#reasons why I leave anonymous asks on

[perfectlyvalid49]

Entering your asks because I have seen your post about Jewish trauma and replies all over my dash (and only doing it on anon because of how stilted and awkward I always am with strangers that I admire). Your patience and earnest attempts to educate and inform those too stubborn, arrogant, and convinced of their absolute moral correctness is astonishing, and I am sorry the world's once more in such a state of hate that you had to make that post in the first place, let alone deal with a mess of antisemitic BS in the notes. (I am sorry we goyim on the left are failing the Jewish community as badly as we are. We never seem to learn, no matter how patiently you hold our hands through the explanations.)

You seem to be all kinds of awesome.

First, thank you!

Second, I’m sorry for being all over your dash. It was a long post to begin with and it only got longer as everybody yelled at the anti-Semite. It was all over my dash too, and *I* was beginning to find it annoying.

It feels weird to be admired, as I think my most notable qualities are “good at remembering rules to TTRPGs,” “incredibly stubborn,” and “does not know when to shut up.” If you feel more comfortable on anon, that’s fine, but if you ever want to put your name on things, know that most of my friends (myself included) are in the “neurospicy and have less than awesome social skills” group, so awkward isn’t going to bother me any.

The patience comes from having two elementary aged kids. If I can deal with a toddler, I can deal with an adult acting like a toddler. Also, I used to be a receptionist at a pediatrics office – so I actually have a lot of experience customer servicing adults acting like toddlers, to be honest.

As for a willingness to educate, I genuinely believe that hatred in all its forms comes from ignorance. It’s much easier to hate a faceless entity than a real person, and it’s easier to hate a group that you have no experience with than to hate a member of that group that you’re having a conversation with, especially when they’re being reasonable. I’ve been a LOT of people’s first Jew, and I don’t mind being the person to show that Jews are just normal people. Even if the person I’m in conversation with isn’t getting it, my hope is that someone on the sidelines – either their followers or mine, will.

There are two Jewish concepts at play here. The first is “tikkun olam,” or “repairing the world.” The idea is that the world is not perfect, and it is our duty to make it better. I feel like educating people, and hopefully reducing hate is a way of doing that. The other is a quote from the Talmud - “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” I don’t have to teach everyone, but when presented with the opportunity to teach someone, I have to at least try. The way I see it, doing this is part of how I practice Judaism.

As for the goyim on the left, a lot of them have let me down. But every once in a while I get an ask or a message like this from someone who seems to understand. Or I’ll point out someone’s antisemitism, and they’ll actually listen to the criticism and try to do better. It gives me hope. Since I made that post, I’ve received kind messages from a handful of people privately, plus there’s been some love in the tags on reblogs. Between that and getting all that off my chest in the first place, I honestly feel better now than I did a week ago. Thanks to everyone who helped with that, including you, Anon.

[silverskye13]

Will enby Helsknight/trans Tanguish/top surgery scars/stubborn avoidant Welsknight in a gender crisis make it into the main story of RnS? Like, a full acknowledgment of it? Because yes, us on tumblr are aware (and happily bully RnS Wels for it) but I’m curious to how it may be brought up in the main storyline instead of rambles and drabbles. (Don’t get me wrong, those rambles and drabbles are what get me through the day. But my best friend, who isn’t in the MCYT fandom whatsoever, just caught up with RnS and doesn’t use tumblr, and besides spamming her with tumblr posts I wanna know how much I can revel in the glory of the skrunkles with her!)

That is a great question, actually. And the answer is I don't really know.

So this is one of the downsides to writing things chapter by chapter. If I had gone into this going "oh heck yeah they're trans", this would've come up in the plot way sooner. It's nice information 1) for all the trans folks reading and 2) because it has the potential to inform the themes in the narrative. This whole story is about two chief things I think: death [the inevitability of] and identity [what defines you and why]. Why should you care if literally no one else (including the universe) does? That would be so cool to speak about in terms of a trans allegory! Why do you care about gender when it's just one thing in a world of crazy things? Or at the very least, how does it inform your identity? But this is a change I made on a whim suddenly, and I know Exactly Where I Want This Plot To Go, so trans topics and allegories as Plot Points probably won't happen.

On the more technical side of introducing trans characters -- how do you do that without just dropping "oh btw they're trans" in? Like, how do you make it a relevant thing to talk about, that doesn't feel forced or shoehorned in, especially this late in the story? Probably me overthinking, but I read it done wrong so often. It gets tired. And if I ever work on my original stories, there are trans characters in there! If I can figure out how to Do It Well in a fanfic, then I can figure out how to do it in original fiction someday maybe. So I kinda wanna take the introduction seriously? I've actually been thinking about it so much I've thought about rewriting the intro to the next chapter ahaha [it already needs rewritten in general, there's a lot going on, but the intro was going to be Helsknight waking up from something, and he sleeps shirtless, and not addressing top surgery scars then would be kinda silly I think.]

I can say at the very least, Gender Avoidant Wels probably won't factor in the story much. He is a character, but I don't think he'll become Enough of a character to faithfully address something like a trans self discovery arc. At best his issues with gender might be mentioned in passing.

Sorry! I know you probably want a better answer! My answer is basically: I don't know I'm still working on it. I want it to be there, but the capacity it's there is undecided.

That being said, I've been sitting on this glorious ask since the shenanigans started and the temptation to just Do That grows every time I read it:

[yuwuta]

PETITION!!!!!! FOR THE ATLA X JJK STUFF!!!! OMG NOW I HAVE A BRAINROT love this idea sm.....

i have SOOOO many ideas you have no idea how near and dead atla is to me… i could rant about this day and night…. reader’s bending or non-bending abilities always change in the au for me, but i feel very strongly about everyone’s bending abilities teehee…. except satoru… i can pickle many aus for satoru bc that’s pookie <3

firebender reader that captures airbender yuuta to take him back to the fire nation as a reward and honestly he should fight back, he could fight back, and he probably shouldn’t blush when you’re rough with him, but you’re really pretty and stubborn and sure the ropes you put around his hands and ankles are really tight but it could have been worse. and you haven’t burned or scarred him, and you even give him some of fish you capture and cook along the way, so maybe you don’t really hate him that much. it’s so much of yuuta nervously rambling as you two travel and you not responding, but that doesn’t stop yuuta, nor does it deter him from thinking that you’re not all bad. clearly you’re strong and determined and you believe capturing him with worth something so he kinda…. let’s it be (also he thinks he’d lose a fight to you) and somewhere along the way he gets the courage to point blank as you why you’re taking him and i’d love to say he talk no jutsus you into not turning him in but also love the idea of someone else attacking you and yuuta turning on the airbending to choke them out which is insane bc you’ve done nothing but capture him but who’s to say that’s not a form of love too xoxo

or we can consider you and megumi growing up in the south pole together, it’s a small town so it’s not a coincidence that you two become friends, even if megumi is a little gruff at first. you two do everything together, even though your water bending abilities start to differ as you get older—you become much more mischievous, while megumi becomes focused on precision and healing. it’s why, despite the tradition being father and son to go out hunting, toji takes you out to sea to go ice fishing and you always run back home to megumi with your capture in hand, damn near tackling him every time and happily proclaiming you caught his favorite; and every time he tells you to calm down and not cause a scene, but you don’t, and toji and his mom chuckle as you tackle him and megumi tries to blush and wrangles you into a seat inside while he helps his mom with dinner. and really, all is well until some snobby prince from another town claims that your family is indebted to his and that you’re betrothed as collateral and everyone finds out very quickly that even though megumi spent all his time focusing on healing, that he’s still toji’s son and can make one hell of a tsunami if it calls for it. (and when the storm, literally, passes, megumi huffs as he digs through his belonging and stuffs a necklace in your hand and all you can do is blink and wonder what’s going on while his mom snickers in the background and winks at you “i think that’s a proposal, dear.”)

orrrrrr even though i firmly believe in airbender satoru superiority, i do make an exception for stealing yue’s plot line and making satoru a waterbender and prince who’s hair is only white because he blessed and saved by the moon spirit when he was very young. ofc, that’s not enough to make him nearly as humble as he should be, and satoru spends all his days ignoring his princely duties and bothering you and a nanami instead, ditching his masters and servants in favor of pouting at you to teach him your skills instead because satoru wholly believes his duty is not to serve as the bridge between his people and the moon, but instead to annoy you and hopefully make you mrs half-moon someday

[cowboy-robooty]

not going to name names bc thats messed up but omfg i was tryna find records of old heta fandom shit to show inu right and i found a hetalia iceberg and I SAW MY 2019 OPP ON THERE. IT WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY LIKE MY EYES BULGED OUT OF MY SKULL BECAUSE IM NOT EVEN JOKING I HATED THIS BITCH SO MUCH WHEN I WAS 14 AND NGL I STILL HATE HER. I DIDNT SAY NOTHING AND KEPT CURTIOUS AND NORMAL OBVIOUSLY BUT ON THE INSIDE I WANTED HER ASS DEAD EVERYDAY AND WELL... you all know im never in the loop with things and had no fucking clue that she was just the antichrist for an entire group of people lol. SHE WAS MY ANTICHRIST THO. I HATED HER AND SHE HATED ME OKAY AND IM LIKE RODF SEEING HOW SHES ON THE FUCKING HETALIA ICEBERG I WAS LIKE OMG.... I THOUGHT ONLY I FUCKING DESPISED HER

[izloveshorses]

Also am I the only one who looked at Dmitry and DIDN'T go 'oh he sleeps around'? Because I seem to be!!!

[justworthlessreblogs]

Same Anon as Yesterday (Food pun anon) and I just wanna say something I personally think is missing from Rio’s arc, that I think is important.

So largely, I’m speaking from my own experience as a twin, where me and the twin were really codependent and I was definitely the more docile of the twins. What really helped me with my own personal inferiority complex was making the choice to step out of her shadow. Even though I wasn’t born talented at the things I chose to focus on, the fact that I had chosen to set out and do it on my own left me feeling proud and fulfilled.

To me, Rio makes this choice by becoming Julio, only to step back into her shadow (aka his comfort zone) after his redemption. His friends are her friends, his hobby is her hobby. In a way it’s like, regression rather than development.

I think Rio really should have found something that he’s passionate about that Ciel isn’t, and made some friends that care about that same passion. I don’t think he needs to stop being passionate about baking, but I think he should’ve tried to find something that makes him feel unique. He needs friends that care for him not because he’s Ciels twin, but because he’s Rio.

I’ve came up with various headcanons over the years to deal with this, from giving him a set of new friends, to him becoming more of a business kinda guy when they grow up. Like Ciel is the creative one who literally doesn’t understand the first thing about running a business and Rio is the manager who makes sure the patisserie they run doesn’t spontaneously explode or smth. If I recall, WV Rio likes sports as a hobby (might’ve hallucinated that, it’s been a minute) and I really wish canon had expanded on that, or his other talents. Because I think that would’ve been a much more satisfying way to end his arc.

food anon you're so right. my hottest take of all is that at the end of the series rio still isn't in a healthy mindset because he's put right back into the same situation that caused him to spiral in the first place except ciel compliments him sometimes and i don't think that's a great ending. when writing waffleverse i always ask myself "who is (pov character)?" and once i moved out of rio's julio era and his corporated mandated post-redemption angst i realized i had no fucking idea because postcoma rio just. Exists. he's ciel's brother and he's kinda grumpy and he feels bad about what he did as julio and that's about all you can say about him. he is unfortunately the hardest character for me to write because of that

[spider-man-2o99]

Does the run where Miguel had the white suit and said GR’s bike was fuck count as canon?

That would be Spider-Man 2099 v3 (2015)!! It was canon to 616* when it was coming out, but I have no goddamn clue if it still is now, what with how often Marvel decides to entirely reboot 2099 every single time it gets mentioned, nowadays.

(*Marvel 2099 does not take place in the 616-verse. The 90s books are all designated as taking place in earth-928. More rambling under the cut.)

The Miguel we see in this run is very specifically a Miguel who has been stranded in the past (2014) after the events of the Spider-Verse crossover destroyed his present. People have argued for years whether or not this Mig should share a wiki page with the Miguel from 1992. I have no idea where he should go, either.

ANAD Miguel has been pulled from such a point in the timeline of the original '92 comics that the last, uh... eight, or so? issues of his debut solo run have not happened to him, because PAD did not write those issues and did not particularly care to acknowledge whatever the hell went down without him, which if nothing else I respect the inherent humor of.

While SM2099 v3 ends with Miguel finally returning to his correct time period, it is strongly implied that he hasn't quite gone back to exactly the same 2099 as the one that he left.

'Cause... Time-travel stuff. Idk.

[pawstickers]

Amy lives in an apartment all by herself, with no adult supervision even though she is only 12 years old. Someone should call child services for this poor neglected child.

i feel like maybe for mobians/furries/animal people (what. do we call this species now help) this sort of independence is seen as normal, which is why teenagers like espio can work at a detective agency as well

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

8 for the artist asks?

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in?

oh man this is a hard one.

i don't necessarily keep track of that stuff, and my memory is abysmally bad too so i can't even exactly remember any in particular, but i know there's gotta be so so many

it depends too ig heavily on what it is?? there's some old original stories of mine that i scrapped almost in their entirety, though i know some concepts/characters i'd be willing to recycle for use in something else.

w/ fandom stuff ofc, i'm sure we've all seen authors/artists lose interest in something they were posting and stopped updating it, leaving it unfinished. i can't exactly blame them; as much as it might suck for the readers/viewers that were invested, it would suck even more for the original creator to be forced to do something they've lost all passion for.

some things stay forever but you move on from others, and it's not necessarily a tragedy despite the years of mourning endured

weirdly specific artist asks

[inevitable-pretty-chaos]

I hate when interesting accounts don't have ask boxes, like what do you mean, I can't fly to your window, tap it with my beak and leave you a little letter??? :<

~Vi

[monzabee]

the smallest man who ever lived - cl16

masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.

Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)

Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  

“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 

“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  

“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 

Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 

Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 

“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 

“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  

“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  

“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  

His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 

“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 

“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 

“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 

Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 

“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  

And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 

It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  

“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 

“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 

“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  

“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 

“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 

“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  

“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  

It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  

“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  

“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 

“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  

“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  

You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  

So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  

“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 

“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 

“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  

“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  

“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 

“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 

You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 

“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  

You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  

“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  

“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 

“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 

“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 

“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 

“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  

Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  

“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 

“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 

“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  

His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 

“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 

“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 

“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 

“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 

“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  

“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  

“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 

“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 

Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 

“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  

He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 

“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  

For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  

“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  

“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  

The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  

“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  

With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  

“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  

“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  

Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  

Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to chilisade5594@gmail.com, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 

“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 

“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  

“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 

He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  

“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  

Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 

“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 

Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  

With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 

“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 

Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 

“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  

You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”

“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 

“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 

“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  

“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  

“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  

Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 

He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  

“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 

“I know you don’t,” he nods.  

“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  

“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  

“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 

The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  

He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  

“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 

“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 

You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 

“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 

And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up. 

[shesacrified]

tag dump: updating tags & new verses!

[silverskye13]

Queso, after thinking about it for awhile.

To the anon who keeps leaving somewhat ominous, somewhat personal, poetry-themed asks in my inbox: Please Stop.

It seems like you mean well, and are mostly just going for dramatics, but I’m someone who suffers a lot from anxiety and paranoia. These messages caught me in a good mood, so mostly they just made me nervous, but I can tell you with confidence if they’d come a month ago, it would have affected me pretty negatively. I’m not telling you this to shame you, or make you feel bad. I’m telling you this for full transparency. If you still want to talk, but you’re scared to message under a username [or just don’t have a tumblr] that’s perfectly fine! I don’t mind. But understand I don’t know your intentions, so the vagaries and references to knowing me and things, they come off a lot more bad-faith than I think you want them to.

If I could offer a suggestion! Talk in your normal voice, or at the very least an informal one, and maybe tag yourself with a nickname so you’re more recognizable, like [poetry anon]. That way we can actually form a rapport.

Also, if you’re going to keep sending asks, please use the correct pronouns! I’ve been using they/them exclusively for almost 5 years now.

Thank you for understanding ^_^

[teamred]

obvious

✩‌ merchant!qimir x acolyte!reader | fluff | angst | humor | 2.3k

SUMMARY | during an evening of drinking with qimir, he strangely asks if you've ever thought about dating your master.

WARNINGS | kissing, drinking, implications of a spicy time post-story

RATING | teen+

NOTES | again this is probably outside of canon but all i can say is ilq (i love qimir)

///

In the lower level of Qimir’s newest target of a store invasion, several drunken bottles of alcohol and used shot glasses clutter the front counter. You sit across from him on a high stool, as if you were a customer to his bartending. 

Which wasn’t quite far off, since he was the one who poured and bought everything for you tonight. Qimir had called for a celebration; you had successfully raided a small village nearby, seizing all valuable goods and leaving no witnesses behind. You did it for yourself, but also for your anonymous master–the same one Qimir serves. 

While you are your master’s dedicated pupil, Qimir’s tasked with being your resourceful guide. He follows you across the galaxy, always having anything you need at your disposal and knowing where to go, who to find, and how to concoct everything from anything.

Sure, he may be clumsy and occasionally overly inquisitive, but you’ve grown to like him. 

So much that you're retelling the time when a female Gungan tried to fight you in a cantina on Tatooine.

“And so, it turned out they thought I was the one who stole her ex-boyfriend, but it was the human at the table next to mine!”

Qimir breaks into a smile and nearly spits out the lomin ale in his mouth. After a fit of coughing and swallowing his drink, he shakes his head fondly. He seems truly amused and fully relaxed, though perhaps mostly due to the alcohol.

A few beats pass. It's a comfortable silence at first. 

But then he starts playing with the stem of his bottle, and the air slowly begins to shift. It shifts entirely when he asks the next question–

“Why aren't you like this around him?” 

Him referring to your shared master. 

The mixture of spicebrew, lomin ale, Corellian wine, and whatever else you had has lowered your filter completely. You answer frankly, folding out your fingers to list the reasons. 

“Firstly, he needs to get me drunk. Secondly, he’s not you, Qimir. And third, disregarding everything I just said: how do you know I'm not?”

“Am I wrong?” he presses, his eyes fixed on you as he raises an eyebrow and takes another swig of his drink.

“I mean, if he eventually shows his face to me, maybe I could. But until then…” 

Nonchalantly, you lift a shoulder and down the rest of what’s in your cup. After finishing, you lean back onto the counter, resting your chin in your upturned palm, and wait for him to fill your cup again. 

And so he does, but Qimir becomes uncharacteristically pensive. Eyes focused on serving you, rather than on you. After pouring your drink, his playfulness with the bottle turns into a tight-fisted grip. Maybe drunk Qimir was more somber. Quiet.

“Maybe…” His voice drops to a lower, deeper register than you’re used to, his eyes avoiding yours as his mouth tightens. An index finger rhythmically taps against his bottle, like a dooming countdown. “Maybe he’s not sure if you’re loyal enough to see his face.” 

The sudden slamming of your cup against the counter breaks his demeanor, and he’s back to being his usual, easily-startled self. 

“Well, that frustrates the shit out of me because I respect him!” you cry, almost yelling at him. 

Qimir’s gaze sharpens, giving you his entire attention, and you stare back resolutely. Readying yourself, as if confiding in him might reach your master’s ears, wherever he may be. Hell, he probably was listening with a device somewhere on Qimir, on you, or within the store.  

“I obey him. I've killed for him. I’d do anything for him,” your voice slightly wavers, but you push on. “I am literally devoted to him with every breath in my body.” 

There’s a sting in your eyes, but you refuse to let yourself show weakness, even if it’s just Qimir in front of you. Bringing the cup to your mouth, you let the burn scald your throat, drowning any trace of sadness or frustration. 

You chug for some time. After a while, Qimir lifts a hand, but you abruptly stop drinking and interject with a tired chuckle and small smile; he awkwardly drops his hand. 

The serious moment passes swiftly with a twinkle in your eye. You silently thank the alcohol for that.

“Although, maybe that's half a lie.”

In the corner of your vision, you catch the intrigued quirk in Qimir’s eyebrow, along with a flicker of anger. Barely noticeable, but it’s there, and you wonder why he would be angry.

You waggle a finger. “Keep this between us, but”—you lean in closer and drop your voice to a whisper—“I'm probably more devoted to you than to him.”

You exchange a glance, and the expression on his face shifts from seriousness to amusement, the flicker of anger completely dissipated. He mirrors your earlier stance, resting his chin in his palm. 

“That's only because I help you all the time,” he says, granting you a soft smile that reaches his eyes. 

This is a rare moment from Qimir, so you try your best to commit it to memory. Remembering his warm glow, the crinkles around his eyes, and how close he is to you. So close that the hint of the alcohol in his breath brushes your face, but it’s not as strong as you thought it would be.

“Well, there's that…” you admit, nodding, and you break eye contact as you say–

“But you're also my friend, Qimir.”

You barely breathe the last few words out in a whisper, almost as if you were ashamed to say it. But you aren’t–worry merely runs rampant as you fear rejection or something of a similar shade, despite it being just a platonic confession. 

“I am?” 

His reaction causes you to peer back at him. He draws his head back with a tilt, and you’ve never seen him so puzzled before. There’s a brief pause as he gives it some thought, his eyebrows furrowing in contemplation.

Then, he nods his head and his lips curl into a crooked, almost cocky, grin. 

“Huh. I guess I am.”

You clutch your chest in jest and muster your best puppy-eyed frown. “Ouch, if I knew this relationship was that one-sided, I would’ve asked him for another one of his followers to replace you.” 

The glimmer in his eyes reads as good-natured, but the blatant flexing of his grip against the edge of the counter says otherwise. 

“You wouldn't.”   

You push back, jutting out your chin and getting close to him again with a flash of a smirk. 

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

You stare at each other, holding your ground. 

But then he breaks the little game when he slightly drags his lower lip between his teeth, followed by a fleeting glance towards your mouth.

Your breathing hitches. 

In an instant, the moment shatters when Qimir clears his throat and pulls back.  

“Do you…” Qimir begins hesitantly, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing a random spot on the counter. He inhales deeply, almost as if he’s steeling himself, then continues, “Have you ever thought you and him could be, like, something more?”

“You mean…” You squint, searching for the right words. “...have I ever thought about dating my master?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You raise an eyebrow and stare blankly at him. 

“You've met him, right? We’re talking about the same guy?”

Before he answers, he sips again from his bottle. You become entranced by Qimir’s Adam’s apple as it bobs with each glug. Maybe these thoughts were being filtered through beer goggles, but if Qimir wanted to know about your current ranked dating choices, he'd probably be at the top of your list. 

A soft pop sounds as his lips detach from it. The word kissable flashes through your mind. 

“I mean, I know he's not really the talkative type but–”

“But what if he's butt-ass ugly?” you blurt out in a screech, pressing your hands into your cheeks in your drunken state.

“He is not butt-ass ugly,” Qimir cuts in, more defensively than you expect. 

You drop your hands and chortle loudly, so much that it echoes throughout the store. In disbelief, you grin ear to ear. 

“I thought you said you haven't seen him before!” you say, holding out an arm. 

“I—I didn't. Haven't! I haven’t,” he stammers, raising a hand and shaking his head. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “But why must you assume he's ugly?”

You groan, shaking closed fists and tapping them to your forehead. “Why else wouldn’t he take off that stupid mask?” 

You glance up, seeing Qimir’s nostrils flare as he opens his mouth, but you quickly cut him off. 

“And why would I like him that way anyway? All he does is just bark orders and share wise, yet oddly cryptic, phrases.” 

“Hey, so do I,” Qimir retorts, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger. The force he uses makes your nose sting a bit, but you’re sure he didn’t mean to flick you that roughly. In response, you ruffle your nose petulantly. 

You could definitely get used to being like this with Qimir more often. 

“Yeah, but you’re not as cryptic,” you point out, “and he’d be lucky if he was half as handsome as you, Qimir.”

You lightly touch his arm, expecting him to bask in your compliment, but he catches you off guard with a chuckle instead. 

“Why are you laughing at my compliment?” you ask, somewhat hurt.

“I'm just enjoying your company, my”—he hesitates for a second, as if catching himself from saying something else, before meeting your gaze—“my friend.” 

The way he says friend hangs in the air, carrying an unspoken weight. He shakes his head, as if brushing off a thought, and laughs awkwardly. “I’ve gotta get used to that.”

Surprisingly, he continues to dwell on the subject of you and your master. “I mean, if you really think about it, the guy's probably lonely. Probably also likes you a lot more than he lets on and–”

“Okay, stop.” You hold both hands out. “Why are you trying to set me up with him?” You gasp, “Oh, my god–is he your brother?” 

“Wow, time flies by so fast!” Qimir exclaims dramatically, quickly getting up from his stool and practically tripping on his own feet. “It’s getting late, and I’m gonna head to bed. Good night!” 

In the blink of an eye, he’s already darting upstairs to his temporary bedroom. 

“Qimir, answer me!” you call out. “Is he a distant cousin? You must’ve seen him before if he’s related to you.” 

“Good night, my friend!” he hollers back.

“Qimir, get back here!”

“Sweet dreams! And drink some water before you go to bed!” 

Even in moments like these, Qimir still manages to have the final say, his words always laced with the utmost care for you.

///

A few hours go by, the moonlight shining strongly in the night sky. In the comfort of your makeshift bed nestled in one of the corners of the store, you toss and turn aimlessly. Your mind replays everything with Qimir from the last few hours.

And then realization hits you like a sack of duracrete bricks.

You bolt upright up from the bed and switch between muffling a scream in your pillow and smacking it against your face. 

How could you have been so blind to how obvious it all was?

Throwing aside your covers, you carefully and quietly tiptoe upstairs. 

At the top of the stairs, with the help of a few burning candles nearby, you peek at the sight of Qimir snoring softly on his side, arms flopped in different directions; it warms your heart.

You approach and take a seat on the empty side of his bed, summoning courage to gently trace the contours of his face, following the sharp lines of his jaw. He stirs awake moments later, turning to face you directly. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Qimir mumbles groggily. He rubs his eyes. “Everything all right?” 

“Qimir, can you pass a message onto my master?” you ask urgently. 

“Right now?” he groans in annoyance, sitting up. “Can't it wait until morning?” 

“No, I'm sure you can pass it on now. It’s a pretty simple message.” 

You lean in. It’s a quick kiss as your hand rests on his arm. It has to be quick, or else you might change your mind. 

Plush lips press against yours. It’s still and tense for a beat, and then he replies with a slight kiss back. He’s the one who breaks away first, but he leans his forehead against yours.

“Uh, I… You want me to kiss him?” he asks in confusion. 

You slide your hands to the nape of his neck.

“If you mean kissing yourself, then yes, Master.” 

Like flipping a switch, Qimir’s demeanor transforms into something entirely else. His presence intensifies, exuding confidence and strength you’re unused to. His eyes darken, locking onto yours with a gaze that can penetrate your soul. 

His rich, deep voice returns from before, now tinged with authority.

“Took you long enough, my acolyte.”  

This Qimir—your master—moves swiftly with urgency. His grip on your body is firm, almost possessive. His kisses are passionate, his tongue exploring your mouth with fervor. 

“Told you I'm not ‘butt-ass ugly,’” he mumbles, almost growling, between kisses. You giggle, but your giggle quickly turns into a moan as he presses his body firmly into yours.  

“And my mask isn’t stupid. I'll have you know it saved me so many–”

You silence your master with another kiss, focusing on the present and pushing aside debates that could be saved for later.

For now, all you want is to remain in the comfort of his bed, letting the night truly begin, marking the beginning of what your master and you have unknowingly long awaited for. 

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ my muse (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : max verstappen x fem reader

summary : the chaotic private account of an artistic soul 💫

tw : fluff, a little chaos, suggestive

a/n : So this was requested anonymously, so if you are seeing this, Hope you like it 💫

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by max1, lordperceval, albono, lilihye, alexamiuex, and 37 others

maxwife the italian view 💫 one for the day ☀️ one for the night 🌝

view comments

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lordperceval yet we drive each other crazy @ max1 max1 🤭💌

maxwife yall are banned, that's it, OUT 🤺

liked by max1, albono, hamwich, fransisca.gnomes and 28 others

maxwife the muse and the art 💫

view comments

max1 she gifted me the painting y’all

max1 I won in life 😙😌

alexmiuex love, we need to visit the museums together 🫶🏻

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pierreneedsgas for gods sake, keep you wife away from mine

norriz did I miss something -

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pierreneedsgas STOP ALEX ALBON

fransiscka.gnomes amour ❤️ ?

pierreneedsgas well, I wanted to do this in person, but ig my mouth spoiled it

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maxwife that’s it, YALL ARE OUT INCLUDING MY HUSBAND

fransisca.gnomes girls, number 44

hamsandwich what?

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lordperceval Pierre, Alexandra just left the house

albono so did lily … max1 so did this account user

maxwife I have a name

max1 you are the love of my life, the reason I look forward to every day, the muse and the thrill to win each and every race max1 if you were not there, I would have not survived the lowest of my life max1 I want you to know that whatever I may say, I hold you above anyone else, and if needed, I would die for you without anything asked maxwife I am crying now 🥹 I love you so much my wdc ❤️ Pierre, take tips pierreneedsgas yes ma’am 🫡

[brokenmenswhore]

lessons | aegon ii targaryen

pairings: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: in search on the streets of silk for your husband, you find his brother in a compromising position

warnings: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), i’ve never written smut before so that’s a warning in itself

part 2

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“Where is Aemond this morning?” you asked.

“I do not know, My Lady,” your handmaiden answered answered, “my apologies. He has not been seen since right after supper.”

You nodded.

You always felt a disconnect from your husband, your marriage existing mostly for political reasons. You weren’t sure where he went at night, but you had your suspicions, and you weren’t attached to him enough to let them bother you. You actually found yourself more attracted to his older brother, but he was already married, so it couldn’t matter.

Your handmaidens prepared you for the day before allowing you to leave your apartment.

“I think tonight we should all have breakfast together, don’t you?” Alicent spoke from behind you as you walked down the Red Keep halls.

Her voice caught you off guard. “Your Grace, yes, I think that would be nice.”

She smiled. “I think now, more than ever, we need to stress the importance of family. If you could wrangle in that husband of yours, it would be greatly appreciated. I already told Aegon, but he’s run off of course.”

“I will do my best,” you promised her.

She gave your arm a squeeze before walking away, the Commander of the King’s Guard close behind her.

Trying to find Aemond was almost useless. He grew up in King’s Landing, and knew every secret passageway, every shop, every darkened corner- and you barely knew your way around the Red Keep alone. You didn’t know King’s Landing, and you couldn’t outsmart them if you tried. But you knew men.

“Liyana,” you whispered, shuffling back into your room. Your handmaiden was rearranging the bed when she looked up at you. “Yes?”

“How do I get to the Street of Silk?”

Liyana’s eyes widened and she inhaled a deep breath. “My Lady, do forgive me, but whatever would you need there?”

You sighed, wanting to get along with this search, suspecting Aemond to be there every night, not realizing your handmaiden would be such an obstacle to overcome.

“I have my reasons, I promise, please. I don’t know my way around King’s Landing. I trust you. I need you,” you begged, “please. I think my husband is there. I need to retrieve him. Please.”

Liyana took pity on you and the desperation in your voice. “Quickly, if anyone sees you there it will bring even more gossip toward the Targaryen name. And I am only doing this because I like you.”

You gave Liyana and thankful smile as she fetched hooded robes to travel through the streets. While a few months ago, you could remain anonymous, the whole of King’s Landing attended Prince Aemond Targaryen’s wedding, and you are unfortunately not hard to spot, as the only (honorary) Targaryen without the staple silver hair.

“Luckily Aemond can’t be hard to miss,” you whispered to Liyana, “the man is a giant.”

This caused Liyana to giggle. She had never done something like this, and never been treated so friendly by someone she had to serve.

The further into the street you walked, the louder the moans got. At every turn, there was a woman crying out in pleasure, a pleasure you didn’t understand. You had had sex, once, on your wedding night and it was nothing like what you were witnessing. Were these woman okay? Were you the one who wasn’t okay? Was this how men wanted their wives? Why wouldn’t Aemond just tell you this?

You felt strange peeking into the rooms with cracked doors, through every curtain, into every crevice with bodies to check for Aemond.

“I must return, please, My Lady. Will you be safe?” Liyana questioned.

“Yes, I will be just fine. Thank you for your assistance. Return safely,” you replied.

Liyana smiled and walked away.

You continued scanning every street corner to no avail, until you decided to check the brothels. You didn’t really want to go in one, but you figured Aemond would know better than to be so obvious with his infidelities.

You snuck into one of the brothels, feeling gross about creeping on every couple or throuple, but anyone who caught you looking didn’t seem to mind. You peeked through one cracked door, and that’s when you saw him.

Aegon was laying naked on the bed, a girl in between his legs, his cock down her throat. You gasped but quickly covered your mouth to avoid being heard.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You watched as a sigh left his lips, head thrown back as he grabbed the back of the woman’s head.

A part of you felt constant pangs of jealousy, but a part of you felt… good? There was an inexplicable throbbing between your legs that you couldn’t place.

Aegon bunched up the woman’s hair and began to push and pull her up and down, groaning and whimpering as he did so. His other arm held him up on his elbow, watching what the woman was doing to him. It was like nothing you’d ever seen.

That’s when someone bumped into your back, pushing you into the door, causing you to stumble through the door.

The woman halted, trying to pull her mouth off of him, but Aegon held her on. He didn’t stop for anything, looking you straight in the eyes while he continued to move her head up and down.

You coughed and began to turn out of the room. “I- uh, I’m just-“ you pointed out the doorway, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna go.”

You rushed out of the brothel, realizing you had no clue where you were. You spun around a few times before completely giving up, ready to just ask the woman at the front of the door how to get back to the Red Keep.

“Y/N!” Aegon called, running out the door in hopes of catching you.

You hid your face from him, blush obvious and a statement of how ashamed you felt.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He asked casually, as if you didn’t just see what you just saw.

“I was looking for Aemond,” is all you could say.

“All the way down here?” Aegon tsked, “not likely.”

This frustrated you. “No, I really was! I figured he was here. I was just looking for him when I saw-“

Aegon gave you a wide grin, waiting for you to finish the sentence. “When you saw what?”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

Aegon sighed in such annoyance at the title that he actually threw his head back and then walked closer to you.

“If you call me ‘Your Grace’ or ‘My King’ one more time-“

“You’ll what?” you retorted.

Aegon had always hated when you called him by a proper title. It always made him angry, and he always threw his hands up before saying something like, “fuck, would you just call me Aegon? For the millionth time-“

Aegon smiled. “Do you understand what you just saw?”

The question caught you off guard. You didn’t really want to answer it, but you knew there was no way out of this, and besides, Aegon probably knew the way home. “No.”

“Do you wish to?”

“Do I wish to what?” you asked for elaboration.

“Do you wish to understand?”

It felt as if there was a right answer and a wrong answer, but seven hells if you weren’t inclined to pick the wrong answer. You hadn’t found Aemond, which means he may not be committing infidelities after all, but you also hadn’t checked every brothel. Even if he was cheating, does that mean you could? Your marriage felt like nothing more than a legally binding contract, so was it even really cheating?

“Aemond doesn’t have to know.”

You looked at Aegon and contemplated his words. “Is he here?”

“How should I know?”

“I don’t know, you’re related.”

“You’re married to him.”

You raised your eyebrows in a “fair enough” kind of way. You wanted to understand so bad, to act on this excitement you felt when you saw him in there with her, but you were so scared.

“What happens on this street is not for the Red Keep, Y/N,” Aegon spoke, gently moving your hair to one side, “it can be just you and me.”

You nodded your head yes as Aegon led you to the room you had caught him in. The woman was still in there, waiting for his return.

“Get out,” he commanded, eyes never leaving yours.

“Me?” the woman asked.

His eyes were still on you when he said, “yes. Out.”

He held coins out in his hand for her to grab as she passed, exiting the room and allowing Aegon to close the door.

“Does doing this kind of stuff make you feel better?” you asked, curious as to what he was doing down here so early in the morning, especially when you knew he was dealing with a lot.

“In more ways than one, darling.”

The pet name made you shiver.

“What has Aemond taught you?” he asked.

You looked at him confused. “How to make a babe.”

“That’s it?” he asked in disbelief.

“I really don’t know what more there would be to it then that,” you admitted honestly.

Aegon sighed at your innocence. There was a whole world of pleasure out there that he could teach you about.

“Do you trust me?” Aegon asked.

“Yes.”

Aegon removed your hooded cloak and made quick work of anything on your torso, leaving your breasts exposed. He quickly attached his mouth to one, sucking like it had been forever since he was given what he needed. This you didn’t need an explanation for. Aegon’s mommy issues were obvious.

Once he made significant work of almost bruising your boobs, he stood back up, and moved his face toward yours.

“Fuck, Y/N, please let me kiss you.”

All the tension that had been building in you from the second you saw him that first time, ethereal, seated on the Iron Throne, came crashing down. You grabbed his head and pulled him into a heated kiss, not even allowing time for anything soft or gentle. Aegon moaned into your mouth, one of his hands finding its way to your underclothes. He began to very gently rub on top of your underclothes, causing you to squeak into the kiss.

“Sh, angel, it’s okay, it’s supposed to feel like that. Have you never touched yourself here?”

You blushed. “To- ha- myself?”

“Again, I just can’t find it in me to believe you.”

You let out a soft whimper as Aegon’s hand made it’s way under your small clothes, a finger running up and down right in between your folds. Your legs buckled a bit from the pleasure and sensation of the unfamiliar touch, and you grabbed Aegon’s shoulders. He noticed your struggle, and pushed you until you were back against a wall.

“Feel good?” he checked.

“Mhm,” was all you could get out.

“Use your words, angel,” he commanded, “tell me it feels good.”

You let out a moan. “It f- feels good.”

“That’s my girl,” he cooed, moving further down to slowly insert his middle finger into your soaking wet hole.

You gasped, not used to the unfamiliar sensation. He simply watched you, seeing how your face contorted with every push and pull of his finger, as his thumb began to rub circles on your clit. He leaned down to kiss your neck, biting down hard before licking and kissing at the bruise. You instinctively threw your head back, giving him more access to your neck as he continued to touch you. You let out whimper after whimper, but that wasn’t enough for Aegon.

He pulled his hand out, pushing your underclothes all the way down and directing you to lay on the bed.

“What you just saw?” he started, “it feels like this, but for me.”

You were about to ask what he meant when he grabbed your thighs, forcibly holding them apart as his tongue licked a long strip in between your legs. He couldn’t resist immediately eating you like a man starved, tongue twirling and flicking like he was deranged and his only sanity was watching you come.

He re-entered a finger into your hole, mouth still focused on your clit, and then entered another finger into your hole, curling both when they were fully inserted.

You remembered what you had just walked in on, and you grabbed the back of Aegon’s head, lightly pulling on his hair. Aegon moaned at the pulling, sending vibrations straight through your core, causing you to shiver.

He continued his assault on you until you felt a strange and unfamiliar feeling, like all the tension in your body was rising at a rapid rate.

“I feel you, angel, let go for me.”

At his words, the tension broke, and you came onto his fingers. He left them inside of you until your legs stopped shaking, pulling them out and making eye contact with you before he put both fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean of your juices.

You took a second to reset, but when you did, you sat up and said, “do we switch places now?”

“Catching on quickly, I see,” Aegon smiled, “you ready to learn?”

You nodded, sinking to your knees as he sat with his legs hanging off the bed.

“You have to be a good girl for me, can you do that?” Aegon asked you, and the question went straight to your core.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes Aegon.”

“Try again.”

You looked up at him. He constantly told you not to call him by a title and insisted you only called him Aegon. Was it because the title ignited something within him?

“Yes, My King.”

“Perfect,” he hummed.

After giving his cock a few strokes, he reached out for your hand. “Put this hand here,” he said, showing you how to grab the base of his length with your right hand, “and you can move your hand up and down when your mouth can’t take all of me.”

“So I just- do it?” you asked.

“If you’d like,” Aegon said.

You licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the head, opened your mouth, and began sinking onto his length.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “good job, just watch your teeth. Hollow out your cheeks, good girl.”

You did as he said, getting a bit more comfortable with how to perform the act. You began experimenting with moving faster, and with moving your tongue around, licking the tip of his cock as you bobbed your head.

Aegon grabbed your head, just as he did the woman, and started to take liberties with his own pleasure. He threw his head back, whines leaving his lips as he began to hit the back of your throat. You gagged, but he quickly worked to calm you down, saying “relax, baby, that’s part of it, just breathe through your nose- fuck.”

You continued to obey, doing whatever he suggested, until you felt the muscle spasm and a hot, bitter liquid hit the back of your throat.

Aegon held your head for another moment, ensuring everything had gone into your mouth before pulling out.

Even when he pulled out, he moved to hold your mouth closed as he said, “swallow.” You did as he asked before he loosened his grip. “Good girl.”

You stayed there, on your knees, waiting for his next instruction. He stood up, tucked his cock back into his breeches, and held out his hand to assist you up. You looked at him confused, having not even gotten to the part you actually knew.

“Angel, it’s early and we have a breakfast to attend, I can teach you more later.”