#but this cheered me up so thank you again <3

[enmi-land]

ʬʬʬ 𝓨OUTUBE.COM ▹ NOW PLAYiNG . . .

ⓘ THE M iN MiLA STANDS FOR MEME MATERiAL

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) FANMADE. #2023. ꗃ PREViEW A compilation of Mila’s fairly recent funny moments.

CLIP 1, WEVERSE LIVE

“Hello everyone, welcome to my special Weverse live.” Mila stands in front of the camera, which is set up in the kitchen of what appears to be a hotel room, wearing a fuzzy hoodie with bear ears and matching shorts. “‘Mila you’re so cute’?” she reads out while squinting. She shakes her head and waves her finger. “No, no—I am not cute. Today, I am a chef.”

Mila takes a few steps back and holds her arms out. “That’s right, everyone. Today, I’m in the kitchen because I’m going to be learning to cook braised stew for my future husband.” She smiles and throws her hands up in a cheering motion. “Yay!”

As Mila prepares her ingredients and utensils while reading the recipe on her phone, she answers comments from viewers, which all seem fascinated with her sudden decision to cook stew.

“I’m training,” Mila answers, “So I can make my future hubby lots of yummy food and be a good daughter-in-law.”

But five minutes later, and she doesn’t seem to be doing so well.

“Everyone, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Mila says as she transfers the pot of (burning) food to the counter. “If my husband loves me, it won’t matter if I can’t cook, right guys?” She smiles as she holds two thumbs up. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Which, yeah, but also—good food would still be really nice to have too.

CLIP 2, YOUTUBE SHORT

Mila decides to prank Heeseung while he’s in the studio filming a Weverse live at the company building. She watches his live and approaches the room he’s in, before turning the lights off in the hallway. She then makes a loud banging noise on the door and, upon seeing Heeseung about to stand up through his live feed, immediately starts to sprint off, recording the whole thing on her phone.

She giggles quietly as she runs, her camera’s focus moving erratically. But halfway through her escape, Mila tropes and ends up falling to the floor with a loud “AeGH!”

Thankfully, it isn’t live since she would worry Engenes (or be mocked for it by her boyfriends), so Mila simply laughs and rolls over. But at that moment the lights turn on, and Heeseung appears, causing Mila to jump back screaming, “YOU SCARED ME!”

“What are you doing?” Heeseung asks, both confused and concerned.

To this, Mila immediately jumps off the floor and runs off, hiding her face as if Heeseung didn’t already recognise her.

“Milana,” he calls out down the hall as she flees, “where are you going?”

She doesn’t turn back and instead yells, “It’s not me!” in a voice that totally sounds very much not like her, at all. (It’s totally her.)

CLIP 3, WEVERSE LIVE

“I like ass-thetics too,” Mila says in response to the comment. But Kiara ends up choking on her drink as she registers her pronunciation of the word, turning to Mila with a surprised expression.

“Wait—say that again,” the older female says.

Mila blinks. “Ass-thetics?”

Kiara very visibly smothers a laugh as she turns to the camera, before turning back to Mila. “You mean ‘aes-thetics’?”

“That’s what I said,” Mila replies, looking confused. “Ass-thetics.” 

Kiara bursts out laughing, and has to lean her head on the table to hide her face from the camera. Mila, on the other hand, turns back to the camera and flips her hair over her shoulder with a judgemental expression. “Anyway, like I was saying…” 

Mila reads out another comment, this time, more confidently than before. “‘I like Mila’s ass-thetic’,” it reads, causing Mila to respond with, “Thank you. I have a very nice ass…thetic.”

The pause between the two syllables of the word, paired with her pronunciation, causes Kiara to almost fall off her chair with laughter. Her shoulders shake and she has to hold on to Mila’s arm to stop her from leaning back too far. All the while, Mila simply ignores the older female and nods sagely at the camera.

“It’s true,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I have a nice ass—”

CLIP 4, BEHIND THE SCENES SKETCH

“How do we know where the center is?” Kiara asks the choreographer when they’re told to practice without a marker for their Sweet Venom choreo, which starts slightly off-centre.

To this Mila replies confidently, “the center is wherever I am.”

And then she has a sassy expression as she ticks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m the center.”

Period.

CLIP 5, WEVERSE LIVE

Mila is talking to the camera when she receives a text. As she picks her phone up, she gasps and announces to Engenes that Sunghoon and Jake are on their way. After a while of deliberation, she decided, “Hold on, I’ll lock the door.”

She giggles to herself as she leaves the frame for a bit and comes back to sit down, before putting a hand to her lips. “They won’t be able to get in.”

Just as Mila is about to continue with her live, there’s a loud sound coming from the door. Mila looks over and her jaw practically unhinges, before she’s covering her mouth with her hand.

“H-how did you get in?” Sunghoon and Jake approach her and she moves back, using the rolling wheels of the chair that she’s seated on. “I locked the door…”

“Why did you lock the door?” Sunghoon asks, and uses his foot to stop her from moving away any further. His expression isn’t visible since he’s not facing the camera, but his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are looking down at Mila.

Jake throws an arm around Mila’s chair and brings her back to the center of the camera frame as if nothing’s wrong, a smug smirk on his face as she addresses the Engenes watching their live. Sunghoon’s hand is seen resting on the back of her chair, but Engenes notices that he subtly reaches up or grip the back of her neck, before leaning down towards the camera.

Through it all, Mila is staring at the camera, expressing a wide range of emotions from “did that just happen?” to “I’m so screwed.” Engenes don’t know what happens after, but they do know her unadulterated look of complete bafflement will forever be funny to them.

The woman is just too stunned to speak.

CLIP 6, WEVERSE LIVE

“Mila, there’s something behind you,” someone says in the comments. Mila clicks her tongue and gives the camera her best look of disgusted judgement.

“Gurl!” she says, holding up a finger and doing a ‘no-no’ motion, “You’re not fooling anybody.”

She then goes back to reading comments, not noticing that there is in fact something behind her. It may not be a person, but something nonetheless.

Mila looks to the side for a second, but probably catches movement in her peripheral vision, because she’s whipping around on her chair to face the spider that’s been dangling from the roof for the past five minutes.

Mila immediately lets out the most unholy screech she’s ever managed, and flies backward in her chair, followed by a loud bang as she (presumably) falls to the floor.

“Gah, get it out!” The fans don’t see anything except the sight of Mila throwing random things into the air, even long after the spider is gone. She eventually resurfaces in front of the camera, eyes wide with panic. “Everyone, is it gone?”

Like, yes girl, it’s gone—gone to the afterlife.

CLIP 7, WEVERSE LIVE

“We met an Engene today!” Mila says excitedly to the screen, as she narrates the events of her day to viewers. “We were walking down the street together, and she came us to us like ‘Oh my gosh, I’m a huge fan,’ and I was like, ‘Awww thanks!’ And we took a picture together.”

“Right,” Riki says, nodding along.

“She was really pretty, too,” Mila adds.

At this point, no one knows if Riki even heard anything Mila just said, because he’s still staring at the camera, licking his lips as he nods—though it seems more like out of habit than for any real meaning. To the viewers at least.

Mila clearly doesn’t think the same because all of a sudden, her head turns to him at the speed of lightning. Riki looks at her and makes eye contact, before asking, “What?” 

Mila opens her mouth to say something, but then decides against it and just turns to the screen. This time, it’s clear she’s in a bad mood, because she doesn’t have a hint of a smile on her face. Instead, she puckers her lip and gives Riki a harsh side-eye, and then turning to take a sip of her drink… very loudly.

For the rest of the live, she continues to give telling side glances at Riki, as well as loudly sipping on her drink, which Engenes will never forget to edit using a “bombastic side-eye” audio in the background.

(Riki, please tell your girlfriend she’s pretty, too.) 

CLIP 8, EN-LOG

When Mila has to go through a haunted house with Kiara, she busies herself by dancing and signing random songs to hide just how scared she is.

“JUST WANT TEN MINUTES,” she sings loudly, before jumping when one of the actors jumps out before her. “OH LAWD—“ she hands her head down and scurries off, continuing to sing the lyrics of her song. “NAE GEOSO DONEUN SIGAN—!”

It gets to the point where she’s switching between songs and dancing free wrong choreography because all she wants to do is get out of this place. But of course, she ends up being scared so badly she screams and falls to the floor, before completely passing out.

Well, pretending to, anyway.

“Yah! Get up,” Kiara says, shaking her still body on the floor.

“Can’t I just stay here?” Mila asks. “I’m already dead anyway.”

Kiara almost says something like, “Think of your boyfriends!” But, fortunately for Mila, she doesn’t.

CLIP 9, PRESS VIDEO

Mila is working along the streets when a reporter approaches her, asking her to pose for some photos.

“Uh, I don’t know, I’m a bit busy,” Mila replies nonchalantly while wearing a pair of sunglasses. However, as soon as she says this, she’s striking a not-so-subtle model-like pose in the middle of the street. A second later, she’s walking again and confines talking: “I might not have time to take photos.”

Yet, she, immediately after saying this, spins and stands next to a bouquet of flowers on display in front of a florist shop on the side of the street, doing at least three different poses to show both it and the name of the florist off like the professional voluntary brand ambassador that she is.The photographer doesn’t say anything, though, and simply takes the photos with quick shutters of the camera.

“Like I said,” she says as she continues walking as if nothing happened, “these days are very busy.”

She nods to herself and struts off with an exaggerated catwalk, stopping every meter or so to strike a random and quite frankly ridiculous pose. But what can she say? It’s difficult multitasking.

CLIP 10, FANMEET

Mila is listening intently to a fan as she spills all the tea, before her expression turns into one of progressive disgust the longer the fan goes on about this particular subject. Mila promptly puts her hand on the fan’s face, before looking her deeply in the eyes.

“Unnie, listen to me,” she says, as the fan stutters on their words. “He’s just a man—a really trashy one, too. You can do better. Just leave him.”

CLIP 11, SEND-OFF EVENT

“Mila, can you sign my photocard?” Mila is happy to oblige the request, until she looks at the photocard in question. She is absolutely flabbergasted at the confession and stares at the Engene in front of her with absolute betrayal. The fan has the decency to feel bad, and starts to apologise. “I’m sorry! I just—hahahaha!”

Mila holds the photocard to the fan’s camera to show off the photo, which is of Mila when she was younger. A very unflattering photo of her, if you ask Mila, since her hair is a mess, her clothes are a mish-mash of colours that don’t go well together, and there’s drool on the corner of her mouth. 

“Seriously?” she asks the fan, her hand on her hip. “Of all the pictures—you know what, I’m just going to take this.”

The fan gasps. “NAURRRR!”

“Fine, fine, give it here,” and then Mila proceeds to pull a pen from her bra, an action which has the fan screaming her lungs out, causing Mila to once again look at her with the same look of disbelief from before. “Girl, are you okay?”

CLIP 12, WEVERSE LIVE

“‘Jay sounds like a father,’” Mila reads out the comment after Jay scolds some Engenes for staying up too late. “Right? He acts like one, too.” She turns to him and says. “Daddy.”

Mila doesn’t realise the weirdness of her statement until after she states it out loud, and burst out laughing when Jay turns his head at breakneck speed. Mila covers her mouth and leans against the desk to hide her expression, but her shoulders start to shake from her laughter.

When she looks up again, her face has both a look of embarrassment and amusement at the same time, as Jay continues to stare at her with a hard gaze. As soon as she locks eyes with him, though, her smile drops. She looks between the camera and him, and realising that he isn’t as amused, presses her lips into a thin line and awkwardly fiddles with her hands.

“Sorry,” she says. And when Jay finally looks away from her and changes the topic, her eyes look around the room awkwardly. “So, anyway—!”

CLIP 13, FANMEET

“Mila, why did you cut your hair?”

Mila gasps at the question, as if remembering something, and covers her mouth. “You won’t believe it!”

She leans closer to the Engene in front of her as she recounts her tale, which starts during a night out with her friends. “We were walking around somewhere, but I really don’t remember where because I was drunk—anyway! I got home and was knocked out as soon as I went to lie on my bed. But when I woke up in the morning and went to brush my hair, I noticed I couldn’t run my hand through my hair! A piece of gum got stuck there!”

The Engene gasps. “So what happened?”

“I tried to get it out myself by cutting it, but I didn’t realise how hard it would be to cut gum out of my hair, so I ended up just cutting all my hair off… I had to get it straightened out by a hairdresser and it ended up really short like it is now.” Mila nods solemnly, before cracking a smile. “My hairstylist cried, though—it was kind of funny.”

CLIP 14, EN-O’CLOCK

It’s during the episode when there playing billiards. Mila has to sit on the side of the pool table to get a clearer shot, and is aiming the cue stick when she suddenly flips her hair over her shoulder. She then leans down exaggeratedly, revealing the slope of her neck to the camera.

Jake does a low whistle of appreciation, and the others laugh.

“Ooh, sexy!” Kiara cheers, clapping her hands.

“What even?” Jungwon says with a smile. “Excuse me, this is a family-friendly show!”

“Oh, sorry sorry!” Mila sits straight again and takes her shot. But immediately after, she leans against the pool table and poses saucily for the camera again. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

“What even?” Sunoo asks, covering his mouth as he watches Mila’s antics. “What is she doing?”

Nobody really knows anymore—not even Mila herself.

© ENMI-LAND, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, REPOST.

taglist⠀( OPEN ! ) ⦂ @em1ejiee @menichoi @dracoslovergirl @rosas-in-the-garden @blossominghunnie @lovelypham @cornenhapovs @nee-issaire @jwnstars @tommina @queenriki7 @onlyuyu

[eroselless]

PATO - SEVEN

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

warnings: angst

note: HI LOVES! I am so so sorry its taken me so long to get this out. I had some troubles with motivation and stupid writers block but as soon as I was able to get it going, I got it. Thank you all so much for you patience and continued support <3

BRAZIL, NOVEMBER 2024

The sun sets over the circuit, long shadows shifting under the dimming light, the sound of cars zooming past reverberating through the air. The crowd around the circuit erupts in cheers as the final lap begins, a new wave of excitement rolling through the sea of red Ferrari flags. The tension is palpable as each turn pushes the drivers to their limits.

You stand near the pit wall, Lucero perched on your hips. She plays with the strands of your hair, occasionally tugging at the earrings you forgot to take off that morning. Your heart races with the roar of the cars as you watch the screen in front of you. The mechanics and engineers around you shift nervously, their eyes glued to the screen tracking the final moments of the race. Carlos’s car is a bright red blur, expertly maneuvering the last few corners. He is leading, and he’s nearing the finish line.

"¡Vamos, Carlos!" a mechanic shouts, his voice lost in the cacophony of engines and the cheers of the crew. The tension in the pit lane merges with the anticipation on the track. You can all see it—victory is so close.

The radio crackles with team communications as Lucero squirms in your arms, fascinated by the spectacle, her eyes wide at the noise of cars zooming by, completely unaware of the significance of the moment.

“Baba,” she babbles as she hears his voice echo through the paddock, her small voice a little clearer than before. The word hits you like a warm wave—a mixture of joy and something you can’t quite place yet. She has taken to calling him that, not yet able to say papa, but now it falls from her lips with more confidence than it did a few days ago.

You watch as Carlos rounds the last corner, sending the Ferrari pit into an explosion of celebration. He crosses the finish line first, the checkered flag waving in the air like a beacon of victory. Your heart soars with emotion, your body buzzing with the shared joy of the crowd. The paddock becomes a flurry of activity—engineers, mechanics, and team members shouting, hugging, clapping, and celebrating. Lucero giggles in your arms, imitating the others as she claps along joyfully.

The team ushers you out to meet Carlos as he slows his car into parc fermé, coming to a complete stop. He pulls himself out with ease, pumping his arms up into the air as he stands triumphantly on his car. His arms are outstretched, as though he’s trying to absorb every bit of energy the crowd offers him. He did it. He’s a winner again. It wasn’t just a victory; it was a statement.

You see it in his eyes as he pulls off his helmet and turns toward you, his gaze locking on the crowd of Ferrari red waiting for him. He sprints toward the barricade, right to where you’re standing. The press swarms, photographers snapping photos as he closes the distance, but he doesn’t care. They can speculate all they want—about him, about you, about Lucero.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate. His hands cradle your cheeks as he lifts your face toward his, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is both celebratory and claiming. He breathes you in before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours. His skin is slightly damp against yours when he does. Lucero squeals in delight as he pulls both of you into an embrace, arms circling around you and Lucero in a tight, protective hold. The cameras flash around your small group, murmurs filtering through the crowd.

But in this moment, neither of you care about the spectacle. This is his little victory, with his little family.

"Mi amor," he whispers breathlessly, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability you’ve come to cherish, and it overwhelms you. The heat of his affection feels as potent as the Brazilian sun beating down on you.

Lucero wiggles in your arms, laughing as Carlos takes her, holding her high in the air, earning another giggle. It sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach, your heart swelling with emotion once again.

The roar of engines continues as the other cars finish the race. Lando crosses the line in second, Charles bringing his car home shortly after in third. The podium is set—Carlos, Lando, and Charles. It would have been perfect if the tension just below the surface wasn’t beginning to ripple.

As Charles comes to a stop in parc fermé, his gaze finds you celebrating—Carlos all wrapped in your presence, arms around you, beaming at the baby girl in his arms. The sight pierces through him, an unexpected pang of something sharp and unsettling. Jealousy? Maybe. Or maybe it’s regret. What he could’ve had is playing out in front of him—the woman he once loved with his child, in the arms of another man, celebrating a win he had so badly yearned for. That could’ve been his, had things gone differently. If he had done things differently.

He removes his helmet once out of his car, his heart pounding with something other than the rush of the race. As he stands there for a second, he finds he can’t tear his eyes away from the small family huddled together, completely oblivious to the reporters and photographers circling them.

He watches as you beam up at Carlos, your eyes swelling with joyful tears as he continues holding Lucero. He recognizes the look on your face, a look he’d once seen directed at him, long ago. He catches Carlos’s eye across the paddock. There’s no smugness, no malice in his gaze, just a quiet acknowledgment. We’re here now, his eyes seem to say. This is how things are.

It feels more complicated for Charles. Is he envious of Carlos? Or is it seeing you again—the woman he had loved, maybe still loves, and the child that could’ve been a part of his life from the beginning? He can’t place it exactly, but the sight of Lucero babbling in Carlos’s arms twists something deep in his chest. Lucero looks so much like him—the same wispy golden-brown hair, the same blue-green eyes. She is a miniature version of him, yet she clings to Carlos like he’s her world.

Charles stands frozen for a moment, watching as Carlos hands Lucero back to you, kissing both of you before stepping into the arms of the team.

“Charles!” one of the mechanics calls, breaking him from his reverie. He tears his eyes away from the three of you, forcing a smile as he walks toward his team. They greet him with enthusiasm, engulfing him in a sea of high-fives and hugs. His mind is elsewhere, lost in images of what could’ve been.

As the celebrations continue, the podium ceremony looming closer, you can feel the tension between the two men simmering beneath the surface. You can feel Charles’s gaze on you, how it lingers. You can feel how Carlos instinctively leans toward you and Lucero whenever Charles comes near. Though you’ve agreed to prioritize Lucero’s well-being, how long would it take for these feelings to reach a boiling point and spill over?

Lucero tugs at your sleeve, bringing you back to the present. You look down at your daughter, who hasn’t even noticed the tension building around her. Children have a way of simplifying things that adults complicate. For Lucero, there is no battle for affection, no jealousy to sort through. She has you and Carlos. But you can’t help but feel the tightening coil in your chest. Charles has missed out on so much of Lucero’s first year, and now he’s trying to be present. But where does that leave Carlos, who has stepped into the role so seamlessly, becoming papa without hesitation?

Your thoughts are cut off by the announcer calling out Carlos' name. Lucero squeals once again as Carlos takes his spot on the top step, eyes closed and face angled up toward the sky. When he opens them again, they find yours, a bright sparkle shining in them. The crowd chants his name, and for a moment, everything feels right again.

But as Charles passes by on his way to the third step, his eyes find yours as well. There’s no hiding the emotions swirling in him—regret, longing, confusion. He quickly turns away, his jaw tightening as the champagne bottles are handed out. Oh, what he’d give to see you here, with your daughter, cheering his name instead.

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The crowd roars around you as the three men raise the bottles of champagne into the air. The spray from Carlos’s bottle catches the golden light of the setting sun, creating a shimmering halo as the liquid spray around him. Lando follows suit, laughing as he chases Carlos with a playful spray. Charles, though holding his bottle aloft, is quieter—less involved. The celebratory atmosphere to him felt muted, a blur of flashing lights and loud cheers. The taste of victory, third place, tastes bitter in his mouth. 

As the champagne spray over them as they bask in the moment, Lucero claps her little hands together, echoing the excitement of the crowd. Her calls for baba seem to cut through the air, rising over the noise of the crowd. Carlos’s face softens as he finds you in the crowd, finding her safely nestled in your arms. 

The men step away from the podium and Carlos makes his way down to you, wiping champagne from his brow. The crowd seems to part as he nears, giving you space. The noise seems to filter away as he pulls you into his arms again, earning a squeal from you as his soaked racing suit comes in contact with you. 

He reached out, gently stroking Lucero’s cheek, fingers lingering there for a moment. “You were cheering me on, weren’t you, mi pato?” he says softly, a boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Lucero giggles, reaching up for him with both hands. It’s impossible not to melt at the sight of them together.

Her laughter continues to fill the air as Carlos is swept away into some post-race duties, interviews and such. You can see Charles from the corner of your eye, lingering in the background. His racesuit now hangs from his waist, the third place cap securely on his head. It is obvious–his reluctance to leave, his need for something unspoken. A deep breath escapes you as you realize there’s no way of avoiding this. 

He approaches you, voice soft and tentative as he calls out for you. You greet him shyly, not sure if you should hug him now. You stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything between you settle in the air.

“You were great out there,” you finally say, your voice quiet, measured. “Lucero and I, we were both watching.” his eyes flicker to his daughter, expressing softening jut for a second. 

He steps a little closer, his eyes never leaving Lucero. “Does she…” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “Does she know who I am?”

The question hangs in the air between you like a fragile thread. You glance at Lucero, who is babbling contentedly in your arms, oblivious to the tension around her. You swallow hard before answering.

“She’s still young, Charles. She doesn’t fully understand everything yet.”

He nods, but you can see the pain in his eyes. He steps closer still, his voice barely a whisper. “But she will, right? One day, she’ll know that… that I’m her father?”

The question sends a wave of emotion crashing over you. You hadn’t expected this conversation to happen here, now, in the midst of the celebrations. But you can’t avoid it any longer. You look up at him, your heart heavy with the weight of the truth.

“She’ll know,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “But it’s… complicated.” he nods, eyes full of sadness and yearning. 

“I’m sorry I never told you,” you say gently. “I won’t keep her from you anymore but that doesn’t change everything we’ve been through.” You mean the arguments, the late nights you waited up for him. All the tears you shed for him and the heartbreak that came with boarding the fate train to Spain, you and Carlos. Charles knows this, a pain flickering in his chest as he nods sadly. 

“I get it,” he says. “But it still stings.” 

Your response is halted when Lucero reaches for Charles, babbling softly as she stretches her tiny arms toward him. His face softened immediately, and he stepped closer, gently taking her into his arms. 

You knew they looked alike but the similarities are so much more obvious now that she’s cradled in his arms. Her smile is timid as she plays with the decals of his fireproofs. Her eyes crinkle just like his, her hair reminiscent of his at the same age. 

“You two are almost like twins,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch them. A smile paints Charles’s lips, it's one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his gaze far away. “She does.” though there was so much of him that he saw in her, he could see you. In the way the baby scrunched her nose, in how her eyes lit up and how she laughed seemed to capture everyone’s attention. It was what made him fall in love with you in the first place. 

The tension between you hung in the air, unspoken words and unresolved feelings swirling around like the last remnants of a storm. Charles’s gaze flickers back to yours, and for a second, you see something in his eyes that makes your heart ache—regret, maybe. Or longing for something that was lost. But you had no desire to go back to that place, to that time when you were the one waiting for him to notice, to care for you.

He had Alexandra now. And you had Carlos.

Carlos reappears, a bright smile on his face as he joins the two of you. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you in for a tight hug. He lets go, a bittersweet smile as he sees Charles holding Lucero. 

“Looks like she’s making new friends,” Carlos said lightly, though there was a slight edge to his voice, his gaze lingering on Charles for a moment longer than necessary.

Charles gives him a tightlipped smile, handing Lucero back to you, nodding as he stepped back. “She’s incredible. You’re lucky.”

Carlos’s grip on you tightens just slightly, and you could feel the tension between the two men—the unspoken rivalry that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

“We are,” Carlos says softly, his eyes filled with warmth as he looks at you and Lucero. “Very lucky.”

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The Ferrari Family Drama Deepens: Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N Relationship Confirmed, Tensions With Charles Leclerc?

In the wake of the Brazilian Grand Prix, a new chapter in the unfolding drama within the Ferrari paddock has captivated fans and media alike. Speculation about the personal lives of drivers Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc has reached a fever pitch, following a string of high-profile appearances involving a mystery woman—now identified as Y/N L/N—and a young child.

Y/N L/N, who had previously flown under the radar during her relationship with Leclerc, has now emerged in the public eye alongside Carlos Sainz. Their close interactions during the Grand Prix weekend, particularly after Sainz’s victory, left little doubt among observers that the two are romantically involved. In the celebratory moments after the race, Sainz was seen pulling L/N and the child—whose identity has yet to be confirmed—into a tight embrace, a gesture that all but confirmed their relationship status.

Eyewitnesses described the scene as heartwarming, with Sainz not only basking in the glory of his win but also sharing the moment with his newfound family. The child, speculated to be L/N’s daughter, appeared comfortable in Sainz’s arms, fueling rumors that he has taken on a fatherly role in her life. However, without any official word, questions surrounding the child’s identity remain unanswered, leaving room for continued speculation.

The plot thickened further when fans spotted L/N having a private conversation with Charles Leclerc, captured from a distance by photographers. The conversation appeared somber, with both parties showing visible signs of tension. Leclerc, who finished third in the race, was seen standing near L/N while the child stayed close, sparking curiosity about the nature of their exchange. Though no details have emerged about what was discussed, the history between L/N and Leclerc seems to weigh heavily on both.

The identity of the child—who, according to witnesses, shares striking features with both Leclerc and L/N—remains a mystery, adding to the intrigue surrounding the unfolding drama. 

The questions on everyone’s minds now are: how will this personal entanglement affect the drivers moving forward? And what does this mean for their upcoming races and the Ferrari team as a whole?

a/n: Hi friends! If you’ve gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! Any feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated, they seriously keep me so motivated <3

tags: @kravitzwhore @janeh22 @apollosfavkiddo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @tremendousstarlighttragedy @sltwins @bwormie @marshmummy @honethatty12 @staplerrrr @smithieandy @loloekie @musicheaux @jeondeluxe111 @dessxoxsworld @xoscar03 @emryb @yl90 @poppyflower-22 @a-distantdreamer @raynetargaryan @halleest @cosmoscoffeee @crying-in-fangirl @khaylin27

[stgosupremacy]

Hi so this is me ranting about Ash being Goh's n01 supporter in project mew 😍 (as he always is ofc)

"I wanna join. Project Mew! For sure!"

love that cute sneaky side view

"You know what? I'm gonna cheer you on with all my might!"

the way he said you sounded a bit like it was a thank you for goh always cheering on ash during his battles 🥺 (it also sounds like I'm analysing too much again looooooooollllllllllll)

I always thought this was Ash just being dead supportive to Goh like he always is but he meant this so much 😭😭😭💗

"You're coming too, Ash?" (the hand on goh's shoulder omg and ash looks so cute idfjkmf)

"I promised I'd always cheer you on, didnt I?"

everyone smiling around them lol (they so know whats going on)

"I'll clear the mission for sure!"

"That's the spirit, Goh!" (always so supportive 🥺💖)

STOP HE'S SO HAPPY TO BE ALLOWED TO GO WITH GOHH AW 🥺

"You failed. You'd be toast if I hadn't saved you."

"Wait just a second, what are you talking about failed!?"

i love how as soon as ash sees goh's sad face he gets his protective boyfriend mode activated 🥰🥰🥺

"Good for you, Goh! I'm fired up about this too!"

i am so tempted to make a post on how touchy these guys are bc oh my god they are so touchy 💀💀 and hellllllll ash was not lying at all about being fired up about project mew, the entire trial period it was almost like ash was taking the missions, bless him 💖😂

"I'll help any way I can!"

it's so sweet to me ash constantly reminds gohof this fact <3

look at danika leaning in the back guys she knows

god ive talked ab this episode far too recently to rant about it here but 🥺😂

"You can count on us! Dont let it win!"

🥰the way ash looks at him

"Plus, I'll be there, you'll be fine!"

no words from me just pure SUPPPPPPPPPPPORTTTTTTTTTT is radiating here (and also goh looking like he's crushing bad)

"Only the challenger is allowed in this mission."

"You've gotta be kidding!"

bless the way he seems so fed up when danika says he cant come- LIKE CMON CAN THEY GET ANY CUTER??? 😭

but as soon as goh says this.....

"No worries Ash, I'm sure i'll be succesful!" (his smile is so sweet)

"You're right Goh, just make sure to pass that mission!"

...Then ash is totally supportive of it if Goh's fine with it too 💗

"Right?" 🥰

"Right!"

yeah....sorry i had to include that it was so cute

"Goh!"

"Dankia, did you do this on purpose!?" the way ash is so stressed for goh for literally no reason but his safety, enter: PROTECTIVE BOYFRIEND MODE ACTIVATED AGAIN WOOOOOOO

HE LOOKS SO SAD WHEN GOH DOESNT GET ANY TOKENS STOPPP 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

the way ash is looking at him so intently...i cannot 💀💀💀💀💀

"This time I'm going by myself."

"WHAT? HOW COME?" 😨😨 (that literally deserves to be in caps because he indeed shouted it lol ) he sounds so in disbelief, it's so sweet he just sees going along with Goh everywhere now his second nature 😭💙💙💙

but after goh explaining why, then ash just smiles and wishes goh the best of luck (as he always does bc he's just happy goh is happy)

like

why is this boy so precious

"I made it through!" I SEE THAT BLUSH HEAJDKAJ (it was obviously from excitement but blushing goh is quite rare in ultimate jrnys and he looks too cute when he does it) 😂

"No joke?! Congratulations Goh!"

YAYYYY HES SO HAPPY 4 HIM 🤗🤗

"Thanks to you, Ash!" 🥰🥺💖

"Thanks to all of your hard work!" STOPP LIKE the way how he tries to deflect the praise back onto goh makes me smile every time but yk so does this entire scene at this point

right the way goh ends the call and breathes out as soon as he does is definetelyy not gay at all 🤨🤨🤨 (fr tho they make each other so happy and i'm always living for it....if you havent noticed)

...right i should stop thats enough for today

[snarkspawn]

Just uh...going to throw confetti alllll over your inbox cuz your art is fantastic, your characters are amazing. You're a fantastic person and deserve all the lovely things!

Don't mind me if you see lots of likes and reblogs as I scroll through your dash and stare at your lovely art. Lol.

Ahhhh thank you so much ♥ you're so sweet, I hope you're having an extra lovely day!!

Also, I don't mind that at all, knock yourself out haha

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Poorly Drawn Cats 2: The Squeakwail

(Part 1)

[awakenthebeing]

Fake Peppino a crying of the hugs on pipoe .

Piepoe will provide hugs to any creacher that need some when they're sad!! Even to Fake Peppino, despite her confusion at first.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

You are such a good writer, it actually somehow breaks my heart when a story ends. How did you get so good? Any tips or tricks for people who want to start writing also?

anonnnnnn T_T you’re so so sweet. that means the world to me !!!! i love you !!!!!!!!

honestly i . still have a Lot to learn when it comes to writing so i don’t know if i’m very qualified to give tips </3 but!!! as basic as this answer is, i really do think the only ways to improve are through reading and writing. writing is obviously vital since you won’t get anywhere without actual practice, but so is reading!!! it’s so important to observe and notice different writing styles, and to find out what kind of writing you enjoy. by reading different works, no matter what they are, (my biggest writing inspo source is a video game lol) your brain will naturally store up words and expressions and techniques :3 it’ll make writing so much easier, i promise.

also, remember that it’s more than okay to imitate, especially when you’re starting out!! no one finds their writing style immediately. it’s totally fine to latch onto your favorite authors and try writing like they do — that’s what i did too!! (thank you richard siken + hit award-winning indie rpg disco elysium 🙏) so just try to have fun with it and experiment !! i believe in you!!! <33

[carcarrot]

favorite first watches of july 2024

tagged by @mariocki thank you!!!!!

them! (1954)

the adventures of buckaroo banzai across the 8th dimension (1984)

the long and the short and the tall (1961)

columbo "last salute to the commodore" (1976)

galaxina (1980)

the spy with a cold nose (1966)

also tagging @bawnjourno @starringvincentprice @baycitystygian and uhhh any other mutuals who are movieheads. say you were tagged by me!!

[oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat]

every time I see you interact with my posts my genuine reaction is:

OATMEAL :D !!!!!!!!!!

So thank you :)

Oh, oh.

Oh, my heart <3

I may cry? This is so sweet and kind (/gen). Anon, this makes me smile! This honestly gives me all the positive, good Feels.

This is going into my Cheer Up tag :D

[apassingbird]

NEA (May I call you Nea?) I LOVE YOUR BLOG I LOVE YOUR POSTS YOU’RE VERY COOL! I’m sorry you’ve been feeling down lately and I’m sorry about the insomnia and I’m sorry all your posts don’t have four thousand notes (they do in my heart)

the way this made me both laugh and cry hahaha ash you're so sweet! i love your blog and your posts too! <3

[astrxealis]

okay rambles but i started creatively writing in like ... 5th grade? and. oh god just a little encouragement to anyone looking to get into writing or insecure or whatnot, but HELLS, maybe it's to he expected with my (obviously) very young age and inexperience with writing then, but my writing was really. yeah. Yeah. but then i'm what... a lot older now, obviously, and my writing has gotten leagues better. i'm probably not a good example for this bcs childhood years development stuff are different etc etc BUT practicing writing more and whatnot really does go a long way :]

[rosylamb]

i think if angels are real, ur definitely one of them

🤍 ₊ ࣪ * ·̩͙ ・! ! !

Me? Really??

Oh . . but this is such a beautiful thing to say! ♡

Thank you, my friend !!!

I’m definitely not an angel, but you’re very sweet . . and I’m grateful you took the time to tell me something so nice ♡ ♡

Honestly, I don’t normally think much of myself, but you’ve made me feel kinda special tonight hehe c:

You’re very kind, and I hope you always continue to be so — cause it really makes a difference !! ♡

Many hugs & *lots* of love to you! Please take care of yourself & have a beautiful day ~ !!!

🤍 XO ⊹ ·̩͙ ・ 🎀

　 　 · ₊ ࣪ XO * .　‧✧̣̇‧ 🤍

[ms-demeanor]

I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?

Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.

Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."

Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.

BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.

Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.

ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.

Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:

1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."

2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.

3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.

4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.

5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.

6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.

7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).

[ellecdc]

James and Sirius and Remus and Lily and *takes a dramatic breath* you?

this one's for you @enamoredwithbella, thanks for sorting this idea out with me @unstablereader

poly!Marauders + Lily x shy!reader who is so smitten with them

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

CW: fem!reader, reader has hair long enough to be played with, reader is in Hufflepuff, swearing, consent because it's sexy AF

This was obviously a bad idea.

You’re not even sure how your friends managed to convince you to attend the Gryffindor party, but you swore to every deity it would never happen again.

There were too many people (most of whom you’d never spoken to before), it was too loud (songs you didn’t particularly care for), and the fifteenth time someone bumped into you nearly sent you over the edge.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” A low voice commented as an arm quickly righted you from your nearly horizontal position. “Y’alright?”

You looked up to see the face of none other than Gryffindor quidditch captain James Potter beaming down at you.

You were ashamed of yourself for the way that smile made you feel.

“Erm, yup! Thanks.” You squeaked, quickly freeing yourself from James’ grasp so fast that you nearly knocked someone else over in your attempt at creating distance between you and the Headboy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like James. On the contrary; you were rather smitten with him.

Him and his partners - which was nothing short of dense in simple terms.

But you couldn’t help the way you blushed when he held the doors open for you as you walked into classes, or the friendly smile and wave he’d shoot at you when he saw you on Prefect rounds. 

You sort of wished he’d stop being so bloody nice to you; maybe then you’d be able to get over this crush that was never going to amount to anything.

But James was taken; three times over. 

And what a sodding group they were.

Heart Throb of Hogwarts™ Sirius Black in his effortless style, his devil may care attitude, and his insatiable flirting. Being noticed by Sirius felt like your favourite rockstar singing a song written just for you. 

And don’t even get you started on the enigma that is Remus Lupin; the Cassanova of Gryffindor tower. Everyone in your year (and likely the years below you) had at some point or another crushed hard on the quiet Marauder; but it really couldn’t be helped. He was tall, he was handsome, he was kind, and though he was far more quiet than his counterparts, the quips he shared with you never ceased to reduce you to a fit of laughter.

And gods, was Lily Evans ever beautiful. She was the total package; she was funny, outgoing, smart, and stunning. Looking at her even now with her long auburn hair as she threw her head back in laughter; so open and care free in her actions. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be her or being underneath-

No.

No. That was not a nice thing to think about someone who was in a committed relationship.

You let out a sigh as you zoned back into the fact that James still had one of his hands on your elbow and was smiling curiously at you. 

“Thanks for the save! I really owe you one.” You chuckled awkwardly and nearly took out one of the Prewett twins in your haste to leave Potter’s vicinity. 

Unfortunately, trouble seemed to be following you.

And by trouble, you meant Sirius Black.

“Damn, Hufflepuff!” He cheered as he moved a sultry gaze up and down your body appreciatively. “Give us a spin, dollface.”

You felt all the blood in your body migrate to your cheeks as you fought to keep your mouth from falling open.

Lily, the beautiful angel (or the evil temptress, depending on how you looked at it), swatted at Sirius from her perch on the arm of the chair her boyfriend was currently occupying.

“Down boy; you’re going to scare her away.” She teased with a smirk as she winked at you. 

You felt momentarily grateful for her.

And then she spoke again.

“Then none of us will get to look at her.”

Fucking Helga, was it hot in here? They needed to open more windows; preferably one you could launch yourself out of right now, thank you very much. 

“That’d be such a shame, really. Sorry doll, you don’t gotta spin - no one else here deserves to appreciate such a view.”

“Okay.” You squeaked and turned in search of your friends.

You know what? Fuck your friends; you were leaving with or without them. 

They weren’t….flirting with you, were they?

Surely not.

Of course not.

What a ridiculous thing to think.

But…it certainly felt like they were flirting with you.

Maybe one more glance?

Just as you were about to approach the portrait hole, you turned for one more look at the objects of your affection and your current tormentors and - yup, sure enough - Sirius, Lily, and now James were all standing there smiling at you.

They were watching you leave?!

Okay time to go, that is enough nonsense for one day. 

You spun and collided with something tall and solid which thankfully caught your arms as you all but ricocheted off of them.

“Hey there, dove. Where’re you headed in such a hurry?”

Please for the love of gods, don’t tell me…

But of course, you looked up to see the face of one Remus Fucking Lupin smirking down at you. 

“You lot are everywhere.” You whispered in awe. The bastard only chuckled in response.

“Come on you guys! We’re going to start a game of truth or dare!” Lily called over to…you (?) and Remus.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to miss that, would we?” Remus murmured lowly into your ear as he steered you towards the growing circle congregating around the various chairs and sofas littering the common room.

And listen, you’re not particularly proud that you were so placid in Remus’ man handling you.

But in your defence…

In your defence, Remus was man handling you. 

And to your absolute horror, he plopped you down beside Lily on a large chair that was not quite large enough for two people. 

You tried to swallow your heart back down which was attempting to escape via your mouth as you became hyper focused on the fact that Lily sodding Evans was pushed up against you none too casually and- Merlin’s tits, was she playing with your hair!? 

You pretended to pay attention as a few rounds passed by; your friend being dared to give you a lap dance being the most brazen thing to have taken place.

Until it got to the Marauders.

Marlene dared Sirius to strip down to his boxers for a whole round which he was all but too eager to do, apparently. Meaning he got to ask the next person.

“Moony!” 

Remus smiled down at his lap before he looked over at one of his boyfriend’s mischievously. 

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl here.”

You’re not necessarily proud of the way your heart plummeted at that; this is what you had been telling yourself all night. They were taken.

No matter if they complimented you.

No matter if they caught you as you fell. 

No matter if they snuggled up to you on a chair designed for one.

No matter if one of them made you feel like you leaving the party early would have been truly devastating.

No matter.

“That’s impossible; there’s two of them.” Remus said quickly, causing your heart to ache for Lily.

Who even says that when their girlfriend is sitting right here!?

You kept your head down as the party all ooooh’ed and aawwwweee’d.

James let out a funny high pitched laugh as if he were an over excited kid on Christmas morning. “Guess you’ll have to kiss them both then.” 

You really should have left when you had the chance; you weren’t sure you could watch.

It was their business if they wanted to include another, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Or they can kiss each other; I think I’d enjoy that just as much.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Lily said as she stood; the space she once inhabited felt cold and vacant without her.

“Well? Come on then?” She said as she grabbed your arm.

“What?”

“Come with me.” She said again, wiggling your arm within your grasp, and who were you to deny her, really?

Like a well trained dog you followed her obediently over to where Remus sat before she all but shoved you into his lap.

“You seem like the fidgety type; maybe Rem can help with that, hm?” She said as she shot a wink at Remus over your shoulder.

His arms wrapped possessively around your waist as he rested his chin on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Is it okay if she kisses you, pretty girl?”

You had no time to be absolutely horrified at the pathetic little keening sound that escaped your lips as you looked up at the red-head now towering over you.

“What do you say, gorgeous?” And though her emerald eyes did shine with some mischief, you could see she was earnest; this was your choice.

“Okay.” You whispered barely loud enough for you to hear yourself over the hammering of your heart.

“Yeah?” She whispered as she knelt in front of you.

“Yeah.” You agreed.

And you only got to see the soft, hopeful smile that adorned her lips for but a moment before her hands were on either side of your face and she was pressing her soft lips to yours. 

It could have been hours or centuries but it was also all too soon before she was pulling away from you; a proud smile on her lips though her cheeks were a similar colour to her hair.

You became aware of the hooting and hollering going on around you as Remus’ chest began to vibrate in laughter.

“Beautiful.” He murmured - likely more to himself than to you, but you heard it all the same.

“Do I get a turn?!” James shouted before Sirius roughly grabbed him by the waist and planted him down on his lap.

“Not before me, Jamie.” He snickered as he shot you a wink. 

The audacity of a man to still be so confident sitting in nothing but his boxers. 

You tried to hide behind your hands though it was all for naught as Remus made a theatrical cooing sound and pulled you further into his lap until you were all but cradled in his arms.

“Maybe without an audience next time, hm?” He asked you as he brushed some hairs away from your forehead.

Not trusting yourself to speak (or to even make direct eye contact with the bloke currently cuddling you in your lap), you nodded with your face still hidden.

“Way to go babe.” James said as Lily went to join the two boys on their loveseat. “You were so good, we’ll even get a next time!”

read about their first date here!

[auggieblogs]

“did you just wipe off my kiss?” | MV1

Max Verstappen x fem! reader (a dad! max fic to be more specific)

Author’s note: Chat, in my defence I am currently ovulating and Max brainrot is REAL😭. This one shot is inspired by the cute little moment P and Max had, after the Chinese grad prix. Also it’s like super short, so forgive me??? Hope you all like it, happy reading<3

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

Max crossed the finish line, and the team erupted in cheers. He'd done it—another victory, another triumph. As his car came to a halt, you saw him leap out, still vibrating with the energy of the race. He hugged his team over the barricades, receiving a bunch of helmet pats in return. With a quick motion, he took off his helmet and balaclava, his eyes searching for you and Noor.

Your heart swelled with pride as he turned and spotted you and your daughter. He hurried over, his grin widening. Reaching the barricade, he planted a brief but sweet kiss on your lips. "I love you," he mumbled, his breath warm against your cheek.

"I love you too," you replied, your smile matching his.

Max then turned to Noor, who was practically bouncing with excitement. "Papa!" she squealed, her eyes wide with admiration.

Max scooped her up into his arms, hugging her tightly. Noor's small hands found their way to her father's head, ruffling his hair. He pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. But to his surprise, Noor wiped it off with a little giggle.

"Woah, did you just wipe off my kiss?" Max asked, pretending to be shocked.

"Yeah," Noor giggled again, "because you're sweaty!"

Max laughed too, a deep, joyful sound. “Oh, you think you can get away that easily?” he teased. He began planting a flurry of kisses all over her face. “Go on, try to wipe all that off!”

Noor giggled uncontrollably, her small hands trying to fend off the kisses but failing miserably. Max turned to you with a mock-serious expression. “Look at this monkey wiping off my kisses,” he said, pointing at Noor.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, you are sweaty.”

“Oh, you think so too?” Max smirked, turning his attention to you. Before you could react, he covered you in kisses as well, making you laugh and playfully push him away.

Wiping your face in mock horror. “Oh no, now I’m all sweaty too!”

Finally, Max pulled back, his eyes softening as he looked at you and Noor. “Thank you for bringing Noor. This was the best win ever.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re so proud of you, Max.”

Noor nodded enthusiastically. “The proudest!”

[barbieaemond]

And I dream of a grave

Header by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💕💕

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.  

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.  

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.  

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.