nicotina

hi everyone, I’ve been thinking about writing for more characters, so I wanted to create a space where you can easily find exactly what you’re looking for without getting lost in my feed. I’m not really good at this but I enjoy it very much and I hope you also enjoy my future works. Feel free to interact! 𐙚₊ english is not my first language!

Navigation: fluff (f), angst (a), comfort (c), hurt/comfort (h).

✴︎ The Pitt

Jack Abbot

To build a Home. – Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse! Reader. (f)

⤷ Jack would give you anything in the world if you asked for it, but he never expected you to ask to take an abandoned baby home. (1.8k)

To be seen. - Jack abbot x Reader. (a/c)

⤷ Things started to get dark for him. Hopefully, he has a place called home and that place is by your side. (1.2k)

Put a ring on it. - Jack abbot x Nurse! Reader. (f/c)

⤷ The fear of losing him on a mission and a simple comment that changes everything. (1.2k)

✶ House of the dragon

Aemond Targaryen

No prayers for the fire. - Aemond Targaryen x Sister! Reader

⤷ Alicent raised her youngest daughter to not commit the same sins as her first two children. But behind her back, an intense devotion already existed between you and Aemond, one kept strictly secret until an accident forced the prince to choose the fire in his veins and the love for his sister instead of duty and obedience.(2.2K)

Part 2. Where the prayers fail. - Aemond Targaryen x Sister! Reader

⤷ Even with all the political traps being set to tear them apart, they were no match for the fire within them. The crown can scheme all it wants, but they will burn the realm to ash before they let anyone tear them apart. (2.5K)

✴︎ A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

Aerion Targaryen

Thorns bound to fire. - Aerion Targaryen x Tyrell! Reader

⤷ How did the dragon prince know about an old and forgotten tradition? Long before the disastrous Tourney at Ashford Meadow, the answer was hidden amid the dust of the Summerhall library, it was a girl's discovery and her act of sharing knowledge with the prince Aerion Targaryen, that unwittingly sowed the seeds of the realm's greatest tragedy. (2.6K)

✶ DC Universe

Clark Kent/Superman

Where All the Good Men Gone?. x Teacher! Reader

⤷ Modern dating isn´t for the weak and in a city as chaotic as Metropolis, finding a decent man feels entirely impossible until the universe gives you a sign in red and blue colors. (1.5K)

Clark Kent/Superman x Teacher! Reader

Summary: Modern dating isn´t for the weak and in a city as chaotic as Metropolis, finding a decent man feels entirely impossible until the universe gives you a sign in red and blue colors. (1.5K)

Warning/Tags: Fluff, No physical description of reader, Near-accident, Soft Clark Kent, Cute ending.

Note: Inspired by holding out for a hero by Bonnie Tyler, and specially dedicated to my friend and biggest supporter @luloveseddie te amo mucho, esto va para tí con todo mi corazón.

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“I’m just so tired of dating, there’s nobody decent these days.” The streets of Metropolis were busier than usual. That day was a day off from work and you spent it, as usual, doing the groceries. It was usual for you to make calls while going out, you had to take advantage of any free time you had on your hands and the person you were talking to that day was your longtime friend who lived states away. It was a needed call; the night before, you went on a horrible date and she needed all the details.

“I’ve been on three dates in the past month and all the guys I’ve met have explicitly said that they are looking for a traditional wife that cooks and cleans, and one of them even said that I had the body to have a lot of children,” you told her while crossing the street. The bags on your arms were already tiring you out, but you insisted on giving the update at that moment. “I mean, is there really nobody else in this world that is good enough?”

Everything happened so fast, you didn’t realize that the traffic light had change to red. The only thing you got to notice was the sound of tires against the concrete street and by instinct, you closed your eyes hoping for the best but nothing ever came.

“Everything is okay, ma'am, you are safe.” A masculine voice made you react. You could no longer feel the ground, only the lightness of your body. “You may open your eyes now, everything is fine.”

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open, your heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The chaotic noise of the city felt strangely distant. You weren't on the asphalt, you were cradled securely in a pair of arms, hovering a few feet above the ground.

Looking up, the first thing you noticed wasn't the iconic red cape billowing softly in the breeze, but his eyes. They were a warm, striking blue, looking down at you with genuine concern, completely devoid of the arrogance and lust you had grown so used to seeing in men lately.

"I... I'm on the air?" you stutter, your grip tightening instinctively around your grocery bags.

Superman offered a small reassuring smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and immediately made the adrenaline in your veins begin to cool. He gently lowered both of you until your sneakers touched the solid concrete of the sidewalk, but he didn't let go of your shoulders until he was absolutely sure your knees wouldn't buckle.

"Safe and sound on the sidewalk," he said, his voice a low grounding rumble. He reached down, his gloved hand had easily catched your phone which had slipped during the commotion. "I believe this is yours, your friend on the line sounds a bit panicked."

From the speaker, you could hear faint but frantic screams of "What happened?! Are you there?!"

"Thank you," you breathed, taking the phone with a trembling hand, still trying to process the fact that Metropolis' greatest hero had just plucked you out of mid-air.

"It's no problem at all," he replied. He adjusted his stance, a faint, slightly sheepish tint of pink hitting his cheeks as he glanced at your heavy grocery bags. For a second, he looked less like a god from tomorrow and more like a polite person, just real. "And, uh... if you don't mind me saying..."

You blinked, curious and confused for what he might say. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help but overhear a bit of your conversation before the, uh…commotion" Superman confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, looking remarkably humble. "Don't lose hope. There are still decent people out there who will appreciate you for exactly who you are. Modern dating just...takes a lot of patience, I guess."

Before you could even process the absolute surrealism of getting dating advice from the Man of Steel, he gave you one last encouraging nod before shooting up into the sky, leaving you shocked behind a gentle gust of wind. You stood there for a moment, staring at the blue sky.

Slowly, and while digesting what just happened, you brought the phone back to your ear. "Hey... you're not going to believe what just happened."

There was a beat of dead silence on the line before a voice came blasting through the speaker, loud enough to be heared for anybody. "What happened?! I heard tires screeching and I screamed your name multiple times, did you get hit?! do I need to call an ambulance?!" The other voice at the line responded.

"No, no, I'm fine, completely untouched," she breathed, still staring blankly at the empty sky. She looked down at her grocery bag and then at her dusty sneakers that had been suspended in mid-air just thirty seconds ago. "But... remember how I just asked you if there were any good men left in this world?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well... Superman just gave me dating advice."

That was three weeks ago and even after the sky dropped a sign, you didn´t continue with your dating life, which honestly, was a relief. Your second grade students were entering their final evaluation period, and between grading colorful math worksheets and dealing with a broken laminating machine, you barely had any time to think about men.

That Friday afternoon the school was finally empty. You were struggling down the main hallway, carrying a strange tower of plastic storage bins filled with books, coloring materials and lesson plans for the next week. You couldn't see past the top bin and your sneakers squeaked loudly against the floor. Naturally, the bottom bin cracked due to the weight of the materials.

"Oh, no, no, no-" you gasped as the tower tilted violently.

Before the avalanche of school supplies could hit the ground, a pair of large hands caught the sides of the bins, stabilizing the weight in an instant.

"Got it! I've got you" a male voice reassured you.

You blinked past the plastic edge and found yourself looking at a tall, almost giant man. He wore thick black-rimmed glasses that sat slightly crooked on his nose, and a soft blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked broad enough to block a doorway and yet there was an incredibly gentle and delicate aura around him.

"Thank you so much" you breathed, letting out a sigh of relief as he easily took the heaviest bins from your arms, leaving you with just one.

"It's really no problem at all" he smiled, adjusting his glasses with his shoulder. "I'm Clark, by the way.” The confusion displayed on your face made him blush, only giving his name wasn´t enough information. “Clark Kent from the Daily Planet, I was just finishing up an interview with your principal about the new district budget, but it looks like the real heavy lifting happens out here."

A laugh escaped your lips, genuine and light. "You have no idea, the sheets might not look like a lot but combine them and they weigh tons.”

As you both walked toward your classroom to drop off the materials, the conversation flowed with a terrifying amount of ease. You found out Clark grew up in a small town in Kansas, raised by farmers, which completely explained his polite, almost old-fashioned manners. When he saw your messy desk, he didn't judge; instead, he helped you organize the papers, confessing that his own desk at the newspaper was a "documented disaster zone."

The chemistry was instant, the kind that didn't feel forced or performative. You spent a solid ten minutes debating whether chunky glitter or fine glitter was the ultimate enemy of civilization (you both agreed it was chunky), and you were amazed to find out just how much you two had in common, like how he actually loved old retro synth music from the 80s just as much as you did. For the first time in months, you were talking to a man who didn't interrupt you, one that didn't make you an inappropriate comment about your body and genuinely listened, causing a sparkle in his blue eyes.

Blue eyes. For a fraction of a second, the memory of a red cape and firm grip crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it off. Clark was currently struggling to untangle a roll of tape, looking completely harmless and adorable.

"Well," Clark said softly, looking around the now perfectly tidy classroom. The afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows across the tiny desks. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden wave of shyness hitting him. "I, uh...I know we just met and you've probably had a busy week..."

You smiled, leaning against your desk, feeling a strange but welcome flutter in your stomach. "But?"

"But I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner with me tonight?" Clark asked, his voice low and hopeful "There's a quiet little diner a few blocks away. No fancy dress codes, no complicated menu options, just good food and an even greater conversation…If you're not too tired, of course."

You looked at him completely, his crooked glasses, his disheveled shirt and the genuine hope in his eyes. The memory of your terrible dates from three weeks ago vanished completely, now replaced by a sudden bright feeling.

"I would love to, Clark" you replied, a bright smile displaying across your face. "Just let me grab my purse."

Aemond Targaryen x Sister! Reader

Summary: Even with all the political traps being set to tear them apart, they were no match for the fire within them. The crown can scheme all it wants, but they will burn the realm to ash before they let anyone tear them apart. (2.5K)

Warning/Tags: Slight Cannon divergence, mild suggestive themes, Brief use of swear words, angst and romance, Secret relationship, possessive Aemond Targaryen, Canonical Targaryen incest, No physical description of reader (only targaryen features), Slight Canon divergence.

Note: This is connected to my other work and it helps for the context but I think it could be read as a standalone, I felt like the story had so much to be explored so here´s part 2, enjoy!

Read Part 1.

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“Look away from the paintings when you are praying, child. The gods don’t like the view of those… acts.” Alicent’s voice broke the silence in the room.

The Targaryen tapestries hung heavy on the walls, adorned with naked bodies lying bare, just as they were conceived in this world. Alicent hated to look at them every single night since she was young, and she made sure that you would hate them too. But staring at the strange, intertwined bodies on the wall was all you could do all day since you woke up. Your mother and the maesters had already waited a week, insisting you stay longer abed due to the severe fall you took from your dragon.

“We don’t need to pray anymore, Mother. I’m as good as I was before the accident. The maesters have already confirmed it, am I wrong, Maester?” You sat up in your bed, your white hair messy from turning and laying down for hours. Both you and your mother turned to look at the maester who, by order of your father, stayed vigilant at your bedside.

“You have shown a significant amount of improvement, Princess… perhaps we should test your strength outside of your chambers. Your mind might be intact, but to spend too much time abed might damage one's extremities.

“Please, Mother. I wish to smell the fresh air of the gardens,” you pleaded. A lie of course, everyone knew the stench of the city was stronger than anything else.

The doors suddenly opened and the booming voice of the guards announced the arrival of your older brother, Aemond. You immediately moved closer to the edge of the bed, only to find his single eye already locked onto you.

“Aemond, it is not proper for you to see your sister like this. What is the meaning of your visit?” Quickly, your mother tried to pull the heavy bed sheets over you. After all, you were wearing nothing but your thin nightgown.

“I only wish to see how well my sister is feeling” Aemond replied smoothly before his gaze sharpened, shifting into the vowels of their ancestral tongue. “Skorkydoso ēdruta hen aohe gūrēño, hāedar? Skorion ao ūndegon?” (Any news of your state, sister? When will you get out?).

“Iā prūmia iksis se ēdrugon nyke ūndegon māzigon. Ao perzys gaomagon Muña ēdrugī se nyke ūndegon” you answered back in High Valyrian, keeping your voice low. (The maester said that I could already be out, you only need to convince Mother to let me.)

“Stop this conversation at once!” Alicent snapped with an angry expression on her face, desperate to know the meaning of the words. “If you have a concern, you might say it out loud for all to hear, if you could be so kind.”

Aemond didn't even blink. He took a slow step forward, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, just as he was accustomed to do.

“I wish to escort my sister out of these rooms, Mother.” His hand slowly left his sword and took a new place on his sister’s cheek, caressing it carefully with the back of his palm before his mother moved his sister’s body.

“Absolutely not” Alicent refused immediately, her voice rising in a defensive edge as she moved to block his path. “She is weak, she is still recovering and it is already entirely improper for you to be lingering in her chambers while she is clothed like this.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened but his tone remained dangerously polite. He turned his gaze slowly toward the older man standing by the window. “And yet, the maester just stated that staying abed would only damage her. Am I wrong, Maester?”

The poor maester looked between the terrifying Prince and the furious Queen, clearing his throat nervously to make his knowledge be known. “Uh... indeed, Your Grace. A brief walk in the fresh air would be most beneficial for the princess’s recovery.”

Supported by the maester's own words and the terrifying quiet power that Aemond was projecting, Alicent let out a defeated breath. She looked at you, then at her son, her paranoia practically vibrating in the air being activated by the physical touch and the mere connection she had felt.

“Very well, if it is for the best,” the Queen whispered, her eyes narrowing as a cold resolve took over. She walked over until she was a barrier between her two children. “I will get your handmaidens to make you decent while your brother escorts me to the Hand's Tower and comes back for you, as he is so eager to take a walk too.” The Queen offered her hand for her son to take, looking solemnly at his only eye.

Aemond gave his mother a quick smile, offering his arm for her to grab. “As you wish, Mother.”

The handmaidens hurried into the chambers the moment the Queen and the Prince departed, their fingers trembling as they dressed you in a perfectly embroidered gown with a suffocating green tone that felt more like a choose of sides than a garment. Once Aemond returned and escorted you outside, the fresh air of the gardends did little to clear the tension. Even in her absence, your mother schemes had not left you alone, your sworn shield walked exactly three paces behind you. He usually did not follow you while you were with Aemond, as he, with his abilities could easily eliminate any threat, all except your dragon.

“The court is a theater of hypocrites” Aemond murmured, already done with the feeling of being observed, his voice low and raspy as he walked by your side, your arm around his while you played with your heavy dress. Without looking at you, his voice dropped into the vowels of High Valyrian, safe from your guard's ignorant ears. “Ñuha dōna, nyke skoros iā daor syt ao nyke. Nyke jorrāelan se gīmigon iā mirre hen ñuha jorrāelagon.” (I have grown tired of being in the shadows, my love. I wish for all to know our love.)

You kept your gaze fixed on the gravel path, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Muña hēnka iksā. Se gevie jelmāzma, ñuha jorrāelagon iderēbagon” (Mother suspects something, she will be mad when she founds out) You whispered back in the ancestral tongue. “Did you see her face when you touched me?”

Aemond let out a deep laugh, his single eye flashing with dangerous certainty. “Let her look. She can pray to the gods all she wants, but she will not deny our love anymore. You belong with me, and nothing will ever change that.”

But Alicent Hightower was not praying at all. Her visit to the Hand’s Tower was with no other purpose than to stop the same mistake, the same sin from being committed; And by sundown, her desperate whispers in the King’s ears had already solidified into a royal decree.

The dinner that evening felt unusually heavy, enough to choke on. The clinking of silver cutlery and wine chalices was the only sound breaking the tense silence of the royal table. You sat perfectly straight, dressed in the suffocating green gown just as your mother expected, but it was Aemond's gaze that burned your skin. He had barely touched his food; his single eye was locked onto you, heavy with that same unspoken desire that completely ignored Alicent’s warning glares. The Hand sat at the head, looking at everyone as your mother said her prayers, while Aegon mindlessly swirled his wine cup, entirely unaware of the storm brewing right in front of them. Helaena was lost in her thoughts, probably dreaming as his mother told her prayers out loud.

Finally, the Queen smiled as she finished the prayers, breaking the silence with a perfectly rehearsed maternal smile.

“It brings my heart such joy to see you recovered, my dear, you have been missed at these dinners” Alicent began, her voice dripping with an affection. She looked around the table, ensuring her words carried the weight of an absolute truth as her father cleared his throat.

“It is well for you to be in the best state, Princess. With your perfect recovery, you can finally help this family.” Otto's voice followed his daughter's tone.

“Help? I fear that I’m not following, grandsire” Your confused response now grabbed your sibling’s attention.

“I have spoken with your father and the Hand. We have agreed that it is time for you to fulfill your grander duties to the realm and your house.” Alicent continued.

Beside his plate, Aemond’s turned into a fist, his knuckles turning stark white as he held back immense force.

“What duties, Mother?” Aemond asked. His tone dropped several degrees, turning the air in the room ice cold.

Alicent maintained her tight smile, though her eyes were sharp, calculating, and filled with a desperate survivalism. “A royal progress, as princess Rhaenyra once did. In a fortnight, your sister will leave King's Landing to visit the Great Houses of Westeros.” She made a pause, looking back at his daughter. “The princess is of age, and the Lords of the Realm have sent numerous betrothal proposals during these past years, and it is only proper that she chooses a suitor to secure a grand alliance for our house. The preparations are already underway. Her hand will be pledged before the turn of the moon if the gods are to bless us.”

The heavy silence stretched so tight it felt as though it might snap, suffocating the entire table. You could feel the immense dark energy radiating from Aemond’s, his white-knuckled fist trembling with a rage that threatened to shatter the silver plate beneath it

Before the storm could break, you forced your hands to rest calmly on your lap, smoothing the heavy velvet of your green dress. You looked up, meeting your mother’s calculating gaze with the most serene, submissive expression you could display.

“If it pleases the Realm…” you spoke, your voice smooth and deliberate, cutting through the air. “I shall do whatever is required to secure the strength of our house..”

Alicent’s shoulders visibly relaxed, a triumphant sigh escaping her lips as she looked at Otto, pleased by the believe that her trap had successfully caught you. Even Otto nodded with approval. But as you spoke the words of surrender, your eyes shifted discreetly across the table, locking onto Aemond’s single eye. The look you gave him was not one of defeat; it was a silent command, Wait, your eyes pleaded with him, holding his gaze with an intensity that made the air between you thick with faint promises. Do not ruin this now, just wait.

Aemond’s chest rose and fell with a ragged breath. He didn't break the eye contact, his gaze directly into yours as if trying to rip the thoghts straight from your mind. Slowly and agonizingly, his fist uncurled as he leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight but the politeness was slowly returning to his features like a mask.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur like many others before. Even after such an announcement, the tension was extremely suffocating, every scrape of a knife against a plate felt like a countdown, and every forced smile from your mother felt like an extra lock in your golden cage. When you were finally got dismissed from the table, you walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, behind you, the rhythmic sound of the clanking of your sworn shield’s armored boots served as a reminder of your mother’s fears and paranoia. He escorted you all the way to your chambers, where your handmaidens were already waiting, hovering nervously to unlace your gown and brush your hair. As their hands touched your body, the realization took over; their mere presence and watchful eyes were an extension of Alicent’s.

"Leave me, at once" you commanded firmly. The girls exchanged worried glances but quickly bowed, murmuring their soft 'Your Grace' before they were promptly dismissed for the night.

The chambers were dark and illuminated only by the dragon-shapped fire holders scattered across the room and the silver moonlight cutting through the tall windows. You paced the stone floor, your bare feet cold against the surface, your heart uneasy for some strange reason. Suddenly, a low, grinding sound echoed from the darkest corner of the room.

Your eyes immediately locked onto the place where the sound came from. You noticed the heavy stone tapestry frame against the wall had moved inwards, revealing the entrance to Maegor’s tunnels. Aemond stepped out from the shadows of the secret passage, pulling the stone door shut behind him with a soft click. As his chest was still heaving, his single eye locked onto you with a dangerous, untamed fire that made him look more like a predator than a prince.

“So you would allow the royal progress,” Aemond hissed, his voice a low growl as he crossed the room with steady steps. He didn't stop until he was completely crowding your space, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over you. “You sat at that table and forgot everything we agreed on just hours ago. We are supposed to burn together, but now you are okay with being a wife to some fucking lord far away from me.”

“Aemond, listen to me—” You tried to speak, your hand rising to press against his chest to keep some distance, but he immediately caught your wrist in a grip, stopping your touch but careful not to bruise. But he didn’t say a word, allowing you to step closer into his space, refusing to be intimidated by his looming shadow, holding his gaze. “Don’t think so little of me, brother. I only gave them exactly what they wanted to hear.”

“If Mother thinks she can ship me away to be some stranger's prize, she forgets that we carry the fire of Old Valyria. Let them try to give me away; I will make sure their proposals turn into ashes before the moon turns.”

Your words were enough to make Aemond’s jaw unclench as a dark smile appeared on his face. He let go of your wrist only to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you harder against his leather clothing until there was no space left between you.

“I should have known better than to doubt your fire” Aemond whispered, his voice losing all its harsh edge, turning soft and thick with a fierce devotion. He brought his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your lip. “You are my anchor in this miserable place. No matter where they send you or what games they try to play...my heart is yours, ñuha jōrni, it has always been yours.”

Aemond Targaryen x Sister! Reader

Summary: Alicent raised her youngest daughter to not commit the same sins as her first two children. But behind her back, an intense devotion already existed between you and Aemond, one kept strictly secret until an accident forced the prince to choose the fire in his veins and the love for his sister instead of duty and obedience. (2.2K)

part 2

Warnings/Tags: Mommy Issues (Thanks Alicent), Secret relationship, severe injuries and descriptions of blood, family trauma, Canonical Targaryen incest, Angst with happy ending, Religious Guilt, The faith of the seven, Forbidden Love, Protective Aemond Targaryen, No physical description of reader (only targaryen features), Slight Canon divergence (due to timeline)

Notes: I´ve been obsessed with Aemond since the first season of HOTD (I even had posters), so I had a lot of ideas that faded away with time, but I wanted to post when the 3 season came, i hope you enjoy it, I tried my best. If you want a story from some other character, let me know, especially I would love to write something about jacaerys and aerion.

Also I took the images from pinterest, credits to the authors!

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You notice it first at the wedding of your brother and sister. It was during your tenth name day; you remember it vividly, the banners of the people present, the taste of the food served that night, the decoration of the sept, and the look of disgust on your mother’s face when Aegon kissed Helaena in front of the septon. Alicent couldn’t accept Targaryen customs, especially those that shouldn’t be allowed due to the immorality of the actions, because the Seven denied these sins. But she was pressured; Viserys wanted to accept the proposition made by Rhaenyra, but she wasn’t going to allow her child to marry a bastard, and she wouldn’t be separated from her sweet Helaena. So Alicent´s father, the Hand of the King, conspired and made his only way happen, binding the two eldest of her five children in marriage.

In the years that followed, your mother’s obsession with purity and honor only grew. One evening while brushing your hair, she whispered into your ear like a warning: “Decency must prevail in this house. We must pray to be forgiven for the blood in our veins and do our duty as the Seven command.” Alicent truly believed her prayers had worked, that the gods had smiled upon them. She looked at you and Aemond and saw exactly what she wanted: two obedient and respectful siblings who kept their eyes downcast and their hands to themselves. She was blind to the truth, one that only you and Aemond knew.

It had begun years ago before he lost his eye. It started in the quiet corners of the library, where the scent of old parchment and dust protected you from the rest of the world. While Aegon was out already mapping out the silk streets and Helaena wandered in her dreams, you and Aemond would sit huddled over massive, ancient tomes of Valyrian history. He was just a boy then, quiet, observant and carrying heavy loneliness that mirrored your own. Together you began to study the language of your ancestors, it was important to him maybe to prove something despite his lack of a dragon. At first, it was just a way to pass the time, but it quickly became your greatest rebellion. High Valyrian was a tongue your mother couldn't speak and deeply distrusted, after all, it belonged to the dragons, to the old ways she so desperately wanted to wash away with her prayers.

As the years passed into one another, the boy you knew grew into a formidable, hardened prince, while you followed the path of your mother, becoming the perfect princess for the realm. This change only caused the nature of your secret to shift and that language became the connection for everything you weren't allowed to feel.

 It started slowly and fearfully, with your meetings in the library changing hours so you could meet without your mother asking questions, followed by hands lingering a bit too long under the table when you sat together. Soon, you were using the ancient tongue to whisper things that would have made Alicent weep: soft promises of devotion, hidden meanings spoken right in front of the entire court and breathless confessions meant only for the dark. The only way your connection could truly be free beyond anyone's denial, had to be through dragons.

When you petitioned for it first, you thought it would never happen. You had a dragon, one that was born in your cradle and one that you had ridden by yourself before, but when you expressed that you wanted to fly with Aemond, Alicent merely said she would take it into consideration. It was Viserys who truly swayed the tides. The King insisted upon it: “Targaryens and dragons cannot be separated, my dear. You must allow her to take to the skies with her brother…Vhagar’s shadow is wide and Aemond shall keep her safe from harm.” That was the first time you had ever felt a sense of support from the King.

No matter how much Alicent wished to refuse, she knew the deep and intense connection both riders shared with their dragon, it was a bond she could neither understand nor break. So from time to time, she could only watch in silent resignation as the two of you disappeared in a carriage toward the Dragonpit, only to emerge moments later, oaring together through the skies.

That day was just like any other. It began with going to the sept to pray to the gods early on the morrow, followed by breaking fast with your mother, grandfather, and siblings; everyone except the slippery Aegon and the dying king. Afterward, there was playtime with your niece and nephews alongside Helaena, all while you waited for Aemond to finish his sword training. Usually, the two of you would head to the library together right after, but today was different. Today was riding day.

Aemond was waiting for you by the courtyard, the heavy wheelhouse carriage already prepared. Publicly, he was the very picture of the prince your mother had sculpted, composed, dutiful, and impeccably formal; just like you. It was no secret that both of you were raised by Alicent’s values, grabbing onto your mother’s skirt listening to all of her ideas and thoughts. As you approached him, he stepped forward and extended his leather-gloved hand to help you ascend the steps of the carriage. To any passing person, it was a mere gesture of common sibiling courtesy but as your fingers brushed against his palm, his grip lingered for a fraction of a second too long, a silent reassurance meant only for you.

Since Vhagar was far too massive to be held within the depths of the Dragonpit, residing instead in the open fields outside the city walls, Aemond merely accompanied you on carriage to fetch your own dragon. Since the beast had been born and raised by your side, the dragonkeepers often commented that the creature contained a child's heart inside its massive body. It showed, especially in its passion for performing playful turns and spins in the open air.

Upon your arrival, as the dragonkeepers brought out your dragon, you walked towards the beast, who chirped happily at the very sight of you, but before you could even reach it, chaos erupted; A stray goat slipped past its handlers, screaming in terror as it runned across the stone floor. It was a minor chaos but enough to trigger the youthful and erratic spirit of your dragon. In a sudden playful burst of predatory instinct, the beast lunged toward the prey, its massive tail whipping through the air with careless force. You never saw it coming, the heavy scaled tail struck you down, throwing you back a few feet against the stone floor of the pitt and then, the world shattered into darkness and the sounds of Aemond’s panicked screams fading away.

“Get the maestres!” He ran until he was by your side, blood was already pooling from a sharp cut on the back of your head, caused by the stone floor.

“My prince, let me-“ a dragonkeeper stammered, stepping forward.

“You´d lose your hand if you touch her” Aemond snarled, with trembling but fiercely deliberate strength, Aemond carefully picked you up from the ground, cradling your broken form against his chest. He didn’t let you go, not through the frantic ride back nor up the steps of the Red Keep, just until you were placed gently in your bed and the maesters took over.

Aemond stood there in silent, like a specter at the edge of the bed watching the maestres work. He could feel the heavy density of the blood, drying up against his leather clothing, stiffening the fabric with every passing minute. He was a prince of the realm, trained in arms since he was young; he was well used to the metallic scent and the grim feeling of blood, he saw it on the training grounds every day but as he looked down at his stained sleeves, a suffocating horror clawed at his throat. He couldn´t stand the thought. It wasn´t the blood of a training partner or an enemy, it was your blood.

One of the elderly maestres stepped backward, murmuring a quiet apology as his robes brushed against Aemond´s rigid body. The room was chaotic, the white hair and blood-soaked bandages yet the prince refused to move even an inch to give the healers room to tend to your wound.

Then, the door to the chambers burst open, breaking the silence as Alicent rushed in, her face pale with panic and fear, her eyes wide with terror as she took in the sight of your unmoving form and her son covered in blood, her breath catching sharply in her throat.

"Aemond..." your mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she noticed the blood in his clothes. "Is that... is that her blood?"

Aemond didn't answer. He didn´t even looked at her. His lone eye remained fixed entirely on your pale face but Alicent stepped closer, she grabbed his arm to pull him away from the bedside.

"I knew it...I knew no good would come from this" your mother whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched his arm tightly "When will it be enough? Have those beasts not taken enough from my children? You already lost an eye to them, Aemond! And now I must watch your sister bleed on the bed because you insist on chasing your customs? Go clean yourself and let the maesters do their work!" her voice cracking with grief as the panic turned into fury.

"I am not leaving her side," he replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous and unyielding whisper that cut through her grip.

"Aemond, please!" she pleaded one more time, but she did not get an answer.

Defeated by her son's devotion, too exhausted by her own worry and terror to keep fighting him, Alicent could only sink into a chair by the far corner of the room. She pulled out her seven-pointed star, her lips moving in a quiet, frantic murmur of prayers as she wept for her daughter. For years, the princess had been so perfectly behaved that suitors from every corner of the realm flooded King's Landing with betrothal offers that were often declined; her hand was reserved for a future that loomed with war, where a marriage pact could secure an alliance that could bring victory. Alicent had raised her to be the mortal likeness of the Maiden herself: pure, obedient, and always dutiful. And now that image was gone, lost in a blood-stained bed.

Hours bled into the night and Aemond did not leave your side. Once the maestres finally finished binding your wound, they slipped out of the chamber with a quiet reverent bow towards the still awake prince, leaving him in a suffocating silence. Alicent, completely exhausted by her emotions and frantic praying, had eventually fallen to sleep in the far corner of the room, her fingers still loosely grabbing her golden seven-pointed star. By the time Aemond noticed, his posture finally broked.

The terrifying, unyielding prince disappeared and was replaced by the boy who used to seek comfort by your side and share your loneliness in the dark corners of the library. The leather of his suit creaked softly as he closed the remaining distance to your bedside, dropping to his knees on the cold floor by mere exhaustion. He didn't care about the dried blood ruining his clothes, he only cared about the slow rise and fall of your chest, that movement made him remember that you were still alive.

Trembling in a way he would never allow the realm to see, his bare hand reached out, gently intertwining his fingers with yours. His palm was warm, a contrast to the terrifying coldness that your hand was. As if your soul recognized his touch even through the heavy fog of exhaustion, your eyelashes fluttered. The room was dim and your head throbbed with an ache, but your mind was whole, you slowly remembered the dragon, the fall, and the sound of his panic.

Turning your head slightly on the pillow, your gaze found his eye.

"Aemond..." you whispered, your voice rough and dry from the milk of the poppy.

A gasp escaped him, a sound of pure relief. He leaned in immediately, burying his face against your intertwined hands, his shoulders shaking as the terrifying weight of the last few hours finally crashed over him. Slowly he lifted his head as he moved closer towards you, so his voice wouldn't carry across the room. It was an instinct, maybe it was the blood on his veins that made him forget the language of your mother’s prayers, the language that forced you to keep you slave to duty. Instead, he tore open his soul in the old ways.

"Ao māzigī syt jōhāeragon, ñha jorli," he whispered, his voice a breathless in High Valyrian. (You came back to me, my love). As leaned closer, his forehead now rested gently against yours, his hot breath brushing your skin as his thumb traced your knuckles. "Ao amāzen. Nyke ao rāenagon zūgāndan... jēda issī syt hāre pūatagon da. Ao jorlān jorlāgon, konir perzys sēte rāenagon kosat da." (I was afraid to lose you...it´s time to stop hiding, to love each other so much that the gods themselves will not be able to tear us apart.)

Hearing his promise caused a rush of warmth that flooded your chest, overriding the physical pain. Alicent could pray and curse your blood all she wanted, but as you looked into Aemond's eye, you knew the truth. The fire in your veins belonged to each other; you were bound in more than just blood or traditions, it was pure love.

Aerion Targaryen x Tyrell! Reader

Summary: How did the dragon prince know about an old and forgotten tradition?

Long before the disastrous Tourney at Ashford Meadow, the answer was hidden amid the dust of the Summerhall library, it was a girl's discovery and her act of sharing knowledge with the prince Aerion Targaryen, that unwittingly sowed the seeds of the realm's greatest tragedy. (2.6K)

Warning/Tags: Slight Canon divergence, fluff, childhood sweethearts, established non official relationship, slight mention of injuries, no physical description of reader, Daddy Issues, Domestic Aerion

Note: I know there´s a lot of other houses but house tyrell is one of my favorites and one the closest to Summerhall. Also, i finished this fic in a day but editing took longer than expected, hope you enjoy!

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“Uhm…a trial by combat, that is my right.” The hedge knight, Sir Duncan, murmured in front of the lords.

“I refused” Aerion countered the knight.

“You cannot refuse” His father Maekar, replied with a furious tone.

“Any knight accused of a crime has the right to demand as such” The Hand of the king and Heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Baelor ´Breakspear´ responded to his nephew. “Unless you withdraw your claim?”

The young prince thought for a moment; there had to be a way to punish the hedge knight for his crime. Then, he knew exactly what he would do.

“A trial of seven” Aerion spoke, great pride filling his tone. “That is my right, I do believe.”

“What the fuck is a trial of seven?”

—

It happened years ago, when the prince was looking for a maestre in the library. It had seamed the space was empty but a shimmer of gold caught his attention. As he got closer, he noticed a girl in a green and gold dress sitting comfortably onthe floor of the library.

“What are you doing on the floor?” The prince looked down at her.

He didn’t recognize her, but from the colors of her clothes, reminiscent of House Tyrell, he could determine that the strange girl sitting on the floor was a lady related to someone from the court. Then, he started remembering: when his grandfather King Daeron II anointed a new member of his noble court as the Master of Laws, there was a little girl there, standing next to a boy taller and older than her, her father and her mother as they presented themselves in front of the court. At that time, Aerion hadn’t noticed her, all he had been thinking about was what kind of food was going to be served that night.

“I grew tired of trying to move the chairs to be closer to this bookstand… and no servants were near to assist me. So I chose the floor, so the books would be within reach, my prince.” She looked down at the numerous dusty books pilled up beside her and on her lap, wiping the dust away with her hand before showing one to the prince the book she had in her hands. “I’m reading about the Andals”

“And why would you be reading about them?” The prince was curious about this girl. He couldn’t understand the interest in those people when there were so many more interesting things to read about, like the dragons of Old Valyria or Aegon’s Conquest.

“I was reading about Maegor’s reign, and it mentioned an old Andal tradition…” The girl laid down the book and picked up another, a volume that looked much older than the others “A Trial of Seven.”

“A trial of seven?” Aerion scoffed crossing his arms as he looked down at her with a smirk on his lips. “Why would that be important when you can have a real fight? Only fools would care about it”

The girl didn't shrink away from his sharp tone, instead, she looked up at him, her eyes bright with the thrill of her findings.

“Because, my prince, it is not just a fight, it is holy law,” she explained, tapping the yellowed page with a finger in the section she was reading before the interruption. “The septons say that if seven combatants face another seven, the gods themselves will judge the righteous and whoever wins is proven innocent in the eyes of the gods…there has not been another since Maegor but the law still stands. It is an absolute right for any knight or highborn, it cannot be denied.”

Aerion’s smirk faded, replaced by a sudden intense curiosity. An absolute right.

He had trained constantly and had been taught by the best septas and maestres of the Seven Kingdoms, but since the tradition was so ancient, it had been forgotten due to the great losses suffered during that last trial and nobody seemed to have mentioned it until this strange girl on the floor.

“An ancient law, you say?” Aerion murmured taking a step closer, his purple eyes narrowing as he stared at the heavy book on her lap. “Show me.”

Instead of being afraid of the proximity, the girl offered him a small smile and patted the empty space on the floor beside her, a gesture inviting the prince to join her. For a moment, Aerion hesitated, he could hear his father's voice saying “That´s not fit for a prince” but his curiosity and the audacity of her invitation, won over. He sat down beside her, his red and black silk robes resting against the cold stone floor

That afternoon in the library, something happened, something blossomed between the two souls.

With every passing day, the pair became closer, stirring up whispers in court that disappeared with the wind. They were mostly bad rumors, but there was something that couldn’t be denied: as the moons turned, the prince became more and more fascinated by her mind. He loved to listen to her voice as she read from crumbling books, hanging on every one of her opinions.

Soon, and after being discovered by a Septa in their usual spot, who scolded them for how improper it was, their appearances became public in the bright light of the court. They began adding more activities to their routine, they began taking walks side by side beneath the shade of the trees, with the smell of flowers and grass thick in the air. Aerion, who usually walked fast with an arrogant stride, would slow his pace just to match hers, listening intently as she told him her favorite flowers from the Reach, or as she shared tales of her home, at least, the little things she could still remember.

When they were old enough to, they were expected at feasts and social gatherings, but there was no difference. Though the prince was known for his temper and cruel teases towards other lords, his demeanor shifted the moment he took her hand to dance. He held her closely, refusing to let any other nobleman share a dance with her and never leaving her side

Behind the scenes, the Dragon Prince’s devotion only grew. He had ordered roses and different plants from the Reach to be brought and planted in the gardens of Summerhall, ensuring she would always have a piece of her home. He even demanded the restoration of the old library, including the addition of plush velvet cushions to make their reading sessions more comfortable. And when tragedy struck after the passing of Lord Tyrell, it was Aerion who begged his father to offer residency at Summerhall to the Lady and her mother. Prince Aerion worked in the shadows, ensuring his rose would blossom safely by his side. As the years bled into one another, the young adults now heard the whispers in the corridors even more loudly, they did not care to hide themselves from the rumors, aftell all, the court love watching them with anticipation; it was no longer a matter of if the prince would claim her, but when.

The official announcement of the Tourney at Ashford Meadow threw Summerhall into a lot of preparation, but amid the chaos, the prince and his lady sought the quiet sanctuary where their story had begun. The library was dark, except for the warm flickering glow of a single candle on the desk. Now, they sat close together on a plush velvet settee with no space between them, Aerion had his head resting in her lap as she gently ran her fingers through his short silver hair. Only in these quiet moments, away from his father’s harsh eyes and the court's judgment over his temper, did the tension leave Aerion’s shoulders completely.

“They say half the realm will be there…I wish I could go but my mother needs me by her side.” she murmured softly, her eyes tracing his sharp Valyrian features in the candlelight. “The road is long, Aerion. Promise me you will be careful…Do not let your pride blind you in the lists.”

Aerion closed his eyes, leaning into the comfort of her touch. To anyone else, such advice would have sparked a furious outburst, but from her lips, it only felt like a protective embrace. He caught her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered, before looking up at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“I am a dragon, my lady, they cannot harm me” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft, stripped of all its usual arrogance. “But I promise, I will ride hard and win all the jousts, and when I return, you and I will marry; I´ll finally make you mine.”

She could feel was the mixture of overwhelming affection and a strange lingering dread she couldn't quite shake. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small silk favor she had spent nights embroidering in secret, a three-headed dragon with one head yellow, another red, and one orange; something they had talked about before, his own banner.

“Take it with you, it will bring you luck.”

After Aerion´s departure, there was nothing left for her to do but wait and pray. She spent her days looking for new stories to tell him or in the town´s sept, lighting candles to the mother for his safety and to the Warrior for his victory, counting the grueling days until his promised return but instead, Prince Maekar´s returned brought with him looming and sad news.

The grim news travelled through Summerhall like wildfire. In his pride and madness, Aerion had demanded a Trial of Seven. He had forced an ancient combat to punish a hedge knight, a choice that ended in the worst disaster the realm could have anticipated: Prince Baelor Breakspear, the beloved Hand of the King and Heir to the Iron Throne, was dead. And Aerion, by some cruel twist of fate or the strange mercy of the Seven, had survived the very horror he had unleashed. Stricken with shock, she ran toward the prince’s bedchamber, her heart hammering against her chest; she did not stop until she noticed him.

Prince Maekar stood outside the heavy oak doors, a hard and grim expression carven upon his face. The lady immediately halted, standing before the prince.

“Your Grace, I am deeply sorry for your loss.” With a formal bow, the lady greeted the prince, and with a nod of his head, he returned the courtesy.

“Thank you, Lady Tyrell.” The prince did not move from his place; instead, he clasped his hands in front of him, maintaining his rigid posture. “I know well why you are here, and I will not deny you the right to see him, but I was hoping we might have a word.” His voice was low, heavy with a father's grief and profound shame.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the lady replied.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, for it was an arduous task to touch upon such a matter after having been a witness to the young love this girl and his boy shared.

“Your father came to me when you became of age, he proposed a marriage between you and Aerion, I refused.” Maekar spoke, looking down at her with grim solemnity. “After his passing, I spent many years wondering if I was wrong. Every day, when you two passed through the gardens, I saw my son in a way I never thought to see him again…yet, I can now say with certainty, it was well that I never gave my approval to your father's request. I wished to spare you from a destiny bound to tragedy. I know my son, and he carries madness within his blood, i had been blind for sometime but I saw it clearly when he requested the trial, and now, our people have suffered the consequences of his insolence.” He drew a deep, heavy breath before continuing. “I have decided that Aerion shall sail to Essos. A time spent in the Free Cities might be best to cure the cruelty within him.”

The young lady stood frozen, the world spinning around her as she processed his words. Her father, the betrothal, her love, everything suddenly felt torn out of place. Yet, gathering what little strength remained in her trembling body, she looked up into the eyes of the Prince of Summerhall.

“He will not go without me, Your Grace, you know it as well as I do.” The young girl spoke fiercely, baring the sharp thorns of a beautiful rose. “We shall leave Westeros together, He will be good with me. He has always been good to me; he only required someone who could read him well, and I am a great reader, my lord.” Her expression shifted, taking a decisive step toward the door. “I beg for your trust. He will be fine at my side, and he shall not be left alone in a strange land.”

“You speak with bravery, my lady…and with the blindness of a heart in love,” Maekar murmured, his voice laced with an exhaustion that ran deeper than his bones. He took a slow step back, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor and reached for the iron handle of the door. “But a dragon is not a book to be read, Lady Tyrell. It is a beast of fire and blood. If you truly believe you can tame the fire inside him, then go inside; Look upon my son and tell me if you still wish to burn alongside him.”

The Prince pushed the oak door open granting her entry into the dim chamber where Aerion awaited. Once she stepped inside, the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, cutting off the muted sounds of the corridor and burying her in a suffocating silence. The scent of incense and milk of the poppy hung heavy in the air, and a few maestres were still in the room, keeping vigil over the prince's wounds.

There, sitting on the edge of the massive bed, was Aerion. He didn’t look up when the door opened, assuming it was another servant or his father returning; he just sat there.

“Aerion…” she whispered.

At the sound of her voice, the prince stiffened. His shoulders went rigid beneath his linen shirt, and slowly he lifted his head. Aerion Brightflame, the untouchable prince had a dark bruise spanning across his face, the shades of green and purple decorated his cheekbones.

When she took another step into the room, he didn’t push her away, instead, he reached out, his scraped hand catching her wrist and pulling her gently but firmly until she sat beside him on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, he simply stared at her; His violet eyes held a darkness inside, the humillation of losing a combat, and the incoming fear of being send far away from her.

“I guess you saw my father at the entry” Aerion murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand found hers, intertwining his bruised fingers with hers, holding on tightly.  “He came to tell me he is sending me away to the free cities.” He paused, his grip tightening until it almost hurt, a sudden fierce intensity bleeding into his quiet tone. "I will not be parted from you"

“We won’t be separated.” she whispered, her voice carrying the same strength she had spoken of to his father. She brought her free hand to his cheek, her thumb gently brushing just beneath the dark, painful bruise on his cheekbone; Aerion leaned his face into her palm.

"My father wants me gone," he murmured against her skin, his voice cracked and exhausted. "But I am not leaving without you, I cannot."

"You won't" she promised, nothing else mattered anymore. "Let them send you away, I don't care where we go, Aerion. I am going with you."

A long slow breath escaped Aerion’s lips, his rigid shoulders finally dropping as a sudden, genuine wave of relief washed over him. All of this madness, the trial, the violence and all the chaos he had unleashed, had been born from his desperate need to prove his prowess to her. Yet here, in the quiet wreckage of his defeat, he realized he didn't need to prove anything to her; even with his glory stripped away and his skills broken, she was still by his side.

Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse! Reader

Summary: Jack would give you anything in the world if you asked for it, but he never expected you to ask to take an abandoned baby home. (1.8k)

Tags/Warnings: Medical innacurencies, slight canon divergence, established relationship, Fluff, Adoption, Dana is very present in this fic, maybe a spoiler for S2 E15, husband! Jack, Baby Jane Doe, Nurse! Reader but the nurse part is briefly mention.

Note: I really liked the final episode, and I really wanted to post this as soon as the season finished but collage held me up, but anyways, enjoy it!

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The night shift arrived right on time, exactly at 7:00 PM on the Fourth of July.

Your husband  Jack, was the attending on the night, starting his shift immediately after resting his long day with his SWAT team. After a few intense situations he’d had to handle earlier, he had retreated to an isolated part of the hospital to get some sleep. You hadn’t seen him since that morning when he’d left a lingering kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone in the warmth of the bed.

The moment you stepped into the ER, a place that never truly slept, you forced yourself to focus.

“Hey Dana, Happy Fourth,” you said, setting your belongings down at the nurses' station.

“There’s been nothing 'happy' about today, hon” Dana responded, approaching you with a weary sigh. She gave your arm a soft, supportive tug. “It’s been terrible.”

“Jack sent me a few messages about the situation… something about a being analog and some hackers?” As you shared the little information you had, your eyes scanned the floor. You saw Mateo and a few other night-shift regulars, but there was still no sign of Jack yet.

“Yeah, the system went down, but unfortunately, that wasn't the worst of it.” She paused, capturing your full attention with a heavy look. “Louie died a few hours ago. Liver failure.” A soft, pained “Oh, no” escaped your lips as she continued the grim rundown of the day’s tragedies. “A baby was abandoned here at seven this morning that Jesse was seeing, and Jesse...” she hesitated, her voice dropping. “Jesse was detained by ICE after intervening for a patient.”

“Fuck, really?” you whispered. “I hope he’s okay, keep me informed and If I can help with anything, just let me know.” You could only hope your shift wouldn't be as soul-crushing as theirs had been. “You guys have really seen some stuff today,” you added. Just then, you heard Shen’s voice announcing Jack’s arrival.

Dana began relaying the day's news to him just as she had for you. When she finally finished, you finally had the chance to talk to him. You gave him a quick once-over; he looked weary but composed, rested enough to face the night ahead so that calmed you enough. Now that you were together, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. Everything was going to be okay.

“Hi,” you said, but his hands found you before you could say another word, he pulled you against him by the waist, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and then another to your forehead “I brought snacks for later,” you murmured.

“God, I really love you,” he added softly against your hair before reluctantly letting you go. You both had a job to do, and you could already feel Shen’s amused gaze lingering on the two of you. “Let’s do this”

Rounds went smoothly, each "nightcrawler" (as Jack called the team), took a case for themselves. You did your best to help everyone, focusing especially on the day shift patients so they could finally go home, both patients and staff. But the principal focus was on the several others whose charts needed manual updates after the system came back.

Eventually you made your way to Pediatrics to check on the abandoned baby, Baby Jane Doe. The moment you stepped inside, you saw Dana talking softly to the infant, though she stopped once she noticed your presence.

“How is she?” you asked, approaching the small medical crib. You looked down at her tiny face, the soft rosiness of her cheeks, and her little smile. You knew logically that newborns didn't smile, that it was just a physical reflex, but you could have sworn it was the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. “Any news from Social Services?”

“All is good with this little one. Social Services is backed up, though...” Dana looked at you, her voice trailing off with a deliberate undertone. “But someone here could take her. Doctors and nurses qualify as foster parents.”

The subject was a difficult one. Of course, you and Jack had once wanted something to represent your love, but in all your years of marriage, that dream never manifested. Over time, it had become a faded memory, eclipsed by the demands of the night shift and his work with the SWAT team.

You stared at the baby, for a brief second you pictured Jack as a dad, with this tiny fragile body resting against his freckled skin. It was a beautiful image; one you have had once before. “I’ll have to talk to him. I... I don’t know if it’s even on the table.” You reached out to the baby, your hand carefully caressing her soft cheek.

When Robby stepped into the room, it was your signal to head back to the nurses' station. Jack was already there, likely preparing for his cases. You sneaked up behind him, resting your hand on the small of his back to catch his attention.

“Hey,” you murmured. Once he settled his gaze at you, you took a breath “So…you know, there’s a baby in peds, a perfect little girl and I was thinking… maybe we could foster her? Just for a while, until she finds a permanent home.”

Jack stood motionless for a second, his gaze still fixed on the charts on the table. You felt the muscles of his lower back tense beneath your hand before he let out a long, heavy sigh. It wasn’t a sigh of annoyance, but rather the sound of someone trying to process an idea far too big for such a complicated night.

Finally, he turned toward you. His eyes, weary but always softening the moment they found yours, searched your face. “Foster?” he repeated in a whisper, testing the weight of the word. He searched your eyes, his hand lingering over yours on the counter. “You know I’d give you the moon and the stars if you asked. But this... this is a life, sweetheart. I’m just worried about whether we can actually do this. I mean, are you sure you're ready for your heart to break when they finally find her a permanent home?”

“Jack, just look at her before you say no,” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. “She has no one. It would only be for a little while just until Social Services finds a placement. I can’t let her get lost in the system, not today.”

He watched you in silence, studying the determination in your eyes. You knew his protective instinct and even if he wanted things just as badly as you did, you were his priority.

“Just a look,” he finally conceded, though a small tired smile at the corner of his lips. “I can’t promise you anything”

He gave your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before squaring his shoulders and turning to address patients. You wondered if that small spark of hope you’d just lit would be enough to change the course of your lives. The weight of the subject, heavy on your shoulders. He was right; fostering wasn't just about the hello; it was about the inevitable goodbye. But then you thought of the quiet stillness in Peds and that tiny, reflexive smile.

"I'd rather have my heart broken knowing she was loved for a while, than keep it whole while she stays here alone," you replied softly.

Jack stared at you for a long beat, his expression unreadable, before a look of pure admiration crossed his face. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours for a fleeting second.

"Okay," he breathed.

The rest of the hour was a blur of trauma protocols and hurried handovers. But true to his word, the moment there was peace in the ER, Jack found you. He didn’t say a word, just nodded towards the room.

The walk to Pediatrics was short but it felt unusually long. When you reached the glass doors of the nursery, you saw the tiny "Jane Doe" crib in the corner. She was awake now, her small arms waving aimlessly in the air, out of the blanket the other nurses tugged her in.

Jack stopped a few feet away. He looked out of place, this tall, broad-shouldered man still wearing his tactical boots and the exhaustion of a SWAT morning call-out, standing in a room meant for such fragile things. He approached the crib slowly, as if he were afraid his mere presence might break the silence.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden unexpected vulnerability.

“She’s a fighter,” you murmured, standing beside him. “Dana said she didn't cry once when they brought her in. She kinda just... waited.”

Jack reached out the same way you did. You held your breath as he carefully hovered over the crib. Slowly, the baby’s tiny hand brushed against his index finger, by reflex, she curled her minuscule fingers around his, gripping him with surprising strength for such a tiny human.

The air in the room seemed to shift. You watched Jack’s face; the weary lines around his eyes softened, and his jaw, usually so tight with the stress of the job, finally relaxed. He looked at her with the same fierce protection he usually reserved for you.

“She has your eyes,” he joked softly, though his voice wavered. “Or maybe she just has that same look... like she’s already deciding what she wants from the world.”

He looked up at you, and in that moment, the fear of the "inevitable goodbye" was still there, but it was overshadowed by something much stronger.

“We’re going to need a car seat” he said, his thumb gently stroking the back of the baby's hand “and we definitely don’t have enough supplies at the house.”

A tear finally escaped, rolling down your cheek as a laugh bubbled up in your throat. “We can figure that out, Jack. We’re fast learners.”

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: Things started to get dark for him. Hopefully, he has a place called home and that place is by your side. (1.2k)

Tags/warnings: sad jack, mention of death, kinda angst to comfort, domestic fluff, established relationship, , jack being an amputee, no use of y/n, reader isn't gendered or physically described, reader is not a health worker.

note: I was inspired about the idea that “to be seen is to be loved”, I was feeling soft when I wrote this, so it´s based on what I felt being with jack would be. also it´s a standalone (not related to the other one) and sorry for the image quality, I’m still figuring out Tumblr, so I used Canva instead.

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Losing a patient was never easy; it stayed with you, buried deep like a burden you were forced to carry. For Jack Abbot, it always felt that way. It didn't matter if it was a day or a night shift; grief lingered in the air, clinging strangely to every corner of the Emergency Department.

Jack had lost a veteran that night, a senseless end to a life caused by a drunk driver. It was a life dedicated to saving others in the line of fire, a patriotic path that Jack himself had walked in his youth, and one that had cost him his leg. He saw pieces of himself in the man he had spent hours trying to resuscitate, until the body could no longer endure the procedures. It was a grim reminder that the ED was as cruel as it was merciful; it brought relief just as often as it caused heartbreak.

Perhaps it was the pessimism of the day, but after that terrible shift, all Jack could think about was finding a reason to stay grounded, a reminder that a purpose existed for all of this. That reminder came to him as he wrote the final sentence of a letter to that patient’s family; ultimately, his mind drifted to you.

You met Jack years ago, after one of your coworkers had an accident and you rushed them to the PTMC Emergency Room. For him, the encounter had been strange. In all his years in medicine, he was used to meeting countless people during long night shifts, but when your paths crossed, the connection was undeniable. You both knew you were "screwed" in the best way possible, and it wasn't long before your number was saved on his phone.

The relationship progressed beautifully. He was caring, charismatic, and a true gentleman; as he often said, he wanted to do things "the right way" with you. Only a few people in his inner circle knew of your existence at first; those who knew him like the back of their hand, like Dana or Robby. After all, Jack was a private man, he didn’t broadcast his feelings, but people noticed the exact moment he’d walk into the ED a little later than usual, a bright smile on his face after an afternoon spent by your side.

Before you knew it, things had become serious. Given your uncoordinated schedules and the mutual desire to spend every possible moment together, you moved in after about a year and a half of dating. That shared apartment quickly turned from a temporary solution for quality time into a great home, a place where you both could ignore the outside world.

Now, five years later (two as a couple and three in marriage) you have become the missing pieces in each other’s lives. He often wondered if it was the small things you did that kept him going: the perfectly packed lunch boxes which often included the specific fruits he’d once mentioned were his favorites; the messages you sent throughout the day with pictures of random things you wanted him to see.

You told him you did it because you didn’t want him to "miss a single moment" of your life while he was away, but you did it to distract him, to give his mind a place to drift so he wouldn't drown in the darkness of the ER.

He loved the way you told stories, whether they were memories from the years before you met or just interesting things you’d read online. For Jack, it was the raw enthusiasm in your voice, the way your eyes would glow as you spoke, and the little twitches of your mouth when you got to the best parts. He loved seeing how life looked through your eyes; he loved all of it.

You also loved Jack, and he knew it. He saw it every time he caught you gazing at him for far longer than you probably should during movie night or over breakfast, and in the way he could still make you nervous with just a single look when he stared back.

You loved his freckled skin, especially ones on his back and the little lines you’d trace with your fingertips when his shirt was off, and how his beard brushed against your skin when he kissed you. You loved the soft pattern of his curls, noticing how they turned a bit whiter with each passing year. But most of all, you loved the way he always asked if you needed anything before he finally took off his prosthetic after a long day, even when you knew he was holding back the pain, pushing himself just a little longer just to make sure you were okay.

The heavy front door creaked softly as Jack stepped inside. The low sound of the morning news on the TV served as white noise in the house so it wouldn't be too quiet, a receiving and comforting sound, so different from the persistent clinical beeping of the monitors he’d left behind. Every muscle in his body ached, even the phantom itch at the edge of his residual limb was a sharp reminder that he’d been on his feet for far too long. He felt heavy, not just physically, but with the weight of every patient he had lost still resting on his shoulders.

He dropped his keys on the entryway table, exhaling a breath he felt he’d been holding since the patient’s time of death was called. He followed the sound from the living room, and there you were, curled up on the sofa still in your pajamas. You were scrolling through social media, having clearly woken up early just to wait for his return. The sight of you immediately did what nothing else could: it reminded him that he was home.

"Hey" he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You turned toward him, your eyes softening the moment they landed on him, your cheeks lifting with a small tender smile. You didn't need to ask how the shift went; you could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his backpack hung a little lower than usual, and how he wouldn't quite meet your gaze at first. You saw him, not as Dr. Abbot, the attending, but simply as Jack.

Without a word, you shifted to make space for him. Jack sank into the cushions beside you, letting his head fall back as your hand found its way to the nape of his neck, your fingers gently threading through his curls.

Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse! Reader

Summary: the fear of losing him on a mission and a simple comment that changes everything. (1.2k)

Tags/warnings: established relationship, slight canon divergence, medical inaccuracies, no use of names or physical descriptions, no use of y/n, Dr Robby and Dr Santos mention, impulsive marriage proposal, cursing, mentions of gunshot wound, brief mention of anxiety.

note: English is not my first language, and this is my first fic so excuse me for any errors I might had, just enjoy my nightly scenario with my current obsession, dr jack abbot. I tried to make it gender neutral so anyone can read it and feel comfortable but it´s under my female perspective so I’m sorry for any trouble.

btw the pictures were from pinterest.

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“I’ve always liked your hands” jack blurred out of nowhere.

You were both in bed, legs interwined, a mess between the sheets and pillows that felt like the most comfortable place on earth. Your fingers caressing his salt and pepper hair, tracing the pattern of the curls.

It was a rare night. Neither of you was on call, a miracle for a nurse and an attending physician. Even if you spend most of your time together, there was something else about having all day to be with each other, enjoying the quiet stilness of the apartment. It was just perfect.

“Yeah?” you replied, watching how relaxed he looked. The night shifts took a toll on him, carving exhaustion into his features, but right now you could tell his peacefulness. He often complemented you, but always managed to catch you off guard. Feeling a bit shy, you joked. “Well, if you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it”

You quoted the song without thinking much of it, just a simple tease to fill the silence

until he answered.

“Maybe I should” he responded, without skipping a beat or changing his tone. After a few moments of silence, you realized he had fallen asleep. Soon, you followed him into the dark.

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Hours turned into days, and days into weeks. That conversation seemed to have vanished into thin air, buried under the relentless pace of the Emergency Deparment.

It was the Fourth of July weekend, and you had been called in as a backup to handle the holiday rush. You arrived early, eager to meet the new attending and planning to gossip about it with Jack during the night shift. You had everything mapped out; when to eat lunch, exactly when to nap to be rested for the night, and which clothes to change into under your scrubs after a quick hospital shower.

What you didn´t plan for was to see you boyfriend in his SWAT uniform, bagging a member of his team as they rushed through the doors.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. We were diverted here, is there a trauma room open?” Jack´s voice resonated over the sudden chaos. He was followed by a few uniformed men and paramedics.

“Trauma One!” Princess yelled.

You moved instinctively, jumping into and joining the team as you listen to Jack´s report.

“One, Two, Three” You counted, and the team synchronized to shift the officer onto the bay bed.

“You guys wait here. We’ll take care of him, I promise.” Jack told his team, guiding them towards the viewing area. You stole a quick glance at him, trying to suppress and ignore the anxiety in your chest. You forced yourself to focus on the man on the table, your hands moved with the muscle memory of a thousand procedures, hanging saline and starting IV fluids while the doctors worked.

You tried to concentrate on, but the conversation around you was impossible to ignore

“Are you serious?” Santos´ voice made you look up.

“I go in with the team in case there’s an injury” Abbot responded.

“Just for the record, I don’t approve” you muttered. You heard him give a small and dry chuckle. He knew you hated it, you´d had countless arguments about how dangerous it was but he was always too stubborn to listen, claiming he was ´too tough to die.´

“That’s badass” The response of the resident made you shake your head in negation as you swapped positions with her to take over the manual ventilation.

“That’s a Mid-life crisis, if you ask me” You responded. Those were the last words spoken before Robby’s voice pulled everyone ´s focus back to the patient.

The room became coordinated as they followed instructions. After Dr. Al-Hashimi arrived, the team managed to stabilize the officer and send him up to surgery. Jack noticed the way you practically ran out of the trauma room. He tried to follow, but the new attending held him up for a brief chat.

Minutes later, Jack (now in a fresh black t-shirt) found you out by the ambulance bay, staring blankly at Robby´s motorcycle.

“Hey there”

You turned around at the sound of that familiar voice. Your face was flushed mix of the July heat and the adrenaline crashing. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I just…I hate thinking that could be you someday...that stupid hobby of yours” Your voice trembled, all your fear you´d been pushing down since he walked in came pouring out.

He stepped towards yo, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your head to his chest “It scares me so much, Jack...thinking you could get shot, that I could lose you just because some idiots decided to rob a place.” Tears finally spilled over, hot agains your cheeks.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m so sorry” He caressed your back, his touch grounding you. He held you until your breathing slowed, creating a save space in the middle of an already chaotic shift. “Everything is fine. I’m right here.”

He pulled you back just enough to look at you. “But I want to give you something.”

You looked up, confused. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. Your breath hitched. He didn't waste any time. He flipped it open, revealing a beautiful engagement ring.

“Jack, wha-”

“First, excuse me for not getting down on one knee. I practiced but my leg is a little fucked up” he said with a wry smile as you laugh as your hand found his, giving him a little squeeze before continuing.

Then, his expression turned serious. ”What happened today made me realize something. There’s never going to be a right time or ´perfect´ moment. We live on the edge every day, with new cases, patients, accidents, fuck, everything.”

He paused, catching up his breath as his gaze locked onto yours. “We don’t know how much time we have left in this place, but i want to spend every second of it with the person I’m so deeply in love with. Will you marry me?”

“Of course I’ll marry you, Jack”

You threw your arms around his neck, holding on tight. He was right. You saw how fragile life was every single day in the ER. If things could go wrong in a heartbeat, then you wanted him by your side for every beat you had left.