants you to think with the way her words leave her lips with confidence. In reality, Hu Tao is fairly scared you will turn her down, turn your back on her, cast her away like everyone else in Liyue does. Her rational brain tells her you won’t, of course, you’re her most favorite person in the entire world; but the part of her heart that’s weak for approval and acceptance trembles when her confession leaves her lips.

Please, reassure her that you love her too and wrap your arms around her, she’ll feel the safest and most loved person in the world.

Keqing is very proud, and she’s often so busy with work that it takes her a long time to figure out her emotions towards you. She sees you on a daily basis, since you’re working for the Liyue Qixings as well, and she hadn’t paid that much attention to you, as for any of her other coworkers.

But during the last festival, you offered to help her carry the responsibility of making all the preparations with her. Keqing was reluctant at first, but seeing you work so diligently awoke a spark in her, and now she actively looks for you during her lunch break, wishing to get your insight on some projects she’s working on. As time passes, she seeks you out more and every time she has less of an excuse. She realizes she simply wishes to see you.

To be near you. To have you talk to her, debate over things that pick your interest, talk about work over dinner at a restaurant, have you massage her shoulders after a long day as she tells you about the report she’s working on. She realizes how much her affection towards you has grown, but she is by no means going to confess anything to you. She’s too bashful about her own emotions, she doesn’t think she can get the words out right. It’s best if she simply lets things remain like they are now.

It’s Ningguang who finally pushes Keqing over the edge. She asks the two of you to work on an extremely difficult assignment, and the two of you end up staying overnight at the Yuhei Pavilion, the building empty except the two of you, focused ever so tirelessly on the project.

At some point when you decide to take a break, Keqing comes up to you at the terrace. Maybe it’s the glow of the night, or the heaviness of the lack of sleep that hangs over her mind, but Keqing sees your figure cut against the night sky and she swears she’s never seen anything so striking in her life. The words slip out of her lips before she can process her emotions.

“You’re beautiful.” She whispers, and when she realizes what she’s said, her cheeks bloom with crimson colors. “I didn’t mean that. Well, I did. You are beautiful. I just meant it in a professional, platonic way. Not with any romantic intent. Um. Unless… That’s how you wished I said it? Ugh. I’m not making any sense, am I? Forgive me. It’s very late, I think we should— Huh? What do you mean you love me too? I didn’t— Don’t laugh! Don’t tease me like that, please. Sigh. I’m coming home. You should… You should come with me. I don’t wish to part with you just yet… I hope that’s alright with you.”

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3! You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #beidou x reader #ningguang x reader #xiangling x reader #xinyan x reader #yanfei x reader #ganyu x reader #hu tao x reader #keqing x reader #beidou x you #ganyu x you #ningguang x you #keqing x you #hu tao x you

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eupheme · 2 years

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Penny For Your Thoughts | Part 9.5 - Resilient

masterlist

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 6.9k words

Tags: lots of fluff and smut, mentions of food, making out, authority kink if you squint, thigh riding, oral, soft piv, brief ref to somno

Summary: He comes home.

A/N: thank you to everyone who’s made it to the penultimate chapter! I really hope you like this. 💖 and thank you to @thaddeuscranes for telling me about Alfred’s canonical green (blue) thumb, which I couldn’t resist referencing. 🥀

After everything that has transpired, leaving the hospital feels almost unceremonious. There’s a final check-up, a list of follow-up appointments a mile long. A few extra minutes spent quietly thanking and wishing some of the staff well, people who you’ve gotten used to seeing every day.

And then, as your arm tucks into one of his, his other hand curling around the head of his new, gold-tipped cane - you’re stepping through the door. Walking out into the street, to where Bruce is waiting with his car.

It’s been weeks. Close to a month that he’s spent inside, other than the afternoon of the announcement. The days are turning even more gray, getting shorter. A bite in the air that makes his chest ache as he sucks in air.

The ride back to the Tower is quiet. Quick - it seems like no time at all before they’re parking beneath, taking the elevator ride up. The heavy doors opening, pulling in the golden glow from the foyer.

Walking forward with tentative steps, feeling like he’s been gone for months. Years. Parts of the room were still untouched in his absence. Others are ones that he’s thought about often.

You’re following him as he moves into the space, the trailing tap of your steps as he takes it in, not shying away from the wide, open room at the base of the dual staircases.

Holding your breath for a second as his head dips, sliding across the wooden floor, to where the heavy table sits. Sighing, as he focuses on it instead - his heavy palm going flat against the wood as he checks for marks.

A strange sort of melancholy at the thought of losing his old companion - the sturdy place where he’s worked and studied at for years.

Mind already working, noticing that the table isn’t in its usual place. Making a note to fix it, among a long list of other things.

Unafraid, so different that you had been, to continue through the room - down to the nook where the small office had been set up. Where it had happened.

A desk and chair sit upright, shoved to the side when you and Bruce had been cleaning up. A number of the decorations - old, heavy books, a set of worn speakers - had been damaged by the explosion, in the cleanup after. Taken down to the garbage together during the late nights and early morning over the past few weeks.

The tall built-ins had taken the brunt of the explosion - the carved arches at the top now splintered, the drawers blackened and charred. A few missing from where you had emptied them, setting them off to the side.

Residue from the fire extinguishers still clings to the corners of the room, settling in the grooves - powdery and white.

Alfred’s voice breaking through the silence, fingertips running over the high back of the chair. A quiet smack of lips, eyes lingering on the bookcase, “It’s not as bad as I had anticipated. We’re fortunate that the damage was not worse.”

Bruce is nodding, having come to that conclusion himself, “Fortunate that the seawall was not damaged here, as well. From what I’ve seen, the terminal would have been underwater.”

The mention of the flood makes your stomach flip, your gaze averting. You’ve had time to think about your own situation, and while it was far from ideal - it’s no longer an achingly painful subject. But you’re certainly not ready to jump in, to talk almost candidly about it.

Alfred’s eyes flick apologetically towards you, fingers curling tighter around the wood. You give a roll of your eyes, a small smile in response. A bit tactless, yes - but he wasn’t wrong.

“I’ve had similar thoughts.” His eyes move back to Bruce - fingers stroking the edge of his beard, tugging on the too-long hairs. “Well, to be more precise, I’ve been thinking about the Manor.”

Bruce’s look turns wary, uncertain.

Remembering what it had looked like when he had been there with Gordon.

What had transpired there.

And then, soon after.

“Why? Reminiscing about your rose garden, Alfred?”

A month ago, there would have been a sharp bite to those words, but now it’s almost a tease. Trying to work out the train of thought, so he was no longer in the dark.

Alfred makes a noise of begrudging amusement, “My thoughts were more along the lines of what lies beneath the garden.”

There’s a silence, as Bruce catches up. As he thinks about it, what he means as Alfred continues.

“It might be wise to have something available outside of the city.”

Bruce’s arms cross as he considers, “As?”

“Insurance. Backup.”

There’s a slow nod at that. Their eyes meeting, a silent conversation passing between them. You know little about the old Manor, other than that it was gifted to the city and renovated as an orphanage.

That it all but burned down, years ago.

But you’ve grown used to their cryptic conversations from your time spent in the Terminal, you mind sliding elsewhere as their murmuring continues.

Instead, thinking about the fact that out of everything, it seems that at one point, he'd had a rose garden. That tiny bit of tender, unexpected knowledge is tucked away in your heart, to keep safe for later.

“It might be worth making some inquiries. I could start them, if you wish.” Alfred is offering, but Bruce shakes his head.

“No, Alfred, that’s okay. I will.”

Alfred accepts the gesture for what it is, a small acknowledgement and kindness - taking something off his plate, though he didn’t have to.

The slow exploration continues after that, and somewhere between the kitchen and the long hallway to the right wing, you lose Bruce.

Leaving just the two of you alone to meander the space.

His hand finds the cracked-open door of the guestroom across the hall from his - one you’d left open in your rush to get to the hospital early this morning.

Nudging it open, the light from the hallway spilling over the cream walls, the still-made poster bed with your clothes littered across the top. The stack of boxes along the back wall, several pulled off to the side and opened.

Hesitating, eyes sweeping over the room before he asks, “Did you choose this room?”

You nod. Bruce had shrugged when you asked where to put the boxes that he had unloaded from your apartment. Not out of apathy for your situation, but more in a “take your pick” kind of way - many of the rooms had been all but untouched for years.

Whatever one you chose made no difference to him.

Which left you to trace your steps back to his room - choosing the closest available as your temporary dwellings.

“Have you been sleeping in here?”

Unconsciously, your eyes fall onto the bed - you’re sure it’s comfortable, but you haven’t even tried it. Your head ducks as you draw out the answer, suddenly feeling a little shy.

“No, I haven’t.” You confess, “I’ve been sleeping in your bed.”

His gaze feels like a weight, and you find yourself meeting it - his voice low and rough as he answers.

“Good.”

Your tongue pinches between your teeth as you bite back a smile, the door shutting quietly before he opens the one across from it. The door that leads to his.

A long-held sigh escaping from his lungs as he steps inside. Feet taking him to the bed, until he’s sitting on the edge, sliding the stiff dress shoes from his feet.

You’re slow to follow, watching as he tugs back the duvet, the sheets, sliding beneath fully clothed. Turning off the lights before you follow, climbing in next to him.

Turning on your side to face him, the low groan as his head hits the pillow.

“I’ve missed this.”

And maybe he means this room, his own sheets and pillows - after weeks of being confined to a hospital bed. Being amongst his own bedding must feel like relief.

But secretly, you hope he means this - the comfort as you settle into his side, head tucked against his shoulder.

“Do you want to rest for a bit? Dinner isn’t for another hour or so.” The words come out like a whisper, though you’re the only two in the room.

That had been your idea. Dinner. A quiet, intimate celebration - just you, Alfred, Bruce, and Dory - though he had protested the fuss. Ears and cheeks blushed a soft pink at the thought of the attention, but after some gentle encouragement, he had acquiesced.

“Just for a minute.” His breath is deep, as your fingers stretch across the breadth of his chest, until they curl near his ribs, “If you’ll stay with me.”

“Of course.” Your head tilts up so you can see him, his eyes already shut. Smiling to yourself, fingers squeezing a little tighter as your own close as well.

Curled against him, you’re asleep in minutes.

———

You wake to a dim room, the rhythmic chime of the alarm you set on your phone, just in case. The spot next to you is empty, but there’s a warm light shining from the narrow crack under the bathroom door.

It opens soon after you drag yourself out of the cozy nest, swinging your feet over the edge, the woven rug soft under your toes. Stretching, rolling your neck as the door opens, the interior of the bathroom hazy with steam as he steps out.

The gentle curve of a smile, as he comes to sit on the bed next to you. He looks like he did, like in your memories before. Too impatient to wait for an appointment with his usual barber, the edges of his beard neatly clipped and tidied. The sides of his head shorn to velvet, the rest combed back and styled.

You can’t help but smile, a hand raising to cradle his jaw as you lean in, tilting it as you examine, “There you are.”

“Here I am,” The soft rumble of his laugh, the comfort from his routine easing his nerves. “Feeling human again, at last.”

You huff your own laugh, nudging him with your leg, “You always look good to me.”

“Flatterer.”

His eyes are on you, the slight part of his lips. Heavy-lidded as his tongue peeks out to wet the lower one - as you’re already moving to press your lips against the clean-shaven curve of his cheek.

Drawing back to gauge his reaction from under your eyelashes, before moving to his mouth. The softest groan in his throat as you feel the warmth of his lips, the sweet familiarity, before he shifts even closer to deepen it.

His torso twists, as you move as well - the position limiting movement, but it doesn’t stop the tongue that strokes against yours, the teeth that gently scrape against your lip after.

Your hand still cradles his jaw, dropping to smooth across his shoulder, coming back up to cup the back of his head, fingers brushing the edges of still-damp curls.

It’s easy to see where this could go.

His hands finding yours, guiding them down to the knot in his navy silk dressing gown. Letting you pluck at it until it unravels, until it parts for you.

A shift as he lays you back, as his weight comes down to cover you as he fits between your thighs. Or - you sliding from the bed to kneel on the floor, taking every inch of him into your mouth.

He’d give you anything you wanted.

You were certain of that.

But the jingle of the snoozed alarm chimes again, pulling you from your daydream. Your eyes open as you draw back, but he follows after you. The flat of his palm curving around your hip, before fingers dig into fabric, skin.

“We can’t-” You pant, as his lips drop to brush against your neck - before pressing an open mouth kiss against your throat that makes you shiver, “We-”

“Mm. We can.” He hums against your skin, “I’ve waited ages to kiss you like this.”

You’ve waited too, the need and desire that coils in your chest, thudding between your thighs rages a silent war with your brain - knowing that Dory will be here soon - that your alarm was already set close to her arrival.

But you’re swallowing, debating - your words sounding less confident as he drifts lower, skin prickling deliciously as your breath hitches. As his mouth moves to the hollow of your throat, then your sternum.

Trying again, “W-We have to get ready.”

With a thoughtful hum he pulls back, a resigned acknowledgment - he knows you’re right. In all honesty, he would take no pleasure in being late, especially to the celebration in his honor.

“Of course, dove.” He agrees with a smile - but his hand still cups your cheek, thumb smoothing across skin. Heat still lingering in his steely gaze as he collects himself, intent on returning to this moment later.

“We mustn’t keep anyone waiting.”

———

It's nice to have the kitchen feeling almost crowded, despite its size. Your fingers absent-mindedly pull the strings of the apron - a pretty, almost silly thing you had bought for fun, blush-colored with ruffled edges - around to your back, twisting them into a neat bow.

Adjusting the front, before you're enveloped in the chatter as Dory pulls things from the pantry, the refrigerator. As Bruce, sleeves shoved up and eyes downcast - though still listening - pulls the griddle out from its old resting place.

The meal you had settled on was perhaps unusual - but that seemed appropriate, given how your life had been playing out lately. Breakfast - something you hadn't had in a long time - could be anytime, when time had less meaning.

Initially, you had thought about something else. About the dinner you had almost made, those weeks ago. But standing in the aisles of the grocery store, your hand had wavered, stomach churning. Sending you scuttling back to old, comfort food. Remembering earlier, happier conversations, from the same room you were in now.

There's fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon. Homemade bread and jams - a pancake mix that Alfred mixes up, insisting on making those himself. Uninterested and still unwilling to sit back, to let others do the work while he sits, idly by.

It's not perfect. There's a rogue egg that drops and cracks against the tile as you're trying to flip the ones in the pan. Elbows knocking together at the kitchen island as you all try to fit yourselves and the food onto the narrow countertop.

But it feels like home.

There's Dory, filling everyone in on the world outside. Asking about every detail about 'Mr. Pennyworth's' stay at the hospital, his recovery, how she had been glued to the screen for 'Mr. Wayne's' speech, until they're both sighing - Alfred's voice coaxing with a, "Just Bruce and Alfred, please, Dory. It's just dinner."

She remembers for a few minutes, and then forgets. It becomes a small joke, the little peal of laughter when she catches herself with the old habits. The stern look he gives her each time makes you laugh too, until you're joining in.

Earning a much different kind of look when you sneak your own with a bat of your eyelashes, "Pass the syrup please, Mr. Pennyworth."

One that sends a small fluttering in your chest. The hand casually curving against your thigh flexing, thumb sweeping just beneath the hem of your dress. A small, secret moment - letting you know he hadn’t forgotten earlier.

The night is one you'll cherish.

Conversation lasting long after the plates are empty, Bruce pushing up first to clear them. For a moment, it seems he plans to slip out - but instead he slides back into his chair. Lingering until Dory lets out a little yawn, just now noticing the time.

"So happy you're back at the Tower, Alfred." Her hand squeezes his arm, the reminder finally sticking.

"I am as well." He's smiling, "You're welcome back when you are comfortable."

None of you had missed the way her eyes had bounced around, doing some cataloging of her own. Years and years of her own preferences slowly engrained - the change had thrown her off as well.

You were sure she'd be back in a matter of days.

Saying goodbye feels different this time, when you’re on the other side. Alfred's hand resting on the small of your back as you wave - feeling the same sort of comfortable way when a friend leaves from your own apartment.

Not an ownership, not really, but more of the feeling in your bones that makes you feel tethered to the place, if only for a while. Like you belonged.

The deep sigh when you're left with just the two of you alone, Bruce walking Dory to the front door. Knowing he'll be heading out for the night, that he won't be back.

You’re closing the dishwasher, the last of the silverware tucked inside, when there’s the press of his chest against your back. Fingers that creep under the edge of the soft cotton apron. Teasing at the curve of your hip, sliding over the fabric of your dress.

The sweep of his hand makes you shiver, the beat of your heart kicking up a notch. The scratch of his beard against your cheek as he moves closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Your own curving up in a smile as your head tilts, “What did you think?”

You thought the night had gone well. It was so nice to see everyone together. Alfred had been improving, especially now that he was home, amongst his own things and clothes.

“I think,” His voice is low, thoughtful. But then his hand moves again, up this time. Until his thumb brushes the underside of your breast. Then cupping it, making no mistake of his intentions, “That I want you to wear just this for me sometime, and nothing else.”

His other hand tugging at the ruffled hem of the apron for emphasis, your breath catching in your throat as you lean into his touch.

You still ached for him. The dinner has quelled the throbbing bite of need, but it was still there - flickering back to life as his lips brush against your neck.

Hips pressing against your ass as he pins you against the counter, only letting up when you wiggle, shifting around to face him.

“Is that right?” You smile, fingers lacing around his neck, “You really shouldn’t tease, you’re giving me ideas.”

His look turns darker, thumb and forefinger under your chin as he tips your face up, “Mm. I’m not, darling. It’s all I could think about.”

His smile matches yours, a hum of contented amusement as he leans in, where you meet him halfway. Lips slotting against yours, soft and pressing and warm. Hands that begin to wander, your own laugh bubbling in your throat when he’s leaning into you, almost bending you backwards into the cabinets.

The sound slipping into a moan when the kiss becomes more insistent - a brush of tongue, the grind of his hip. Your legs spread just a little bit wider so he can push closer, until you can feel him - unable to hook your thigh around him like you’d wish, but for now, it will do.

Part of you has no problem with where this is leading.

Of stripping down, getting bent over the counter, the kitchen island - with or without the apron. It isn’t as if the thought itself was new, you’ve certainly entertained similar ideas in private before.

But, there’s a hesitance - of not wanting to push too hard. He just got home. Of course you want him. Just not sure if the kitchen felt right, even if you were alone.

So your fingers find his, entwining, as you pull back. Eyes heavy-lidded, your question of “bed?” earning a nod, a bright glint in his own gaze. Following close behind as you lead him through the back hallway - well acquainted with the path by now.

The door barely closing before his lips are on yours again, your back bumping against the wood as he presses you up against it, caging you in.

Fingers tugging at the neat bow of the apron, the ties twisting down to brush against your legs. The kiss breaking so you can lift the strap over your head. Dropping it, leaving it to pool on the ground.

If he kisses you again you won’t be able to think, so you voice your concern, hands flattening against his chest.

“Is this alright? It’s okay if you’re not ready.” Your face tips up to his, meeting his heavy gaze.

You hadn’t been with him like this since the day of the accident. It hadn’t worked out at the hospital - the one or two times that kisses started to drift into something more, there had been an interruption.

He had been cleared to go home, to resume all of his normal activities. Had been there longer than anticipated, and therefore the worry was even more unwarranted - but, you couldn’t help it.

Alfred’s answering laugh is low, rough, “You’ve taken care of me long enough, dove. I’m not going to break.”

He shifts against you as proof, moving back in. A thick thigh spreading your legs this time, an intentional press against your center as your lips meet again - as you start to forget your concern.

Gently rocking against you as you moan into his mouth - fingers gripping the fabric at your waist, tugging it upward. Until you can grind down against the soft fabric of his trousers, your fingers twisting in his sweater for leverage.

You’re almost breathless - needy. Keyed up as your hips rock again, the sweet friction between your thighs as his tongue brushes against yours. Nails digging into the fabric as your hands clench, the dormant pleasure building swiftly now that you have him again.

Hands on your waist as they guide you into a rhythm, the flex of his thigh as he meets each grind of your hips.

His mouth pressing against your neck as his head ducks, a low gasp when teeth follow. The briefest pinch of pain blossoming through the thudding pleasure before his lips brush against your ear, his voice no more than a rough, accented rasp.

“Can you come like this, darling?”

Fuck. You want to - you think maybe you could. Your nod is short, gripping on a little tighter, eyes sliding shut as you concentrate. But the pleasure is starting to plateau, a low whine ripping from your throat.

“I need more.” You admit, before adding, “Please.”

The fingers on your waist dip down, beneath the rucked up hem. His thigh easing from you as he tugs at the waistband of your tights, the panties underneath.

“Take these off.” There’s an edge to his voice that does something to you, your hips wiggling as you help him work them down your thighs.

You’re pausing as you realize something, glancing up at him as you step out of them. As he’s moving back into place, your eyes dropping down to his thigh.

“But, your pants-” You’re squeaking, as his hands curve around your hips again. Nudging you into place, as you tug at your own dress to make room.

He hums, kissing away your expression, “Christ, I know. I want you to make a mess on them sweetheart. Show me how wet you are.”

And you are - slick and needy and moaning as the fabric presses against your bare cunt. The crisp crease running down the middle bumping over and over against your clit, a shock of pleasure shooting down your spine.

It’s not long before you find yourself where you were before - the sensations heightened, his teeth nipping at your lip as he presses himself closer. Releasing it to growl encouragements in your ear as a hand roams - sliding beneath your dress to cup a breast over your bra. Thumb pressing against a tight nipple as you shudder.

Each pass of your hips darkening the spot on his slate gray trousers, leaving a sticky smear of arousal behind. The blood pounding in your ears as the tight knot in your stomach coils - until your face is burying in the crook of his neck, your body seeming to move on its own.

Moaning against his skin, his name a hoarse gasp in your throat as your breath catches. Rutting yourself against his thigh, until the pressure becomes blinding - your head tilting back to thud against the wall.

The pleasure ripples and then washes over you as you come hard, the relief instant as you feel yourself clenching down around nothing.

Your gasps sounding high, muted to your own ears as your vision goes hazy, eyes closing as it feels like your heart is beating in your clit.

“Use my thigh, sweetheart.” He encourages, holding you tightly against him - feeling the tremble of your thighs, the tight pinch of your fingers as you cling to him, “That’s a good girl.”

Alfred’s leg moving once more, pressing steady, letting you ride out the last of the waves until your back is slumping against the heavy wooden door.

Your smile shy, a little huff of a laugh as your heels touch down on the floor, your feet going flat as you find your balance again.

His hand curving along your jaw, your cheek, before his lips brush against yours, “I missed all your pretty sounds, dove.”

Gently easing away from you, just as you reach for the hem of his sweater. He lets you tug it off him, over broad shoulders, letting it drop next to your clothes.

Turning with you as you give the bottom of his tie a little tug, leading him to the edge of the bed. The fabric dropping from your fingers as you sit down, knees spreading so he can fit between your thighs.

Your eyes slowly dragging up his form as his fingers loosen the tie, until it hangs limply on either side of his chest.

The path of your gaze snagging on the wet mark against his pants - your neck, cheeks feeling warm. Fingers reaching out to touch the spot, embarrassed, but he’s catching your wrist.

“None of that, now.”

Dropping your wrist so his fingers can work at the buckle of his pants, the gold winking against the light as it loosens. As he works the zipper down, pushing his trousers and boxers down his thighs at the same time.

Letting his cock spring free, swollen and heavy.

Your head tips forward, ignoring his length for now as your lips press against the window of skin where his shirt parts, his fingers still sliding the neat row of buttons from their matching holes.

The muscles of his stomach jumping under your touch - his own breath caught in his throat as he watches the slow descent of your mouth.

Dragging, a hum in your throat as you move over skin, the coarse, peppered-gray hair on his chest. Down over the curve of his stomach, following the trail until you can press a kiss against the base of his shaft.

His fingers reaching - grasping at the fabric of your dress. Anchoring himself to you as your eyes lift, as you place another. Kitten licks against his shaft as you work your way down to the tip. Alfred’s jaw going tight before he shifts back, easing you off him with an effort. Unsure if he’ll last if you take him into your mouth.

Wide eyes blink up at him, lips kiss-swollen as his hands find your hips, pushing you back into the mattress. An arm curling around as he tries to ease you further towards the headboard, until you’re smiling, pushing yourself back with bent elbows and scrambling hands.

Tugging off your dress when your head hits the pillows, back arching to catch the clasp of your bra beneath. Leaving both dangling off the edge of the bed as the mattress dips, as he follows at your feet.

A careful, warm press of lips on your ankle, calf, knee - kissing up your bare legs until broad shoulders are nudging your legs further apart. The edge of his neatly trimmed beard scraping your thigh, making your hips buck.

Heavy-lidded eyes flipping up to yours as he hovers just above where you ache for him. Shifting so his hands can tracing along your skin, thumbs pressing into slick, still-tender skin - spreading you open for him.

Making sure you watch as his tongue peeks out to flatten against your pussy, a slow stroke downward until he can dip inside. Pressing his mouth against you, his tongue parting your folds, tasting the tang of your release.

His eyes only closing then, a moan muffled in his throat as you whimper, your fingers coming down to smooth across the freshly-trimmed, velvet-short hair.

Pulling back to breath, voice rough as he groans, “I love eating this pretty little cunt.”

And his words make you clench more than the pointed flick of his tongue, sliding across your clit. Because he can say those words now, one he’s always held back. How much he loves fucking you. How he loves making you feel good.

How he loves, he loves, he loves.

With your next broken moan, one of his hands leaves your skin, dragging down between his own thighs. Fist wrapping around the base of his swollen cock, squeezing - holding himself back.

That, more than anything, makes your toes curl, knees fall open just a little bit wider. Encouraging him as his fingers tease at your opening, before he pushes in two. The stretch of them steals your breath, though you’re slick and hot and eager for him.

Starting slow with his thrusts, little movements with his wrists - building up until the fingers are curling, relentlessly stroking against the spot that has you seeing stars.

You’re nearly there again, the pleasure hot across your skin and singing in your blood. Thighs threatening to clamp around his head as your heels dig into the mattress instead, hip flexing with his thrusts.

“I love how wet you are for me. I love how you scream my name when you come.” He groans the words out between wet licks against your clit, though you’re so far gone it’s hard for you to hear them, “Can you do that for me, darling?”

His name rattles in your throat, a weak sound as you gasp. And then again, again, again as his tongue swirls around the sensitive bud.

Until you’re stringing tight, back almost bowing off the bed as you come. The name louder, strung out across syllables as you shatter, the hot pulse of your cunt squeezing his fingers, as he feels what he’s done to you.

When he pulls himself up to kiss you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. Bracing himself over you, his cock skating over the slick mess between your thighs, until you’re reaching down with him to guide him in.

Even with his fingers there’s the pressure as he enters the tight channel of your pussy, as you clench along with the fingers that grasp onto his shoulders.

His thrust is shallow, pulling back before he’s even gone to the hilt - until your leg hooks around his hip, pressing down until he’s sinking into you.

The rough curse when you’re hip-to-hip, when he’s as deep into you as he can be. When he has you stuffed full of him, you mouth open and panting as you kiss along his neck and jaw.

A slow roll of his hips as he looks down at you, spread out beneath him. Another, before he confesses, “I’ve been dreaming of having you just like this.”

Your smile is slow against his skin, still a mile high and glowing with the aftershocks as he continues, “Almost woke you up earlier, but you looked so pretty sleeping.”

A soft moan leaves your throat then - thinking about being pulled from a dream to the feeling of his mouth, hands, wandering across bare skin.

Whining the word “please” as you clench around him, his eyebrows lifting as he considers.

“Who’s teasing, now?” The words are amused, but his thrust stutters, a throb of his cock where he’s shoved deep and snugly inside you.

The pace slowly picking up, until he’s meeting your mouth - sharing almost clumsy kisses with each rutting thrust, the wet sound of his skin meeting yours.

If it was anyone else, you’d say they were desperate. Eager. But the way he moves - the way he knows you, the weight and curve of your body in his hands - it’s deeper than that. It’s passion, intimate and built up over the time you’ve been together.

The knowledge of what you like, every little detail and sound you make carefully cataloged. Hands that flatten to slide from your thigh to your knee - a rough sound in his throat as his fingers catch the joint, tugging until you’re opening further for him. Pushing him deeper, your head tilting back as you moan.

Sometimes, you try to stay quiet.

Sometimes, you have to.

In his office, in the passenger seat of his car as he leans across. Not wanting to draw attention as his fingers fill you. Opening you up to take him.

But not here, not tonight. You give him everything. Soft, breathless praises, words tumbling forth - “fuck, fuck, baby, youfeelsogood” - all strung together. Hands sliding up his forearms, grasping at his biceps as your back arches. Feeling the flex of muscle with each thrust, eyes opening again to gaze upward.

His elbows dig into the mattress as he braces himself - hands coming together to cup the back of your neck. Thumbs aligning as they trace along your throat, the tips pressing against your jaw, tilting your head up.

It’s different this time, just a little bit. Part of it is the knowledge of how close things had been - soaking up every touch, being here, together, in this moment.

But you think a bigger part is just the knowing. Or finally being on the same page - no longer being afraid that your feelings were too much. Were not shared, were not on the same level.

Because you can see it in his careful gaze, that they are identical. It makes you not want to look away, even if you could.

The cup of his hands keeps your head in place so he can lean down to kiss you, the brushing drag of his lips against yours as he swallows the little noises you make. The needy huff of breath that slides from your lungs with each thrust of his hips, until your arms are wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Lips that slide to the space next to his thumbs, just below the curve of his jaw. Pressing, kissing against the spot where your pulse flutters for him, a rough groan in his own throat when your thighs wrap around his waist next.

Heels pressing into the small of his back, the curve of his ass, until his thrusts turn shallow - each one short and sloppy. The saw of his hips until each breath comes shorter, a tremble in the taut string of his shoulders.

He groans your name through parted lips - wishing for the endurance to feel you clench around him one more time. Unable to hold back the wanting after so long, too lost in the way you wrap around him.

Your own pleasure still curls warm in your belly, and it makes you want for him to feel the same. You want him to fall apart for you, want to feel the hot throb of his release against your walls when he comes.

So you beg him, a needy edge to your own voice.

“Make me yours.”

Not that you aren’t.

Not that you haven’t always been.

But your plea has his arms tightening around you, his low, rough gasp ripped from his throat. The sea blue eyes going wide as they as meet yours - as he’s ruined by your words.

You get to watch him this time. The final thrust that stutters as Alfred’s head tilts back. The little furrow between his brows as his jaw clenches, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Pulling a rough, drawn-out “fuck” as your thighs tighten, as you clench around him. Feeling the flex of his hips as he empties into you - pushing himself deep with each pulse.

Before his face tips down, the curl of hair drifting across his forehead, where it had broken free of its careful styling. Half-lidded eyes opening to gaze down at you, a flash of teeth as he smiles without thought.

Together, finally - at last.

Later, you shift - until it’s your body covering his, propped up against his chest. Fingernails idly scratching over skin, through the smattering of salt-and-pepper curls on his chest.

A soft, contented sigh pulls from his lips, his own hand brushing across your bare shoulders, down your back. It’s comforting - the familiarity of his form, the soothing touch of his warm, solid touch.

Even though you’ve both gone through so much - apart and together - in this small, stolen moment, you’re happy.

And so your head dips, the words breathed out before you press your lips to his.

“Welcome home.”

———

When the streets become a little more clear, Bruce takes them out. The path taking them towards Old Gotham, where the flood had quickly swept through the streets as it made its way to pool downtown.

It feels funny, Alfred thinks. Sitting on this side of the car - he can’t remember a time before recently that he hasn’t driven.

He’s almost not sure what to do with himself.

Things look different from over here, though he can still feel his eyes drifting to check the traffic, his leg flexing on instinct when a car cuts them off.

Earning an amused sound and matching smirk from Bruce, who could do this in his sleep.

It’s quiet, other than the turned down music. Something he half-recognizes from the playlist that’s always running in the Terminal.

Not his thing.

But there’s the rhythmic tap of a thumb on the wheel, and when he glances back there’s a subtle movement of her lips as she stares out the window. Before noticing him, her attention pulling back as she smiles his way.

A hand slipping up to brush against his arm.

Not his thing - but he thinks, that’s okay.

They end up in an older part of town - all brick and stone buildings. The only tall panes of glass coming from the neat line of storefronts. Bruce pulls into a spot, glancing down at his phone, then up at the worn wooden sign.

Alice’s Antiques - the painted letters are gilded, fading at the edges.

Alfred frowns, his steps still a little slow. Each day is getting better, but the chill in the air makes his leg ache, still irritated from the accident. Bruce gets the door, the rush of warm air welcoming them in.

Inside, there’s little groupings of rooms. Dark, stained wood pieces, plush chairs, heavy tables with intricate carving - all in sets that nearly match.

She takes the lead now, weaving them into a side room, to a setup near the back. A tall display cabinet with stained glass flower windows is set behind a long, Victorian sofa, the back curving up at the edges before dipping down in the middle.

When he steps closer, he can see the roses carved into the wooden frame, the vines that creep down to the pointed feet.

A matching loveseat rests off to the side, in front of a short, marble-top table.

“We, well, she - found this set online.” Bruce asks him, with a gesture her way, “What do you think?”

“We might have to reupholster it. But the style is similar.” She adds, as if this clues him in.

Alfred isn’t often confused - long ago he’s learned to keep up, to process, to anticipate. But for a second he’s not sure, doesn’t understand what they’re asking him.

Finally, Bruce enlightens him, “For the Tower.”

Oh. His eyes snap up quickly as he frowns, “I thought you’d want to restore what you had.”

He had already been thinking about it, his memory good enough to recall the layout, the details of the furniture. He thinks he could find something comparable, he just hasn’t had the chance yet.

“I thought about it.” Bruce admits, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “But then, I thought we could pick out something new. Together.”

He’s staggered for a moment, his eyes dropping to the furniture again. Seeing it for what it was now - a gentle offering, a fracture of a new start.

Imagining it for a moment - the roomy sofa resting in front of the heavy stone fireplace. Replacing the pair of solid wooden chairs, each built for one.

It’s a pretty thought. Something that until recently, he never pictured for himself. He’s been finding that a lot lately - his world slowly filling with new possibilities.

Bruce’s voice breaks his concentration, a worried edge to his words, “But if you don’t like it-”

“No.” He replies simply. Clearing his throat, because it suddenly feels tight.

“It’s perfect.”

Thank you so much for reading! The last part will be out next Thurs (the 22nd) 💕

(taglist - @rescuethewretched, @slavicwitchling, @zinzinina, @bacarasbabe, @kakashibabe02, @princessxkenobi, @maskhoper, @thelastemzy, @celestianstars, @squidlywiddly87, @queensgirl718)

#new chapter is up! 💖✨#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth smut

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kiriscreama · 8 months

Text

can’t really think right now

Whumptober 2023 - Day 1

Prompt: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Warnings: Concussions/Head Trauma, Back Injury, Memory Issues, Emetophobia/Vomiting, Strong language (Bakugou), possible medical inaccuracies

Summary: A surprise villain attack leaves Izuku in critical condition. Katsuki and Kyoka need him to hold on until help arrives.

A/N: super didn’t need to do whumptober when i’ve got so many WIPs but i got overly excited lol. i fully do not expect to get all of these posted this month, but i’ve got a handful done, and i’ve brainstormed/outlined a fic for each prompt, so i’ll do what i can this month and we’ll see what happens from there. title from Home by Cavetown

also on AO3 | whumptober 2023 masterlist

Izuku hurts.

It’s the only thing he’s able to process right now. The rest of the world is a haze of color that bleeds together at the edges and noise that hits his ears in one big block of sound. He can’t identify anything specific but he knows that he is in pain.

He tries to remember the seconds before he was knocked out. Tries to remember blinking awake a moment before. Tries to remember how to make his mouth work, how to respond to the muffled voices that are slowly starting to distinguish themselves from the fog in his brain.

Something separates from the rest of the blur of colors, a smear of orange and black and ash blonde. Izuku’s ears are ringing now, but words slowly break through the noise flooding his ears.

“-me, shitty Deku. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Izuku blinks, strains at a smaller blob of black in front of him, and makes out four fingers coming off of a gloved fist. He tries to say as much, but his tongue is dry and far too large for his mouth. He coughs and swallows, much to the dismay of the figure above him.

“F-four?” he manages thickly.

“Shit,” the figure says. It turns, shouts some sort of instruction, and then bends closer.

Izuku recognizes the gruff voice, the spikes of dandelion fluff around the head but the name won’t come to him.

He frowns. Why won’t it come to him? It feels like someone has stuffed his brain full of cotton. There’s massive gaps where his mind should be.

A thick, sweet scent fills his nose followed by a crackling sound. The sound makes Izuku flinch, pulling his shoulders to his ears and letting out a low whine.

“Sorry, nerd,” the figure says, voice low. “Shit. Your eyes. You sure we can’t move ‘im, Jack?”

Another figure distinguishes itself from the blur, someone swathed in black and bright salmon. “No way, dude. His back’s fucked. We could make it worse.”

The voice is monotone, but more feminine. The names are there, just out of reach. Izuku tries to turn his head for a better view, but a sharp pain shoots up his spine, alarming in the way it’s so distinct. He feels himself cry out but the sound barely registers.

“Gotta support his neck at least,” the first voice says. The second utters some sort of agreement.

The second figure comes closer, kneeling at his side. A small hand wraps around one of Izuku’s, the one resting on his chest. “How’re we doing down here, Deku?” she asks.

Izuku manages a grunt before large gloved hands find his sides, moving him as gently as possible, and he cries out again. It hurts for another moment, before his head is gently placed in a lap. The change in angle relieves something in his back. It’s a small mercy.

“H’rts,” he finally says. He thinks it’s been too long to answer.

“No shit,” says the first person from above his head. “Fucking hell, Deku. Gonna get yourself killed.”

The person holding his hand huffs out a laugh. “We’re gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap,” she says. A pause and then, “Five minutes ‘til extraction.”

“Tell Cheeks to hurry the fuck up.”

A switch flips in Izuku’s brain. He can practically picture the name, like a spotlight is shining on it. A spotlight that lights up every corner of the part of his brain that he takes up. “Kacchan?”

Someone groans, and Izuku’s vision is obscured by a face. Red eyes peer down at him, haloed by fluffy blonde hair. “What, nerd?” he asks, and now that Izuku knows, he can hear the worry. “You know where we are?”

Izuku tries to crane his neck, but Katsuki’s hands keep him from moving. He fights the fog in his brain to remember. He can see himself putting on his hero costume, remembers creeping through quiet streets, remembers a villain laughing and getting separated from his partner.

He remembers hearing someone scream and turning towards the sound and then—

Nothing.

“We’re in the city,” he says. He doesn’t specify which. He can’t remember. “The class—“ is all here, but why, he can’t remember why, “got split up. Was supposed to be training.” But it isn’t anymore. The panic he remembers, the panic he sees in Katsuki’s face, that’s real.

“Someone got the guy.” The second voice says. Katsuki had called her Jack. Izuku searches his memories. “He’s in custody. Few more minutes.”

“Ky’ka,” Izuku breathes. He remembers her yelling out, remembers shoving her backwards and her body hitting the ground feet away. “‘Re you h’rt?”

The hand around his squeezes. She lets out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. Little sore, but I’m good.” There’s a pause, a curse. “We forgot to ask him— Deku, what year is it?”

“We already know he’s got a concussion, Ears, what are you—“

“There’s a checklist and we totally ignored it,” she says. Is her voice shaking? Izuku’s not sure. He kind of wants to close his eyes but fights it. What year is it, anyway?

“Thir’ year?” he tries.

Kyoka sounds a little amused. “I mean, that’s good enough,” she says. “And how’s the head?”

Izuku frowns. He’s told them this. “Hurts,” he says, apparently able to enunciate properly by sheer force of will. It makes his head shift a bit, his neck twinging, but he grits his teeth through the pain.

“We got that part,” Katsuki says, but his voice is still a little too tight. “Dumbass. You dizzy?”

Izuku manages an affirmative noise. Somewhere to the left, Kyoka is muttering about checklists in an increasingly frantic tone. Momo must be rubbing off on her, he thinks, because the coping mechanism is familiar. Izuku wants to do something to assure her, but he hurts. He contents himself with squeezing her hand a little harder. She squeezes back and he hopes that means it’s helping.

Izuku takes a shaky breath and Katsuki grunts. “The fuck is that extraction? My stupid comms are dead.”

The second part is for Izuku’s benefit, he thinks, because Kyoka would have already known that.

“Soon,” she says, squeezing Izuku’s hand again. “Uravity will be here soon.”

Ochako is supposed to be with someone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s certain of this.

Izuku had been with — he remembers a low chuckle and purple ribbing down a black jumpsuit; remembers, “If you’re not back in thirty seconds I’m coming in after you,” and thinking about how strategically, you wouldn’t usually want him coming in after, that he’s supposed to be the first strike from the shadows; and then he remembers nothing —

Shinsou.

God only knows where he is now. Izuku’s chest seizes with panic at the thought.

Katsuki is with, strangely, Kyoka. They work well together, but they’re an unlikely pairing. Her advanced hearing balances out the deafness in Katsuki’s right ear, giving him an advantage when he rushes in for a first strike.

But they’re opposites — Kyoka does stealth and Katsuki barely knows the word. Plus, his explosions make her quirk near useless, her headphones doing little to muffle the noise when they’re back-to-back in a fight. It’s a weakness they’ll overcome in time, Izuku’s sure.

But still. It doesn’t feel right. They didn’t start out that way, Izuku doesn’t think.

Who was Ochako with? Where are they now? Why is she alone?

Everything feels wrong, woozy and hazy. The solid shapes that he’s identified as Katsuki and Kyoka drift out of focus again, twisting into each other in the amorphous blob that takes up the entire world around Izuku. He wants to reel them back in, and tries to say something to that effect, but nothing more than a whine escapes his parted lips that he barely recognizes as his own.

His stomach flips and twists, and he begs himself not to vomit. He can’t find his voice to warn Katsuki. He’d probably drown in it.

Something must change in his face, because he recognizes the cadence of Katsuki swearing — his hearing seems to have switched off again, like he’s focusing too hard on keeping his stomach inside of his body and can’t spare the energy to concentrate on individual noises.

There’s hands at his back and hands on his head and he’s shifted onto his side. Someone, presumably Kyoka, settles behind him, and something large and hard — a rock? — is maneuvered to prop up his top leg, keeping his spine as straight as possible. The change in position made the pressure build in the back of his throat, and he can’t stop himself from being sick.

He distantly hears what must be the sound of his vomit splattering onto the ground beside Katsuki’s laugh, but the predictable volley of swears and threats doesn’t seem to follow.

Izuku groans. Tears well in his eyes, perhaps overdue. Someone strokes his hair back from his face. Something stiff and leathery is used to wipe his face clean. Kyoka’s jacket?

Izuku feels like he’s barely clinging to consciousness. A small hand finds his again and he squeezes as hard as he can. Even he can tell that it’s barely any pressure at all. Still, she squeezes back.

There’s a rumble of voices above his head that Izuku strains to understand.

“—know it’s a hard concept …but you have to sit there and wait. There’s nothing…be here soon.”

“Shut the fuck… get here fucking faster. What kind of rescue hero can’t even do her damn job?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“The hell…tell me what I mean?”

The sound of their bickering is familiar and comforting, even if Izuku can’t make out all the words. He lets himself float on their voices, his eyes slowly drifting closed.

Ochako would be here soon.

A short nap couldn’t hurt, could it?

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #‘how many fingers am i holding up?’#mha #my hero academia #fic #concussion #emetophobia #vomit tw #back injury tw #head trauma tw #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #jirou kyoka #ham writes fics

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kalpasio · 8 months

Text

Every Month

A Kalpas x reader one shot (sort of, it's too long) where reader is on their period. Whole thing is below the cut!

Not to be over-dramatic, but you were dying.

Cramps were always the worst, but this round was particularly bad, and there was absolutely nothing in the apartment for you to eat. Well—there was nothing in the apartment you could eat. All the food you’d bought yesterday (while blissfully unaware of the torture to come) made you feel like throwing up, and that was if you could even get to the kitchen in the first place. The small breakfast you’d had this morning was all you’d gotten in terms of food so far and you couldn’t be sure if the nausea you felt was due to hunger or pain.

For a short time after you’d woken up, you thought maybe it won’t be so bad this time. One Aleve and some orange juice and you would be fine, right? An hour later you could be found lying in bed, flat on your back and feeling like you were being stabbed by an invisible knife. Three hours after that, you hadn’t really moved, but the painkillers had finally kicked in and you were able to get some rest, though you still didn’t feel up to walking the ten feet to your kitchen. You really should have taken that second Aleve.

It was almost comical thinking about the massive Honkai beast you’d taken down two days ago, yet here you are taken down by cramps you should have seen coming. “Honestly,” you grumbled and rolled over, trying to find the singular position that would convince the pain to die down a little. “I’ve been doing this, how many years? And I still get blindsided.” You turned again. “This is some bullshit.”

The words were heard by no one else, but letting the frustration out at least made you feel a little better. Maybe that’s why Kalpas was yelling all the time? You’d have to try this more often--.

At the thought of your boyfriend, you let out yet another groan. It was nearly 1 in the afternoon, meaning you had officially missed lunch and as soon as he finished eating you would be on the receiving end of the aforementioned yelling. Truth be told, you had grown accustomed to tuning out his theatrics, but right now you felt like you were exactly one harsh word away from crying and you really had no clue why. And if you cried, Kalpas would feel bad; and even though you were the one that should be upset, you’d end up comforting him for the next several minutes.

Another few minutes passed before you were forced to peel yourself off the bed in search of blankets. Sleeping with what was essentially a furnace meant you kept the covers on the bed very minimal. Now, without that warmth, and with your body deciding to completely cease any function that might produce body heat, you were certain you would simply freeze to death if you didn’t pile every blanket in the apartment on top of yourself within the next thirty seconds.

Shuffling around, you managed to collect a grand total of three additional blankets before the door to your apartment opened and you stopped to glare at the visitor. Though technically, this was his apartment and you were the one stealing it. What can you say? You were a firm believer in ‘what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is ours.’

“Kalpas!” you dropped the blankets in favor of something much warmer, not caring if your outstretched arms made you look like a child asking to be picked up.

“No,” he closed the door with a slam and headed straight for the kitchen, only making a detour to get around you.

“I haven’t even said anything, all I want is a hug!”

“No.” At this point he’d pulled an orange out of the fridge and was slamming that door closed too. It was a miracle all of the doorframes in this apartment were still intact.

“How come,” you huffed, “every time you want to cuddle with me, I have no say in the matter. But the one time I want to cuddle with you, I’m shot down?” Kalpas merely shrugged as if to say, ‘not my fault’ and continued peeling the orange, tossing the rind in the trash. “Fine!” The word sounded harsh, but it was clear you had very little malice behind the meaning. “Next time you’re on your own!” Now your boyfriend turned to face you, but it was only to send you a look that said ‘really?’ and you were starting to get fed up with his Kosma impression.

Letting out another huff, you hefted the blankets up from the floor and stomped back into your bedroom with the haul. It took a minute to lay them all flat, and you swore under your breath for every second spent out in the cold of your usually warm apartment. Once satisfied with the new layers that made your bed look like a stack of pancakes, you dove in and gave a happy hum. Kalpas on the other hand, had finished his snack and was now watching your antics from the doorway. His heavy footsteps forced you to look up from your phone that leaned against a pillow next to you in the bed. Unfortunately, the setup didn’t stay in place very long because he was tossing the pillow back to its original spot and pulling up the covers allowing the heat you’d scrounged up to escape.

“Hey!” you immediately grabbed the edge of the blankets and tried to force them back down, but they didn’t budge. “You said no cuddles! No takesies-backsies! Out! Out!” The shooing motions you made had very little effect, even when you began slapping Kalpas’ arms to keep him away. He slipped in, closing the gap he’d created (which was good) and instantly warming up the bed (also good), but you were still feeling a little petty about his initial refusal, so you gave him a scowl and turned away with an overdramatic sigh. A little irritation didn’t seem to bother him, however, as shortly after you’d settled in, arms were wrapped around you, and you ended up cuddling anyway.

For a few seconds, there wasn’t any noise in the apartment. Both of you had gotten comfortable, and any minute now you would fall asleep, Kalpas’ body heat keeping you toasty and his warm hand relieving some of the pain in your stomach. That relaxed silence was broken when your brain decided to grace you with the realization:

“You’re still in your battlesuit. Aren’t you.”

The sound you received barely even counted as a grunt.

“You brought Honkai guts into the bed. Didn’t you.”

Now you got a full grumble.

“Kalpas, I SWEAR—”

So much for your restful afternoon.

Sakura, you’re convinced, is an absolute angel. Without even asking, she knew exactly what you needed, even if you hadn’t come to realize you needed it yet. Granted, she had helped you through enough cycles that she probably had it all memorized, but you still appreciated the attention. What you did not appreciate was your boyfriend spilling the beans to half the MOTH base about why you hadn’t left your room.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and you highly doubted it would be the last, but it was still irritating—not to mention embarrassing—to have everyone ask if you were feeling better when you finally were able to crawl out of bed. He did this every time; and every time, you would demand cuddles as punishment. Either Kalpas wanted to be your personal hot water bottle, or he genuinely didn’t care enough to remember how much it bothered you. At this point you were fifty-fifty about which one it was.

Regardless of his reasoning, Kalpas told everyone you were dying and everyone included Sakura and Sakura—possibly your favorite flame chaser at the moment—was here to save you from the pain and your boredom. She brought snacks, more painkillers, food that was filling but not so heavy it would upset your stomach, and movies that were entertaining enough without being so emotional you started crying. How she knew exactly what to bring made no sense (if one ignores the months of practice like you are) but most importantly, she brought Kalpas along with her.

You felt a little bad, forcing Sakura to be a third wheel, but she didn’t seem to mind, and you were more than content with the way things are at this moment. Kalpas had you seated on his lap with your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you, ensuring every square inch of you was warm. For how bland it was, the movie was still enjoyable, mostly because the three of you found plenty of times you could poke fun at the characters, or the horribly obvious product placement.

When night rolled around, Sakura headed home while you and Kalpas headed to bed. Despite having done very little all day, being in constant pain—even if you couldn’t feel it—was rather draining, and you were ready to pass out. Between the movie and the heat coming from Kalpas, you had nearly fallen asleep four times already. Once under the covers, the position you were in only differed from how you had been sitting on the couch in one way, and that was because you were now lying down. There was still a firm grip around your waist, and an unmistakable heat surrounding you.

Kalpas had been surprisingly quiet today. Not so much because he hadn’t been speaking—he was by no means shy when it came to talking with you—but there had been a lot less shouting. Your boyfriend wasn’t exactly known for his volume control, and if he wanted to be loud, he would do so unashamedly. A small voice in your mind tried to argue he was annoyed you had forced him to stay inside all day, but the advantage to dating someone as blunt as Kalpas was that you knew he would have gotten up and left if he was that bored. No, there had to be some other reason.

“You haven’t been yelling,” your words broke the silence that had blanketed the room as soon as you’d gotten settled into bed. His response was a grunt that sounded almost like you’d woken him up from the verge of slumber. “Are you going to tell me why or…” Both of you knew the second option you’d trailed off on didn’t exist, and either Kalpas would tell you or he wouldn’t, there wasn’t much in between.

“Learned.”

Well maybe there was an in between. Him giving a response that didn’t help you in any way, shape, or form.

“Learned from?” you trailed off again, this time his grunt sounding more like a huff.

“Last time.” This was at least slightly more helpful, though you did still have to dig back quite a ways to the previous month to replay the events in your head.

He had in fact been a bit too loud a bit too often last time, and you remembered kicking him out of your room. You say you kicked him out, but really he had a mission he was supposed to be preparing for and you’d just sent him off to where he needed to be. Apparently, the exchange had stuck with him, and you felt a little bad now; especially considering the fact that the whole exchange had nearly slipped your mind.

“Last time I had a migraine,” you defended. “I’m sorry for being mean.” Kalpas let out a snort that told you he didn’t care, even if the hand squeezing your said he did.

“Mean?”

“Well how would you describe what happened?” Your comment sounded a bit accusatory, but you didn’t mean it that way, and when you rolled over and saw a hint of a smirk, you knew he didn’t take it to heart.

“Inconsiderate.”

“How was I incon—where did you even learn that word?” Kalpas gave you a blank look that showed just how amused he was with your joke but answered anyway.

“Emile put it on my report.” Figures. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

The room fell silent again, your eyes wide as any snarky comment died on your tongue.

“I’m sorry.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I can’t believe I forgot.” And another to his nose. “Won’t happen again.” The last peck fell on his forehead, and even if Kalpas didn’t appear to appreciate it, the contact made you feel a bit better.

“I know,” he said it so matter-of-factly that you were a bit taken aback. “Because next time I’m not leaving until you say it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Thinking of that picture where it's a note that says like "Hi! love you! please don't hug me tonight! I am bloated and I will fart so hard it tears a hole in the bedsheets :)" I'm sorry for dying, and I'm sorry this is definitely on the lower tier of my works lol. school is weird (how many times have fanfic writers said that) but this should be my worst week apart from finals, so hypothetically. I am back. I would really really like to be back to writing regularly, even if it's short ooc pieces that say "you" 50 times

#azaryawrites #kalpas x reader #tamalethebear #hi3 x reader #requested but I can't find it (please send help)#I don't think there's any mentions of blood but #blood tw #cross posted on ao3

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calypsodivum · 2 years

Text

love letters to the dead (e.m.)

summary part two part three part four

it’s been a month since eddie succumbed into death’s hands in the upside down but nobody seems to care. he didn’t run away this time. you wish he did.

you write a letter to eddie every day. secretly hoping he’d get a chance to read them.

disclaimer

gif and photos used are not mine. all credits go to their respective owners!

warnings

mentions of loss, bl00d, and depression. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned, please don’t proceed.

a/n

this has a little twist at the end because i’m thinking about doing a part 2 👀.

i apologize for the colors but trust me, i HAD to do it

———————————-———————————-—————

i want to sleep but every time i close my eyes, i see you. you smiled through blood-stained teeth as if you didn’t feel pain at all.

“i didn’t run away this time, right?”

no, you didn’t. god knows what i’d give for you to be here. to hear you hum the songs you’ve written for me. see your fingers tap against the steering wheel as you drive. to feel your warmth again.

“you’re going to be alright, princess”

maybe. every one looks at me with pity buried deep within their eyes. i’m so tired of people apologizing for you.

“i’m sorry for your loss”

“he’s in a better place now”

“do you need to talk?”

“i’m here whenever you need me”

you would have laughed at all the things they said at your funeral. after everything they did. chased you down with torches and pitchforks. called you a freak. i can list down a hundred more. they said you are a hero. sacrificing yourself to save us. oblivious about what we really went through. no one really understands. not even wayne.

a month have passed and it still hurts. everyone seems to have moved on. steve and robin got a new job at the new pizzeria right across family video. nancy went to her dream college, jonathan went to his.

hellfire is still here with dustin being the new dungeon master. they also seem to have acquired new members. they have a picture of you in the club’s room, you know? like a weird shrine of some sort. they miss you, especially dustin. i gave him your notebook. the one you wrote your d&d notes in. he comes over with it sometimes, asking me if i can read some of your handwriting. you were never really one for writing neatly or legibly at the very least.

the world seems to have moved on pretty quickly but i’m still here. wondering what i could’ve done. wishing you ran away, wishing it was me. i graduated with my class, you could’ve graduated too; could’ve looked principal higgins in the eyes and flipped him off. i could wish all these things to happen but they’d just stay that way. so, what’s the point?

i don’t know what to do, eddie. i can’t sleep most of the time and when i do, all i dream about is you knocking on my window at ungodly hours for god knows what reason. your ring-clad fingers wrapping around mine. your laughter. god, the sound of your laughter. i want to stay there, in my dreams, just so i can spend a little more time with you. i don’t want to wake up most days. i don’t want to be reminded that i won’t ever have you back

i need you.

———————————-———————————-—————

last night in hawkins. i’m going to college, eddie. i’m not so sure if i’m ready but i know this is what you would’ve wanted. you would’ve been proud.

we always talked about this. the future. you and i getting an apartment somewhere far away from hawkins. me in college, you squeezing your way into the music industry and becoming a rockstar. we had it all planned out. it’s crazy how i’m doing all of it without you.

the nightmares are mostly gone. you don’t look all bloody in my dreams anymore. you look like you. each dream more vivid than the last. thankfully. i don’t want you to become a blur. you are part of me, eddie. always.

i’ve packed all my stuff too. the ring you gave me, the one i thought i’ve lost? it was under my bed all along. now i have two of your rings on my chain. every time i breathe, i feel them resting against my chest, the way you used to when you were still here.

i also saw some candid photos i took of you. so unbelievably beautiful. the very same set of eyes that drew me in, staring back at me. nose i used to pinch playfully whenever i wanted you to look up from your notebook or your guitar. cheeks i used to stamp with gleeful kisses. lips i would love to kiss again. i miss your hair too even though fixing it was a nightmare, i would gladly do it all over again in a heartbeat.

i fly to michigan first thing tomorrow, i told you that, right? i’m scared, eds. what if everything goes to shit? i won’t have you to cuddle with. i won’t have someone to take me out for milkshakes. can you drop by later in my dreams and tell me it’ll all be okay?

———————————-———————————-—————

i wish i came back sooner but i was scared you’d be terrified of what i am. a monster. i’m not sure if i’m still the eddie you’re writing these letters to. i want to see you, hold you.

i don’t understand anything about the place i was in but i heard you. not just your voice, i heard your thoughts too. it kept me going. you were waiting for me. my heart broke when i heard you wishing it should’ve been you. i had to find a way back.

i want to tell you how proud i am of you. my strong girl. my legs want to run to you. i don’t want be just a part of your past, i need to be there now. i want to be a part of you, not a dream, not a memory.

and so i run towards you.

#vampire!eddie #eddie imagine #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #fanfic #eddie #munson #reader x eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie oneshot #eddie angst #eddie the freak munson #eddie the hero #eddie the brave #eddie munson fan fiction #joe quinn #joseph quinn

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watchtowerindistress · 2 years

Text

we are not our demons (1/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif by aquamancienne

Summary: Three months after the Strange incident, as Ellie called it, and her break-up with Gotham’s beloved billionaire, Bruce Wayne, an evil lurks in the shadows. Forever changed from her tormentor, Ellie Rhodes is still struggling with her mental state. Nothing could have warned her or Bruce’s family what tragedy would await them. (95k words)

Author’s note: So, we are back…

Oh God, I finished this chapter a YEAR ago, it kinda feels like it. It's been such a long time. All the chapters are already written down, so there shouldn't be any hiccups with the updates. I got a beta, guys. One of the reasons why it took like months to get this out.

brigs.broadmann, JennaFennix and Heidi were true saviours in helping me flesh this out.

Go wish my boy Tim Drake a happy birthday. 🍰

Warning: mental health issues

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

You don’t get in my brain

You don’t fill up the spaces

I don’t whisper your name

Now that I’ve built a fortress

-Fortress by Lennon Stella-

~ Previously on We are Not Our Masks ~

“I was wondering if you would like the position as my Head of IT?”

“Uh, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to presume, but … oh my God. Is this a date?!”

“Tell the reception your name and that Dr. Crane sent you.”

“I am real, okay? Please, you must be strong now, for me. I am here with you, and I’m not leaving you.”

“You know, I think this is the first time Tim willingly hugged someone.” A bitter chuckle resounded behind her. “Of course, it was when you decided to leave.”

~ Three months later ~

Ellie winced as she opened her eyes, at once closing them again. She shielded herself from the bright sunlight, trying to prevent any throbbing pains. She had closed the blinds last night, but a few beams of sunlight still shone through the barrier. Ellie reminded herself to close the curtains as well to be on the safe side if she didn’t want to suffer anymore.

After the whole Strange incident, Ellie saw no other way but to seek out a psychiatrist. After receiving a recommendation from the leading neurologists in Gotham, she sought a renowned counselor in Blüdhaven. During one of those sessions, it was revealed that the specific experiment Strange put her under had managed to manipulate the center of her brain that controlled her pain response and lung control. The result being when she experienced anxiety, a piercing migraine was soon to follow.

She sighed and felt the muscles in her neck tense up. This was going to be a long day. Her bones ached with every movement as she stepped out of bed. To awaken her senses Ellie made herself a cup of tea, experiencing muted aches behind her eyelids along the way. Unfortunately, she felt far too sore to even put on her glasses. After opening the case with her meds on her nightstand, Ellie broke one piece in half before downing it with a healthy gulp.

Her psychiatrist had prescribed her medication, which was supposed to treat her condition. She had been told that this traumatic event left her with PTSD. At first, Ellie had believed she had some sort of psychosomatic affliction because she kept on getting these migraines in certain situations.

A flick of her wrist and the TV in the living room came to life.

“Can you tell us where Mr. Wayne is, Mr. Fox?”

“I can assure you that the presence of Bruce—”

Ellie shook her head, trying to erase that name from her memory.

Another channel.

“It looks like the Bat of Gotham City has been keeping busy. Last month, the caped crusader held vigilance. So much so that criminals like Riddler and Poison Ivy were sent straight to Arkham. But not without getting some bruises along the way—”

Ellie groaned and turned off the television altogether. Knowing that she was close to jabbing the remote at her temple repeatedly, she braced her palms against the counter and tried to find a reprieve amid the restless feelings inside her. Taking a deep breath, Ellie let out a muffled sigh into the hands covering her face. Another breath and her eyes were gazing between her loose fingertips.

No matter where she went, she could not escape her ex-boyfriend it seemed. She should have known what it was like dating a billionaire, except for the dressing up in the night to beat up thugs part.

Ellie turned her head when she heard the landline ring. She recognized the familiar number and winced at the memory of when she last called. Before Ellie could talk herself out of it, her hand wound around the receiver and lifted it to her ear.

“Hey, you.”

Alyssa scoffed. “What do you mean by ‘Hey, you’? I had to hear from Arthur what happened to you a few weeks ago?”

Ellie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, tilting her head. “Wait, what, how?”

“Yep. You got kidnapped—again, might I add—and I only find out about it now through my boyfriend?”

Ellie was racking her brain about how Arthur Curry, of all people, would know about this in the first place and came up short. She waved her hand in the air. “Okay, clear up the confusion, how does he know about it?”

Alyssa sighed deeply and Ellie could sense she was rolling her eyes. “Hell, if I know. He said Diana told him.”

Ellie frowned. Her thoughts were all over the place, trying to make sense of this weird connection diagram. “Wait, what? How does he know Diana?”

“Beats me. One day he just did. He’s being all mysterious about it,” Alyssa grumbled.

Her tone of voice made Ellie believe with high certainty that she just hated being kept out of the loop. Welcome to the club. Raising her eyebrows Ellie asked, “Arthur? Are we still talking about the same person? He might be closed-off and stubborn to a fault, but mysterious?”

“Stop deflecting, Ellie.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you and give you a status update on the other kidnapping session. I had my own stuff to deal with.” Her eyes met the open pages of her planner, which had the words ‘Dr. Foster—15:30’ highlighted with a red circle. Alyssa was silent for a few seconds.

“Tell me.”

Ellie sighed, pondering what she last told her about Bruce, and inwardly winced.

“So… here’s the thing. Remember when I told you that Bruce had given me a job offer and that I took him up on that?”

“Yes?”

“Well, he did offer more than just a job, if you know what I mean,” she whispered.

“Okay, do I need to sit down for this? I’m getting the feeling I need to sit down for a bit.” Alyssa’s last sentence sounded muffled, like she was talking to herself.

“It was intense, and Bruce was great, but … it didn’t work out.”

There was silence on Alyssa’s end.

“Lyss?”

“Sorry, I just … are you telling me you had sex with Bruce Wayne? Several times?”

Ellie bit her lower lip and felt her eyebrows arch high, while giving it some consideration. “Yep?”

The next sound she heard was a drawn-out and tortured groan. “I want to hit you so bad through the phone right now. And you didn’t tell me this?”

Ellie slowly shook her head in thought, shrugging. “It … just went so fast. I could barely process it.”

“Well…?”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “Well, what?”

“Well, how was it? I need the details; you owe me that much. I need to live through you now that you have snatched up Bruce.”

“I didn’t… not anymore. He was …” Ellie sighed, nibbling on her lower lip, remembering all the small things about him. The good and the bad. Her hand covered her forehead to cool her overheated brain from the mess she was in. “Intense. Passionate. Different.”

“Uh huh… details of the sex, please,” Alyssa said eagerly.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Bruce knew what he was doing, just leave it at that.”

Alyssa groaned. “That’s why you call me the minute it happens and not when it is tainted by, you know, your break-up. What happened?”

Ellie put a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Secrets. Secrets happened. And ultimately, Bruce didn’t trust me.”

The sound of honking cars encompassed Ellie as she swerved through the crowds of people also trying to get to work. God, sometimes she couldn’t take these masses all around her. Blinking rapidly to ward off the beaming sun rays, she fiddled with the glasses on the bridge of her nose.

It was probably her mind playing tricks on her, since the Autumn weather and the orange leaves hanging on the trees weren’t too invasive. Regardless, Ellie felt like a vampire who couldn’t take the sun any longer.

Ellie cleared her throat and closed her eyes when she felt her skin getting warm. Oh jeez, not again. Beads of sweat were gathering on her clavicle, heating up her skin. It felt like a mixture of growing nausea and close to fainting on the streets.

To ward off the outside world, Ellie kept her eyes closed. She breathed in again and let the air out. Just a few more breaths and this would all be over. The surrounding noises muted into muffled ones in her ears, leaving her anxiety behind.

“Ellie?”

The familiar voice startled her before she turned her head to find Dick Grayson standing beside her.

“Oh my God. Hey, Richard.” Ellie pushed her glasses higher as soon as it hit her that she was facing someone familiar. The sensation of genuine happiness flowed through her, it felt exhilarating to see the oldest Wayne son again. Ellie hugged him briefly, still trying to get used to the touching part. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m guessing the same as you.” Dick pointed to his badge on his belt and the same travel mug he was carrying. “Getting to work.”

“Oh right.” Ellie palmed her forehead in embarrassment. “Bruce…” She cleared her throat, turning her head away. “He told me you were a detective in Blüdhaven.”

Dick nodded, seeming to get the weird tension with the mentioned big bat. “Right, now a detective in Gotham. Do you have some time to talk?”

She looked briefly at her watch and sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Walk with me.”

“So, how are you?” Ellie said, trying her best with small talk.

Dick nodded, with a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’m good. Good.” He sighed.

Ellie pursed her lips, hoping he would understand the meaning behind her next words. “So, which one are you?”

Dick chuckled, scratching his scruffy jaw.

“You’re the oldest. So, I’m guessing … Nightwing?” she whispered since she didn’t want to blab his secret out in the streets.

Dick smirked. “Bingo.”

Ellie coughed, feeling memories coming back. “You were there that night. You know when it first happened with Strange and Scarecrow.”

“Yes. I wasn’t aware that you remembered everything from that evening.”

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t,” Ellie said, turning her head away. “So, … every single one of you is…?” She waved towards his body as if that would suffice as a question, but Dick seemed to get it, nonetheless.

The raven-haired man shook his head with a smile. “Not all of us.”

“Oh, thank God.” Ellie lowered her head. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s just—”

“I get it, believe me. And before you ask, no. Tim is not a vigilante who’s beating up criminals at night.”

Ellie bit her lip nervously. “I don’t know how I would have reacted if I had known that Tim was like this as well.” She hugged herself. “How is Tim by the way?”

Dick’s gaze turned soft, and he shrugged. “He’s all right. The boy’s missing you.”

“I miss him too,” Ellie whispered, stroking her arms.

“Hard to believe, I mean, you only spent a little more than a week with us, but … you grew on us.”

Ellie shared a soft smile with him. “Even Damian?”

“Damian is missing you in his own way. Just like Bruce.”

“Again!”

With his arms braced, Damian stayed on the training ground for a second before jumping in the air and trying to reach his father’s throat. Bruce merely slapped his hands away.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Bruce reminded him, sweat pooling down the sides of his head. His body side-stepped casually, almost like the technique of his son, was starting to bore him.

“And you are, father?” Damian provoked, delivering a flurry of attacks that had the resemblance of a dancing effort.

Bruce pulled in a cleansing breath, not letting himself lose focus with Damian’s cajoling tone.

“If I would use my knives on you, you’d be dead already.”

“Then prove it.”

Alfred’s apathetic voice resounded through the Batcave, “I think that’s enough. I’d rather not clean up after you again like with the Funhouse incident.” Bruce didn’t need to turn his head to know that the butler didn’t even glance at them while speaking, like the omniscient man he was.

Bruce halted his movements but stayed in a defensive stance. A few seconds later, Damian chose to strike again with grunts following his movements. “Not our fault, Alfred.”

Alfred’s voice could be taken as reproachful. “Really, Master Wayne? Both of your suits were bathed in blood. You almost made me believe we should give your ensemble a different color, just like that red-hooded vigilante who is running around killing people.”

“Don’t remind me,” Damian interjected before continuing, “We still have unfinished business. That guy just shot a criminal before I could get to him,” the young boy hissed under his breath, almost like he loathed to admit it.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “Going slow already, Master Damian?”

Despite being engrossed in a training session, Damian scoffed derisively. “You wish, old man.” He didn’t even bother turning around to see the butler’s reaction, who was in turn breathing deeply, like he was trying for patience.

The instant, Damian’s pupils moved to the right. Bruce used this opportunity to knock him to the ground, pressing his knee against his throat. He knew that his son would only walk away from a fight when he was bested. “Ugh, fine!”

Bruce stepped back, grabbing a towel to dry off his face from the exercise. Damian glared when his father threw one at his face—perfectly aware of his fast reflexes—but nevertheless cleansed himself as well.

His father had his back turned towards him when Bruce reminded him, “You need to focus yourself more. That was sloppy of you.” He could essentially sense the boy’s trademark eyeroll when his steps receded.

Still, Damian was known for always needing to get the last word in and he didn’t disappoint. “Careful, you almost sounded like grandfather right there.”

His stomach was coiled into knots at the not so thinly veiled insult from his son. Bruce peered at his mentor and father figure for a few seconds, realizing something. He leaned against the chair at the Batcomputer. “Okay, have at it.”

Alfred pursed his lips, tilting his head. But if there was one thing, he could not fool him with, it was his eyes. They were always shining with a specific kind of emotion. Either it was wisdom, or the master of sass was revealing himself yet again.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Bruce chuckled, turning his head away from the display shortly after. “Oh, please. You are here to lecture me. I know all the signs, ever since I was a kid.”

Alfred sighed, as though in emotional preparation. “All right. Let us talk about the mindless violence you have been delivering to Gotham’s criminals as if you were trying to live up to Damian’s standards or reenact the old days. Quite unusual, I must say.”

Bruce shrugged, his mask already falling into place. “It was necessary. A means to an end.”

“To what end, though?”

Only the squeaking of bats and the waterfall could be heard through the Batcave.

“Fine,” Alfred sighed. He was tensing his shoulders as if he was about to deliver a grand missile in his back pocket. “Do you know what I believe, Sir?”

His smile twisted, not liking where this was going. “You’re probably going to tell me one way or another.” Bruce couldn’t stop twitching, his index and middle finger tapping a rapid rhythm against his upper thigh.

“Miss Rhodes has rejected you, both Batman and the man behind it. And you would rather hide behind this persona—” Bruce didn’t need to turn around to know that Alfred was pointing to the graffiti-defiled suit Jason had worn during his death, “—than face it. But one thing you might not realize, you are not only punishing the bad guys, but you’re also punishing yourself.”

“Alfred, are you also intending to be a psychiatrist?”

Alfred nodded to himself with a stiff neck before his gaze caught something else. “Are you intending to become Miss Rhodes’s personal stalker?”

Her name and Alfred’s pointed glare made him turn and stare at one monitor which traced all her movements on the CCTV cameras of Gotham. She was shopping for groceries, maybe even making herself some dinner before potentially falling asleep in front of the TV. With his next inhaling breath, Bruce managed to still his fingers, keeping them steady at his side.

If Ellie knew what he was doing she would come storming in with threats and stormy glares. Oh, how he missed her small size. But he would rather take the possibility of her fury than live in this reality.

And with those words (Alfred was good with this—delivering a blow and dropping the metaphorical mic) he left Bruce to his thoughts.

What Alfred did not know was Bruce knew exactly what he was doing, and that he knew no other way but to punish himself.

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