#Watching his son spiral out of control

[kisses4themissus]

Mr, Mrs & A Baby | I.H X Reader

a/n: SHE'S BACKK!! pairing: Hwang In-ho X Fem!Reader wc: 3.3k

Hwang In-ho Masterlist | Send me a love letter ♡

Panicked you stared at in-ho, holding your bump. 

“You need to get out of here.” In-ho sighed and glanced at the camera in the corner of the room and signaled to you. The manager behind the screen commanded the soldiers and workers to have you safely evacuated from the game. You watched through the small slot in the room door as the soldiers made their way over to cover you.

“What are you telling the others?” You questioned, in-ho sighed as he helped you up from the ground. “They're going to call your number, I will try to be with you, the soon as I can.” Your husband promised as the door softly opened, the soldiers all stood together and walked to the exit they would leave through.

- - - - - - - -

Everything has been a flash, you had been thankful of the surgeon you had hired as a worker. He had delivered your child. You were now left in yours and in-ho’s penthouse, with a newer addition, a son.

You giggled as your fingertip touched your son’s soft palm. You had a hard time adjusting to a newborn without the help of your husband. You hadn’t known how much time went by since you were pulled away from the games.

The big screen that would normally show the games was turned off, the sound of in-ho’s music playing as you swayed with your son, lulling the baby to sleep. You watched as he peaceful slept, occasionally  snuggling his face further into you. As you admired your son as he laid quietly in his crib the sound of static sounded in your living room. You quietly shuffled away from the crib and picked up the device.

“What is it?” You asked sternly; It was known among staff you’d be stepping away from control of the games once your child was born.

“Players have escaped, they’re heading up the stairs; they took a manager with them.” The officer informed you, making your heart drop.

“Which players?” You asked, moving to the screen and switched through the channels to see majority had been disconnected. The officer listed the players off to you as he got ready to command the soldiers. “The frontman is with them.”

You stopped as a camera caught your husband and the others in the stairwell, too close for comfort, the camera was soon disconnecting making you let out a shaky breath before glancing to your bedroom where your baby’s crib was. 

“If a single bullet is in my husband, I will personally shoot whoever in the head.” You warned before throwing the device on the sofa and stormed into your closet to find your own gun and mask.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho looked around the hallway to the control room elevator, he motioned for the men behind him to follow.

He smiled softly as soft sound of your boots filled the dark hallway. The men froze as you stood on the top of the stairs, leading towards the control room.

“Fools to my game..” You pouted, raising your handgun and shot one of the players, in-ho quickly turning to face the other and shot him several times. You sighed and grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“Confirm your death.” You commanded, shoving the device into his chest, turning around to walk back to your room, your mind running wild as you were away from your child and players were trying to rebel.

You light bounced your son as you paced around in your room, taking shuttering breaths as you could hear gunshots from below.

Your son began to coo, his lip pouting and his tiny features scrunch up.

“Shh, it’s alright, mama’s here, no one’s gonna get you!” You reassured, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at the baby or yourself. Pacing had sent your thought spiraling.

You had not way of knowing how your husband or where any of the fight got moved too except the distant sounds of gunshots coming below your floor. With a shaky hand you held your son with one arm and fumbled for the remote to play music.

Your son continued to cry, sniffling as he felt your distress. Huffing you began to sway with the baby, focusing on the lyrics of fly me to the moon, in the back of your mind you had began to plan an emergency escape.

The walkie you had on the side table light up. “It is over now, i’ll be up in a bit.” In-ho’s voice came through, you sighed in relief and laid a gentle kiss on your son’s tiny hand; the baby had began to settle down as you continued to sway with him in your arms.

“I’d never let anyone harm you my love..” You whispered into his soft hand, his little fingers curled around yours. 

- - - - - - - -

In-ho had noticed a shift in your personality, you had seemed on guard, alert and distant towards him whenever he held or was around your son.

You had now hated to watch the cameras that showed the dorms, instead opting walking to your shared room to lay down or holding your son while taking in his tiny features.

It wasn’t til the VIPs arrived you finally had enough.

Standing in the control room, your mask forgone, in your resting clothes you watched as players began to plan for hide and seek. Your eyes hadn’t left jun-hee, your nervous had gone up since you noticed her bump had dropped, meaning her due date wasn’t far behind.

“Gameplanner, the VIPs have arrived, do i send them in?” One of the managers asked, you shook your head and continued to watch. “No, they’ll have to wait till the end of the game to finish, even then do a sweep of only soldiers before you let them in..” You commanded, you had been frustrated when in-ho had changed your game to allow the VIPs to hunt down the last of the players.

“Yes ma’am..” They nodded before leaving to relay your words.

“You seem tense gameplanner, do you need to step out?” The police manager asked, noticing the bags under your eyes, and your appearance in general.

“No, I look tense since i just had a child and now i’m suppose to be looking over these stupid games while my husband entertains those obnoxious millionaires, no i’m not able to step out.” You scoffed, your eyes watching as jun-hee entered the arena. 

The police manager sighed and bowed his head. “My apologies.” 

You had watched with a straight face as one of the camera’s showed jun-hee sitting against a wall, a bundle of her jacket on her chest, her daughter. Geum-ja cried as she held hyun-ju’s body to hers.

You held back your reaction, turning to the workers to see them watching over the VIPs in the lounge, all of them dressed in the red jumpsuits like the workers.

Cameras had been planted since the previous year where an intruder had gotten in.

“At dinner, Give player 222 more, she’s going to need the energy in order for the next game for it to be considered a fair playing ground.” You told the nearest manger who nodded their head before giving directions to the workers over the walkie talkie.

With one last glance at the VIPs you walked out of the control room and back to the comfort of your floor.

Entering you dismissed the workers who watched over the sleeping baby, you smiled softly as you son light snored, his fist by his head as he slept soundly…peacefully even.

Glancing over to your vanity, your white mask sat in the middle.

You sighed and walked over, staring at it. You had spent majority of your life working under il nam, for the whole game concept, why was it now you were beginning to have a sense of regret..?

Picking up the mask, you sighed and walked to your closet, tossing it blindly in there.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho entered the floor to be greeted to music playing, walking to the main room, he smiled as you cradled your song, humming as your finger traced over the baby’s nose.

“You are all I long for, worship and adore..” You sang, smiling as your son gave a gummy smile the best he could up at you.

“He loves his mother very much!” In-ho commented, stepping closer to you both.

“I’m all he knows..” You replied, your gaze focusing on the baby who wiggled before yawning again. “You’re my comfort too..” In-ho smiled and rubbed your back, not mentioning as you tensed up.

“That’s my job.” You muttered, quickly standing up.

“I’ll go put him down.” You told in-ho, as you went to leave he stopped you.

“I’ll take him, you need a break, the workers said you dismissed them early to come back to watch over him, is it true?” In-ho asked, taking the baby from your arms.

“Yeah, it’s normal for mothers wanting to be around their child especially after birth.” You explained, your gaze watching as in-ho nodded before taking the baby to their nursery.

You sat on the plush chair, staring at the floor.

“What’s on that mind of yours?” In-ho asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“..Do you ever regret working under il nam?” You asked, finally looking at in-ho.

He stopped from taking a drink, his eyes finding yours, noticing the unstable look in them. “No, if i died in that night, i would never have this, a wife, a child..any of it really, i would’ve joined the other pieces of trash that die in this place.” In-ho explained.

You nodded and looked at in-ho. “Do you have second thoughts?” In-ho asked, making you sit up straight at the question. “No, like you said without it, none of this would’ve happened.” You nodded, unsure if it was in-ho or yourself.

There was a beat of silence before you nodded to yourself, “I’m going to bed, goodnight in-ho.” You spoke softly, walking into bedroom, not looking back.

- - - - - - - -

You sat on the couch you and in-ho had for yourselves in the VIP lounge.

Flipping through your sketchbook, you stared at a blank page, no ideas coming to you. You had ignored the chatter from the VIPs and mindlessly watched the scene before you.

Your stomach fell as jun-hee yelled for gi-hun to stay put, the timer running out. Your heart sunk as she stepped off the platform and fell to her death. Scooting to the edge of the couch, you watched in disbelief, behind your mask your tears fell.

You never had cried over players this much, any other year you would’ve brushed them off and ignored them, seeing your own friends hurt worse, going into the games you didn’t expect to find comfort in their company, seeing jun-hee death, your mind took it as if she was your own sister.

Your hope for them had slowly to dissipate; Hyun-ju being stabbed as she went to guide jun-hee and geum-ja to safety, minutes later, geum-ja had made the brave decision about her son, being too upset with herself, she went and killed herself that night. Your throat tightened as the announcement rang through.

“Player 222, eliminated.”

Nightly talks with the girl flooded your mind.

“Mrs Oh?” Jun-hee whispered as you both laid under the bunk beds, not too far separated.

Your eyes kept sight on in-ho who watched over your group. “Hmm?” You responded, looking over and gave her a soft smile. “If we get out, do you think we could keep contact?” She asked, fidgeting with her jacket.

You turned to catch her gaze, nodding “Of course, our babies could have playdates!” You planned, she chuckled and nodded. You both went silent, jun-hee glanced over and scooted closer to you. “He cares about you alot..” She mumbled, making you look at her confused. “Who?” 

“Young il, he always looks at you, dae-ho dropped something last night and young il jumped up ready to protect you both.” She explained, motioning your bump.

You smiled and rubbed your bump, “He always wished to be a father, practically sent me on bedrest once we found out..” You both laughed, jun-hee cupped her bump and smiled sadly down.

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you have anyone outside jun-hee?” You asked, she kept her head low and shook it.

“The baby is all i have…the father isn’t close..” She sighed, finally looking at you.

You swallowed and reached a hand out towards her. “Now, you have me and my baby!” You reassured her. 

She smiled and held your hand, you both slowly drifted to sleep, holding hands; strengthening you both were your own new found family…

A ball of anger formed in your stomach as the VIPs talked about jun-hee’s child as if they had control, throwing the idea to eliminate the baby since the mother had passed, one piped up saying the baby should be a separate participant.

As you stood up to responde, in-ho held your arm and spoke up.

“I suggest, the baby plays as 222, after all the players will vote to leave, it’ll add a twist to voting and the games.” He suggested, you turned to him, disgusted at his words.

The VIPs began to agree, making your stomach twist.

As they all began chatting you stood up and yanked your arm away from in-ho. “I have to take of something.” You said loudly, walking past the VIPs, each of them looked at each other, feeling a twist of anger in the air.

“Someone’s upset..” One of the men laughed as you exited.

- - - - - - - -

You had left to your floor and began packing your things away in your luggage you had taken when you first arrived to the island that year.

Rushing around you packed your son’s diapers, clothing and essentials into a bag, setting it by the elevator.

Pulling your walkie talkie out, you changed the channel. “I need workers to come take things down.” You commanded, a moment went by before a manger responded. Walking to your son’s crib, you gently picked him up, grabbing a warm blanket to wrap him in, knowing the boat ride back to the mainland was going to be cold due to the fall air.

“Shh, you’re okay, you and mama are going away for a bit..” You muttered as your son began to fuss as you wrapped him in the warm fuzzy blanket. 

You lined up the hall with your luggage, being left to wait for the workers. 

Looking down you noticed your son had fallen asleep once more, you turned to the side table and picked up the remote and turned the screen on. You watched as all the men dressed in suits sitting at their tables, scarfing down food. You felt a bit of relief as you noticed the worker feeding jun-hee’s daughter a bottle.

A ding from the elevator made you turn, your heart dropping as in-ho walked into the room. His footsteps slowing as he noticed your luggage all packed away.

“What is this?” He asked, taking off his mask, dropping it on the bar.

“I need to leave, in-ho…I-I can’t do it anymore..” You stuttered, looking at your husband. Who stared back at you, his brown eyes trying to search for any sign of you pulling a sick joke. “If you can’t do this anymore take a break, no need to leave the island.” He said, moving closer to you and the baby.

“If i don’t leave now, then twenty years later i’ll still be in the same place in-ho.” You sighed, tears building.

“What about him?” He asked, his expression switching from soft to a serious look. “Is this because of that girl?” He asked, you scoffed softly.

“Yes, jun-hee made me realize what’s gonna be my future…twelve years from now, will I still stuck here on this island watching mothers, fathers, sons, daughter, grandparents even, die for entertainment?” You ranted, cupping the back of your son’s head.

“What about his future, we got lucky that we’re both winners and won the money but what if he falls into debt and had no choice but the join? How would you feel to see our son playing among those people?” You asked, stepping closer to in-ho, who kept his head down.

“There’s a difference, those people are trash of the earth, you’ve seen the kinds people that accept the offer.” In-ho scoffed, you let out a laugh of shock.

“I’ve worked for these hellish games for seven years, there is no confirmation that our son won’t end up here like we did..” You sighed, shaking your head at in-ho.

“He wouldn’t, combined we have more than enough for him to lasts lifetimes..” In-ho attempted to stop you, following your gaze to the baby. “Wasn’t that what your father thought about you?” Your words seemed to stun in-ho.

With one last look you walked to the elevators, as you pressed the button there was a shuffle behind you.

Click.

You sighed and straightened out at the sound. “You couldn’t live with yourself if you did that.”

Behind you stood in-ho, holding the handgun you both kept in the living room as a precaution of an intruder. 

“Fix this mess in-ho, we’ll be waiting…” He sighed as you kept walking to the elevator and kept your back to him. As the doors closed, in-ho placed the gun down and scoffed as tears rolled down.

You were gone…

- - - - - - - -

Jun-ho huffed as he crawled through a vent, finally entering in a blacked out room.

There was a heavy layer of smoke, he coughed and covered his nose and mouth the best he could before forgoing it as he held his gun up in preparation.

Quickly he cleared each room, stopping as he figured out who it had belonged too.

A white 3D printed mask laid on a messy bed; standing out among the black bedsheets.

As jun-ho walked to an attachment room, opening the door he winced at the sudden bright colors.

His heart stopped as his mind proceeded the room he stood in.

A nursery, a cream colored crib in the center of the room, baby blankets on the side, toys decorated around, jun-ho walked closer and picked up the stuffed animal in the crib and held his breath at the sight.

Jun-ho had been young when in-ho had lived with him and their parents, jun-ho had remembered the stuffed animals hidden in his brothers closet, when he’d attempt to ask about it, in-ho would rush the young boy out and scold him for snooping.

In the crib sat a small white bear, originally a set, he furrowed his brows, where had the brown bear gone?

Jun-ho picked it up and shoved the tiny bear into his pocket before walking to the next room, his mind going as he thought why his brother would need a nursery.

- - - - - - - -

Six months had passed since you had left the island, leaving in-ho and your previous career behind.

You had arrived to the mainland and gone to your shared home with in-ho, you had waited night and day for anything from him; jumping at every noise in the night, hoping it was him returning.

Your son had grown quite a bit, now able to sit up on his own, babbling in his own language, tasting smooth liquids other than milk. After three months of waiting, you had enough and began to move your life on without in-ho, moving out of your shared home, closer to the city.

You had enough money saved to keep yourself and your son good for a while, you still couldn’t believe what you were doing.

Standing at an apartment door, shakily holding your fist up to knock, the baby on your hip cooed. With a deep breath, you knocked on the door and stood back, waiting for a response.

Moments had passed, no answer. With a nod you turned and went to walk away but stopped as the door opened behind you. “Hello, can i help you?” 

You stopped in your step and turned. “Are you hwang jun-ho?” You asked, trying to hold your son up without shaking. “That’s me, do i know you?” He asked, stepping out of his apartment, his eyes dropping ot the little brown bear in your son’s hands.

“I am hwang in-ho’s wife…and this is your nephew.”

[novelistwriter]

The Ultimate Clone

DP x DC Prompt

Vlad, Jack, and Maddie, all former CADMUS scientists. They left CADMUS when they began to become obsessed with making clones of the powerful heroes and villains of the world, but not before they took their "Ultimate Clone" and destroyed any data related to it.

The "Ultimate Clone" CADMUS had made was a baby made with the founding members of the Justice League's DNA. When the baby is grown up, he will have the Intelligence of Batman, the ability to be strengthened by the Sun from Superman, Wonder Woman's strength and flight, Flash's speed, the willpower of Green Lantern, Martian Manhunters telepathic abilities, and the ability to command sea animals like Aquaman.

The three of them were approached by Clockwork, a Ghost that watches over Time, who may or may not be Kronos' Ghost, about a plan to prepare the baby for the future, as Clockwork said that they can't hide from CADMUS forever.

The Fentons would move away to Amity, where Clockwork had put up an invisible dome to prevent any of the Heroes and Villains from finding the place, and live there with their daughter and their new son they "adopted" when Maddie couldn't have anymore kids. Vlad would be given instructions on gathering money by Clockwork with his newfound powers that he got by being harmed in the Prototype Portal. The process was sped up by Clockwork of Vlad becoming a Halfa. The three of them keep in contact with each other, with Vlad receiving pictures of the children.

Many years go by until the day of the portal being built in the basement of Fentonworks. Where Daniel "Danny" Fenton becomes Phantom. The entirety of the Danny Phantom Canon happens, with the Fenton Adults and Vlad playing their roles that Clockwork provided them for nurturing Danny down the right path to be able to defend himself and be a Hero.

The GIW are just people hired by Vlad to act the way they are, including the people at the "Reunion" where Danny and Vlad meet. The only thing that was unexpected was Pariah being released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, Vlad wasn't the one to release him, a power hungry nameless mage did, amd he died the moment Pariah awoke. But Danny became the Heir to the Throne for the Infinite Realms when he put Pariah back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.

And now, a few years after the incident with "Dan," Danny is 17, and his life is about to spiral out of control because CADMUS had found the them, and they will stop at nothing to get him back, their plan starts with killing the Fentons at the Nasty Burger, then they will move on to Vlad.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

The Cat Distribution System 2/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER TWO :

@landonorris "does bringing a cat on a boat dangerous ?"

@landozoned: sir that is a BABY what if he falls overboard 😭

@maxfewtrell: do you even OWN a cat carrier or is it just vibes now??

@pietra: not the yachting kitten era

@charles_leclerc: cat has better balance than me respect

@catdadconfirmed: peak chaotic cat dad energy I love this journey for you

Texts messages :

Ari 💃:

HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT????

Lando 🧡:

hello to you too 🧡

Ari 💃:

DID YOU ACTUALLY BRING CHARLIE ON A FREAKING BOAT??

Lando 🧡:

he likes the breeze. he’s a sea explorer now.

Ari 💃:

HE’S A CAT NOT A VIKING. WHAT IF HE FELL IN?? WHAT IF A SEAGULL TOOK HIM??

Lando 🧡:

he had a towel nest. and snacks. and I almost bought him cat-sized sunglasses.

Ari 💃:

you're out of control. i'm changing your name in my phone to "Captain Whiskers"

Lando 🧡:

you’re just mad he likes it. he purred for an hour and fell asleep like a sailor off-duty

Ari 💃:

oh he’s yours now. emotional support kitten. you two are inseparable.

Lando 🧡:

...help?

Ari 💃:

nah. enjoy your new title: maritime meowther 🐱⚓

@landonorris "long week. swipe for serotonin."

@landozoned: so we’re just pretending the kitten is normal now?? cool cool

@maxfewtrell: how is he not suffocating in your arms bruv

@catdadconfirmed: serotonin delivered, thanks lando

@alexandralovely: lando norris and his son. i���m crying.

@arianariverria "Sunday snuggles ✨"

@pliésballet: WHERE did the orange one come from again???

@kitteninfirst: they’re siblings now and I won’t hear otherwise

@balletnation: honestly the cats are soft-launching their humans at this point

@pietra: cute cats. suspicious caption.

But nothing broke the internet quite like Ariana's story one quiet Thursday night.

It was only up for three minutes. Just long enough.

A grainy photo, snapped from the side: Ariana curled up on a grey couch, head resting on someone’s shoulder, half of her face hidden in the crook of a hoodie. A ginger kitten sleeping across both their laps. The boy’s face wasn’t visible, but his profile was unmistakable to those who knew how to look.

The post was gone by the time most people refreshed their feeds.

But not before it was screenshotted.

Twitter Thread by @balletxf1 :

[1] OKAY WAIT.

[2] That Ariana story??? The one she deleted?? I’ve done the work. Let’s investigate.

[3] Zoom and enhance. That hoodie? The McLaren one Lando wore two days ago in his Twitch stream.

[4] The kitten? Lando's one.

[5] The arm? The watch? That is Lando Norris.

[6] Not to be dramatic but I think we just got a full soft-launch slip

@f1girlies: I KNEW IT. I SAID IT IN JANUARY.

@balletinthepit: we were fed. accidentally. but fed nonetheless

@landoffline: y'all analyzing shadows like CSI and winning

@catloverxoxo: obsessed with the fact the kitten is the one exposing them

@formulapirouette: Lando and Ariana are co-parented a cat it’s canon

Text messages :

Lando 🧡:

did you mean to soft-launch us or are we just on autopilot now?

Ari 💃:

I didn’t mean to post it omg my finger slipped

Lando 🧡:

sure sure sure

Ari 💃:

I DELETED IT IN 3 MINUTES

Lando 🧡:

that was enough. they CSI'd the hoodie AND my watch

Ari 💃:

ffs. it’s the cat. he’s the problem

Lando 🧡:

you mean our son? our fluffy, chaos-bringing, matchmaking menace?

Ari 💃:

oh so now you LIKE cats suddenly?? mister "i don't trust anything with claws" is now a cat dad who brings Charlie to boat trips, gaming streams, brunch dates ??? 😹

Lando 🧡:

i plead temporary insanity caused by toe beans and purring. this is not who i was. he changed me.

Ari 💃:

i’m blaming him forever. he soft-launched us. not me

Lando 🧡:

fair. he’s grounded

Ari 💃:

grounded and cuddled. he’s on my lap right now

Lando 🧡:

traitor

Part 3

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Special Assistance

⚖Pairing(s)⚖→ Andy Barber x male reader ⚠CW⚠→ gay-sex, gay, bottom male reader, top Andy Barber, cockwarming, daddy kink, age difference (the reader is 25 and Andy is 43), breeding, creampie, anal play, anal fingering, bondage (he uses his tie.), anal sex, sort of friends to lovers, and marking (biting and kissing.).  ⚖Rating⚖→ Explicit ⚖Request⚖→ Yes

⚖Word Count⚖→ 3.2k

⚖Summary⚖→ Life was spiraling out of control for Andy. His son got accused of murder and is trying to clear his name while fighting with his wife, which escalated to a divorce. The only thing he can look forward to is seeing his legal assistant. He found solace in your presence, but these feelings transformed into a deeper meaning.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

This fic does not follow the Defending Jacob series and stands on its own! I haven’t watched the show yet, so there might be some mistakes.

“You’re doing good, baby. Warming my cock like a good boy.” Andy purrs as he gives small thrusts into your tight heat. His hands roam your naked body as he licks and bites your nape area. His teeth grazing your skin, grip tightening as he starts thrusting faster into your ass. His heavy breathing brushes against your ear. 

“I’m the luckiest man to have an assistant like you. Taking my cock and finding everything I need. I love you so fucking much,” Andy said as he pulled your head back, smashing his lips against yours. You would return the gesture, but you weren’t listening to the older man's words. Your mind turned into mush from Andy’s cock hitting all the right places, his large and warm hands making contact with your skin, and the bites and kisses he marks on your skin. 

You gasped as Andy’s rough hand wrapped around your weeping cock. His thumb swirls around your cockhead, gathering the translucent precum and lathering your cock with it. The older man grins as he licks your neck, thrusting faster and encouraging you to hump his hand. 

It was euphoric to be in the hands of someone older and more experienced. His gentle touches, mixed with his roughness, were everything you wanted. Andy was loving and had some dominance in him. He was a lawyer, and the stress of the profession and having to find a way to clear his name was stressful. Thankfully, he had you, his young, loving, and submissive boyfriend. Sometimes, you remember the memories and moments that led to the scene you are in now. 

It’s been almost a year since it happened. 

One year ago

You had been friends with Andy for a long time. You first met him when you got your bachelor’s in paralegal studies and ended up as his assistant. The two of you became friends after a while. Something clicked when you met him. Andy didn’t notice, but you certainly did. However, you never engaged because the older man was married and had a kid. It was also unprofessional for an assistant to pin after their boss.

Everything was going great for the most part, although you couldn’t get your feelings to change. If anything, they only worsened as Andy always praised you or gave you a slight touch. His affirmations and physical touch made your cock ache– maybe touch starved - and being lonely best described you. You always craved his touch and the words of affirmation from Andy, who was dominant but loving towards you.  He saw you as a son, mainly due to the age difference. 

Then it happened. You heard the news that Andy’s son, Jacob, was accused of murder and was swiftly arrested, awaiting trial. You watched the older man going into overdrive as he tried to clear his son’s name of the accusation. He had you conduct research, draft the documents, collect the evidence, etc. He was stressed, but it only got worse. 

You didn’t know the full details, but Andy and his wife were getting divorced. You assumed it was because Jacob was accused and the older man worked so much that he neglected his wife. Andy now has to deal with Jacob, and a divorce is the final nail in the coffin. 

The divorce proceeding went swiftly and dividing the assets was quick, but the trial for Jacob’s innocence was still going. Andy turned to you for relief and comfort. You would sometimes wake up at odd hours of the night to loud banging outside. Opening the door, you were often met with a disheveled Andy, his hair and clothing messed up as he wobbled into your living room. He would blabber and cry as he laid on the couch, and being the good friend you were, you comforted and soothed the older man. 

Andy was grateful for your presence and comfort during the hardest time in his life. You even reprimanded him for overworking and drinking too much. You were a rock for him, a foundation on which he could stand. It was during a time like this that the older man began reevaluating his feelings for you. He knew he was bisexual but never had any attraction to you. He only saw it as a platonic relationship.

As time passed, the older man began to notice things he never did about you; little quirks and some physical attributes. He found it cute, sometimes catching himself checking you out. Andy would glance whenever you tripped, getting a good view of your ass. The way your tight dress pants would hug your ass was boner-popping. 

Whenever you would leave for lunch, Andy would sit back and unzip his pants, pulling his aching cock and stroking it, letting his imagination run wild. The older man would imagine you laid out on his desk, naked and heaving, your body covered with his marks and cum, and your eyes filled with want and lust as you beg for him. 

“Fucking hell.” Andy moans as he fucks his hand, imagining it's you beneath him and his hand is your ass. The older man’s groans bounced off the wall, precum oozed from his cockslit; spreading the liquidy substance all over his cock, making it easier to thrust into his hand. He imagines you moaning for him, crying for him to go faster.

“Of course, baby, anything for you.” Andy groans as he fucks his hand faster. His heavy balls slapping against his hands… plap, plap, plap, plap. He imagines you crying from his large cock hitting your bundle of nerves deep inside your ass. The older man licks his lips as he feels his balls tightening, cum rushing to erupt out of the cockslit. 

The older man’s imagination then flashed to him and you kissing as he gave one thrust and bred you. In the real world, Andy gave one thrust into his hand, ropes of pearly cum squirted out, painting his suit and beard with the thick white liquid. He was breathing hard from his most intense orgasm yet. 

Post-nut clarity set in: he had jerked off to his friend, whom he considered to be his son, and nothing else. Andy didn’t feel bad though, something in him was telling him that it was alright. The age difference was notable, he was eighteen years your senior. He should feel ashamed, but he didn’t– he felt thrilled. 

The next few days left Andy confused about his feelings. Everything you did for him, he liked it —no, he loves you! He enjoyed being around you and being in your presence. He loved you and lusted for you! Andy kept telling himself he wouldn’t jerk off to thoughts of you in compromised positions, but that was a lie. 

For every day, for the next few weeks, the older man would jerk his cock to you. He would have multiple orgasms a day, but no more how many times, his cock was still hard. It was like he was a teenager again, discovering the world of gay porn. Nothing worked, he needed the real thing, he needed you. 

A week later

It was another hang-out, like always, with Andy coming over for dinner and chilling while watching movies or doing random stuff in your room. You didn’t know what led to this moment, but you were pinned down on your bed by the older man, his calloused hands holding yours down. You could feel Andy’s scruffy beard grinding against yours as his lips pressed against yours. 

Andy’s body was grinding against yours. You could feel his large cock straining in his pants. “You taste delicious,” the older man says as he lets out a breathy groan before diving back into your mouth. His tongue pushes past your teeth and invades your oral cavity. It was easy for Andy to establish his dominance over you. 

It was hot. The sensation of Andy’s cock grinding against yours, the heated kiss, and the heavy breathing was making your cock painfully erect and throbbing. The older man pulled back and looked at you– it was everything he imagined. Your body is disheveled: your hair is messed up and tangled, your lips are swollen with drool coating around them, and your soft pants as you try to calm down. The sight served to make Andy’s cock harder. 

Without wasting any time, Andy began stripping. He hastily took off his clothes, fumbling with his zipper before his glorious body was fully exposed to you. Without fear of receiving backlash, you admired and gazed upon the older man’s body. Your delusional dreams before Andy’s divorce weren’t so delusional after all. 

Andy’s body was huge. The older man grinds as you admire his body. He started to flex his muscles, showing his large biceps. He had chiseled abs that looked sculpted by God himself, you just wanted to trace your tongue against them. His pectorals looked big too, most likely hard but soft to touch and grope. He’s also very hairy, especially around his pecs and abdomen area– a happy trail leading down to his crotch and pubic region.

Speaking of the crotch region, Andy’s cock was perfect: size, thickness, and eavy hanging balls, swollen with so much cum. You could tell that he likes keeping his groin groomed and not too hairy– just how you like it. 

“Come on, darling. Don’t leave me hanging.” Andy says as he pulls you closer to him. His hands roam your body as he removes your clothing until your naked divine body is revealed to him. The older man drinks in your appearance– magnificent and perfect. He doesn’t know why he was blind to you before, but it's better that he realized now than never. 

He held you closer to him, worshipping your body with his mouth and hands. One of his legs pushed between your legs as he laid you down on the bed. You gasp softly as Andy’s hands squeeze your hips and knead the flesh of your ass. His mouth sucks and bites around your neck, making sure he leaves his mark on your body. You start humping his thick thigh, grinding your throbbing cock and smearing precum all over Andy’s thigh. 

“Can I do this?” Andy says, pulling himself off of you and gesturing to his tie. You knew what the older man was thinking and agreed on the spot. Andy uses the tie and wraps it around your wrists, putting you in bondage. He tightens it but makes sure it wasn’t tight enough to hurt you. The fantasies the older man had about you were coming true. 

“There’s lube on the nightstand,” you said, moving your head in the direction. Andy nods and reaches out for it. He grabs the bottle and pops it open, squirting a generous amount of the substance on his fingers. One hand gripping your tied wrists while the other one went down to your ass. 

You start breathing heavily as you feel Andy’s thick fingers circling the rim of your hole. Biting your lips as this was the first time you’ve had sex. “I need you to calm down, baby boy. Breathe.” Andy says as he kisses your knee. Your body started to relax, allowing Andy to slowly push his thick fingers in. 

Air was kicked out of your lungs as you felt the older man’s thick digits push deeper into your tight heat. Your moans got louder with each time Andy thrust his fingers deeper. Arching your back as you felt yourself riding his thick digits.  Following what you were doing, Andy began thrusting them faster– each time you pushed down, Andy pushed up. 

Suddenly, one particular thrust caused you to ascend to a higher plane. You scream in pleasure and Andy correctly assumes that that must be your prostate. The older man began making sure to hit that same spot, memorizing it. You feel your cock was about to erupt, Andy was gonna give you an anal orgasm. However, the older man didn’t want that. He wanted you to cum from and on his dick. 

Andy pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his large cock. He slowly sinks in, groaning and biting his lips as his cock is swallowed by your tight and warm hole. The older man pushed until he was completely inside, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. This was better than any pussy Andy had had. It was tight but not tight enough to where it felt like his dick was being suffocated. He always wanted to try anal but his wife declined.  He never pushed the topic and just buried the thought of anal sex. 

Whatever level of ascension Andy set with his fingers paled in comparison to his cock. You were higher than ever before; on a different plane of existence. Your ass was filled to the brim with the older man’s cock. You could feel every vein and crevice of Andy’s cock. It felt like the puzzle piece you’ve been looking for all your life was found and connected with yours. Your moans could be heard throughout the apartment building, you are most likely gonna receive noise complaints tomorrow. 

Andy gave you time to adjust to his size. It felt like he was going to burst instantly. Your ass tightened around him with a vice grip. His breathing got heavier as he didn’t want to cum just yet and leave you unsatisfied. After a few minutes, you permit Andy to move. 

“J-Jesus Christ… fucking hell… you feel so good baby.” Andy moans as his hands grip your hips. He began giving slow thrusts, sliding his cock in and out your tight ass softly, his thickness stretching you perfectly and his cockhead teasing your prostate. Your cock was weeping, oozing precum over your abdomen as it twitched back to life. 

His thrust got faster as Andy felt himself being consumed by the pleasure. “My God… Oh fuck yes.” Andy’s eyes roll back as he slows down, giving slow but powerful thrusts. His grip tightens as he feels your hole becoming tighter around him and it feels like his cock is melting. Your hands grip the sheets during a short pause before your bundle of nerves are hit again but Andy’s cockhead. 

“Daddy!” you scream before covering your mouth and realizing what you said. You thought Andy would be turned off as he stopped midway. Your face was flustered as you tried to explain that it was mistaken, but the air was punched out as Andy started thrusting fast. “Call me daddy again, baby boy. Call me daddy.” Andy moans as he lost himself and fucks you like a wild beast. Ramming his cock deeper into your depths and abusing your prostate. You could feel your body becoming overstimulated.

“D-daddy! F-feels so good~ making me feel so good~” You cry as your back arches. You start to push back, meeting Andy’s thrusts. The older man’s groans grow louder, “I know, baby. You love daddy how is fucking this tight ass? This?” Andy said before slapping your thigh, grinning as he watches the flesh jiggle from the impact. “This ass belongs to me.”

You could hear the sounds of Andy’s heavy balls slapping against your ass, your groans and moans mixing with his to become a symphony of gay sex. Your cock was bobbing and slapping against your abdomen. “Yeah, you like that? You love daddy’s cock don’t you?” the older man growls as he leans down and starts sucking your neck, leaving marks to show that you belonged to him. 

“I love your cock, daddy~ So perfect! It fills me perfectly~” you cry as you wrap your arms around Andy, pulling the older man closer to you. Andy became deaf to everything, only hearing your moans and cries for him– calling him daddy as he fucks your ass, but more soppily. His cock was throbbing inside and balls were tightening as he was ready to bust his load. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Want me to cum inside this ass? Breed you till my cum oozes out this hole.” Andy growls as he bites and nimbles your neck softly. “Y-yes! Yes, p-please… oh god… inside! B-breed me, breed me, breed me!” You cried desperately, your hole tightening to milk Andy’s large cock of its cum, your fingers digging into the older man’s back. You move one of your hands from your side to jerk your weeping cock, wanting to cum with the older man. 

“Almost there baby… cum!” Andy growls as he sinks his teeth into your skin, digging them as he wants to leave a permanent mark. He gave one last thrust before a wave of cum floods your hole. Your velvet walls were painted white as the older man kept filling you with his thick cum. Your cock spurts its load after the feeling of being bred and marked was the breaking point. Your chest was painted with your thick pearly substance. 

You could feel Andy’s larger body collapsing on top of yours. It was quiet besides the heavy panting and breathing. You both bask in each other's presence. Andy slowly pulls out, a loud plop sound echoing with cum gushing out your gaping hole. You whimper at the feeling of being empty and hug the older man tighter. A moment of silence falls over the room before you speak.

“I love you, Andy– daddy~” you say, saying daddy in a teasing tone. Andy laughs before returning the same gesture. “I love you too, baby.”  

Ever since that day, you and Andy have been in a relationship. About 7 months into the relationship, the older man asked if you wanted to move in with him, and you gleefully accepted. He did have rules for you; you were to be naked at all times, only dressed whenever guests arrived. Andy wanted to have full access to you. He also wanted you to cockwarm him while he worked and did your research. For a man his age, Andy was certainly horny, fucking in every corner of his house. 

You didn’t mind at all, as long as you got to be with him. 

THE END

A/n: hello, my strawberries! I hope you enjoy this fic! Took me a while due to procrastination. Also had to watch a porn video of a guy humping a pillow and moaning… the things fanfiction writers look up and watch.  TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @geminiflanagan69 Very special thanks to my proofreader; @sagethegaywitch Join my taglist!

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, smut, implied established relationship, full demonic form!alastor, power imbalance, (alastor owns reader's soul), size kink, dacryphilia, creampie, begging, tentacle usage

☒ Word Count: 1,654

Selling your soul over to Alastor wasn't all that bad. 

The Radio Demon proved to be cordial. As long as you stayed in line. You hadn't planned on relinquishing your soul. Let alone to the heartless son of a bitch, Alastor. 

But the dapper man presented you with an offer you couldn't deny. Your soul in exchange for protection and power. As a new demon perusing through hell, you knew some help would be needed during the yearly reapings. So, you shook on it. Sealing your fate. 

Over the decades of being chained to Alastor, he began to grow a soft spot for you. It was gradual, but before you knew it, The Radio Demon had you hanging on to every word he said. 

You assumed your little crush for Alastor was one-sided. But one evening, Nifty blabbered to you about Alastor's habit of slaughtering any demon that even looked at you funny. Your heart skipped a beat. From then on, you picked up on all the glances he shot your way. 

Anytime you were in a room together, his crimson gaze was on you. Alastor watched you as if you were his prey. You didn't fail to notice how he only allowed you to touch him without repercussion. The Radio Demon often eased up from your warm embraces, which solidified your suspicions.

It didn't take long after that for Alastor to call you out on your fondness for him. You were more than flustered when he admitted to knowing all along. But The Radio Demon quickly eased your spiraling thoughts. He admitted to the feeling being mutual. 

From that day forward, your relationship only flourished. But Alastor always made it a point to highlight that he was the one in control at all times. 

Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

Eventually, you had no choice. It had been weeks, and no one had heard from Alastor. The hotel patrons pleaded for you to bring him out of his workspace. You denied it vehemently until those fuckers peer-pressured you into caving. 

You muttered curses as you marched up to Alastor's radio tower. You cleared your throat before calling out to him. Your balled-up fists trembling beside you. "A-Alastor? May I come in?" 

As the seconds of silence flew by, your anxiety increased. A few minutes passed before the door flung open. Revealing an unmistakably irritated Alastor. "What is it?" His sharp tone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped aside. Allowing you to enter his sacred space. 

"E-Everyone's worried about you. So I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," Your voice was timid as you fixed your gaze on the floor. You heard a deep sigh escape Alastor before you felt his hands on you. He grasped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

"You doubt my competence, my dear?" You froze, desperately racking your brain for a response. Alastor's other hand held your hip firmly. His grasp on you was bruising, no doubt. "Of course not! I just- with all the stress you've been under I... I want to help you in any way I can!"

You saw the wheels turning in Alastor's mind from your declaration. His hand at your jaw slithered down. Clutching your other hip as he pushed you backward. You stumbled slightly, and a gasp escaped you as your backside came in contact with his control panel. "Anything, you say?" 

Alastor's voice was low as he hoisted you up. You now sat atop the control panel as The Radio Demon slotted himself between your parted thighs. You nodded fervently in agreement. "Anything, use me how you see fit."

That was all the conformation he needed. Alastor wasted no time hiking your skirt over your thighs. A blunt gasp escaped you as his sharp nails dipped between your legs, tearing your panties to shreds in one swift motion. Your eyes widened as you noticed The Radio Demon begin to morph into something more sinister before your very eyes. 

Alastor's antlers tripled in size, as did his frame. A glowing red X marked the middle of his forehead, and his pupils turned into radio dials. His body completely enveloped yours as Alastor freed himself from his trousers. You bit your lip in anticipation as you admired his length. His antlers weren't the only thing that tripled. 

His cock was an angry red, leaking a copious amount of precum as he bullied himself into your welcoming walls. "A-Alastor!" You whined as the tip of his hard length pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. You outstretched your arms to wrap around his twisted neck. But before you could get that far, Alastor's tendrils came out to play. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear. I'm the one in control. Do I need to remind you of that?" Alastor's radio static was heavier on his tone than ever. A gasp escaped you as his tentacles tangled around your limbs. Your arms were now bound, and your legs were spread wide, giving Alastor better access to your dripping heat. 

But that wasn't all. Your glowing green choker appeared before your very eyes. Alastor removed one hand from your hip to clutch the chain leash that dangled off your collar. A loud moan escaped you as Alastor plowed the rest of his cock deep inside your pussy. 

"You speak when I say you can speak." He groaned, thrusting into you deep and tugging you closer by the blunt green chain.

"You touch me when I say you can touch me." Alastor pulled back, leaving only the tip of his ruddy cock nestled inside you.

"And you come when I say you can come." His hips snapped sharply, prodding your g-spot faultlessly. "Understood?" Alastor's smile took up nearly half his face as he peered down at you. 

You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, waiting for the green light to speak. Alastor granted you another quick thrust. "Look's like someone was paying attention, good girl. You may speak now, darling."

Your lips trembled as Alastor began fucking into you wildly. "Y-Yes! I understand, I'll be good!" You babbled as one of his tendrils dipped between your thighs. The slippery tentacle flicked teasingly over your clit. You couldn't help the way your pussy clenched around Alastor's cock from the delicious sensation. 

Alastor grunted from the feeling, but his hips never eased up. The Radio Demon fucked himself into you with reckless abandon. Chasing his own high above all else. The prodding at your sweet spot and the slippery tendril swiping at your clit was nearly too much to bear. You knew the coil within your tummy was merely moments from unraveling. 

"Alastor! P-Please, I'm so close... please can I-" You babbled, giving him a pleading look as his sharp claws dug deep into your hip. Your vision blurred as tears spilled past your lash line. Your neck ached from the collar chafing your delicate skin, and your arms went numb from how long they were bound for. 

His tongue darted out to lick the tears that ran down your cheek. You felt him throb deep within you from how you cowered beneath him. "Hmm... not good enough. You need to try harder than that, my dear." His pace was ungodly at this point. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Your mind was fuzzy as you tried to form a coherent thought. Alastor chuckled wickedly above you as his tentacles tightened around your limbs. His grip on your leash was unwavering. "Please, Alastor! Please may I come? I'll be so good I-I promise... I beg you!'

Your pleading voice was hoarse as more tears slipped past your waterline. Bottom lip quivering as you peered up at him desperately. Alastor's pace faltered for a moment. Your pitiful plea riled him up more than he cared to admit. His release was near, it was only a matter of time. 

"Much better. Go on, come for me!" The moment Alastor uttered those words, you were gone. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, legs trembling wildly as your white hot release overtook your senses. Your pussy gushed around Alastor's cock as he fucked you through your high. 

Alastor groaned loudly above you as he slammed himself to the hilt inside you before stilling. A whine was pulled from your throat the second you felt Alastor's cum painting your walls white. His grip on your leash eased up, the green collar dissipating before your eyes. The Radio Demon slowly began to shrink in size as the last of his load filled you up. 

You took a shaky breath as the tendrils slithered away from your limbs, finally allowing you to stretch them out. Alastor took on his normal appearance now as he slowly pulled himself out of your spent pussy. Embarrassment flooded your body from the aftershocks of what transpired. "Well, that was effective copulation, my dear! I feel as right as rain now!"

All you could do was stare at him dumbfounded as you pulled your skirt over your thighs. Alastor was back to his somewhat usual self. Who knew all he needed was to fuck you to get him out of his stressed state of mind. He offered you a hand as you slumped off the control panel, trying to stand on shaky legs. 

"Glad you're better, Al. Now that we settled that- can we talk about how you never told me you could do that with your coc-" Alastor's finger pressed against your lips, silencing you.

"Now, now. No need for such vulgar talk! What my body can do is for me to know and for you to find out."

tags; @danveration @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix@littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @chewbrry @nonetheartist @zombiesnips-blog @stargirlplanet @twistedkisses

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[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 2

In which you go to Max's hotel room to watch a movie. And only watch a movie. ;)

Warnings: alcohol use (but really only if you squint), steamy but not smutty, use of pet names.

Word Count: 2.6k Part One

Master List

AUSTRIA 

You knew you were playing with fire when you sent that text to Max. Judging by how Charlie’s head had nearly exploded when he (quite innocently) caught the two of you catching up on the couch a few weeks ago, you knew that he would lose his mind if he knew you were in Max’s hotel room late at night. Even if it was with the purest of intentions. Because of course it was. 

But, Charlie had left you alone in Austria on a Friday night without anything to do other than watch Austrian TV so really, this was all his fault. Alexandra was at home in Monaco, having some work to finish up at the new art gallery she’s curating. Pierre’s girlfriend Kika, who was fast becoming your other best friend in the paddock, wasn’t going to be here until tomorrow before qualifying, so you were left to your own devices. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself standing outside Max Verstappen’s hotel room at 8 o’clock at night, arms overflowing with snacks and a bottle of wine, knowing that you had everything but watching a movie running through your mind. 

The thing was, you had spent the entirety of today trading glances with Max from his garage three doors down from Charlie’s. It seemed like every time you looked towards the Red Bull garages, Max was already looking at you. He even managed to manufacture a lunch invite from Charlie and Carlos while you were standing right there, so the four of you had gotten lunch in Ferarri’s motorhome today. You were quite pleased that Charlie spent the entire time looking like he had swallowed a lemon every time you and Max even looked at each other. Even Carlos had noticed, asking your brother several times if he was okay. Every time, your brother’s response was a strained ‘yes’.  

But you weren’t teasing Max just to make your brother mad. You knew that. You were genuinely interested in the driver. Ever since the afternoon you two spent catching up in Charlie’s apartment in Monaco, the two of you had been trading random text messages and had even run into each other while out. What started off as an innocent crush had spiraled into something more, even if neither of you had voiced it quite yet. You knew Max was quite shy when it came to his feelings, side effects from growing up as Jos Verstappen’s son you supposed. You’d always been able tell what he was thinking though, ever since you were kids.  

Which landed you here. Tonight you had been bored and feeling a little attention starved, so you had been thrilled when Max invited you up to his suite for a movie night. It was something you had done frequently with friends at the track when you were younger, those movie nights being some of your favorite memories from growing up. 

It took Max a few moments to answer the door when you knocked that evening. He had to psych himself up for it, finding himself suddenly nervous about having you over. It felt like every time he looked towards the Ferrari garage today, he had instantly found you. And more times than not, you caught him staring. Gone was his usual cool facade that he kept so securely in place when it came to you and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t unnerve him. 

“I brought snacks!” You proclaim the moment Max opens the door and he can’t help but feel all the anxiety he’d been feeling moments before evaporate into thin air with a single look at your pretty face, hair tied up in a messy top knot, oversized Ferrari sweatshirt hanging so low just the bottoms of your sleep shorts poked out. It took every bit of control Max possessed not to bit down on his knuckles and groan then and there. 

Max chuckles and you try to ignore the shimmer of pleasure that danced down your spine at the sound. It doesn’t work though. Probably because making him laugh was one of your favorite activities lately and it had all started that afternoon he showed up at Charlie’s door. 

Your brother was going to be so mad. 

“Did you think you were feeding the entire grid, beestje?” 

You shove the bottle of wine at him while rolling your eyes. “Hopefully you have a bottle opener, Maxie or else we’re going to have to go on an adventure.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea. You out in public without your brother to control you?” 

Max expertly dodges the pillow you lob at his head before taking the bottle of wine to the little kitchenette in his suite. “I’ll have you know I am a whole grown ass adult that has lived on my own in a big city for the last six years, thank you very much.” You snip. 

Spreading the snacks out on the bed, you do your best to ignore the fact that Max is looking so very attractive in a pair of grey joggers and black t-shirt. Seriously, what was it about a pair of slutty grey sweatpants and tight tshirts that got you all worked up? 

“I’m surprised you don’t have a sim rig set up somewhere in this giant room.” You tease, settling down on the large king sized bed that takes up most of one side of his suite. 

Max looks at you, a bit puzzled before saying, “That race isn’t until tomorrow night after quali, I just haven’t set it up yet.” 

The laugh that leaves your lips sets Max’s skin tingling with pleasure and he tries to remind himself that Charles would quite literally kill him if anything happened between the two of you. But with each passing moment, watching you settle back into his pillows on his bed, he’s finding it harder and harder to really care what Charles thinks. You’re a grown woman, after all. Max’s eyes drag over your body, admiring the miles of legs on display for him. Yep. You certainly were very grown up, that’s for sure.  

“Just don’t stay up all night. I don’t want Buxton to have an excuse to call you out in post-race interviews again.” You smirk. 

“That was one time and it hasn’t happened since.” He argues, shooting you a glare that has you giggling under your breath.

You hum in response but don’t respond, needing to focus your attention elsewhere now that Max is searching for the bottle opener and the concentration on his face is making you squeeze your legs together just a bit. 

Max does, in fact, locate a bottle opener and before you know it you’re both settled on his bed, side by side, wine glasses in hand, bag of chips open between you. You try your hardest to ignore the head radiating off of Max and Max tries his hardest to ignore the fact that you’re wearing the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen. Neither of you do a very good job of it. 

“I’m surprised you’re not out with Lando and the rest of the boys tonight. Getting a little tired in your old age?” You tease (always with the teasing, you two) as Max scrolls through Netflix, trying to find something you can both agree on to watch. 

“I went out with him and Carlos last week.” 

You pop a chip in your mouth before responding. “And from what I saw on Instagram, you’re probably still recovering from it.” 

You remember the night he was talking about. The jealousy that washed over you when you saw his private Instagram stories from that night, girls falling over him in a dimly lit Jimmy Z’s, him and Lando on stage with the DJ clearly wasted on his favorite G&T’s, was a feeling you were entirely unfamiliar with. You never got jealous, not over someone you were dating and certainly not over someone like Max Verstappen. Absolutely not. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, beestje?” Max bumps your shoulder with his as he hits play on the OG Jurassic Park movie. 

You can’t help the pout that materializes on your face. “Stop calling me that.” You whine, unashamed at how bratty you sound in the moment. Frankly, you were tired of being treated as the little sister of the group, never being taken seriously and always being teased. “If you’re going to be mean to me, I’m going to leave.” 

You lean forward to go, not really intending on leaving but wanting to teach Max a lesson. A strong hand wraps around your wrist before you make it off the bed though and he pulls you back so quickly you nearly end up in his lap. “Don’t leave, schatje.” 

Schatje? Oh. Oh. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you realize Max hasn’t let go of your wrist. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s pulled your wrist closer to him so your hand is resting on his thigh and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. He’s only ever called you beestje before. His little beast. You never really hated it if you were being quite honest, thought it was quite cute actually. A name that Max reserved only for you. But he’s never called you schatje and he’s absolutely never called you schatje in that tone of voice before, all husky and raspy like just saying the word does something to him. 

All at once, there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Something akin to a lion stalking his prey. He knows what he wants and it’s like something finally clicked for him. You sitting there, pouting away at the nickname he’s always only reserved for you, plump bottom lip popping out, just asking to be bitten. He follows your gaze to where you’re staring at your hand in his, giving your wrist a little squeeze to get your attention back up to his face. “Don’t pretend you came up here just to watch Jurassic Park with me tonight.” He murmurs, leaning in incrementally more. He’s so close now you can feel his heated breath fan out over your cheeks. 

“Max.” You whisper, thoughts moving a mile a minute and sluggishly slow all at once. You’d been wanting this exact thing for weeks now, his hands on yours, hadn’t you? So why were you suddenly so unsure of what the fuck you were doing. 

When he tugs you into his lap, bag of chips crunching under your knees, you feel a flush creep up your neck. Knees straddling his thighs, you’re suddenly in a very compromising position and feeling something very…thick pressing into your center. A single roll of your hips is enough to have Max tipping his head back on a groan. 

“We shouldn’t Max.” Where in the hell did that protest come from? Your body practically screams, desperately needing your mind to shut the fuck up just this once.  

“I will happily stop if you want me to, schatje but your hips are telling me a very different story right now.” Max stares up at you and almost shudders at the look on your face. It’s a look he’s never seen on you before, all unabashed want and need and heat and fuck if it does something to him seeing that lusty gaze aimed his way. 

The two of you stay like this for several moments, the movie long forgotten, Max’s hands resting on your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. It’s almost like you’re both daring the other one to make the first move. You both know you want it, the tension thick in the air. Energy crackles between you as Max drops his gaze from your eyes down to your lips and then back up again. You find yourself slipping deeper into those icy blue eyes of his, unable to tear your eyes away from how he’s looking at you. Like he’s seeing you all at once for the very first time. The sheer awestruck look on his face has you catching your bottom lip between your teeth, a smile begging to be released. 

“I want to kiss you.” Max breathes, voice barely audible but in the silent room, you don’t miss the whispered confession. 

“What’s stopping you?” You probably should be embarrassed at how breathy your voice is, how needy your hips are as they roll into his again. 

And then, it’s happening. He’s leaning in, eyes never leaving yours as your breath catches in your throat, dizzy with anticipation. You’ve kissed people before, of course you had, but never in your entire life has the moment before a kiss been this torturously pleasurable before. 

And if the anticipation of the kiss is enough to have you groaning with pleasure, the moment his lips connect with yours is astronomically better. A spark ignites when he presses a kiss to your mouth, one hand snaking up your body to frame your face as you tip your head down to allow a deeper kiss. The sound that you make when he licks into you the first time is obscene, a throaty purr rumbling out from you. 

Max can’t help but smile against you when he feels you try to press your legs together, the fact that you’re straddling him completely lost on your distracted thoughts. The way you tasted was something straight out of a romance novel and he instantly found himself addicted. He could win every fucking Grand Prix for the rest of his career and it still wouldn’t compare to the first time he got his lips on you. His other hand skates up your slender back, finding heated bare skin under your Ferrari sweatshirt. 

“We’re going to need to get you something Red Bull, I can’t have you in my bed wearing Ferrari colors.” Max grumbles, mouth barely leaving yours. 

You giggle, “In your bed, huh? Someone’s cocky.” You lift an eyebrow at him, liking the frown that tips down at the edges of his mouth when you pull away. 

“Confident, schatje. I’m confident.” 

Your lips find his again and they continue the exploration Max started, your tongue slipping between his lips, teeth first nipping at his lush bottom lip before sucking it back into your mouth. The soothing sensation on his swollen lips has Max’s hips tipping up towards yours, seeking more friction than your grinding hips are already causing. 

When you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt, intending to take it off so you can get your skin closer to his, Max lifts a hand to stop you. The confusion that clouds your face has him shaking his head, “We should stop before we get carried away.”

“What? Why?” You pout. 

Max brushes a calloused thumb over your swollen bottom lip before looking at up at you. There that look was again. Only this time it was like you’d hung both the moon and the stars and were trying to give him both. “Because if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” 

You blink down at him, somewhat surprised and very caught of guard. “And what exactly is this?” You’re almost too afraid to hear his response, not sure if it’s the one you need to hear. 

“I don’t know but I know that it’s not a one night thing. It never could be with you.” 

You melt into his arms, your head finding its home in the crook of his neck. Dragging in a steadying breath, you allow the clean, sharp scent of Max’s shirt bring you back down to earth. He was right. You knew that. It would be a monumentally bad idea to sleep together so quickly.

“Oh Maxie.” You sigh, wondering what the hell you’ve both started here tonight. 

[salem-s]

hellooo!!! i was js thinking of ptputss and thought about how intimate the last chapter was, and thought about the reader cockwarming rafe as an even more intimate thing they would do (in the least sexual way posible) like to feel close to eachother, connecting as one, almost like a soultie was created out of that yk?

HELLLLLOOOOO yes absolutely a thousand times yes.

To me, the two of them definitely have quality time listed as their top love language, and will do shit like this and not even speak but just to truly feel one another, perhaps after a stressful day or when it's a little too loud. I can see them doing it before the ptputss series as like a post-sex comfort/pillow talk bullshit, but only for like five-minutes max because once there's a silence in their conversation, they'd be left with the fact that he's still inside reader and that shit would make her spiral lol.

However, post ptputss, they would totally do it in the least sexual way possible. Obvi they'd still do it post-sex if they have the time, but I'm thinking sitting and watching a movie, right after waking up, after a rough day, casual moments like that.

I love this prompt so much actually that I wanted to write a blurb about it. So. Here goes below. This blurb takes place a few days after the series ended.

Playing The Part Under The Sicilian Sun SERIES MASTERLIST | WORD COUNT: 4.3k

WARNINGS language, cockwarming (p-in-v unprotected), misogynistic language. 18+ MDNI

From the moment Rafe opens his eyes, the day is already off to a bad start.

Instead of the sun peeking through his curtains or you gently running your hands through his hair, he's woken up by the shrilling of his phone, a loud ringtone that only makes him groan and throw the pillow back over his face.

The specific ringtone that's solely reserved for Ward.

The third time his father calls him, Rafe figures that he can't ignore him forever, lazily patting around the bed to find his phone so he can just get the conversation over with. Unfortunately, he knows that the longer he stalls the inevitable, the angrier his father will get — even though being irate is his default state — and it's something that he knows he can't push off unless he wants to hear the horrible shrilling of the ringtone all day.

Getting viscerally berated over the phone wasn't on his agenda, and it hinders absolutely everything else throughout the course of the what-should-have-been-average-Sunday.

Rafe blames the rude wake up call on all the things that go south: his coffee order was completely wrong and barely salvageable (and there was no way he was getting back in line to order another), the forecast app predicted the opposite kind of day, so his new suede shoes got absolutely drenched in the downpour, the dealership by campus that he sent his car to said the part he needs is on back-order until the end of the month (how he’s going to drive home? He doesn't know), and, on top of all of it, all that he can replay in his head are the harsh vocal bullets his father shot at him at the break of dawn.

"Photography? What the hell were you thinking? I'm paying for you to learn how to carry this company, my legacy, and you're off indulging in, what? A hobby?"

Replaying the words, Rafe jabs his chopsticks particularly harshly into his noodles.

"It's pathetic, especially to hear this from your academic advisor and not from my own damn kid. What are you, afraid? You're here to learn about how to lead, how to control the estate, and instead you take history? Art history, nonetheless. It serves no purpose, no function for company. You're learning about a woman's profession, son. Did I raise you to be a woman?"

He huffs, stabbing the piece of beef.

"Alright, you've been committing first degree murder on your lo mein for the past fifteen minutes. Are you gonna tell me what's up?"

Rafe blinks at the sound of your voice, ripped from the confinements of his mind and glancing up from his thousand-yard-stare at his food to you, sitting pretty and cozy across the blanket.

You, being the innovative person you are, suggested a picnic dinner date to celebrate the end of finals, an ode to all the hard work you've both done and a mini celebration on being together (sort of? He hasn't officially asked you yet but ever since the night you proclaimed you reciprocated his feelings, he's found it hard to leave your side since). However, since the torrential downpour of the day ruled out the possibility of doing it outside, you didn't scratch the idea entirely, and set up the blanket in your dorm room, instead.

But as excited as he was for the idea yesterday, today has taken a different turn of events on his mood. Especially when he woke up alone (you spent a girl's night with Marianne and Sydney) to a call from his absolute favorite person in the world.

Besides, you look too pretty right now and it's making his heart uncomfortably race, especially under your stare. Also the fact that you're sitting criss-cross and he's half laying down, propped up on his elbows, where he feels even smaller under your gaze.

Rafe averts his eyes, settling on his food.

"'M just tired," he says quietly, not wanting to burden you with the pleasantries of his familial issues.

Obviously, you're not letting the cheap excuse fly. "So you're taking your lack of sleep out on innocent noodles?"

"Sweet girl." A warning.

Again, you don't let up. "Don't sweet girl me." Then, softer. "Talk to me. You're clearly upset."

Rafe only shrugs dismissively.

You sigh as you gaze at his dejected expression, eyes sullen and tired from whatever happened today. With the way his focus keeps drifting, his silence, and the incessant stabbing of his food, you unfortunately figure it has something to do with his father, because it's the same heartbroken expression he wore when you read to him that one day. Although, this time his eyes aren't bloodshot with the aftermath of tears. But his nail beds are a mess.

Delicately putting your chopsticks and your take-out container down, you crawl over to him and repeat those same actions to him, tucking your legs under yourself as you peer down at his practically horizontal body.

His hand, instantly, finds your inner thigh as some sort of coping mechanism to ground himself. Your hand gingerly brushes some of the hair out of his eyes, and he can only stare at the silly graphic on your t-shirt, unable to handle the vulnerability of meeting your compassionate expression. Fuck's sake, he's still getting used to the fact that someone cares about him, and it's definitely overwhelming to the point where he simply wants to brush it off and deal with it internally, but he knows you're not going to let that slide.

But Rafe is detrimentally on edge, on the verge of a panic attack as his mind spirals and spirals and deep dives off a plank into a sea of insecurities. He knows he's minutes from cracking, fuck, seconds, and he isn't sure he wants you to see it, to see him unravel in such a way only his father knows how to make him do so, knowing he needs to calm down, to feel instead of think, to tether to something to refrain from a certified crash out.

"Can I..." He asks before thinking. "Can I feel you?"

You raise a brow at him, tilting your head in confusion. The expression on your face is incriminatingly cute that it makes him hum. With one of your hands coming to cradle his face, you press a palm into his cheekbone experimentally.

"Like this?"

He feels so fucking stupid asking — no — begging for it. For you.

"No, uh." He swallows thickly. "Can I be in you?"

"Oh?" You hum absentmindedly, brain racking on what he could mean. It takes one, two, three full seconds before your brows fully raise, peering down at him. "Oh. Okay. Will that make you feel better?"

All he can do is nod pathetically, blinking ferociously to refrain from frustrated tears pooling his waterline. The last thing he wants to do right now is cry, especially around you. He's frustrated he can't just say what he feels, or get over his grueling emotions, or simply be normal and not let his father dictate whether he has a good or bad day. It doesn't help that you're being exceptionally patient with him, so tender and careful to the point where he thought it impossible to love you more than he already does.

Whether you notice his expression, you don't comment on it. "Let's go on the bed, yeah?"

Nodding once more, he nearly whines when your hand leaves the caressing of his jaw as he watches you stand and shimmy your pajama pants down, leaving you with just a graphic t-shirt on.

Rafe is soon following suit once he finds the strength to move, removing his shirt and jeans that leave him in his boxers. Climbing into your soft bed, he settles his back against the wall and holds up an arm for you, to which you're in his lap in an instant. Perched obediently on his lower thighs, you lean forward to press a chaste kiss on his lips and he barely has time to reciprocate before you're pulling away.

Your fingers meet the waist band of his boxers, meeting his gaze before you do anything further. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, baby," he murmurs, lifting his hips a fraction so you can slide his boxers down, revealing his half-hard cock.

He hisses quietly when it meets the cool air, and bites his lip as he lets you take a rare sense of control. It's as if he's putting a proverbial gun in your hand and asking you not to shoot him, because he's never asked anyone to do this with him, never reeked this badly of desperation in his life, never trusted anyone on the same level to do something like this as a calming mechanism.

You're taking him delicately in your hands as his fly down to your hips, quietly watching you align his length with your cunt before gently sinking into him. You both sigh at the sensation, about how full you feel as you slowly bottom out and how he feels like he can actually take a breath now. The remnants of the conversation with his father feel like a distant echo instead of a thrumming one, and he figures that's better than it was before (even if he can still hear it).

Bracing your hands on his shoulders, your nails soothingly scratch his upper back and shoulder blades, eventually venturing to the nape of his neck to where Rafe lets out a quiet hum, one of contentment, because this is the best he's felt all day, as if the nagging voice in his head is getting smaller and smaller. It's crazy how you make him feel, how he instantly is detrimentally less anxious as soon as you're around. It scares the shit out of him.

"Better?" You ask hushed, searching his eyes for any betterment in his mood.

He manages a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Mhm, thank you, sweet girl."

You reciprocate his smile, but it's laced with etches of concern, gazing upon him so carefully that it makes his heart stutter. Has anyone ever looked at him like this before? Has anyone ever cared for him like this? Tended to his needs? Gave a shit about his feelings?

Rafe knows you're not going to ask, because you're calculated and know that he'll eventually end up saying something so you can stop giving him that expectant look. Besides, you deserve to know a fragmented version of what happened. After all, you dropped everything mid-dinner to check in on him, indulge in his request, dote on him even when you really didn't have to.

"Dad called me this morning," Rafe murmurs after an allotted silence, eyes to your collarbone. "That's it."

"About Christmas?" He doesn't have to look up to know you're frowning.

All he can do is shake his head, jaw clenched.

"Why do I even set expectations for you when I know you're only going to disappoint me?"

"Then what?" You ask, voice impossibly sweet that it makes his teeth rot.

Rafe takes a long, shaky breath as his father's words replay like a mantra in his head, echoing through his ears like a gong and embedding themselves in his brain. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs circles on your smooth skin, attempting to ground himself. It seems as though only your touch can calm him down, these days.

Swallowing thickly, his jaw clenches and unclenches. "Just about classes."

If it's possible, he can feel you frowning even further. Your hand runs soothingly through his hair, lulling him into a sense of relaxation he hasn't felt all day. It's as if some of the tension is slowly starting to release itself from his stiff shoulders, all because of your touch, your compassion, your patience with him when he probably doesn't deserve it.

"But...But you did well in everything?"

Rafe manages a (very) faint smile at your concerned tone, remembering how proud you were of him yesterday when his art history exam score was posted (a B, but he ended the class with good marks), as if he was Einstein reincarinated.

But his smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared, remembering the conversation that came after his dad saw his transcript posted. More so saw the kind of classes the marks were attached to.

"Yeah," he whispers, "wasn't about the grades. Was about the classes."

"The classes?"

All he can do is hum distractedly, looking down to watch his thumbs skim over your hips as an excuse to not look up at you.

"What about them?"

Rafe blinks the bleariness from his eyes, wishing he can just lay you down and make you forget about asking all of this in the first place, but that isn't how he wants to do things with you. Of course, he'd rather be doing anything else right now than to be coddled for something he believes makes him look weak, emotional, insecure. Although, it's proving difficult to put a mask up when you genuinely want to know so you can make it better.

He finds himself speaking before he can stop. "Wasn't the kind of stuff he thinks I should be taking." Deep breath. "Like, career wise. Said half the subjects weren't..." He pauses to find the right word. "...worth my time."

Rafe figures that's a nicer way of putting it.

Your hand leaves his hair to cradle his jaw, gently tilting up so he's — finally — looking you in the eye. And he nearly wants to match your expression at the fact that you're even frowning in the first place. Although your eyes gloss with concern and a bit of confusion as your thumb brushes over his cheekbone, holding him with such delicacy that it makes him melt into your touch.

Frankly, he's a bit startled at the ounce of determination in your stare and — dare he say — anger.

"That's stupid," is what you end up saying. "This is the time in our lives where we're meant to figure out what we like, even if it doesn't end up being what we do for a living. Having a hobby doesn't mean you're giving up your major."

Rafe can only shrug, because he knows better than to let his dad rile him up like this, because he knows you're right and he hates feeling insecure over the shit that Ward says. But he can't help it, especially when he's been trying to gain paternal approval for his entire life and always coming up short, always disappointing, always doing or saying something to embarrass the family. He should be used to coping with it, with all this weight on his shoulders, but over the years the stress has only piled on.

"Tell me," you say after a few moments of prolonged silence, "did you enjoy the classes you took this semester that aren't related to your major?"

With a slow nod, he darts his gaze between your eyes, waiting for you to talk about something else to distract him, to dismiss the conversation that is taking everything out of him. It’s already bad enough his father thinks less of him as a man, and he doesn’t want you thinking the same. Rafe winces, waiting for the worst.

But it never comes.

Instead, your eyes soften. "So where's the harm? There's nothing wrong with taking extracurriculars and exploring your interests. You have your whole life for your career, it's okay to want a break from it," you assure gently, yet hold firmness to your tone.

Rafe frowns, eyes averting to your neck, words spilling from his tongue without warning. "My life is already mapped out. I'm the eldest, I'll inherit the company. It's been that way since I was born. I don't get...breaks."

"Yes, you do," you say immediately, tilting his chin up a fraction so he'll look you in the eye again. "Your interests are what make you happy. It's perfectly okay to indulge in them." Then, softer. "I'm sorry that you’ve been made to think that you can't."

Furrowing his brows, he can't help but look down again, gently tilting his chin down enough to where your hand leaves his face, instead settling modestly on his shoulder blade as you patiently wait for him to process your words, to believe them. His thumbs rub softly on your skin to say all the words he can't vocalize right now, to express his gratitude even if he never finds the ability to say them aloud.

Yet you understand, knowing his silence isn't him shutting down, it's him focusing his words on his actions. And his hands hold you so delicately in place as you feel comfortably full of him, trying not to make any sudden movements that might lull the direction of the cockwarning into something else. You want him to talk, you want him to express his feelings and learn how to process and deal with them. You're no therapist, but you care an awful lot and you want him to be okay, and one step towards connecting with him emotionally is trying to understand his brain.

"Have you ever seen Dead Poet's Society?"

The question is so out of left field (and a little ridiculous that you're bringing it up while he's literally inside you) that it makes Rafe lift his head, meeting your eyes with a furrowed brow.

All he does is shake his head.

You scoff. "We're watching it later, by the way." That earns a sliver of a smile from him. "But there's a quote that I like that the teacher says to his students. The boys are all bound to be lawyers, doctors, businessmen, all to follow in the masculine footsteps of their fathers and grandfathers and their fathers, etcetera."

"What is the subject?" Rafe asks quietly. "What does he teach?"

You smile at his engagement, how he's hanging on to every single one of your words. "English. So, they all think the class is pointless, right? Like, going on about how poetry is stupid and literature does nothing to contribute to the real world."

Rafe frowns. That conversation feels familiar.

You don't stop, though. "But the teacher says, 'Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.' I've always loved that. And, now, I'm passing it along to you."

His thumbs pause their movements as Rafe furrows his brows, really taking in the weight of what you said.

"Don't let him make you think that you aren't allowed to pursue something you love," you add quietly, darting your gaze between his eyes. "I know you said your future is mapped out, but...it's still your life."

All Rafe can do is stare at you.

No one's ever told him something like this before. Never told him that he can do whatever he wants with his life. Never reassured him that, no matter what career he wants to go in, that he'll be loved no matter what. It's unheard of, foreign in his head to think in such a way that goes against everything he's been hearing while growing up, strange to even think about considering a different path.

And now here you are: the person he loves telling him he can be whoever he wants to be.

"You know," Rafe says after a minute of processing your life-altering words. "I never wanted to go into business."

"No?" You hum, your interested piqued.

He shakes his head. "No. I wanted to be Jacsque Cousteau."

The anecdote makes you laugh sweetly, and it's the prettiest sound he's ever heard. His heart swells at the noise.

"The ocean guy?"

Scoffing in faux offense, Rafe's lips twitch. "Baby, give him some credit. He changed the underwater exploration game."

Your grin settles into something warm, content, soft, something beautiful just for him, and there's a plethora of emotions blooming in your chest: hope, warmth, guilt, sympathy, sadness. On one hand, you see a man who loves the sea, who'd swim all day and appreciate the nature of it all without hesitation. You see someone who appreciates the water so adoringly that he'd dedicate his life to it, to its research and explorations and survival.

But on the other hand you see Rafe as a young boy, being told he's never meant to pursue anything from what he's expected to, being told his indulges are meaningless and his dreams are nonexistent. It breaks your heart that, most likely, all his life he's been believing he's not allowed to do what he wants.

"That's what you wanna do? Oceanography?" You ask simply, as if it's the simplest thing known to man.

Rafe only shrugs at the loaded question. "When I was a kid, yeah."

"And now?" You add sheepishly.

He only shrugs again, sending you a soft smile that, again, doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Doesn't matter. It was stupid."

Frowning, you can't help but feel your heart pinch.

You know that's his father talking, probably saying that to his son so often that he couldn't help but begin to believe it, believe his dreams are stupid, believe he doesn't have the privilege to explore his interests since his life is planned to a T. You're hearing the years of his father instilling that he's meant for nothing more than what is expected of him for the company, that anything else is insignificant and unimportant, that he doesn't have a choice.

The confession sits uncomfortably in your stomach, feeling like you've been sucked punched in the gut as you gaze upon Rafe, whose smile is trying to affirm you that he's fine with it. But his eyes tell a different story, hold a certain sadness of which he has accepted.

You don't even want to think about how often he dreams about switching majors, uprooting his life to become something that he wants to be, not what his family expects him to be. You don't even want to know how long he's been longing for change, for the ability to choose, pushing the urge deep, deep down because it's unattainable.

Oh, god. You could cry.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you caress his jaw. "It's not stupid. Please don't say that."

The waver in your tone gives away your fucking broken heart as you peer at him through thick lashes, trying to blink away tears that haven't come yet. It's proving difficult though, because you unintentionally pout as you really, really focus on remaining headstrong, on being the voice he needs to hear to clear his mind. You're here to comfort him, reassure him, yet you're on the verge of being the one who needs comforting.

On the other side of the coin, Rafe is just absolutely amazed at your compassion, not understanding why you're so hung up about him not being able to be an ocean explorer, for fuck's sake. You look like a kicked puppy, frowning at him in a way that he can't help but grin at, because it seems like you're more upset about it than he ever was.

"Okay," he relents gently, grinning at your clear distress, "only because you said please."

You let out a ragged breath. "That's not funny. Stop it."

"Never. And it is a little funny," he muses. "You're more upset about it than I am, I think."

Your lips twitch. "This is serious. Stop making me smile."

"Aw, I make you smile?"

"Rafe."

"You look so pretty, baby. Give me another."

You end up rolling your eyes and shaking your head gently, peering at him longingly for a prolonged moment before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocates as quickly as it comes, but you lean back a fraction to study him, faces inches apart as your eyes soften into a look he doesn't recognize. Regardless of what the undertones are, you are beautiful.

“Say it,” you whisper against his lips.

His brows furrow. “Say what?”

“Say it’s not stupid.”

Rafe sighs your name.

You only raise your brows, expectantly and wide eyed.

He only tilts his head slightly. “Really?”

You nod as if you’ve never been certain of anything else in your life.

Huffing again, his gaze shifts momentarily behind you, gathering up the courage to do so, cheeks tinting pink at the vulnerability of it all, at how silly he feels indulging your request. However, it’s hard to say no when you’re looking that pretty.

“It’s not stupid,” he says quietly.

“What’s not stupid?”

Rafe says your name in warning. And you only tilt your head in faux confusion, egging him on.

The sigh that emits from his mouth is guttural. “My interests are not stupid.”

“And?”

He indulges quietly. “I’m allowed to pursue what I want. It’s my life.”

Fuck, he’d say it a thousand times over if you keep smiling the way you are right now, beaming at him like he'd just hit the lottery, proud of him for finding his words.

Wordlessly, you find yourself gently wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling yourself taut to his body as if you weren't before. You rest your chin on the muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder, letting out a deep hum at the feel of him, the feel of his hands under your t-shirt gingerly rubbing up and down your back, the feel of his cock inside you, the feel of his syncopated heartbeat thrumming through his chest.

Rafe lets out a deep breath, partially out of relief, because he hates to admit that speaking it aloud has eased some sort of tension not only in his shoulders, but in his brain. He was appalled at your immediate dismissal of his father's words, saying your opinion as if it was written in code, enacted in law, praised for the world to follow. At the certainty in your voice, as if it was obvious, he figures his father must be wrong.

"Thank you." You hear him murmur.

All you can do is shake your head as best you can in this position. "You deserve to be happy."

"I am happy. I have you."

The simplicity of it has your heart skip, a wide smile etching on your face even though he has no way of seeing it.

"That's not what I meant."

Rafe snorts. "It's what I meant."

You shake your head again, but the words die in your throat as you're overwhelmingly consumed by love, compassion, care. When he does use his words, they're always firm, certain, truthful, as if they're the easiest things he's ever said. He sometimes speaks such beautiful words with such nonchalance that it throws you for a loop, makes you double take and attempt to confirm that you heard him right.

And, the worst part is, is that he has no idea the effect that it has on you. (Or he does, and he simply says it anyway to fluster you).

"Can we stay like this?" You ask sheepishly. "Just a little longer?"

As if the universe loves to prank, Rafe's stomach growls loud and audacious to the point where it silences both of you. You let out a snort and Rafe only groans, embarrassed when he remembers he spent all of dinner stabbing his food rather than eating it.

"We'll stay here all night, baby," he says low and certain. "But first, can you grab my to-go box?"

You laugh dangerously loud, the sensation making him stiffen underneath you.

"And, what?" You scoff playfully, as if the whole thing is a ridiculous idea. "We'll both eat while you're inside me?"

Suddenly, Rafe's grabbing your waist to make you lean back to stare at him, serious with a twinkle in his eye that only screams trouble. It's as if he's offended that you think he's joking.

"Uh, yeah?"

You're not one to refuse that request.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes apologies for the delay in response (this was sent in after pt.7), I wanted to wait until the series was completely uploaded to respond to asks about it. had to pull the dead poets society card like srrrrry.

THANK YOU FOR A THOUSAND FOLLOWERS???!!! LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!! <3

[poolofunidentifiedfluid]

Z’s Buddie fic recs

i read an ungodly amount of buddie fics and i felt the need to document them so these are my all time favs so far

ice cream before dinner | cloudydaisies | 58.5k | T

gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?)

this one is so special to me i haven’t cried about a fic in a hot second

ripples all the way down | iriswests / @fcntasmas | 57.2k | M

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

no joke this may be one of my favorite fics ive ever read. just read it trust me

burn the straw house down | rarakiplin (gmontys) / @hoediaz | 40.2k | M

buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through

i had never read a timeloop au before so i was skeptical at first but this was beautiful and amazing and incredible no notes. i also am extremely attached to the oc in this :,) love this tremendously

Where the light enters | june_nights / @beecauseevan | 108k | M

Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls. This is familiar, this is normal, this is the way they've always been.This is fine, until it isn't.Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.

i devoured this fic so quickly and i am a slow reader (if you have religious trauma definitely read the trigger warnings)

Leave the light on (I’ll be coming home) | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 44.4k | M

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

love love love. any fic that brings the will into play i love since we havent gotten that in cannon :,)

upon reflection | jeremycarver / @louisdotmp3 | 24.8k | E

Buck and Eddie get into a friends with benefits situation that quickly spirals out of control.

they are stupid idiots and i love them dearly

if you leave the light on | cloudydaisies | 27.8k | G

the check engine light comes on in Buck's Jeep, Eddie volunteers to fix it and carpool with him in the meantime, and it all breaks down from there, literally and metaphorically

‘check engine light as an extended metaphor’ is a beautifully accurate tag

Half awake if our fake empire | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 33.5k | T

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

buddie girl dads. you will see from the amount of buddie girl dads on this list and future lists that i have father issues but it makes for a great reading experience

The best lie is a truth (my best mask is my face) | letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels | 43.1k | E

The Buckleys are celebrating their 50th Anniversary, and Maddie and Buck are both expected to come. To take the heat off Maddie, Buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. Obviously, there's only one solution: bring Eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. No problem, except for the, uh. "Pretend" part. Oops.

captured the infuriating nature of the buckley parents perfectly

from the ground up | marviless / @marviless | 51.7k | T

the story of how buck discovers he has a six-year-old daughter, spirals a bit, becomes an astronaut in training, kisses the love of his life, makes lasagna, and learns that his heart might just be the perfect place to build a home, all in seven days.

once again girl dads have me in a chokehold

good pretender | likeshipsonthesea | 85k | E

an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need

therapy: expensive getting therapy through eddie diaz: free. demi eddie is so dear to me

[sunshine-zenith]

Random thing I’ve been thinking about for months — Cosmo and Wanda’s default disguises actually tell you a lot about the respective series they’re in

1)

So in the original series, Timmy’s problems were external. His parents were super neglectful, his babysitter was abusive, his teacher was intentionally harsh, he struggled in school, and while he had friends, they were all targets of bullying. A real world kid in this situation would, naturally, feel incredibly isolated, with no one to turn to, and, given how he was surrounded by adults who sucked, no reason to turn to any of them anyway. Since Timmy was basically meant to be someone the “average” kid watching could relate to— he was specifically identified as “average” in the theme song— then kids in his situation (backed into a corner with no adults to help) probably would react with some degree of :/ if suddenly a pair of reasonable adults popped up and fixed things for him, because that wasn’t something a kid like him would feel like they could have access to.

(Side note— feel like. C&W do take adult human disguises a few times in the OG series, and ANW states that if they had used that “adult authority” instead of getting up to hijinx, they probably would’ve helped Timmy’s situation change and improve, at least a little)

Plus, Cosmo and Wanda’s default disguises being not just pets, but pets that are famous for “not doing much” is actually pretty genius. Goldfish are famously seen as disposable, cheap, and are often mistreated because “they’ll die soon anyway.” They’re often neglected. They’re given away without a thought. And how many of us have ourselves or had a family member just their corpses down the toilet instead if burying them, without even considering that that’s actually probably not good for your pipes, as if they weren’t part of the family as pets?

While I doubt anyone watching the show as a kid, or even writing for it, thought about this, there’s something poetic about giving the neglected, mistreated kid a famously neglected, mistreated pet, especially when you see how much that kid comes to love and feel loved by said “pets”

Hazel, comparatively, has almost exclusively internal problems — yes she was briefly bullied in her new school, yes she had to face a lot of stressful changes in rapid succession, but she has everything Timmy didn’t: teachers that care, parents that put in effort, friends that stand up for her as much as she stands up for them. She even enters a friend-situationship with the school bully

And yet she still needs Cosmo and Wanda — she gets stuck in her head, she spirals, she’s impulsive. Having loving parents who put an effort into supporting you doesn’t do much when your brain tells you to sneak past them and run away in a city you’ve never been to without a proper plan, especially if they try to give you space to process things and don’t realize you’re gone until hours later

Her problems aren’t actively made worse by the adults/authority figures around her. In fact, she trusts adults, she likes being around them

So… Cosmo and Wanda present themselves as adults when out and about with her. Specifically, while there is basically always a degree of power imbalance between adults and kids, they’re adults that technically have no inherent authority over her. They aren’t her parents or teachers, and they aren’t necessarily acting as her babysitters (they certainly aren’t ever shown being paid to look after her by her parents). They’re the neighbors, an older retired couple with at least one son old enough to live on his own. If, say, Hazel ever got in trouble, she wouldn’t ever be in trouble with them, and they have no legal control over her. If, say, a kid where like Hazel and needed help from an adult, but didn’t feel comfortable going to a guardian or teacher for whatever reason, people like Cosmo and Wanda — trustworthy, experienced adults who live nearby, who she isn’t actually forced to deal with, and who can’t technically legally loophole their way into having a route to continuously abuse their authority like a teacher/guardian/official caretaker could — would be a godsend

(Note — before anyone Um Actuallys, yes, adults that fit this description could still cause harm to a kid. But again, they’re specifically adults she doesn’t have to automatically grant authority to, and therefore can’t necessarily get away with abuse the same way legal guardians or teachers can)

Cosmo and Wanda are basically a backup set of Trustworthy Adults for Hazel to turn to when she doesn’t feel like she can go to her parents or teachers

(Note — this could also be why Peri doesn’t have a Human Disguise: Dev doesn’t have the same trust or faith in adults that Hazel does, and therefore a kid who relates to Dev probably also doesn’t have that trust or faith either. Peri’s default disguise seems to be a pair of headphones— an object that Dev could easily replace if he breaks or loses it and that most people wouldn’t be emotionally attached to. Shoot, Irep’s seems to be a pin — a decoration that’s easily replaced or swapped out, something I know is easy to lose, and like. Raise your hand if you’ve ever accidentally stabbed yourself with one)

2)

There’s been a major cultural shift in stranger danger and attitudes around unattended children over the last 30 years.

When the OG show was coming out, I’m pretty sure Stranger Danger was a rising concern, but a lot of children’s media from around/before that time just had kids wandering around without any adult supervision. Shoot, I remember picking up old copies of Judy Moody or watching old episodes of Arthur, and the main character just walk to the store alone. They buy candy or get ice cream or get haircuts and none of their parents are anywhere to be seen. I know there was still a degree of comfort with kids walking to their friends houses or just being left home alone for a while

Timmy walking around in public, maybe being followed by a pair of pink and green squirrels or carrying colorful pencils but otherwise adultless, probably wouldn’t raise as many eyebrows back then

Nowadays, I can’t think of many parents who’d be comfortable even letting their kid hangout in the front yard unsupervised

When Hazel is out in public without her parents or teachers around, that’s when we see Cosmo and Wanda in their human disguises. The show basically goes out of its way to almost entirely avoid having a scene where a ten year old has no adult supervision while out in regular public spaces. Pretty sure off the top of my head the only times Cosmo and Wanda aren’t in disguise are

A) when Hazel and Dev were doing their homework hunt (note- the buddy system could apply here as Hazel and Dev stayed by each others sides for the most part)

B) when Crocker were chancing them all (note-they were in an enclosed building and her parents were also in the building, even if they were separated) and

C) when they were all pretending to be teenagers (pretty sure most of the parents I’ve interacted with are fine with a teenager being out in public alone, even if only for a short period of time, plus a) all three of them were being teenagers together, so buddy system again and b) Cosmo and Wand were visibly shown to be concerned and distressed when separated from Hazel)

Also, ANW has Cosmo and Wanda specifically introduce themselves to Hazel’s parents, specifically inform them of the fact that they’re also parents, and specifically shows Marcus and Angela getting along with them. If you think about it, ANW is presenting Cosmo and Wanda as trustworthy adults specifically to the parents — they’re meant to come off as the type of adults you’d be relatively comfortable-to-outright trusting around your kids. Angela and Marcus aren’t neglectful or oblivious like Timmy’s parents could be, so it makes sense that they’d probably not be okay with their young kid running around town unsupervised and would want the people supervising their daughter to be adults they felt they could trust

3)

Timmy lives in a house that his parents presumably own, while Hazel lives in an apartment that her parents presumably rent. Apartments/rented homes usually have some sort of rule around pets, while if you own your own home who’s stopping you from getting pets? There’s a possibility that Hazel might live in a pet free apartment or her parents would have to pay pet rent (which you know she’d feel guilty about) or something

[justwinginglife]

A Trial of Tears and Tails

Sorry this is so random, I came up with this idea and wrote it on my lunch break, haha. Just thought it was so cute and funny.

“Um. My love. Are you fully rested? Could you come here and tell me that it’s not just my lack of sleep making me see things?”

Rafayel poked his head into the bathroom with a towel in hand. “What’s wrong, honey? I got the towel, like you-” He dropped the towel, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Okay. So it’s not just me then.”

Giggles erupted from the bathtub beside you as your son busied himself poking soap bubbles, oblivious to the stares of his two parents and oblivious to the fact that where once there had been two little legs, there now emerged a tail. A mermaid tail.

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I mean, it’s cute. It’s super cute. But does he… I mean, did he do it on purpose? Does he even know he did it? Does he know how to control it? Or is he going to keep randomly transforming for the rest of his life? What if he doesn’t know how to change it back? Will he ever walk again?” You started spiraling.

Rafayel rushed to your side, kneeling down beside you at the foot of the tub and pulling you into his arms. “Hey, hey, don’t think too hard; you’ll give yourself a headache. Look at him- he’s fine. He’s happy. I say we just let it play out and see what happens, kay? It’ll be fine.” He repeated again, nuzzling his nose against your ear before leaning up to press a reassuring kiss to your temple.

But soon enough, it was very much not fine.

At first, you both just watched your son. You watched as he splashed around in pure bliss, you watched as his smile spilled across his face and tugged at his rosy cheeks, you watched as he squealed his delight. And you thought to yourself that he’d never been cuter than he was right now. You couldn’t help but pepper him with kisses and he couldn’t help but laugh. Rafayel gazed fondly at the warm sight before him and, wanting to join in on the fun, he soon began tickling your son’s sides.

That was when the trouble started.

In attempts to escape Rafayel’s tickles, your son soon began splashing and squirming, and it was then that he realized he couldn’t just up and run. It was then that he realized that he was now stranded in the tub, bound by his flopping tail. And he didn’t know why the hell he had a tail.

He started crying, screaming, wailing- all manner of devastation and despair arose within him. And it damn near broke Rafayel’s heart.

He immediately moved into a protective stance, trying to console the tearful toddler. He made silly faces, he ruffled his hair, he picked him up and cradled him, rocking him in his arms, whispering that everything would be okay. He pressed kiss upon kiss to his head, like it was a precious ritual, like all would be well once he’d bestowed enough of his love. But it was to no avail.

Rafayel turned to you in desperation; “Help me,” clear in his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do??” You mouthed back to him, taking the crying child from him.

He threw his arms up in frustration, “I dunno- sing him a song, do something, do anything!”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, rocking him back and forth, as you began to sing the first song that came to your mind. “Um… I wanna be… where the people are. I wanna see… wanna see them dancing.”

Rafayel raised a brow at you. “Part of your world? Really? That was the best you could come up with?”

“You said to sing him a song! I thought it kinda… fit the situation?”

Rafayel snorted. “I see it’s going to be up to me to fix this. Alright, give him here; lemme try again.”

After taking him back from you, Rafayel marched his way into the kitchen. You followed behind, curious as to what his next plan of action was.

“Maybe the little guy is just hangry. Some food will cheer him up.” Rafayel started to warm up his steak dinner from last night.

“Raf! He barely has teeth, how is he gonna chew the steak?” You exclaimed.

“Well… maybe I’m hangry too! Maybe the food was for me.” Rafayel grumbled, anxiously chomping on his steak before spoonfeeding some of his mashed potatoes to the kid. Fortunately, it seemed to soothe him for the time being, but the issue of his tail was still to be addressed. How were you going to get him to turn back? You were sure once he finished munching on mashed potatoes that he would remember the tail and then be back to bawling and blubbering in no time at all. And if he cried, Rafayel might just cry. And you couldn’t have that.

So you disappeared into the nursery and came back with his favorite toys, his favorite books, his favorite movies. You spent the next two hours entertaining him, reenacting epic fight scenes between his toy robot and his toy dinosaur, reading to him all manner of fantasy and fiction, and snuggling up beside him as the TV played his favorite movies. He was more doted on than he’d ever been in his single year of living. And he loved it. But he still had the damn tail.

Rafayel suggested yoga and that was when he learned that children were not very flexible. Then he suggested meditation and that was when he learned that children do not sit still long enough for it. He finally settled on teaching the kid to use the tail, and that was when he learned that the age of one was far too young for someone to learn how to swim. The kid retained absolutely none of the information Rafayel so enthusiastically provided.

You knew this was a very serious moment, but it was hard not to laugh when you heard Rafayel’s voice echoing in the bathroom, emphatically declaring, “Now, kick! That’s not a kick, kick! Like this! No, like this! That’s a… that’s something. That’s… getting closer. Nope, never mind, it’s not. Yeah, okay, this is not working.”

Eventually, Rafayel passed out on the couch with the child dozing off in his arms. Your poor husband had exhausted nearly every brain cell in existence trying to solve this issue (so his nap was much deserved), but now, as you watched the two of them fondly, you noticed that peeking out from beneath the blanket, two tiny feet had finally appeared.

You laughed so hard that you almost woke them up when you realized what had happened; he had exhausted the kid back into being a human.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @tbaluver @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 4/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

CHAPTER 4 : SMAU

Serie Masterlist

@landonorris

Life lately: city nights, soft lights, slow things 🎼

@pietra you forgot “dragged to the ballet and actually kinda loved it” 😌🩰

@maxfewtrell he's lying. man was into act II don't let him pretend otherwise

@carlossainz55 slow things? who is this poetic new version of you

@formula1fashion slide 4… tux?? okay classy king

@curiouscatfan is that a program for The Nutcracker? 👀

@slowcircuits love this whole soft mood. winter season lando is ✨

@arianariverria

Opening night in Royal Opera still lingers in my limbs. Thank you to the ones who made it feel like gold 🩰🤍

@ballerinasoflondon You were luminous on stage

@velvetdanse this is what grace looks like

@stagequietly saw you last night — truly breathtaking 🩰

@quietballetgirl this bouquet is straight out of a novel. you’re magic.

@balletfansunited whoever gave you those flowers has taste 😍

Instagram Story – @pietra

@f1casuals not pietra casually giving us ballet night with the lads content 😭 I love it here

@ballerinasonthegrid wait was doing Lando and Max at The Nutcracker??

@fashionf1blog tbh obsessed with this whole aesthetic

@quietobserver32 Lando looked like the adoptive son of Max and Pietra

@f1winterwatch #LandoNorris seen by fans at the Royal Opera House in London for opening night of The Nutcracker during winter break. Dressed in full tux and accompanied by close friend Max Fewtrell and Pietra Pilao, the McLaren driver was photographed looking very out of his usual element.

Fans were quick to clock the ballet program in hand — and even quicker to spiral. Sources say he stayed through the full performance and went to the after show gala, according to Max’s own comments he was “weirdly into Act II.” 👀.

@f1girlie lando norris watching ballet in a tux… literally what dimension is this

@chaoticgrid so we all agree this is Pietra’s doing right??

@curiouspitlane "weirdly into Act II" IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER READ

@formulafits not me falling in love with winter opera lando. he’s just like a victorian novel character now

@gridgossipgirl he’s not suddenly into ballet y’all 😂 he prob just got roped in by max and pietra

@f1curiosity don’t forget it was donors night at the Royal Opera… PR move?? 👀

@midfielddreams let’s be real: this is 100% media team damage control for the party boy Lando headlines

@offtrackantics tbh i wouldn’t be shocked if McLaren told him to show face and act classy for once lol

@slowburnsundays he looked good. that’s all i’m taking from this. tux Lando supremacy

@gridoverdramatic we’ve gone from ibiza yachts to ballet in a month 😭 PR team is working overtime

@f1goat not buying the “soft boy era” spin yet. we’ve seen the club videos. we remember.

@quietlyofftrack maybe he was just trying to support pietra. like. sometimes guys do wholesome things to balance the chaos

@fansofthegrid i know everyone’s like “image change!!!” but honestly?? maybe he just likes dressing up and sitting down for 2 hours

Texts messages :

Unknown Number hi so, this might be weird unless it’s not? I don’t know

Ariana Who is this?

Unknown Number right, yeah sorry it’s Lando from the other night I get your number trough the dancers contact list I hope it's okay, I swear I’m not weird

Ariana …Norris?

Lando yes, that one Formula One guy bad-at-tuxedos guy

Ariana I remember You weren’t that bad at tuxedos

Lando 😅 thanks I practiced standing still in a mirror beforehand

Ariana Impressive. So, what’s this text about?

Lando right, yeah ok so this isn’t like a thing like it’s not a date not that I wouldn’t, I mean it could be not that it has to be I just thought—

Ariana Breathe.

Lando okay resetting hi again

Ariana Hello again.

Lando I wanted to see if you might want to come to this gathering thing, not like a wild party or anything just friends, pizza, blankets, probably candles Pietra said something about fairy lights and “safe vibes”

Ariana That’s… quite the pitch

Lando I panicked halfway through and committed to the bit

Ariana I could tell So you’re inviting me to a not-a-party?

Lando yes, very chill Max is hosting and Pietra’s coming no pressure at all, if you hate it you can pretend you weren’t even there

Ariana Are you always this nervous when texting?

Lando only when the person I’m texting is kind of intimidating and elegant and casually tore my ego in half at a club once

Ariana Fair And do you usually invite said people to pizza nights?

Lando no, this is a new thing trying something different slower quieter less… tequila and regrettable decisions

Ariana I appreciate that Maybe

Lando maybe yes or maybe “I’ll disappear for three months and never answer again”?

Ariana Maybe yes if I’m not busy and if the playlist isn’t terrible

Lando Max made the playlist so yes it’s terrible but we can change it if you come

Ariana Tempting

Lando pls come I already told Pietra I invited you and she’s going to mock me forever if you don’t

Ariana Send the address I’ll think about it

Lando [📍Shared Location] okay sent thank you for being gentle with how awkward I am I swear I’m cooler in person actually no, that’s probably a lie

Ariana It’s fine I don’t like cool people anyway

Lando 😳 I’ll take that as a win

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @esw1012

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[shysublimecoffee]

Marinette receiving the Ladybug mantle was an absolute mistake. I watched the special, and honestly, gurl is doing the most—and for what? A guy? One dude, and she’s ready to throw her common sense out the window. Like, how has Hawkmoth/Gabriel not used his own son more often as leverage against her by now? That’s villainy 101, and he’s just sitting on it. Like for the amount of times I've seen this show rag on ChatNoir because of his weakness in romance when that Ladybug biggest weakness not CN lol.

At this point, I don’t even care about what Marinette’s going through. Whatever emotional investment I had in her? Long gone. She’s out here spinning lies on top of lies, desperately trying to hold together her crumbling Adrien-obsessed empire, and for what? She lost. Game over.

Now, if this were a story about a girl slowly getting corrupted, spiraling into villainy, and intentionally written as a downfall arc? No problem. That would’ve been a compelling narrative with a real lesson for kids about the consequences of obsession and dishonesty. But nope, instead we’re stuck with this mess where her choices make it harder and harder to root for her.

Marinette's speech at the press conference—“Ladybug holds the truth, she holds the truth” —had me scratching my head cause it sound more like a villain then a hero. Like, did the writers forget she’s supposed to have hero-like qualities? She’s meant to be the messenger, the symbol of hope, the hero. But how often does she actually display that in her own show?

Lately, it feels like being Ladybug is more of an obligatory chore for her than something that brings her real joy or fulfillment. Isn’t the whole point of magical girls to inspire, to help others, and to grow through their journey? Where’s the sense of accomplishment, the spark, the joy of making a difference? It’s like they’ve stripped her of everything that should make her role uplifting and meaningful.

I've seen here and there about how MC was never meant to come off that way or the writers are trying to make her more complex or how dare you do you dislike complex female characters or the most used it was never her intention to come off that way it was a mistake.

I want you to picture this without the music just dialogue cause i'm going to be clearcut about this.

Ladybug went to an orphaned, grieving child—one who had been locked away in solitary confinement, surrounded by nothing but white walls and being sensory deprived—and lied to him about his father being a hero. Let that sink in. Gabriel, who systematically abused his own son, was painted as a noble martyr by Ladybug.

Adrien, a kid who was finally starting to question his father’s authority, even beginning to tear down the oppressive image of the man who controlled and hurt him, is now trapped in an even tighter mental cage. After all, if Paris sees his father as a hero, a savior, how could he possibly feel justified in blaming or resenting the man? Gabriel is now a martyr in the eyes of the world, and Adrien is left to wrestle with guilt and shame for ever having cruel thoughts about someone everyone else idolizes.

Ladybug’s decision to perpetuate this lie doesn’t just protect Gabriel’s image—it messes with Adrien’s already fragile mind. Instead of helping him heal or giving him the freedom to process the truth, she’s reinforced the very chains Gabriel used to control him. It’s not heroic; it’s delusional and harmful, all in the name of preserving some twisted version of peace in her head.

You want me to feel pity for a girl who I'm sorry if I sound harsh to yall at the end of the day just want to keep the peace to fill her delusions that everything is going to work out in her part at the end when really she's just the worst type of coward there is when it comes to confrontations lmao. Accountability? She avoids them like they’re some kind of plague. It’s almost impressive how someone can masquerade as a hero while being utterly incapable of facing the hard truths. Lmao, sure, let’s all pity her.

Honestly, in the earlier seasons, at least Marinette seemed to feel bad about her mistakes. Now? She’s only gotten worse. I headcanon that receiving the Ladybug mantle or becoming the Guardian inflated her ego, giving her a power trip. With no proper mentor to hold her accountable and everyone automatically deferring to her leadership, who’s left to challenge her? Well maybe CN if he has the guts to do so but he'd rather cower into his shell lol.

In hindsight, I don’t think Marinette should’ve become Ladybug—not because she lacks the capability, but because the role itself seems to have worsened her as a person. Instead of growing into the hero I though she was meant to be, she’s devolved, losing some of the humility and self-awareness she had at the start of the series.

Let’s be real—we’re in Season 6 now, and we all know the writers aren’t going to make Marinette face any real consequences. The whole universe bends over backward to accommodate her. If you’ve seen Season 5, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

That said, I’ll give credit where it’s due: the special was fun. Yes, despite all my ranting, I actually enjoyed it because it was funny in its own way.

At this point, though, I’m only sticking around for Adrien and Lila. Honestly? I’m rooting for Lila to be the one to drop the truth bomb and expose everything. It would be chef’s kiss poetic if she ended up being the one to set things straight. Lmao.

P.s For anyone who thinks there is a dilemma to be had about the whole thing its really not lol rip the bandaid off.

It reeks of a megalomaniac in the making, making her come off like a gaslighting psychopath. Ironically, it reminds me of Gabriel—especially with the way he used similar wording. Honestly, are we sure Marinette isn’t Gabriel’s true daughter? Because the parallels are man.

I’m genuinely angry that she is the one everyone feels sorry for, and it’s only because the show is stuck in her perspective. If we spent even a fraction of the screen time on Adrien’s pain, it would make for a far more compelling story. It’s infuriating. Marinette isn’t some helpless sheep/damsel victim here—no one forced her into this role at gunpoint. She made her choices, knowingly and willingly. How dare she act like the weight of the world was thrust upon her without her consent? When she very much messed with a grieving kid here?

And yet, Adrien’s pain—real, tangible, and far more tragic—is constantly sidelined. He’s an orphan, being lied to by nearly everyone around him, adults and teens alike, and his suffering is treated as a subplot to Marinette’s endless drama. Why should the audience feel more for her than for the boy who’s lost everything? Why is his pain has to be centered to her??

This isn't a small mistake this has far reaching consequences if the show had the balls to do it to lie to the entire world over a man who terrorized on people fear.

If Adrien ever became a villain, I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, I’d understand and give him the free ticket to go ahead and cataclysm and burned the world .

[xcherricutie]

⟡ 𓆩 angelic toxins 𓆪 ⟡

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

[Yandere!Son Goku × F!Reader]

[word count - 2k]

[synopsis - Love is a foreign concept to Goku. So he doesn't understand why you make him so sick, why he can't stand to be around you and not have you in his arms. His love twists into something out of his control when he loses you]

[tags - yandere, possessive behavior, obsession, blood, death, toxic love, angst]

[notes - I wrote the first 800 words of this at 1 in the morning, and the second half I kind of forced myself to write. I've had a lack of creativity, inspiration, and been in a writing rut for a few months now, so it may not be the best. I tried lol]

[Semi-proofread]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Something about you pulled Goku in like a reel. Like you knew exactly what you were doing, slowly and carefully pulling Goku into a deep trap from which he could never escape. The deeper he fell, the more he wondered what sort of toxin, what sort of poison you must've slipped him that made him so dizzy for you. Just your mere presence sent his heart and mind into a spiral that went deeper and deeper, digging a hole in his heart. 

You invaded his mind at every waking moment. There was no peace from the insanity that you wreaked within him. No matter how much he ran, it felt like you were at every corner, waiting for him to fall back into your arms. The kicker? You didn't even know you did this to him. It was obvious in the way you acted; only getting as close as a friend comfortably could. You never initiated physical contact, never said anything remotely flirtatious. You were a best friend for all intents and purposes. 

Goku was not an emotional person. It wasn't something he quite understood. He didn't know how to react when overwhelmed with intense emotion. It festered deep inside him, worsening with every dream you appeared to him in, like an angel descending from the heavens just for him. Goku couldn't place what it was that had him following you like a sick puppy. He equally loved everything about you, from your bubbly, kind but shy personality, to the way your hair framed your face, shielding your sweet, soft skin from the setting sun. You truly were an angel in his world. 

After his emotions had overwhelmed him to the point of melting an irreparable hole in his heart, he had finally asked for help from his closest friend and confidante, Bulma. And that was when the final piece that he had been unable to see this whole time finally revealed itself, like a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes. He was madly in love with you, and had been for nearly two years. Two years of suffering in silence, watching you from the corner of his eyes at their gathering of friends. Two years of his chest aching with a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced watching you give everyone attention but him. Two years of his love festering and spiraling almost out of his control. Emotions weren't Goku's strong point. In fact, they were known to be explosive before. 

It all had happened so fast. Goku's life was always a blur, but it was too much, too fast. A fight had broken out, and Goku had to get involved. It unraveled faster than he could control. 

People die. It's a natural cycle of life. You live, you experience life, and you die. Goku had seen his fair share of death before, and often had to go out of his way to reverse it via the Dragon Balls. But this was different. Because this time, it wasn't just anyone, it was you. 

The very second Goku realized what had happened, he was at your side in an instant. You were just a small, frail human. Humans were fragile. You weren't supposed to be there, you weren't supposed to follow Goku, you should've stayed put where he had told you to. You never listened to Goku, and now it would cost you gravely. 

Blood trickled out of places you didn't know possible, namely your ears. They rang louder than the explosions going off in the distance. You couldn't hear Goku's voice as he lifted you by your shoulders, pain streaking through your body, burning you alive. You couldn't move your fingers; you couldn't beg your arm to lift itself and wipe the tears that streamed down his bloodied cheeks. 

People die, it's natural. You live and experience life. But you felt as though you had squandered your chance to truly live. You had been a coward, and never spoke of the feelings that had lingered within your heart, lest they be unrequited. 

Your lips, cracked and sticky with blood, parted as a whisper of your broken voice slipped out. You could only hope your words reached him, and your voice hadn't already failed you like your hearing had. 

“I love you, I'm sorry.” 

You felt Goku's fingers digging into your skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, lashes wet with tears, teardrops dripping down from his cheeks. A single thought crossed your mind as you realized you had never seen Goku cry. After all, he wasn't an emotional person. 

He pulled you close, your forehead pressed against his shoulder. Heat brushed against you, clashing with the freezing cold sensation that had begun to settle within you, like you were slowly sinking into a frozen pond. Spots blurred your vision, melting away into a darkness unlike anything you had ever experienced, like you were falling into a sleep from which you would never wake, your permanent slumber. Goku's jaw moved, like he was speaking, but no words reached you. Only pure silence, and the fading feeling of his warmth. It was cold, but you couldn't remember why anymore, and you couldn't remember why you missed the warmth. 

A moment of silence passed, and it was just the two of you in the entire world. If only it were other circumstances that caused this feeling, of being alone with you. And now you were slipping away, leaving him all alone. 

Then that moment passed, taking it with you. Your body grew cold and stiff, your last breath the scent of Goku as he held you. Laying you down to rest, his eyes lingered on the dull color of your own. It was the first time Goku had seen the life fade from someone's eyes, the vibrant color that had once made him smile now a far cry from the lifeless eyes that gazed up at him. 

Within the festering of his own emotions, a coil pulled tight, his fingers digging into your cold arms. If only he had paid more attention, noticed the danger you were in. If only he were stronger. You had depended on him, and he failed you. It was all his fault. 

And suddenly, that coil snapped, like he had blacked out. He didn't remember what happened, and only came to the day after. He thought it was a dream, until it was broken to him that you were still gone. Everything hit him all at once just like before, his chest burning, like his heart was simply going to pop. 

Against Bulma's recommendations, telling him he needed rest, Goku had left with the Dragon Ball radar. It was just like all the other times. He had seen people die before, and many times he had brought them back with the Dragon Balls. 

The minute your eyes peeked open once again, the vibrant color that Goku had come to know returning, you were suddenly smothered in a searing, suffocating kiss. Fingers dug into your soft flesh, holding you down against himself as Goku burned a kiss into your lips. You were all his now, and he swore to himself you would never leave his sight again. 

Your life never returned to normal. Goku was your best friend, you knew him as well as you knew yourself, but something wasn't right anymore. He didn't feel like the same person. Something about him had changed after your death. 

You first noticed a difference when he never left your side, and you swore his eyes never left you. The first few days after your resurrection, Bulma had requested you to stay at her place just to make sure you were all good. Goku never left your room, not even when you were sleeping. One night, you stirred awake, an unsettling feeling sinking into your stomach. Alarms blared in the back of your mind, the very base of your instincts telling you that there was a predator nearby, about to pounce. You could feel it, his eyes on you. Burning holes through your back. Never leaving you alone. 

You forced your panic deep down and closed your eyes, telling yourself to sleep. It was just Goku. He was your best friend. You knew him like you knew yourself. You thought you did. But this was new. 

Now every night, you were waking up around the same time, feeling his stare on you. Until the third night, when you awoke, something felt different. You no longer felt his eyes on you. 

Instead, you felt a pair of arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against his chest. Your blood ran cold, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You tried to calm your heart, reminding yourself that you were a couple now, but the way he had been acting every night made you wary. Was he awake? Did he know you were awake? 

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned your body over, turning to face Goku. You let out a nearly audible sigh of relief to see his eyes shut, mouth wide open as he snored softly. Perhaps you had been wrong about everything, and was simply paranoid thanks to your death. There was also the chance that Goku was paranoid as well, and hadn't been able to sleep the last few days. 

The thought helped to calm you, allowing yourself to relax against his chest. For a moment, it felt as though your life was finally falling back into normalcy. You failed to notice his grip on you tightening, his eye peeking open to look down at you. 

It felt like an eternity before Bulma finally dismissed you, saying you were in good health. You were excited to finally get to return to your home and get some proper rest. 

Then Goku followed you home. He was immediately following after you as you left for your home, whining about you leaving him. He gave you that goofy grin you always knew, but something about it felt off, disingenuous. You pushed it down, chalking it up to paranoia again. 

You let Goku into your home. It wasn't his first time being there, but this time, it felt like you had unleashed something into your house, like you were the prey that had its territory invaded by a predator. The grin that he gave you as he closed the door behind him, not bothering to hide as he locked it making your heart sink. 

He promised that it was just to keep you safe. You were fragile, as he had put it. It suddenly felt like you were trapped in your own home, the walls closing in on you as he stepped forward. He promised you he would never let anything happen to you again. You were all his now. He promised it. 

His fingers gripped your arms tightly, nausea swirling within you as love festered within him. Love turned into possessiveness, and possessiveness turned into obsession. He was hooked on the poison that was you, his delicate angel that he had to protect. 

His lips were against your own, teeth digging into your bottom lip, your eyes watering. Where had your love gone? This wasn't the same man you had fallen in love with before your death. You thought you knew him as well as yourself. You truly thought you did, but this wasn't what you knew. 

“I love you, I'm sorry.” 

Goku apologized. He knew his love had spiraled out of control. After all, it was a well-known fact that, despite not being an emotional person, his emotions could become explosive. He would never be able to let you go again. You were his, and he was yours. 

Something about you drove him to madness. Like you knew exactly what you were doing, faking your innocence, but he knew it was real. You were his innocent angel, who had no idea what sort of effect you had on him. But you loved him, and now you had fallen into a trap of his own setting. 

You were an angel, and he wasn't afraid to taint you with his love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ -cherricutie

[burningcheese-merchant]

just watched ES’s trailers, and I wanted a second opinion. Is there anything that immediately resembled Greek mythology to you in either of the videos, because to me I mostly saw biblical stuff like the multiwinged ES.

i guess it makes sense considering her design, but I feel like we got biblical allusions with SM and I’ve gotten so used to Greek-inspired ES that id be disappointed if she wasn’t, yknow?

Yes, actually! Let's pull out the title screen they revealed to show you what I mean

First thing is that little dude on the right haha. Pavlova Cookie greatly resembles Eros (most people know him by his Roman name, Cupid), son of Greek goddess Aphrodite and god of love and sexual desire. A talented archer, he would take aim at gods and men alike and shoot them down with his arrows, causing them to fall in love with who or whatever they're looking at (Aphrodite often had him do this to specific people she told him to, to suit her own goals/purposes. She's a horrifying combination of vindictive mean girl and wannabe matchmaker. Methinks Eternal Sugar employs Pavlova in a similar way)

I know the place gives "Garden of Eden" vibes, which is fair and true (but a little lame tbh). But I personally think it looks just as much like the Garden of the Hesperides, a fabled lush garden from Greek myth where trees bearing fruit that granted immortality grew (and were guarded by the Hesperides, daughters of the titan Atlas). The fruit in question are golden apples. What's that in that little snake's clutches over there, next to Eternal Sugar? A golden apple :)

It's more apparent in another picture (see attached, in the lower right corner), but: the architectural style of the place is very much Greek. The columns are ionic, which is a column design/style created by Ionian Greeks around the 6th century BC. Ionic columns are primarily characterized by the spiral scroll pattern at the top

Eternal Sugar's dress is actually quite Greek-looking. Obviously it's not 1:1, this is a cartoony video game not a historical documentary, but that style is very Greco-Roman. Look up traditional ancient Greek tunics/chitons and other attire, especially for women, and you'll see what I mean

She's actually not holding a harp. That is a lyre, a stringed instrument that's similar to a harp. The lyre is a common and beloved instrument in Ancient Greek culture and myth, most notably played by Apollo, god of the sun and music, and Hermes, god of travelers and thieves (and a lot of other things, he's a bit of a jack of all trades). The former also gifted a golden lyre to the famous Greek hero/protagonist Orpheus, who was a master musician and used that lyre to charm Hades and Persephone into agreeing to let him lead his deceased love Eurydice out of the Underworld (if you know that story, you know how it ends...)

Again, I understand that the place bears resemblance to Eden. Which it does. But aside from that, and aside from the nod to the Garden of the Hesperides, the whole thing reminds me of the island of the Lotus Eaters, a location stumbled upon by Odysseus and co. on their journey back home from the Trojan War during Homer's Odyssey. In that place are flowers that are exceptionally beautiful and even more delicious - but they're cursed. Eating them turns you into an addict almost immediately, and they rob you of your memories and will to do anything or leave the island at all. Odysseus lost a few of his men to them. I get the impression that the foods in the Sugar Paradise are like those lotuses, and Holly and co. run the risk of becoming Lotus Eaters too

To bring up the Odyssey again, Eternal Sugar herself gave me a lot of Circe + Calypso vibes in the trailer. Both are women who fell for Odysseus upon meeting him and trapped him on their islands for a time, using magic to control and manipulate him (Circe is a goddess of sorcery, Calypso is a magic-using nymph). Other people had to intervene on Odysseus's behalf to free him from their spells; otherwise, he would've stayed stuck forever. Sugar seems a bit like them; developing an attachment to Holly (both because she wants the Soul Jam back, and out of genuine sentiment. Remember that the Ancients and Beasts are canonically soulmates) and luring her into her strange, "happy" world and trying to trap her there forever

I'm a little disappointed with the nods to Christianity ngl. I love Christian/Abrahamic lore and symbolism very much, but I didn't want that for Sugar. We already had it for Shadow Milk. I wanted Sugar to be 100% Greek, but... no, I guess lol. Gotta have Eden and those little cherub looking guys and the snake with the apple. It gets boring after a while. Christianity is the most famous religion to ever exist in the history of the world, EVERYONE knows Christian iconography to some degree, why can't we have something different for once. Mystic Flour and Burning Spice were awesome in that they leaned into cultures that don't get a lot of recognition in the West (China and India), you know? Yes, Greece is "the West" as well, but idk. I'm just tired of the same Christian imagery always being used. And I say that as a Christian myself haha

⭐ I forgot to add this lol. I suppose the Christian imagery isn't entirely out of place necessarily, because Greece actually is deeply Christian and has been for an extremely long time (Greek Orthodox. Ancient Greek is actually the first language the Bible was translated into, fun fact!). But even so. I wanted Greek mythology, not Abrahamic religion lol

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 15

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Author Note: From the last poll, the series that you want to see updated is this one. I hope you enjoy this update.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“Just like your father. Dishonest to the core,” Lydia sneered, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Bucky.

He exhaled sharply, folding his arms. “How could he ever marry you? And how did I end up with a mother like you?”

Without warning, Lydia snatched up the magazine and flung it at him. Bucky moved effortlessly, dodging the flying object with ease. “You threw me in jail, and now you disrespect me? I can’t believe this is my life,” she spat, her voice seething with resentment.

Bucky sighed, but there was no sympathy in his eyes. He walked over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge, directly facing her. His movements were calm, controlled, but Lydia could sense something had shifted in her son—something dangerous.

He raised three fingers slowly, holding them in front of her. “Three times,” he said coldly, his voice steady and low. “If you push me past three, I’ll send you back to jail. And from what I hear, the food there does wonders for your diet.”

Lydia’s face twisted with rage, her jaw clenched so tight that her teeth ground together. She stood abruptly, practically trembling with fury, but she said nothing. Instead, she shot him a glare, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing loudly as she left.

Bucky watched her go, his jaw tense, his hands tightening into fists. The room was quiet again, but inside, his thoughts were turbulent. How did it come to this? How did everything get so twisted?

For years, he had been blind—blind to the lies, the manipulation, the way his mother had used him as a pawn in her schemes. He had fought to protect her, fought for a family that had never truly existed. Now, he saw her clearly, and the bitter truth burned like acid in his veins.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The situation in your house wasn’t much better. Despite Tom’s insistence that he was fine, you could still see the tension in his eyes, the way his hands fidgeted, unable to relax. His panic lingered beneath the surface, though he kept trying to mask it with forced smiles and shallow breaths.

Then your phone rang. The screen lit up with a name—Alan, Harlan’s oncologist. You took a steadying breath before answering.

"Hello, I’m sorry I just saw your text," Alan's voice crackled through.

“It’s alright, I know you’re busy,” you replied, trying to keep your voice calm even though your mind was racing.

“That’s true, I barely get enough sleep. I’m really sorry about your father,” Alan offered.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Did you see the photo I sent?”

“I did. From the photo alone, I can’t tell exactly what’s in the pill. But one thing did catch my attention,” Alan said, his tone shifting slightly.

Your grip on the phone tightened. “The doctor’s name?”

“Yes,” Alan confirmed. “Tony Stark. I’m really surprised he’s practicing again, considering everything.”

Your heart began to pound, a sudden unease creeping in. “What did Tony do?”

Alan sighed on the other end. “He’s been involved in some serious controversies. He offered treatments to patients who didn’t need them—overcharging, committing insurance fraud, manipulating patients for financial gain.”

Tony Stark? You felt a chill run down your spine. You glanced toward your father’s bedroom, your thoughts spiraling. Could Tom have been misdiagnosed?

“Alan, what if my father’s been misdiagnosed?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“If I were you, I’d get a second opinion immediately,” Alan advised, his tone firm. “Come to my clinic anytime. I’ll personally check on your father, and bring his medication with you.”

You exhaled in relief, trying to steady your shaking hands. “Thank you, Alan. I really appreciate it.”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s my pleasure. After all, you and Harlan helped grow my portfolio quite a bit.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks again. Would tomorrow work?”

“Of course. Anytime,” Alan replied before you both wrapped up the call.

Quietly, you moved toward your father’s bedroom door. You eased it open just a crack, peeking inside. There was Tom, frail and fragile, a shadow of the man you once knew. Is this really cancer, or has he been subjected to unnecessary treatment? The question hung heavy in your mind, twisting your stomach.

The next morning, you stood by the car, loading a suitcase into the trunk. The air was tense, and Tom, leaning against the doorframe of the house, still looked uncertain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly hesitant.

“Daughter,” he started, his voice wavering. “Our doctor is good. He has so many certificates and awards…”

You gently led him toward the passenger seat, your hand firm but comforting on his shoulder. “Having certificates and awards doesn’t mean the diagnosis and treatment are 100% right, Dad. If that were all it took to be a doctor, everyone would be cured,” you said softly but firmly.

Tom sighed, unable to argue. He nodded and got into the car, his hands fumbling with the seatbelt. It dawned on him then that this was the first time he’d ever been in your car, the first road trip he’d ever taken with you.

After making sure everything was packed and ready, you moved toward the driver’s seat. Just as you reached for the door handle, a familiar sound caught your attention—the low hum of a car engine. You turned to see Bucky’s car pulling up to the driveway. He parked hastily and stepped out quickly, his face a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his gaze flickering between you and your father.

You didn’t meet his eyes, not wanting to reveal the real reason. “Just a road trip,” you said with a casual shrug. “I realized I never had that moment with my father.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. But then he nodded. “Alright. Safe trip, guys,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll take care of the house while you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” you responded, offering him a small, appreciative smile before slipping into the driver’s seat.

As you drove away, you glanced in the rearview mirror. Bucky stood there, watching your car disappear down the road, his figure growing smaller in the distance. There was something in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. You couldn’t quite place it, but it lingered in your thoughts as you drove farther from the house, from him.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

You and Tom entered the clinic, immediately struck by how different it was from the small-town hospital you were used to. The walls were pristine, the furniture modern and sleek, and the air felt fresher, almost too clean. Tom's eyes darted around, taking it all in.

“This place looks expensive,” he muttered under his breath, clearly uneasy.

Without looking up from the magazine you were idly flipping through, you gave a small smile. “It is. This doctor has treated presidents, actresses, athletes. He’s the best we’ve got,” you said casually, letting that sink in.

Tom’s eyes widened a bit at the thought. He glanced at you, as if seeing you in a new light. You had really gotten far since leaving that small town—much further than he’d realized.

Moments later, a nurse walked into the waiting area with a clipboard in hand. "Tom L/N?" she called, scanning the room.

Tom stiffened, his grip tightening on the arm of his chair. He shot you a quick, uncertain glance, and you gave him a reassuring nod. Slowly, he stood, and the two of you followed the nurse down the hallway.

When you stepped into the examination room, a tall man with kind, tired eyes and graying hair stood to greet you both. His demeanor was professional but friendly.

“Tom, Y/N, good to meet you,” Alan said warmly, offering a handshake to both of you. “I’ve heard a bit about your situation.”

Tom shook his hand, though his movements were stiff. “Likewise,” Tom muttered, still unsure of the whole process.

Alan motioned for Tom to sit on the examination table. "Let's take a look," he said, adjusting his stethoscope and carefully examining Tom. His hands were gentle but thorough as he checked Tom's vitals. “You’re quite underweight,” Alan noted with a concerned frown, pulling back to look at Tom. “We need to work on building your strength up. It’s critical.”

Tom forced a weak smile, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting away as he spoke. “Yeah, well… haven’t had much of an appetite lately.” He hadn’t expected this doctor to be concerned about his weight; Alan was different from Tony.

Alan paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Tom's condition. He placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder, his tone growing serious. “We’re going to do some tests—a scan, maybe a biopsy, to see what’s really going on. You’ll need to stay here for a while so we can monitor you.”

Tom looked uneasy, shifting on the examination table. He shrugged, then pointed toward you. “She’s in charge of all that. I trust her judgment.”

You smiled back at him, though your mind was racing. “Whatever you think is best, Doctor. We just want to get to the bottom of this.”

Alan nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll have the nurse set everything up. In the meantime, we’ll make sure Tom gets the nutrition he needs.”

As the nurse came to escort Tom to the next room, you stayed behind with Alan. The atmosphere between you shifted immediately, the conversation taking on a more serious tone. You reached into your bag and handed Alan the collection of medication bottles your father had been taking.

Alan’s brows furrowed as he sifted through them, clearly surprised. "All of these?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice low, a tightness in your chest. You’d had the same reaction the first time you saw the sheer number of pills.

Alan shook his head in disbelief, turning a bottle over in his hands. “This is way too much for anyone to be on,” he muttered. “I’ll send these to the lab for analysis. We need to know exactly what he’s been taking.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. "I don’t trust his diagnosis anymore, Doctor. What if… what if he’s been misdiagnosed?"

Alan looked at you seriously, setting the bottles down. “It’s possible. With the medications he’s been prescribed, there are a lot of red flags. Especially with what you mentioned about Dr. Stark.”

Your pulse quickened at the mention of that name. "If there's any chance my father’s been given something unnecessary… or worse, something harmful, I need to know."

“We’ll find out soon,” Alan reassured you, his voice steady. “But in the meantime, we’re going to focus on getting Tom back to a healthy place. He’s too frail right now, and we need to get him stabilized.”

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety loosening slightly. "So, what's the next step?"

"Tom will need to stay here for observation. We’ll run a few more tests and adjust his diet to get him stronger. You can visit him anytime, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too," Alan said, giving you a kind but pointed look.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Later, after Tom was settled in and you knew he was in good hands, you found yourself wandering through the bustling city streets. The towering buildings and fast pace of city life made you feel small, but your mind kept drifting back to the clinic.

It's only been a few months, but already the city felt different. New cafés and restaurants had popped up, their signs gleaming with fresh paint. The pace of change was unsettling, and as you walked, memories of a quieter, more familiar place tugged at your thoughts.

Suddenly, you remembered the art gallery that had hired Steve. It wasn’t far from where you were, so you hailed a taxi, the ride feeling both quick and too slow as your mind wandered. Steve had always found solace in his art—maybe seeing his work would bring you some peace too.

When you arrived at the gallery, the soft hum of conversation and the faint smell of paint welcomed you. You moved through the exhibits, eyes catching on familiar brushstrokes. There it was—Steve’s painting. You paused, staring at the delicate lines, the vibrant colors. It felt like him, a piece of him still lingering on the canvas.

As you stood there, lost in thought, the gallery owner approached with a friendly smile. "Enjoying the collection?" they asked, their tone polite but cautious.

You nodded, still admiring Steve's work. "Yes, especially this one. Steve Rogers—he's incredible."

The gallery owner’s expression faltered, their eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite place. "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this… Steve was in an accident."

The world seemed to slow, your breath catching in your throat. “What?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

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[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (13)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Expect daily updates until the story is done.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 12

- Next part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Dragonpit is alive with the unmistakable roars and calls of dragons, the air thick with the scent of charred flesh and the earthy smell of caves below. You, the Prince of Dragonstone, circle high above on Silverwing, your gaze fixed on the large domed structure below. As you descend, the faint shapes of your sons and their half-uncles grow clearer.

Jacaerys and Lucerys are near Vermax and Arrax, offering the young dragons chunks of meat. The boys’ laughter echoes through the pit, a rare sound of joy in these troubled times. Nearby, Aegon, the eldest of Viserys and Alicent’s children, watches his dragon, Sunfyre, with a detached interest, his eyes more on his nephews than his beast.

Aemond stands apart from them all, a loneliness clinging to him like a shadow. His eyes flick between the dragons and the older boys, a longing so stark it almost cuts through the distance. It is a sight that tightens something in your chest, but before you can give it more thought, a movement from your sons catches your eye.

Jace and Luke exchange glances, their faces lit with mischief. A few whispered words later, a stable boy wheels out a wooden cart. Perched on it, adorned with crude, makeshift wings, is a pig—a mockery, a cruel jest. The "Pink Dread," they call it.

“Here you go, Aemond,” Jace announces with a grin. “Your very own dragon.”

Aemond’s face turns scarlet, a mix of shame and fury. “You think this is funny?” he spits, his small hands curling into fists. The other boys snicker, even Aegon’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“You don’t have a dragon because you’re not a true Targaryen,” Jace continues, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “Our father is a dragon, our mother a dragon, but you? What are you?”

The words hang in the air like a poised dagger, and in that moment, you see Aemond snap. He launches himself at Jace, fists flailing, the smaller boy’s speed taking your son by surprise. They tumble to the ground, a blur of limbs and angry shouts. Lucerys tries to pull Aemond off his brother, but Aemond’s rage is wild, untamed, and he shoves Luke away, his eyes burning with a desperate fury.

Aegon stands back, arms crossed, watching the scuffle with a mix of amusement and boredom. It’s only when he sees Lucerys getting pushed that he steps forward, his smirk dropping. “Enough, Aemond,” he says, voice sharp, but it’s too late—the fight has already spiraled out of control.

It’s then that you make your entrance. Silverwing’s massive form swoops down over the pit, her shadow casting a dark blanket over the scene. She lands with a thunderous impact, the ground trembling beneath her weight, and the boys scatter like leaves before a storm.

You dismount, your boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, and your eyes, dark with disapproval, sweep over them. “What is this madness?” Your voice, though not raised, carries the full weight of your authority, and the boys freeze.

You move toward Jace and Aemond, still tangled on the ground. With a swift motion, you pull Aemond away, lifting him to his feet with a firm grip on his shoulder. Jace scrambles up, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, his eyes wary as he meets your gaze.

“A prince does not behave like a common brawler,” you say, your tone cold. “Nor does he taunt his kin like a street urchin.” Your eyes shift to Jace, your voice softening but still firm. “Words have power, Jacaerys. Do not use them to wound your own blood.”

Jace’s head lowers, his face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you interrupt, “but you will think before you speak next time.”

You turn your attention to Aemond, who stands stiffly beside you, his small frame trembling with barely suppressed emotion. His eyes, a mirror of the Targaryen fire, meet yours, and you see the pain and anger there. “Aemond,” you say, your voice gentler now, “having a dragon does not make you a true Targaryen. It is the blood in your veins, the strength in your heart, and the courage to face whatever comes your way.”

Aemond’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes dropping to the ground. “But I don’t have one,” he murmurs, the words almost lost in the vast space of the Dragonpit. “Not like them.”

You crouch down, bringing yourself to his level, your hand resting on his shoulder. “You will,” you assure him, your voice firm. “And when the time comes, your bond with your dragon will be stronger for the wait. Do not let their words make you forget who you are.”

Aemond nods, his jaw still clenched, but there’s a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. You straighten, turning back to the other boys. “And you will all treat each other with respect,” you command, your gaze sweeping over them. “You are family, and you will need each other in the days to come.”

With that, you mount Silverwing once more, her silver scales shimmering in the dim light of the pit. “Return to your mothers,” you tell them, your voice carrying across the distance as you take to the sky. Below, the boys watch as you rise, a reminder of the power and legacy that runs through their veins.

As Silverwing ascends, the wind whipping past you, you glance back down at the shrinking forms of your children and their half-uncles. The weight of what is to come presses heavy on your shoulders, but for now, at least, the skirmish is over, and the fires of their tempers have been tempered—if only for a time.

The door to your chambers swings open with a soft creak as you step inside, the cool air of the Red Keep a welcome contrast to the heated anomasity that still lingers from the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra is seated by the window, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. She looks up, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern as she sees your face.

“What’s happened?” she asks, setting aside the book she’s been reading. Her voice is calm, but you can sense the undercurrent of anxiety. It’s a tone you’ve grown used to, living in the shadow of your father’s choices and the precarious balance of your family’s position.

You take a deep breath, crossing the room to stand before her. “There was an incident in the Dragonpit,” you begin, your voice steady but weary. “Our sons and their half-uncles got into a scuffle.”

Her brow furrows, and she rises, her eyes searching yours. “Are they hurt?”

“Nothing serious,” you reassure her, though the memory of the boys’ clash flashes behind your eyes. “Jace and Luke were taunting Aemond. They brought out that pig—‘The Pink Dread’—and made a mockery of him.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her lips pressing into a thin line. “They did what?” There’s anger there, protective and fierce, but you hold up a hand.

“They’re children, Rhaenyra. Foolish and unthinking,” you say, though your tone carries its own frustration. “But I won’t have them tearing each other apart, especially not now.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she reaches out to touch your arm. “And Aemond?”

“He fought back,” you admit, a trace of admiration for the boy’s spirit despite the situation. “He feels out of place, without a dragon of his own, and Jace’s words struck deep. He thinks it makes him less of a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.” Her voice drops, a whisper of frustration mingled with sorrow. “It’s Viserys. He should have known this would happen, bringing us all under one roof again. It’s like throwing oil on a fire.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the room. “I don’t like this any more than you do. You know how I feel about his choice for a wife, and her children.” There’s a bitterness in your words that’s hard to swallow. “But Viserys made his decision, and now we have to navigate this storm without letting it drown us.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tighten around your arm, her eyes searching yours. “And the boys?”

“They must learn to control themselves,” you say firmly. “We cannot afford to have them fighting amongst each other, not with the eyes of the court watching. They need to understand what’s at stake.”

She looks at you, her gaze fierce. “They’re just boys. It’s not fair to put so much weight on their shoulders.”

“It’s not,” you agree, your voice softening. “But fair or not, it’s the reality we live in. They’re Targaryens. They’ll have to grow up faster than others, and they need to be stronger for it. We can’t have them tearing each other apart when the real threats lie beyond these walls.”

Rhaenyra sighs again, her hand slipping down to clasp yours. “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You pull her closer, resting your forehead against hers. “We’ll get through this,” you murmur, your voice a low promise. “But they need to see us united, strong. They need to know that we are their foundation, no matter what happens.”

She nods, her eyes closing for a moment as she takes in your words. When she opens them again, there’s a steely resolve there, a reflection of your own determination. “We’ll talk to them together. Make them understand.”

You press a kiss to her forehead, a brief but tender touch. “Yes.” You step back, your hand still holding hers as you lead her towards the door. “Let’s find them. The sooner we set this right, the better.”

As you leave your chambers, side by side, the weight of your shared responsibility settles between you. 

You and Rhaenyra find Jace and Luke in their shared chamber, their faces drawn and tense. The playful spirit that usually fills the room is absent, replaced by a silence that feels heavy with guilt. The boys stand as you enter, their eyes flicking nervously between you and their mother.

“Sit,” you instruct gently, motioning to the chairs by the hearth. They obey, exchanging uneasy glances. Rhaenyra takes a seat beside you, her expression a careful blend of concern and firmness.

“Do you understand why we’re here?” she begins, her voice calm but edged with disappointment.

Jace nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “We do, Mother. We… we shouldn’t have done what we did. It was cruel.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably, his voice a soft murmur. “We didn’t mean to hurt Aemond. It was just a joke…”

“A joke?” Your voice is sharper than you intend, and both boys flinch. You take a breath, forcing yourself to soften your tone. “You’re Targaryens. You know the power words hold. Mocking someone, especially your own blood, for something they cannot control—it’s beneath you.”

Jace’s eyes glisten, his voice breaking a little as he speaks. “I’m sorry, Father. Truly. We just… we didn’t think.”

Rhaenyra leans forward, her hand resting gently on his. “I know, my love. But you must start thinking. You are not just boys playing in the yard. You are princes, and with that comes responsibility. People look to you, they judge us all by your actions.”

Luke’s lower lip trembles as he looks up at her. “We won’t do it again, I swear.”

You nod, reaching out to place a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You need to remember that Aemond is your family. You will need him, and he will need you, in the days to come. Strength lies in unity, not division.”

Jace nods fervently. “We’ll apologize to him. We’ll make it right.”

You’re about to respond when the door creaks open, and a servant enters, his expression tight with urgency. He bows quickly before speaking. “Your Grace, my Prince, the King has requested your presence. He wishes to speak with both of you privately.”

Rhaenyra frowns, a flicker of unease passing over her face. “What is it?”

The servant hesitates, glancing at you both before he answers. “There has been… troubling news from Driftmark. Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away.”

For a moment, silence fills the room, the words hanging like a heavy shroud. You feel Rhaenyra’s hand tighten around yours, her grip almost painful. The boys look between the two of you, confusion and fear mingling in their eyes.

“Laena…” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice trembling. “How?”

The servant bows his head. “I’m not privy to the details, my lady. But the King has asked for you both. He wishes to discuss this matter personally.”

You nod, your throat tight as you glance at Rhaenyra. “We’ll go at once.”

Turning back to Jace and Luke, you force a calm smile, though it feels hollow. “We have to speak with your grandsire. Stay here and reflect on what we’ve spoken about. We’ll return soon.”

The boys nod, subdued and solemn. As you and Rhaenyra leave the room, you feel a heaviness settle over you. Laena’s death—Daemon’s loss—hits harder than you would have expected. She was family, in her own way, and her passing feels like another thread unraveling in the fragile tapestry that binds your House together.

Rhaenyra’s hand slips into yours as you walk, her grip cold and trembling. “Daemon,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with sorrow. “How will he…?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” you say, though your voice is filled with uncertainty. “We must be strong, for him and for the children.”

She nods, drawing in a shuddering breath as you approach the King’s chambers. The door opens before you, and you step inside, the gravity of what’s to come pressing down on you both like a weight you can barely bear.

The heavy door to the King’s chambers swings open, revealing a somber scene within. King Viserys sits slumped in his chair, his face pale and drawn, a ghost of the man he once was. Alicent stands by his side, her hands clasped in front of her, the very image of dutiful silence, but you catch the brief flicker of her eyes, the smoldering anger beneath her composed exterior. No doubt Aemond has already told her about the incident in the Dragonpit.

Rhaenyra tightens her grip on your hand as you both step inside. You bow your head respectfully, feeling the weight of the room’s tension settle on your shoulders. “Father,” you greet, your voice steady despite the unease coiling within you.

Viserys looks up, his eyes clouded with grief and exhaustion. He waves a trembling hand toward the chairs across from him. “Sit, both of you. There is… there is news from Driftmark.”

You and Rhaenyra exchange a glance, the unspoken worry already taking root between you. You take your seats, your wife’s hand never leaving yours. Alicent���s gaze flickers between the two of you, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she remains silent.

“Laena Velaryon is dead,” Viserys says, his voice cracking. The bluntness of his words cuts through the silence like a knife, and you feel Rhaenyra tense beside you. “She died in childbirth. The labor… it went wrong. She tried to get to Vhagar, but she collapsed on the steps. Daemon was with her, but there was nothing he could do.”

There’s a strangled sound from Rhaenyra, half a gasp, half a sob. You tighten your grip on her hand, your own heart aching at the thought of Daemon, your uncle, watching helplessly as his wife—a woman of such fire and strength—was taken from him in such a brutal way.

“We’ve all been summoned to attend the funeral on Driftmark,” Viserys continues, his gaze distant, as if speaking to himself as much as to you. “It is our duty to pay our respects, to support House Velaryon in their time of mourning.”

There’s a pause, thick with the unspoken implications. You and Rhaenyra share another glance, the memory of your conversations from two months ago flashing between you. Conversations about the Hightowers’ growing influence over Viserys, about the way Alicent’s words seemed to carry more weight in the council chamber than they should. And now, with the eyes of Westeros surely turning to Driftmark, you can almost see the challenges that will rise like shadows at the edges of the funeral.

“Father,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice strained, “what of Daemon? How is he?”

Viserys’s eyes close for a moment, as if gathering himself. “He is… shattered, as you can imagine. They had come to Pentos, seeking a different life, but it was not to be. Now he returns to Driftmark, to bury his wife and face his loss.” He opens his eyes, fixing you both with a weary, almost pleading look. “You will go, won’t you? You will show the realm that our family stands together, despite… everything.”

Despite the divisions, despite the whispers, despite the presence of your father’s new family, his new children. The words remain unspoken, but they hang heavy in the air.

You incline your head. “Of course, Father. We will be there, for Daemon and for Laena. Our families are tied, and we will honor that bond.”

Rhaenyra nods beside you, though her eyes are still shadowed with grief and apprehension. “We will pay our respects, and do what we can to support him.”

Alicent’s gaze sharpens at that, her hands tightening around the hem of her dress. “It is good that you will be there,” she says quietly, her voice steady but tinged with something else—something brittle. “Daemon will need his family, all of them, during this time.”

There’s an edge in her tone, a pointedness that isn’t lost on you. You meet her eyes, seeing the silent fury simmering just beneath the surface. No doubt she’s already heard from Aemond about the cruelty he faced today, about the boys’ taunts and the mockery of the “Pink Dread.” Her eyes seem to dare you to address it, to acknowledge the simmering tensions that threaten to fracture this already fragile unity.

But now is not the time. Not with the shadow of death still hanging over the room. You give her a curt nod, acknowledging her words but not engaging further. There will be time enough to address those grievances, but not now.

Viserys exhales slowly, as if some great weight has been lifted from his shoulders by your assurances. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Thank you both. I know things have been… difficult. But we must hold together, now more than ever.”

You and Rhaenyra rise together, a unified front, as you bow your heads in respect. “We will be there, Father,” Rhaenyra repeats softly. “You have our word.”

As you turn to leave, you feel Alicent’s gaze burning into your back, a silent promise of words yet unspoken. But for now, you push it aside, focusing on Rhaenyra, on the grief and worry etched into her face.

The corridor outside is quiet, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. 

The door closes behind you and Rhaenyra with a soft thud, leaving Viserys and Alicent alone in the low lit chamber. The silence between them is heavy, almost suffocating. Alicent remains where she is, her knuckles white as she grips the back of a chair, fury barely restrained. Viserys looks at her with weary eyes, as if already exhausted by a conversation they haven’t even had yet.

“Are you truly not going to address it?” Alicent’s voice is low, but the bitterness in it cuts like a blade. “Your grandchildren taunted Aemond, humiliated him, and you say nothing?”

Viserys sighs, the sound carrying the weight of years of burdens. He rubs a hand over his face, the lines of his age more pronounced in the flickering candlelight. “Alicent, they are children. They act thoughtlessly, all of them. Jace and Luke’s actions were cruel, yes, but Aegon was not innocent either. He stood by and let it happen, perhaps even encouraged it.”

“Aegon is a boy, Viserys!” Alicent’s voice rises, her eyes flashing with a fury she can no longer contain. “He’s still learning his place, his responsibilities. But you—” She pauses, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You always defend them, defend him and Rhaenyra. No matter what they do, you find a way to excuse it.”

Viserys’s face hardens, the tired king giving way to the father who has been pushed too far. “This is not about sides, Alicent. They are all my children, my grandchildren. Aemond needs guidance, not vengeance. As do Jace and Luke.”

Alicent’s eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Guidance? You think that’s all they need? You allow them to humiliate Aemond, to hurt him, and do nothing. Just as you did nothing when he—” She stops, her words catching in her throat, but the venom in her eyes makes it clear what she’s referring to.

The image of Silverwing descending upon the sept outside Casterly Rock flashes in her mind. The stones still bear the scars of dragon’s talons, a testament to that day when you stole Rhaenyra from her impending marriage to Jason Lannister. You, the prodigal son who had left for the Dorne border, returned with the ferocity of a storm, claiming what you believed to be yours without a thought to the chaos you left in your wake.

“There were no repercussions for what he did, Viserys,” she continues, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “He defied you, humiliated House Lannister, and shattered a political alliance. And you did nothing. You welcomed him back with open arms.”

Viserys’s gaze drops to his lap, his fingers twitching as if the very memory of it still pains him. “He is my son,” he says quietly. “I did what I thought was best to keep our family whole.”

Alicent’s laugh is sharp, almost hysterical. “Whole? You call this whole? You let him and Rhaenyra do as they please, and now their children are just as wild, as ungoverned. Aemond will grow up believing he’s less than them, that he’s not a true Targaryen, and you’re content to let that happen because it’s easier than admitting you’ve lost control.”

The king’s head snaps up, a flash of anger in his eyes. “And what would you have me do, Alicent? Punish them? For what? For the mistakes of youth? For the passions of their blood?”

“Yes!” she almost shouts, her voice breaking. “Yes, if it would show them there are consequences, that they cannot simply take and destroy as they please. There are scars on that sept, Viserys. Scars left by the dragon, by your son’s defiance, and you—” She swallows hard, her eyes blazing. “You allowed it. Because it was Rhaenyra. Because it was always Rhaenyra.”

A bitter silence falls between them, the air crackling with all the things that have been left unsaid for too long. Alicent’s hands tremble as she grips the chair, her knuckles pale against the dark wood. She forces herself to breathe, to steady her voice.

“You know, I thought… once,” she begins, softer now, almost as if speaking to herself, “that he would see me differently. That when he came back from the border, when he returned from Dorne, I could show him that I was a better choice than her. That I could be what he needed, what he wanted.”

Viserys’s expression softens, a sorrowful understanding in his eyes. “Alicent…”

But she shakes her head, cutting him off. “No. Don’t. I was a fool, Viserys. A fool for thinking I could compete with her, with whatever hold she has over him. She enthralled him, from the moment they were children. And now look at us.” She gestures around, as if the very walls of the chamber bear witness to her frustration. “Look at this family. Torn apart because you cannot say no to them.”

Viserys leans back in his chair, a look of profound weariness on his face. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’ve failed in many ways. But I will not see this family destroyed by bitterness and blame. Not by yours, and not by mine.”

Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her fury burning out into something raw and painful. “Then what will you do, Viserys? How will you keep us together when we’re already breaking apart?”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches between them, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. For once, the King of the Seven Kingdoms has no words of comfort, no easy solution. He simply closes his eyes, his hand still resting over his face, and lets the silence speak for him.

Jace and Luke make their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. They had left their youngest brother, Joffrey, with the servants, trusting them to keep him safe while they faced what felt like an impending storm. Their father’s stern words still ring in their ears as they approach the courtyard where they were told Aemond and Aegon could be found.

They spot their half-uncles by the training yard. Aegon leans casually against a wall, his expression bored as Aemond practices with a wooden sword. The younger boy’s movements are fierce, each strike of the blade carrying a force that belies his small frame. It’s clear he’s still angry, his face flushed and his jaw clenched.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a shared determination in their eyes, before they step forward. Jace clears his throat, drawing the attention of the brothers. Aemond stops mid-swing, his eyes narrowing as he sees them.

“We came to apologize,” Jace begins, his voice steady though the words feel strange on his tongue. “What we did in the Dragonpit was wrong. It was cruel.”

Luke nods, looking at Aemond with genuine remorse. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. We’re sorry.”

Aemond’s eyes flicker with something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps something darker. He lowers his sword but doesn’t put it away. “Sorry?” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think words can fix this?”

Aegon snorts from his place against the wall, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “They’re just doing what they were told, Aemond. Daddy and Mommy sent them to make nice, didn’t they?”

Jace’s cheeks flush with anger, but he holds his tongue, determined to do what his father asked. “We shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he insists. “We know it’s not easy, being without a dragon, and—”

“You think I care about your pity?” Aemond snaps, his grip tightening on the sword. “Your father, the great Prince of Dragonstone, thinks he can send you to smooth things over, like everything is fine. Like he’s some perfect, noble hero.”

Jace stiffens at the tone, his eyes narrowing. “He defended you, Aemond. He told us we were wrong and that you deserved better. And you dare insult him?”

Aemond sneers, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and fury. “Defended me? Your father’s only ever cared about himself and his precious Rhaenyra. He never cared about us. My mother says—” He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Your mother says what?” Jace demands, his voice rising. “What lies has she filled your head with?”

Aemond’s face flushes red, his expression defiant. “She says your father is nothing but a selfish, reckless man who took what he wanted, no matter who he hurt. That he only ever looked out for himself.”

“That’s not true!” Jace barks, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “He’s a better man than you’ll ever know. He was more fair to you than you deserve, especially when you speak like that!”

Aemond’s eyes flash dangerously, and he takes a step forward, his sword still in hand. “You want to say that again?”

Before the situation can escalate further, Ser Criston Cole appears, his eyes sharp as he steps between the boys. “Enough,” he commands, his voice firm and brooking no argument. He places a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, pulling him back gently but firmly. “This is not the time or place for fighting.”

Jace glares at Aemond, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. “You’re right, Cole. It’s not the time.” He turns to Luke, who looks equally shaken and angry. “But this isn’t over.”

Luke steps forward, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “We’ll settle this on Driftmark. We’ll see who’s truly worthy.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something—perhaps apprehension, perhaps excitement—behind the anger. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Ser Criston’s gaze sharpens, and he steps in between them fully, his voice a warning. “You are all princes of the realm. You will act like it, or there will be consequences.”

The boys glare at each other, the air thick with unspoken challenges, before Jace and Luke turn and stalk away. The anger in their bodies is visible, the fire of the argument still burning hot within them.

As they walk, Jace glances at Luke, his expression grim. “This isn’t just about us, or Aemond. It’s about our family, about what’s right.”

Luke nods, his young face set with determination. “We’ll show them on Driftmark. We’ll show everyone.”

And as they leave the courtyard behind, the promise of another confrontation lingers in the air, a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.