#maybe I'll feel better after shouting this into the void

[cassndra93]

Finally it's time for summer depression to change into autumn depression

[nonstoplover]

she broke my heart ~ daniel ricciardo (dr3)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

song inspiration: she broke my heart ~ noah schnacky

summary: the story of how daniel met that someone just because a girl broke his heart

words: 2.6K

warnings: the title is deceiving a bit, i know, but it is pure fluff really

a/n: visa rb kicked danny out and didn't give him the respect and the goodbye he deserved, so i had to write something to help with the pain and kinda make myself forget about what is going on with him at the moment. and what is a better cure than a short fic with some heartwarming fluff?

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

His friends invited him to go to a bar with them, but drowning in his misery, he felt like staying in. Well, that's what he thought at 6pm. A few hours later, feeling more bitter than he's done in a very long time, he realises he could do with the distraction.

He doesn't want to admit it to his friends, though, because first of all, it was him who was unpersuadable about going out, and secondly, they would just joke around, trying to find him a girl to make up for the void her girlfriend – well, ex-girlfriend now – left behind. And he definitely doesn't want that. It's been a week already, but the pain hasn't subsided. And to be honest, he doesn't want the pain to go, not just yet. It's a great reminder of what he's lost, of what he's done wrong. He takes the free time her absence means to reflect on what could've gone differently, if he'd just paid a bit more attention, if he was there more.

Or maybe there's nothing he could've done otherwise. Maybe it wasn't his fault in the end, but hers.

Deep down, he knows it was most probably both of them, but he would've tried. He wanted to fight, in order to keep what they still had, fight for them. She didn't, it seems like.

It was a phone call, a simple, short, goddamn phone call. He was just about to board the flight home from a long race weekend when it happened. Didn't even know what to say. He was exhausted, all he wanted was some sleep and then landing in his girlfriend's arms when he woke up, many hours later. He couldn't find the words, so when she finished describing what wasn't working in their relationship, he just hummed.

And right when he opened his lips finally to say something actually coherent, she just swiftly said, "there's no need to make it harder than it needs to be. I'll be out of here before you get ho- before you get back", like it's no big deal. Like it didn't feel like a twist of the knife on his chest how she corrected herself before she could've said home. The place they shared for two and a half years. Now it's not her home anymore, so it seems.

She really did move out by the time he arrived at his front door. All her belongings were gone like they have never been there in the first place. Like she never existed. Even though she was the centre of the universe for him, or so he thought. Now he's starting to see everything in a new light.

His whole life changed in twenty seconds. That's how long the phone call lasted.

And now, a week later, he can still hear her words in his ear, on repeat, echoing around, making him want to shout, punch the wall, kick the trash can, anything, just to make it disappear.

So he gets dressed, and goes to a bar – one that he knows his friends most definitely aren't going to be at –, and sits down at the counter, ordering something strong, something that will burn its way down to his stomach, melting away the painful knots in his throat and chest along the way.

After one drink, it only feels worse. He's looking at the happy couples dancing away on this lovely Friday night, holding each other, looking like they aren't aware of anyone else in the bar, like they're the only two people left on the planet. It used to be like that for him and her as well. But not anymore.

After two drinks, the echo of her words seems to quieten a bit. Some words missing from the sentences she said, and the blissful memories of their time together fading from the front of his mind that have been playing on repeat until then.

After three drinks, the welcomed distraction finally comes. He's not thinking about her any longer, he's not watching the couples dancing sorrowfully, he's just nodding his head to the rhythm of the music playing, his feet also tapping the beat on the foot-rest of the bar stool he's perching on.

After four drinks, he finally gets up, the fifth in his hands, though it's not the same thing anymore, he's changed his order to something more fun, something more unique.

What he doesn't notice though, too focused on the way the fancy little drink swirls in the glass, reflecting the lights of the dance floor, creating a tiny rainbow in their wake, is the person trying to move behind him

Daniel swiftly turns around, eager to get on the floor as a song he loves starts playing, and with that same movement, crashes into that person, all his drink spilling out from the glass, right onto the girl.

"Oh my god, I'm so terribly sorry!" he slurs, a blush creeping on his already pink coloured cheeks, just as she lets out a gasp.

The girl looks down, trying to see the damage, as if she's in slow motion, still recovering from the surprise of their crash. Her mind is just as slow to catch up to what happened, her lips widening into the shape of an O, when it finally does.

"Shoot," she mumbles – at least, that's what Daniel can read from her lips, as the music is way too loud for him to hear her.

"I truly am sorry," he repeats, and as if she only notices him in that very moment, she looks up at him.

"It's okay," she says, and suddenly a bright, warm smile spreads on her face, one that Daniel didn't expect. Not at all. He's figured there will be a long string of curses, an annoyed glance his way, eyebrows furrowed, a huff of anger maybe, then her storming off, maybe to the bathroom, to save what can be saved of her outfit. Instead, he got that smile, one that spreads warmth in his chest, one that makes his heart skip a beat, and one that he can't help but mirror.

With lips curving into his signature smile, he places the now mostly empty glass back on the counter. "Can I do anything to repay you for the mess I've caused?" he asks, turning his eyes back towards her.

"No, thanks, it's all fine. I was just about to go soon, anyway."

"I feel awful, though," he presses on, not really understanding why all of a sudden he feels scared about that plan – the one where she leaves soon. Maybe it's because if she leaves, she'll take that bright smile away from him, along with the warmth in his chest, and he will fall back into his depressed, desperate state of mind, drowning in sorrow. "Let me at least buy a drink, maybe a coffee, some other time, if you don't wanna stay here any longer."

She ponders about his offer for a second or two, weighing the options. Her friend has just called an Uber for the two of them, but she doesn't have to go with her, does she? She can stay a bit longer, it's not her that has to attend a wedding tomorrow, but her friend, so she can just go ahead, and she can stay with this handsome stranger. Maybe her top is drenched in something alcoholic, something that makes her skin sticky, she can already feel it, but it's not every day she meets a cute man, offering to buy her a drink. This might be her little meet cute, the one she's been dreaming about for as long as she's seen The Holiday, oh so many years ago.

"Give me a sec," she says in the end, turning on her heels, and making her way through the crowd towards her friend waiting at the entrance.

Daniel looks after her dumbfounded, not sure what's happening, and as the crowd closes behind her, he wonders if she'll ever come back.

She does, a couple minutes later – just enough time to make Daniel feel foolish for still standing around waiting in the exact same position she's left him in, but not enough time to make him actually do something about this awkward feeling.

His eyes light up at the sight of her, curiosity peaking in his whole body in the shape of electricity, or so it feels, about what she's going to say to his offer. Joyous, excited disbelief is still written on her face from what she's about to do, and in the next moment, she leans in closer to his ear. "I don't have to go, not really, so what was that you said about a drink?"

A mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and relief filling up his brain like fog. His much awaited, proper distraction, finally.

One drink turns into two, with the conversation just flowing. They soon move to a booth, to have a bit more privacy and comfort, and though they're sitting opposite each other, their feet are touching under the table, and they're both leaning in to be closer to each other. Neither can deny this magnetic attraction they feel, pulling them like one of them is a planet while the other is a meteor that can't fight the gravitational pull, both of them just awaiting that unavoidable crash.

Her fingers play with the empty glass, spinning it around, or circling the rim. He can't help but think about how much he wishes that he could touch those fingers. That he could be the one to stop their nervous – or excited? – fiddling. That he can wrap his much larger hand around hers, and see how it feels to have skin on skin contact with her. But it's only a wish.

He tells her about all the funny stories he can remember at the top of his head from the past couple years of his life, and revels in the sound of her laughter, ringing loud and clear even above all the noise and thumping beat. Tears form in her eyes from all the laughing, and she's clutching her sides, asking him to stop because she just can't breathe.

Daniel ends the story, and watches her with a smile on his face as she catches her breath, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. He doesn't recognise himself. Who is this person, and where's the heartbroken, pathetic remains of a human being that he's been this past week? He can't find that version of him anymore. A few hours spent in her company, and it's like she changed the person he was.

"Wanna dance?" she asks when she's regained her composure, nodding towards the dance floor.

Daniel raises an eyebrow, thinking of the question as more of a challenge, then nods eagerly, already moving to get up from his seat. She follows suit, and they join the people still dancing, sing-shouting the lyrics of a song he didn't even think he knows the words to.

He lets go of all inhibitions, and just enjoys being in this feeling. Who knows what tomorrow brings? Maybe he'll go back to his sorrow, pitifully sitting in his house, looking at the empty walls – well, empty except the nails that used to hold their shared pictures with his ex-girlfriend. That's really all that's left of her.

He's brought back to reality with her fingers gently touching his arm as she doubles over in laughter, and when he looks at her with a questioning look in his eyes, she just pants out "your dancing", pointing at him. He glances down, as if he could see exactly what she means, and though he's not sure what she found so funny, he just accepts gracefully that he's made her laugh, again, even if he did so unintentionally.

Hoping to be imperceptible in his motives, he moves closer to the girl with the help of his dance moves, wondering what might happen if he brushed his fingers against hers. In an act of who cares bravery, he just goes for it. She stayed with him for a reason, it's not like she doesn't want him to be there. And holding hands isn't that big of a leap to take, he's not trying to kiss her or something.

So his fingers move, and weave their way around hers until he's finally found a proper hold on them. She gives him a reassuring squeeze only a moment later, and her smile gets even wider, if that's possible. Daniel feels happiness fill his chest, a kind that he hasn't felt in a long time, not in his career, not in his personal life. Maybe there's a way to move past his ex and the past few years. Maybe all he needs is her.

And looking into those gorgeous, sparkling eyes, he feels like he's right. For once in his life, he's finally going to make the right decision.

Close to their third anniversary Daniel finds a little souvenir that he once got for his previous girlfriend, and the memories come flooding back. This time though, he's not filled with misery, thinking of all those months, and with a small grin on his face, he realises that his current relationship has already lasted more than the one he had with that girl did. For some inexplicable reason, he finds this reassuring. Exciting. Happy.

He slides down to the rug beneath his feet, pressing his back against the side of the sofa – the one he got quite fond of in the past few months, something that he won't ever admit to her, as she had to spend weeks to convince him to let her buy it –, and though his eyes are open, he doesn't really see what's in front of him.

His fingers play with the little figurine, and lets his mind travel back in time to that very day when he met the love of his life. All thanks to another girl he once loved. There's quite a bit of irony in that, he has to admit.

If he wasn't deep in sadness that day, being left by a girl, he wouldn't have gone to that bar. If he was still in a relationship, he would've been at home, enjoying time with his girlfriend of the time. Hell, he almost stayed at home anyway, in his sorrow, all alone. It feels like he won the lottery by that small decision that he eventually got up and went out on that fateful Friday night. He would've missed out on the almost exactly 1100 days of happiness he got just by knowing the girl who he spilled his drink on.

If there was still a her back then, and he wasn't single, there definitely wouldn't have been a them now. It's crazy to think, and makes him ponder if in an other universe, it all played out differently. He feels pity for the version of him in those other lives. This is definitely the best variety of how his life could have gone.

Then he hears keys jingling at the front door, signalling that this wonder of a woman he gets to call his own is just about to walk through and flash a smile worth a million diamonds at him.

"Well, thank God she broke my heart," he mumbles to no one in particular, as he pushes himself up from the floor, eager to see her as soon as possible.

a/n: i'm back from the dead again! gosh, can't believe how insane and busy this year has been for me, i'm so determined to write more now though, hopefully i can actually do it. until then, here we go with another short fic for all your reading pleasure! xx

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

taglist: @formulapierre

[selineram3421]

🎀

You're Off-key

Part 3

Part 2

Reader X Gravity Falls

Warnings ⚠

⚠ everyone is aged up, cussing, American healthcare, Ford being weird, Italics= thoughts ⚠

Hours had passed and Mabel wanted to know everything about you, her "new friend."

You told her your favorite color, desserts, movies, and so on. She had questions about questions and even more questions. It was almost never ending.

Thankfully her twin distracted her by talking about the other board games that you might be able to play.

"Or we could play a card game?", Dipper suggests.

"I am willing but I will have you know that I am terrible at card games.", you say as the two help you to a spare room upstairs. "Is it good or bad that I'm feeling a little light headed as we go up?"

"Aaand we should sit you down. Soon.", one of the two panics.

Mabel thinks it's a little funny. "How does it feel? Like you're floating or like you're weightless?"

"What's the difference!?", her twin asks as they both get you to sit down in the extra room.

"There is a difference.", you confirm as you lean back on the chair. "Floating is like back and forth, you feel it in waves, while being weightless is like you're in a void, nothing is weighing you down."

"....", the two stare at you as they try to process how you know that.

"Did they have Smile Dip?"

You wake up somewhat early, that being the ass crack of dawn and see a glass of water on the table nearby.

Sitting up to take a sip from the glass, you find a weird headset on your head and follow the wires, only to find Ford holding a little calculator like monitor at the end of it.

"Don't mind me, just reading your vitals and brain waves."

"AAAAAAAH-!"

You knew that Ford had a few screws loose but he was taking things too far. Even Stan gave him a good whack after rushing up the stairs with a bat.

Though, you did know it would happen, it was still kinda creepy.

"Even though it is great to be curious and have the need for knowledge, Great Uncle Ford must be put in time out.", Marble declared during breakfast. "You crossed a lot of boundaries."

"What is the normal amount of boundaries that are allowed to be crossed?", Ford asked.

"None.", Dipper said.

"Look, I can understand that you wanted to check up on me but with such treatment, it feels more like I'm a test subject than a patient.", you speak up. "Also, maybe you want to wait till I'm conscious to do tests like that. You'll most likely get better results."

"Better results how?", the older man asks.

"I'm awake to answer questions is how.", you say. "Also, I need copies of whatever you got from that scan."

⯅

"I call driving to the clinic!", Mabel says.

You and Dipper glance at each other a little worriedly.

"Ten bucks says you can't make it without pointing out cute dogs on the way.", you bet suddenly.

"Twenty for cats.", Dipper adds in.

"I'll take that bet!", she says and grabs the keys. "To the golf cart!"

A quick drive, some disco music, and a quiet Mabel, you all make it to the little clinic and check yourself in.

While waiting (for whatever reason), you look around and find an opossum playing dead near the blue couch you were sitting on. Mabel was trying to pet it and Dipper was pushing her hand away.

"No, stop! We don't know if it has rabies!", he whispered.

"Opossums are actually least likely to have rabies.", you say while reading some magazine titles on the book rack to your left.

"Ha!", Mabel laughs and pets the opossum.

Someone calls out your name and you head over. A quick scan, a questionnaire, and the doc tells you to take it easy for a few days.

"So.. you're telling me something I already knew to do?", you say.

"Yes!"

With a deadpan stare, you walk out of the clinic upset.

"The American healthcare system!", you shout. "WHAT A JOKE!"

"What happened?", Dipper asked.

"Did you get magical powers!?", Mabel asks.

"No. I got common sense told back to me.", you say with a sigh. "Let's run so I don't have to pay anything."

"You got it!", Mabel says and tosses the keys to Dipper. "Shotgun!", she runs off.

Thanks to that, which was nothing, all of you made it back to the Mystery Shack and you went straight to Ford.

Who was downstairs in the bunker lab.

"Ok old man, I need to know what that scan said and how to take care of my injuries. Please."

Ford was doing...something and gestured at the papers on his desk.

"Of course, the papers are over there. Just give me a minute."

Picking up the scan from the desk, you saw a bunch of zigzag lines and some notes on the side. The writing was a little hard to read but you managed to make some stuff out.

"Can't understand the static? What the heck is this?", you keep reading the almost illegible notes. "I'm just going to take a nap.", you decide. "Or read a book."

I don't want to know. You thought tiredly.

As you left, you didn't notice that Ford hid the scan papers in a folder.

*hides* Now I shall sleep.

~Seline, the person.

Part 4

Taglist@

@diffidentphantom @sleep-7372 @boredwithlifeatthispoint @mspurpl3 @gxstiess @lynkolnevans @fries11 @paastaboi @the-monochrome-jester @staygold162 @geckodarla @klwrites @alias-sam @eddwardtheseventhspacewizard @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff @+?

GF List🏞 | YO-🎹

[omgahgase]

all for you, all for me

this fic, lovingly titled "writing to get the gears back in place pls lord help me" was a Small Thing that turned into a Big Thing, and now it's ready to be unleased into the vast void of tumblr's charthur truthers. i'll post on ao3 with a proper summery and tags next, but for now, take this and give me head pats bc i think i deserve it.

nsfw charthur fic under the cut:

Charles brains himself on the coach's roof real good, and Arthur has the gall to tell him to shut up.  

“You’re a heartless bastard, do you know that?” He asks, growling into Arthur’s hair as he rolls his hips forward, humps into the sticky warmth of Arthur’s abdomen and smears wet across the lower part of his belly. 

Arthur chuckles underneath him, nipping at the meat of Charles’ chest to make a point. He has Charles crying out into the humidity of the night air, mouth occupied with suckling a dark nipple into his mouth but still seeming to say, ‘And what? You’re the fool for stayin’ with me.’ 

And as Charles spreads his knees wider over Arthur’s thick thighs, sinking into the pair of fingers stretching him open like a two-dollar whore, he thinks, ‘I really am a fool.’ He’s a fool for pawing at Arthur’s face and dragging him upwards, kissing him like a man deprived and moaning a hungry, desperate cry of a sound. He’s a fool for carding shaky fingers through Arthur’s greasy hair that he hasn’t washed in days all the while Arthur licks into the hot branding of Charles’ mouth, whispers sweet words between violent swipes of his tongue that Charles can’t hear over the loud roar of blood pumping hot in his ears. And he’s a fool for loving such a heartless, mean, bastard of a man. 

Arthur’s free hand wraps hot and slick around Charles’ cock, pumps him through the vehement shake of his body when the two clever fingers inside his twitching hole turn into three. “I missed you, darlin’. Thought about you every day I was gone.” 

“Yeah,” Charles bites back, maybe with a little more heat than he intended. “Gone for almost a whole month, Arthur. No goodbye. No letter. You just got up and left me.”  

“I didn’t leave you,” Arthur defends. Charles feels the hard lines of Arthur’s frown deepen across his lips, the way they pull down and wrinkle. “Dutch sent me out on a job. I didn’t know it’d take a month.”

Charles huffs, and kisses along Arthur’s scruff until the burn of his facial hair itches along the curve of Charles’ mouth, a secondary sting to the truth Charles was too stubborn to acknowledge. It’s embarrassing, even though Charles doesn’t and will likely never admit it out loud, that Arthur’s words—a mantra in his own mind, the ‘I didn’t leave you,’ it says, in reply to every, ‘He left,’ like a correction—soothes over the piping hot lava pit of doubt that engulfed Charles the very first morning he realized Arthur was gone. The day after they had their first real argument that left both of them rattled, the harsh words still floating around in the shallow banks of Charles’ mind that were easily fished up by even the smallest of reminders. 

Arthur said he hates how Charles bottles up his emotions and refuses to talk, pushing everyone and everything and Arthur away until Charles is alone and angry because that’s how he gets when he can’t man up. When he can’t think of anyone but himself. Charles, taking Arthur’s insults to heart because it’s difficult to break out of self-isolation when you’ve been by yourself for longer than you’ve been alive, said he can’t stand how Arthur comes back to camp beaten and bloody, bruised all over from a small ‘errand’ Dutch told him to do—that Arthur’s loyalty would get him killed one day if he’s not careful, and that Charles will not be there to bury another loved one if he can help it. Arthur, with eyes darker than the deepest oceans, asked if it would be better if he never came back at all and Charles was quick to answer yes. 

Their little shouting match ended with Charles stomping down to the river below Horseshoe Overlook and Arthur taking Rouge out for a long ride. Neither saw the other before nightfall and by the time Charles awoke the next day and brewed some shitty coffee as a peace offering, Arthur was gone. No one in camp knew where he went, Dutch’s lips sealed tighter than a national bank’s safe, and Charles spent the worse half of their month-long separation wondering when Arthur would come back. And when he did, would he come back to Charles? After all he said? 

His thoughts were proven to be false, it turns out, because while Charles was out on night watch, Arthur, eager and a little wild-eyed, rode up on an equally unruly horse and dragged Charles to their newest stagecoach, freshly robbed from a rich prick by Sean, Javier, and John. That’s how they ended up here, with Charles’ button-up ripped open and hanging by the crease of his elbows, his pants haphazardly discarded somewhere in the cab, his braid loose and falling out from the way Arthur manhandled him into his lap. Arthur’s cock is free from the confinements of his fly and leaking a steady stream of pre over his dirty jeans, his fingers knuckle deep in his lover, both of them kissing apologies into each other’s flushed skins because neither have the coherence to say it out loud. 

A cool, pearly bead of sweat rolls down Charles’ spine, melting somewhere down the line of his shirt.

“Arthur,” he calls out in that tone of voice, the one he uses when he wants Arthur to know that he’s ready, when Arthur’s fingers aren’t enough and Charles needs him inside now. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I gotcha.” Arthur kisses his jaw as he pulls out his fingers and blindly searches for his jar of salve, his other hand keeping Charles steady with a bruising grip on his side. 

Charles is impatient as Arthur readies himself, rolling his hips across the tight muscles of Arthur’s thighs, lifts up and down on his knees because he’s waiting and Arthur is nothing but an infuriating man because he’s taking his sweet time. 

“Arthur, c’mon.” 

“Easy. I’m here, Charles. I’m right here.” Arthur pats Charles’ hip, guides the wet crown of his cock to Charles’ puckered hole, and the feeling of Arthur’s head breaching that first ring of resistance has both of them gasping, hands clawing at sweat-slippery skin.

Charles sinks down down down, legs shaking with the strain of holding himself back from saying fuck it and slamming himself on Arthur’s cock. Taking it easy be damned. He went a full month with nothing but his hands to satisfy him, his own fingers holding no torch to the way Arthur’s cock stretches him wide, how Charles takes him in so deeply he can feel his cock in his throat. 

When he’s fully seated, the heat of Arthur warming Charles from the inside out, Charles throws his head back, rocks into the feel of him, and grins into the stifling, shuttered air of their cab. He slides up and grinds back down in that way he knows will rub the fat head of Arthur’s cock perfectly against his bundle of nerves, his own cock dribbling a thick pearl of come over Arthur’s stomach. He doesn’t bother to muffle his moan when Arthur bucks into him, his hands pulling Charles down hard on the downstroke. 

They’re alone, anyway. Far off from the camp in their little bubble. Just the way they like it. 

“You’re gorgeous, darlin’,” Arthur groans. “So pretty, ridin’ me like this. I missed it—missed you.” 

Charles chokes on a moan, the end clipping off into a dry sob when Arthur hits him spot on. “Missed you too, Arthur. Fuck—I missed you so much, you bastard.” 

Charles arches his back and hisses when Arthur’s blunt nails dig into the meat of his hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. Arthur bites at his shoulder, digs his teeth into flesh hard enough for Charles to cry out, and buries his fingers at the downy soft hair of his neck, holds him there as he humps and rides, as he grinds down hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Arthur gives and bites and scratches until Charles feels tender like a bruise, thrusting up into him with enough force to shake the cab off its wheels and make Charles clutch at the bulging strain of his shoulders, holding on like a lifeline. 

He’s being rough tonight, has been since he twisted a fist into Charles’ button-up and hauled him into the coach, threw him down on the velvet seats and stripped his bottom half bare, grabbed his cock in a vice-like grip and stroked him to his first orgasm. It’s like Arthur can’t stop himself from feeling the intensity of it all, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of Charles’ body, and the way they fit together perfectly, somehow, despite every difference. Like how they always do. 

Arthur is a bastard of a man for leaving without telling Charles, and Charles should still be angry with him, still wants to strike his knuckles against Arthur’s jaw the same way his words cracked something deep in Charles’ chest, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s a fool in love and he’s missed this bastard—his bastard. 

So Charles will let Arthur do what he wants and Charles will return Arthur’s affection in plenty. It’s how they work, it seems. Arthur loves loud, biting at flesh and clawing at taunt muscles, poking at wounds until he can patch them up with the same hands that made them. Charles’ affinity is more that of rolling rain clouds, plump and full with a storm ready to unleash across a lone prairie, washing up dried rivers and wetlands until a flood erupts and sweeps everything away. 

Neither of them knows how to love like those happy couples they see in towns, with gentle hands clasped together and soft-spoken words shared between sweet kisses. And Charles thinks that’s okay for neither of them holds that gentleness that makes up a ‘happy couple.’ They’re two hardened men crafted by the sins of a youth stolen too early, melded by the life of a gang, and fused together from the shared highs and lows of trying to survive a blood-soaked world that doesn’t have any room for men like them. They’re not good, nor bad, but merely suspended somewhere above the middle ground, dangling over the idea of normalcy, of the arguments that lead to silence. The longing that leads to loving. 

They’re not normal or always happy, but they’re together. And, when Charles thinks about it, when he’s reminded that Arthur will always come back because he’s stubborn like that, always aiming to beat away the apprehensive thoughts of Charles’ frustration with rough kisses and bruising grips, he likes it better this way. Their way. 

Charles skates hot hands over the dipping valleys of Arthur’s chest, and tweaks a rosy nipple before tracing the lines of his abdomen, softened by the layer of pudge over hard muscle. His nails drag through the forest of hair leading down to his navel, to the bush of his base where Charles swallows him whole with ease, the slick of their lovemaking matting down his wiry curls. Arthur moans a loud, untamed sound when Charles clenches around him, when he slides up a slow, long drag just to slam back down. 

“Do you know how hard it was to be away?” Arthur asks suddenly, his face full of flush and hands heavy with the fat of Charles’ bottom. He squeezes a cheek in each palm just to spread them apart, fucking harder into the wet heat of him. “How I spent almost every night fuckin’ my fist, pretendin’ it was you? I was in agony, Charles. It took everythin’ I had in me not to turn around and come home to you.”

Charles whines, and leans forward into Arthur’s space so he can bounce backward. The draw of Arthur’s cock is a glorious slide of friction, Charles can feel every vein throb against his walls, can count every twitch and jump with every grind. His thighs burn with the type of ache he’ll embrace in the morning when Arthur fucks the exhaustion out of him before the bustle of camp awakes with the sun. 

“I think this way is better,” he manages around a moan. “You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

Arthur chuckles into Charles’ neck and places a kiss on the underside of his jaw, right where his pulse sings against his lips. “My heart hurts when I’m not with you, darlin’. Feels worse than a bullet. But at least a bullet hole closes up over time. My heart bled until I rode up this road and saw you standin’ under that tree.”

Charles’ breath hitches, his eyes prickle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, hides his face into the side of his scruff as he wriggles and rides, tries to take as much of Arthur as he can because he’s longed for this for weeks, to finally feel his man in a way only lovers do with greedy hands and welcoming lips. 

“Mine too,” Charles sobs. He kisses Arthur fiercely and loses himself in the red-hot acceptance of his mouth. “You bastard, you left and took my heart with you. What kind of man does that?” 

“Not one deservin’ of someone like you,” is Arthur’s breathless reply. Then, “You could’ve done the same thing. You could’ve told me to kick me to rocks and I would’ve. If you ever want me to leave you for good—”

“I don’t,” Charles growls, annoyed that Arthur would even suggest something as ludicrous as that. “You’re with me, Arthur Morgan. Wherever you go, I expect you to come back to me.” 

Arthur’s arms come up and tighten around Charles’ waist, pulling him firmly to his chest like how he did when he jumped off his horse and drew Charles against him with the desperation of a man starved. 

“I will,” he whispers against Charles’ lips. “Always back to you.” 

And Charles believes him, knows his words are true because Arthur is a lot of things but a liar isn’t one of them. It’s maddening to be wanted like this, to love fiercely and be loved in return. It makes Charles dizzy to have his adoration reflected back at him with such beloved intensity. It makes him weak, all the way up his spine and down his calves, makes him cry into Arthur’s neck with the ferocity of it all. 

“Charles. Sweetheart,” Arthur murmurs, using the hold he has on Charles to keep him still, cradling him into the embrace of a hug long awaited. Rough hands slide down the smooth of Charles’ back, over the dips and curves of his shoulders and arms, lips brushing along the submission of his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” 

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to fuck up into him, slouching into the seats and dragging Charles down with him, feeling Charles’ eyes overspill and his heart tremble with a love only found in storybooks before taking control with all the self-assurance in the world. 

There are no other words for the overwhelming feeling that shoots up Charles’ spine and settles behind his teeth when Arthur fucks into him with intent, as Arthur offers himself on a silver platter because he may be loyal to Dutch and the gang, but he’ll always, always leave his faithfulness in Charles’ open palms, providing him with nothing less than everything he has. His cock sinks into the sucking heat of him with effortless fervor, the loud slap of skin echoing in the cab and accompanying the rickety protests of squeaky wheels as Arthur ruts up and grinds, makes Charles drool with the indescribable way it’s all so good.  

Arthur guides Charles’ hips downward at the same time he thrusts up, whimpering into Charles’ neck and fucking into his warmth with an exigency only achievable by the mush-mouth praise falling from Charles’ mouth. Charles doesn’t even know if his words are coherent let alone in English, the way Arthur hammers at his insides has him losing all sense of awareness, makes him cock-dumb and malleable. 

“That’s it, baby—fuck me like this—oh, Arthur—” Charles babbles, lost in the intense ferocity of Arthur’s touch. His cock bobs helplessly between them, drooling and hot, before Arthur draws Charles into his palm like there are magnets embedded under his skin, squeezes him on the upstroke and makes Charles moan a sound so whorish he feels shameful heat gather in his cheeks. “Fuck! So good, cowboy—don’t stop, just like that. All for me—give it to me, Arthur—please.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Arthur purs, stroking him with a wildness Charles has only ever seen him wear during a shootout, when he’s cornered and there’s no way out but forward. “You gonna come for me, big man? C’mon, I know you can do it, baby. You’re so good for me, my Charles. My big, beautiful, Charles.” 

“Arthur,” Charles whines, lips skimming over the flushed skin of Arthur’s cheek. Large tears stream down his face at the sweet words, the ache in his lower back and ass, the pleasure that washes over him like a wave and pulls him under its blinding depths. 

He comes like a bolt from the blue, spurting over Arthur’s fist in long, white strands, over Arthur’s belly and his black button-up. Stars shoot across his vision as his orgasm rocks through him like a supernova, making Charles cry out into the dark only to be muffled by Arthur’s lips finding his, kissing him like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do. 

“That’s it, darlin’,” Arthur says against Charles’ spit-slick mouth, grinning into the mewl he draws out with his tongue. “Oh, you’re gorgeous like this. My Charles. All for me.” 

“You too,” Charles gasps, barely registering how Arthur tears his shirt from his arms and arms to claw down sweat-damp skin, digging nails into muscle as he chases his own release, fucks him harder because that’s what Charles wants. “Inside, Arthur. Need you to fill me up—need to feel you.” 

“Oh, Charles,” he chokes, eyes going wide and feverish. He kisses at the tears streaming down Charles’ face in fat, far-apart drops, licks at the salt on his jaw. “Anythin’, baby. Fuck, Charles, take it all. It’s all for you.” 

And Arthur, with the benevolence of a man whose loyalty led him to this type of thing, loving Charles hard and making love to him soft, gives it his all. All for Charles to take and take and take. He comes with Charles’ name falling from his lips, his hips bucking like a pissed-off bull in a pasture. And Charles holds him through it, murmurs his thanks as he feels Arthur paint his insides, spilling hot and full where Charles will be able to feel him for ages. 

When they’re done, when Charles milks the last spurt of come into his greedy hole and Arthur slumps into the coach's ruined seats, exhaustion finally seeping into their weary bones, they indulge. Arthur hooks his hands under the fleshy crooks of Charles’ knees and draws him up to fit tight against his chest before gliding his hands over the bare curve of his waist, pulling him closer as if he wants to mend them together. Charles drags his fingers through Arthur’s sweat-soaked hair, kisses at his scruff as he leans into the sticky mess of their coupling. His cock is rubbed raw against Arthur’s stomach, thighs shaking with the hurt spider crawling up his lower back, settling somewhere above his ass where he’ll complain about it later.

For now, noses are buried into necks, lips skim over bitten skin, and no words are exchanged save for the whispered ‘You okay?’ that Charles acknowledges with a heavy grunt, a flimsy fist thumped heavily across Arthur’s back. Arthur takes that as an ‘I’m alive’ and settles into the warmth of Charles’ body. 

Neither of them knows how long they sit there, nor do either of them want to move, but Rouge rustles outside the stagecoach and pulls them out of their little bubble, makes them share a gentle brush of lips before parting. Charles relishes in the slow, careful drag of Arthur’s spent cock flopping out of his hole as he rolls to the side, the slick, squelchy feeling of come dripping between his cheeks and down his thighs and onto the stagecoaches seats. 

It’s like a slow motion picture in Charles’ eyes, how Arthur watches stark white streak over his brown skin, his gaze blazing hotter than a bonfire, then, in that moment, Charles is unprepared for the unrelenting grip on his hips. Arthur maneuvers Charles with placate hands and gracious fingers until he’s spread over the velvet seat, thighs open wide for Arthur to kneel in between them like a man bending to pray. Charles can barely protest his oversensitivity before Arthur’s mouth is on him, licking at the tender inside of his thighs before he sucks at the wet give of his hole. Weak hands push at Arthur’s head, shoving him down until the entirety of his mouth encloses over Charles and he drinks him like a man sipping water from the finest gardens of Eden, tongue lapping at Charles’ puffy insides. 

A second orgasm draws up tight through Charles’ belly in seconds and releases in meek, milk ropes. Arthur is quick to lick a rough swipe of his tongue over Charles’ balls and up his length, gathers it thick on his tongue, suckles Charles’ crown until his mouth is full and he’s climbing upwards, grabbing Charles’ jaw and tilting his head back. Something fierce strikes through Charles’ chest as he obeys the silent command to part his lips, rolling his tongue forward, and Arthur, moonstruck, spits their shared spunk into his mouth. 

It’s wet and lewd, dirty like a fling in the grim of a back alley, but Charles welcomes it all the same and rakes his hand through Arhtur’s hair to drag him down into a filthy kiss. 

“Didn’t have a rag in that bag of yours?” Charles asks when they break away, licking at the come shining in the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He doesn’t know who it belongs to, but it goes uncaring nonetheless. 

Arthur grunts, straightens up with a playful pat to Charles’ spread thighs. “Where’s the fun in that, Charles? I don’t hear you complain.”

Because Charles won’t, not when it has Arthur on his knees and worshiping Charles like a deity. 

Charles pokes dried streaks on Arthur’s front, the obvious stains that he’ll have to hide from Mrs. Grimshaw when she does the laundry. “Just an idea for next time.” 

Arthur hums his acknowledgment as he hands Charles his pants and shirt, watching the strain in Charles’ legs and shoulders as he dresses himself. He doesn’t make it easy, though, always sneaking kisses over any strip of exposed skin, biting anywhere he can mark before the evidence of their reunion is concealed from the curious eyes of camp. 

They clean up the best they can, Arthur using water from his canteen to wash away the crusty come on the seats and his abdomen, and Charles vowing to never tell a soul about what conspired within these four walls. If, for some crazed reason, someone enters the coach and notices the scratch marks on the roof, the rips in the backrest, and the uneven lay of the curtains, then Charles will feign innocence. Blame the damage on a family of raccoons searching for shelter in the night. 

“I’ll walk you back,” Arthur says when they climb down the two-step stairs, clothes rumpled and stained with their hair in all kinds of arrays. Purple bruises petals on his neck when the moonlight catches him just right, and Charles feels something akin to pride bloom hot behind his ribs, has his teeth aching to sink into tender flesh all over again. 

“I don’t need an escort,” Charles says, straightening his shirt that’s now missing three buttons. Hopefully, Karen won’t ask questions as to why Charles needs a repair done in the morning. “I can walk back by myself.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur agrees simply. Because he does. “Can’t I just walk ya? Y’know, be a gentleman. The kind that's all chivalrous and shit for his lover. Like those big hot-shots in them fancy films.”

Charles laughs, endeared. He picks up Arthur’s hat that fell in their frantic tumble from the main road to the stagecoach and dusts off the sides before planting it haphazardly over Arthur’s eyes, grinning like a fool in love. Which he is. 

He also steals a kiss, just because he can. “You, Arthur Morgan, are the farthest thing from a gentleman.”

Arthur loops an arm around Charles’ waist, pulls in him until they’re chest to chest and Charles has to look up just a scant to catch his eyes because Arthur is a bastard of a man with two inches on him, and that pisses Charles off because what do you mean he’s taller? It doesn’t help that Arthur’s also older than him by seven years, but to have height as well as age over Charles? No, unacceptable. Charles screws up his face real tight, whips his head away from Arthur’s twinkling laugh. 

“Aw, don’t give me that look, Charles,” Arthur says, pressing his lips to the prickle of Charles’ jaw, over the lightning strikes of his scar. “If I ain’t no gentleman, then you’re a fool for keepin’ me around.” 

Charles sighs and drapes his arms over Arthur’s shoulders. “Yeah, I really am.”  

He kisses him, then, slotting their lips together in that way that sends Charles’ heart into a tizzy, whips up something ferocious in his blood that pops and sizzles with every pass of Arthur’s tongue against his teeth. 

“C’mon, cowboy,” Charles says, shaping himself so completely into Arthur’s space that he doesn’t know where he begins and Arthur ends. “Take me home.” 

Arthur nods, presses his lips to Charles’ forehead before he takes his hand and fits their fingers between each other, holds him steady, holds him fast. They trek back to camp with Charles’ shotgun slung over his shoulder and Rouge trotting beside them, all the while Arthur explains what he saw on his travels with boisterous hand movements and hearty laughter, tugging Charles this way and that, kissing him when he finds a chance. 

To anyone else, maybe they do look like a normal couple, like the ones Charles sees in Valentine, all kiss-drunk and happy. With matching rings around their fingers to show for it. Maybe, if they’re brave enough, they can walk into a bustling town with the same comfort they have when they enter Horseshoe Overlook with each other’s hearts held tightly between their palms, with the moon acting as their only witness to Arthur setting Rouge’s reins free before leading Charles to his bunk. 

They’re both too big to fit comfortably on the cot, but they make it work, somehow, draping a large blanket over both their shoulders and scooting back far enough to rest their backs against the wagon’s side, their boots kicked off and everything, from their elbows to their knees, touching. Arthur, as observant as ever, takes notice of his things on his bedside table, untouched and without a speck of dust. He asks if Charles took care of his tent while he was gone, and Charles pretends to not hear him, leaning his head on Arthur’s shoulder and tucking his legs real snug beside him. 

Arthur kisses his hairline and draws him in with a hand on his waist and affection in his voice. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, Arthur,” Charles mumbles, “just don’t leave for so long next time.” 

Arthur hums, tucks himself real close against Charles like he can’t think of a next time. 

Before they succumb to the gentle hands of sleep, and before Charles registers Lenny cursing him out for switching half an hour early, still groggy and stumbling his way up the road, Charles thinks he doesn’t want to be normal. 

Yes, he wants a house on the lakeside and a husband to welcome him home, he wants the thundering sound of small feet running up and down the halls, screaming at a dog chasing them out the house and into the yard where they laugh and tumble in the grass. The life of the star-spangled American dream. He wants to hold Arthur’s hand during dinner at a restaurant and kiss him under the blinking lights of Saint Denis, love him in public without a care in the world because it’s normal. 

They’re not normal, however, and that’s fine with Charles. To be normal is to be accepted, and they’re not, the gang and them. They’re sunbaked and white-knuckled, hardened around their jagged edges and the sharp glints of their guns, the bullet-shaped holes and star-marked wounds of their skins. They argue and they fight, Arthur and him, they say harsh words to aggravate because that’s the only way they know how to live: to harm before you hurt. 

They’re not normal, and they’re definitely not always happy, but they’re together, and that’s how they’ll stay. All the time, and all for each other. 

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 09

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content. Word Count: ~11K

If you gaze into the void for too long, you will quickly realize that it seems to grow. The sight of the sea at night, both mesmerizing and frightening, is the perfect demonstration of this. There's nothing. It’s nothing. Just an endless void, a vast expanse of blackness that seems ready to swallow you whole.

The boat was moored and the sea danced under and around us. Carlos breathed quietly against my neck and his arms, warm and heavy, were wrapped around me. His gentle breathing and the lazy waves against the yacht lulled me into a half-waking state, where I felt myself float through the boundaries of sleep and wakefulness.

My body was anchored there, but my mind drifted away.

What were we doing? What was I doing?

I shouted these questions into my conscience, and the only answer I got was the warm feeling of being held, the bliss of feeling his breath against my skin, and our scents fused into one.

It was good. It was right. I had no doubts about that.

But what was next? What was going to happen after this?

I had spent the last few years looking back, wanting to go back, and now I couldn't face the future. Old habits die hard, Nonno always says. Despite feeling the present in my skin, my mind was stuck in the past, on the unpleasant goodbyes and the unanswered calls. The hard reality we had to face.

I had to face.

Alone.

A nagging ache ran from the small of my back to the curve of my hip, jolting me back to the moment. Sharp pain. I moved slightly, and Carlos pressed me closer.

I tapped his arm slightly. “You’re squishing me,” I whispered, my voice shaky and tired.

A soft moan escaped his mouth when I got out of his arms. Immediately, as I stood up, the soft breeze became a cold wind, and my whole skin turned to goosebumps. Naked and cold, and under his attentive gaze, I walked to my dress and, after sliding it over my head, I put on my sweater.

When I looked back, Carlos was already up, sliding up his trunks.

“Oh, that face…” he said huskily, walking towards me. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Reality hit me in small waves as I took in his request, and felt the words start lining up in my throat, pricking me like thorns.

“Do you want me to be honest?” I asked.

“Always.”

“You’re gonna hate me for this,” I said in a whisper so low I thought he didn't hear it, but he just shook his head. “I can’t help but think we messed up. I can’t help but feel this…” I paused, not sure how to put into words what I'd been saving inside. One of my hands hovered above my chest. “This…hole in my chest…In less than 48 hours, I'll be back in Madrid, and real life will just do its thing, and…” I looked up. “You know how it goes.”

He nodded, gentle, almost imperceptible. But there it was, a hint of insecurity and vulnerability in his eyes, peeking through a thick wall of self-assurance and confidence. His gaze swept across my face, eyes taking in every one of my features like he was trying to memorize them. I felt trapped there, between his eyes (for the first time not so full of hope) and my restless mind.

He buried his hand in the nape of my neck, navigating to my hair. His scent intoxicated me, nullifying the pain in my throat. My mind was taken by radio silence when our mouths collided.

From then on, every touch, every kiss, every time our eyes met felt like a desperate attempt to imprint each other onto our memories. Deep down, I suspected he felt the same I was feeling. Perhaps he knew exactly what was going through my mind; There was a time I truly believed he knew and understood me even better than I knew myself; maybe that time was coming back.

Or maybe his intense gaze could truly read my thoughts.

For a fleeting moment, as our lips parted for the last time, it felt like a goodbye. But then, as we gazed into each other's eyes, gasping for air and trying to contain the intensity of our emotions, I realized it couldn't possibly be the end.

“Does this feel wrong?” he asked, his nose touching mine. “Does this feel like a mistake?”

I shook my head in response, unable to form words.

“Does it, for you?” I asked, searching his somber eyes.

“No, Eva," he replied, his hand still cradling my neck.

The sadness and sincerity in his voice, when he spoke my name, sent shivers down my spine. The way he pronounced it—with a sweet blend of his deep Spanish accent and a light Italian twist, and with a subtle movement of his lips, tugging up in what seemed like a smile… I wondered if it was just the particular way his lips moved naturally, or if just saying my name made him smile.

“And even if it was,” Carlos broke the silence, again, “the only way I’d wish I hadn’t done it, would be just so I could experience it again for the first time.” His words etched themselves into my skin like a tattoo. I could feel the weight of them settling inside me. “How…" he hesitated, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "How could this be a mistake?"

My fingers wrapped around his fist, feeling the frantic beat of his heart against my skin. I slid my fingers up to his palm, taking his hand in mine, and pulled it away from my lips.

“Because it's you," I murmured, feeling the weight of his hand on mine. "I searched for you everywhere. In every man, every… race… every city I visited.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “I thought about you all the time. I wondered if you thought of me, too. I just wanted that, you know?" I slowly looked up, almost afraid of meeting his eyes. He wasn't frowning, he was patiently listening. "I—”

"Eva—"

"No, let me..." I interrupted him before he had the chance to speak, or the words I was desperately trying to find disappeared from my mind. "You showed up when I thought I was okay with you not being in my life. And you shifted everything. Both literally and figuratively. Rio is leaving. My team is gone. And for the first time in what seems like forever, I'm seeing a version of me I forgot existed. Every time you look at me, I feel like I'm being seen differently. And that doesn't make any sense, I know," I rushed to say, "but that's what your presence makes me feel. You make me remember why I loved waking up at 6 am on Sundays to go karting in the pouring rain until my hands went numb and my lips turned blue."

"And isn't that good?"

"That's so good," I said, exhaling. A hint of a smile showed up on his lips. "But I don't feel like... I mean—I need to be this person. I need to see this version of me when I’m alone. I'm so afraid of going back home and losing all this hope you awakened. I don't want to stop seeing the person you make me want to be the second I find myself alone just because you're no longer around.”

Carlos frowned. "I'm not going anywhere."

"No, that's..." I took a deep breath, and both my hands held his, almost like I needed to be reminded that he was still there. "Rio is leaving and I can't trust you to stay. And now there's no way I can pretend I can deal with the idea of not having or not feeling you again. So, yes, this could have been a mistake."

"You can't trust me to stay?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"A week isn't remotely enough to heal whatever is going on inside me. This... this didn't help."

"Did it make it worse?"

"No," for some reason, I felt sort of defeated. I took a small break, trying to sort the thoughts rushing inside my mind. "It's just that now, more than ever, I understood I can't fight this."

Carlos looked down, and a quiet chortle came through as he took a small step back. My hands didn't leave his. My eyes followed his face, looking for his gaze. The moonlight brought a new colour to his eyes and softened the shadows on his face. Vulnerability spread over his features.

"We've done that before, Eva. We've done that for years. Fighting this, pushing each other away.” This time, it was him who needed a break, to take a deep breath. I waited. There was fear and pain in my blood, and I was not sure why that was. “Eva, if you knew how many times I wanted to act on this, how many times I waited in front of your door, gaining the courage to ask you out." He paused. "That damn dinner, taking you out for dinner, driving you around the town, making fun of Rio because that's the only way I wouldn't freak out for being out with you alone for the first time…"

I only noticed I chuckled when he did it too.

"You knew it then?" I asked him.

"That I wanted to be with you? That you were just not a friend? Yes, I did."

"And why didn't you act on it?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "Because I was scared. The same fear you're experiencing right now, I felt back then. Our friendship was too important, and I was afraid that if I told you, it would ruin everything. And… my career, your career… And Rio… Then, you started dating someone from your class, and I thought you could never see me in the same way that I saw you. Even when you were single and before I moved away, I didn't have the courage to act on my feelings. I fucked up. Then I moved away, and I was thankful for a while. But I quickly realise there’s not a place in the world that would make me forget about you. And from that realization to realizing that I couldn't force you to settle for less than what you deserved… It happened too quickly. I tried so hard to push those feelings away that I ended up pushing you away.”

"And why now? Why did you show up now?"

"I—I realised I couldn't wait any longer," he said softly.

His voice was barely audible, but it made my heart race. I could feel my pulse beating in my chest, and a mix of resentment and longing filled me.

“I was a coward before,” he continued. “I didn't act on my feelings for you, and I didn't ask you about yours. I thought that you would be better off without me and that I couldn't make you happy. I believed that pushing you away was the right thing to do, but now I know I was wrong. So, I will ask you now: What do you want? What do you need from me?”

Once again, I looked down at his hand, which I was holding tightly. It was what I needed—him. Anywhere in the world, at any given time. To know he will see in me what the dense fog hides inside my being.

“I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. “I really don't know.”

“Love, you can't just leave it at that. You have to give me something to work with here.”

Love.

I could use some of that too.

"Just—" I looked up and met his gaze, and for a moment, I lost myself in the depth of his eyes. They were like diamonds on a dark night. "I just need to know that you still have hope in me. No matter where we are, I just need to know you believe in me. I can’t ask for more.”

Without any hesitation, Carlos pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me.

"I have all the hope in the world in you,” he whispered into my ear. “There are amazing things waiting for you. And I've lost enough of them."

                                                        * 

With a low thrum of the engine and the sound of glass clinking, we turned back towards the shore. The shoreline emerged in front of us, and the lights along it grew brighter and larger until the mass of light patterns on the dark ground became an array of perfect lines, perfectly arranged in the cliffs.

As we approached, the house that had once been just a blur of light out at sea slowly materialized into a perfect drawing. The engine died down, and the sea breeze mingled with the scent of pine and freshly cut grass. Strong Hispanic and Italian accents, along with the sounds of laughter and banter, wafted down to us with the wind.

It was like something out of a movie scene.

The lights. The sounds of nature and men. The man by my side.

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Any other day, I would be capable of drawing his face from memory, but that night it all felt so new. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, and the way his lips curved when he spoke certain words. My name, especially. The way his hand always finds the perfect spot on the small of my back, like it was meant to be there.

As we climbed the steps, one after another, our friends' laughter and voices became more distinct. They were sitting around the table, plates and glasses of wine scattered all around; candles and fairy lights flickering in the darkness. As we emerged from the stairwell, all heads turned to us.

"Oh! Look who decided to join us!" My brother's voice rang out. "Getting bored out there?"

As we approached the dinner table, Carlos's hand remained on my back, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of my clothes.

"Just very cold, mate," Carlos replied, giving me a subtle caress before letting go of me and landing the basket on one of the chairs.

"The sunset looked amazing from here," Ana said, her eyes darting between Carlos and me. "It must have been even more amazing out there."

"Yeah, it was beautiful," I said, stepping closer to the dinner table and reaching out for a slice of bread. "But Jesus it was so cold—I'm still shivering. I really need to change out of these clothes before I freeze."

"Go on," Marjorie said. "I think we'll stay home for the night. You've got time."

"Movie night or—?"

"God, no," my brother interrupted me. "Poker. I'll get the chips. Chili, go get the Brandy."

"Ana, can you take care of that?" Carlos asked his sister, motioning to the house with his head. "I need a shower and to rest. I’ll pass tonight.”

"No problem," Ana replied with a nod before she stood and stretched. "What about you, Evita?”

I exchanged a look with Carlos, as subtle as I could. “I think I’m going to pass, too. I need to enjoy one last night of peace. Heard we’re going clubbing tomorrow.”

“Damn yes, we are!” Marjorie exclaimed from her place. “For your information,” her finger traced a line over the men around the table. “No boys allowed, tomorrow.”

Carlos’ thumb moved on my back, pulling my attention to him. One last look and he gave a small nod. “Yeah, we’ll see you guys tomorrow. Have fun.”

“And behave with the drinks,” I completed. “G’night.”

As we turned to head back into the house, I could feel the eyes of our friends following us. The silence became a melody of messy whispers, getting louder as we entered the house. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking, what they were saying.

We'd been dancing around each other for our whole years, and even if we were not totally aware of that, they were.

The inside of the house was quiet in comparison to the boisterous atmosphere outside. After I took the first step up the stairs, I turned to Carlos, walking two steps in front.

"What do you think they think we did out there?"

He stopped for a second, brows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Just… trying to prepare for what to expect, I guess."

"Well, nobody can really know what happened," he said, resuming his walk. "But they probably think we did exactly what we did out there."

“Even my brother?”

“Especially your brother.” I stopped in my tracks, and Carlos, who was a few steps ahead of me, turned around to face me. “Does that change something?”

“I don’t know. Especially my brother? What does that even mean?”

Carlos shrugged. “He’s your brother. He knows you. And he knows me, probably even better than my own sisters. Does that bother you?”

I rested my hand on the railing and leaned my body against it. “It’s not that it bothers me, but…” Carlos nodded, giving me his undivided attention. “It’s just that the expectations… He’s going to work with you. Also…. He’s your best friend. I’m his sister. Don’t you guys have a code for that stuff?”

“I don’t think he cares about that code, Eva,” his lips were trying to suppress a smile. “And even if he does, he’ll just have to suck it up.”

“Right. What about the rest?”

“The rest?”

“Your sisters… Marjorie—”

“I think they noticed I’ve been spending the last few days staring at the office door,” he said softly, extending his hand in my direction. “What if they know?”

“You didn’t know, certainly.”

Carlos chuckled and led me up the stairs, walking in front of me. When we reached the first floor, he let me walk ahead of him. As I looked over my shoulder and caught him still standing near the stairs, he spoke again.

“I didn’t think I deserved it just yet,” he said, walking over to me. “But I can’t say I didn’t think about it.” The confession sent shivers down my neck. “Now go take a shower before I make sure that no one has doubts about anything tomorrow.”

My heart skipped a beat and I turned to face him; his lips were slightly parted and his eyes big and dark. A shower was the last thing on his mind, and suddenly all my worries and concerns dissipated too. I opened my mouth to say something, probably some incoherent mumbling that would get me nowhere, but before I could, his lips crashed onto mine.

And just like the first time, it was desperate.

His hands were everywhere, pulling me closer, pressing me against him. It was passionate and intense. That strange feeling of longing for someone who was right there.

“I really need my shower,” I whispered, trying to pull away from his hands, to no avail. His hands only grabbed me closer.

“Is that some sort of invitation? Do you need help dressing your pyjamas?”

“No,” I giggled. “I can do it alone, you know? I’m not like a certain someone.”

“Certain someone? I wonder who.”

I laughed. “Though night, the other day. I really thought I would have to carry the three of you upstairs.”

“Well, I would have loved to see you try,” Carlos stepped back, crossing his hands over his chest. “But curious about your pyjamas. Do they still have unicorns on them?”

“Negative. Corgis.”

“Corgis?”

“Aham,” I nodded. “Any problem with that?”

“Eva DiMaggio,” he paused. “Will you ever get less weird?”

I rolled my eyes. “Says the guy finding excuses to see me naked. It’s not been an hour. Are you that needy?" I teased him.

Carlos chuckled. “Maybe,” he said with a smirk. “But it’s not like you’re complaining.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. He was right, I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I was enjoying every moment we had together, even if it was just stolen moments like this.

“Go on,” he said, motioning towards the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

"No," I said, just as he was about to turn around and enter his room. "Feel free to visit in about 20 minutes. To see the pyjamas."

Carlos' smirk grew wider as he turned back to face me. "I might just take you up on that offer."

My pyjamas were neatly folded and placed under the pillow. As I approached the bed, the calming scent of lavender filled my senses. Few things have the power to soothe me as lavender does—yoga, music, the roar of a V12 and my recent rekindling of Carlos' presence are the other things on that list.

A tingling sensation hits my skin as I’m enveloped by the soft, freshly laundered fabric of my pyjamas.

I felt comfortable, at peace. Body and soul.

It was an odd feeling. Too strange to ignore.

When I entered the bathroom, the reflection staring back at me looked almost as perplexed as I felt. The slight redness in my cheeks, probably caused by the alcohol or the sun, popped up when a knock on the door cut through the silence.

“In here!” I called out.

The sound of the door opening and closing and slow, lazy steps followed. In a matter of seconds, Carlos joined me, standing beside me in the mirror, leaning against the bathroom door. The fluorescent light from above illuminated his chiselled abs. I couldn't help but notice how revealing his sweatpants were.

"Are you going to stare at me all night?" I said, my mouth full of toothpaste, focusing my gaze on his, through the mirror.

He smirked, his eyes flicking down to my shorts. "Not at you. At the corgis. Adorable.”

I scoffed, spitting out toothpaste into the sink. “Very smooth, Sainz, very smooth.”

The sound of water hitting the sink filled the room, and Carlos's laugh mingled with the sound. I just smiled and splashed the cold water over my skin while he watched me intently, analyzing every gesture of mine. As I picked up my cleanser and pumped the foam into my hands, his eyes and hands travelled to the small array of bottles on the sink.

“These are all for your face?” he asked, intrigued.

“Almost all of them, yes,” I replied.

“At once? All of this?”

I nodded, laying my finger on top of my toner. “This one always comes before any of these,” I explained, as my finger made a circular motion over all of my serums and oils. Carlos nodded, intrigued by the information. “These have rules. More complicated, but… They don’t matter. In the end, always, moisturizer.”

“And this one?” he reached out and touched my face, taking out a bit of the foam from my cleanser.

“Just some cleanser,” I said, giggling. He nodded, but the expression of a confused golden retriever didn’t leave his face. I could feel myself melting. “Just to clean the skin,” I completed. “Wanna try?”

Carlos extended both hands towards me, and soon both of our hands were filled with foam. We turned to the mirror, each one focusing on our own task. As he closed his eyes in pleasure, I couldn't help but watch him. His full lips were parted, and the way his long fingers lathered and moved over his face was so gentle. My fight-or-flight response was about to kick in. A siren blared in my mind. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't want to get to this point: lowering my walls and welcoming him inside. And yet, I found myself doing just that, each time allowing him to go further and stay longer.

As he opened his eyes again, he caught my eye in the mirror, and I could tell he noticed my look. He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on his lips.

"You like what you see?" he teased.

“Yes, I can’t resist men who do skincare, especially if they’re half-naked in my bathroom,” I picked up my serum. “It’s my weak spot.”

Carlos laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Good to know,” he said, rinsing off the foam from his face. “Maybe I’ll have to make this a regular thing.”

I shook my head, trying to hide the smile on my face. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

He chuckled. “It’s a bit too late for that.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't deny the warmth that spread through me at his words. Maybe I was getting too comfortable, but that thought was pushed aside as I focused on the familiar routine of my skincare. Carlos let go of the towel he was using and leaned against the counter, looking at me. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and I knew he was up to something.

"What now?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Can I try some of that too?" he asked, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“Ahm…” I wasn't sure where that sudden interest came from, but I couldn't deny such a request. “Yeah. Sure. Why not? Sit down.”

He complied, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. I squirted some serum into my fingers and walked towards him. As I got closer, he opened his legs inviting me to stand between them.

“This one is for fine lines and wrinkles. You don’t actually need this,” I said, bringing my fingers to his cheeks.

Once again, he closed his eyes. “I think I do. My face is an important asset, you know?”

“More important than skill, these days,” I teased.

He chuckled. “Like you would know.”

“I’m still a fan.” I paused. My thumbs massaged his forehead, tracing a line above his eyebrows. I couldn’t help but notice the line of his eyelashes, casting a shadow under his eyes, the curve of his lips shaping a tender smile. “And I’m on social media. I know what people say.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting mine. “Oh, if half my followers knew what I’m doing right now.”

I smiled. “Half of them would probably be jealous.”

He chuckled. “Well, yeah. To compensate for half that would think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Balance, right?”

He nodded, smiling. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my belly through the buttons of my shirt. It felt oddly intimate but comfortable and familiar. I had barely any more product to massage into his skin, but the softness of his cheeks kept me hostage. He had a strong presence. Masculine features, and strong lines on his face, yet he had the prettiest eyelashes and lips any girl would die for. He was pretty.

So pretty.

"So, how does it feel?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Amazing," he replied, his voice low and husky. “You’re good at this.”

The silence grew deeper, and with it, the need to fill the air with mindless chatter slowly disappeared. His presence alone was enough to calm me down. I reached for the moisturizer from the counter and squirted a dollop into my hands. As I began applying it to his face, I could feel the tension in his forehead begin to ease. His breathing had evened out, and his skin glowed under the soft bathroom light.

"You're all done. Ready for bed," I said, breaking the peaceful silence.

"Not yet," he replied softly, standing up to grab the moisturizer from my hand. "Let me return the favour," he added, motioning towards the seat I had just occupied.

I couldn't refuse his offer, as my body moved on its own accord. The sense of intimacy and tranquillity was overpowering any other emotion rushing through me. As I sat down and leaned my head back, I watched him pick up the tube and squirt the product in his hands. He smelled good, fresh and warm, and I closed my eyes as his fingers touched my skin. With a sigh, I let go of any tension.

"You need to be cared for too," he said, his voice low and gentle, running his fingers over my cheekbones.

His touch felt like feathers, so soft and gentle. As he neared my lips with his thumb, he stopped, and I opened my eyes. I knew that feeling too well. The weight of his thumb near my chin, slowly approaching my lips. Tempting.

"Can I kiss you goodnight?" he asked in a whisper.

A nod was all I could manage. "Please do," I replied.

Satisfaction and relief flashed in her eyes, and her lips curved into a smile. God, this man had me in the palm of his hand. How could he think I would say no? How could I say no when his kisses taste and feel like a storm fading over the horizon, like waves inside ceasing existence, emptying the tide and revealing parts of me I wouldn't previously claim as my own?

We stood there in silence for a moment, the tension between us palpable until Carlos cleared his throat and pulled away from me.

"I think it’s time I let you sleep," he said, his voice a little rough. But instead of letting me go, he held me closer. "You're joining us for golf tomorrow, right?"

"To days in a row?" I protested. But then again, when had Carlos ever not gotten what he wanted? He gave me that special look of his and suddenly I found myself nodding. "I'll bring my Kindle."

"You wouldn’t dare,” he stepped forward once more, just to kiss my forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight then," I said, barely above a whisper.

"Goodnight," he replied, giving me a small smile before turning and walking away.

The silence of the room was almost deafening, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness as I collapsed onto the bed.

I reached for my phone, and before I knew it, I was scrolling through social media, mindlessly absorbing every post and photo that came my way. It wasn't until my phone vibrated with a message that I looked up from the screen.

My dad.

We will talk once you’re in Madrid.

And then it was all back.

                                                        * 

As I moved my head, the refreshing breeze greeted me, relieving my eyes of the tangled locks of hair that had been obstructing my view. The day was relatively cooler than the previous ones, and the sky was painted with a mix of grey and white clouds. It seemed like the island was getting ready to say goodbye. Even though, the sight of the lush green grass of the course stretching out before me, with its scattered sand traps and water hazards, composed a breathtaking view.

I looked around once more, taking it all in. I was not ready to let the sunshine go.

On my right, Carlos was getting ready to take his last shot. The morning had been pleasant. Rio and Marjorie were now to the side, distracting one another. Marjorie was a pile of anxiety, that morning. She missed her kids and the kids missed her.

I never saw Olivia cry as much as she did when we called my mother during breakfast. Not even Rio’s antics made the little kid smile. That had put a toll on Marjorie’s mood for the whole morning.

My dad had put one on me with the text he had sent me the night before and the conversation he had that morning. The conversation didn’t move on from the “We’ll talk later, enjoy the time out.”

My mind was elsewhere, clearly.

Anxiety resided in my gut, craving a huge hole in my stomach. Surprisingly, golf had helped.

Carlos swung his club, the hush it made cutting through the air and the mutated thumb of it meeting the ball made me turn to him once more. Gracefully, the ball curved in the air, landing not too far from the hole. It would be my job to seal the deal.

"Ah," he grunted, holding his club loosely. "Nearly missed it.”

“It looks nice,” I remarked, walking towards the cart and expecting him to follow me. However, Carlos didn’t respond, his attention diverted elsewhere. "You’ll get your hole-in-one next time—Are you listening?"

"Sorry,” he turned to me. “I'm just—Can you see that?" he asked, pointing towards the horizon.

Following the path from his index to the horizon, I approached him. Nothing. I squinted my eyes, trying to figure out what he was referring to. “What, exactly?”

"There's something there. Moving," he replied, his excitement palpable.

I followed him down the hill, holding my club. "A mole?"

"Probably," he said, his strides becoming longer as he approached the hole. Peeking its head out of the hole, we saw a tiny ball of dark brown fur, looking up at us with its beady black eyes. It seemed out of place amidst the immaculate green grass, as if it had crawled from a completely different world. I couldn't resist taking out my phone and snapping a quick photo.

"Look at it," Carlos said, grinning widely. Adorable. How can a grown-ass man be this adorable? "It's so cute!"

He took out his phone as well, and I sat down on the grass, watching him. Wide grin, big eyes, the long hair curving over the brim of his hat… a kid. And then, his voice—that goofy voice I hadn't heard in years.

"Hello there, Mr. Mole," he said, looking at me over his shoulder. I couldn't help but laugh as he carried on a one-sided conversation with the tiny animal. "Welcome to the golf course! Do you like it here? Are you planning on staying?"

I giggled, shaking my head as I leaned back on my arms. "I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. You're ridiculous."

"Don't listen to her, Mr. Mole.” He grinned at me, pocketing his phone, and then turned his attention back to the mole. “She's just jealous of your adorable little nose."

“Should I be offended by that?”

“Eh…” he leaned his head, shrugging. “I would pick my battles better if I were you.”

I chuckled, feeling the tension of my worries slowly dissipating. The moment of lightheartedness made me momentarily forget about my concerns. It was nice there. Easy. And yet, he never stopped being an enigma to me, even having known him since we were kids. There were moments when he seemed like a completely different person.

Like now.

He looked so intense, so focused. His eyes never left mine, and I found myself struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting down near the hole.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, averting my gaze and focusing on the little animal, already hidden in the dirt, only its bottom visible. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” he replied, the corner of his lips curling up in a small smile. “You’ve been distant all morning. Not a good look on you.”

People always tell me I’m not a great liar—something about my too-bright eyes and how easy they are to read. Carlos was one of those people. He had a way of seeing right through me, even when I didn’t want him to.

“Too many long nights in a row. I need a good night of sleep,” he didn’t seem convinced by my excuse. Carlos licked his lips and got up, offering me a hand. As soon as we were standing in front of one another, he raised his eyebrow. “And my dad,” I admitted. “He’s been… strange.”

“Strange how?”

“You know how he is. Lately, he’s been worse. More distant. And I don’t know if I'm imagining things or—” I trailed off. “The point is that he’s being weird and making me anxious.”

“Is this about the email from last night? The one Rio mentioned?”

I nodded. “Yup. Racing stuff.”

Carlos tried to hide his smile, but a fragment of it lay on his lips, tainting his eyes and making them shine. “What racing stuff?”

“A meeting with Deborah Mayer,” this time, his grin expanded wide. “Don’t get your hopes high, Sainz. Just a talk. And I don’t know if I’ll get it.”

“I’m just happy to see you acting on it. The idea of you in an office doesn’t make sense to me,” he shrugged, walking towards the ball. “Racing shouldn’t be a hobby.” He pointed his club to me. “Not for you, at least.”

“Let’s finish this hole, shall we?” I mumbled, taking my stance and aligning my club with the ball. “Can’t fail this one. I rather eat the ball than lose to those two.”

Carlos looked up towards the hill, where Marjorie and Rio waited by the cart. I felt the weight of his gaze when he looked back at me.

“Yesterday you told me I make you want to be better,” he closed the distance between us and stood in front of me. His fist grabbed his club with a strength that didn’t reflect itself in the light and adoring gaze of his eyes. God. I wanted to fill them with pride. “Let me help you do it.”

“No—” I shook my head, raising my hand and shaking it too. “No. Don’t—I don’t need that.”

“Don’t be so proud.”

“It’s not pride. Or stubbornness, before you go that way,” I tilted my head to the side. “I’ve done it alone until here, I can do it from here.”

“But you don’t need to. You’re not alone.”

Silence.

Three seconds of peace and utter tranquillity, and then anxiety hit me in the chest, like the waves against the shoreline. A feeling way too familiar. Way too powerful to ignore. My heart hammered in my chest, my blood rushed in my ears.

I glanced at him for a second, he was looking at me. Waiting.

What did he want me to say?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t focus if you keep talking.”

“And I can’t help you if you keep ignoring me,” his voice was soft and soothing. Like a music box winding down.

I looked up. His shadow covered me almost completely.

“I forgot how fucking annoying you are.” Carlos offered me a smile but his gaze remained serious. “Can we finish this up and talk after lunch?”

The shadow over me didn’t move, and Carlos didn’t make any sound until I heard a long exhale and the ruffle of his sneakers walking over the green.

“Sure. Go ahead.” Deafet and tired, he walked to my right. “Easy on those wrists,” After repositioning my hands, I looked up for approval. He was smirking, “I know I test your patience, but we don’t need that kind of strength right now.”

"Is that so?"

"The hole is less than 10 meters away,” Carlos pointed like it was obvious and I couldn’t not chuckle at his answer.

“I was talking about the I know I test your patience part.”

It would have been hard not to smile at him at that moment. His eyes were wide and pleading, although a small curve of his lips suggested that he wanted to smile as well. It was impossible not to smile when Carlos Sainz smiled at you with such genuine affection in his eyes and his heart that you might even believe that he would do anything for you.

“Go ahead, Eva. Hit it. We’ll talk later.”

“As you say, professor,” I said, swinging my club and hitting the ball towards the hole. The ball rolled slowly across the grass, falling into the hole with a soft plunk. "See?! This is what happens when you don't bother me about emails or my posture.”

"Eh! Come on..." He moved his hands dramatically and it was clear that he was spending too much time with my brother lately. "If I hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to hole this one out."

"Admit it," I said, moving forward in mock indignation. "It was all an excuse to grab my hips.” I winked at him coyly. “I won't judge."

“Always a flirt, aren’t you?”

“Look at you,” I said, leaning on my club, again. “Can you blame me?”

There was a thing about Carlos Sainz I'd completely forgotten. How easily his expression shifts. A small shift can change the atmosphere around him. The dark strands of hair that fall over his eyes make them seem impossibly deep, the perfect setting for a pair of long lashes to rest against. His eyebrows are slightly uneven, but they fit with the rest of his face perfectly. As if he's been sculpted out of clay and left to stand beside me like a sculpture in some museum garden. It takes as much time for him to take a step and blink as it does for my heart to go out of rhythm.

And that's exactly what happened there. I could feel the tension grow inside and around me, my chest imploding at the same time.

But with a shake of his head, it all went away — his face softened and he shook his head before picking up the ball from the hole and sliding it into his pocket, "You're a bad influence," he joked, before extending his hand to me and signalling to follow him. "Let's go distract them."

Under the slim shadow cast by a palm tree, Marjorie observed her husband. Rio was a couple of steps away, ready to teed his back and take his last shot. Carlos sat down on the driver’s seat of our cart and attentively observed my brother. The ball flew off down in an awkward arc. Before it even hit the green, a dissatisfied grunt was heard.

“You can start celebrating,” he said, walking back to us. “Fucking wind.”

                                                        * 

The afternoon and the night flew by as if they were minutes and the clock had no patience to wait for us to find time to be alone. That day, Marjorie and Rio joined us in our snorkelling attempt and later that night, Ana did not take no for an answer when it came to going clubbing. With each passing second, the reminder I would leave soon and the bubble would burst.

Nevertheless, he was always around.

His gaze was on me when I was cooking lunch with the girls. His arms protectively wrapped around me as we rode the jetskis around the house, almost like he was begging me to not leave. On that night, his eyes lingered on mine one more second than necessary before I got up off the couch and headed to the club with his sisters and Marjorie.

I wanted him, just one last time before reality hit, and reality was a couple of hours away.

Just a night of sleep, breakfast and a short ride to the airport away.

So, I fell asleep thinking of him and tracing with my fingertips all the places he had kissed and adored, replaying his tender touch in my mind, wishing for him to be there when I opened my eyes, to take over and replace my desperate caresses with his passionate touch. The memories blended into a dream and a restful, peaceful sleep.

Like all mornings in Costa Del Pins, my room was taken by the sunlight when I woke up.

The expectation was that this time, I was awakened by the yellow hue of the Mediterranean summer, not the ring of my alarm. I remembered dreaming about Carlos. I remembered the too many glasses of sangria and all the shots Ana had brought to the table.

I had missed this. This was summer just like I remembered it.

Wine and laughter and long dinners by the sea, that stretch until the night and the sleep take the best out of us. Ana and her darling smile. The sun and the salt and the sweat.

The thin white sheets were twisted around my legs, holding me in place. I stared at the white ceiling, enjoying the shadows of the waving curtains drawn on it—the movements as soft as the sea waves. I didn’t want to leave.

Everything seemed to work in the same way in Mallorca. Everyone seemed to vibe at the same frequency. And Carlos was there. He wouldn’t be in Madrid.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. I kicked off the sheets, trying to pry them from my legs.

“come here when you wake up”

And despite not wanting to leave the bed, my limbs moved alone. My bare feet touched the cold floor when they slid to the floor, barely touching down as I rose from bed. And still drowsy from sleep, and feeling in my body everything that had happened the day before, I walked over across the hall.

His door was slightly open. All the other doors of the hallway were closed.

I knocked, nonetheless.

“Hi,” I whispered, entering his room.

Laying in bed, he gave me a lazy smile. It was impossible to not feel my entire self melting at the view. Arm underneath his head. Puffy eyes. The stubble. The hazy morning light accentuated his features, making them ascend to the category of a classic painting.

“Morning,” he replied, slowly sitting up.

The sheet crumbled at his waist, revealing his naked torso. I sat at the foot of his bed. My silk shorts contrasted against the white bed linen.

“No morning run today?”

“No…” He shook his head and then yawned. “I mean—yes. I was waiting for you, but I think I fell asleep waiting for your alarm.”

“You hear my alarm from here?” He nodded, dragging his hands over his face, stopping to rub his eyes. “That’s why you leave the door open?” Once again, he nodded. “I turned it off, today. I needed to sleep.”

His hardened body softened as he eyed me up with a faint smile grazing across his lips.

“At what time is the flight?”

“Around four.”

He nodded. “And when will I see you again?”

“I don’t know…” I crossed my legs and tilted my head. “Monza? I’ll be there, for sure.”

Instantly, the man in front of me shook his head. “Monza? That’s in almost a month.”

“I know. I mean—” I paused. “We can try to meet before, but you have your stuff, too. Monza is the only promise I can make.”

“Zandvoort,” he suggested. “For my birthday.”

His birthday. The 1st of September. Amanda’s event was in September, around that date if I was not mistaken. Carlos squinted his eyes, probably because I was already giving him a negative answer with my expression.

“I think I have a work thing. In Berlin.”

“Berlin is not that far…” He raised his eyebrow, the corner of his lips tugging up. His pretty face was on the verge of making me give in. “Come ooon... You can get from one city to another in less than two hours.”

I dropped my shoulders. God, this man.

“But I can’t promi—”

“I don’t need you to promise me anything,” he interrupted me. And then, his voice softened. “I need you to try.”

Fighting him had no use when he smiled that way.

“Fine. I’ll try.”

“See?” He smiled and called me closer with his hands. “That’s all I need to hear.”

Crawling over the sheets, still warm from his body heat and smelling like him, I made my way closer. The aroma of his skin lingered in the air and my nostrils flared as I took it all in. I could live in his embrace forever. I could live wrapped in one of these sheets. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer and mitigating the gap between us.

Inches apart, his eyes locked onto mine. My heart pounded against my chest—a reminder that I hadn’t yet learned how to deal with this man’s antics. Deep down, I wished to never get used to it.

“Here’s another thing…” he said, in a soft whisper.

I brought my hands to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath he took. “What?”

“I’ll be flying over Europe. And so will you. Madrid, Maranello, Milan… and for the races. Tell me where you are, and I’ll get to you.” He paused. “I once expected you to be the one to drop everything and follow me around. It was not fair," he admitted with a sincerity that caught me off guard. "But now, I know what not to do. I can drop my stuff off once in a while and go to you. And you’ll need to let me do it. Okay?"

With those big brown eyes staring back at me, all I could do was nod. "Okay," I managed to whisper.

“And that’s something I want you to promise.”

“What?”

“That you will let me get closer.” Carlos leaned in, his lips hovering over mine. “Physically, mentally, emotionally.”

Breaths mingling, hot and heavy, tension building between us. I closed my eyes and succumbed to the moment, letting his lips capture mine.

Sleepy. Slow. Kinda sloppy.

“I can promise to try,” I said, eyes closed to savour the sensation of his lips down my jaw.

“Good enough for now,” he murmured; his hands roamed over my body, tracing the curves and lines of my skin. Every touch felt electric, sending shivers down my spine.

I moaned softly against his lips, feeling his smile against mine.

“We need to stop,” I put both my hands on his chest. “I need to go pack.”

He let out a low groan, his hands still roaming over my body. “Right,” he said, his voice husky. “We need. But because we're going out for breakfast. Go get dressed before my sister catches you awake and steals you away once more.”

                                                        * 

The melody of the waves washed over my senses the second he opened the car door, carried by a tiny breeze that made my hair dance against my neck. Before moving away from the car, he looked back at me, his sleepy eyes squinting to battle the bright sun. We were parked not too far from the market and I could sense the aroma of fruits and flowers.

We walked together, feeling the morning sun warming up our skin, the rhythm of our feet pounding against the pavement in perfect unison. The world around us began to blur, and all that was left was the sound of our voices and the rhythm of our conversation, light and carefree, about rocks, flowers and the two wild cats sleeping on a bench.

Reality seemed a foreign concept when he was involved.

Eventually, our steps brought us to the bakery. Two clay pots with brightly coloured flowers were placed outside, on both sides of the door. As we stepped through, we were met with a cosy atmosphere, with three families sitting around, enjoying their breakfast and a lazy dog snoozing away underneath the fan. On the counter, near the register, were three carton boxes with familiar purple ribbons.

The bakery. The croissants.

“Do you wanna sit, or—” he asked me, looking over his shoulder.

“We can sit,” I didn’t let him finish the question. “I appreciate the air conditioning.”

He chuckled, turning back to me and placing his hand on the small of my back. I walked to a booth in the corner of the bakery, sitting on the sofa facing the window. The view was breathtaking—the sea was a bright blue that expanded itself until the tenuous line on the horizon. Sharp cliffs surrounded the beach in front, framing the crowded sand. I moved my eyes to Carlos when he sat in front of me, a smile being automatically drawn on my lips as he took off his hat and passed his fingers through the sweaty strands of his hair.

“It’s terrible, no?” He asked, making me immediately frown. “I just cut it before France.”

“And it was an absolute crime,” my words came wrapped in a small laugh.

“Do you like it long?” Once again, he passed his hands on his hair, the locks easily followed the lines his fingers were drawing.

“I do,” I nodded. “And I like your beard, too. It’s a shame you shaved it today.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we meet,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

From my right, the figure of a round lady appeared. Her silver-grey hair was meticulously braided over her shoulder and tied with a delicate purple elastic at the end, a perfect contrast to the vibrant blue and yellow tie-dye apron that draped over her beautiful floral print dress. When she spotted Carlos, her face lit up in recognition and a warm smile spread across her lips. Her hands clasped together in front of her chest, beaming with joy as he turned to her.

“Buenos dias,” her voice was gentle, kind and inviting. “What should I get for you two?” She asked. “Despite the croissants Carlitos usually chooses of course.”

Carlos gazed at the woman expectantly, and asked, "What would you like?" He added with a hopeful smile, "The cinnamon rolls I brought you the other day were good too, no?"

The woman nodded thoughtfully, her heavy gaze studying me. “It’s a new recipe,” she said, her voice full of anticipation. “I’m still trying to perfect it.”

“Oh, I—” my gaze shifted from one to the other, both of them looking at me expectantly. “I loved them, I wouldn’t change a thing. You can bring me one for now, actually. And an espresso, por favor.”

The woman nodded, her eyes glistening with pride from my compliment. “And you for? The same thing?”

He smiled and shook his head. "Yes, that can be. Just bring me a water bottle, too."

The woman nodded and made her way to the kitchen, humming a melody under her breath. Carlos and I exchanged a smile, and soon the scent of freshly made croissants and cinnamon rolls filled the air.

“Rupert is gonna kick your ass when he finds out how much sugar you’ve been eating,” I said, my fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

He chuckled, his eyes still on the kitchen door. "Maybe," he said, his voice low and almost inaudible. "But I think I'm allowed one last splurge before I head back home."

“One last splurge? You’ll spend, at least, five more days in here.”

Carlos leaned back in his seat, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar pack while he looked at me. “My dad can be a bit controlling. He says I won’t fit my seat, otherwise.”

“Well, if you keep eating croissants for breakfast, I’m afraid he’s not wrong.”

Carlos laughed, his gaze flickering out the window before returning to me. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to make the most of it while I can.”

I leaned back on the sofa, feeling the cool air of the air conditioning caress my skin. “You know, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in a place like this. No worries, just the sea and the sun.”

Carlos leaned forward, his eyes intense as they bore into mine. “That sounds too easy for you. You would get bored.”

It was not a lie. I would get bored. I needed the challenge, the compressibility but... These last few days? The bubble we had constructed without noticing? I needed a bit of that, too—the slow living I never thought would be a fit for me.

“Don’t you wish for this, sometimes? I know you love your job and everything it implies but… don’t you wish to be home, sometimes?”

“Of course,” the woman returned with our drinks and pastries, placing them on the table with a gentle smile. Carlos broke his sentence to thank her, and then his attention diverted to me, again. “Of course, I want to be home. I love Italy and I feel welcome in Maranello, but it’s not home.”

“And Ferrari?” I heard a confused “hm?” coming from his lips. I moved in my seat until I felt the words lining up correctly in my throat. “How do you know you’ve made the right choice? At first, how did you know it was right to join McLaren?”

He looked at me, surprised by my sudden question, and then back at the croissant he was pinching “I didn’t have much choice, to be honest.”

“Okay,” I paused. “What about Ferrari?”

"It was my dream," he said quietly. Right. "You will never know, Eva," he said, his gaze meeting mine briefly before his expression became unreadable again. "I guess you just have to trust your gut. There’s no right or wrong, and you can think a certain team is right for you and your goals, you can dream about that team for years, but you can never be sure if you are stepping into a dream or a nightmare until you are too deep into it."

My grandmother used to often tell me that condemnations can be disguised as blessings, and I couldn't help but think of her words at that moment. No matter how much you plan, God has already something sorted out for you.

"You know what they say," he said. "The only way to know is to take a leap of faith."

I nodded, the words resonating deep in my core. I let out a deep breath, my gaze fixed on the passing landscape, the big stain of blue appearing interrupted between the branches of the trees planted between us and the sea.

“But why the sudden doubt?” Carlos asked. I turned my head to him. “You seemed excited yesterday, talking about Mayer.”

“All this wait is making me second guess myself," I said, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I mean, what if it’s not the right move?"

Carlos shook his head. "You can't do that…. Second guess yourself like that," he said. "Iron Dames is an excellent fit for you. Explore the field, try new stuff, meet new people. Test things.” He paused for a second. “If it’s not right for you, you step out.”

“Okay, but—” I could see his forehead crease and he slowly tilted his head. “Won’t I be losing a year if it’s not right?”

“No, you will still learn something.” I relaxed my body against the comfortable seat; Carlos kept going. “But if it’s right and you run away from it because you’re afraid? It’s just a lost opportunity.”

For a brief moment, the bakery seemed to go silent, his words lingered inside, ricocheting on the walls and meeting me. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “No need to thank me.” I couldn't help but smile back, the warmth of his presence acting like an elixir and calming my nerves.

We kept talking about the possibilities, about faith and about trusting our guts. Carlos filled me up on the things I had missed, brief stories about race weekends and vacations I did not witness with him.

He was eager to share.

To fit me in his stories.

Carlos told every story with a tenacity I hadn’t felt in a while, sharing even the smallest detail, as if he wanted to bring me there, to take in the sights and sounds of the journeys. Even though I appreciated it, and it brought me joy to hear him talk, it filled me with a longing for the days I used to be able to witness it firsthand.

The thrill of the race weekend, the tensions of the hours before the race and the joyful hugs at the end. The smell of his cologne mingled with the rubber. The vision of his sweaty hair moulded by the helmet. The way his arms tightly wrapped around me in a hug after the race, like since the moment we last saw each other in the garage for a quick goodbye, he had been scared that he would never be able to do it again.

It didn't surprise me when he mentioned golf at least three times, and Lando even more times than that. He told me about his burgers and the ongoing competition amongst Team 55, the people in Maranello and how I could actually be a good help to bring some life into his apartment.

I told him about my recurrent work trips to London and Milan, the amazing trip my family had done to Scotland and how excited I was about going to Fuji with WEC, just a few weeks from then.

Between all that, the thought that I wished I had met him differently, or that we could just be different people.

Two strangers in London. Or Madrid. Two strangers who bump into each other on a street or a crowded bar, find each other in a city where the cobblestone streets are lined with pubs and cafés and double-decker buses drive by. See our reflections shining against the wet asphalt. Kiss him in a crowded bar and dance with him under the frenetic lights. To be as anonymous as anyone else dancing around. To feel the earth rumble under our feet as we walk down dark alleys, taking a shortcut under the cover of darkness.

To go through all the motions and emotions and fall in love again, in slow motion, slow enough to take in every detail I let go of.

And, this time, to not let go.

So, I'm baaaack! I'm alive! I really want to apologize for the time it took me to post this one, but the last weeks were really difficult. I'm going better, now, but I can't promise to be back next with with another chapter. I'm so sorry for the wait. Hope you still remember me. All the love! 🤍

[catcorsair]

Sigh

To the anon who has been stalking my posts / inbox (oh, I'm sorry, you did say you were 'a different anon' this time with a very carefully curated narrative voice in exact opposition to your last! My bad!) before I stop humoring you and your apparent crusade to do ....what exactly:

1) Yes, I did post an incredibly mundane two-sentence vent post weeks ago referencing my disappointment in a personal writing relationship outside of fandom, which I deleted all of two minutes later. Because that's how shouting into the void works on one's Anonymous Online Blog. I'm not sure, however, why you are fixating on (and possibly attempting to chastise me for??) my calling someone physically 'ugly' in it, when I said nothing of the sort - in so many words, I tagged an unnamed person's attention seeking behavior as being Not Cute, though if I had said the behavior was ugly, that's perfectly reasonable and has nothing to do with making fun of Erik's face (??) or even theirs. Sue me for being annoyed at someone I guess. Was it my best moment? Absolutely not! Was it a shining example of personal maturity? No way! Am I entitled to talk about my personal life however I like? Shockingly, yes. Though I am not sure when weeks-old personal vent posts became so important to strangers who have no idea what they are in reference to that they fixate on them for weeks trying to rehash. Might I suggest ignoring posts that have nothing to do with you and affect you in no way?

2) Similarly confused as to why you are accusing said two-sentence vent of being a "drunken rant" that I tried to hide by "deleting the evidence of everywhere after". Yes I deleted it, here where it was posted, right after posting, and never claimed otherwise. I posted it nowhere else, nor have otherwise spoken about what it referenced in any other fandom spaces. I have addressed every one of your weirdly obsessive messages publicly without deleting those... and besides a few close friends and mutuals who reached out as friends do to check in, I have only heard anything negative regarding it from you, even if I did plug in all my usual fandom tags like a dope - a friend pointed that one out to me, though I'd already deleted it by then, so such is life. Bold assumption on your part, though, of my being drunk. Maybe I was! Maybe I wasn't. I can't actually remember because even I don't obsess over something I posted and then forgot about weeks ago. No shame in a drunken rant though, either - everyone should try it sometime, including you. It's quite cathartic. Again might I suggest.... move on

3) What is your purpose here? What are you hoping to achieve by continuously telling me off for ....what? Being upset about friendship complications in my writing life outside of fandom? I know you aren't the person in question, so what exactly does this have to do with you that you've made a mission of trying to attack(?)/guilt(?)/berate(?) me for it? I think if you actually did know the whole situation (which you absolutely Will Not) you would not be so bold. But either way, this is MY personal blog. I am not a public figure or politician - you have no say in what I can or cannot post here, or how I should feel or behave. I owe you absolutely nothing. What if - and here's a novel thought - you just avoided the people and blogs you don't like?

4) I can only infer that this is a personal issue, and because I am generally very non combative or reactive online, you are taking advantage of what you can to feed whatever need you have. If I have inadvertently upset you in some way I apologize, though I am going to take the liberty of making one assumption myself - I don't think your behavior has much to do with me at all. I normally like to keep anon asks open for shy fic talk, but I have better things to do (like create holiday magic for a preschooler) than be the landing place of your misguided projection so I'll be closing them for a while - if you want to continue whatever this is you'll have to do so with your name attached (though I have a feeling I won't be hearing from you again.) I'd suggest unfollowing or blocking me and avoiding my posts if they bother you, and I really hope you do that! So with the utmost respect ... shoo

Happy Holidays!

<3

[thatonetwig]

Remember when I had the thought of the Purple Guy DLC turning their voices into Vocaloids/Vocal Synths? Well...

"And that's why I think they should be called Sucrose Squigglies!", Void said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Hmm...I'm not sure that specifies what you mean. I would call them gelatin-"

"Hey guys! What's up?", Hood said as he entered the room with an open laptop, interrupting Psychic.

Both of him and Void shrugged their shoulders and mumbled something.

"Well, you guys wanna look at how well our Synths are doin' on the Vocaloid Database? We've been getting pretty popular!", Hood said.

Psychic raised an eyebrow when he heard this.

"Is that so? May I see?", Psychic asked as he walked over to Hood.

"As expected.", Void said, walking over to him as well.

On the screen, there was a page that showed Hood's synth with a description matching it. When he scrolled down, it showed that he was featured in a few albums and had nearly two thousand songs made with him, with the monthly song count chart at the very bottom of the page rising with each passing month.

"Hmm...interesting. May I see my page?", Psychic asked.

Hood obliged and clicked on a link in his description that lead to the page for Psychic's synth. Inside it, there was a similar sight, with Psychic being featured in a few albums and around the same song count as Hood.

"I'm surprised this community likes us this much, especially only after a few months. Should we update our voicebanks?", Psychic asked.

"Isn't it too early for that?", Hood asked.

"Well, it's only fair we update them to give them more, right?", Psychic replied.

"Yeah yeah, come on! Let me see my page already!", Void shouted at them.

Hood clicked on another link leading to the page for Void's synth, and the album count, along with the song count, were almost identical to Psychic and Hood's synths.

"Aw man!", Void exclaimed.

"What's wrong?", Hood asked.

"I wanted my song count to be higher!", he said.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, m-most of my songs are just covers anyways...", Hood said awkwardly.

"Hm...so they like to use us together in songs.", Psychic said as he scrolled through the original song tag on Void's page, noting that the majority of the originals used all three of them together.

"May explain why our song counts are so similar.", Hood said.

"Anyway, while we're here, we might as well listen to a couple of them, right?", Hood asked while walking over to the table and taking a seat.

"Eh, sure. But I get to pick the song! It's my Vocaloid!", Void said while taking the laptop from Hood.

As Void scrolled through the Original Song tag on his Vocaloid, he kept scrolling and scrolling, seemingly to no end.

"Uhh, do you just- maybe wanna pick the most popular one or-"

"Forget it! I'll just pick the most popular one!", Void said, cutting off Hood while going back to page one.

...

"Of course...", he muttered, realizing that the most popular one on his page was using all three of them at once.

"What's wrong? Scared that we'll sound better than you?", Psychic asked.

"S-shut up! I'm probably the one who's the most well-tuned!", Void exclaimed while clicking on the link.

The song started with a steady beat before gradually speeding up and progressing into a synth with a guitar in the background after listening to the music for a few moments, Hood sung first.

"Dousuruka? Taikutsu de tamaranai n da.", he sang.

("Oh, it's one of those songs."), Hood thought, remembering that none of them recorded Japanese samples for their voicebanks.

As the song continued, Hood bopped his head to the beat and the lyrics, despite not knowing what any of them were saying. Meanwhile, Psychic was quietly tapping his fingers on the table while listening, and Void, while trying to hide it, was tapping his foot under the table.

Once the song was over, Hood asked the two their thoughts on the song.

"So? What did we think? If you ask me, I'd say it was pretty sick!", Hood said happily.

"It wasn't bad, but I'll admit, I admire the voice manipulation to make us sing in a different language; it almost sounds like we have proper Japanese voicebanks.", Psychic said.

"I couldn't understand what we were saying! You guys also sang a lot more than me!", Void complained.

"Our pronunciation was way better than yours anyways.", Psychic said.

"Hey!"

"Why don't we take a look at the comments? Let's let them be the judge of that.", Hood suggested as he opened the comment section.

As expected, most of the comments were in Japanese. Still, Hood opened the top thread to see what was up.

[ああー!!! この歌は大好きです! ヴォイドの発音は上手ですよ!]

["えーっ? 彼はしていない。サイキックの発音が一番良かったwww]

["フッドは最高の発音だった、アホ]

Thankfully, there was a translator available, so Hood was able to translate it into English.

[Aaaa!!! I love this song! Void had the best pronunciation!]

[Huh? He didn't. Psychic had the best pronunciation lol]

[Hood's pronunciation was the best, dumbass]

"How amusing. Needlessly arguing over something so small.", Psychic said.

"Hehe, yeah. I don't get how people can waste their time like this.", Void said.

("I could say something similar about you two, but I'm not going to."), Hood thought.

"Anyway, let's see what other songs I have!", Void said as he closed the tab and went back to the Database.

Void didn't bother scrolling this time and instead clicked the second to most popular song on the page; right below the one they just listened to. Right before Void clicked the link to watch it, however, Hood saw the tags and became concerned.

"Uhh...Void? Are you sure you wanna-"

"Yeah, I'm sure I wanna listen to it! It only has me in it!", Void said as he clicked it.

Knowing that there was no stopping him now, Hood sighed in defeat and awaited for Void's reaction.

Slowly but surely, Void's face throughout the MV shifted from a smug grin to a surprised and disgusted look. Hood felt the same as Void as he watched, and Psychic was simply watching in silence as it continued on.

Once it was finally over, Void immediately closed the tab.

...

"...well that was...something.", Psychic commented.

("I'm so sorry."), Hood whispered to Void.

Void only nodded his head in stunned silence as he got up out of the chair.

"Uhh...so, let's see what other songs people made with us! Haha...", Hood muttered, very uncomfortable, but still trying to lighten the mood.

Hood clicked the back button to go back to Psychic's page, but the second he scrolled down and hovered the mouse over one particular song using all three of them again, a knife stabbed the screen before he could properly react.

Hood looked back and saw that Psychic had taken the knife off of a mount on the wall and threw it into the laptop using his telekinesis. Psychic was standing there with a slightly panicked expression as he processed what had just happened.

"Erm...I uh...", Psychic muttered as he tried to hide how uncomfortable he was and regain his composure.

"I-I apologize, Hood.", he said awkwardly.

"I-It's cool...I-I can just get another laptop.", Hood replied. His expression screamed that he fully understood why Psychic did that in the first place.

"So uhh...w-we're never looking into the songs people make with us again, r-right?", Void asked, having witnessed all of this.

"For once, I agree with you.", Psychic said.

"I think that's for the best.", Hood said, nodding.

...

"Miku was right when she said we weren't ready.", Void said.

"She was-"

[christian-oc-tournament]

Already put this in the reblogs but I suspect it might get better reach in the ask box! And it's propaganda week, right? So the submission limits might be off.... >:)

And now, a snippet of probably-canon story, narrated by Vellatra!

Night had fallen. Not that the light had changed, here inside the cliffs. But a bit of a hush, a lull in activity, had fallen over the neighborhood. We couldn't see the sun, but somehow, we always knew anyway. It was time to sleep.

But not for me. I never could, not anymore. I'd lie there alone in that big empty bed, haunted by the void that lay beside me, where Lucard should have been.

Besides, sleeping wouldn't bring Nabikio back either.

"He's still out there somewhere," I repeated to myself. It sounded more fake every time I did, but I choked those feelings back and carried on anyway. I peeked inside my girls' room - they were both sleeping peacefully. Thank goodness they could, at least. I laced up my boots, went out on the porch, and flew quietly away down the street, alighting on my parents' doorstep.

Please be awake, I thought, peeking inside. For once, luck was with me. Too little, too late, but still something.

"You're up late," said Dad, looking up from his carpenter's bench, where he was doing bookwork. He took a sip from a steaming mug. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I said. "Well, nothing new." I walked up to the bench. The familiar scent of Mom's herbal tea blend wafted faintly by. "Is Darluca here?"

Dad's eyebrow kinked. "No. He hasn't been home in a couple of days. Mom's starting to get worried, but... well, we all know where he is. Again."

I grunted in sad understanding. "I'll go look for him."

"...Maybe don't bring him back right away, if he's bad off," Dad sighed. "Mom's already upset; no need to make her worse. There's nothing we can do to stop him, now that he's a grown man."

"Thanks for the direction, Dad. Say hi to Mom for me." I started to pivot toward the door again, but stopped when his hand gently snagged my arm.

"Are you taking care of yourself, Vell? Eating? Sleeping? You look... worn."

I hesitated, flitting between being annoyed and tired. Then I sighed softly. "I just... can't."

His arms came around my shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not for the first time, and probably not the last. Out of everyone, I think he felt the worst about what had happened. My father and I had a special understanding now, for he, too, had lost a bound one once.

I squeezed his hand, locking my concentration into the night's business to avoid cracking. "Thanks Dad. I have to go."

"Good luck, honey."

I didn't dare look back at him - the sadness was starting to get the better of me. "Good night." I left the house, as quickly as was polite. Then I spread my wings again and continued down the street.

Traffic was sparse, and it took me very little time to get to the part of town my youngest brother liked to haunt. There was a bit of a ruckus at the doorway to one of the rougher taverns, and I landed nearby just in time to see him get thrown out by a burly sor bouncer, accompanied by some rude shouting. He tumbled into the middle of the street, rolling over himself a couple of times before coming to a stop on his face, his guitar skidding along after him. He didn't get up.

I hurried over and rolled him onto his back. He was alive - and awake, barely. There were a few scrapes on him and a black eye, but he didn't look seriously hurt. His good eye slowly drifted over my face; at first he was pretty deadpan, but after several long seconds, his mouth cracked into a lopsided smile.

"Eyyyy - sissie!" he hiccuped. "Whatcha... whatcha doing here?"

"I came to find you," I said, helping him sit up. He was a little wobbly so I kept one arm around his shoulders. "What happened here?"

"Y... you know," he said. "It's like Dric said. I don't... I don't shut up." he giggled and hiccuped again, glancing down at the two-thirds-empty bottle he was holding.

"I'll drink the rest of that, if you don't mind."

"...Oh. You sure? S'not good for you...."

"Not enough to do anything anyway," I grunted, taking it as he hesitantly offered and gulping it down as fast as I could. Better to get it out of reach before he changed his mind.... Then I coughed as I took my first breath. "Oh - that's stronger than I thought."

"Heyyyy," said Darluca, leaning on my shoulder. "You said... came to see me?"

"The middle of the street is no place to talk," I said. "Can you walk?"

"I... dunno." He tried to push himself up, and fell back down, giggling. "Whoopsie-daisy!"

"Come on, I'll help you. We have to get you out of here before somebody robs you."

"Robs me?" he laughed as I dragged him up on his feet, draping his arm over me like a yoke. "I got no coins and you drank my booze. What'd they take? Oh," he said as I stuffed his guitar into his other hand. "M'kay. Where - hic - where we going?"

"You'll break Mom's heart looking like this," I grunted as we shuffled along. He was leaning most of his weight on me, and wobbling something terrible. "I'll take you back to my place."

He remained unsteady and semi-coherent for the trip back - which took MUCH longer. He was in no state to fly, and if it weren't for me hanging onto him, he wouldn't have walked either. Progress was slow. But eventually - probably in the wee hours of the morning by then - we stumbled across the threshold at my house. I helped him lie down on the couch.

"Sleep that whiskey off," I said. "I want to talk to you in the morning, but you need your wits for it."

"Mmmmmkay," he mumbled sleepily. "Th - hic - thanks, sis."

Maybe it was the drink I'd stolen from him. Maybe the exhaustion had finally caught up with me. Whatever it was, for the first time in many days, when I went to bed, I actually fell asleep....

***

At first, nothing was said when we woke up. I made breakfast - just a quick messy scramble. Nobody really cared what they ate anymore, but I had to make sure the girls did do it. When they were done, both with eating, and with making small talk with their uncle, Aileev asked if they could go to Grandma's, which I agreed to.

"So..." Darluca started as they bustled outside, "...you wanted to talk?"

I sat across from him, studying his eyes. How was he going to take this? Was it a good idea to even bring it up? Maybe not. But my son was missing. I was desperate. If this could do anything, I had to explore it. "I need to tell you about... something strange."

There was a little sparkle that came into his eyes. He seemed cautious, but interested. "Strange?"

This was going to be hard. I took a deep breath, and forged in. "About the... other day. With Lucard and Nabikio."

"Oh boy," said Darluca, drooping.

"We were separated when it happened," I continued, "but I heard something rumbling, and when I got to Lucard, Nabikio was already gone. Lucard said it was... the under dwellers."

Darluca sat up very straight, and held my gaze. "He saw them?"

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't see, and that's all he said."

"That's it?"

"He was dying," I growled, my vision starting to swim a little.

"Sorry, sorry," said Darluca, sitting back a little in his chair. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Now I don't know if he meant your "under dwellers" or not," I went on, "but whoever it was took Nabikio, and I need to use every clue I can get. So." I leaned forward across the table a little. "What can you tell me about them? What do they look like? How do you find them? Anything you know, I want to hear it."

Darluca looked like a child on his birthday, he was so excited. He leaned in to meet me. "I'll tell you all about it," he said.

.

[frogofalltime]

(i'm so sorry, this turned out to be a full essay. nobody has to actually Read this. i'm just posting into the Void because it feels better than keeping all these feelings inside.)

being at my parents' house after living away for a year is so weird. every time i return here i feel like i've stepped back into the person i was a year ago. i sleep in their room, i wear their pyjamas, i slot back into the roles they used to fulfil. if i could just switch off my brain, maybe i could go back to how things were before, when everything was buried deep inside my chest and almost nobody in the world aside from one or two friends knew that i was anything other than a girl.

and yet i also feel like i'll never be that person ever again. it's as if they were a character i played for a while, but now i have jumped off the stage, and landed in a place that feels so much better. i don't want to perform anymore; i just want to be Myself. i want to Scream and Yell and tell everyone i met before i went to university last year that they never knew me, that the old me was trying so hard to be something i am not, that i was never a girl and i just pretended to be because that was what i had to do. i want to shout at the top of my lungs, i'm a boy, i'm a BOY, please let me dress like one, please let me be what i am ! please love me even though i am not what you thought i was !

but i also know i Can't say that because they will never accept me. they probably won't even believe me. my parents won't ever call me Son; they'd never stop calling me their Daughter, unless they decide to disown me. they will think i'm mentally ill, brainwashed, or even possessed; they'll stay awake at night praying because they think i'm a sinner and going to hell, and i don't want them to go through that. many times i have tried to explain it to my mother but she wasn't receptive at all, so i diluted it down to basically nothing, feeble excuses for why i changed my style and cut my hair. and then my father. i can't even say a word to him. it wouldn't be safe.

every She, every Her, hurts me like an arrow in my chest. i don't want to be seen as female. i want to change my name because it feels like it doesn't represent me. i want to get top surgery and never again have to close my eyes when i shower or wear uncomfortable layers to hide my chest. but i don't think i ever can. what else am i supposed to do with this pain but endure it ? i have to keep acting, for everybody's sake.

i'm only here for three more days. i've survived so much longer in the past ! i'll be Home soon, but even there i won't be free, because my housemates also think i'm a girl. in fact they arranged their accommodation to be religious and female-only, but here i am, a fraud and a liar and definitely Not A Woman. if i told them this, i don't know how they'd react. i am sure it would not be positive.

at least my friends know the truth, and they do support me. i have a Found Family that genuinely cares and understands, and i don't know what i would do without them. maybe next year i will be able to live with them and that way i won't have to pretend anymore ? or even if that doesn't work out, at least i have stopped pretending to myself. i don't have to keep trying to "fix" my dysphoria by forcing myself to be feminine (which, of course, makes the dysphoria even worse). when i'm away from my family, i can dress how i want. i don't have to repress everything "deviant" about myself like i used to before. i am what i am and i love myself for it. nobody can take that away from me.

in fact, i'm really happy. truly, i feel better than i ever have before. realising that i am trans, that i always have been, and finally embracing it, was the most freeing moment of my life. it just hurts that i can't share this joy with my parents and that i have to hide what i am around them. but we can't have everything in life, i suppose.

[redrawthecolorlessworld]

A Clash Between Blue And White

i'm not giving context (also i'm finally writing something reality haxxors related let us all cheer)

———

"I was thinking..."

"What if..."

"Shut UP!"

With a snap of a finger, a bunch of daggers glitch into reality and fly towards the enemy. A clash between two men, an intense one at that. The man in blue knew that the offer of the man in white is all too ridiculous, so he thought that rejecting it would be more better.

"I didn't even say anything yet! How stupid..." The man in white—Arisato—said, in a tone of voice that seems to be mimicking one of distress. The man in blue—Alex—knew all too well that it's all made up, however. An act; a pathetic act that he could see through like looking into glass. "I don't fucking care! Just shut the fuck up, and maybe we can end this in a civil manner!" Alex knew damn well he'd rather fight instead of talking the situation out, but at this rate, they've fought for Versio knows how long, and he's getting more tired each passing second.

After all, just because he has the Vignetta Data Bank with him, that doesn't inherently mean he won't get exhausted easily.

Arisato simply smirked, before teleporting away from Alex's view. "Fuck- where are you?!" The man in blue shouts out, but no response. He could feel a presence behind him soon after, and then—

A gun to the back of his head.

Alex quickly types in something into his Vignetta Data Bank, before snapping his finger, summoning a bunch of daggers to float behind the two of them, aiming towards Arisato. "You can't shoot me, y'know. If you even do anything, I'll let these daggers stab you and you'll be gone in no time." Alex threatens, a small smile on his face as he could hear Arisato's heavy breaths behind him.

The man in white then lowered down his gun. Obviously, he doesn't want to die yet. He's the leader of his own group of people, after all. There's no way he's going to let himself get killed off that easily. Alex could feel the same way about that. The Reality Haxxors are nothing without him.

Arthesia isn't a rightful leader to replace him yet.

None of the other members are capable enough to become a leader either, especially Haruki—their most recent member.

Tyler...

...He doesn't have a Vignetta Data Bank.

"...Do you think I want any of this?"

He asks a question to Arisato, but no response came.

"...I said, do you think I want any of—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Alex swiftly turns around to fully face the leader of the Universe Destroyers. Arisato looked at him as if he genuinely is confused, and frankly, he is genuinely confused. What would Alex mean by that? What did Alex truly wanted?

"Do you think I ever wanted to even be a member of Reality Haxxors?" Alex's question was met with silence once again. "...I'd much rather be a normal citizen in some random universe than be here, living in a stupid void that connects all of the universes together, doing monitoring work and fighting a bunch of corrupted datas." He then added, looking down towards the ground sadly.

"Are you trying to gain my pity?"

"No. Not at all. I just wanted to ask if you really did think that."

"...No. I never did."

Silence.

"....But..."

"But?"

Arisato dropped his gun, the sound of it hitting the ground startling Alex in an instant. "What the-"

"But I do understand you in some way." Arisato speaks up again, cutting off Alex's sentence in a rather sudden matter. Alex looks back at Arisato, clear shock in his eyes. "Wha...what...?" He forces out.

He doesn't understand.

If Arisato really didn't wanted to do any of this bullshit...

...Then why the FUCK DID HE DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!

A push, a fall, and the daggers come to aim at the man in white once again. "Shut up, shut up, shut the FUCK UP! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME ONE BIT!" The man in blue screams out, all of the pent up anger and emotions finally spilling out in an instant.

He's tired of this bullshit.

He's tired of playing leader.

He's tired of fighting this stupid, wretched piece of shit...!

"Ah-"

"DON'T EVEN DARE SAY A WORD, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Alex snaps his finger, and then the daggers fly straight towards Arisato. The Universe Destroyers leader simply teleports away before the daggers could get to him, though.

"Wh- GODDAMNIT! YOU GET BACK HERE!"

"You have to at least calm down a little, Mr. Vignetta."

"IF YOU REALLY DIDN'T WANT SO MUCH POWER TO BEGIN WITH, THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN ATTEMPTING TO CORRUPT EACH UNIVERSE TO BEGIN WITH?!"

"...It is a desire I can't shake away, sadly."

Their somewhat tame situation immediately shifted to another ruthless battle between the two. A clash of weapons, the occasional snap of a finger, and the sounds of gunshots.

Two leaders fighting.

It might as well end in bloodshed.

[brackishheart]

SHOUTING INTO THE VOID BECAUSE NOTHING MATTERS. SAYING WORDS FOR ATTENTION. I WANT TO FEEL LESS ALONE. JOIN ME IN FEELING LESS ALONE WHY DON'T YOU. THIS ISN'T DEEP IM JUST SO SAD ALL THE TIME. SAD AND LONELY. LIKE A BIG STUPID BABY. MAYBE I'LL FEEL BETTER IN TWENTY MINUTES AFTER I HAVE A SANDWICH. WHO KNOWS.

[starfall-spirit]

A Court of Twisted Wisdom

Summary: See ACOTW Masterlist

Chapter XII: Once Upon A Dream

Cassian

The door to Ayla's bedroom flew open. "What the fuck just happened?"

I'd never heard Nesta so panicked. Over the years, being a mother had softened her on a level I never expected. Not that I ever thought she'd be a bad one. It was just strange to see. I swallowed, standing on quivering legs, unable to tear my eyes from the spot where she had been seconds ago. "I don't know."

"You don't know? I find that pretty hard to believe, Cassian. She was screaming from that balcony. Where the hell is our daughter?" I shook my head. "Go fly to the Riverhouse. Rhys can contact the others mentally. And Ayla potentially."

"Alright." I stepped forwards, kissing her forehead. "We'll find her, Nesta. Don't worry." Then I shot into the sky. I made it to the Riverhouse in record time, bursting through the doors and shouting for Rhys and Feyre so they could call everyone. Not long after we had all returned to the House of Wind. "She was on the balcony, upset from something. I tried to talk to her. Then she disappeared."

"Winnowed?" Feyre asked.

"No. she hasn't shown potential for that. There was this fire. Cold, just like yours, Nes. It swept in over her and she was gone."

"How could we go twenty-six years without seeing she has powers like these?"

"I don't know what they were. If they have your power, if they were just meant for travel."

"Az could send his shadows searching but we need something quicker," Nesta announced. "We know her gifts are like mine were. Could I try to scry for her?"

Just like that the House dropped a map, stones, and bones on Ayla's bed. If she's anywhere in Prythian or on the Continent we'd be able to find her. The stones and bones dropped, scattering in a natural pattern. "One more time, Nes," I murmured, resting a hand on her back. Again, the scrying tools granted no answer.

"I'm not messing this up. I remember how. I have enough power left to do it. Why can't I find her?"

Az blew out a breath. "I'll start sending out my shadows. It's barely past midnight. Maybe try again when you've rested some."

~~~~~

Ayla

I had passed out seconds after my arrival. I peeled my eyes open, for a moment wondering if they were truly open or if I couldn't manage something that simple. The backs of my eyelids were brighter than this place. I was in a world of darkness. Or more accurately a world of nothing. It was a void. I shivered at the empty feeling as the silence pressed in. Silence heavy enough to drive someone to the brink of insanity if left too long. I remembered what I had wished for.

A place of silence where no one could trace me. Not this utter isolation. I vanished my wings, trying to think of of a way out. Okay, new power. I think. I had simply begged for this place before, knowing its literal interpretation or not. I need someplace welcoming where no one knows me. And I was swept into the flames once more.

More focused this time, I saw different images through my travel. This wasn't traveling from point A to point B. This was falling through worlds. The cocoon I'd created seized and I felt my knees pop as I hit the ground, bracing myself in a squat. My training was thorough, so despite the silence of the fae around me I sensed nine fae males close in before I had even looked up to find their swords in position to strike.

Okay, so not welcoming, but better.

It hardly took a thought before a shield of silver flame created a protective dome around me. It began expanding, torching the tiles at my feet. At my will the shield vanished. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to torch anything. Um—"

"What's your name and what brings you to my kingdom in such a fashion?" I whirled around, meeting the eyes of the speaker. She was average height with a lithe figure. Her hair flowed gold down her back. What truly marked her beauty though was her eyes. Turquoise pools rimmed in gold. "Who are you and why have you come to Terrasen?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why have you come to Terrasen?" the female demanded again. The queen, I realized as she seated herself on an antler crowned throne. I had just crash-landed and torched the floor of her throne room. "Well?"

"Um, look. I didn't mean to interrupt your court business. I'll just be heading back to...somewhere."

She gave me a once over and something flashed in her eyes. Something like pity. I nearly growled at the look. "I don't think so. I still have a few questions. Don't make yourself look guilty."

Shit. Fight or flight? No weapon on me but rather unpredictable magic and I can't exactly catch some air in here. If I go on foot I'll likely be caught and imprisoned somehow. How about a new world? Straight back to Prythian. I've had my fill of world-walking for a while. A good long while.

Home, I thought to myself. Home is where I need to be.

But I couldn't feel my powers. At least not the world-walking ones. "Everybody wait." A young male strode into the room, sharing the same blond hair and turquoise eyes as the female before me. "Everyone stand down." The guards instantly lowered their weapons. Their prince, I realized. "Mother, the girl I mentioned the other day..."

I looked over him again, my dream floating back to me. Two males and myself holding swords in a cavern. I gasped. "You're one of them," I said, my voice airy with disbelief.

He smirked and I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. Played dumb to make him doubt his dream. "I thought you had wings. I guess dreams are funny things." He looked back to the queen. "May I request this girl is made a guest until we're more certain of her intentions here?"

She nodded once. "Until then."

Previous | Next

~~~~~

AN: I'm sorry, I forgot to post yesterday.

Tag List: Message/comment/ask to be added or removed.

@shallyne // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @goddess-aelin // @s-uppertime

[thevoidcannotbefilled]

I had a dream that in TMA there was a well-known but emotionally devastating episode or two where Jon essentially... well I'll try to describe it. He became numb and unfeeling, just unable to really much react to the world. Not in a Lonely sense but rather he could see and feel everything but he couldn't trust anything to be real.

In context this is probably s5, he and Martin got lost and separated in an endless forest domain. It looks like a regular forest but seemingly the most inconvenient one to try to travel.

When Martin found him, Jon couldn't recognize him as real. (And weirdly couldn't even trust his Beholding knowledge that he was real). Eventually, Martin does manage to bring Jon back to himself but it's not pretty. It was sort of like when your leg falls asleep, a numbess and then feeling and connecting to the world all at once. Except it's best described as an explosion of pain, fear, and recognition and just an angry intensity of the Eye's gaze. It's hard to describe just how off it all felt. The intensity of a finding land after years at sea and being so scared that you're angry about it.

However, my dream sorta rewound itself. Bc in the dream, RQ said they added an extra episode between when they get separated and where Martin finds Jon.

Jon is navigating the forest, trying to find Martin. In the original, Martin is doing the same but there's a few more shenanigans and characters he finds along the way. But for Jon, he's all alone. Except he isnt.

Web. Tons and tons and threads of web sticking and connecting to him. Blocking his Beholding and making him confused. He pushes forward angerly but starting to feel a bit scared. He shouts and shouts for Martin as the forest gets darker and less real looking. More twisted by the web. The forest tries to make Jon see fake people and worse even with Beholding he can't tell that they're fake. It's like this microcosm was made to confuse and trap him.

But suddenly he sees Martin. The Beholding tells him this is the real Martin bc of course. Jon tries to call out to him, he's too far away, or maybe something is distracting Martin bc he's moving away from Jon. He fears the worst that whatever is making this Web is making it so Martin can't hear him.

He keeps calling and shouting as the trees start the thin but the web becomes harder to navigate. Until finally they hit a clearing. It's plain almost looks like it would lead to a path and possibly a mine. Martin stands there but is looking away.

Jon runs up to Martin, terrified. He's shaking Martin's shoulder yelling for him to turn around that they Have To Get Out of Here. That he can fix this but Martin just has to turn around.

And he does. But the moment he sees Martin's face the world goes to hell.

He unravels for lack of a better term. The entire world unravels around him. The sky the ground the far away trees. For one second, he sees an empty void where Martin's face should be. In a heartbeat, Every part of him turns to threads and lines and dissolve into the same Web that's kept attaching to Jon this entire time. It attacks him, clings to him. And them everything goes black.

As the world falls apart around him, he only Knows one thing, one message forced straight into his head and becomes his whole reality.

"Everything is a thread"

And he's shaken, numb, untrusting. The idea of threads instead of people and places stuck in his head. This is how Martin actually found him.

[cheekygreenty]

Good 4 u - The Darkling x Reader

Here’s a draft I found, I remember quickly writing this on the train home from college, listening to Olivia Rodrigo’s song on repeat until I got sick of it. Enjoy bahahahah 😂😂

Alina this, Sun-Summoner that, Sankta Alina the other. It was annoying to constantly hear her name on other people's lips, Aleksander's especially. You should have known his obsession with her would turn into love but you were blind.

He said she was nothing worth his salt, Alina is the key to more power, he would say before he proclaimed his eternal love for you, showering you in love and pleasure. When your relationship fell apart and your heart broke, he took a piece of you with him, the temperate part, the side of you that was calm and rational. For now you were the walking form of resentment. He never cheated but this was much worse.

Aleksander didn't seem fazed, at all. No tears for the death of so many good memories, no sadness for the end of a chapter in his life. Maybe he experienced time differently from you because who in Saint's name pursues somebody so quickly after a breakup? Somebody who's already sure of their feelings long before they change their life around.

You held back your gags as you watched the two fawn over each other at the Winter Fete. She wore his color, black, and you had to admit she looked half decent in it too. You didn't hate her, she never did anything to you. But him, Oh saints you would kill him where he stood if you could. He looked happy, unlike you. It's like we never even happened, what the fuck is up with that?

There was a time when he looked at you like that, eyes full of adoration and love. Now he looked right through you, treating you like a stranger. 'He took out the trash' Zoya shrugged when you drunkenly told her what happened. Maybe she was right, maybe he never even loved me, maybe I was there to pass the time.

He was so unaffected by your break up it made you livid. Every glance spared in his direction radiated anger and disgust. You didn't even try to hide it anymore.

Your demonstration was about to begin. You were helping the Inferni twins show off your fire skills before Alina would end the show with a bang. You didn't care for parties shared with the Grand Palace and were guaranteed to leave right after your little firecracker of a performance, but some part of you itched to stay until the end.

You could see Polina get up on a small pedestal, signaling for you to get to yours. Aleksander stepped to the side, Alina at his arm. Gross. The power beamed off of him, he was doing good without me. What a shame.

You played around with the twins, completely forgetting the room of diplomats and even Aleksander, who never spared you a look. The fire felt good on your hands, swaying from side to side as you molded the element in your hands before splitting it in two, shooting it at the twins. Using your powers gave you a sense of calm and peace, but it never rid you of the rage you felt. Maybe you were too emotional.

You got down with a smile as the claps eased out. You went to leave, eager to leave the stiff atmosphere of the room. At least you showed up. But his voice made you stop at the door. Instead of it giving you a shiver of pleasure, it straightened your spine in defense.

'Her name is Alina Starkov' Someone pass me a bucket. His hands came together, submerging the room into darkness. Alina began her show, the light letting you catch a glimpse of him. As opposed to the entirety of the room, you only had eyes for him. He looked at her as if she was a goddess, he worshipped her. Fury rose in you. He looked at me like that first, or was it a lie? Maybe he never cared.

You wished for nothing more than for Alina to reject him, see him for the man he truly is. If he could play you the way he did then Saint's knows what he'll do to the poor young girl. You were headstrong and stubborn and he still managed to screw you over despite your built-up walls.

But what if they last? He'll have more power, the Sun-Summoner by his side and Ravka under his rule. And you'll still be you. An Inferni with a grudge.

Before you knew it, the room returned to its previous state and the diplomats were bowing down to their Sankta. You missed the whole thing brooding over Aleksander, who still stared at Alina like she was the air he needed to breathe.

You scoffed and walked away, not wanting to be in the same room as him anymore. What a dick. You strode around the Little Palace trying to cool down. One champagne glass turned into two then five. Still you felt the nagging tickle of anger. You suddenly heard shouts and signs of a fight, racing over to the room it was coming from. Even tipsy, the soldier in you replied immediately.

'This is for Zlatan' You ran through the door seeing an oprichniki slicing Alina's throat open. Oh Saint's no. You pounced on the man, quickly catching sight of Genya already on the floor tending to Alina. Apparently, you weren't the only one who heard the scuffle as the General's guards flooded the hallway, taking the rogue soldier from you. Your mind snapped back into reality, searching for Alina but finding a young Inferni in the black kefta. A double for security. Smart.

'Inform the General' Genya spoke, leaning over the body. Your blood ran cold, he would probably ignore you. But you did as she asked, running to where you saw him last. You searched for his black kefta in the sea of extravagantly dresses diplomats. You spotted Ivan chatting in the corner with Fedyor, 'Ivan where is the General?' You hid your blood-stained hands behind your back in an attempt to prevent unnecessary panic. 'In his quarters' He nodded his head towards the big double doors.

You walked away with a mumbled thank you. In his quarters. If Alina's absence was any indication of what he was doing, it would be a miracle if you didn't slap him the second you got the chance.

Your knock was sharp and loud in contrast to your shaking hands. Then you heard it, her laugh. You've got to be kidding me. Your bloody hands braced themselves against the doorframe, clutching the wood for dear life. Better the door than his face. As his face passed in your mind, the door opened just a tad, his body towering over your own. The smile he wore quickly washed away, replaced with a stern look.

'Y/N what are yo-' You stopped him with a signal of your hand, you didn't have the patience.

'Marie got attacked in the fitting room. She's dead. He's detained.' He looked at you passively, obviously wishing it was anyone but you knocking on his door right now.

'Wait here'

He shut the door again. But you could make out his conversation with Alina in the dead quiet of the hallway. You sent a silent prayer to the Saints about your previous argument. Let her see him for what he is.

You slowly backed away from the door, not wanting to hear anymore. You heard his boots step out into the hallway and took his silence as a sign to walk ahead to where the man was being kept. For you, the tension was awkward and insufferable but for him it was probably normal, although you knew he felt your pulsating rage.

There was nobody on this side of the Palace, his quarters weren't available to everybody and that made you thankful because what you were about to do would definitely be regarded as treason.

He didn't have time to register you turning around or the hand that slapped him across the cheek.

The noise echoed down the hallway, your hand stung, maybe that was too hard.

His jaw clenched but he didn't retalaite. Why was his ignorance such a trigger for you? It was what started this, him pretending you didn't exist caused you to fly off the walls.

You shoved his chest with all your might. Do something. He let you push him away but never looked you in the eyes.

'Are you going to say something?' You were furious, venom dripped from your words but had no effect on him. 'The big bad Aleksander lost for words? First I've ever seen it'

He turned his head towards you, looking into your eyes for the first time in weeks. It surprised you because you didn't miss it.

'What do you want me to say?' His voice was void of any emotion, no anger or pain, his composure never dropping. He was the complete opposite of you. Saints, you were the crazy ex.

You didn't reply. The truth was you didn't know what you wanted him to say. Nothing he could muster would fix this situation. His actions were irreversible and Alina was still in his chambers, the room where so many of your fondest memories took place.

'I wish to transfer to a camp. Permenantly.' You had been mulling over the decision for days now. You had put in a request with Ivan a week ago but never got an answer.

'I need you here teaching the students' So Ivan did send it on. Was this another one of his ways of ignoring you?

'Tough. I don't want to be here.' You faced your choices with logic. Your anger would never go away, the hurt of your first love betraying you soaked deep into your bones. Aleksander was immortal, he would never leave this Palace. You had no other option. He sighed loudly.

'Y/N let's keep our personal and work li-' You went for another slap, he deserved it, but this time he caught your hand mid-air, pushing you away gently. You walked backward, disgust turning in your stomach at the response your body had to his touch. He was an amplifier and the surety he brought you would always be there regardless of your feeling for him. You hated it.

'Good for you Aleksander. You got the girl, the power.... at least let me have something' Your voice cracked slightly. You wouldn't cry in front of him.

'I'll have Ivan sort it out'

With that, you left the hallway, completely forgetting about the task at hand, happy to finally have a day where he didn't cross your path.

Aleksander stood there watching your back as you walked away from him. You would never know the pain and anguish he felt every time somebody mentioned you, or when he thought of you. He loved you deeply, more than anything in this world, so he had to let you go. He would hate himself if anything happened to you in his fight for Ravka and Grisha, so he had to push you away.

He was selfish for ignoring you but also keeping you around. He knew it hurt you to see him around Alina, he knew all of it. He truly did. But he was too greedy. His own actions were confusing him. Push her away, make her hate you but keep her safe, keep her with you. It was impossible, either one or the other.

As you rounded the corner, he memorized you, all of you. It would be his last memory of you.

'Good for you Y/N, leave me and be safe'

My masterlist 🖤

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@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx @pansysgirlfriend @pansysgirlfriend

[sterkeyra]

Avilio the cat

Nero returns home after a long day of family business and looks out for his black furred companion.

"Avilio? I'm home."

A dark silhouette appeared from the shadows of the room and brushed his legs. It was as if he had been lurking in the dark. Just waiting for him to return.

"Ah there you are."

Nero crouched to his knees, trying to pet Avilio. However just before reaching him, Avilio stepped aside evading the touch. With a hiss into Nero's direction, he ran away and disappeared in the darkness of the room. The brunette man sighed and scratched his head before he got back to his feet.

"Look. I'm sorry for being late. Vanno has been going on and on for ages and there was still so much to do", he said into the void. With tired steps he followed his tomcat into the dark. But his 4-legged roommate was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly he heard a noise from another room. A noise that sounded suspiciously like his little fellow hopping onto territory he was forbidden from. Nero literally jumped to action and stormed into the room.

The moment he switched on the lights, he found Avilio sitting on the closet where he stored family portaits, several antique vases that have been passed down to him, as well as a statue made of glass. He had won it from winning a juggling contest in the past and it was one of his most valued objects.

Nero could do nothing but watch, as his roommate elegantly navigated through the labyrinth of fragile objects. The neck in his hair stood up more and more the closer Avilio got to the prized statue. Helplessly he held up his hands trying to appease his miffed cat.

"Avilio, I'm sorry. I know I promised I would be home sooner today. I'll give you all the treats you want. A belly rub even. Just please come down from there."

Nero started to feel ridiculous, trying to compromise with this furball. Then again, he always seemed to understand if he told him. So he knew his next actions were absolutely on purpose. For some reason the cat knew which object was the most valuable to his owner.

He sat down right next to it and gave it a small careful poke for good measure. Furiously Nero glared at Avilio and shouted.

"Don't you dare Avilio! Stop this right now. You won't get food for the rest of…"

But Avilio did not even listen. He looked him dead in the eye with his glaring amber orbs, as he raised his paw one more time and swatted the statue from the shelf.

Nero having been interrupted midsentence first had to gulp before he rushed to action, trying to catch the fragile object. But at the same time Avilio also decided to jump from the shelf right towards him. Instinctively Nero caught his cat instead. He knew better than that, as surely nothing would have happened to this furry bastard.

Realizing that he heard a crashing sound beside him as his most valiable object smashed into hundreds of tiny pieces. He glared at the fluffball in his arms and he could have sworn the cat scoffed at him. He shuddered from anger and shouted at him.

"Goddamnit Avilio! Why do you always have to be like that! Damaging the things I treasure most!".

He grabbed him beneath his front paws and held him above his crime scene.

"Look! Look what you've done! Are you satisfied now?".

Avilio observed the scene and started purring. Nero was unsure, whether Avilio tried to taunt him or to calm him down. But there was nothing much he could do about it. Complaining to a cat wouln't get him anywhere.

Furious at his own helplessness Nero just sighed and analyzed at his shattered prize.

"Maybe I could still fix it with some glue? As if."

He let down Avilio before he started picking up the shards. Curiously Avilio got closer and sniffed at it. Nero shooed him away though.

"Stay away Avilio. There are still shards on the ground. I can't have you get hurt."

As if he wanted to protest, Avilio meowed at him. Maybe his roommate did feel bad about it after all?

He reached out to pet Avilios head. This time the dark creature didn't evade him and snuggled his head against Nero's hand.

In the end fragile objects couldn't compare to living beings. Nero would still treasure his memories of his success at the contest and wouldn't necessarily need a token to remind him of it.

Avilio opened his eyes again and meowed at him loudly. Snapped out of his thoughts, Nero picked up the biggest shards and got to his legs.

"I guess that means you are hungry. You know, you really don't deserve food for the next few days. But I can't have you starve on me either. After all you have to live to pay me back for this!"

Defeated, Nero made his way to the kitchen, mumbling how Fio was right when she said that he spoiled his cat. He was just inable to be mad at him for a long time.

His furry companion instead followed him like a shadow, with a spring in his step. When he finally got his food and excitedly munched in on it, Avilio undoubtedly must have thought:

Revenge is sweet.

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [Pt. 3]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: While you are trying to figure out why the Witcher is so abhorrent towards you, he finally gives you a hint as to why he doesn't like you. Also, you realize something— Yennefer and her spells can never go wrong.

Warnings: Geralt being a dick is what.

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

It had been weeks since you slept with Geralt of Rivia, but you hadn't been feeling any different. If it were up to you to say, you would say that Yennefer's plan didn't work— although you couldn't muster the courage to ask her directly if it did.

What made you so sure that the plan hadn't worked was the fact that Geralt and Yennefer had been fighting about something since a few nights and you could feel the strain in their relationship starting to show up. This hunch that you had only strengthened when one day, you unknowingly stumbled upon an argument between the Witcher and the Mage.

It was almost a week after that night on the Great Mount. Geralt had been indifferent towards you since then— not even bothering to spare a glance in your direction when the four of you were in the same proximity.

You were now back at Redania— your home, but so were Yennefer , Geralt and Jaskier— staying at your place like unwanted guests who were exceeding their stay.

Jaskier held two heavy logs in either of his arms, while your own hands were stuffed with the eggs from your coop, that you were intending to cook up for dinner tonight, when you heard shouting from one of the rooms upstairs.

"It was you that said that the plan would work. It didn't work, clearly."

You could recognize Geralt's voice from afar; broody, low and devoid of any emotion.

"Aren't you going to go check in on them?" You turned towards Jaskier and frowned, your eyes shooting upwards, fixing on the topmost stair before you withdrew it and fixed it on him again.

"Me? Stuck between a broody Witcher and a scary Witch? God save my poor soul then." Jaskier commented back as he placed the logs by the fireplace and began to light it.

"Jaskier—" You couldn't help but smile at him, as you placed the eggs on the table and blinked, turning towards him, "Yennefer isn't a witch, she is a mage. Besides—"

Before you could complete your sentence, Yennefer's shaky voice reached the both of you, and you couldn't help but wonder what was actually going on between the two of them.

"I don't understand what's gotten into you, Geralt. These things take time. Why won't you let the spell take it's due course?"

"Yen, your spell failed. It's high time you realize that."

You shook your head to yourself as you busied yourself with trying to prepare the stew for dinner, but your ears were fixed on them.

"You don't question my spells, Witcher. I know what I'm doing. Besides— now to come to think of it, did you even fuck her right?"

Jaskier couldn't help but snort, but when he looked at how red you suddenly were, he immediately masked his expressions as he propped himself next to you.

"Did he, [Y/N]?"

"Jaskier, I'm not having this conversation with you," You shook your head at him, exasperated that he was still bugging you with this question, "Now can you please help me out? I need help with the stew, Jas'." Jaskier stood up, whistling to himself as he fixed himself next to the pot, stirring it while you began working on getting the bread ready when the door above slammed shut and heavy footsteps began descending down the stairs. Both you and Jaskier turned to see a very annoyed Yennefer walk towards the front door, without her Witcher in tow, just like he already was.

"I've got some business to attend to in Novigrad, Jaskier." She pointedly ignored you, and you couldn't help but bite back the words threatening to spill out of your mouth. Living under your roof, she was behaving like you were an outsider. Secretly, you were thrilled that she was leaving , even though it was for a short while.

You watched, through the window as a portal suddenly emerged just outside of your barn, and she disappeared through it, leaving you and Jaskier gawking at each other, Jaskier finally speaking, "I say, trouble in paradise?"

"It's none of your concern, Jaskier. You really need to stop meddling with other people's businesses. Now would you be kind enough and go ask your friend to come down? Dinner's almost read—"

"Jaskier, come on now. We're leaving." Geralt cut you off as he finally appeared, all dressed in his tunic and breeches, his sword peeking out from behind him. You parted your lips, ready to ask him where he was off to but it was like he had already anticipated that this was going to come, so finally he looked at you, but with the same indifference with which he had treated you so far.

"It's time we move on. Keep the coin. Seems like Yennefer's plan failed after all—"

The sheer coldness in his voice stung you like a thorn but you didn't let him realize that. Slowly, you lifted the cloth, wiping your hands with it, trying to act just as indifferent towards him— even though you felt like you had been betrayed, which you mentally cursed yourself for.

This was going to happen one day or the other— and wasn't it better that they were finally going to be out of your life now? And not later when they would mercilessly pull your babe away from a mother's breast and call it their own?

"Where are we going, Geralt? We can atleast stay for dinner, a man needs to eat—"

"We will roast a deer on our way, Jaskier." Geralt's irritation was evident from his tone, so the bard turned towards you, choosing now to ignore the Witcher with a sulk on his face.

"Oh Jaskier," you whispered, softly, "Don't you worry. I'll quickly pack some food for you, for the way."

"Oh hush, woman, don't go so soft on me, I would want to switch the roles with that broody gentleman over there."

Your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire; and you were sure you had turned a tomato red. You instinctively looked away, quickly finding yourself a distraction at the table as you began packing some bread and ham in a cloth satchel for him to take along with him— fighting back the smile that craved to break out.

"Jaskier, you are free to stay here for as long as you want, the minute I get on Roach, I leave," grumbling, the White Wolf slammed the front door shut as he walked off, your eyes suddenly widening, as the smile was quickly replaced by a lingering hurt upon listening to his words. Why did he hate you so much? Was it because you couldn't give him— them— the child they so desperately wanted?

"Okay thank you for the dinner, and don't, like DO NOT mind him, he has always been a grumpy ham."

Jaskier took the satchel, flinging it over his shoulder, whilst at the same time grabbed his lute and immediately darted out, and by that time, the Witcher was already trotting towards the main path. You fixed yourself by the front door, watching the poor bard struggle to catch up with him and once the two of them were out of sight, you went back inside.

If there was anything that turned a bright way for you after the three of them stepped out of your life for good was the fact that you had enough coin on you now to last for atleast a year. You bought three new goats so you could milk them and sell the milk in the village, along with the eggs.

But the void remained—

The night's were the most difficult, because there were nights when you woke up to a dream where a certain white haired, amber eyed man was laying in bed with you, his thick palm resting on your waist, your back pressed against him as he spooned you.

Maybe it was because you couldn't sleep that night too, that you did not miss the strangled groan that you heard from outside your window. You forced yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes as you leaned over the window to look out but you couldn't see anything. Just then, someone began pounding on your front door, startling you.

It didn't take you long to run down the stairs, still dressed in your chemise, your arms wrapped around your arms as the knocking became frantic and urgent. When you opened the door, you felt like someone had kneed you in the gut—

"Jaskier?" The bard looked a mess, his clothes were bloody and dirty, his hair slick and sticking to his face.

"I didn't know who else to go to nearby. Geralt needs—" Jaskier began, and the two of you turned towards Roach. Geralt was although perched atop, he was now arching forward, his body almost limp, his head resting against the saddle.

"What happened, Jaskier?" You ran out towards Roach, who whinnied at you, perhaps having sensed that something was wrong with her owner. You placed your palm on Geralt's shoulder, but the minute your palm came in contact with him, he grunted and looked up, and you saw how weak and pale he looked, "I told J-Jaskier — I'm f-fine.. Jaskier.. Jaskier..fuck.. Novigrad.. I asked you to take us to ... Novigrad."

Geralt of Rivia was injured, the flesh on his side had almost been ripped apart by what looked like claws, and yet he was being a stubborn pig. You grabbed him by the fabric of his tunic, balling the fabric as you began literally dragging him off the horse, paying no heed to his annoying murmurs.

"Jaskier, can you help? I alone cannot get him off, you know?"

Helping Geralt walk into your home was a difficult task but somehow, you and Jaskier convinced Geralt to do it. You sat the very injured Geralt by the fire and knelt down in between the space of his legs, using gentle fingers as you rolled up the torn fabric of the tunic. He hissed when your fingers came in contact with his clawed flesh and that's when you saw how massive the claw marks were.

"Who did that to him, Jaskier?" You let go off the big man as you stood up, your hands now caked in Geralt's blood. You ran up to one of the wooden racks that stood by the fireplace with a dozen glass bottles on it. You grabbed the mortar and pestle, placing it on the table in front of you, as Jaskier lowered himself on a chair, now wiping the blood off his face with a washcloth.

"I swear you should have seen it, it was the tallest harpy I have ever seen— well technically, it's the first harpy I've ever seen," he mumbled, and you couldn't help but give him a weak smile as you began to look for the ingredients to make a paste for Geralt's wounds.

"What are you looking for?" Jaskier asked, intrigued, as he watched you fiddle with the glass containers.

"Turmeric, Jaskier. It will stop his bleeding, although had he been human, that injury would have killed him— instantly," you pointedly stared at Jaskier, and he gulped nervously when your words finally registered into the back of his mind. You quickly turned away, resuming your search for the other ingredients. You pulled out two containers; one with lotus petals and the other one containing chamomile, placing it on the table, next to the mortar and pestle.

"Jaskier, while I prepare the paste, can you get Geralt to lie down by the fire? And take off his—" You pointed towards his tunic that was already ripped apart, hanging loosely by his side. Jaskier immediately nodded, getting to work.

You knelt down next to Geralt. His eyes were open, but his face was sweaty and his breathing was uneven; his lips tightly pressed together as he stared at the fire. Your fingers delicately moved over the gashes on his side, and he didn't flinch as much now.

"Can you sit up, Geralt? I need to bandage your waist."

That's when he turned towards you, regarding you briefly as he grunted, pushing himself up slightly and you quickly bandaged his wound with a cloth, securely tying it around his waist before he fell back against the makeshift bedding you had created for him by the fireplace.

You were finally done tending to the man's wounds so you stood up, moving to wash your hands by the sink, when Geralt's voice reached you, startling you.

"I told Jaskier not to bother you. Yennefer could have fixed this."

Your head sharply turned towards him, and you parted your lips, but it was as if your words were lodged to your throat, refusing to come out.

"You can't put all the blame on Jaskier. He could have left you to rot, stolen your mare and left, but he stuck around to ensure you were brought back to safety. You need to learn to swallow that thick ego of yours and give the bard some credit," you intentionally chose not to talk of Yennefer.

He grunted in response, shifting slightly so he could get comfortable, his body tilted at an angle towards the fire that you could see more of his back— full of old scars— this one will be adding to it soon.

"Are you a healer?"

His question pulled you off track.

You shook your head, wiping your hands with a clean cloth, reaching out for one of the blankets that you had stored for yourself as a winter supply, placing it over Geralt's legs— with half a mind that you will have to fight him for this act too— but much to your surprise, Geralt of Rivia accepted the blanket, pulling it over his chest.

"No, not a healer, just a woman with a passion to know things. You see, living alone you need to know certain things as you never know what life is going to throw your way."

"Hm," he fell quiet, and all the two of you could now listen to were the embers erupting from the fire.

The next few minutes, Geralt was quiet, so assuming that he had fallen asleep, just like the bard had; already snoring away to glory, you pulled your chair closer to the fireplace, lowering yourself against it as you began working on another blanket for Jaskier.

"You should have said no."

Startled to hear the low broody voice again, you looked up but this time found Geralt sitting on the makeshift bedding, the pads of his feet resting against the floor, his back turned towards the fire but his face turned towards you.

"Geralt, you should lie down—"

"You should have said no to Yennefer, but you agreed although you knew what she wanted to make you do."

"Says the man who makes a living slaying monsters. Would you say no to a good bounty if that meant being paid enough to last you a year?" You snapped at him, not meeting his gaze.

"You needed coin, there were thousand other ways to do it."

"Like what, Geralt? Don't you think I tried all these ways you are talking about?" The half done blanket now lay forgotten at your feet, and you were standing, towering over Geralt, your lips trembling with rage. How dare he?

"There are many brothels in Redania that I know of that would have gladly taken you in."

"You know what, Witcher?" You spat, "I'm NOT having this conversation with you. I don't like you anymore than you like me, so there's no point in even speaking. Once you are well enough, I would gladly have you out of my home."

You turned away from him, and then blinked, for you couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, as a thick chunk of a tear rolled down your cheek. Swallowing bitterly, you began climbing up the stairs, rather loudly, when Geralt mumbled, "You won't see us when you wake up tomorrow, don't worry."

Ignoring him, you reached the topmost stair, but when Jaskier began speaking to Geralt in a low voice, you couldn't help but pause, inching your ear towards them so you could listen to what they were saying.

"Why do you insist on being like that with her, Geralt?"

Jaskier's words were followed by what sounded like a bitter laugh, and a cough.

"I knew you were awake. I wondered why you didn't jump in to defend her like you always do, Jaskier."

"That is not the point, Ger—"

"If you must know why I can't stop being the way I am around her is because every single time I see her, I'm reminded of the false hope that Yennefer gave me, Witchers are sterile, and that's how it is, I should have known than to fall into Yennefer's words."

He was hating for you something you hadn't even done. You gave him hope, or Yennefer did?

You would have stood there and continued listening to what more he had to say, but you couldn't help it— your face turning sour, when sudden nausea hit you. Your palm instinctively flew up to your lip; making you almost double over and your eyes lifted up, scanning the area for anything you could use to relieve yourself. Grabbing an empty basket that lay close by, you fell down on your knees, your knees scraping against the wood of your flooring and you began wretching out the contents of your stomach, sweat trickling down your forehead as dread filled you up. You were scared that Yennefer's spell had worked. Your palm flew to your flat belly and you pursed your lips together, blinking away the tears and wiping the corner of your lips.

Now that you had wished for the spell to fail, it had perhaps, worked. Maybe things weren't destined to go about the way you wanted them to— all you wanted was to watch Geralt of Rivia leave you alone for good and never come back [Wishful thinking]. But if, the spell had worked, it meant that you were probably carrying his Witcher baby, and that meant, you will have to see more of the white haired man with amber eyes, whether you liked it, or not.

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