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everythingisamazing · 17 days ago

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We all know about most of these by now, but I thought it'd be fun to make a comprehensive list of all the things of varying degrees of insanity both Jayce and Viktor have done in the series to, for and because of each other: 1. Viktor looking at Jayce in the most intense but also thoroughly enchanted way in the council room scene

2. Viktor stealing Jayces notebook from Heimerdinger after Jayces research was officially deemed "dangerous" by the council

3. Saving Jayce from suicide and instilling new hope, along with a sense of adventure in him manic-pixie-dream-girl-style.

4. Jayce asking for Viktors name in the most romantic way possible and Viktor answering him with 2 syllables and bedroom eyes

5. Jayce-I-egotistically-sign-all-my-notes-with-my-name-Talis going instant commie mode by calling his life long dream "our" dream after Viktor scribbled something on a blackboard and cracked a silly little joke once.

6. Casually snacking on pickles, bread, wine and coffee as if they weren't committing crimes and there wasn't a huge hole in the wall while nerding out about magic

7. Breaking into Heimerdingers lab together

8. Viktor using taking Jayce to his bedroom as an excuse when getting caught, and Jayce being too stressed out to notice

9. Viktor then having the audacity to look disappointed in the background when Mr. Oblivious reacts to Mel the way every single person with functioning eyes would react to that goddess of a woman

10. Both trusting each other enough to risk exile after knowing each other for like a day.

11. Jayce, although having just experienced the same crystals blowing up a building, going through with the dangerous experiment simply because Viktor says "trust me".

12. Viktor sacrificing his cane, which is basically an extension of his body, to keep the door shut 13. Jaye carrying him bridal style because of that afterwards.

13. Experiencing what they'd both probably rank among their top 3 moments in life when floating in the magic they just created together

14. Viktor smiling the only full on smile we see him do in the show because of that.

15. Jayce drawing a portrait of Viktor in his notebook, next to a little doodle of two brains with lightning between them and a reminder to ask him for his last name.

16. Working alongside each other as best friends for 7 years and creating world altering technology

17. Viktor yearning for Jayce each day, for each of those 7 years ("Viktor wanted things Jayce couldn't give him at the time")

18. Whatever the fuck happened at the distinguished innovators competition that was probably also among their top 3 moments because of the way Viktor looked when Jayce brought it up and the fact Jayce used it to remind Viktor of things that make life worth living

19. Jayce constantly touching Viktor. In almost every scene. Whenever he can.

20. Them giving each other the same dumb heart eyes but always when the other is not looking 21. Viktor looking at Jayces lips in the scene before he gives his speech

22. The way they say each others name. It gets progressively more breathy as the show goes on.

23. The way their pupils dilate in several scenes when looking at each other

24. The butterfly symbolism connecting them throughout both Seasons

25. (Debatable, but I will include it) Jayce having a bi-crisis when Ambessas twink reminds him of a certain someone

26. Jayce asking "You had a vision?" as if it is the most normal thing ever. (Thank you Jayce. We love a husband, who unabashedly supports his witchy partner, plagued by visions and omens.)

27. Jayce having his sex scene with Mel be intercut with scenes of Viktor (not something they actively did, but still has to be mentioned)

28. Jayce leaving Mel to be by Viktors bedside when he wakes up in the hospital 29. Jayces hands visibly shaking in the top-shot of him beside Viktors hospital bed. (someone posted a close up of it on insta - I linked it in the convo with the person suggesting this bullet point in the comments)

30. Viktor being the only one shown to notice how stressed Jayce is about getting pushed into being a councilor via the deep exhale he does in that scene

31. Jayce not letting Heimerdinger interfere with the experiments that might save Viktors life, no matter how dangerous

32. Jayce removing Heimerdinger from the council because of it

33. Viktor immediately thinking of Jayce when Singed mentions the word "love"

34. Viktor instinctively knowing Jayce will reach out his hand to help him up without having to look during the bridge scene

35. Viktor slapping his hand away, but then accepting when Jayce puts it on his lower back a second later

36. Jayce stopping Viktor from taking his own life

37. Jayce granting Zaun independence because he doesn't know how to save Viktors life but he has to do something to honor their shared dream

38. Jayce seeing the council room completely destroyed, with several people hurt and dead, but only tearing up when he sees Viktor

39. Jayce running several blocks while carrying Viktor to their lab

40. Breaking his promise to Viktor (and probably several laws) by performing necromancy on him

41. Jayce saying "fuck the council" and everything he has worked for, when he realizes none of that matters without Viktor

42. Jayce staying holed up in the lab for god knows how long to watch over Viktor 43. Jayce adding unnecessary details to his sketch of Viktors body, like the exact swoop of his hair.

44. Jayce immediately waking up after Viktor quietly says his name, whereas we saw him sleeping through an air alarm before that.

45. Viktor looking...very different, but all Jayce cares about is that he is alive. 46. Jayce, glancing between Viktor’s legs in his changed form an ungodly number of times.

47. Them embracing very closely while Viktor is nude, ending with Jayce looking slightly embarrassed when the emotions are threatening to overwhelm him

48. Jayce covering Viktor in the blanket from his childhood bedroom which Viktor will keep even after reaching godhood.

49. "My place was always here with you."

50. "It was affection that held us together"

51. Jayce getting glassy eyed when Viktor tells him he is leaving and holding out his hand as if he is expecting him to come back and grab it.

52. Jayce looking heartbroken at Heimerdingers reminder of him having broken into the lab before

53. Jayce generally giving off freshly divorced vibes in that whole scene

54. Jayce longingly looking at the remains of two male figures embracing in the AU while sitting in the rain

55. Jayce hallucinating Mel turning into Viktor in the fire at the bottom of the ravine.

56. Jayce basically walking a mile in Viktors shoes, fighting his way from the depths of the Undercity to the top of piltover with a broken leg. 57. Matching leg braces on opposite legs.

58. Viktor walking a mile in Jayces shoes by becoming a leader in S2 and his body finally being strong, while Jayces gets broken in the Au.

59. Viktor designing the sphere in the commune similar to the top of the Hexgates he built with Jayce

60. Viktor finally realizing through Singeds memories, that he wasn't kept alive by Jayce as an experiment, but out of love

61. Jayce tenderly stroking the hexcrystal on his bracelet

62. Viktor tenderly stroking the gear that reminds him of the night him and Jayce became partners.

63. Jayce looking at mage!Viktor in the exact same awestruck way he did when he was a child - even after about 6 months of pain and suffering

64. Jayce being ready to sacrifice himself after mage!Viktor reveals the truth to him

65. AU Jayces corpse responding to Viktors touch 66. The fact that the only "beautiful" place left in Piltover was where Jayces corpse was

67. Jayce dramatically adding "...and with me" after saying to Viktor how he thought he was done with hextech, like the bitter divorced husband he is.

68. Viktor excitedly inviting Jayce to the commune, believing he finally knows how Jayce really feels about him

69. Viktor waiting for Jayce floating in the air like a venus fly trap, with his upper body bare, while holding the gear in his hands

70. Viktors eyes changing color when he sees Jayce, because as confirmed by the writers, when he looks at Jayce he’s reminded of his humanity and is tied to it once again </3

71. Jayce visually having to fight himself to be able to shoot Viktor and not being able to look while doing it

72. Viktor never taking his eyes off of Jayce after being shot by him

73. Jayce leaving without as much as a glance back while looking absolutely destroyed

74. Jayce now dressing in dark colors - both Zaunite and mourning coded

75. Jayces clothes being asymmetrical in the final scene - Zaun style

76. The most homoerotic fight in history.

77. Viktor giving bedroom eyes #2

78. Viktor choking Jayce (twice)

79. "Let's do this once again as partners." (Viktor didn't speak when he said this. He purred.) 80. Viktors robot "crying" after being rejected by Jayce once more (shortly followed by "the line" starting to play </3)

81. Jayce lovingly caressing the gold poured into the broken council room table as if it was the golden lines in Viktors new skin. 82. Jayce having a dead wife-flashback, remembering Viktor lying dead in the rubble as he does this. (it's fast in the show - blink and you'll miss it)

83. Jayce having another dead-wife-flashback when Cait says "Viktor is at the center of all this, isn't he?", remembering him smiling, with a strand of hair prettily falling in front of his face, when that isn't what Viktor really looked like in that moment.

84. "I've been confused about a lot lately."

85. Viktors Mask as the herald resembling the Talis Symbol

86. Another homoerotic fight

87. Jayce never looking at Viktor in any of his forms with disgust, not even as he becomes some sort of eldritch being, but like this instead:

88. Jayce kneeling down calmly infront of Viktor, accepting his fate

89. Jayces whole speech on the astral plane. Calling Viktors imperfections beautiful. Basically revealing how his plan was to deter Viktor from destroying the world by confessing his love to him.

90. IN ALL TIMELINES, IN ALL POSSIBILITES. SOULBONDED ACROSS INFINITY. INEXTRICABLY BOUND. ONLY YOU CAN SHOW ME THIS. NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, IT'S ALWAYS GOING TO BE YOU.

91. Viktors eyes practically glowing in Jayces memory of him.

92. The "you have no idea how beautiful it is"-magic Jayce had been chasing since he was a child turning out to be Viktor all along.

93. Viktor bending the laws of the universe because he cannot let Jayce die

94. Jayce dooming the world over and over again because he cannot let Viktor die

95. "Because I promised you."

96. Jayce embracing Viktor again and Viktor, starting to glow gold where Jayces hands touch him.

97. Viktor telling Jayce to go, giving him the choice to live on without him

98. Jayce looking at him so tenderly yet sadly, because Viktor STILL doesn't realize he will never go. Ever.

99. Jayce passing the rune embedded in his wrist back to Viktor as if handing him his heart.

100. "We finish this. Together."

101. Them fighting to hold on to each other even though the force of the Arcane is pulling them apart

102. It finally giving up underneath the touch of both their hands

103. That one shot directly after where Viktor looks up from where their hands are touching and he has this expression on his face as if FINALLY realizing that he is no longer alone because of how Jayce truly feels about him. 104. Their pupils are still dilating as they look at each other, even though a bright light is shining between them.

105. Their final embrace: Touching foreheads. Jayces hand on Viktors neck. Viktor gently stroking his arm as if to soothe his partner.

Ps: If I have missed anything, let me know! I want to add it to the list :D

#jayvik #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #jayce arcane #jayvik meta #arcane spoilers #jayce talis #this took me so long btw #i wanted to add even more images but man that post is long enough #god i love them

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jcmarchi · 1 year ago

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AI-Powered Nursing: Redefining Healthcare in the Modern Age

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/ai-powered-nursing-redefining-healthcare-in-the-modern-age/

AI-Powered Nursing: Redefining Healthcare in the Modern Age

The business landscape is a constant obstacle course of inefficiencies and complex decision-making. Overcoming these hurdles is a race for sustained growth in today’s era of digital acceleration. Artificial intelligence (AI) has transformed from a buzzword to a tool to help achieve strategic advantage across various sectors. It offers not just a one-size-fits-all solution, but rather a toolbox of tailored solutions designed to address the specific challenges faced by major industries, from navigating financial market fluctuations to optimizing manufacturing production lines and personalizing retail customer experiences. AI’s transformative impact is reshaping traditional paradigms, creating a future where entire industries operate under a new set of rules.

The nursing field, a cornerstone of the healthcare system, is no exception to this phenomenon of AI transformation. The widespread adoption of AI is significantly reshaping the way nurses deliver care. As AI continues to evolve, its influence on nursing will only grow, making it essential for nurses and healthcare leaders to become fluent in these new technologies. From enhancing clinical decision-making to optimizing workflow and improving patient care, AI is reshaping the roles and responsibilities of nurses. By leveraging AI, nurses can access advanced tools and resources that support their critical work, ultimately leading to more efficient and effective patient care. Here are a few ways that nurses are leveraging the tool:

1. Supporting medical diagnostic and nursing care

AI significantly enhances diagnostic accuracy in medicine through advanced imaging and pattern recognition technologies. AI algorithms can analyze medical images, such as X-rays, MRIs, and CT scans, with remarkable precision, identifying anomalies and patterns that the human eye may miss. For instance, AI-powered tools can detect early signs of diseases like cancer or neurological disorders, facilitating early intervention and improving patient outcomes.

In nursing, predictive analytics leverages large datasets to predict disease onset and progression. Many are probably familiar with early warnings of sepsis. In the not-so-distant future, many disease processes will be monitored with early interventions initiated via the help of virtual assistants. This is done by analyzing a patient’s medical history, genetic information, lifestyle factors and hemodynamic status. AI can provide nurses and healthcare providers with actionable insights to manage acute and chronic conditions more accurately and swiftly, reducing readmissions and enhancing patient care.

2. Developing treatment plans

AI also plays a crucial role in developing personalized treatment plans by tailoring interventions to the unique needs of individual patients. AI systems analyze comprehensive patient data, including genetic profiles, treatment responses, and real-time health metrics, to recommend personalized treatment strategies. This personalized approach ensures that patients receive the most effective treatments, minimizing adverse reactions and maximizing therapeutic outcomes. Furthermore, AI continuously monitors patient progress, allowing for dynamic adjustments to care plans. By analyzing ongoing patient data, such as vital signs and laboratory results, AI can alert healthcare providers to any deviations from expected recovery trajectories, enabling timely modifications to treatment plans. This proactive and personalized approach in clinical decision support significantly enhances the quality of care that nurses can provide, ensuring optimal patient outcomes.

3. Streamlining nursing workflows

Automated scheduling and staffing systems utilize AI to predict staffing needs, optimize shift patterns, and ensure adequate coverage, thereby reducing the administrative burden on nursing managers and minimizing scheduling conflicts. Similarly, AI-driven documentation and record-keeping systems streamline the process of maintaining patient records. These systems can automatically update and organize patient data, ensuring accuracy and compliance with healthcare regulations. By reducing the time spent on these repetitive tasks, nurses can devote more time to direct patient care, enhancing the overall efficiency and effectiveness of healthcare delivery.

Virtual assistants, powered by AI, can handle routine inquiries from patients, such as medication reminders, appointment scheduling, and basic health information, providing immediate responses and support. This technological integration can both improve patient engagement and reduce the workload on nursing staff. Further, AI enables real-time access to patient data, allowing nurses to quickly retrieve and review a patient’s medical history, lab results, and treatment plans. Immediate access to comprehensive patient information facilitates informed decision-making and prompt responses to patient needs. By integrating AI into these aspects of nursing workflow, healthcare providers can enhance the efficiency of care delivery, improve patient outcomes, and create a more streamlined and responsive healthcare environment.

More Efficient Care Delivery – If Executed Correctly

The integration of artificial intelligence into the nursing field signifies a transformative shift in healthcare, offering numerous benefits that enhance both patient care and nursing efficiency. AI’s capacity to improve diagnostic accuracy through advanced imaging and predictive analytics equips nurses with precise tools to detect and manage health conditions early, thereby improving patient outcomes and reducing diagnostic errors. Personalized treatment plans, enabled by AI, tailor interventions to the unique needs of each patient and dynamically adjust based on real-time data, ensuring effective and responsive care.

AI enables healthcare providers to alleviate administrative burdens and redirect their focus toward direct patient care.. However, despite the evident advantages, integrating AI into nursing presents challenges, including the imperative need for robust data security, ethical considerations surrounding AI-driven decisions, and the necessity for ongoing education and training for nursing professionals. Addressing these challenges is paramount to fully harnessing the potential benefits of AI in healthcare.

Looking forward, the potential for AI to further revolutionize nursing practice is immense. As emerging AI technologies continue to develop, they promise to bring even greater efficiencies and capabilities, transforming how nurses deliver care and interact with patients. By embracing AI, the nursing field can evolve, ensuring that healthcare delivery becomes more efficient, personalized, and effective. The collaboration between AI developers and healthcare providers will be essential in navigating this transformation, leading to a more responsive and patient-centered healthcare system.

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cressidagrey · 10 days ago

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Override: Denied

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary: Five times Bee’s intelligence left kindergarten teachers speechless—and one time they tried to go behind Felicity’s back, only to learn that Oscar Piastri is many things, but a husband who betrays his wife’s trust isn’t one of them.

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1. The Gruffalo

The whole thing started with The Gruffalo.

Bee had picked it up during free play and started reading it aloud. Slowly, carefully, but without hesitation. Her voice was small, her finger tracking the lines one by one. Half the class had gathered around to listen. One of the assistants had smiled indulgently, assuming she was reciting from memory.

Then she turned the page and kept going.

By the time the final line came — “And now my tummy’s beginning to rumble. My favourite food is—gruffalo crumble!” — the room had gone still.

Apparently, one of the teachers had laughed. Said it was “adorable pretend reading.” Bee had corrected her. Politely. Then read a second book just to prove the point.

Now, Felicity was standing in the cramped hallway outside the kindergarten classroom, still holding Bee’s raincoat, and trying very hard not to lose her temper.

Felicity had never liked the way Miss Caroline looked at Bee.

It wasn’t unkind — not exactly. But it had that edge. That clinical, calculating gleam Felicity knew too well. She’d grown up seeing it in the faces of tutors and family friends, in admissions panels and the polished smiles of dinner guests. The one that said: what can we make of this child?

Like potential was something you could bottle. Like brilliance had to be measured to be made real.

“I think we should consider a formal evaluation,” Miss Caroline said. Tight smile, worried eyes. “It’s highly unusual for a child her age to read like that. We want to make sure she’s getting the right support. Beatrice shows advanced pattern recognition. Abstract language comprehension. Her reading retention is—”

She didn’t say of course I know. She didn’t say I taught her to read before she turned two or I watched her sort herbs in the garden by both function and taxonomy last week. Felicity didn’t say she absorbs the world like light through glass.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Felicity said calmly.

Miss Caroline blinked. “I understand your hesitation, but identifying her cognitive profile early can help us tailor her learning environment. There’s no harm in—”

“There is, actually,” Felicity interrupted. “There is harm in assigning numbers to children before they have the language to understand what those numbers mean.”

“But Mrs. Piastri, don’t you want to know how advanced Beatrice really is? We’re talking about early gifted indicators. She could—”

“She’s a child. She doesn’t need a label. She needs kindness, and structure, and not being treated like a science experiment because she reads well. She’s three,” Felicity repeated. “And intelligence tests aren’t reliable anyway until at least seven. I assume you know that.”

The teacher had the grace to look uncomfortable.

Miss Caroline’s expression pinched. “I understand your concern, but you’re quite young—”

And there it was.

Felicity blinked. Once. Twice. The hallway was full of the shrieking post-nap chaos of pickup. Bee was sitting near the coat racks, legs swinging, chatting happily to a stuffed duck.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said, tone like ice cracking underfoot. “My age is… relevant how?”

“I just meant—sometimes younger parents don’t realize how early intervention can benefit —”

“My daughter is three,” Felicity said tightly. “You’re not slapping a number on her.”

“Mrs. Piastri—”

“Doctor Piastri,” she said, before she could stop herself. “PhD. Mechanical Engineering. Oxford,” Felicity said, her voice soft and cutting. “I earned it while raising a medically complex toddler and making all of my daughter’s baby food from scratch. Please don’t mistake my age or my trainers for incompetence.”

The teacher flushed deep pink.

Felicity adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag. “I’ve seen what happens to girls who get told their value is how exceptional they are. Who are taught to equate achievement with worth. I will not put Bee through that. I will not let you quantify her.”

Miss Caroline opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Felicity’s tone stayed level, but her words landed like a scalpel. “If Beatrice wants to build rockets when she’s ten, I’ll be first in line with the duct tape and codebooks. But right now, she’s three. She wants to make frog houses in the backyard and eat her weight in strawberries. That is more than enough.”

She stepped past her and crouched beside Bee, gently helping her into her coat. “Ready, baby?”

Bee nodded, duck tucked under her arm. “Did you know frogs have teeth on their upper jaws only?”

Felicity smiled. “I did not know that. Thank you for teaching me.”

She stood, lifting Bee’s backpack and taking her hand.

The teacher tried again: “She really is extraordinary.”

Felicity turned back, her expression softening — not for the teacher, but for the child who’d asked this morning if plants ever got tired of growing.

“She is,” Felicity agreed. “But that’s hers. Not yours to catalogue.”

Then she walked out, head high, daughter in hand.

Because if Bee was going to grow into everything she could be, it would be without a chart. Without a score. Without a number that hung over her like a ceiling.

She’d be brilliant.

And free.

***

2. Music Notes

It started — as it always did — with a well-meaning concern.

“Mrs. Piastri,” said Miss Eleanor at pickup, her cardigan slightly askew and a clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield, “do you have a moment?”

Felicity, who had just arrived after wrestling a leaky chicken feed bag into the boot of the car and still had dirt under her nails, nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s about Beatrice,” the teacher began.

Felicity offered a politely neutral expression, the one she reserved for conversations that were already exhausting before they began. “What about her?”

Miss Eleanor lowered her voice. “During quiet time today, Bee was reading from one of the classroom books — which is lovely, of course — but when I asked what she was doing, she said she was reading the music. Not the words. The sheet music.”

Felicity blinked. “And?”

“Well… it’s just rather unusual, isn’t it?” Miss Eleanor said, shifting uncomfortably. “For a child her age to understand music notation. We just wanted to check she wasn’t, ah… mimicking it, rather than actually reading it. Sometimes gifted children blur the line between memorization and comprehension—”

“She plays the piano,” Felicity said flatly.

Miss Eleanor paused. “I’m sorry?”

“She plays the piano,” Felicity repeated. “She can sight-read simple compositions. Because I taught her. We have a piano in the living room. I have been playing piano and violin since I was two. And we practice for twenty minutes most mornings, because it helps Bee focus.”

The teacher blinked.

“She knows what a treble clef is,” Felicity added. “She can count beats. She prefers Bach to Bartók, and last week she told me Mozart was ‘a bit fussy, but nice.’”

Miss Eleanor gave a slightly strangled laugh. “I see.”

“Do you?”

The words came out sharper than Felicity intended — but she didn’t apologize. She was tired of Bee being treated like a walking warning sign just because she was curious and quick and quiet.

“She’s not showing off,” Felicity said more gently. “She just loves music. It makes her feel steady. And she’s allowed to love it without being flagged for it.”

Miss Eleanor gave a stiff smile. “Of course. Thank you for explaining.”

Felicity crouched down to where Bee was waiting, humming softly and carefully zipping her backpack.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Felicity asked.

Bee nodded. “I was playing the notes in my head. They were from Clair de Lune.”

Miss Eleanor’s mouth twitched.

Felicity stood, offered one last smile — sharp and sweet all at once — and said, “Next time, maybe ask her what she’s doing before assuming it’s a problem.”

She held Bee’s hand as they left the classroom, tiny fingers warm in hers.

“Did I do something bad?” Bee asked quietly once they reached the parking lot.

“No,” Felicity said, squeezing her hand. “You did something beautiful.”

3. The Absence of Tantrums

Felicity didn’t expect much from pick-up anymore. A mild sunburn from the pavement. Bee’s curls plastered to her forehead. Crayons in her pockets and a rock in her sock. Maybe another baffling comment about her “advanced auditory memory” or her “preference for multi-syllabic words.”

What Felicity didn’t expect was to be asked in again.

“Just a quick chat,” Miss Kate said gently, gesturing toward the staff room. “About Beatrice.”

Felicity’s heart stuttered — just a fraction — but she nodded.

Bee, for her part, ran out with her usual boundless enthusiasm, clutching a folded worksheet and humming the melody to some Vivaldi piece she’d overheard last week. Felicity kissed her cheek and passed her a bottle of cold water, then followed Miss Kate inside.

Two other teachers were waiting, seated politely with that expression that said we are deeply concerned and also don’t overreact.

“Bee’s been doing really well,” Miss Eleanor began. “Very well. But we’ve started noticing some things that… well, we wanted to flag.”

Felicity sat. “Such as?”

“She doesn’t… react the way most of the children do,” Miss Kate said delicately. “No tantrums. No outbursts. If someone pushes her, she just… moves. If the class gets loud, she goes quiet.”

“That’s not necessarily a problem,” Felicity said slowly.

“No, of course not,” Moss Caroline jumped in. “But it’s… unusual. Concerning, even. We’re wondering if it might be worth evaluating her emotional range.”

Felicity blinked. “Because she doesn’t scream?”

“Or cry. Or talk over other children. She listens. She waits. She helps clean up when no one asks. At snack time, she shares without being prompted.”

“She’s empathetic,” Felicity said flatly.

“Exceptionally so,” Miss Kate agreed, as if that were a diagnosis.

Felicity’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry. Are you saying there’s something wrong with her because she’s kind and self-regulates?”

“Not wrong,” Miss Eleanor said quickly. “Just… atypical.”

Felicity had tried. She really had.

She’d bitten her tongue. She had kept her mouth shut.

But this?

“You think something’s wrong with my daughter because she’s quiet?” she asked, voice sharp.

“Children her age are typically more… expressive—”

“She is expressive. Just because she doesn’t throw herself on the floor doesn’t mean she’s emotionally repressed.”

Miss Kate shifted in her seat. “It’s just something we’d like to observe further. Sometimes these traits stem from environment—”

Felicity’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “Let me save you the speculation. She’s calm because we treat her like a person, not a problem. She’s gentle because she’s never had to scream to be heard. And she listens because we listen to her.”

A pause.

Miss Eleanor blinked rapidly, cheeks pinking.

Felicity stood.

“If Bee was loud and unmanageable, you’d call her disruptive. But because she’s quiet, she must be broken. Do you hear how absurd that is?”

Nobody spoke.

Felicity gathered her bag, expression cool.

“I’m not saying she’s perfect,” she added. “But if you’re going to label a three-year-old as suspiciously well-adjusted, then maybe re-read your developmental psych modules. All of them.”

And with that, she turned and walked out — just in time to find Bee gently rescuing a worm from the pavement and moving it to the grass.

“Ready, love?” Felicity asked, her voice soft again.

Bee nodded, slipping her hand into hers.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked quietly.

Felicity crouched and kissed her temple. “Never.”

Because the world might not understand her daughter’s quiet brilliance.

But Felicity? She would fight for it every single time.

***

Felicity had barely made it past the coat hooks when she was intercepted.

“Hi, Mrs. Piastri,” said Miss Eleanor, with the same clipped tone she always used when she thought she was being subtle. “Do you have a minute to chat about Bee?”

Felicity’s spine stiffened. She offered a neutral smile. “Of course.”

Miss Eleanor led her to the side, just out of earshot of the pickup line. “We’ve been observing Bee’s behaviour over the past few weeks and… well, we’re slightly concerned.”

Felicity blinked. “About what?”

“She’s very… mature for her age.”

“She’s three,” Felicity said flatly.

“Exactly!” Miss Eleanor chirped. “And we’ve noticed she doesn’t… well, engage in the typical behaviors we expect at this age. She doesn’t throw tantrums. She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t interrupt. Sometimes we’re not even sure she’s here until we turn around and she’s just… building an alphabet tower or alphabetizing the nature books.”

Felicity stared at her.

“I’m sorry, are you concerned that my daughter is well-behaved?”

“She’s very… compliant,” Eleanor said, with the faintest wince, as if the word tasted wrong. “She listens too well. Doesn’t push boundaries. Never screams or throws tantrums.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Felicity said slowly.

“It’s just… unusual,” Eleanor said, lowering her voice like she was revealing something terrible. “She uses complete sentences. She lines up her toys by material and colour. She thanks the classroom aides without prompting. She doesn’t interrupt story time. She’s never once needed a time-out.”

“And this is… bad?”

“It’s atypical,” Eleanor stressed. “Children this age should still be testing limits. We’re wondering if she’s suppressing emotion. Or possibly masking.”

Felicity exhaled. Hard.

“She’s not masking. She’s self-regulating,” she said flatly. “She has a secure attachment style and a predictable environment at home. She has space to feel safe. She doesn’t need to scream to feel seen.She’s just… happy. We do emotional work at home. We talk. We teach. We model. You don’t see tantrums because she’s not trying to earn attention. She already has it.”

Miss Eleanor blinked.

Felicity crossed her arms. “If you ever do notice her in distress—if she starts withdrawing or acting out or going quiet in a different way—I want to know immediately. But please stop treating her self-regulation as a red flag. Not all children need to be loud to be healthy.”

Miss Eleanor flushed. “Of course. Thank you for sharing.”

“I’m sorry she doesn’t fit your expectations,” Felicity said tightly, “but I am not going to apologize for raising a child who understands her own feelings and trusts her environment.”

There was a long silence.

Then Felicity walked past the clipboard, past the chart of developmental milestones, and straight to Bee—who looked up with bright eyes and said, “Mama! I made you a pigeon out of pipe cleaners.”

Felicity knelt and hugged her tight.

“Best pigeon ever,” she whispered, and meant it.

Bee grinned. “Can we make mushroom soup later?”

“Absolutely.”

She took her daughter’s hand, turned back to Eleanor, and said — as calmly as she could manage — “Please don’t pathologize her calm just because it makes your classroom quieter.”

And with that, she walked out of the building.

4. The Protest

It was nearly pick-up time, and Felicity was early — for once. She lingered outside the classroom with her coat still half-buttoned, scrolling through a work email when Miss Julia waved her over with that careful, tight-lipped smile that meant “We have notes.”

Felicity braced herself.

“Hi, Mrs. Piastri,” Julia began. “Just wanted a quick moment to talk about Bee. Nothing major, just… a few things we’ve been noticing socially.”

Felicity’s eyebrows rose. “Go on.”

“She’s very sweet,” Julia said — the kind of tone people use when they’re about to say but. “She shares well. Listens. Helps clean up. Very mature for her age.”

Another pause.

Felicity waited.

“It’s just — we’ve noticed she lets other kids take toys right out of her hands without standing up for herself. And she doesn’t always speak up when someone skips her turn, or if a game gets too rough. We’re a bit worried she’s not asserting herself. That she’s letting other kids walk all over her.”

Felicity’s mouth tightened.

“Did it occur to you,” she said coolly, “that maybe the other children shouldn’t be walking all over her in the first place?”

Julia blinked. “We just want to make sure she’s building resilience.”

“She is resilient,” Felicity said, voice calm but edged in steel. “She was in the NICU for the first three weeks of her life. She sat through a cardiologist appointment two days before her second birthday without flinching. She’s fluent in kindness, not confrontation — and that’s not a weakness.”

Julia opened her mouth again, but Felicity cut in. “If she’s uncomfortable, she tells me. If she’s overwhelmed, she seeks quiet. She doesn’t scream or shove — she removes herself.”

“I just worry that she’s not developing the ability to self-advocate.”

“She does self-advocate. She just doesn’t do it by yelling. Bee knows her own mind better than most adults I’ve met. And if another child repeatedly ignores her boundaries, maybe the question shouldn’t be about Bee’s assertiveness. Maybe it should be about why that behavior is allowed in the first place.”

Julia frowned. “It’s just important she learns not to be a pushover.”

“She’s not a pushover,” Felicity said, voice cool now. “She’s three, and she has empathy. She doesn’t hit or yell. She shares. She lets things go because they don’t matter to her. But when something does matter — when it’s her stuffed frog or the storybook she loves — she’ll hold her ground.”

“That’s not what we’ve observed—”

“Because she’s smart enough to pick her battles,” Felicity interrupted softly. “And because you don’t see what she’s like at home, when she’s explaining to her father why the frog gets a seat at the table, or insisting we play the same memory game four times in a row until she wins.”

She paused, gaze steady.

“You’re not raising her. We are. And we are teaching her when to hold the line, and when kindness is more powerful than claiming the toy first.”

Miss Julia opened her mouth. Closed it.

Behind them, Bee came skipping down the hall, her curls slightly lopsided from the day, her paper crown from craft time slightly askew.

“Mama!” she beamed. “Guess what? I let Henry borrow my glue stick, even though he never shares his paint.”

Felicity crouched to hug her. “That was generous of you, bumblebee.”

“I think he needed it,” Bee said seriously. “His crown fell apart. Mine didn’t.”

“I bet it didn’t,” Felicity murmured. “Let’s go home.”

She took her daughter’s hand and turned back once, calm and composed. “We’re not raising her to win playground wars. We’re raising her to know her worth doesn’t come from pushing the loudest.”

And that was the end of that.

Bee tugged her hand gently. “Can we go home now?”

“Definitely.”

Felicity stood and gave Miss Julia one final, polite smile.

“She might be soft-spoken,” she said, voice pleasant and sharp as glass, “but make no mistake. Beatrice knows exactly who she is. And that’s not something I’ll ever teach her to shrink.”

Then she took her daughter’s hand and left without another word.

***

Felicity knew something was up the moment she stepped into the classroom. Not from Bee — who was calmly drawing little frogs in a corner with a pink crayon clutched in her left hand — but from the way Miss Julia looked up like she’d been waiting.

“Mrs. Piastri,” she said, that same faux-gentle tone wrapped in tight-lipped concern. “Could I have a word?”

Again?

She nodded, stepping aside as Bee waved from her corner, already announcing, “Mama, I gave Hugo a lecture today!” like that was perfectly normal.

Felicity raised a brow. “Oh?”

Miss Julia’s smile tightened. “Yes, about that.”

They moved near the coat hooks. Felicity braced herself.

“There was a small… altercation,” Julia began.

Felicity blinked. “Bee? My child who apologizes to furniture?”

“Hugo took the magnifying glass she was using during nature station,” Julia said. “And when Bee asked for it back and he said no… she didn’t let it go.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “She asserted herself.”

“She told him, and I quote,” Julia said, checking her notes — her notes — “that it wasn’t kind to take something mid-use, and that he could wait his turn like everyone else. When he laughed, she told him she would be speaking to an adult, and that sharing only works if both people agree.”

Felicity’s mouth twitched. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Well, then she… sat down in front of the nature tray and told everyone that until Hugo returned it, she wouldn’t move.”

“So she staged a protest.”

Miss Julia frowned. “It disrupted the flow of the station.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Because she asked for fairness?”

“She was very firm. Quite… unbending.”

“She asked for something politely. Was told no. Stood her ground. Warned she’d escalate. Then followed through.”

“It’s just that—last time, we discussed how she was too passive.”

“Yes,” Felicity said flatly. “And now she’s too assertive?”

“She could’ve come to a teacher immediately instead of creating a stand-off.”

“She tried to resolve it on her own. Respectfully. Which you flagged as a developmental concern the last time. So now that she’s advocating for herself—politely, might I add—it’s a problem again?”

Julia hesitated. “We just want her to strike a balance.”

“She’s three,” Felicity said, voice low and firm. “She doesn’t need to be perfect at conflict navigation. She needs to feel safe enough to say ‘this isn’t fair’ and be taken seriously.”

Julia looked mildly uncomfortable. “It just caught us off guard.”

“She was taught to speak gently first. Then stand her ground if kindness doesn’t work. And frankly, that’s more emotional regulation than I see in most adults.”

There was a pause.

Felicity reached for Bee’s cardigan. “I’m proud of her,” she added, quieter. “And if your takeaway from this is that she was too composed while being mistreated, then maybe your focus is off.”

5. The Mechanic

The first red flag was Miss Caroline’s tone — that overly careful cadence that meant someone was about to say something profoundly stupid with a polite smile.

“Mrs. Piastri,” she said as Felicity arrived at pick-up, Bee’s hoodie slung over one arm and a spare tyre gauge still in her coat pocket. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Felicity replied evenly.

Bee darted ahead toward her cubby. Miss Caroline waited until she was out of earshot before stepping slightly to the side, just enough to imply Serious Educational Concerns™.

“It’s about something Beatrice’s been sharing with the class this week. She’s been telling the other children she helps fix cars.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “She does.”

“Yes, well…” Caroline’s smile strained. “Yesterday she said she replaced a belt drive on a Daimler and… recalibrated a carburetor?”

“She did,” Felicity said, already irritated.

“She’s three,” Miss Caroline replied, as though that explained everything.

“And Bee’s been coming to work with me since she was a few weeks old. That particular Daimler is a restoration project I’ve had ongoing with a friend. Bee did most of the bolt placement herself. If you want to test her, you can hand her a ratchet set and ask her to identify sizes in metric and imperial.”

“She told one of the boys that she reassembled a gearbox,” Caroline added, as though accusing Felicity’s daughter of claiming she’d flown to the moon.

“She did that too,” Felicity said. “With my supervision. And torque charts.”

There was a brief pause.

Miss Caroline cleared her throat. “It’s just that… some of the children think she’s making things up. We don’t want her getting in trouble for lying.”

Felicity smiled, thin and tight. “She’s not lying. She has excellent recall and a near perfect memory. If Bee says she did something mechanical, odds are, she did.”

“Right,” Caroline said, clearly still trying to compute. “It’s just… unusual. Most children pretend to be mermaids or astronauts—”

“Bee prefers pretending to be a pit lane engineer,” Felicity said. “She likes impact wrenches. And ballast weights. Her father brings her telemetry data to colour in.”

Caroline laughed awkwardly. “Oh — is he a mechanic too?”

Felicity blinked. “No. He’s a driver.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “…Like a delivery driver? Or a taxi service?”

Felicity inhaled sharply through her nose.

“No. Like a Formula 1 driver. He drives a McLaren at over 300 kilometers an hour while managing energy deployment and brake migration settings,” she said calmly. “He handles complex race engineering telemetry on a regular basis. So — no. Not quite pizza delivery.”

Miss Caroline turned a frankly amazing shade of pink.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

At that moment, Bee came skipping over, waving a drawing with great enthusiasm. “Mama! I drew the brake system from Uncle Mal’s Jag! It’s accurate! I even did the cross-drilled rotors.”

Jenna peeked at the paper, which did indeed feature what looked like a labelled cutaway of a Jaguar brake disc assembly.

“Can we go home?” Bee asked. “I want to check the tyre pressure on the Peugeot. It looked squishy.”

Caroline made a faint choking sound.

Felicity smiled down at her daughter, then looked back at the teacher.

“Yes, love,” she said sweetly. “Let’s go check our PSI.”

As they walked out, Bee held her hand tight.

“Mama?”

“Yes, bumblebee?”

“Do teachers not know Papa is a race car driver?”

Felicity leaned down and kissed her curls. “I think they’re just catching up.”

+1: Oscar

It started like most drop-offs.

Bee had insisted on wearing her chicken-themed socks and packing three small rocks “for educational purposes.” Oscar had carried her in one arm and her bag in the other, already rehearsing strategy notes in his head for a post-sim debrief. He wasn’t really expecting anything more than a “Have a good day, Papa!” and maybe a small argument about snack order.

Oscar should’ve known something was coming the moment Miss Caroline said, “Mr. Piastri, do you have a moment?”

It was that same tone — the one that made it sound like she was about to gently suggest his child might be possessed.

Oscar turned. Miss Caroline again. Her smile was pleasant, like always — but too polished. Carefully rehearsed. Like the kind PR did before they dropped a ‘concerned’ statement.

He gave her a small nod. “Sure.”

They stepped slightly to the side, out of earshot from Bee, who had already launched herself into a group of kids with all the dramatic flair of a physics demonstration.

“It’s about Beatrice,” she said. “Nothing serious. She’s doing wonderfully — incredibly bright, of course. We’ve just been noticing some recurring markers that suggest she may benefit from formal assessment.”

Oscar blinked, already tired. “What kind of assessment?”

“IQ testing,” she said brightly. “Just to help tailor curriculum options and give us a clearer picture of her developmental profile. It’s quite standard for children who show early gifted tendencies.”

Oscar’s jaw shifted slightly, the muscles tightening.

“She’s three.”

“Yes, and early identification—”

“She’s three,” he repeated, voice low.

“Your wife mentioned she wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about cognitive testing for Bee, which of course we understand—but we were hoping perhaps you might… talk to her about reconsidering?”

Oscar stared at her.

Talk to Felicity.

Like she hadn’t made herself very clear. Like she hadn’t already explained — politely, firmly, and with the weight of her own experience — why she didn’t want Bee tested at three years old.

Oscar smiled. But it was the smile he used in press conferences when someone asked if he thought he should��ve gone for the overtake on Lap 27 and lost his front wing in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tone even. “Are you asking me to override my wife’s decision?”

Miss Caroline blinked. “Not override—just… maybe you could help her understand the benefits—”

“She understands perfectly,” Oscar said, voice still calm. “She speaks three languages, teaches Bee how to calculate G-force with flour, and once wrote a statistical model to predict tomato yields in our garden for fun. If Felicity says no, it’s no. Full stop. Not ‘ask again later,’ not ‘see if her husband agrees.’ Just. No.”

Miss Caroline flushed. “Of course, we didn’t mean—”

“And for what it’s worth?” Oscar said, voice still low but no longer soft. “She’s Bee’s mother. Not just ‘your wife.’ She gets to have the final say.”

A pause.

“Unless Bee needs medical attention or starts dismantling the plumbing system,” he added dryly. “Then I get a vote.”

“Let me be absolutely clear,” he said, voice calm but steady now, like carbon fibre under pressure. “Whatever my wife says goes. She’s not hesitant. She’s informed.”

“She may not realise how helpful a formal measure can be for placement later—”

“She’s got a doctorate,” Oscar snapped, finally. “She’s been teaching Bee how to fix brake calipers since she was two. My wife knows exactly what it means, and she still said no. Which means you don’t get to go around her to try and change that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I… I didn’t mean to imply she wasn’t capable,” Miss Caroline said awkwardly. “I just thought perhaps coming from you—”

“She doesn’t need me to speak for her,” Oscar said. “She needs people to stop mistaking quiet for weakness and young for unsure.”

He glanced back at Bee.

“My daughter spent the first few weeks of her life hooked up to machines I can’t even pronounce,” he said quietly. “And if my wife says we’re not slapping an IQ score on our toddler like it’s a bloody badge of honour, then that is the final word. From both of us.”

Miss Caroline looked mildly stunned.

Oscar gave her a polite smile that absolutely wasn’t polite. “Thanks for your concern. I drive a car for a living, but my wife holds our life together. You can guess whose opinion wins.”

And then he turned and walked back toward the car, resisting the urge to punch his steering wheel.

He didn’t need a test to tell him what kind of person Bee was.

And anyone who underestimated Felicity?

Didn’t understand the reason Bee was that person at all.

*** The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. Felicity didn’t move.

She was still curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, Bee’s tattered picture book in her lap — the one with the loose page that always made Oscar flinch because he kept meaning to fix it properly. Her fingers were idly tracing the corner of the cover, but her eyes were a thousand miles away.

Oscar poured two mugs, dropped a chamomile teabag into hers, and crossed the living room.

“She’s out cold,” he said quietly, setting the mug beside her. “Didn’t even stir when I carried her to bed.”

“Long day,” Felicity murmured. “She was playing rocket launch with a laundry basket and physics blocks after dinner. Something about thrust-to-weight ratios.”

Oscar huffed a laugh and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then he added, “Your favorite teacher cornered me again.”

Felicity didn’t look away from the book. “Caroline?”

“Mhm.”

Her jaw twitched, just slightly. “What now?”

“She wanted me to convince you about the intelligence test.”

That made Felicity look up, brows knitting. “Seriously?”

“She even smiled when she said it. Like she was doing me a favor.”

“And?”

Oscar leaned his head back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “I told her no.”

Felicity arched a brow. “Just like that?”

“Not exactly.” He paused. “I said no. Then I told her that if you say no, that means the answer’s final. And that she could stop trying to go around you because I don’t entertain people who undermine my wife.”

Felicity blinked.

Oscar turned to look at her now, calm and clear. “I don’t care if Bee’s the next Einstein. She’s three. Her job is to eat blueberries and invent words and ask impossible questions about the moon.”

“She asked me yesterday if gravity works on dreams,” Felicity muttered.

“Exactly. You think a test helps that?”

Her shoulders sagged a little. “I just hate the idea of someone putting her in a box she didn’t choose.”

“I know,” Oscar said gently. “And I told her that. I told her that you are Bee‘s mother, and that if anyone gets to decide how Bee grows up, it’s you.”

Felicity let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-exhale. “Thank you.”

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “You don’t need to thank me for siding with you. We’re a team.”

“I know. It’s just—some days I feel like I have to justify everything I say to them. Like they’re waiting for me to slip up and prove I’m just… young. Or weird. Or too intense.”

Oscar took her hand and laced their fingers together.

“They don’t get to define what kind of mother you are. You do. And you’re brilliant.”

She went quiet, then leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she said after a moment.

“Like what?”

“Like protecting Bee would also mean protecting the version of myself I never got to be.”

Oscar kissed the top of her head. “That’s why we’re doing it.”

And on the table, the tea went cold. But neither of them moved.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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norrisidous · 2 months ago

Note

request this would be cool if you could do it but if not totally fine!

Lando x y/n reader have been dating privately for a while but lando comes down really sick for a race week and reader can't not be their to support him so comes and takes care of him very fluffy lol

summary: where yn cames to support her sick bf warnings: nones

In Sickness and in Speed

The text comes in at 5:02 AM.

Can’t breathe through my nose. Feel like death. Plz send help 😩

You blink blearily at your phone, barely making out Lando’s name above the message. You’re curled up in your hotel bed, hundreds of miles away from the paddock. Technically, you were going to fly in tomorrow for the race. Technically, no one’s supposed to know you’re dating him—not even his engineer. But technically… Lando sounds like he’s on death’s door.

And technically, you can break a few rules for the man you love.

It had started months ago. The two of you met through a friend-of-a-friend situation—blame it on a birthday party and one too many rounds of “Never Have I Ever.” You hit it off immediately. He liked that you didn’t fawn over his fame. You liked that he listened—really listened—when you talked.

But privacy was non-negotiable. The media frenzy around his life was a hungry thing, and the thought of throwing you into that chaos had his stomach twisted in guilt before you even had your first kiss.

So you made a pact: lowkey, quiet, private. Texts deleted. Social media ghosted. You had your own life, and he had his. But when you could, you met in the quiet in-betweens.

Now, he’s sick. Really sick, judging by the barely comprehensible text messages he’s been sending all morning.

“Head spinning. My bones feel like paper mache.”

“Oscar keeps throwing tissues at me. Rude.”

“They’re making me do press 😩 I might die live on Sky Sports.”

Your heart twinges. You FaceTime him as you speed-pack a bag and order an earlier flight.

When his face appears, your heart practically sinks through the floor. His eyes are puffy, his nose is red, and he’s swaddled in what looks like three layers of McLaren hoodies.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “You look like a sad little gremlin.”

“Don’t mock the ill,” he croaks, trying to smile. “It’s abuse.”

You grin, soft and fond. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Was cute. Now I’m just a human snot fountain.”

“Hang tight,” you say, grabbing your passport. “I’m coming.”

By the time you arrive at the paddock hotel, it’s early evening. You have your lanyard, your credentials, and just enough insider pull to convince security you’re here “in an unofficial support capacity.”

Lando’s room is a mess of tissues, vitamin packets, and half-empty bottles of water. The TV is playing F1 highlights on mute. The air smells like menthol and misery.

You let yourself in quietly.

He’s passed out on the bed, one arm draped dramatically over his face, tissues stuck between his fingers. He looks like the dictionary definition of pathetic.

You set your bag down gently and tiptoe over.

As you lean down to brush the curls off his damp forehead, his eyes flutter open.

“Y/N?” he rasps.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He tries to sit up. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

Lando melts back into the pillow, relief washing over his face like warm sunlight. “Thought I was hallucinating.”

“Nope. Very real. And very ready to nurse you back to health.”

“Do nurses usually crawl into bed with the patient?”

You smirk. “Only the really good ones.”

You spend the next few days in a cocoon of tissues and tenderness.

You run to the paddock to get him soup between meetings. You sneak vitamins into his smoothies. You find out that he has a very specific hierarchy of throat lozenges (“the green ones are evil”), and you somehow bribe a hotel chef into making him plain mashed potatoes at midnight.

He groans and whines and calls you his “angel of mercy.” He sneezes on you twice and immediately tries to apologize with sick-boy cuddles. You fake being annoyed, but you wrap yourself around him like a koala every night anyway.

On qualifying day, you wake up to find him sitting up in bed, sipping tea and trying to put on his race suit backwards.

“Lando,” you say, barely stifling laughter. “That’s not how arms work.”

“I’m disoriented,” he mumbles, but he smiles for the first time in days. “Feel a little better though.”

You help him get dressed, comb your fingers through his hair, and press a warm kiss to his cheek. He leans into it like he’s starving for affection.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Later, at the garage, when he pulls off his helmet after a decent quali run, he finds you waiting with a bottle of water and your eyes sparkling with pride. No one questions your presence. You blend in, just another support staffer, clipboard in hand.

But when he looks at you like that—soft, grateful, filled with something unspoken—you know it’s only a matter of time before the secret slips.

And maybe, you think, as he walks past the cameras and sneaks a wink at you…

Maybe you’re okay with that.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #formula 1 #ln4 #f1

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rooksamoris · 5 days ago

Text

When Lilia had first brought the infant to the cottage, you were suspicious. Silver had been a tiny little thing back then, small with a large head and a chubby body. He was so fragile that even the lightest pinch or the softest fall would make him burst out into tears, his face crumpled up as his weak hands grasped for something much too heavy for him to carry. How pathetic.

And yet you could not help but soften your heart, letting him cling to you when he reached his tiny fists your way. Lilia teased you endlessly for how quickly you softened up to him, parroting to you your words about how you would have to lower yourself to care for such a pitiful creature.

Now he was a little four year old who stumbled his way in the tall grass and fell asleep against tree stumps

“I made this for you,” he mumbled, holding up a flower crown which was falling apart. It was made from whatever wildflowers he could find outside by the house. His knees and hands were covered in dirt, and he looked up at you with his big bright eyes. Silver’s round cheeks hung cutely, framed by his hair.

You took the dainty crown from his plump hands and looked it over with a raised brow, “Lovely craftsmanship, Silver. Perhaps you’ll end up being an artisan instead of a knight, hmm?” You carefully placed it onto your head before scooping the boy onto your hip, “Come now. We should clean you up before papa returns.”

Silver nodded, drowsily, reaching his hand to touch your pointed ears before resting his head in the crook of your chin, breathing in your comforting scent.

His sleepiness was starting to worry you these days. It was normal for him to nap, but now he was sleeping away his meals. Time moved differently for you, and what seemed so insignificant became so important as you realized how quickly he was growing... and how much of that time he would spend unconscious instead of awake with you and Lilia, talking about whatever came to his little mind.

He was at an age now where he talked about all of the new things he saw, excited to use the language skills he had been taught to communicate with you. You still remembered the moment where it seemed comprehension manifested, the way his eyes widened with wonder.

After cleaning him up, you changed him into some more comfortable clothes and then let him nap away at the sofa under some blankets.

When Lilia returned, he found you sitting at the floor, and running your fingers through the toddler’s hair. He smiled in amusement, before he set the basket down and approached you both, kneeling at your side, “Ah, what a lovely crown you wear.”

“Oh, shut it…”

“No, no. I recall you said something about how it would be self-degradation to take in a human child as your own. Here you are, kneeling at the feet of the little prince.”

You frowned, “You’re kneeling too.”

He grinned, “Of course I am.”

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

support me on ko-fi!

#💖 — amoris writes #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #silver vanrouge #twst silver

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lvmimis · 2 months ago

Text

“You know, your heartbeat isn’t all that different.”

As you look up at Luffy from your vantage point, your left palm resting on his chest as you turn your ear away from where you were listening carefully, he looks at you quizzically. Your smile is wide as you gaze at him, then you pat his chest gently.

“Why would it be different? I’m just laying here.”

He’s right about this, the two of you have turned in for the night and are just about to sleep, but every so often in these serene moments, you’ve sometimes wondered if you’d ever be able to catch a glimpse of something different in his pulse ever since the events that played out at Wano.

He has a heart that has stopped, started, experienced all sorts of arrhythmias… you have heard that in some ancient medical traditions, a thousand conditions could be gleaned from just close attention to the steady (or not so steady) rhythmic thump of someone’s heart, that you could learn so much about someone from every beat -

And yet, Luffy sounds regular, steady, just like he’s always been, which isn’t particularly upsetting nor is it exciting.

However, the familiarity of it does put you at ease naturally. You press your ear against him again to listen and inhale slowly, then exhale, consolidating all your senses into just one.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

“Do you want to know what it sounds like when I transform?” Luffy asks. His palm comes to a rest on the top of your head, a soft caress of your hair accompanying the question. His voice is lower, quieter than usual, perhaps because he’s already sleepy since it is the middle of the night and he’s starting to wind down from the day.

“No, not now. I just…” your voice trails off as you close your eyes.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

Trillions and trillions of people have heartbeats just like this. But this one, his heartbeat, is the one you might cherish the most.

You’re entranced, pulling closer to him as you relish in this sound that reminds you that he’s here with you, always, connected. With two free fingers, you feel your own pulse in your neck.

Not the exact same rate - yours a little faster, a little fainter, but you’re both still here. Together.

“Are you okay?”

Your mind naturally runs a mile a minute, a train of thought often too fast for him to catch up to before he decides to give up on trying to match it and decides to wrangle it into comprehension. An arm curls over your waist and he shifts easily until he’s atop you in bed. He’s careful to be light on your body as he supports his weight while he looks deeply into your eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Luffy asks, finally. Deep brown eyes run over your body; you’ve already had sex tonight - he could very easily indulge in more but rest is a good idea too sometimes, he figures.

Your arms wrap loosely around his neck.

“That I’m happy your heart is always beating.”

His eyebrows knit in confusion for a moment, but then just as quickly he eases into a smile and dips low to kiss you on the forehead, before letting just a little bit more of his weight rest onto you. His warmth and pressure is just as comforting as the sound of blood coursing through his body, as his indomitable spirit.

“I’m happy about that too. And yours, of course,” he says, cheerfully.

“I love you, Luffy. Your heart better never stop beating,” you declare.

He laughs, letting his face bury into your neck as he nips at it, kisses sleepier and sloppier over time. His chest presses against yours and you feel it again, every beat after beat.

“If yours keeps beating, mine will too. They’re talking to each other, like best friends,” he teases.

His hands run the length of your arms, searching for your fingers; you slip your fingers in between his naturally.

“Like lovers,” you correct him in a teasing voice.

“Like lovers,” he repeats affectionately. His eyelids lower languidly, and he murmurs the words, “I love you.”

He’s dozing off, his heartbeat slowing against your body. Your body clings naturally around him even as he slips carefully to the side so he doesn’t suffocate you.

“Love you,” he repeats again, drowsy. You press your head against his chest again, to let that steady heartbeat, one amongst trillions, but a sound so terribly precious to you, lull you to sleep.

#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy fluff #monkey d. luffy fluff #daydreams: op #mimi's notes #lumimi

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archivegyu · 9 days ago

Text

masterlist

my favorite uncles!

uncle! kim mingyu ll uncle! kwon soonyoung ll dad! choi seungcheol ll 6k words

: the art of being a girl dad

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows as Seungcheol double-checked his overnight bag for the third time. His wife stood beside him, smoothing down their five-year-old daughter’s unruly hair while Naeun sat cross-legged on the counter, swinging her legs and observing her parents with the keen eyes of someone who knew something exciting was about to happen.

“Are you sure Mingyu and Soonyoung can handle her?” his wife asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer would be entertaining rather than reassuring.

Seungcheol paused his bag-checking ritual. “Define ‘handle.’”

“Daddy,” Naeun interjected with the patience of someone far older than her five years, “you’re being dramatic again. Uncle Mingyu makes the best pancakes, and Uncle Soonyoung lets me win at video games.”

“He doesn’t let you win,” Seungcheol corrected, zipping up his bag. “You actually beat him. There’s a difference.”

Naeun grinned, revealing a gap where her front tooth used to be. “I know.”

The doorbell rang, followed immediately by enthusiastic knocking that could only belong to one person. Kkuma, Seungcheol’s fluffy white dog, launched into a series of excited barks and spun in circles near the door.

“That’s Uncle Soonyoung’s knock,” Naeun announced, sliding off the counter with practiced ease. “Uncle Mingyu knocks like this—” She demonstrated three polite, evenly-spaced knocks. “But Uncle Soonyoung knocks like he’s trying to break down the door.”

“Accurate,” Seungcheol’s wife laughed, heading toward the front door.

The door opened to reveal Mingyu and Soonyoung, both carrying suspiciously large bags and wearing expressions that immediately made Seungcheol nervous.

“Uncle Mingyu! Uncle Soonyoung!” Naeun launched herself at the two men, who caught her in a practiced sandwich hug.

“Princess Naeun!” Soonyoung declared, lifting her up and spinning her around. “Ready for the most epic day ever?”

“What’s in the bags?” she asked, eyeing their supplies with interest.

Mingyu and Soonyoung exchanged a look that parents everywhere would recognize as trouble.

“Supplies,” Mingyu said diplomatically.

“What kind of supplies?” Seungcheol asked, his instincts kicking in.

“Fun supplies,” Soonyoung answered, which was somehow both completely honest and utterly unhelpful.

Naeun wiggled out of Soonyoung’s arms and immediately began investigating their bags. “Is this art stuff? And… is that a tent?”

“It’s a small tent,” Mingyu said quickly. “For indoor camping. Very safe. Very contained.”

Seungcheol’s wife placed a calming hand on his arm. “They’ll be fine. Naeun’s smart, and despite appearances, Mingyu and Soonyoung are responsible adults.”

“Despite appearances?” Soonyoung protested. “I’m hurt. Wounded. Devastated.”

“You’re wearing a tiger-print hoodie and light-up sneakers,” Naeun pointed out. “And it’s not even Halloween.”

“These are my Saturday shoes,” Soonyoung defended. “They have excellent arch support.”

After final hugs, promises to send updates, and a comprehensive list of emergency contacts, Seungcheol and his wife finally left for their weekend getaway. The house fell quiet for exactly three seconds before Naeun clapped her hands together.

“Okay! First order of business: what’s actually in those bags?”

Twenty minutes later, the living room looked like a craft store had exploded. Mingyu had indeed brought art supplies, but his definition of “art supplies” was apparently quite broad. There were paints, markers, glue sticks, construction paper, pipe cleaners, googly eyes, and what appeared to be enough stickers to decorate a small building.

Soonyoung’s contribution was equally impressive: the promised indoor tent, several board games, a container of homemade slime, fairy lights, and a bluetooth speaker currently playing what he called “adventure music.”

“This is like Christmas,” Naeun said, sitting in the middle of the chaos with Kkuma curled up beside her. “But with more potential for glitter.”

“We haven’t even opened the glitter yet,” Mingyu pointed out.

“The glitter stays closed,” Soonyoung said firmly. “I made that mistake exactly once. Found glitter in my hair for three months.”

They settled on the floor to make friendship bracelets, with Naeun patiently explaining proper technique while Mingyu approached the task with methodical precision and Soonyoung treated it like a competitive sport.

“It’s not about speed, Uncle Soonyoung,” Naeun said as he fumbled with the strings for the fourth time. “It’s about the friendship.”

“But what if I could make friendship bracelets really, really fast?”

“Would you want a friendship bracelet that someone made really fast, or one that someone made with love?” she asked, channeling wisdom beyond her years.

Soonyoung paused his frantic braiding. “That’s… actually a really good point.”

“Naeun’s full of good points,” Mingyu said, working on what was shaping up to be a tiny masterpiece. “She gets it from both her parents.”

“Team effort,” Naeun added. “Mom says Dad’s good at making decisions, but she’s good at making sure they’re the right decisions.”

As if summoned by the mention of teamwork, Kkuma padded over to investigate their progress, sniffing delicately at each bracelet before gently taking one of Soonyoung’s loose strings in her mouth.

“Hey!” Soonyoung protested. “That’s my bracelet!”

“I think she wants to help,” Naeun giggled. “Or she’s trying to save us from your terrible braiding.”

“It’s abstract,” Soonyoung declared, holding up his creation that looked more like a colorful bird’s nest. “Very avant-garde.”

“It’s very you,” Naeun said diplomatically. “Oh! We should make something for Kkuma too! She feels left out when I make things for everyone else.”

They spent the next hour creating a small red bandana decorated with tiny paw prints, which Kkuma accepted with dignified resignation, shaking herself until it sat at a jaunty angle that somehow made her look even more adorable.

“She looks very fashionable,” Naeun declared. “Don’t you think so, Kkuma?”

Kkuma’s response was to trot over to her water bowl, the bandana fluttering behind her like a tiny flag.

“I think that’s her way of saying she loves it,” Soonyoung interpreted.

“Or her way of saying she’s tolerating it because she loves us,” Mingyu added.

“Same thing,” Naeun said cheerfully. “Can we go to the park now? Kkuma needs to show off her new bandana.”

The park was bustling with Saturday afternoon activity. Naeun immediately gravitated toward the swings while Kkuma settled in a shady spot to supervise, her new bandana attracting admiring glances from passersby.

“Push me high enough to see the whole park, but not so high that Kkuma gets worried,” Naeun instructed as Soonyoung took position behind her swing.

“That’s very specific criteria,” he said, beginning to push.

“Kkuma has anxiety about heights,” she explained seriously. “I can tell by her face.”

They moved through the playground equipment with Naeun providing running commentary on her technique and progress. “I made it one more monkey bar than last time,” she announced after dropping down from the bars. “Mom says it’s okay to try new things and change your mind about what you like.”

“Your mom’s very wise,” Mingyu said, taking pictures to send to her parents later.

“She is. She told me that Uncle Soonyoung used to want to be a professional soccer player before he became a dance teacher.”

Soonyoung looked surprised. “She told you that?”

“She said it’s a good example of how people can be good at lots of different things, and sometimes what makes you happy changes.” Naeun bounced on her toes. “Can we play frisbee now?”

What followed was less a game of frisbee and more a demonstration of various incorrect throwing techniques, with Kkuma providing enthusiastic but unhelpful assistance.

“The trick,” Naeun explained after watching Soonyoung’s throw sail into a tree, “is to aim for where you want it to go, not where you think it’s going to go.”

“That’s very philosophical,” Mingyu said, managing a perfect throw.

“I learned it from Uncle Joshua” she said, catching the frisbee. “He’s very philosophical about everything.”

“Both deep thoughts and enthusiastic thoughts are important,” she continued seriously. “You need deep thoughts for important stuff, and enthusiastic thoughts for fun stuff.”

“What kind of thoughts do you have?” Soonyoung asked, genuinely curious.

“Mixed thoughts. Like, I think deeply about fun stuff and enthusiastically about important stuff. I get it from both my parents.”

After working up an appetite, they headed to a dog-friendly café with outdoor seating. Naeun ordered hot chocolate despite the warm weather (“Hot chocolate is good at any temperature”), while the uncles opted for iced drinks and what Soonyoung called “dangerous pastries.”

“Do you ever get scared when you’re teaching dance classes?” Naeun asked Soonyoung as they settled at their table.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially with new students or when we’re performing.”

“What do you do when you get scared?”

“I remember that I’m not alone. I have good friends like Uncle Mingyu, and I remember that people want me to succeed.” He paused thoughtfully. “What scares you?”

“Big kids at school, mostly. And sometimes when Mommy and Daddy go out.” She brightened. “But not when I stay with you two. You’re not scary at all.”

“If you ever get scared when we’re not around, you can think about us being there with you,” Soonyoung suggested. “Like imagining Uncle Mingyu giving you one of his perfect hugs.”

“Your hugs are different but still really good,” she told Mingyu, leaning against his arm. “Daddy’s hugs are safe and strong, like everything’s going to be okay. Your hugs are warm and gentle, like you’re really happy to see me.”

“I am really happy to see you,” Mingyu said softly. “Always.”

Kkuma had become something of a local celebrity, accepting pets and compliments on her bandana with regal grace. “She gets it from Daddy,” Naeun observed. “He’s good with people too.”

“Your dad’s an excellent manager at his company,” Mingyu agreed. “He makes everyone feel valued.”

“That’s why he’s a good leader. You can’t lead people who don’t trust you, and people won’t trust you if you don’t care about them.”

Both uncles stared at her in amazement.

“Did your dad tell you that?” Soonyoung asked.

“No, I figured it out myself from watching him with everyone at work parties.”

By the time they returned home, they were ready for their indoor camping adventure. Setting up the tent proved more challenging than expected, with Naeun serving as official instruction reader.

“Uncle Soonyoung, that pole goes the other way,” she said patiently. “And Uncle Mingyu, I think you’re holding it upside down.”

“How can a tent pole be upside down?” Mingyu asked.

“Everything can be upside down if you try hard enough,” she replied wisely.

Eventually they erected something recognizably tent-shaped, complete with fairy lights and a cozy interior of pillows and blankets. Kkuma assessed the situation from her spot on the couch and apparently decided luxury was preferable to adventure.

“Not everyone’s cut out for the adventurous life,” Naeun said generously when Kkuma declined to join them.

They spent the evening telling stories inside their tent. Naeun shared “The Great Playground Mystery” about helping a shy kindergartener share her secret artwork, while Mingyu recounted his disastrous attempt at gourmet pizza that resulted in what he called “edible garden center cuisine.”

“Uncle Seokmin tried a bite,” Soonyoung added. “He was very polite, but his face gave him away.”

“Uncle Seokmin’s terrible at hiding his feelings,” Naeun giggled. “His face shows everything he’s thinking.”

The next morning brought pancakes (Mingyu’s specialty) and plans for grocery shopping to restock supplies for their final evening together.

“We need ingredients for dinner,” Mingyu explained as they prepared to leave. “What sounds good?”

“Something we can all make together,” Naeun suggested. “Like tacos! Everyone can choose their own toppings.”

The grocery store was busier than expected for a Sunday morning. They made it through produce and dairy without incident, with Naeun riding in the cart and providing commentary on their selections.

“We should get the fancy cheese,” she declared. “It’s a special occasion.”

“What makes it special?” Soonyoung asked, comparing prices.

“I’m spending the whole weekend with my two favorite uncles. That’s pretty special.”

“Only two favorites?” Mingyu teased. “What about Uncle Jeonghan?”

“Uncle Jeonghan’s in a different category,” she said seriously. “He’s my favorite troublemaker uncle. You two are my favorite adventure uncles.”

They were debating taco shell options when Soonyoung’s phone rang. “It’s your parents,” he told Naeun. “Want to say hi?”

“Daddy!” Naeun’s face lit up when Soonyoung put the call on speaker. “Are you having fun on your trip?”

“We are, sweetheart. Are you being good for Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung?”

“I’m being excellent,” she said proudly. “We made friendship bracelets and went to the park and had a café adventure and did indoor camping and now we’re getting taco supplies!”

“Wow, that sounds like quite an adventure,” her mother’s voice came through the phone. “What was your favorite part?”

“All of it! Oh, and I made a new friend at the park yesterday. His name is Sian and he’s six and he has a really cool bike with streamers on the handlebars.”

Soonyoung, who had been nodding along cheerfully, suddenly realized what was happening. Through the phone, they could hear Seungcheol��s voice sharpen with interest.

“A new friend?” he asked, and Mingyu shot Soonyoung a warning look. “A boy?”

“Yeah! He was at the playground and his mom was there too,” Naeun continued innocently. “Sian taught me how to do this cool trick on the monkey bars, and I taught him how to braid friendship bracelets. His mom said maybe we could have a playdate sometime!”

There was a telling pause on the other end of the line. “What kind of trick on the monkey bars?” Seungcheol’s voice had taken on what Mingyu recognized as his interrogation tone.

“Just swinging and stuff, Daddy. Nothing dangerous,” Naeun said, slightly confused by his serious tone. “Sian’s really nice. He shared his animal crackers with me and he didn’t even laugh when I fell off the swings.”

“He didn’t help you up when you fell, did he?” Seungcheol asked, and his wife could be heard quietly sighing in the background.

“Well, yeah, he helped me brush the dirt off my dress and everything. He’s a good friend, Daddy.”

“Seungcheol,” his wife’s voice came through more clearly now, obviously closer to the phone.

“I’m just asking questions,” Seungcheol defended. “So this Sian boy, how tall is he? Does he seem… I don’t know, mature for his age?”

“Daddy, he’s six,” Naeun said with the exasperated tone of someone much older. “He still thinks girls have cooties except for me because I’m cool.”

Soonyoung tried to lighten the mood. “See? Nothing to worry about. Just innocent playground friendship—”

“And his mom wants to set up playdates,” Seungcheol continued, completely ignoring Soonyoung. “Did she ask a lot of questions about our family? About where we live?”

“Seungcheol, she’s five,” his wife said firmly, clearly having taken the phone. “And he’s six. They’re children.”

“I know, but—”

“Hi boys,” Naeun’s mom continued, her voice warm but with an edge that suggested she was handling her husband. “Sounds like you’re having wonderful adventures. We’ll let you get back to your evening.”

“But I want to know more about this Sian kid,” Seungcheol could be heard protesting in the background. “What if he’s one of those kids who’s a bad influence? What if he teaches her to climb too high or—”

“We’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” Naeun’s mom said pointedly. “Be good for your uncles.”

The call ended, leaving the three of them staring at the phone.

“Is Daddy mad about Sian?” Naeun asked, her voice small.

“He’s not mad, sweetheart,” Mingyu said gently. “He just… worries about you. A lot.”

“But Sian’s nice! He even said I was the smartest girl in the whole playground,” Naeun said, getting upset. “And he promised to teach me how to ride his bike with the streamers.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu exchanged looks.

“Oh no,” Soonyoung muttered. “Wait until he hears about the bike riding lessons.”

“Why does Daddy get so weird when I have friends?” Naeun asked, genuinely confused.

“Because he loves you very much,” Mingyu explained carefully. “And sometimes when daddies love their little girls a lot, they get a little… protective. Even about friends.”

“That’s silly,” Naeun declared. “Sian’s just a kid like me.”

“We know that,” Soonyoung said. “Your dad will figure it out too. Eventually.”

“Mommy will explain it to him,” Naeun said confidently. “She’s good at making Daddy be normal again.”

They continued shopping, with Soonyoung looking increasingly nervous about the inevitable confrontation when her parents returned. It was in the cereal aisle that disaster struck.

“Can we get the colorful cereal?” Naeun asked, pointing to a display of sugar-laden breakfast options.

“Your parents said no sugar cereal,” Mingyu said apologetically.

“What about the one with the toy inside?”

“Still sugar cereal.”

“The one with the cartoon character?”

“Definitely sugar cereal.”

Naeun sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’m going to look at all the options so I can dream about them.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung were debating the merits of various healthy cereals when they realized the commentary from the peanut gallery had stopped. They turned to find the spot where Naeun had been standing completely empty.

“Naeun?” Mingyu called, looking around the immediate area.

“She was just here,” Soonyoung said, panic creeping into his voice. “Naeun!”

They split up, checking the adjoining aisles. The grocery store suddenly seemed enormous, full of places a small person could wander off to or get lost in.

“Excuse me,” Mingyu approached a store employee. “We’re looking for a little girl, five years old, dark hair, pink shirt. Have you seen her?”

“I’ll call security,” the employee said immediately. “What’s her name?”

“Naeun. Choi Naeun.”

Within minutes, they had a small team helping search, and an announcement went out over the store’s PA system. Soonyoung was practically hyperventilating.

“Seungcheol is going to kill me,” he kept repeating. “We lost his daughter. We lost Naeun. He’s going to actually murder me.”

“We’re going to find her,” Mingyu said firmly, though his own voice was tight with worry. “She’s smart. She knows not to leave the store.”

It was a security guard who found her fifteen minutes later in the pet supply aisle, sitting cross-legged on the floor and having what appeared to be a serious conversation with a display of dog toys.

“Naeun!” Both uncles rushed over, and she looked up in surprise.

“Oh, hi! I was just explaining to these toys that Kkuma would probably like the squeaky hamburger, but she might be too dignified for the rubber chicken.”

“You can’t just wander off like that!” Soonyoung said, his relief making him sound sharper than he intended. “We were terrified!”

Naeun’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I saw the pet stuff and wanted to find something special for Kkuma, and I thought you’d find me right away.”

Mingyu knelt down to her level. “We know you didn’t mean to scare us, but when we couldn’t find you, we got really worried. Your parents trust us to keep you safe.”

“I didn’t think about that,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to surprise Kkuma.”

“Next time, tell us where you’re going, okay?” Soonyoung said, his voice back to its normal gentle tone. “We can look at pet toys together.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Can we still get something for Kkuma?”

They spent another ten minutes in the pet aisle, with Naeun carefully considering each toy option before settling on a plush bone that squeaked when squeezed. “It’s dignified but still fun,” she explained.

The rest of the shopping trip passed without incident, though both uncles kept her within arm’s reach. It wasn’t until they were back home, unpacking groceries and preparing for taco night, that Soonyoung’s phone buzzed with a text.

“It’s your dad,” he told Naeun, reading the message. “He says, and I quote, ‘We need to talk about playground friends when I get home.’”

“He’s not actually mad,” Naeun said confidently. “If he was really mad, he would have called. Texts mean he’s just being dramatic.”

“I hope you’re right,” Soonyoung said fervently.

“Daddy will understand once Mommy explains it to him,” Naeun said with the confidence of someone who understood family dynamics. “Now, can we start making tacos? I’m starving.”

The evening passed peacefully with taco assembly, more indoor camping, and a movie night featuring animated films and a very content Kkuma chewing on her new squeaky bone. Naeun fell asleep during the second movie, curled up between her uncles in their makeshift tent fort.

“She’s amazing,” Mingyu said quietly, adjusting a blanket around her small form.

“She really is,” Soonyoung agreed. “Smart, funny, kind… Seungcheol and his wife did something right.”

“They did. And so did we, I think. Despite the grocery store incident.”

“And the accidental matchmaking revelation.”

“That too.”

When Seungcheol and his wife returned that evening, they found their daughter fast asleep in a pillow fort, flanked by two exhausted but happy uncles. Kkuma was curled up nearby, her new toy within easy reach and her bandana still stylishly askew.

“How did it go?” Naeun’s mother asked quietly.

“She’s incredible,” Mingyu said. “Smart, funny, wise beyond her years.”

“We only lost her once,” Soonyoung added, then immediately looked like he regretted saying anything.

“You what?” Seungcheol’s protective instincts flared immediately.

“Five minutes in the grocery store,” Mingyu said quickly. “She wandered to the pet aisle to find a toy for Kkuma. Security helped us find her, and she was completely safe.”

“These things happen,” Naeun’s mother said diplomatically, shooting her husband a look. “And clearly everything worked out fine.”

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to say more, but his sleeping daughter chose that moment to stir and mumble something about friendship bracelets in her sleep.

“Now,” he said instead, his voice taking on that dangerous parental tone again, “about this playground friend situation…”

“His name is Sian,” Soonyoung said quickly. “He’s six, very polite, good at monkey bars. He seemed nice.”

“Nice,” Seungcheol repeated.

Naeun’s mother laughed quietly. “Seungcheol, leave the poor men alone. It sounds like they had a wonderful weekend.”

“We did,” Naeun’s sleepy voice piped up from the tent. “The best weekend ever. Can Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung babysit again soon?”

“We’ll see,” Seungcheol said, but his expression had softened considerably at seeing his daughter’s happy face.

“And can I have another playdate with Sian? He promised to teach me how to ride a bike with no training wheels.”

“We’ll… discuss it,” Seungcheol said carefully.

“That means yes,” Naeun informed her uncles confidently. “Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea that I’m growing up.”

“I’m not ready for you to grow up,” Seungcheol said, settling down next to the tent to give his daughter a proper hug.

“That’s okay, Daddy. Growing up is scary for parents too. But you’ll figure it out. You’re really good at taking care of people.”

“When did you get so wise?” he asked, smoothing her hair.

“I learned from the best,” she said, snuggling into his arms. “I have the most amazing family.”

Later, after Naeun had been transferred to her own bed and the living room had been restored to its normal state, the adults sat around the kitchen table sharing stories from the weekend.

“She really is something special,” Soonyoung said. “The way she thinks about things, how kind she is to everyone…”

“She gets that from both of you,” Mingyu told the parents. “But she’s definitely her own person too.”

“About this Sian situation,” Seungcheol began, and his wife immediately put a hand on his arm.

“Let it go,” she said gently. “She’s five. She made a friend. This is normal childhood stuff.”

“But—”

“No buts. Our daughter is growing up, and that means making friends and having social interactions. Would you rather she be shy and isolated?”

“No,” Seungcheol admitted reluctantly.

“Then trust her judgment. And trust your friends’ judgment. They took excellent care of her.”

“We really did,” Soonyoung said. “Even with the grocery store thing. She’s smart and careful and knows how to handle herself.”

“The grocery store thing?” Naeun’s mother asked.

“Nothing major,” Mingyu said quickly. “She just wandered off to look at dog toys for about five minutes. Security helped us find her.”

“And she wasn’t scared or upset?”

“No, she was completely calm. Just focused on finding the perfect toy for Kkuma.”

“That sounds like our daughter,” she laughed. “Single-minded determination.”

“She gets that from her father,” Soonyoung said, grinning at Seungcheol.

“Hey!”

“It’s a compliment,” Mingyu assured him. “Determination is a good trait. She’s going to do amazing things when she grows up.”

“Speaking of which,” Naeun’s mother said, “she wants to know if you’d both be willing to babysit again sometime. This weekend was apparently ‘the best adventure ever.’”

“Absolutely,” both uncles said simultaneously.

“But maybe next time we’ll stick to activities that don’t involve grocery stores,” Soonyoung added.

“Or playground meet-cutes,” Seungcheol said pointedly.

“That wasn’t planned!” Soonyoung protested. “It just happened! Kids make friends!”

“I know,” Seungcheol sighed. “I’m just not ready for her to start growing up so fast. Soon she’ll be asking about boys and sleepovers, and then what?”

“She’s five,” his wife reminded him gently. “Right now she still thinks the highlight of her day is sharing animal crackers and making perfect braids. That’s five-year-old priorities.”

“For now,” Seungcheol muttered

“For now is all we can handle,” she said wisely. “And for now, we have two wonderful friends who love our daughter and gave her an amazing weekend full of adventures and memories.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said, looking at Mingyu and Soonyoung seriously. “Really. I know I get protective, but… she means everything to us.”

“She means everything to us too,” Mingyu said simply. “She’s special, and we’re honored you trust us with her.”

“Plus,” Soonyoung added with a grin, “she’s way more fun than most of our adult friends. Did you know she has a theory about ant society that’s actually quite sophisticated?”

“She told you the ant theory too?” Naeun’s mother laughed. “She’s been working on that one for weeks.”

“It’s actually really insightful,” Mingyu said. “She has a whole philosophy about teamwork and community organization.”

“That’s our girl,” Seungcheol said proudly. “Always thinking.”

As the evening wound down and the uncles prepared to leave, Naeun appeared in the kitchen doorway in her pajamas, rubbing sleepy eyes.

“Are Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung leaving?” she asked.

“We are, sweetheart,” Mingyu said, crouching down for a hug. “But we’ll see you again soon.”

“And next time maybe we can have that playdate with Sian,” she said hopefully, looking at her father.

“Maybe,” Seungcheol said, and everyone could tell he was genuinely considering it.

“Definitely maybe, or just maybe maybe?” she pressed.

“Definitely maybe,” he conceded, and she beamed.

“I love you, Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung,” she said, giving them both fierce hugs. “Thank you for the best weekend ever.”

“We love you too, Princess,” Soonyoung said, his voice slightly rough with emotion. “Sweet dreams.”

As they drove home, both uncles were quiet for a while, processing the weekend’s adventures.

“Think Seungcheol will actually let her have that playdate?” Soonyoung finally asked.

“Eventually,” Mingyu said. “He’s protective, but he’s not unreasonable. And his wife will talk sense into him.”

“Good. Naeun deserves to have friends her own age.”

“She does. Though I have to say, hanging out with a five-year-old for a weekend was more fun than I expected.”

“Right? She’s like this perfect combination of innocent and wise. And hilarious.”

“Think they’ll ask us to babysit again?”

“Definitely. Despite the grocery store incident and the accidental matchmaking revelation.”

“We should probably plan better next time.”

“Probably. But you know what? Even with the chaos, it was pretty perfect.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu agreed, smiling as he thought about Naeun’s gap-toothed grin and her theories about friendship bracelets and ant societies. “It really was.”

The next morning, Seungcheol woke up to find a carefully folded piece of paper slipped under his bedroom door. On it, in Naeun’s careful five-year-old handwriting, was a short note: “Dear Daddy, Thank you for letting me have the best weekend with Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung. They took very good care of me and Kkuma.”

Attached to the note was a friendship bracelet made from pink and blue strings, slightly crooked but clearly made with love.

Seungcheol smiled despite himself. His daughter was growing up, making friends, and forming her own opinions about the world. It was terrifying and wonderful and exactly what he wanted for her.

He slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, right next to his watch, and made his way to the kitchen where the sound of gentle laughter already filled the morning air.

304 notes · View notes

amazingcreek · 4 months ago

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rapid fire oathbound thoughts:

holy shit we got queer bree AND transfem zoe. is anyone in this book series straight? no? good.

natasia kane my beloveddddd you are such a bad parent but such a proud mom

Nick and Bree on the roof?!?!? I haven't seen anyone mention this and it's making me crazyyyyyyyy

also one bed, yes ma'am there's only one bed ty mrs. deonn

William having a crush on Lark and Lark having a crush on William and neither of them ~actually~ addressing it is so frustrating I can't even

LARK CALLING WILL SWEETHEART ugh my heart

bring. back. Alice.

sel's "got you" IS FROM THEIR FIRST INTERACTION. BUT ALSO A PREY THING. GODDAMNIT

Zoe was so real for forgiving Bree after learning all this had been less than a year. like yeah ok that's too much in too little to expect normal communication

Mariah and valec's opinions on the whole "powerhouse" and "point of our spear" thing is soooooo good. I love nuance tracy deonn take my money

nick talking about sel constantlyyyyyyy. oh my god these two are gonna kill me. "please tell sel that when we find him" "sel would draw and quarter me" UGH

NICK HOLDING EVERYONE ACCOUNTABLE. truly that moment at his council hearing when he says we must name them when Bree is here AND when she isn't is just. yeah. go him. AND THEN the perspective of William checking himself and going "oh shit I have NOT been doing as much as I thought" was so good. tracy you're a literal wizard and changing the world thank you.

valec calling the merlins cops. fuck yeah they are. tbh doing a whole analysis on merlins abuse of aether users/experimenting on Black bodies would be so good. maybe I'll write a paper who knows

valec and zoe. make them come back

bree knowing she's loved as she meets everyone, not being able to love them back in the same way because of her memories, BUT choosing to love and support them regardless is just like gorgeous. the amount of hugs she just accepts and goes, yeah I need this, even when she can't do the same in return is perfect

the ending. the ending. hooooollyyyyy shit the ending. "a king, a knight, and a prince" AHHHHHHHH. selwyn kane you can do no wrong in my eyes but oh my god. I am so scared someone hold me

ALSO after reading the ending going back through the book and seeing that there are several places where Bree and Nick are talking about sel and HE is the one calling her bloodmark. oh em gee.

this is not comprehensive and I'll probably think of more but yeah. how're we doing gang?

#oathbound spoilers #oathbound #tracy deonn #bree matthews #selwyn kane #nick davis #legendborn cycle #william scitterson #bloodmarked

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neodymiumcuilz · 9 days ago

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HELP WISSAM AND HER FAMILY FROM GAZA 🍉🍉

Could you imagine living in a situation where death is at every corner, bombs surround you. We live in a world where knowing you will be alive tomorrow is a privilege, and Wissam ( @wesam75 ) does not share that privilege living through the humiliation and degrading conditions of genocide. A genocide the world and media turns a blind eye to.

Wissam has lost everything, her story of pain and loss is devastating and beyond the comprehension of most. Please read her words, see her as a human being, and not a number, not a statistic;

" I am Wissam, married to Ibrahim, he is very sick and I am pregnant. I don't know how to describe to you the feeling of war, pain, suffering and destruction that we live here.

Just imagine that I lost my home and my job and lived through the destruction.We have been at war for a year or more. I live in a small tent in the cold and winter. My daughter needs health care, but I am alone and under these circumstances I cannot give her the most basic rights. We are now in a severe famine and cannot find any kind of food. She needs healthy food, but even that has become difficult to obtain due to exploitation and the lack of the most basic resources. Here in the tent we drowned due to the heavy rains. Surviving death is so difficult that they closed the crossing in front of us and now we cannot travel and we are still here in Gaza, the destruction. "

Imagine the pain of a parent in Gaza, who cannot protect their children from starvation, disease, sickness, injury and the bitter cold. Never complain about your life, because you are living someone else's dream. As I write this, 22% of the goal has been reached, and the last donation was 2 days ago. Donations are stagnant, and need to keep flowing.

They have raised less than €2,000. They have hardly raised enough to buy food in the Gaza Strip. If you could donate even the price of a coffee, or share with someone who has the means to help, you are directly participating in helping a Gazan family stay alive. In this day and age, helping people has never been easier yet people turn a blind eye and are hesitant. Don't be that person, be a light in the darkness for Wissam and her family.

(Scan the QR code to donate, anything helps <3)

tagging for reach:

@xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @a-shade-of-blue @raangmanch @ot3 @tamamita @alluraaaa @theinconvenientlifestyle @sar-soor @rana-temporaria @rana-temporaria @randommmmie @random-autie-fangirl-old @ladycelebrianofimladris @laurellament @magz @magicpandacats @determinate-negation @alientitty @tumbalaria @crows-sorrows @mayoiayasep @estrellasrojas @esperantokomencanto @secretpersonapruneeggs @troythecatfish @ourient @one-time-i-dreamt @fictionkinfessions @fifthnormani @postanagramgenerator @twosandwich @summerslushies @turquoisewavesstitch @paranormal-librarian @pangur-and-grim @nectarinegirl @bookskittychad @omegaversereloaded @maester-cressen @maryajunkova @wormthe @wayneradiotv @leovaldeeeznuts @lmaonade @purpleweredragon @bahrmp3 @greek-freak101 @extremelycursedimages @sharingresourcesforpalestine @kiirodor

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d3cay1ngst4tic · 1 year ago

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— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

★ jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

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girlsworldillusion · 1 year ago

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I'd let the world burn for you

•

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

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theladybrownstarot · 5 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ?

|𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ִֶָ |𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝-𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ִֶָ |𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 ִֶָ |

|𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ִֶָ |

HOW TO PICK A PILE ? Take a deep breathe , close your eyes after your open them up choose the pile where your sight goes first in calming inner silence . If you are called up by more than one pile you please feel free to choose them.

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

The month of July is going to be about forgiveness and acceptance. You may let go of some opportunities you waited for because they didn't turn out to be as expected. You are moving towards those choices that are aligned with your plan. I can see that you are becoming more spiritual than a material person. Basically, you have realized yourself and your goals, which won't let you take choices that are less for you or do not support your long-term plan. I can see some long travel this month; some people may leave their home. The energy of this month for you is very still because you are calm and controlled, almost like a siren. This is a good month to do charity also. The theme of this month is more self-reflection and searching for higher emotional ground, understanding them. You are developing inner strength. You will be lifting many heavy karmic energies. There is a divine plan for you, which you are following, so do not fear or get scared if things do not go your way. I can see Gemini energy, which can indicate that there could be the possibility of it having misunderstandings this month or being delusional too. Something from your past will be repeated. For monthly messages, it is coming that there is an old pattern rising up in you, and it's time to deal with it and release it for good. You know what you need to do, so don't delay it any further. What you need is courage and one step at a time. Also, don't let yourself feel unloved. Trust your intuition. Be assorted because you are ready for the great miracles of this month because divine trust you at the same time thatyou think that you may continue what was started in July within the next few months.

🌸Here's my link to personalised readings - link

🪷 You may even donate to suppport me - link

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

In the month of July for pile number 2, you people will need to make a decision between what you love and what is your priority, but how you will make this decision will depend completely upon you. Some people may need to make specific decisions regarding their love life or with any current person they are with right now. This is an ethical decision that needs to be made. It is possible for a few people to meet someone romantically this month. You will need to take care of your routine this month because I see anxiety over some things, which could possibly result in you having bad sleeping patterns as an effect. There could be a period of tension, but anyhow, you will come out of it successfully ending another cycle of karma or karmic cycle. You people may go through some Venus transit or Venus dasha. For Oracle guidance, look beyond your current situation, raise your vibration, focus on love, and always remember that where your eyes cannot see, your heart will definitely see it. Don't allow your ego or doubt to play games with you; just stay calm and keep your eyes open towards what you want. You people may start tarot readings or any occult studies too. I sense here that people may connect with some spirits, basically a beyond-human-comprehension type of thing. You may have to face a major downfall, and this will lead you to interact with them. Listen to and believe in your intuition. No matter what happens, there is always a peaceful solution for everything. Some of your expectations might not be fulfilled, which is only to protect you.

🌸 Here's my link to personalised readings - link.

🪷 You may even donate to suppport me - link

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

From what I am getting, somebody will betray you this month, and I feel that you know who this person is, so trust your intuition. People may act against you out of jealousy, hatred, envy, aggression, or retaliation. You will definitely grow up this month, but you need to keep your eyes on the people because they will definitely try to bring you down, but anyhow, you will get them back down out of revenge. Whoever this person is, they are younger than you. You are someone of importance; remember that. Do not overthink this month, and keep your hopes high. Apart from this, the month will go by connecting with your inner child, healing your trauma, and understanding your feelings. You will daydream a lot this month. This is childlike energy here. You can expect some romantic confession this month through someone. Allow your creativity to surface. You're definitely going to make some major decisions this month regarding your life, like you are going to change everything, but of course, as I said, you will rise, but people will try to get you down, so you need to protect your energy and trust your intuition. There is a possibility you may get sick this month, but you will improve. This is a perfect time to start something, but you need to look for some sign, which is the sort of protection too from negative energies. Don't rush; just follow the signs by asking God.

🌸Here's my link to personalised readings - link .

🪷 You may even donate to suppport me - link

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charliehoennam · 1 year ago

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gentle giant

Summary: The Solomons enjoy quality family time with their young baby daughter as per request by @j23r23

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!reader

Warnings: fluff, language, mentions of pregnancy and natural childbirth, oc!daughter, hints at smut

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG.

"She can't even play with that yet, Alf. She's too small" you told him when he brought home a large and lavish dollhouse, carried up to your daughter's nursery room by a couple of his men.

"Course she can't now. But, she will someday. Nothing but the best for my little Laura."

You chuckled and shook your head at his excitement, deciding to let him be happy because he genuinely was.

He has never been prouder of anything in his life.

It was needless to say that Alfie wasn't like most fathers of the time. Every day, you woke up feeling blessed and fortunate enough to be his wife.

Now, you are the mother of his child. Of his first born princess that he was already spoiling with all the finest little clothes and toys.

It's been a few months since you'd brought Laura into the world and Alfie's pride radiated as if he'd just learned he was going to be a father. Having expected the high of newfound fatherhood to fade away with late night nappy changes and early morning hungry cries, you were surprised to find that he was still so thrilled about being a father.

Not only was he proud of his little Laura, but he was still amazed beyond comprehension at your body.

During the pregnancy, he constantly marveled at the growing bump in your belly. Alfie was no fool; he understood perfectly well how a woman's body works, yet it was still the greatest miracle to him.

He never stopped calling you a Goddess for having the power to create life.

The birth of your daughter left him complete ecstasy.

Most men, especially in Jewish traditions, it was uncommon for the father to be present in the room for such a thing. But, then again, Alfie was no common man. He was always far from ordinary.

He insisted on being present to watch the miracle himself.

You'd talked about it before and assured him the midwives would take care of you. After all, he had hired the best staff to take care of you before, during and after the pregnancy.

He still continue to insist on being present - as long as you were comfortable with his presence - to watch his beloved daughter come into the world. He would've brought her out of you himself if only he knew how.

You wondered if it might have been instigated by the jealous thought of having a doctor between your legs.

You were more than grateful that he had insisted so strongly because you truly believe that, if it hadn't been for his motivating words and endearing support, you couldn't have done it by yourself.

Alfie had never cried so much in his entire life as he did when he first heard Laura's cries. You knew right away that Laura would have him wrapped around her wrinkly little finger.

And you were right.

It's late evening when Alfie comes home from an exhausting long day of work.

After hanging his hat and coat, he greets his favorite dog and heads off to search for you and his little Laura only to find you naked in the luxurious porcelain tub of your bathroom with your young 6-month-old daughter, sharing a warm bath.

"Well, ain't this a sight for sore eyes, eh?" he smirks from the doorway.

His heart warms as he sees your eyes light up.

"Baths always help her sleep better."

"Can't blame her," he nods unbuttoning his shirt. "Any room for me?"

"There's always room for you."

Of course there is. You hardly get much time to spend with your husband. The absence has him yearning for his family just the same.

He sinks into the opposite side of the tub with a tired groan, raising the water level to your swollen breasts.

"Give 'er here. Give 'er to poppa."

You carefully handed your daughter over to his hands.

Alfie holds her against his naked burly chest, kissing her head and cheeks as he informs her how much he's missed her in the softest tone.

"Daddy's missed you so much, princess. Yes, I have. Barely got see my little angel today. But that's alright, yeah? Poppa's here now, ain't he? You been good for your mother? Behaved yourself?" he questions as if she could respond, taking the small bowl to fill with water before gently pouring it over her back.

You watch leaning back against the porcelain, and admire the vulnerability of the big bad Alfie Solomons.

The word that spread around only spoke how cruel and cunning he was; of the horrors he was capable of and enjoyed inflicting upon those who betrayed him.

Yet, only you know how he could be the complete opposite. This version of him was for your eyes only and, for that, you felt blessed.

With his large hand cupped over Laura's little bare bum, he smiles as he relishes in the sounds of her giggles emitted every time he pours water over her back.

"Yeah, you like that, eh?" Alfie chuckles. "Want another go?"

She squeals happily as he repeats the action, excitedly pulling at his burly chest hair.

He yelps as he tries to unlatch her tiny fingers from his hairs.

"Got the grip of the Devil, don't she?"

"Tell that to my hair. Have to keep it up all the time so she doesn't turn me bald" you smile at him.

She giggles more enthusiastically as she pulls at them again.

"Ow! Laura, I am your father, young lady" he playfully chastises her.

"I think she takes after you."

"How so?"

"She enjoys hurting others."

"No, I enjoy hurting those who deserve it. I done nothing to deserve this" he chuckles at you.

"That's nothing compared to her biting my tits. If you think she's got hands of the Devil, try her teeth."

"They're starting to come in, innit?" he asks gently pulling her chin down to examine the two little white spots on her lower gums. "You never complained when I nibbled on them" he continues shooting a smirking glance at you.

"That was different" you chuckle back.

"I can be gentle" he replies with a wandering gaze at your chest.

"No. They're sore as fuck, Alf. They're off limits tonight."

"They're irresistible, they are. Fucking tripled in size, innit?" he chuckles. "Fucking 'ell, love. God is a cruel bloke, He is."

You laugh shaking your head. Alfie never fails to make you feel like a goddess, despite the worries you had about your changing body. It was exactly uncommon at the time for men to lose interest in their wives after pregnancy.

You'd seen many women go through it and you feared your fate would've been the same.

Thankfully, pregnancy had the opposite effect on Alfie. He was already eager to get started on the second child.

"All I'm saying is Laura will need a sibling when she's older."

Alfie's debating continued even after your shared bath. You're trying your cotton robe closed as he carries Laura into your bedroom where you had laid out her sleeping clothes beforehand.

"You say that all the time."

"Doesn't it make it less true. Besides, the fun part is trying."

Laying Laura down on the bed with a smirk, he stands upright and faces you.

The way he holds your waist has you melting under his touch. You take advantage of the moment to admire his details.

The wrinkles on his forehead, the disheveled light brown locks shining in the warm light of your room, the hairy tuffs that were peeking out from his robe.

You slide your palms up his strong arms until they rest on the back of his neck.

"Alright. I'll put her down for bed and we can have some fun time of our own" you smile sweetly at him.

His plush lips - hidden in his bushy brown beard - spread widely with mischief and excitement, infecting you with arousal as they made their way to press against your own.

You kiss him deliciously, letting his hand rest against your soft cheek. His tongue flicks against your bottom, already begging for entrance. You allow him it.

The kiss is more than enough to fuel the fire already sparked inside, in the depth of your cores. But you're both brought back to reality when Laura tiredly whines and rubs her sleepy eyes, kicking her chubby legs in the air out of frustration.

You part from Alfie's loving hold on you and bend down to scoop Laura up into your arms, assuring her everything is alright in gentle whispers.

Alfie watches how your loving nature is quick to soothe your fussy daugther in admiration. He loves watching you with her. His wife with his daughter in arms. His family.

All the words in every language would never be enough to describe the joy and pride you bring out in him.

Getting Laura to fall asleep is hardly a challenge. She was already tired from the long day and from staying up a bit past her bedtime.

Once you get her warmly dressed for the night, you sit in her nursery's rocking chair to give her one last feed.

She latches onto your nipple quickly, staring up at you with big doey eyes. The mixture of blue and gray remind you of Alfie. Her long lashes flutter as she slowly blinks, suckling for milk as she holds your index finger in her tiny hand.

You hum as you let her drink her fill, hoping to lull her sleep.

She can't resist the building sleep no matter how hard she tries. At this point, she's not even trying to drink anymore. Her eyelids grow heavier with every blink.

Gently tucking your breast back into your robe, you rest Laura's head against your shoulder as you gently pat her back to burp her.

She tries to fuss about having her favorite source of nutrition taken away, but her exhaustion dominates.

It doesn't her long to fall asleep.

Before setting Laura in her crib without stirring her too much, you kiss her head and thank the universe for blessing you such a precious little angel to care for and love.

Walking back to your room, you search Alfie but you find he's no longer there. So, you walk down the hall and the stairs in search of your husband, knowing exactly where to find him.

The office door is open as the light shines, providing the only light in the hallway. As you lean in the doorway, you smile and tap against the wooden door.

"She go down alright or put up a fuss?" Alfie smiles looking up at you from his paperwork.

"No fuss tonight. I think she was really tired." You walk into his office with a smile as you make your way towards him. "Now it's time for the grown-ups to have some fun."

Alfie smirks as his chair spins, watching you struct over to his side. His eyes scan over your frame, drinking in the sight of you as you untie your robe, letting the fabric part and shyly reveal your naked body.

"Unless you'd like to stay down here and work?"

He chuckles as he stands and kisses you tenderly, holding your face in his hands as if you're made of the most delicate and precious glass with his rough fingertips gently propping your chin up to make you face him.

"Love, the only work I've got to do is fucking you until you can't walk."

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