#purposely gave these a blur effect

[gaytedlasso]

there’s never enough time.

~

3rd anniversary of canon destiel

Nov 5, 2020

[raainberry]

Cross The Line (Prologue)

« Doing something outside the bounds of acceptable behavior. »

Mina x gn!reader

synopsis - being a regular at urgent care raises suspicions but apparently also temperatures which results in the blurring of a few lines

wordcount - 1.5K

T/W - mentions of diverse injuries, stitches, and the hospital obviously. resident!mina, patient!reader angst but also fluff that’s not really fluff bc its just angst disguised as fluff. yearning if you will.

A/N - i made my research after writing🧍‍♀️girlie is NOT supposed to be alone with the patient but oh well. we’re here for the plot. happy mina day to all who celebrate!!

Mina’s movements were calculated. Precise, and accurate. She never let any room for the unexpected. It was too dangerous.

Her attention was consumed by the monitors, checking and writing down any anomalies she deemed important enough ahead of your transfer to a surgical unit. You’d come in with an open wound on your cheekbone, and pain in your arm which she quickly found out was a fracture in need of surgery.

She was known to be effective, eyes sharp and catching any detail that dared try and escape her. Like how your heartrate slightly increased on the monitor when she came in earlier, or the way you looked at her whenever you landed in the building.

She tried to ignore the familiar sense of déjà-vu washing over her, but her questions kept increasing in number. She never knew the reason behind your visits, but the nature of your injuries gave her a few clues. A broken nose, scratches, cuts and open wounds, hematomas… Five visits in the past two years, an unusual average, enough to leave an imprint on any Resident.

Something about you was odd. It pulled at a curiosity she’d vowed to ignore unless in name of the patient’s wellbeing, and you were especially good at tempting her.

For whatever reason, she was the one assigned to your case for every one of your visits. A twist of fate maybe. She’d call it incredible bad luck if she hadn’t grown that damn soft spot.

As frustrating as tending to you could be, the hours it took to do so allowed her to get a glimpse of the person behind the entire Unit’s favorite gossip column. Though that glimpse remained very surface leveled.

You were incredibly hard to read through your blatent lies, and it scared her. It made her see through herself more than she probably ever could you.

In short, she was attracted to you.

“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was soft despite the slight rasp in your throat. It almost made her forget about her surroundings.

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from your figure as fast as she’d found it.

You chuckled, your mind a little fuzzy from the local anesthesia. “Come on, we’re past that.”

Her fingers halted their motion against the clipboard in her hands, something you barely noticed but still had the strength to smirk at. It wasn’t hard getting a reaction from her, but it was hard to catch it.

You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes as the effects of the anesthesia lingered. That was something you usually kept to yourself, and Mina’s attention didn’t fail to catch that detail either.

"You know, it’s getting hard to believe you're not getting hurt on purpose." She sighed, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

"I would never break a bone on purpose.” You mumbled, wincing slightly as you adjusted yourself on the examination table. “Hurts like hell…"

"Thought you'd be a little tougher," Mina remarked in a tone that pushed your eyes open.

It was colder than you were used to. Icy and slippery.

"Yeah, well… we all have our limits, Mina." You replied quietly.

"It's still Dr. Myoui to you.”

You nodded, pursing your lips apologetically. The words would have pulled a laugh out of you if they’d ever come out of anyone else’s chest, but you knew better around her.

"What happened this time?" She asked, and the question surprised you. A glance at her eyes, now on you only out of respect, and you found out it wasn’t her own will.

Don’t be difficult, they begged. So you played along.

"Fell off a skateboard," You responded with as casual of a demeanor as you could.

She stared at you in silence, leaving you a few custom seconds to see if you'd tell her the truth this time. Instead, you offered her your best smile, and she had to hold her own back. "Do you even have a skateboard?"

"Do you need that information to treat me?"

"Just wondering."

"You seem to do that a lot…" You trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air.

Mina left that as the last of them to be spoken for a long while, turning her focus onto some more medical nonsense you could never decipher to save your life.

Maybe that’s why your eyes always landed on her.

She could feel them, following her every move around the room, and it was hard not to meet them.

A silence you were used to settled, the quiet hum of the room fading into the tension hanging in the air.

You feigned interest in your hospital bracelet to escape it, but the sight of your own name made you look away from it. The blank ceiling was enough to distract you, but only for a moment.

Not staring at her was an effort you struggled to make even with a sound mind. The first time you’d seen her, it took you a full minute to blink. It had pulled a smile out of her, and the words she used to point it out echoed in a blurry memory.

How safe you felt in her hands that night, you sought the feeling ever since. In vain.

Your gaze bore into her, merciless against the composure she desperately tried to hold on to. Each of your visits tested it in a way she had yet to see. To feel. She would resent you if she doubted your intentions. If she doubted her own.

"How long until it's not anymore?" Your voice broke the silence, startling Mina into meeting your eyes again.

This anesthesia seemed to guide you into an uncharted territory, where the boundaries of her professionalism blurred, seeping through her fingers with your every word.

She seemed lost in the place your words had suddenly lured her into, so you offered some guidance.

"How long until I can call you Mina?"

The question lingered in the air, pulling at the veil you’d draped over your desires.

It seemed you were close to baring them, Mina exposing a glimpse with a soft bite on her bottom lip.

You’d sculpted a fragile bridge. Cracked and vulnerable to the slightest movement. You enjoyed dancing around it, but one wrong step and it all comes crumbling down.

Mina hesitated, eyes avoidant and voice soft as she stepped forward. "Maybe once you don't get hurt anymore," she murmured.

This wasn’t the first dance she invited you to. It was rare, you weren’t used to it, but you’d rehearsed enough to guide yourselves through it.

“You know, I'd love to see you somewhere else. Outside these walls, preferably," You confessed in a whisper, wary of the thin curtains separating you from the bustling building.

Those almost slipped her mind. You could tell by the silence that followed.

She put her clipboard on a free space of the table, far enough away to keep it from becoming an obstacle. Her hands reached for your injured cheekbone, carefully examining the cut she’d stitched moments ago.

A breath caught in your throat at the touch and attention, long enough to bring a few changes to the data displayed on the screen not too far from you. A change she didn’t fail to notice yet again as she went to retrieve her notes.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, catching you off guard. You could only watch her write down whatever conclusions she’d pulled out of her observations, waiting to see if it was safe to carry on.

“Do you feel any pain?” She asked.

“Uhm...” You hummed, focusing in order to identify any pain other than the one in your heart. “Slightly. Now that you mention it.”

Mina nodded and carried on with a bunch of questions about your well-being. You answered all of them honestly, words leaving your mouth without much thought.

“Do you feel lightheaded? Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Are you feeling thirsty, or hungry?”

“A little thirsty.”

“Can you tell me your name and where you are right now?”

“My name is Y/n, and I’m in… at the urgent care.”

"Where would you like to see me?"

Her voice had dropped a couple decibels on that one. It took a few more seconds for you to sink it in and match an answer.

"Somewhere a little more… colorful?”

Wait…

Your eyes left the spot they’d blankly focused on on the floor to find hers still ignoring you.

“I mean… I don't know, I didn't think that far," you admitted, complying to her silent wishes.

Mina let a smile slip, a rare sight that let you peek at the depth of her feelings, and her thoughts allowed her to fantasize about the world outside. The one she could share with you. "That would be nice," she admitted softly.

Your smile mirrored her own, "So… Is that a yes?" you probed, and she chuckled, ignoring your question once more as she wrapped up her duties.

Just then, a couple nurses stepped into the room, asking Mina to take you away for the transfer you were long past due for.

Your arm was in a far worse state than your face. Or your heart.

"See you in three months, Y/n.”

-

part.2

[bloatedandalone04]

➪the one where you're friends and hook up at a party.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, dry humping, no actual penetration (trying something new), friends to lovers, making out, party hookup, mutual pining, honestly a really cute and desperate hookup between two friends, gif is a scene that was focused on chad but ethan looked cute in the background of it so here it is

Word Count: 2.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

You were convinced that you and Ethan created the word tension. More specifically, sexual tension. 

That was the only logical reasoning for the overwhelming feeling of want that took over your every sense whenever you were in the same room as him. 

It was obvious that you had the same effect on him as well if the rushed excuses to leave the room were anything to go by. His face would heat up whenever you locked eyes and he’d stutter like he used to do when he was in middle school and had a crush. 

Then he started getting a bit confident. 

He would touch you, something that looked innocent to everyone else, but you knew what his intentions were. The way his fingers would brush against your arm, the way he would hold your hand when he was walking with you - the way he would press a kiss to the base of your neck when you embraced to say goodbye.

It was only fair that you tease him, too.

Whenever you saw him, you made sure you were wearing either a skirt or dress - or something that showed more skin than normal - and were left smirking when you would catch him staring. In class you would shift so your thighs were showing behind the desk, only for his eyes to see as it was a given you two would sit beside each other during the classes you shared. 

In other words; you both wanted to sleep together. 

But you were friends. What would come of it? Would it make things awkward? Would it completely ruin the three year long friendship between the two of you? Would you even care?

The answer to that last one was simple.

No. No, you couldn’t care less. 

It took one shared glance at the Halloween party. One look and that was it. 

Everything passed in a blur. 

Ethan’s hand was tight on your wrist. Mindy gave you a wave as you passed by her. Chad gave Ethan’s shoulder a light slap as he pushed past him. The crowded stairs made your heated body even hotter. The empty bedroom felt so inviting.

Your halo was discarded somewhere downstairs, as was the majority of Ethan’s costume, and your dress was inching higher up on your hips. 

With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, Ethan pulls your body so it’s pressed completely against his. Your knees dig into the soft comforter as his hands grip your waist and needily pull you down further. Your clothed core grinds against him, making you both moan into the kiss as it deepens. 

Ethan’s hands helped guide your hips against his, allowing you to break the kiss and push against his chest. He falls back against the bed, his hold on you never faltering. You reached up and let your fingers tug on the thin straps of the white dress you bought for the sole purpose of the costume party. His wide eyes watched your every move, his pupils blown out and nearly covering the brown of his irises. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, watching as the straps slid down your arms, the top of your dress falling down and exposing the equally as white bra underneath. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”

The dress falls completely and bunches around your waist, making you looked fucked out already, depsite only partaking in a heated makeout session. Your lips were kiss swollen, a small amount of saliva - both Ethan’s and your own - coated the area around them. The kiss was messy and desperate and long overdue, so it was expected to leave you both already spent.

Ethan’s hands slide up the length of your thighs and disappear under the fabric of your dress, his eyes raking up and down your body. “You’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath, dropping his head back against the bed. “Been waiting to see you like this. So pretty.”

Your face heats up at his words, your own hands slipping under the material of his dark henley to press against his defined abdomen. “Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” You ask and tilt your head to the side, gently scratching your nails against his skin. “I gave you all the opportunities in the world.”

He let out a breath of air he didn’t even know he was holding in before answering, “We had something good going, didn’t want to ruin our friendship,”

You grinned down at him as one of the straps of your bra fell from your shoulder. With a simple shrug, you ask, “And now?”

Ethan’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “Fuck friendship,”

With a grin, you agree with him. “Fuck friendship,” then you were leaning down and pressing a heated kiss to his lips. 

His hands moved to your back seconds later, his fingers awkwardly fumbling with the clasp of your bra, clearly giving away his little experience he had with getting intimate with someone. 

Your lips turn up in a grin as you reach one of your own hands back to help him and easily unclasp the article of clothing. “You’ll get better at that,” you reassure him when you catch sight of the embarrassed look that flashed across his face. “Maybe.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, his head involuntarily tilting to the side when you began placing kisses down his jaw. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself,”

You laugh quietly, grabbing his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together. It was a gentle gesture in a moment full of rushed movements and desperate kisses, and maybe that was why it had your heart racing. 

He gave you a boyish grin as you pinned your joined hands against the mattress beside his head, his chin tilting upwards to connect your lips once again. 

As your lips pressed against one anothers, Ethan’s mind began wandering. He had dreamed about doing this with you and seeing you in the most intimate way possible for years, and he finally got his chance. He finally crossed that line with you and your friendship will never be the same after this, not that he considered you just a friend, even before this. 

And yet, he couldn’t help but want his first time with you to be a bit more special than a hookup in a random bedroom at a party. 

He felt as though he was a hypocrite. 

He had you all to himself, yet he didn’t want to go all the way with you….yet. There was a very real possibility of you being interrupted or someone could easily start banging on the door at any given second. 

And maybe Ethan was selfish, but he wanted to be alone with you for your first time together.

So, with a fair amount of hesitation and reluctance, Ethan pulled away from your mouth. “Wait,”

Your brows furrowed when you pulled back to make eye contact with him, your heart thumping loudly at the oncoming feeling of embarrassment filling your body. “Sorry,” you say quickly, slipping your hand from his. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ethan laughed quietly and shook his head, his hands sliding down the smooth skin of your sides before stopping on your hips. “No, nothing,” he answered, leaning his head up to brush his nose against yours. The gesture made you smile, still unsure as to why he stopped you. You didn’t get the chance to ask as he continued after pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I just expected our first time to be somewhere a bit more private.”

You gave him a look he couldn’t quite read and he watched as a small grin formed on your lips. He began to feel embarrassed but kept his cool as you bit down on your bottom lip. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” You tease but not in a mocking way. 

It had his heart racing in the best way possible as he simply answered, “I want you,”

You fight back the smile that was beginning to form and bring your hand up to brush away his hair that rested on his forehead. “I never took you as the romantic type,” you murmur, leaning down to rest your chin on his shoulder. 

Ethan ran his hands down your back, his touch creating chills that you did your best to hide. “‘M sorry,”

You shake your head and shrug, moving to ghost your lips over his. “It’s okay,” you hum, your hand tracing circles on his still shirt covered chest. You understood where he was coming from, and if you were being honest, party hookups were never something that interested you. 

But at the same time, you were beyond turned on, and not just at the sight of him. His words, his vulnerability and his touch had your skin burning and your core aching for something, anything. 

Then an idea formed in your head, and it wasn’t something that was necessarily new to you. Lifting yourself up and leaning your chin against the palm of your hand, your index finger of your free hand trails down his chest. “You know,” you trail off and watch your finger descent down his body. Ethan gave you a curious look, his own hands never leaving their place on your waist. “If you don’t want to actually sleep together right now, there are other ways to get each other off.”

Ethan’s ears burned as he processed your words. “You want to go down on each other?”

You shake your head with a small smirk. “I was thinking more on top of the clothes,” 

He hummed in agreement, a smirk forming on his own lips. “Oh,”

Shrugging, you bring your hand back up and let your thumb tug on his lower lip. “I mean, only if you want,” you add. “You call the shots.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened even more as he shifted his hips upwards, his jean covered front pressing to yours. “You know I want you,” he mumbled, his hands inching towards your chest. 

You pulled back before he could make contact. Pressing your hands against his shoulders, you sit up and reach behind you to clasp your bra once again. “We’ll save the nudity for the real thing,” you say and watch as his face falls. You kept your dress bunched at your waist and shrugged. “You set the rules.”

Ethan squinted but failed to stop the small whine that left his lips when you rolled your hips down against his. His face heats up at the noise you emitted from him while yours fell. 

It was a quiet, barely audible sound that escaped him but you heard it as clear as day, even over the loud music that was coming from downstairs. It sent a heatwave directly to your core and had your face heating up. 

You weren’t sure why the quiet moan had this big of an effect on you, maybe it was because you had never heard him being so open and vulnerable with you, or maybe it was because the sounds men make in bed do something to you, who knows. All you did know was that it had your hips grinding down once more just so you could hear it again.

Ethan’s hands moved back down to your thighs, where they held a tight grip as his head fell back against the sheets. “Fuck,” he muttered and the quiet groan that followed had your hands gripping the stretchy fabric of his shirt. 

Twisting it between your fingers, you allow yourself to release a noise of your own. A ghost of a moan leaves your lips as you press down harder, your clothed core desperate for any type of friction at this point. 

More whines escape him and it only drives you further away from sanity and closer to the point of no return. As you grinded against him, countless questions filled your head but you didn’t dare voice any of them.

Is he aware of just how attractive he is?

Was he purposely making those sounds because he knows it drives you wild?

Does he always sound like this in bed?

Has he always been this hot?

You may never know.

Ethan, however, seemed to have begun to pick up on the way you would press harder against him or speed up the pace of your hips whenever he moaned or whined under his breath. It took him only a few seconds to figure out that his sounds were what fueled your need to please him as well as help to get yourself off. 

He smirked at the effect a simple sound from him had on you and reached one of his hands up to grab hold of the back of your neck. He brought your chest back down to rest against his as your lips connected, his other hand helping guide the movement of your hips as the new angle made it a bit awkward for you to continue to move on your own.

The indentation of the zipper of his jeans rubs damn near perfectly against your clothed clit and the lack of actual touch somehow made it feel just as good as it would if you were both completely bare. 

Maybe it was because it was Ethan, your long time friend who you had been crushing on for years, or maybe it was because you never thought you’d ever get the chance to see him this way - not to mention the fact you got to feel him this way.

You lean down to sloppily kiss him as your hips continue to grind against him, your teeth and tongues clashing against one another. He whimpered against your mouth and the sound had your hips stilling for a brief second in an attempt to hold off for just a bit longer. 

God, he was going to be the death of you. 

The way your core desperately clenched around absolutely nothing, and the way his hips bucked up every few seconds had you both feeling the way you felt the very first time you did this. It wasn’t with each other, obviously, but there were very few guys who you had been intimate with before Ethan, so your experience was limited. 

Unbeknownst to you, though you’ve had your suspicions, Ethan had also only been with a couple girls before he was given the chance to sleep with you - something he was mentally kicking himself for putting on pause seeing as you felt this good by just grinding on him. 

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you felt your high approaching, but you knew Ethan was close as well, something that eased your racing mind. 

Your lips disconnect from his and you hide your head in the space between his shoulder and neck as moans freely flee from your mouth. Ethan presses kiss after kiss to your collarbone as you stop the relentless movement of your hips, your eyes squeezing shut when you feel the surge of heat flood through you. 

Ethan couldn’t complain at the lack of friction as he was there, too. Throaty groans leave his mouth and only add fuel to your high as you breath heavily against him, your lips ghosting over the skin of his neck.

Fuck it.

Wrapping your swollen mouth around the base of his neck, you sucked lightly and felt the bubble of a groan in his chest that was still pressed against yours. Your teeth tug at the skin for just a second before you pull away and sit up, your legs still straddling his waist. 

You grin down at the mark you left on him and try to ignore the way he was looking at you. His eyes were full of want and lust, his mouth tinted pink from your lipstick. 

You could only imagine what you looked like. 

Before you could get off him, Ethan’s hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down beside him. You were on your back while he was on his side, his hand running up and down the exposed skin of your torso. He looked you over before murmuring, “I don’t know what to say,”

Is saying ‘that was fucking amazing’ too much? Really, Ethan had never felt more excited and at peace, the fact that he finally had you all to himself was all he had ever wanted. 

You reach a hand up and brush away the hair that fell against his forehead. “You don’t have to say anything,” you say back, your hand falling to his shoulder. “Just lay with me.” 

He smiled down at you, kissing you one more time before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest, his mind already fast-forwarding to when he’d be able to fully take you in the privacy of your own apartment.

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: You were rescued from Hydra and then joined the Avengers. Bucky seems to hate you and you’re sent on a mission together for indefinite time.

Warnings: Mention of experiments, torture and d3ad bodies and things like that. Don’t read if you’re not comfortable with that. Bucky being a bit of an asshole towards you. Also the reader has a name and a last name if that counts as a warning?

Other: This will be some sort of MCU x Supernatural fic. English isn’t my fist language so I apologize in advance for any mistake I made. -> 18+ !!

-> Masterlist

-> Part two

-> Hydra is home (01)

You were born in hell. That’s what Hydra was for you and for everyone who had witnessed the horrors of what happened inside the walls of that place - and there was more than one facility. The worst part is that you didn’t even know, you thought it was normality.

You thought it was normal being used and trained to be a lethal assassin at a young age; you were the youngest and they made you feel special for that. Hydra’s perfect child, that’s how they called you. The only toy you’ve ever had was a knife, and you never questioned it or thought it was horrifying up until you were an adult.

From the earliest age, you were taught that your suffering served a greater purpose, that your pain was going to save that fucked up world you lived in. Not that you had any idea of which color the sky was up until you were six, let alone knowing the rest of the world and it’s shit. You knew no other life besides the walk between your room and the laboratory - the place where you were tied up to those cold metal tables under the gaze of Hydra’s scientists.

But to you, that was normality. That was home, the place you were the safest in - they said. Hydra fed you lies all your life, making you think their atrocities were for the greater good and that you were needed. What they were doing was needed.

Worst thing? You never complained. Always complied.

You learned later on in years that you were being used to recreate a better Super Soldier serum, like the one they used on Captain America and The Winter Soldier. A better, more effective serum that was gonna give them their disciplined weapon, with a few more characteristics. It was a mystery how you survived, to you and to everyone who took a look in your DNA.

They made you a freak.

When you were fifteen, things changed and your whole world turned upside down. It was in the middle of the night that you heard the facility’s alarm, the loud and scary sound meant one thing: bad people had broke in. So you did as you practiced: you moved the rug on floor and used that safety trapdoor to hide, hoping that they wouldn’t find you.

Meanwhile, SHIELD agents were storming in every room of the base, looking for either survivors or Hydra members.

Your heart stopped when the little door above you swung open and you saw a masked man pointing a rifle at you. Hydra was right, you decided then, those were bad people. You don’t exactly remember what happened after, you don’t remember if you tried to fight them or if you passed out. Everything is a blur memory.

What you do remember next, though, is being taken to yet another facility. In the beginning all you could see were monsters who wanted to feed you lies; they said Hydra was bad, that they were a terroristic organization who aimed to rule the world. Crazy, wasn’t it?

Hydra was home.

You didn’t collaborate with them for years, not even when Maria Hill offered you visive proof of how fucked up Hydra was. It was impossible that all you knew, all that you’ve been taught was a lie.

But there was another part: the pain stopped. No more experiments or missions to catch the bad guys with the little help all those samples gave you. No more blood or guns or atrocities - nothing.

Many people amongst SHIELD agents only saw you as just another freak, but weaker than Captain America and with a twisted brain. They saw you as no more than just another Hydra experiment, one that could not be good. You had no name, no family, no friends - you were just existing… and for what? You yourself didn’t know.

Nick Fury was the one who was interested in you. You had heard his name being mentioned a few times before actually meeting him. Perhaps it was just because you had some sort of Super Soldier serum in you and he was only caring for that, but he stepped in and helped you whether you wanted or not.

And he succeeded.

He saw beyond those scars, visible and invisible, recognizing the potential you could have as an actual human being. Fury insisted in your rehabilitation, and with time he saw the first results.

It took you a lot of time and effort to feel like a human being for the first time in 23 years, it wasn’t an easy process by any means and you still weren’t a hundred percent okay with everything. Being told that for fifteen years of you life you were nothing more than a sack of meat with a functioning brain for people to use to their advance wasn’t exactly ideal, especially after learning that it wasn’t normal as you thought.

At first you didn’t even realize how fucked up it was, perhaps you didn’t want to.

But under SHIELD’s care, you started to heal both physically and mentally as best as you could. You were given a name as soon as you were rescued, but you didn’t accept it up until you were 20.

Emma Dayne, that was your new legal name as a free woman. One that had a say in her own life.

That was the name Fury used when you were brought into the Avengers Compound as the newest addition to the team. You, a superhero? Sometimes you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Those people fought against the very same people you called family, those same people who raised you. Thankfully, they never held you accountable for that.

Except him.

James Buchanan Barnes. When he looked at you, all he saw was the enemy: someone who, unlike him, had willingly served Hydra for more than half of her life. He made it clear from the start that he didn’t trust you, he was always cold (which wasn’t rare, but even colder with you) and guarded whenever you were around.

Whenever his eyes found your figure, he couldn’t shake off the memories of his past as the Winter Soldier. The feeling of loss for the years that were stolen from him and that life he could never go back to came back as soon as he saw you, and he started to loathe the sight of you - he felt even worse when he saw how much the other teammates liked you.

But you could not blame him. Not even a bit. You took his silence as a reminder of what you had done - maybe if you had opened your eyes sooner you could have done something, anything, to help him.

After all, you two weren’t completely strangers. You both had worked for the same organization, and you saw him from time to time - you felt guilty. As soon as you saw the hatred in his eyes, when you joined the team, you were consumed by guilt.

But then again, the last time you saw him you were eleven. Super Soldier or not, you were a kid. Your therapist - saint woman - was helping you with that, at least. You knew that earning his trust was gonna take time, and maybe a lifetime wasn’t enough - you knew that in his position you would have been the same. Perhaps his trust wasn’t even your goal, you didn’t know what you wanted from him. You just knew that every time his eyes fell on you, you felt small. Smaller than a bug, and you wanted to change that.

You wanted him to know that you weren’t the enemy he thought you were.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Tony Stark’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, contemporarily snapping his fingers to get your attention. “Dayne, stop thinking about princesses and unicorns. I need your attention, sweetie.”

“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts.” You replied, crossing your legs under the big, round wooden table. You were in the meeting room with the other Avengers - most of them, anyways, and their eyes were all on you. Not judging, some had smiles on their faces.

Except one who wasn’t even looking at you.

“Happens to the best of us too.” He shrugged it off, pointing at himself with a grin. Usual. “But seriously, now I need everyone’s attention or I fear Fury might kill me.” He continued.

“What’s the situation, Tony?” Steve Rogers inquired, his usual serious expression on.

Tony leaned forward on the table, after he sat down as well, clasping his hands together. “We’ve been getting reports of Hydra activity in various parts of the States.” He explained. “Specifically, they’ve been targeting civilians. They’re kidnapping them for, what we suspect, making experiments. They’re targeting people with no family, no friends or someone who wouldn’t look for them. They found the first body near the Donner Lake, in California. The first we were able to identify, at least.”

A picture of a woman appeared on a screen behind Tony, and he continued. “Taylor Harris. She was their first slip- up, as the woman had an ex husband and a kid. He divorced her because apparently she had an addiction to drugs and was physically abusive towards the kid. Ever since then, he got a restraining order against her and the full custody of the kid. Should have gone to jail but she went missing. She actually got missing three weeks ago, and she’s been presumably dead for at least a week.”

“What makes us think this is Hydra?” Clint said, his voice stern. The man had tried to retire about six times and yet there he was. “America is full of psychopaths.”

“True.” Tony nodded. “But they made some tests and traces of the Super Soldier serum was found. If it’s not Hydra, then I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“I thought they had the Super Soldier serum already.” Thor frowned, his mighty Mjolnir always by his side. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“They had something else. They weren’t able to recreate it after they used it on Bucky.” You said, looking at the God. “They tried everything to come close to it, but pretty much all the subjects they experimented on died. Some turned into… things. And eventually got killed when they didn’t comply. I was the only result they had.”

“So… they want another you.” Thor looked at you.

You shrugged. “They want a lot of things. Probably they’re looking forward to make something that can’t break out of their control.”

“If you were ever out of their control.” You heard him mumble those words under his breath, but no one else seemed to hear. You were used to it by now, so you stayed silent as the conversation between the Avengers went on.

“So what do we do?” Natasha sighed, crossing her arms under her chest. Both her feet on the table as it was a habit of her it seemed.

“We send undercover agents.” Tony answered. “The agents being you.” He gestured to the whole room. “Or half of you, the ones suited for the job.” He added.

“Great.” Clint grunted.

“Natasha and Clint, you’re assigned to Las Vegas, Nevada - don’t look at me like that. Fury’s orders.” Tony pointed at the annoyed may sat next to Natasha. All he wanted was some time to play golf, and he was always called in for a new mission. He couldn’t even hear properly anymore.

“Steve and Sharon, you lovebirds are going to Denver, Colorado.” He went on, reading the pair of agents from his phone. “Yelena and Kate, have fun in Lawrence, Kansas.“

“And then… oh. Emma and James, you’re going to Lincoln, Nebraska.” Tony put his phone down. “Sam is momentarily busy in California where they found the body, so for now this is everything. You guys will find other agents there, you’ll meet them once you arrive.”

“Why these cities?” Bucky asked, clenching his jaw. This was the first mission where he was paired up with you, and he didn’t like it one bit. But knowing Fury, there was nothing he could do to change it.

“Because that’s where SHIELD suspects Hydra’s activity. There are some bodies that have been found specifically in these places, they’re unrecognizable and have been there for longer than poor Taylor. They believe they have undercover agents there, so that’s who you have to find.” Tony answered, chewing some cashews he kept in his pockets. For some reason.

“When do we have to leave?” Yelena asked, snatching some cashews from Tony’s hands.

He glared at her before answering. “You’re needed there Monday morning already, I fear. You have today and tomorrow to pack your things and get out of my sight.” He got up from his chair. “Have fun, fellas.”

“Wait a second, what about me?” Wanda asked as Tony was about to leave the room.

“You’re the backup plan, Granger.” Tony chuckled at his own nickname for Wanda. “So are we. They find them, we step in to take them down. Plus I need someone to punch Loki in the face in case he tries something, you’re the only one strong enough to do it.”

“Hey!” Thor sounded offended. “Not the only one!”

“This place is awful.” Loki mumbled.

“Then leave.” Clint scoffed.

“You’re dismissed, children.” Tony walked out. “Try not to stab each other.”

“And boring too.” Loki added.

* * * *

“You’re supposed to fold your clothes before putting them into the bag.” Bucky’s voice remarked dryly, taking your attention away from your bag.

He was leaning against the doorframe of your room, looking at you sternly. As always.

“Thanks for the tip, Barnes.” You retorted, messily throwing a pair of pants inside the bag. You weren’t really having it, ever since you learned that Hydra was kidnapping people to do to them what they did to you. Except that those people had a life before. “What do you want?”

He walked into your room without even asking for permission and tossed a stack of paper on your bed. “The details of this mission and our fake identities, wifey.” He sounded quite calm but you could see he was pissed about it, he always was when it came to you. “Thought you may want to take a look.”

“Uh?” You frowned at the unusual nickname, picking up the papers and reading as fast as you could, until your eyes landed on the role you had to play.

His wife.

What a joke.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, as you felt his burning eyes on you. It’s nothing you haven’t done before with Sam or even Pietro, but pretending to love him and be all affectionate with him in public when this was the longest conversation you’ve ever had? That was gonna be interesting, to say the least.

He nodded and turn around to walk out, but before he actually left he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “One wrong move is all I need, Dayne.” He said, and that sounded like a threat.

Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of frustration and anger bubbling within you. “If I wanted to screw you guys over I would have done it already. It’s been a year, Sergeant, I believe you could trust me by now. Or at least start to.”

“Trust is earned, not given.” He replied, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “And you haven’t earned mine.”

“I’ll fucking live with it.”

“Have a good night.” He said without meaning it in the slightest, before leaving you to yourself once again.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Bucky Barnes was your personal headache.

[maxislvt]

heyy, how u doing

okay, i literally can't stop thinking about sorcerer!reader being heads over heels for scarlet witch wanda, and them working together as a duo and top wanda fucking reader so good for being such a good accomplice

if you're still accepting requests, i would totally love reading something with this prompt

warnings: smut, strap on (r receiving), pet play, manipulation

The Scarlet Witch first came to you in a dream.

One that was sensual in a somewhat unnerving way. You laid stiff in a field. You were unable to move and forced to watch as a figure approached. The witch whispered to you in a language you couldn't understand as she caressed your face. You would've enjoyed it had you noticed the darkness corrupting the smooth ivory skin of her fingers. It was easily the longest dream you'd ever had.

It was so jarring that you opted not to tell anyone. Maybe another sorcerer had taken a liking to you and was playing tricks to catch your attention. Odd dreams were a side effect of several spells. You figured there wasn't anything to worry about.

That was until she arrived at the Kamar-Taj. The witch's appearance raised many questions for you, but you were given the mission to protect the girl. America Chavez's safety came first. It was supposed to anyway. As you helped keep the forcefield around the temple, things began to change around. Everywhere you looked — the Scarlet Witch was there — but you stayed focused. Unfortunately, not all of your fellow sorcerers were as strong willed. The force field eventually broke and you suddenly collapsed before you could start fighting.

Everything before your arrival at Wundagore was a blur. You awoke surrounded by dead or barely breathing sorcerers and Wong about to be taken by the witch. Without even thinking, you offered yourself in place of Wong. You didn't have a plan when you offered yourself up. Wong was the Sorcerer Supreme, you were just a sorcerer. The Kamar-Taj was in no place to find another Sorcerer Supreme.

It was that very self-deprecating way of thinking that led to you falling into the arms of the Scarlet Witch. The Scarlet Witch gave you a purpose. Wanda gave you a purpose. You were no longer just some sorcerer. You were the loyal pet of the Scarlet Witch. Wanda was always keen on rewarding that loyalty.

"You're such a good pet for me." Wanda's voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. You were always so fragile in that headspace. The fear of failure loomed over your head even in your most submissive state. She had to guide you through everything. "You're such a good little pup for me, aren't you?"

You leaned into Wanda's hand as she cupped your face. "I'm your pup," You whispered dreamily. The chill in her fingers no longer bothered you. They'd been blackened to match their evil deeds, but they were always so gentle with you. It was those same fingers that lovingly squeezed the skin of your thighs before slipping inside. They stretched you out with such care every time. In slowly, then out just as torturously slow. "I need you so bad, please."

An amused laugh fell from her lips. "You've been so needy lately. Is my puppy not getting enough attention?" She teased but complied with your request. Wanda let out a throaty moan as she eased the tip of her strap inside you. "You're always so wet and sticky. I think you're better off just being my little plaything. What do you think?" You're in no position to respond and she knows it. "What's that baby? I don't understand whining."

All you could do was let out another moan as she bottomed out. You were addicted to being stretched out. It didn't matter if Wanda was gentle or left you limping the next day. Your hips rocked back and forth desperately trying to meet Wanda's thrust. "I'll, ah, I'll be…I'll be anything you want." That was the last proper sentence you said that night.

"Anything?" Wanda asked excitedly. Her thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit. Anything was a dangerous word with her. Even more dangerous considering she loved you. Her free hand guided your frantic hips into a slower pace to match her own. "So you'd let me destroy that little ring of yours and keep you trapped here forever just to use you as a cumdump?" She giggled as you feebly extended your hand to summon the ring. "You're such a devoted little pet, but we'll save that for later." She let go of your hip to hold your hand.

Your fingers interlocked with Wanda's instinctively. It was the small, intimate things that kept you grounded. Every orgasm Wanda gave you was intense. Your legs shook and the little bit of control you had over yourself was gone. Relief rushed over your body as the knot finally broke. Every noise that you made was a desperate plea.

Wanda didn’t bother slowing down. She was far from done with your body. “Ah, ah, ah,” She gasped, mocking the noises you made. “I know it hurts, but I need to cum too. Don’t be a greedy slut.” She gripped your face forcing you to look at her. She grunted as she pushed impossibly deeper inside of you. You looked so pathetic underneath her. It was hard for her to control the urge to ruin you so soon. “I promise you we can take a break when I finish.”

Of course, you should have known better than to trust a witch.

[whumpy-wyrms]

cannot stop thinking about how whumpy it must’ve been when i was given the anesthesia and passed out earlier. like even before the laughing gas i was SHAKING and TREMBLING in fear i fucking HATE needles. but i was also smiling the whole time because my fear response isn’t fight flight fawn or freeze it’s just. to laugh. for some reason. anyway after i got the laughing gas i was smiling and giggling even more and also shaking a lot more in both fear of what was gonna happen and also probably the laughing gas. they told me to take deep breaths which i did, still freaking out though. i started panicking even more when they put the IV in my arm, like wow that was horrifying i must’ve looked sooooo scared wooow.. so much fear.. (whumpers you know where to find me). anyway i eventually followed their advice and took deep breaths, knowing that it would make the laughing gas effect me quicker, but i did it anyway because its all i could do.

(more under the cut because i couldn’t shut up and this got long)

and guys. guys. THEN. then i started thinking about Anton and imagining i was his test subject and he was just doing an experiment on me and let me tell you. the way pure CALMNESS just WASHED over my entire body. like before i walked into the room i was like “anton save mee save me anton haha lol”. and then anton DID save me. in a way. but yeah i mean i KNEW that would happen because thinking about anton literally always calms me down anyway but i just thought that was funny lmao. woow

okay so then they injected me with the anesthesia. i don’t think i really felt it. then they put a rubber thing in my mouth to keep it wide open, and i was just thinking “haha wow they gagged me that’s gotta be one of my favorite whump tropes.” i just stared straight ahead (i couldn’t really turn my head anyway with the way the chair was set up), struggling hard to keep my eyes open, breathing really deeply, barely able to form a coherent thought.

i do NOT remember falling asleep. like one moment i was sitting there eyes wide and breathing heavily, staring at the doctors on either side of me, and the next i was like all woozy flopping around in the chair, head lolling to the side as the doctors were telling me to wake up. it was sort of a blur, i had NO idea what was going on at ALL. i remember slurring as i talked, telling the doctors i wanted to keep my wisdom teeth. they laughed and asked why and i just kept repeating that i wanted them to let me keep them (they did let me keep them! i’m gonna put them in a little jar like a mad scientist). then i kept asking for my phone and they gave it to me. they put me in a wheelchair to take me to the car because i could NOT walk, i was stumbling around, completely unable to stand or sit up straight, and when we got to the car i just flopped into the passenger seat like i was DIZZY. and i was also a bit nauseous. blood in my mouth and all that. oh i also had gauze in my mouth which definitely made talking a lot more difficult

so i really barely talked, i don’t think i said much else which i’m kinda happy for because i was high as FUCK and did not wanna ramble about a bunch of weird oc lore to my mom. i KNOW i would’ve talked about anton and/or silas nonstop. but i just went on my phone instead which is when i made all those posts from earlier LOL. those typos were genuinely not on purpose at all. i could not type. i’m being fully serious.

here’s a screenshot from my discord server of me attempting to type “holy shit i can’t type.” and as you can see, it was, well, TRUE

anyway yeah i just curled up in my seat on the car ride home, i wasn’t on my phone much because i was still really tired and it was hard to keep my eyes open and stay awake. the car seat was leaned back really far so i was laying down and could not see out of the car windows (but my eyes were closed so it didn’t really matter). but i just remember feeling every turn of the car and trying to guess where we were driving as if i was a whumpee who’d just been kidnapped and was trying to memorize the directions. as you can tell i knew this situation would be whumpy as fuck and didn’t hesitate to make a bunch of silly connections.

so then we got home and there’s not much else that happened. i just took a lot of pills and washed out my mouth and put more gauze in and then went to sleep. it didn’t hurt that much at all because of. the drugs and stuff. i slept for a long time and woke up feeling back to normal, in the way i wasn’t high af anymore. yeah so now my mouth kinda hurts but i have painkillers so it’s fine. i ate lasagna like 20 minutes ago. i’m probably not supposed to eat lasagna. i did it anyway (i took very very teeny tiny nibbles it was very basil core).

anyway that’s it i think! dunno why i wanted to share this whole experience but i thought it was kinda funny the way i kept finding whump in everything hahaha (like i said, my actual fear response is literally to LAUGH and GIGGLE at everything in fear. this needs to be used more in this community imo. and i think… i have a new oc for that actually…. teehee….. ominous.. very ominous dot dot dots…..)

but really this isn’t as bad as i thought it’d be. it’s gonna suck to eat a bunch of soft food and stuff but overall it’s not bad. at least for me. obviously this was only my experience and everyone’s will be different. i do kinda see the humor in everything whenever i’m in a bad or painful situation so that might also be why this is easier for me, idk! hope u all found this at least a little entertaining because i know i did haha

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 12

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  canon-typical violence, mentions of sex

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2206

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 12

Things had shifted between Rose and Steve.  He’d started letting her feed from him more often.  Not every day, but sometimes twice a week.  It had quickly turned into a strange almost symbiotic relationship.  Steve wanted it, and with his unusually fast healing and metabolism, it meant he recovered soon after she drank from him, and while for one day he might be slightly more sluggish than normal, by the second, he had no ill effects at all.  If he took an iron supplement after she drank from him, even that first day of sluggishness was negated.

Rose had long known of the feeling of sexual euphoria that her victims experienced.  She had thought that Steve might be resistant to it given how long it had taken for him to show any sexual interest in her in the first place.  He proved her very wrong.  He loved the feeling of her fangs breaking his skin.  The way it heightened the feelings of pleasure sweeping through him. The way it made him feel lightheaded and high.  The rush of adrenalin he got.  The way it intensified everything else.  He even loved the fact that afterward, he always slept deeply and for a long time.  He described it as similar to the feeling he had when he stepped out of the machine that turned him into a super-soldier.  Colors were brighter.  The air felt better in his lungs. It was like he was experiencing a drug high.

As much as he was getting out of it, Rose was getting more.  Drinking directly from a real human body was always better than drinking cold, bagged blood.  It wasn’t just that it tasted better or that it felt better doing it, it was more vitalizing. It was as if the life force the blood carried faded the longer it had been away from the source.  The serum in Steve’s blood had special properties as well.  It enhanced her already preternatural strength and speed.  It also gave her the ability to stay up longer and even survive the sunlight.  She was starting to stay out on the roof and watch the beginning of sunrise.  Being able to experience the brief warmth of the sun on her skin again was a gift and even a month after starting to drink from Steve she would still cry.

The one thing that she hadn’t been able to predict, was how good it felt feeding from someone you cared about.  She was so completely in love with Steve and when she fed from him, he heated her from the inside out through his own life force.  It was like completing a circuit.  Two people truly merging in a physical sense.

It was like sharing a heartbeat.

Steve felt it too and they had to be very careful about going too far.  They had both become addicted to it.

For so long she had felt alone and angry and now, for the first time since she had been turned, she had friends, a purpose, someone who loved her, and the sun on her skin.

One of her favorite things was still to race Steve home over the rooftops when they were done with training.  Now with his blood fueling her, she loved it even more.  She moved like a blur, the cool night air whipping her face, and even with the noise of the city below, she could hear the beat of Steve’s heart as he tried to keep up.

“Rose!  Watch out!”

It took her a moment to register what Steve yelled, and another to register what it meant.  As she processed what was happening a blur careened toward her from the side and as she realized what was happening, she dodged and it threw something at her full force.  She managed to catch it and as she wheeled around, tracking the thing that had attacked her, she realized that she was holding a stake.

Steve caught up to her and put up his shield in front of her. “What the fuck is that?” he cursed as the blur started running for them again.

There were a couple of things that hunted her kind that could move that fast, and as she couldn’t smell dog, the answer was simple.  “Dhampir,” she hissed.

Steve threw his shield at the shape, but it dodged easily.  Rose charged at it, colliding mid-air so they both went rolling along the top of the building.  They scrambled at each other, clawing and biting at each other.  “Blade!” she hissed.

He kicked her away and rolled back into a defensive stance and she got up into one as well.  Steve quickly took the spot beside her, the shield held out.  She had never felt more relieved for it being there.  It still repelled her, but she’d become more used to it, and right now the fact it was between her and the dhampir was a blessing.

“Why are you hunting me?” Rose hissed.  “I’ve done nothing to you.” 

“You’re a vampire.  That’s enough,” Blade hissed back, pulling two swords out of sheaths he kept on his back.

Blade charged at them, and this time Steve hammered him back, hitting him head-on with the shield and smashing it into the side of his face, sending him flying.  Blade rolled to his feet again and bared his fangs.  “You’d protect a vampire?” he growled.  “I thought you were supposed to be a hero.”

“Which is exactly why I’m protecting her,” he shouted.  “She’s done nothing to warrant this.”

“She’s a monster,” he shouted and charged again.  They came together in a clash of metal on metal.  Rose watched on, mesmerized at their smooth, practiced movement.  She saw a gap and charged in full force, slamming into Blade's side and sending him flying.  He landed, skidding over the rooftop, and nearly tumbling right over the side.  He slammed his blade into the ground to keep him from going over.  Steve pounced on him wrapping his arm around Blade’s neck and pulling him back as he pinned the hand still holding a sword to his side.

“This isn’t your fight,” Blade cursed, his fangs extended.

“Why are you trying to kill one of your own?” Steve asked in confusion. 

“She’s not what I am.  She’s why I am what I am, and I won’t rest until her kind are all dead.”

“I heard talk like that in Nazi Germany,” Steve said.  “I didn’t let that happen either.”

Blade slammed his head back, connecting with Steve’s nose.  Blood sprayed out, the scent calling to Rose.  If her fangs weren’t already extended they would have been from that alone.

Blade charged at her and she ducked away, kicking out as she did to swipe his legs out from under him.  “Blade, stop!” she shouted as he wheeled back toward her.  He slammed into her.  She grabbed his hand holding the sword and she wrenched it back, and rolled, pinning him under her, her hand holding him down by the throat.

“How are you this strong?” he panted.  “You aren’t that old.”

Her eyes flicked over to Steve and Blade’s mouth fell agape.  “You let her feed from you?!  With your super-serum?”  He spat the words super-serum like they were poison and struggled under her.

“I don’t kill,” she hissed.  “You are fighting me for nothing!”

His eyebrows knitted together.  “Why should I believe you, blood-sucker?”

She scoffed at the hypocrisy of him using the term blood-sucker on her.  He might not have the same weaknesses as she did, but he still needed to feed.  “Do you think I became this by choice?  I was turned and I have been fighting what I am ever since.  I’m an Avenger!  That should tell you something!  I’m assuming that’s how you found me.”

Blade didn’t answer, he just scowled looking between Rose and Steve.  Rose glanced over at Steve.  Thanks to the serum she was much stronger than Blade.  She was confident he would be able to get out of the hold she had on him, but they couldn’t just sit up here forever, and she couldn’t kill him.

She dug her fingers into his wrist and began to force his arm back.  He hissed, trying to fight her.  “Do you believe I could tear your arm off right now?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Then remember that.  Let the sword go and I’ll let you go and we can talk,” she said. 

He looked at her like he’d rather have her tear his arm off, but then nodded, releasing the sword with a clatter.  Steve came and took it and Rose released Blade, backing away from him.

“I’m not a killer,” she said as he stood up.  “I have killed, yes.  But I know your hands aren’t clean either.  I haven’t killed anyone who wasn’t a threat to the safety of others - humans - for a long time.  I also have never turned anyone.  I’m trying to use this - this curse, to do some good.  I know why you hate us.  I hate us.  But I’m trying.  Whatever your vendetta is for, I’m not a threat.”

“Who turned you?” Blade asked.

“Marcellus Lakatos.  Have you heard of him?”

Blade bared his fangs, clearly not pleased by the answer.  “He's one of Dracula's progeny.”  He turned his head glaring at Steve.  “And you let her feed from you?  Do you know how strong you are making her?”

“I do,” Steve said.  “And I trust her.”

Blade rolled his eyes.  “What did you do?  Glamour him?”

“No.”  It was true, he wasn't glamoured, but she conveniently left out the fact she had tried.  “Check him if you don't believe me.”

Blade approached Steve who held up the shield, ready to defend himself.  The dhampir took Steve’s chin and looked him in the eyes.  After only a few beats he pushed him away in disgust.

“You weren’t turned by choice?” he asked.

“No.  But you and I both know that doesn’t mean anything.  I’d either give in to my instincts or I wouldn’t,” she said. “I haven’t.  He turned me because he wanted a little plaything.  I have fought what he did to me ever since.”

“Can someone please explain to me what's going on?” Steve shouted.  “I’m trying to be calm and not escalate things, but I have no idea what’s going on right now.”

Rose moved to him, putting her hand on his arm.  “This is Blade.  He’s a dhampir and a very successful monster hunter.  Vampires in particular.”

Steve raised his shield.  “So we can assume that other hunters will come for you?”

“I don’t work with any of the groups,” Blade said.  “This isn’t a sport for me.  Vampires took everything from me.  They’re a plague on humanity.  If they found out, they did it on their own and it has nothing to do with me.”

Rose hissed, baring her fangs at him. “We aren’t all the same.”

“Most of you are though,” he growled back.

“What’s a dhampir?” Steve asked.

“I was born this way.  Not turned.  So I never died.  I have all the Vampire attributes and none of the weaknesses.  My mother was killed by these - things while she was giving birth to me,” he explained. 

“She isn’t like that,” he said.  “She’s been helping us.  She primarily drinks bagged blood that people donate specifically to feed her.  Whatever you have against Vampires, taking it out on her makes you just as bad as they are.”

Blade took a few steps closer to them, his eyes flicking up and down her body.  “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.  I’d suggest you be more careful.  In fact…”

Rose tilted her head, wondering where he was going.  “In fact?”

Blade bared his fangs and huffed.  “I’m putting my neck on the line here.  I’m trusting you’re what you say you are,” he said.  “I’ve heard there’s an amulet.  The light bender amulet.  It takes away the need to sleep during the day and weakens to sunlight.  It’ll mean you show up on film too.  You’ll still need to drink blood, but those blood frenzies your kind can get into will be negated.”

“Where can I find it?” Rose said.

Blade shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  Last I heard the Priest of Khonshu had it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess that’s where it’s saying.”

“If I find you, the Bloodstones will be next,” Blade warned.

“If I go rolling up to Moon Knight, he’ll cut off my head,” she argued. “At least I stand a chance if I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“So take a friend,” Blade said, nodding to Steve. “Or a couple of friends.  But you know, if you don’t go find him if he figures out what I figured out, he’ll come for you anyway.” 

Blade was already running away before he had finished speaking and when he finished speaking, he jumped over the edge of the building.  Rose and Steve ran to the edge of the building and looked over the side.  There was no sign of the Vampire hunter anywhere.

Steve turned to look at Rose, his eyebrows raised. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

// NEXT

[teine-mallaichte]

Starting with an unrpompted peice for @dadrunkwriting tonight... based on a conversation I had on discord this morning that has just lodged itself in my brain and insisted on been written...

So... general premise, established Fenders. Fenris has started to carrry lyrium potions for anders as he doesn't trust andeers to actually look after his own needs.

So just a stupid scene of my attempt to anyswer the question fo what happens when an elf with lyrium in their skin drinks a lyrium potion...

Fenris sidestepped the bandit’s wild, clumsy swing, the blade slicing through the air just inches from his ear. The fight was proceeding well enough, but each movement felt heavier than it should. His ribs were screaming from an earlier blow—sharp, biting pain with every twist and turn. Typical, he thought bitterly, forcing his body to ignore the ache. His side felt as if it might tear with every swing, but there was no room for hesitation. Not now.

Another bandit lunged at him, and Fenris barely had time to pivot before the man was upon him. He gritted his teeth and drove his sword through the attacker’s defences with a brutal slash, sending the bandit sprawling backward. But the motion was jarring. His ribs flared with a searing, pain, almost causing him to lose his balance.

Glancing to his left he could see Anders was fully immersed in the fight, his staff raised high as bolts of lightning crackled from his outstretched fingers. The way Anders moved—fluid, purposeful, like a force of nature—caught his attention for a brief moment, though his ribs reminded him quickly that he needed to focus.

The mage looked far too busy to heal him right now anyway. He huffed as he parried another strike, stepping back just long enough to fish a potion from his belt. Without looking, he yanked the stopper out with his teeth and swallowed the contents in one go.

The effect was immediate.

His tattoos flared to life, brighter and fiercer than ever before, casting an eerie glow over the alley. The air crackled around him, the surge of energy so intense that it felt like the very ground was shaking. His skin burned, vibrating with the power coursing through every line of lyrium. His vision sharpened, each detail around him coming into blinding focus. The bandits’ movements slowed to a crawl, their swings now absurdly slow, as if time had stretched.

"What...?" Fenris muttered, but his voice, his thought, was all lost in the roar of power filling his mind.

Then it took over.

The lyrium.

The power.

With a yell, Fenris surged forward, faster than he’d ever moved before. His body seemed to hum with the pulse of the lyrium coursing through him. He phased through an oncoming sword, the blade passing harmlessly through his chest as though he were mist. The attacker barely had time to register what had happened before Fenris’s sword drove through his side. He didn’t stop. Another bandit screamed as Fenris vaulted over him, phasing through a wild swing and slamming the man into the ground.

The world felt like it was made of glass, and Fenris was the stone smashing through it—unstoppable, invincible. His tattoos glowed brighter, searing with raw energy. He phased and struck, tore through the bandits like they were nothing. The last one tried to flee, but Fenris caught him, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall with a force that cracked the stone.

Then it all went wrong.

The world flickered.

The once intense glow of his tattoos dimmed, flickered again—too bright, too fast, and then... nothing. His body shuddered, and the world around him stretched and distorted. His legs buckled beneath him as his tattoos pulsed erratically. Stomach twisting painfully. vision blurring.

A sickening jolt twisted through his gut, like the lyrium was trying to rip him apart from the inside. His heard his sword clatter to the ground. Felt his legs gave out, dropping to his knees, panting. The alley spun around him, every movement felt like a sickening, drunken whirl. His vision faded, and then, without warning, he phased.

A gasped escaped as he felt himself sinking through the cobblestones as though they weren’t there. His hands reached out instinctively, but the ground slipped through his fingers. He couldn’t feel anything—no weight in his limbs, no pressure beneath his feet.

He was... nothing.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. A few seconds later, he slammed back into reality, flat on his back, with no idea how he got there. Breath caming in ragged gasps as the solid ground beneath him felt too hard, too real.

“Fenris?” Anders’s voice broke through the dizziness, faint but clear. The sound of Anders's boots against the cobblestones like thunder in Fenris's ears. He tried to push himself up on his elbows. The effort made his head spin, and the world tilted sideways again.

A moment of silence. Then, a poke against his ribs. Fenris cracked one eye open to see an oddly blurry Anders standing over him, his staff extended like a child poking a strange animal.

“Are you alive?” the mage asked, tilting his head, amusement lacing every word.

Fenris weakly swatted at the staff, but his hand missed entirely. “Stop... poking me.”

Anders straightened, crossing his arms. “Want to explain what just happened?”

Fenris blinked at him, trying to focus. His head was swimming, and his vision blurred again. The world kept spinning, and every inch of him felt wrong. He opened his mouth to speak but his tongue felt like it was made of stone.

He heard Anders sighed dramatically, “You drunk a lyrium potion by mistake again didn’t you?”

“Thought... healing,” he muttered thickly.

“Of course you did," Anders snorted, shaking his head., "And now look at you. Glowing one moment, sprawled in the gutter the next... Very dignified.”

“Didn’t ask for..." Fenris muttered, his voice thick with frustration as he tried to steady his breath. He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as he sought the right words, his mind sluggish and unfocused. "for... commentary."

“No, but you’re getting it anyway.” Anders smirked, tapping his staff against the ground. “At least you took out all the bandits first. Otherwise, this would be really embarrassing.”

Fenris groaned and let his head fall back to the cobblestones. "I’m going to kill you."

Anders crouched beside him again, this time offering a hand, though his grin hadn’t faded. “Oh, I’m terrified… Can you even stand?”

Fenris glared at him—or tried to, but everything was still spinning. “Stop talking.”

“You say that a lot, but I don’t think you mean it,” Anders quipped, sliding an arm under Fenris’s shoulder to help him up.

Fenris groaned in protest,  but he allowed Anders to try pulling him to his feet. His body felt disjointed, as if he no longer recognized it—his limbs sluggish, heavy, and disconnected from his mind. The world around him flickered. His vision blurred, and before he could even process what was happening, the familiar sensation of phasing overtook him again. His body, passing right through the mage's arm as though he were nothing more than smoke. Letting out a frustrated grunt, his body collapsed back onto the cobblestones, the world spinning in a dizzying whirl. His head swam with vertigo, each breath sharp and ragged, the space around him stretching and warping as though reality itself was shifting.

Anders raised an eyebrow, “Well, that’s new... You’re really out of it, aren’t you?”

"I’ll kill you... later," Fenris muttered thickly, his words slurring together as he made a half-hearted attempt to push himself up from the cobblestones. Gritting his teeth as his hand reached out to steady himself, but his arm buckled beneath him.

“Sure you will,” Anders said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. He leaned in once more, and this time, Fenris managed to stay solid long enough for Anders to get a firm grip on him and pull him upright. “Come on. Let’s get you back to camp before you phase right through the ground, or something equally ridiculous."

“Shut up,” Fenris muttered, leaning against Anders more heavily as they began the slow trek back.

Anders huffed a laugh, his brow raised in mock disbelief as he shook his head. "I swear, you drink one potion and act like you’ve been through a keg of dwarven ale."

Fenris gritted his teeth, trying to push away from the mage, but his limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. “I... don’t need your help,” he slurred, though his knees buckled again, causing him to fall back against Anders, “I... can walk,” he insisted, his words thick and unsteady. Pushing himself back up he tried to take another step, but his body betrayed him, and he nearly tipped over again.

Anders's quiet exasperated laugh, “Oh, I see. You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Fenris made a growl of frustration in the back of his throat, but his body swayed and his steps faltered. “You—” He stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion, his gaze unfocused. “You’re... fuzzy,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as he tried to clear his blurry sight.

“I’m fuzzy, am I?” Anders teased, leaning in a little closer. He could feel Fenris’s unsteady weight pressing against him, and it wasn’t long before he had to loop his arm around Fenris’s waist again to keep him from toppling over. “Let’s get you somewhere you can lie down before you fall over again.”

Fenris’s brow furrowed even more as he tried to focus on Anders. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

"Oh, sure,” Anders replied, barely containing a laugh. “Fine. Just fine. We’ll see how fine you are when you’re flat on your face in the dirt.”

Fenris grumbled something unintelligible, though it sounded vaguely insulting. Anders chose to ignore it, focusing instead on guiding the elf back to their camp. Each step was a challenge, with Fenris leaning more heavily against him as his strength waned. Anders could feel the slight buzz of the lyrium energy still thrumming through the elf’s body, making the contact between them oddly electric.

It wasn't long before their small camp came into view, the campfire still flickering against the darkened horizon. Stumbling into the clearing, Anders guiding Fenris to the nearest bedroll with a sigh of relief. He eased Fenris down, the elf collapsing onto the bedding with a heavy groan.

“See? Not so bad,” Anders said, kneeling beside him. “You know, I think I’ll start labeling those potions. Big bold letters ‘Not for reckless elf use.’ Or maybe a big red cross. The fact the liquid is bright blue clearly isn’t enough of a warning.”

Fenris let out a faint growl, though the corner of his mouth twitched, barely curving into a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

"You call me that a lot," ANders laughed, almost as much as you tell me that I talk too much."

Fenris leaned back with a sigh, his head resting on the soft ground. His eyes closed, and he muttered one last thing before drifting off: “I’ll kill you in the morning.”

Anders stretched out nearby, his smirk never fading. “You won’t even remember this in the morning.”

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 08.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content. Word Count: ~16K Previous chapter: 07.

The light shone brightly through the large windows and it only took me seconds to feel the effects of a sleepless night. Minutes after getting out of bed, I wished I could crawl back and sink into the softness of my comforter and the scent of my lavender-sprinkled pillow.

Last night offered me no rest.

With each sip of coffee, memories of an eventful night came back to me in blurs. I could make out the unpolished lines on a man's face, whose filter had been diluted by whiskey and beer. He spoke without much thought for what he was saying, yet his words rang perfectly in my mind, echoing off the walls I had built up to guard myself against him and stinging me like a needle, striking deep within my soul.

I had no excuse to keep stepping back and forth.

It was time to step into his page. If he still wanted me to.

That feeling in my stomach, not the butterflies I would often associate with him, but the fear and regret, a guilt that shouldn’t have a place inside, far more bitter than the coffee I was sipping, left me shaken and a gentle peal of laughter rippled through my gut as if my consciousness was laughing at me.

My arms and legs were tingling, craving for movement to disperse all that energy and nerves I was storing up inside, but I had to console myself with a deep breath and the refreshing sensation of the cold pool water I was dipping my legs into, but it was late and I had a team call in a few minutes. I stayed on the edge of the pool for a while, gaze travelling between the horizon and the tiny waves my legs provoked on the water's surface when they moved and my attention all over the place, drifting back and forth to the memories of last night.

Before heading upstairs, I tried again. I took a deep breath, letting the air fill every corner of my lungs and hoping that when I released it, Carlos’ face, highlighted by the faint light, and the memory of his hoarse voice whispering my name, would be freed with it.

But they weren’t.

During my shower, my walk downstairs and even when I was logging in to the laptop to get my call started, it was still only him on my mind. His face, his plea, my name.

Eva.

Eva.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at my reflection on the screen. No one had logged into the call. My eyes drifted to one of the walls of the office and then to another, stopping on the shelf again.

The helmets, the books and photographs, the personification of a dream worth chasing.

I missed the thirteen-year-old girl I once was, whose only dream was racing and who was capable of doing everything to not abandon the track—back then, the first step was getting a seat in Formula BWM and racing Carlos again.

She never got it in time to race with him.

One morning we raced each other without knowing it would be the last. One morning, for the last time, we ran to the van, heavy backpacks on our shoulders and huge grins on our lips. One morning, for the last time, we got to lunch and proudly announced who had made the best time.

One morning was the last and maybe, with a bit of effort, I could find a date somewhere in my mind to pair it with, but I didn’t need to. Didn’t want to.

Even though we never raced for a real purpose and the winner never won anything but pride, we always gave it our all. The thrill of the competition and the passion for the sport strengthened the bond that the occasion had created. He was once just my brother’s friend, the neighbour boy that was, by chance, in his class, and so much more grew from that.

I’d fallen in love with racing at the same pace I’d discovered myself; his name and his face were a permanent feature in that process. Despite everything, he was part of me and my essence, especially the racing side of my identity.

And those helmets, the house, his words so full of hope, were making me find that side again. Find the girl I once was, that version of myself that time had taken away. I wanted to be that version, because of him and for him.

I grabbed my phone and searched for my dad’s last message.

“Morning. Get me a meeting with Deborah Mayer.” I sent him.

                                                        * 

As I packed my laptop into its case, vowing not to return to the office until the end of my vacation, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. The day was getting hotter and even with the walls providing some protection, the midday sun was oppressive.

I glanced out of the window.

The backyard and the terrace were completely deserted. The chairs around the gazebo table were exactly as we’d left them the day before and Ana’s towel still hung on the back of one of the chairs. I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the group were still sound asleep in their beds or if they were too hungover to venture out into the heat of the day.

I got my answer the second I opened the door of the office, as I heard the sound of my brother’s voice echoing down the hallway. It seemed that no matter the situation, they had found a way to have some fun.

“Good morning, sleeping beauties," I said cheerfully as I entered the living space where both couches were occupied by my friends. Rio was stretched out on the corner of the big L couch, eyes closed and head on a soft pillow, with Marjorie’s head resting peacefully on his shoulder. On the smaller couch, Ana was focused on her phone, scrolling through something with a look of intense concentration.

She glanced up at me, her expression worn out, but with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I think they fell asleep again,” Ana said, leaning over the coffee table to retrieve her mug. Two other mugs sat on the tray atop the tiny table; the aroma of coffee mingled with the ocean breeze wafting through the open windows.

I picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it in my brother’s direction. “Good morning!” I repeated, this time a bit louder.

The pillow was still in the air when Carlos stepped in from the kitchen, white polo and navy shorts adorning his frame. He hadn't shaved yet and his hair was still wet. The sun’s rays hit his face, making his eyes appear brighter and highlighting the tiny portion of green in them.

“Morning,” he said.

He was holding a green bowl. I could see bits of granola on the surface of a white substance, likely yoghurt. My stomach growled. I didn’t have much for breakfast and I was famished. I smiled at the Spaniard and turned my face to the couple on the couch, now awake and sitting upright. Marjorie's hair was dishevelled and dark circles were visible under her eyes.

"How's that hangover treating you?" I asked her, sitting on the armrest of the couch; Carlos sat on the other side of the couch, gaze fixed on the TV.

“Still alive, so that’s a good sign,” she gave me a weak smile and leaned her head against Rio’s shoulder once more. “But I’m definitely feeling it.”

"Yeah, you definitely look like you're feeling it," I said as my brother kissed her forehead and she giggled at her own disgrace. I glanced at the TV for a second, the silence bothering me. “Anyways,” my eyes wandered through the room. I thought Ana had fallen asleep, but she quickly moved her head when I spoke. “What are the plans for today?”

“We talked about hitting the course,” Carlos replied, his eyes not leaving the TV for more than two seconds.

“Golf?” I turned back to Rio, almost begging for a change of plans. “Isn’t it too hot for that?”

He pinched both sides of his forehead and then the bridge of his nose, indicating that I may have spoken too loudly. “It’s not like we can go to the gym or a ride in a boat in this state. We’re leaving in an hour or two. It must be less warm by then.”

"Oh..." I glanced out of the window. The yacht was swaying on the waves and the sun was casting a bright line on the ocean. "I think I'll pass, but have fun.”

“No, no way!” Ana intervened. “We’re all going. You’re not going to spend the day alone.”

The other three exchanged looks and I knew right away that they were in agreement. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"Fine," I said hesitantly. "I’m not playing, though.”

“Yes, you are!” Marjorie said, before yawning and stretching her arms up to the sky.  “I've already convinced these two to teach us how to play. You’re not bailing now."

I glanced over at Carlos, that just shrugged at me, and then to Rio. I couldn't help but notice the huge smile on his lips. He looked over at Marjorie, adoration clear in his eyes. “I married the right one,” he said with a satisfied nod.

"Golf it is, then," I said under my breath, defeated, and glanced at the kitchen archway. "I'll grab something to eat and get ready."

I turned on my heel, famished and frankly annoyed at the plans set for the day. The room had fallen silent again, with only the voice of one of the journalists on the TV audible. However, it changed when I stepped through the kitchen archway, as another set of footsteps followed mine. I spun around to find Carlos standing there, his empty bowl in his hands and the puffiness under his eyes setting a tired expression on his face.

My thoughts whirled around in my head. I had so many questions to ask him, ones that had been building up since last night and whose importance kept increasing. We were alone for the first time since the night before. I had every question on the tip of my tongue, but my courage slipped away. I didn’t even know if he remembered anything.

“You startled me,” I said before turning back around and entering the division.

The kitchen was empty and the only audible sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the chirping of some birds skirting on the window sill. While I walked to the refrigerator, Carlos stopped in front of the sink.

"There's a bowl for you in the fridge," he said. "I thought you might be hungry."

Oh?

"That's…” the gesture surprised me, but so many questions layered over the action. I forced a smile, not wanting to seem arrogant. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you."

There was a bowl in the fridge, with a generous helping of crunchy granola and dark chocolate chips floating atop the creamy yoghurt. Dark chocolate. His bowl didn’t have any dark chocolate. He added it to mine because he remembered I liked it.

“Hope it’s not soggy. You took a bit more than I expected.”

“They look fine. Thank you.”

Slowly, he turned back to the skin and started washing his bowl and a couple more mugs; I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on the image as I approached him to grab one of the spoons he’d just washed from the dish rack. His face turned toward me and seconds later the sound of the water faded.

I sat down on one of the stools of the island counter, my attention shifting between him and the cereal, incapable of allowing my eyes to sit on him. Every time they caught a glimpse of him, the memories of the night before would appear.

But he didn’t have such a problem.

I could feel myself crumble under his eyes.

“About last night,” he broke the silence, voice so low it made me drift into another frequency. “I had a few too many drinks. I need to apologize.”

“That’s fine. Don’t worry.”

But then he bit his lip and after a fast nod, he spoke again. "I just want you to know that I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I don't want to come between you two—not that I could."

I was expecting an apology, but the intensity of his gaze surprised me. He grabbed the kitchen cloth on the counter in front of me and meticulously cleaned his hands. I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No, we—” A pause. “I wasn’t—I didn’t— Nevermind.”

“I can… get you his number?" he offered, still cleaning his hands, his voice actually overlapping mine. “If you haven’t gotten it, yet.”

At this point, I don’t think we were even listening to each other. I paused for a moment, considering his words and waiting for him to listen to me. I knew he didn’t mean it. His clenched fits around the cloth told me that and much more.

I shook my head. “I don’t want that.”

Carlos nodded slowly, his expression puzzled. The line of his brows cast a shadow over his eyes. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“How many times do I have to ask you to not do that thing?” He frowned further. “Trying to read me. It feels like you’re actually inside my mind.”

He snorted. “Are you annoyed?”

I swallowed hard, the cereal was forgotten in front of me. It was clear that we were both tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, but I didn't know how to approach it. And, to be sure, I didn’t even know what it was, exactly. Was it the kiss? Was it his plea right before he fell asleep? Or was it simply the fact that we were both so obviously attracted to each other, regardless of anything else?

“I am.”

“Why?”

“How much do you remember from last night?”

“Enough.”

“Enough?” I tilted my head and he raised one of his eyebrows. “What does that exactly mean?”

“Means that I saw you kissing that guy.”

I nodded. “So you remember going there and asking me to come home?”

“I do.”

“So you should know why am I annoyed.”

“Eva, porfa—” He rolled his eyes, hands going to his hair and taking their time making their way through the strands. “What do you want me to tell you? I was drunk. Seeing him… You two together…”

“You have no reason to put on a show and get mad at me when you practically shoved me into his arms.” I took a long, deep breath. “And for a second, I was thankful when I saw you walk there, until the moment I understood why you were there.”

His eyes widened. “Thankful?”

“Are you that dumb?”

“You didn’t…?” I shook my head.

“No, you idiot.” I snapped at him. The deep shadow under his brows intensified, his jaw clenching at the same pace my words reached him. I could breathe the rage. “I didn’t want to kiss him. I probably gave him some mixed signals, but—”

“That fucking—” He mumbled, more to himself than to my ears and just as he pronounced those words, and I silenced mine, he took a deep breath. I didn’t remember the last time I heard him swear. “I’m sorry. I should have—”

“What?”

“Done something. I don’t know. I didn't mean to, but seeing you with him... I got a sense of possessiveness. I just wanted to take you out of there. For the wrong reasons?” he paused. “I’m not proud of it.” His eyes were closed, jaw locked and fits clenched. I bit the interior of my cheek, my stomach twisting in reaction to his affirmation. “And him… He’s not…”

“All this because you were so busy with some bimb—” He bit his lip, stopping his lips from curling into a grin. “Are you having fun with this?”

“I am, now.”

“What game are you playing?” He let go of his lip and his grin grew to its pinnacle. I had to take a deep breath to not say anything else. “Carlos.”

“What do you want me to say?” He shrugged. “Or else, to do? I can’t make it more clear, Eva.”

“We’ve talked about this. You’re not making this any easier. You’re being—”

“What?” He paused. “Selfish? I’m aware. I’m also aware you’re instigating every little feeling and emotion I tried to mute for years. I feel like I was fighting an addiction and now I’m on the verge of relapse.”

“You can’t—”

“I know I’m far from doing the right thing, but in two days you’ll be going back to Madrid and I’m not sure when or where I’ll see you again.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to feel like I missed my shot. Again.”

I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick, too heavy and the floor was tilting under my feet. The way he said it, the way his lips curled into a smirk. God. The war that I was waging between my body’s needs and my mind’s fears again pushed its way to the front of my mind as soon as he said those words—in his eyes, I could sense the same turmoil I felt inside.

“You can either reject me and let me go, or you can be jealous of anyone around me. You can’t do both.” He said, voice so low and horse, a hint of tiredness warring on his features. “You need to make up your mind, Eva.”

"It would be easier to talk about it if I hadn’t already."

                                                        * 

“You’re masochists”, I said as we arrived at the clubhouse as a group, finally hiding from the heat and the sun that felt unbearable during the small walk there from the parking lot. “And probably stupid if you’re really thinking about playing in this heat.”

“Let’s get her some clubs,” Rio said to Carlos with a wink, just as he put a hand around my shoulders and dragged me to the reception. Although I tried to battle my way out of it, I couldn't escape without a bag on my shoulder and a white glove in my hand. Carlos seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes twinkling as I pulled the glove onto my hand and did the strap around my fist.

“Suits you,” he said with a grin.

We made our way to the driving range and I was blown away by the sheer size of it all, from the magnitude of the manicured lawns and perfectly trimmed hedges of the green mantle ahead of me to the luxurious ambience that enveloped us. The sun cast a beautiful light over the grass and the air was dry and hard to breathe, but the shade of the driving range gazebo made it more tolerable.

“It won’t be so hot in here,” Carlos’s hand gently touched my lower back, as he guided me to one of the unoccupied benches in front of a free tee area. “Want something to drink?”

The rest of the group settled on the other benches and around the small green patches of grass. I looked around, absorbing the energy, wanting to be in the same frequency as all of them. Marjorie was far more excited than me and I certainly didn’t want to ruin the mood.

“A mojito,” I told him. It would definitely bring up my mood. “Or a mimosa.”

“No water?” I frowned at his question, quickly shaking my head.

“You want to stay here the whole afternoon and yet you offer me water?”

Carlos chuckled. "I'm sure we can find something like that around here," he said. “I’ll get you some water anyways.”

With a gentle nod, thanking him, I turned to the horizon, taking the opportunity to glance around the driving range, to take in the sights and sounds of the golfers around us and the white carts driving towards the 18-hole course.

"You're sure you really want to stay here?" I asked, turning my gaze back to him. Carlos had his arm and hand up, calling the attention of a young waitress. "I can go with you all out there, no problem.”

He frowned, shaking his head. "I want to stay here.”

“If you’re here just because I was complaining about the heat, we—”

“I’m here because I want to,” he paused, “and because Marjorie forced us to promise we would teach you two how to play.”

I twitched my mouth. "So you're really committed to that?"

"As much as you are to learning," he said with a wink, to which I just rolled my eyes.

“I think you’re mistaken. I just download two eBooks before coming here.” He laughed at my words.

The waiter eventually came over and Carlos ordered two fresh bottles of water and a mojito. The moment the girl left, he turned to me with palpable excitement. In his hands stood one of the clubs he’d grabbed from my backpack and, with a flourish, he passed it to me. I couldn't help but laugh.

“Wait,” I said and his gaze almost automatically looked up to meet mine. “Is all of this because I once called you professor?” I teased, whirling the club around in my hands. “Have you been dreaming about it ever since?”

Fighting a reaction, he just shook his hand towards the centre of the green patch ahead of us. “Come here,”  he ordered as he laid one ball on the tee, his voice holding some sense of authority. “Let’s start with the basics,” his hand motioned to the space between him and the ball. “Show me what you remember.”

My feet quickly took the same route his feet did before, making me stand between him and the small white sphere. Despite getting so close to him, close enough to hear the murmur of his breath, Carlos didn’t move.

“Can I help you with this?”

“Sure,” I said. Saddled with the pressure of his hands that quickly travelled to mine, I felt the warmth of his chest and the embrace his arms wrapped me in. After correcting my hands, he put both of his on the sides of my waist, moving them slightly. “You just need to bend the knees a bit more,” he indicated and my body responded with ease.

Carlos stepped away and moved closer to the bench. Enough to give me space, but close enough to me to remind me he was still here, which didn’t soothe my whole self still, which was left in disarray from the previous proximity. The wind blew gently, carrying with it the fresh scent of the ocean and the newly cut grass. Carlos's specs, perched atop his head, didn't prevent the breeze from lifting up the locks of his hair, blowing them back from his forehead.

“Relax the shoulders,” he instructed and with a nod, I shook my arms slightly, releasing the tension. “Go at it.”

Copying Marjorie’s gestures and recalling the lessons from my father years ago, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, feeling my body align with the club before I took a swing, the sound of the ball hitting the tee filling the air. I opened my eyes and saw the ball flying far away from me and my companions, who were cheering me on from the sidelines.

“Not bad,” the Spaniard said, passing by me to get another ball from the bucket. “Almost a natural at this.” He laid it at my feet and got up. “Next time, try to be focused on the ball and not the teacher.”

Something had changed. I couldn’t help but notice a spark of delight in his eyes or a hint of teasing in each of his words. There was a palpable energy between us, one I knew he was feeling too. I opened my lips to talk, a comeback already on the tip of my tongue, but with a sudden jolt, the sound of Marjorie’s club impacting the ball made him turn away.

"Oh my god!" She shouted, her eyes widening in amazement as the ball sailed across the sky, seemingly flying away. "Babe, do you see how far it went? Eva! Carlos! Did you see that?" She looked at me, then at Carlos.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight of Marjorie's joy. "That was good!" I said. "But don't get too cocky. I'm sure I can make my ball go farther than yours," I winked at her and turned to Carlos. "Make me better at this."

The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, lips shaping into a confused smile. He looked around and all it took was to look at Rio, whose expression instigated him to join in, for Carlos to shift his own. "Now you're interested?”

"As you said the other day,” Marjorie patted Carlos on the arm, as she walked towards the bucket of balls laying at Carlos’ feet. “All it takes is a bit of competition and Eva gets motivated."

He chuckled; a deep, throaty sound that made me smile. “I can see that. The goal is beating Marjorie?”

I shrugged. “The goal is to not totally suck at this.”

Carlos walked over to me, his strides were more conscious and assertive than before. “You beat Marjorie, you decide how, where and when to celebrate your victory. If she wins, we have dinner tonight.” I raised my eyebrow.

“How does that sound?” His eyes searched mine for an answer.

I met him head-on. “I can get behind that.”

“Good,” he seemed satisfied with my response, giving me only a gentle nod before gesturing towards the ball. Carlos stepped back, close enough so I could still hear his instructions and corrections, but far enough from the angle of my movements.

Glancing at the couple in front of me, I saw Rio move away from Marjorie and walk towards Carlos. Marjorie was looking down, holding her stance.

After positioning both hands on the pockets of his shorts, my brother glanced at me. “Ready?” I nodded. “Go ahead, girls.”

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t totally sure I wanted to win. Despite this, my heart beat rapidly in my chest and I wasn’t sure why. I faced the white sphere, my body inching forward. I closed my eyes and swung the club, feeling the tension leave my shoulders as the ball flew through the air. When I opened my eyes, I saw it soaring high, farther than I expected it to go.

With a loud thwack, Marjorie’s ball cut the sky. I wasn’t sure how to react when her ball flew higher and farther than mine. She knew exactly how to react, cheering in delight and wrapping her arms around Rio, who joined her to celebrate.

I glanced over at Carlos, his nose scrunched up as his eyes searched the green mantle in front of us, too bright from the direct sunlight. “That was impressive!” He clapped once, his enthusiasm adorable and contagious. He then raised his hand towards Marjorie, who was still giggling when she raised her hand to high-five him.

God, how can this man make this mildly interesting sport into something actually enjoyable?

“Yours was not bad, Eva,” my brother said, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I had to lift my eyes from where I was already bent down, preparing to place another ball on my tee, to look up at Rio. “But I’m sorry to say, I think this might be the first sport you will fall behind us in.”

I sighed and stood up, adjusting the pleads of my skirt. "Don't push it.”

Carlos chuckled, the sound bringing a sense of calm. "Alright," he said, patting my brother on the back before turning to me. "Ignore him and focus on me.”

Not difficult, I wanted to say.

Once again, he positioned himself behind me, this time not asking anything before his hands settled on my waist. I felt a slight shift as he adjusted my posture, the sensation of his fingers brushing against the skin of my thigh through the fabric of the cotton skirt.

"I don't think I need any more help," I said, my voice quiet, but he still remained close, his presence a tangible reminder of the tension that lingered in the air.

“I do,” a pause. He patted my thigh with two fingers. “Spread your legs.”

Oh.

Carlos was closer than I anticipated, his words brushed against my earlobe and set on fire a darker side of my mind that was awakened by that command. I complied; what else could I do? I would have taken over the world if he had asked me to.

“A bit more,” his fingers continued there. Then, he patted my skin once again. “Perfect. Now, your grip,” he continued. His voice was so stern and unwavering, I almost felt anger at his composure in this situation. Carlos moved his hands, now firmly on top of mine as he corrected the angle of my fists. “Keep them like this when you lean forward. Don’t bend them back like you were doing before.”

And he stepped back.

The scent of sandalwood vanished and the comfort of his chest departed with it.

It felt cold even under the almost 30-degree sun.

I leaned forward, turning my face in his direction, looking for his approval. Before giving me a slight nod, he regarded me for a couple of seconds. His eyes were set away from my face and not quite on my hands. Was he looking at me? At my ass?

“Like this?” I asked and his gaze quickly met mine. It was only then that he nodded.

“Keep your grip light, but not too relaxed. You need to have control over the club.” A pause. “Swing once or twice before hitting. Pronto?”

“Pronto,” I answered before shaking my arms and getting into position. “Ready when you are, Marge.”

Marjorie’s ball was the first to take flight, soaring away and disappearing into the bright blue sky. My swing took a few more seconds and, despite all the effort and focus I put into making it a great hit, a high-pitched cheer from my right made it clear that my drive was still not as impressive as hers.

“Closer, but not quite there, yet,” Rio said, a playful smile on his face as he glanced over at me. “If we hang around here for the rest of the day you'll eventually get the hang of it.” He paused and I turned around to go have a sip of the mojito waiting for me at a small table. “Or you just suck at this and no time in the world will be enough.”

I flipped him off, my lips busy with the straw, sucking in the fresh drink. Rio chuckled at my response and I rolled my eyes in response, a smile tugging at my lips. Carlos stepped forward and took one club from his bag, turning his attention towards Rio.

"Alright, let's see what you’ve got," Sainz said, shaking his head. "You've been talking a lot, but I haven't seen you do anything yet."

Rio's face lit up in response to the challenge, his competitive spirit visible in the way he stepped up to his bag and took one of the clubs. His strides were confident when he walked towards the tee, face scrunched up in intense focus.

With a steady swing, he hit the ball and it flew far into the horizon. He let out a satisfied “Ha!” before turning to his best friend.

“Show me what you got, Chili,” my brother said with a victorious grin on his lips.

Carlos raised his eyebrows, his expression one of amusement. "Sure you don't want to give me any advice?"

Rio shrugged and Marjorie walked towards me, taking one of the bottles of water the waitress had left near her stuff. As I focused on my sister-in-law, the banter from the guys filled the background. She sat on my bench and crossed her legs.

“You seem excited,” she said, her hand aligned with her eyebrows as she tried to look at me, positioned between her and the sun.

“You’re wrong. I’m being humiliated,” I chuckled and as a loud thwack filled the air, I looked back to see Carlos’ ball cross the sky. He winked at me before turning back to Rio.

Rio gave a low whistle, his eyes still on the horizon, and shook his head in wonderment. "That was some good stuff," he said in admiration. I turned back to Marjorie, but Rio’s words made me pay attention to him once more. "You found yourself a good teacher, sis. If only he was as good at teaching as he is at playing…”

Rio's words lingered in the air and I felt a sudden tension arise between Carlos and me. I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed for the way my brother had said it, but, as it seemed to be the norm, Carlos appeared unfazed.

"Eva is a tough one to teach," he gestured to the tee area. I left the mojito on its coaster and grabbed my club before walking towards him, ready to find out what he had in store for me. "She's a bit stiff, you know?" He continued, tapping my arms with his fingers. "These arms," he added, poking them gently, "and these abs," he continued, poking the sides of my waist, making me giggle due to the ticklish sensation. "They need work. She’s been lazy."

Marjorie looked at us with a crease between her brows and then at Rio with a more confused expression. Ana was also looking over at us and even from a distance, I could notice her confusion. The corners of my mouth instantly turned up in a self-conscious smile and I straightened my posture, still trying to process the giggle that had just escaped my lips.

Carlos, seemingly unaware of the commotion he had caused, guided me to the centre of the tee area and stepped back. He corrected some flaws he had noticed in my stance. “Three more hits. Make me proud,” he said

My heart fluttered at the challenge and I nodded in agreement, my mind set on not totally sucking at this game. If I couldn’t beat Marjorie, I wanted to be almost there. After another deep breath and a swing of the club, my eyes fixed on the ball as it flew away. When I opened them, the ball was soaring high and I let out a victorious hoot.

"That's more like it!" Carlos said, clapping his hands in approval. "Again."

I repositioned myself onto the tee, feeling a renewed sense of determination. My feet moved in place, adrenaline rushing from the handle and taking me whole. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and swung the club with all my might. The sound of the club hitting the ball filled the air and when I opened my eyes, I saw the ball flying far away from me.

"That was a great hit!" Carlos said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. He stepped forward and patted my back, his hand lingering for a few seconds. "Last one. It’s all or nothing.”

My determination was evident in my stance, but I gave him a gentle nod before I bent over to pull another ball from the bucket. The Spaniard stepped back, siding with Rio who, just like him, had his arms crossed over his chest. While Marjorie arranged her hat, tidying up the ginger strands of hair under the white brim, I adjusted the band of my skirt around my waist.

The faux leather glove was not comfortable and my hand was sweaty under the warm material.

“Ready?” Marjorie looked over her shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be,” I gave her a tiny smile.

All the distractions faded away, vanishing from my mind as my gaze fixed on the end of the field ahead of me. My arms felt relaxed yet in control. My focus was on the ball and the horizon and not on Carlos’ arms, which had been around me moments ago. Not on his low, warm voice against my ear. Not on his hands, on top of mine, handling me like a doll.

Joder.

Marjorie had already hit her ball and I was still there, my mind so preoccupied with pushing away all the distractions that the main one made me freeze in place.

Focus, Eva.

I took a deep breath and shook my arms, trying to get rid of the tension, but I was too deeply immersed in the warm comfort his presence had evoked in my body and the traps my subconscious had set up for me.

Maybe I never intended to win. The look on Carlos' face, the undertone in his eyes when he saw my ball fall into the grass and noticed Marjorie had won, giving him the privilege to control our night, made me wonder why I had even tried.

                                                        * 

“Olivia is asking for you,” Marjorie sat to my right, on one of the foldable chairs me and Rio had carried to the pier some day before. She handed me the phone, where my niece’s face was plastered into.

“Tia Eva!” Olivia, my three-year-old niece said, her hands extended to the screen and a huge smile on her tiny face, revealing her imperfect denture. Adorable.

"Hi there, baby," I said, waving to the camera. "Where's Grace?"

My mom, holding the phone behind the camera, pointed it to the other side of the room. There, my niece was sitting on the floor, playing with a pile of books. I chuckled, my heart melting at the sight.

"Are you two behaving?" I asked. My niece answered with two nods of her head, making her pigtails swing. "Is Grammie behaving too?"

She scrunched her nose and looked over the camera, probably at my mom. "Grammie gave us ice cream from the store.” After speaking, she quickly brought up her finger to her lips. “Don't tell Mom."

From behind the camera, my mother asked the same thing. Marjorie, just two steps away, had already heard it. Ignoring her mad face, I turned my attention to the little girl on the screen.

“Can you give a kiss to Grace for me?” Olivia's face lit up with a smile and she got up from the floor. “Liv, you don’t need to— Okay, you’re doing it now.”

Reaching Grace, Olivia got on her knees and planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead, whose face instantly brighten up. "Fatto!” She screamed from afar.

A shadow fall on my back and when I looked down to the corner of the screen to see who was shielding me from the sun, my eyes met Carlos' grinning face. His head was hovering just above mine.

“Hola, señoritas,” Carlos said with a warm smile and the two faces on the screen shifted to meet his gaze. “Your papa told me you asked about me. Here I am.”

“Chili!” Olivia shouted, while Grace just jumped in her place. Liv, the most easygoing of the two got closer to the screen, the excitement in her voice growing louder with each step. “Papá said your house is big and you have a boat, and a pool, and the whole sea.”

Carlos gave a hearty chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's true," he said, nodding his head in affirmation while taking the phone out of my hands. "But we’re not having much fun. This it's nothing compared to when I visit."

Grace shook her head, still seated in the back. “Grammie doesn’t have a boat,” she murmured with a sigh, her eyes wide with amazement.

My gaze turned to Marjorie, who was just smiling at the image of Carlos with her phone in his hand, walking around the pier and showing the Riva yacht to the twins. He seemed to be convincing them that we were not having too much fun and it was evident that he was succeeding in his mission.

“Does he visit a lot?” I asked Marjorie, my back meeting the back of the foldable chair again.

Her clear eyes drifted from the Spaniard and turned back to me. "Almost every time he’s at home." She paused and looked back at the image of Carlos, her voice softening. "They are crazy for him."

He smiled and his gaze shifted to me. His expression softened and I felt a warmth embrace me that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"I got that idea at my mom’s birthday party,” I said, still following his strides over the pier, the adorable sight and sound of his excited voice talking to the twins. “When I saw them so comfortably waking and being around him, Olivia’s tiny hand on his hair… my heart melted.”

“Of envy or—”

“Don’t be stupid,” she laughed and I hit her on the arm.

Marjorie turned her chair to me. I didn’t need to be a psychic to guess what she was about to say. “You’re getting along well,” and there it was. I rolled my eyes. “Although you almost tricked me last night, kissing the German guy.”

"Yeah, let’s not talk about that," I said, my gaze on Carlos and my attention on the sound of his voice carrying over. He was telling the twins a story, his intonation and gestures making it more vivid. Blue shorts, with tiny single-seaters printed on them, and a rose gold iPhone in his hand.

A gentle tug at my arm distracted me. I turned in Marjorie’s direction, only to find her smiling at me.

"You have to admit," she said, a soft glint in her eyes. "He's pretty charming."

And if it was a movie and he was aware of his cues, he laughed at something and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Carlos had a way of making everything seem so easy.

“Where is this coming from?” I asked her, “Why this sudden interest? Last Friday you were asking me to ignore him the whole week because you needed, and I quote, a nice drama-free week with your dearest hubby.”

She sighed. “I’ve seen the way you both look at each other and last night… I could have been drunk, but I clearly noticed how pissed he got when he saw you with the other guy.”

“His name is Uwe,” I added.

“Him,” she shrugged. “The second I saw Carlos’ face… I knew you were not telling me your whole story.”

I cleared my throat and tried to shake away the sudden feeling of being exposed, of the truth being unveiled. "Marjorie," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "We are just friends."

Her eyebrow raised and she gave me a knowing smile. "Right," she said, her voice softening. "That's what you two keep saying." She looked over at Carlos, her gaze lingering a bit too long, before turning back to me with a knowing smile. "The way you look at each other, though…” she let out a long, dramatic sigh. “The eyes, chica, they don’t lie.”

“Ugh,” I grunted, defeated, dragging my hands over my face. “You’re so annoying. What do you want me to say?”

Marjorie's gaze softened and she smiled. "I'm not asking you to say anything. Just be honest with yourself." She gestured to Carlos, who was still playing with the twins and nodded her head in his direction. "Look at him. What do you see?"

I sighed, my gaze still fixed on Carlos. He was holding the phone in one hand and the other was now in his hair. With slow steps, he approached my brother and sat by his side under the shade of the gazebo, the phone in front of them both.

“A devilishly handsome man in ridiculous swimming trunks talking on the phone with two toddlers and somehow sounding more childish than them.”

Marjorie smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "What I heard was: a man who, despite his tough exterior and terrible communication skills, is a gentle and caring soul who understands you, loves your family like his own, and is willing to put in effort for you.”

She looked at me with a victorious grin.

“Manipulative bitch,” I whispered under my breath, a comment to which she responded with a strident laugh.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Marjorie asked me with a playful glint in her eyes. She leaned back in her chair, the sun playing with her red hair, making it look like a flaming halo around her head.

“I think you do,” I said, my lips curving into a smile. “But it doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

“You’ll thank me later,” she said, her voice softening. “Now go talk to him.”

“Later,” I said, standing up and fixing the strings of my swimsuit. “We’re having dinner together.”

And before I turned around to make my way to the gazebo to talk with my brother who was, once again, alone, I had the opportunity to witness the almost impeccable “o” shape that Marjorie's lips had formed.

The sun was still high, but the dusky colours of the sunset were already starting to paint the firmament. My eyes scanned the surroundings as I traced the cement of the pier, the small rocks and the sand hurting the bare skin of my feet. I missed these long sunsets and the easy-going life by the sea. The casual conversations, the banter, the small routine we’d constructed for ourselves.

It was all so easy.

The warmth of the setting sun and the sound of the waves against the pier were the perfect background melody to the conversations that so easily flowed. My brother’s laughter mingled perfectly with the engine of the jetskis roaring in the distance. I touched his shoulder before sitting on an empty chair in front of him.

Carlos, sitting next to him, raised his eyes from his phone, his lips forming a faint smile. Marjorie’s iPhone was now balancing on Rio’s leg.

"Did they finally let you go?" He frowned, not quite understanding the question at first before realisation dawned on him.

"Your mother had to bribe them with ice cream, actually," he said, taking a sip of the Estrella Galicia he was holding in his other hand. "I'm sorry for stealing them away from you; I didn’t let you finish talking."

"Oh, don't worry about it,” I raised my hands, shanking them in front of me. “I talk to them every day, it's no big deal."

A gentle nod of the head and a raspy sound came from Rio, who cleared his throat. “Are you finally filling me up about the email I got from Dad?”

I paused for a moment. “Email? Actually, Dad’s why I came here.”

“Do you need me to—” Carlos stepped forward, pointing at the sea before standing up and taking Marjorie’s iPhone from Rio’s leg. “I’ll take this to Marjorie,” he said, his voice calm and assured. His eyes then shifted to me. “Can you be ready in one hour?”

Rio’s confusion was evident, as his eyes moved between the two of us. “For what?”

I shook my head in response, my eyes going back to Carlos, already walking towards Marjorie. “Not at all. Where are we going?”

The question lingered in the air, unanswered, as Carlos continued his journey towards Marjorie.

My brother seemed to notice the lack of response, looking between the two of us in confusion. “Where are you two going?”

Carlos only responded with a simple command. “Just grab a sweater then,” he told me. “I’ll be back soon.”

A feeling of uncertainty filled me as I watched him disappear down the corridor, leaving Rio and me behind. With his back now facing me in the shadow, I could see in full resolution the muscles glistening under the sun, the soft breeze lifting the dark strands of his hair up in the air. He sat where I was sitting a minute ago and before I could pay attention to what he was saying to Marjorie, Rio called for me.

I turned to him. “I don’t know either.”

But God, how I was dying to know.

"So then," he gestured with his hand. "The email…?”

“Right,” I exhaled and sat upright. “What email?”

“Dad sent me an email. You apparently want a meeting with Deborah Mayer?”

“I don’t know if it’s a fit, but The Iron Dames seem like a good first step to reenter the scene,” Rio nodded. “I’m looking at F3, too. I need to do something. Find a place. They can help.”

“Oh,” he moved in his seat, his hands landing on the armrests of the beach chair. “F3? Dad won’t like that. He started to ramble about you’re seat at WEC, and—”

“Rio,” my brother looked at me. “Don’t ask me why, but I want to do something. I want to do something. And I don’t care if Dad is behind me on it, but I can’t feel like this while racing. I’ve spent the last year trying to understand why I feel so… lost. I love the team, I loved The Challenge, but that was not what I was fighting for.”

“F3 is?”

“F1 is.” I paused. “F3 is the first step.”

“Eva, you’re aiming high…” he started. “I get it. You need to find your passion again. But are you sure this is the right move?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.

“And if he says no?”

“Why would he?”

We sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound of the sea lazily kissing the shore. I thought about my father and his expectations for me. Wondered what he said in the email he apparently sent to Rio. At that point, I hadn’t heard anything from my father after my text. I can’t complain about him. Dad had always been supportive of my racing career, but he also had his own agenda. He wanted me to be a champion and win races. “You either win or lose.” I heard him say time and time again. But racing wasn’t just about winning. Racing is not just about winning—it is about the thrill of the competition, the rush of adrenaline, and the feeling of being alive.

Rio knows that.

"I know it's a risk. And it could be a waste of money. And could go terribly wrong but—”

“Breath,” my brother said. Understanding writing in his eyes. “I get it. I was there once.”

“What did Dad say in the email?”

“It’s not worth it to repeat,” his lips drew a fragile smile. "It sounds like you've decided.” He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his Estrella Galicia. “What do you need me to say?”

The corner of my lip kicked up in a subtle way and his did the same, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You know… just that typical big brother stuff. You can always call me, you’re capable of that and so much more… I'll be by your side no matter what… " I said with a shrug, gesturing with my hands, imitating his Italian gestures that, for some reason, he had picked up from my dad to a degree that I hadn't managed. He chuckled softly, as though he had been privy to my thoughts.

Rio's eyes softened and he gave me a small nod of approval. "Of course, I will," he said. "You know I'm always here for you, Eva. Besides," he added. "I'm sure Carlos would be a great help too."

“I don’t want to go there…”

“What I mean is that he’s always been a great support for you before. You work well together, or— used to. He knows the field. He knows the people. He can help. Mayer can help you, but I’m sure you can also find some support in Ferrari. You’ve won their championship… But don't forget—Carlos is the one who got you interested in the sport in the first place." He paused and gave me a pointed look. "And he's the one who has been in the industry for years. He can give you great advice. Don’t be too stubborn. Use the help, open as many doors as you can." He reached over and squeezed my hand gently. "And you know I'm always here for you, too.” He paused. “See? I can do the big brother bullshit too.”

“So caring,” with an eye roll, I gently slapped his hand. “So, you think I won’t fuck this up?”

"You? Fuck it up? Nah, never," he shook his head and gave me a reassuring smile. "You got this."

The words lingered in the air for a while and I was at a loss for what to say. Motorsport-wise, Rio had been my rock ever since the first day I set foot on the track. Carlos had been there with him too, clutching my hand and making me laugh on our way home when things didn’t go as I expected them to.

Both of them had been there for more than ten years, supporting me on and off track. Better, we’ve been there for each other. And even if I’d lost a major pillar somewhere along the way, which hurt like hell, we were collectively working on rebuilding it.

A wave of gratitude washed over me when I laid my eyes on my brother. Reaching out, I grabbed his hand.

“Thank you,” I let out. “I’m sorry for not making it easier for you to have this same conversation with me months ago.”

Rio shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "It's okay. It's all part of growing up, I guess." He glanced around the pier, taking in the sight of the sun setting, the laughter of the others, and the feeling of warmth that filled the air. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I knew the island air would help you figure out a thing or two.”

The corner of my lips tugged up in a gentle smile as I looked at my brother, my hand still in his. On my palms, the warmth of his skin spelt a confirmation of his presence and companionship. I knew he was right from the moment I’d stepped on that plane.

Ever since then, I was invited to see the world from a new perspective and new paths unravelled in front of me. Whether I’d chosen to trace the right ones, I was yet to discover, but at least, I felt ready to try.

                                                        * 

The sun was still high, but the dusky colours of the sunset were already starting to paint the horizon. The wind was gentle and it brought the smell of the sea to my nose and played with my hair, which caressed my face.

My eyes scanned the surroundings as I traced the cement of the pier, the small rocks and the sand hurting the bare skin of my feet. I sat on the pier, my legs hanging down from it, toes pointed at the water, being kissed by the occasional splashes Rio provoked, riding Carlos’ electric surfboard a few feet away.

My brother’s contagious laughter mingled with Marjorie’s screams of joy, as she cheered him from a smaller boat owned by the Sainz. The other four accompanied her—Ana filming Rio, as he crossed the mirror of water effortlessly. I closed my eyes, my entire being encapsulated in that moment, and attempted to block out the nerves.

Carlos’ yacht, a gleaming beauty, moored in front of me. Its brown hull shone brightly in the sunlight and gentle waves kissed its shell. I just waited, impatient. My heart raced in my chest, filling me with a warmth that had nothing to do with the setting sun.

Every couple of minutes, I glanced at the other end of the pier, scanning the backyard and trying to see in between the branches of the trees, trying to spot him. Carlos had texted before I left my room, after brushing my wet, salty hair and exchanging my sun dress with wet patches around my breasts and sand trapped in the cotton fibres for a new, cleaner one.

“Wait for me at the pier. I’m a little late,” he had written.

And despite the fact that I’d replied to him with a breezy “No problems!”, I had a lot of problems.

It was Carlos who I was meeting, for a date at sunset, probably in his yacht, to discuss the feelings none of us seemed capable of wanting to hide or deny. My sixteen-year-old self would be dying for something remotely like this. That thought alone made me smile.

Raising my head and turning it to my right, once more wishing to end this waiting game, my eyes finally caught a glimpse of a man. Bare feet on the grass, a white t-shirt and navy blue trunks with the white Formula Ones printed on them, a brown wicker basket in one hand and a bouquet of daisies in the other.

I got up, my eyes never leaving the flowers and the man carrying them.

My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't help but smile as I watched Carlos approach me, a gentle breeze lifting his dark hair, his eyes twinkling.

"I’m so sorry, it took more time than I was expecting," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. He extended the bouquet of daisies in my direction. "I brought you these.”

I took the bouquet with my free hand. The other one was too busy clenching the fabric of my jumper.

"Thank you," I said, my lips curving into a smile as I brought the bouquet closer, inhaling its sweet scent. “What took you so long? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He raised the basket he was holding and crossed the distance between the pier and the yacht. “The food.” Carlos left the basket on one of the seats and came back to the end of the boat with his hand extended to me. “I thought we could enjoy a picnic at sea.”

My hand felt so light when I found his touch. His fingers wrapped around my hand so gently and effortlessly and he helped me get in. Then, his hands travelled to my waist, navigating me around. I laid down the flowers on top of the basket, the sweater on the back of one of the seats and leaned against it while Carlos got the boat ready.

Of everything I’d imagined for our dinner, this was not it. This was romantic.

The flowers and the wicker basket. The sweater and the breeze that became more chilly with each passing second. The smell of the food and the pastel colours that the sunset was bringing into the atmosphere. All of that transported me into a dream.

After undoing one more set of ropes and throwing them to the pier, where they fell with a silent thud, he turned to me and motioned to the seat in front, beside the one in front of the helm. I settled in before he reached the helm.

Carlos glanced at me before turning the key on the ignition. The engine roared to life, the vibrations rippling through the air, shaking up the loaded atmosphere. It felt so dumb. I felt dumb. I couldn’t look at his hands, steering the boat, without it bringing my whole body to the edge of self-combustion. To worsen my condition, I dared to look at his face.

Pure joy and excitement radiated from him. His clenched jaw and focused frown softened as the boat picked up speed and we cut the water with ease, away from the Sainz’s backyard. When I remembered to look back, the house was a blur and my friends were tiny dots in the sea.

Carlos was the only subject I could focus on.

The warmth of the sun soaked into my bones. The sky was painted with a beautiful hazy pink and pastel orange. Everything was bathed in a soft golden aura, my mind included. I smiled to myself, feeling so at peace with the world.

My anticipation dissipated as we were carried away by the motions of the boat.

The orange pastels reminded me of a drunk man and his words.

And the feelings he so easily brings out of me.

And the idea that if we were to fall, at least we would fall together.

Two high cliffs rose majestically to our left. The sun slowly set to the right, painting a beautiful tapestry in the sky with its golden hues, even if it was still far from touching the water.

It was magical.

The roar of the engine. The colours. The company.

Carlos cut the engine and the boat slowed down, the silence an eerie sound in the background. I allowed myself to take it in. My eyes roamed around the land, the steep cliffs and the houses planted by the sea, taking in the light, like lazy cats under the sun.

My attention was drawn by the man next to me, who took a step away from the helm and turned to me. The corner of my lips curled up into a small smile when I saw him sitting on one of the seats, back turned to the cliffs and eyes focused on me.

My fingers covered my face, my only shield against his piercing gaze. “Stop that, Sainz.”

He chuckled. “I’m literally just sitting here.”

I shook my head and laughed in response. "You know what I mean," I said. I took a deep breath and sighed. "It's really pretty around here," I said, my voice soft and my gaze turned towards the cliffs.

"Yes, it is," Carlos said softly, his eyes still on me. He paused for a moment before continuing. "The perfect place for a date, I'd say." His voice was light and teasing, but his eyes were serious like he was daring me to contradict him.

“This is not a date, though. Just a dinner.” The curve of his lips grew bigger and his grin wider. “But I know what you mean. Couldn’t be better.”

“Shall we eat?” Carlos suggested, getting up.

My eyes slowly drifted to the basket and the flowers on top of it. The bouquet was strewn around by the wind, its petals scattered, yet somehow still creating an organized chaos of its own. Carlos gently laid it on the white cushion of the seat and picked up the basket, carrying it to the back of the boat, where I watched him, still in silence. He then sat on the aqua-blue sun bed and motioned for me to join him.

Trying to be careful not to disturb his careful arrangement, I tip-toed around him and settled in.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, looking up at him with a smile, eager to be of assistance.

“No, sit and enjoy,” he replied, focused on his task. His eyes didn’t even lift to find me.

Wine, two stemless glasses, grapes, croissants and cinnamon rolls. In his hands, a glass container with figs and honey. He arranged the items carefully around the small linen towel he had spread, before unpacking the basket. My eyes followed each and every one of the movements.

“I didn't want to put pressure on you to get ready for a fancy restaurant, but I also didn't want to settle for a basic dinner,” he explained, holding up the bottle of wine. “Wine?” He offered with a hopeful smile.

“Oh, yes, please,” I replied, sliding my glass closer to him. Carlos quickly grabbed the corkscrew from the basket and opened the bottle of wine with ease, before filling in my glass. “Where did you get all of this?”

“The market from the other day. Went there to pick up some fruit and found a lovely bakery. I had to wait a long time for the croissants, though.” He filled his glass, as well. Only then I took mine to my lips. “They were still in the oven when I got there.”

“That way I can apologize to you for being late,” he looked at me, a small chuckle coming through his thick lips. Laying down the glass on the towel, I took another bite of the pastry. “These are so good.” I looked at the small croissant in my hands, and then back to him, again. His eyebrows were raised as he looked at me attentively, lips shaped in a smile. “You should go and get them for breakfast tomorrow as well,” I teased.

“Eh!” I chuckled in response to the indignation in his tone. “Don’t push it.”

"I'm just making a suggestion," I held my hands in front of me in defence and then extended my hands to grab a piece of cheese, which I popped into my mouth. Then, I took another sip of the wine. The fruity notes of the rosé filled my mouth. “Hum…” I swirled the wine around my mouth; so familiar.

“Good?” He asked, eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips.

“I know this one,” I reached for the bottle and read the label in front of the peony-pink liquid. “You’re getting better at picking bottles!”

"Yeah, I thought you'd like this one," he said, scooping a spoonful of the figs and honey. "I finally paid attention to your dad's lessons.”

"Really?" Carlos nodded in response, his eyes softening as he savoured the figs. I couldn't help but notice the way his lips glistened with honey, reflecting the light of the sun. “I’ll remember to tell him that.”

I turned my gaze away from him, towards the water and the cliffs towering behind him.

The atmosphere was so light that our words didn’t linger around us; instead, the conversation flowed like the breeze. We made our way through the food and the bottle of wine, getting lost in time and the casual conversation. The pastries were the central point of our interest, baked by the sweet old lady that owned a store not too far away from the house, which she had even wrapped in a pretty box for us. Carlos had left the box inside the basket, but just glancing at the small carton box and the purple ribbon around it made me smile.

Not because I was scared to touch the subject, but because I didn’t want to burst the bubble, we refrained from talking about anything outside of the contours of the island. We pretended to not know what lay behind the horizon. I thought that perhaps he felt the same feeling I was cradling inside my ribcage, the need to be locked in this private paradise, almost like a fort, shielding us from all of the chaos and uncertainty that was happening outside.

We both allowed ourselves to be swept away by the moment; the sun slowly setting behind us, the food slowly disappearing from the linen towel. We talked, we laughed, and we shared, just like two normal people, away from the eyes of the world, enjoying a moment of pure bliss.

It felt like a dream.

At some point, Carlos leaned back, supporting himself on his elbows, and scanned the sky, staring off into the distance. His eyes moved slowly across the horizon, taking in the setting sun and the array of colours that painted the sky. The light fell on his face, so golden, casting the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks. The soft, cool breeze gently whipped his hair. He must have noticed the way I had been looking at him because when he turned to me, a knowing smirk was on his lips.

"I'm planning on taking you out to a proper dinner, you know?" I raised an eyebrow at that and tried to stop the smile of anticipation from appearing on my lips. "The day you finally let me take you on an official date, I mean," he clarifies nonchalantly and lays lay down completely, the back of his head resting on his hands. "I'll wait.”

“Never thought you would be so patient, Sainz,” I teased while snatching a grape from the cluster in front of me.

The Spaniard smiled and shook his head. "You make it sound like I'm desperate," he laughed. "But I do have some patience." A pause. "I think it has its limits, though.”

My eyes scanned his face, my mind racing with thoughts of the night before. His poor behaviour and the words that had come out of his mouth without a filter. The dim orange light, being mimicked by the sunset now.

Hesitantly, I asked. “Where is the limit, then?” My throat felt so empty and dry, it surprised me that I didn’t stutter. “Did you draw the line at the whiskey and beer or—?”

He cut me off before I could finish, his body rose from the ground. “At the sight of other men holding you,” his voice resonated. I brought my hands to my tights. “I couldn’t stand one more second of that.”

Both of us fell into silence; the song of the waves sang louder around us. There was so much to say, but I just didn’t know where to start. I didn’t want to apologize for what I’d done. Period. But the silence and the image of his eyes growing darker by the second deepened in front of me. He was mad. Hurt, perhaps?

I looked away, finding comfort in the sunset.

Thoughts started piling up, coupled with questions I didn’t know if I wanted to ask. My mind wandered through all of them and I felt like I was lost in a maze, unable to find a way out of the mess we had created around ourselves.

Finally, Carlos broke the silence.

“I know you don’t trust me,” he said and paused. His voice was so deep, almost cracking at the end like his mouth tried to repel that sentence. I’d forgotten about telling him that, but the sad look in his eyes told me he didn’t. He probably remembered the words too brightly and, for the first time, I regretted saying them. “And… I know it’s been hard to have me around,” he leaned his head slightly, eyes dropping to my hands, resting on my tights. My palms started to sweat against the thin fabric of my sundress. His eyes met mine once more, so dark, with a weight sitting heavily above them. “All I can say is that I’m sorry for last night.”

“I—” I couldn't bring myself to say anything; my words were just dumb mumblings, whispers I wasn't sure he could listen to. “Don't—”

If he did listen, he ignored them.

“Also,” his expression was rigid. His eyebrows were drawn together and the deep shadows under them seemed to intensify his gaze. “I'm not going anywhere.” It felt like a promise.

I searched his face for any trace of anger or disappointment but found none. After he spoke, his features softened and a hint of vulnerability pierced through. That subtle hint almost got lost in the firmness of his words. It wouldn’t be fair to shield myself. I shook my head left and right, eyes roaming the sky and the empty bottle of wine, afraid of meeting his. The words disappeared when I thought I had them on the tip of my tongue, the beating of my heart ricocheted inside my heart to the point it seemed unbearable to sustain.

Each word seemed like a corner I was not sure I’d gotten the best line for.

“I didn’t go dance with him to get to you.” was the first thing I brought myself to say. “Maybe I did, in a way. It—” I corrected myself so quickly he didn’t have much time to react. He just nodded, simply nodded. No smile, no… nothing. He just patiently waited. I took a deep breath and cleaned the palms of my hands on my tights. “And the kiss?”

Once again, he frowned.

“I am the same person I was before him. Before he touched me, before he kissed me.” I shrugged. It was simple, in my mind. “Nothing changed with that kiss. But, with you…?” I brought my eyebrows together. How could he not see it? Or feel it? “All it took was to see you. That night, in Mugello… Seeing you…” Words fled again, emotions pilling up inside. “My world shifted in place.”

The air felt heavier, my words weighing down the atmosphere around us but freeing my chest from all the pain. At that moment, I felt myself hovering between two different worlds, blind to reality but too grounded to see ahead. I kept going.

“After all that time, I thought… I thought it was gone. The feelings, the longing… I thought I'd come to terms with the fact that you were no longer a part of my life. But I never did,” I paused, taking a deep breath as I tried to process the emotions running through me. I looked down at my hands, remembering how many times I remembered the night we fell asleep holding hands. How many times I'd wish to have him holding my hand. How many times I’d wished to have him there, just there—under the podium, sitting at the table in the place we'd chosen for him or in the airplane seat we'd booked just in case he could find a way to join us.

The memories hit me like a wave, washing over me with an intensity that I hadn't expected.

“You brought everything back. Good and bad,” I cut off and looked at him, my vision blurred by the tears in my eyes. Rage and pain sided with the fondness I felt for him. “There was no way I could have just kissed you and gone back to living my life like before.”

I hadn't realized Carlos had moved closer until I felt the warmth of his cologne and the weight of his hand on the cushion closer to me. My eyes wandered down to find his big hand next to mine, his fingers not daring to touch my skin. I looked up at him and he opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly raised my hand, asking for just one more second of his attention. His lips closed and his eyes squinted slightly as he waited patiently for me to continue.

My eyes hungrily lingered on his lips, my body fiercely battling against the strong desire to close the distance and kiss him at that very moment. I then looked up again, drawn in by his eyes that seemed to swallow me whole.

"I know it would ruin us if we just kissed.”

And then: silence.

Comfortable, but heavy. I’d let it out. There was nothing holding me back. I’d said it. My mind had finally unravelled itself and God, it felt good. He, though, was still holding everything inside. I could see it in his eyes, searching for mine, almost desperate.

To be honest, I didn’t know what I expected him to say.

But somehow, he knew what I was waiting for.

“Does this make me selfish?” I felt the tingle of his fingertips on my thigh, but I wasn’t able to look anywhere but his eyes. Carlos’ hand travelled up, fingers softly touching my arm, my whole body awakening in response.

“What?” I whispered, my eyes dropping for a second to look at his hand.

He waited for me to look up at him. Then, he answered. “Wanting you this badly.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say or do anything and the mere idea of looking away from him seemed wrong. His gaze held me captive, never leaving mine. Carlos gently took my chin between his thumb and index finger and his eyes darted downwards to my lips.

His thumb traced small circles near my bottom lip, each one coming closer. I could feel the warmth radiating from his touch, making my heart flutter in anticipation. His thumb slid through the extension of my lip, coaxing it open, and I found myself gazing into his eyes, longing for him.

“Eva,” I closed my eyes for a brief moment, my head tilting at the sweet sound that was my name coming out of his mouth. “I don’t care how much I want you, how much I want this,” he stared hungrily at my mouth. I swallowed dry. “I won’t do anything that could taint a moment I’ve been waiting for so long.” He paused. “Years, Eva. I’ve been waiting for years. I can wait a couple more weeks.”

“No,” my hands wrapped around his forearm, holding it in place, reacting against the idea of losing that touch. “Don’t wait any longer,” I heard my own voice, yet it felt distant and unfamiliar.

Something shifted in his eyes. The sensation of his fingertips became warmer, the sensation of his heartbeat against my fingertips became more tangible and all of a sudden, I was more aware of myself and everything he made me feel—the effortless feeling of belonging, the immoral desperation he awakened inside me.

Dear God, how much I needed him.

My lips eagerly accepted his, driven by a need like no other. I needed him like water, like salvation for my desperate soul. The kiss was so gentle, but it still sent ripples of electricity through my body. So slow. Patient. Passionate. I felt my body tremble as his touch swept into my very being—the warmth of his lips and the brush of his tongue, the hands that so quickly travelled to find my waist and pull me closer, the inebriating effect of him. Purely him.

“Are we ruined yet?” He whispered against my lips.

“Not yet,” I felt him smile. My chest imploded on itself. “Kiss me again.”

“Gladly.”

With no hesitation, the distance between us was once again bridged. The intensity grew – his hands moved with urgency, pulling me into his lap, and mine followed suit, mapping a trajectory from his chest, along his shoulders, to the nape of his head and hooking around it, craving the intimacy of his proximity, of his touch.

I felt dizzy with the delight of being lost in his embrace.

And although it seemed like an eternity, one so easy to bear, I could only hope for it to be prolonged even more. Time seemed to stand still and the world around us faded away as I felt his lips tenderly brush against my own again and again. His hands were like a vice, holding me close as his tongue began to explore my body, from my mouth to my neck, tracing his way across my collarbones. His tongue was like velvet against my skin.

When we parted and I looked at him, a newfound intensity shone in his eyes. Carlos held me close, his thumb caressing my cheek softly, his eyes wandering from my eyes to my lips and then back to my eyes again. A gaze so intense, so powerful it could permeate through the barriers of my mind and read my thoughts.

Take me, I wanted to say. Make me yours.

Instead, I begged him in silence, eyes on his, while my fingers cruised towards the neck of his t-shirt and pulled it off in an exasperated attempt to fulfil the wishes I couldn’t bring myself to comprehend.

He was there, flesh and bone; his cologne inebriating me, his lips adoring my skin, his hands taking ownership of my body. But I needed more. As I glimpsed his bare chest, I couldn’t help but reach out and let my fingertips meet the tanned sculpted skin and slide them through it. So warm, almost burning.

Carlos kissed my shoulder, his lips making a trail along my neck and fingers pulling down the strands of the dress, which gracefully fell on my lap. Patiently, his hands traced the curves of my body, stopping when he reached my ass and, groping it, he pressed me against him. I felt my breath catch in my throat as he slowly moved his hand lower to my tights wrapped around him, tracing the curves of my hip, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

And then up again, roaming the line of my spine, stopping when his fingers met the string of my bikini. I slid my hair across my left shoulder, halting the golden waves from disturbing him.

His fingers left my back.

The tension of the string lessened.

A cocky smile appeared on his flushed lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

“No.”

His eyes sparkled and his tongue wavered on his lips. I moved my hips in his lap, my hands on his biceps and slowly making their way towards his back.

“Neither do I, love. I wanna kiss every single inch of your skin,” he breathed the words on my skin. His lips moved to my neck, tasting me and pushing me further into him; in response, my body quivered and the grip of my fingers on his skin intensified.

The idea of marking his perfectly sculptured back made the arousal in me intensify to new heights; just thinking about it made my hips move on their own. God, how desperate. A moan slid through my lips when I felt him harden under me. He grunted, hands groping my ass and incentivising my movements.

“You smell so good,” I breathed in as his words met the skin of my chest. The faint touch of his nose traced lines on my chest until he stopped in the middle of my breasts. “I bet you taste even better.”

A breath escaped my lips when he eagerly grabbed my breast, slightly groping it before his thumb swiped away the fabric. My chest rose and fell with every brush of his lips against the skin that he so softly kissed. I slid my hands up to his hair after I untied the knot of the bikini at my back and removed my top.

My head fell back, taking in the last light of the day; lips parted, eyes closed. Fingers lost in the soft strands of his hair, holding his face closer to my chest. The waves roaring around us fell into silence as they rocked us into oblivion. From my lips, a whisper escaped —his name, in a way I'd never pronounced it before and my breath hitched when his tongue, moist and warm, reached my nipple. My voice was so light, it felt heavenly in my own ears. The grunt he let out confirmed to me that it had resonated in the same way with him.

“Eva,” I looked down, heart pounding in my chest. He was looking at me, eyes so dark they made me whimper.

“Hm?”

“We can’t do this, cariño. I wasn’t counting on this,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and pleasure.

His hands, now planted on the small of my back, sent a wave of warmth through me. I tilted my head. The idea of stepping back after feeling his body pressed against mine, after having a glimpse of what it would be like, was too much to bear. Almost incomprensible.

I just shook my head. “I’m—” I stumbled in my words, unable to ignore the feeling of his arousal against me. “We can… work it out, I guess.”

I wanted to explore the urgency and the energy that seemed to control us so effortlessly and find out where it could lead us. My lips met his once more and Carlos offered no resistance. On the contrary – his hands wrapped around my body once again. My own anticipation was building as I moved my hips in circles on his lap; his chest heaving in response.

It was too tempting to resist.

“Joder,” he said softly, his grip on my ass growing tight. “You’re going to make me cum in my trunks if you keep doing that.” His words were filled with a desire that I could feel in every inch of my body as if it was radiating from him.

“Ask me to stop, then.” Don’t. “I will.”

He closed his eyes and his hands moved to my waist, encircling it in a tight embrace as if to keep me still. I wanted him to let me keep going, to let me come on his lap and collapse into his chest. I tilted my head and looked at him, my confusion growing as I studied his countenance. He cupped my face after opening his eyes and I saw within them a myriad of emotions - darkness, strength; an almost lividness.

"I think I might be ruined," he said with a hint of resignation in his voice, but I could also sense an underlying tone of defiance, as if he didn't care what the consequences might be.

The world spun around me as he turned me around, laying my back on the sunbed. He stood as a silhouette against the sunset, his face nothing but intense shadows traced with gold. His lips met mine again and this time it was nothing like before. It was violent and passionate, full of hunger and desire, a wave of lust that swept away everything that was left in my mind.

Our bodies were a mess of passion and desire, too caught up in the moment to truly appreciate what we had. The feelings and emotions that had been stored inside me for so long were now being released, like a raging fire that threatened to consume me whole. The same energy was emanating from him; his hands and lips clung to me with the same intensity I wanted to plunge in myself.

I drowned in the moment, basking in him, his essence, his touch and his voice that spoke so deeply in my ear.

"What should I do to you?" He whispered before biting my earlobe.

“Everything,” I said, my voice a whisper. “Do everything.”

He chuckled softly and his embrace tightened around me, enveloping me in his warmth. I felt his lips gently brush against my neck and then move down to the curve of my shoulder and the swell of my breasts. His hands moved up and down my figure, as if he wanted to remember every curve and line of my body.

A trace of fire seemed to course through the same lines he traced, moving lower and lower. In response, my muscles contracted and goosebumps appeared over my skin. I had to take a deep breath when he reached my belly and his fingers traced small circles there instead of continuing lower.

"Everything, huh?" A husky voice left his lips before he planted a gentle kiss on the sensitive skin of my abdomen. I could feel myself melting into the fabric of the sunbed beneath us, as his fingers explored further and his lips followed behind them slowly. "What about we start with this?" He continued, lust in his eyes as he looked up at me.

I could come from the view alone—his deep brown eyes looking intently into mine; his shoulders pushing my legs further apart and carving a place for himself in the gap between them. The sensation of his beard in between my thighs sent a shiver through my body, the prickly sensation making me succumb to his touch. The way he groaned when my fingers ventured into his hair, pulling on the dark strands the second I felt his fingers inside me.

Each time he looked up, lips glistening with my own pleasure and eyes as dark as I have ever seen them, I thought I was imprisoned in some wet dream.

It was ridiculous the way my body reacted to him.

My hips moved up, trying to get more of the pleasure he was offering me and he promptly responded to my movements and demands; his tongue leaving faster and fingers working inside me as if his only purpose was to please me. God. His persistence made my body tremble and my lips part each time the pleasure metamorphosed itself into moans and whimpers.

In front of me, his torso was elevated and the broad shoulders and torso cast a long shadow over me. All at once, his hands were gone and the emptiness his fingers left behind made me whimper softly. He leaned down, his hand sliding to my neck, thumb pressing lightly against my chin.

“I was right, you know?” With a gentle force, he made me look up at him. “You taste so good.”

When he kissed me, I could feel it in my own mouth. Honey and wine and me. On this man’s lips.

I heard the muffled thud of his trunks hitting the floor and my eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of his aroused state; his erection was a deep crimson and in a state of need. I felt my own desperation rising and tried to press my thighs together in an attempt to quell it. Carlos’ lips curved in a smile and his hand searched for mine, pulling it to his hardness; his large, strong hand enveloping my own, guiding me to provide him with the pleasure he sought. My other hand moved to my own pleasure, my fingers desperately trying to fill the hollow Carlos had left.

“If you only knew how many times I've done this alone,” he said, “thinking of you. Wishing for you.”

His slender fingers entwined with my own, sending a thrill through me as he demonstrated his desire. I felt my own growing with each passing moment, desperation rising inside of me; a deep and primal passion taking hold.

“Please,” my voice elevated itself over his.

"Please, what?" I sighed, my head leaning to the side in a plea. Carlos grabbed my wrist and forced my hand to rest on top of my thigh. "Use your words," he said firmly. "Tell me what you need."

I could feel my body quivering, my need for him tangible. I wanted him. I needed him. I needed to end this longing and this need my body was screaming to get rid of. "I need you," I said softly, my hips moving down to make the need even clearer. He let go of my hands but still stayed close, his pre-cum clammy on my fingers.

"You know what that means," Carlos murmured, his body hovering above me. He supported his weight by placing a hand next to my head.

My eyes pleaded with him. "Carlos, please," I begged. More than anything else, I wanted him to know that this was not a mere request but a desperate plea for him to fill the void I was feeling.

He didn't let me wait for long. In one swift move, he was inside me and I gasped at the sudden pleasure. His hands moved from my waist to my hips, pulling me closer to him and I could feel his length entering me further and further. He was as needy as me.

Slow, steady thrusts that made my body and soul melt into his.

Each movement or brush of the wind against my skin had a different effect on me. Pleasure rose with each passing moment. My hands reached for his shoulder, my nails digging into his flesh, desperate to hold on.

The hoarse moans he let out resonated deep in my bones, fueling my own.

His thrusts became more urgent, pushing a little further each time in a rhythm completely new to me, yet feeling like it had been written in my veins since birth. Pleasure slowly built up until I was sure I couldn't take anymore, until it felt like the desperation rooted deep inside of me was unravelling each seam of my body, longing for escape, for relief. When the moment came, it simultaneously felt like being pulled under the waves and the first breath of fresh air after staying underwater. I felt the tension snap and uncoil slowly like molasses, chipping away at my consciousness until I was light enough to float with the breeze. All I could see were stars, efflorescent in the purple haze of the sky. All I could feel was him, solid and present and only mine in this very moment. I couldn't help but call out his name.

"Just a bit longer, love," he said. "Just need a bit more. Can you take it?"

In response, I just nodded, my eyes still closed, taken by my own bliss. My cries of joy echoed through the night, growing louder and more intense as he continued relentlessly, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of euphoria. I felt like I could come again, the sensations never-ending. With each stroke, I felt myself tremble with pleasure and my breath came in desperate gasps as I tried to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts.

An emptiness struck me when he pulled away quickly, a whimper escaping my lips at the right instant. I slightly opened my eyes, admiring him in between my lashes. The wistful look on his face, his parted lips, his eyes that didn't leave my body for a second. His fist wrapped around his erection as he jerked himself to completion sending a shot of lust through me.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed. "So beautiful."

He groaned again, and I felt the heat of his orgasm on my belly. He looked down at it with awe. A smirk painted his lips. Eyes dark with lust.

My fingers gripped his shoulders as he bent his head to kiss me. Our lips touched, once, twice—soft kisses that became more intense, deeper, hungry. His tongue danced with mine, a tango of passion and need. His tongue danced with mine, helpless and desperate. I wrapped my fingers around his back and dug into his skin. A shudder ran through him under my hands. His cock was still between us, stiffening again as he kissed me. The smell of sex and male musk was thick in the air and I couldn't help but feel intoxicated by it.

He pulled back to see my face and caught his breath at the sight of me. A smirk spread across his lips as he rolled off me slowly as if just realizing what we had done. His eyes darkened with lust as he traced the patch of wetness on my belly with his finger.

"What the hell did we just do?"

I felt my heart race at the simple words and my stomach flutter at the intensity of his gaze.

"I believe we just ruined us for good.”

"Oh," he got closer still, pushing me to him and wrapping me in his arms. My body settled comfortably in his embrace, my skin finding warmth in his chest. "Not for good, love; just until we do this again."

I don’t know how much time we spent like that, catching our breaths and allowing the pleasure to slowly dissipate until all that was left was the warmth of his embrace and the sound of the waves crashing against the shell of the boat, but I was sure I could live in that moment forever.

Sooooooooooo, that happened. As always, this is the part where I thank you for all the support and please never stop speaking your mind. I love reading your reactions! And send me questions if you have some!! First (of many) smutty chapters. Hope you enjoyed it.

Happy Easter to those who celebrate! As always, sending you all the love!

[seonghwacore]

🏍 AKIRA-ISH MOTION BLURRED LIGHT EFFECT (or the cooler name, ✨Rear Sync Flash effect✨)

as requested for my carrot kid @renjunniez (and everyone) <3

⁕ Tool: Photoshop 2021 (PS)

⁕ GUIDE:

1. Open/place your picture of your choice on PS. For this set, I took a screenshot from the MV using VLC. Didn't bother to take it from VS.

You need a black & white picture with dense shadow/black shade and focused highlight to achieve this effect. If your base is as colorful and bright as a 4 year old's imagination about the world of unicorns, you gotta need some adjustments. The effect still appears but give a totally different vibe. I put an example at the end of the tutorial.

2. Then, do the basic sharpening and resizing for the base layer. I crop them to 540x540px.

3. Copy the base layer and delete the sharpening smart filters. Double click the layer to open Layer Style panel.

On General Blending, change the Blend Mode to Lighten. On Advanced Blending, uncheck the Green (G) and Blue (B) channels, so you'll be left with Red (R) channel. And then, move the picture to the right because you want the red shadow to "trail" Seonghwa (your subject)'s movement.

Your pic will look somehow like this:

4. Go to Filter > Blur Gallery > Path Blur. The default option is usually Basic Blur. Change the option to Rear Sync Flash.

Now, you have to decide the direction of the "red trail". This is quite tricky because it's better if you apply the blur with the subject's real movement in mind. In this example, I imagined Hwa was swaying to the left in slow motion as he restrained from being dragged away. So, my path's starting point is from the left.

Once you've decided, click on a random point to pin a starting point and stretch the arrow to your desirable distance. You can also curve the arrow to give a more, well, fancy direction.

I set the Speed to 146% and the Taper to 17%. Uncheck everything else.

*Hover over the word "Speed" and "Taper" to know what it'll do to your pic

**If you wanna know more about Rear Sync or Rear Curtain Flash in photography [x]

5. After this part, basically you're free to do whatever with your gfx. These steps below are OPTIONAL.

5-a. First, I adjusted the lighting and contrast.

5-b. Then, I added text.

5-c. After that, I placed a lined texture. I set the blending to Overlay with 82% Opacity and gave it a Basic Blur effect from Path Blur. I definitely just fuckin around with this step and found out that it changed the opacity of the lines depending on where it's applied on: shadow, midtone, or highlight parts.

5-d. Lastly, add grains texture

Et voila! You'll get this effect 🤩

Now, if you have a bright, colorful pic as the base. For example, I use this The Real Hwa dontevenaskmehowmanypicsofhwaihaveinmyputer. The "highlight" part (the sky) is surrounding the "shadow" (Hwa in hanbok). Then, I applied the same effect.

Still slay but definitely not as "dramatic" and intense as the dark mode version. Kinda lose the purpose of the trail to me. HOWEVER. I encourage you to fuck around and improvise 👍

Hope this helps!

[remy2fang]

I wrote about this on Twitter, but I might as well post it here too and elaborate.

M. Bison’s hat is in the new SF6 Ed stage and it’s missing the golden Shadaloo emblem. It’s because F.A.N.G took it and wore it as a necklace. For those who read the Feb 2018 three-parter story TOXICITY, it’s been stated that F.A.N.G wanted to revive Shadaloo and M. Bison, in which he thinks the former leader of the organization is not truly dead. He tried to find resources to fund his efforts. Fast forward to late September 2023, F.A.N.G’s plan still tracks as seen from A.K.I.’s arcade mode and by talking to NPC “FANG” Fei in World Tour. F.A.N.G wearing M. Bison’s emblem around his neck is a reminder that he has a purpose to fulfill.

Now you might notice something different with the emblem between the two F.A.N.G illustrations, even though both are supposed to depict the same time frame where F.A.N.G first met A.K.I.. The 2018 version has the emblem clearly drawn with the Shadaloo skull and wing (I don’t know where the other wing went). The 2023 version from the A.K.I. memory art, although highly detailed, the emblem looked simplified. The necklace doesn’t look like a Shadaloo emblem anymore. It only has a vague shape of it. I only noticed this after seeing this gorgeous A.K.I. and F.A.N.G fanart back in the beginning of December of last year:

https://twitter.com/yoooou_know_who/status/1730868640214561227?s=46&t=iEGeYIIN_aP028wRnoVcUQ

I take it that the fanartist probably used the A.K.I. memory as reference to draw F.A.N.G. I don’t know if the artist read the Toxicity story. Most people didn’t read it anyway considering how many people thought F.A.N.G died until the A.K.I. dlc dropped.

Anyway, there are some conjectures why the 2023 version is like this. Maybe the artist just wanted to simplify the shape of the emblem because “so and so” reasons, maybe laziness, despite the entire artwork being super detailed in everything else. Another reason could be that they retcon the emblem and have F.A.N.G wear something else.

What do I think? I think the art direction of the 2023 illustration wanted to obscure the image of the emblem because they don’t want to give everything away story wise, which seems most effective towards those who never read Toxicity. The devs probably wanted to save more storytelling for later. That is why in the base game we don’t hear much about Rashid, A.K.I., Ed, nor Akuma, because that’s a story to tell when these characters come out. And from the sounds from the A.K.I. dlc, not everything has been said about F.A.N.G either. A.K.I. didn’t mention about her master’s Nguuhao dagger even though is was written to be a big deal in the Toxicity story. She didn’t even mention about Shadaloo nor Bison in her memories…that is until the avatar has to do a mission for her because she got a message from FANG to look into Shadaloo. Still, she never said Bison’s name. She seems to view these things as tasks for the job. Hmm…it might be no wonder that the emblem looked blurred. All A.K.I. could think of is her life story and F.A.N.G lol. But F.A.N.G for sure likes Bison and OG Shadaloo.

With the reveal of this new stage, it gave people hope that Bison and/or Seth might return in SF6. I don’t doubt that. There are indications for their return and it’s great that people are excited for it.

For me, when I saw Bison’s hat without the Shadaloo insignia, it all comes full circle from the F.A.N.G-centric Toxicity story. F.A.N.G indeed took it and wore it around his neck. It’s only a matter of time when either he or someone else explains about the missing insignia. Because of Bison’s hat on the stage, I now have Sign #14 that F.A.N.G might return playable lololol.

Now let me pour more of my running thoughts here. I have a feeling that F.A.N.G had something to do with the ruined Shadaloo lab. He must’ve placed Bison’s hat on the chair after taking the insignia. The lab equipment seems to be working too. Remember, F.A.N.G was trying to fund the revival project as mentioned in Toxicity. I think this is the result of it.

Sure, it could be someone else who placed Bison’s hat on the chair, but I don’t know who else is as passionate about Bison and Shadaloo other than F.A.N.G himself. Balrog only cares about money and even worked for the Illuminati during SFV. Vega doesn’t seem to care about Shadaloo either and Sagat doesn’t want anything to do with the organization anymore. The Dolls are free and want to live ordinary lives. There are some Shadaloo henchmen that are loyal to Bison from one of Rashid’s missions. Since these lackeys were targeting Rashid, they might be affiliated with F.A.N.G because he’s the one character who has a major grudge against him…but who knows, they might be JP’s allies instead. Though, one could say that Juri Han might’ve set the entire thing up. Revive Bison and finally enacting revenge against him. She always wanted that anyway lol.

[imminent-danger-came]

What do you think of the resolution of the Samadhi Fire arc?

I'll take this to mean the "Embrace Your Destiny" special, which effectively closes what I consider to be the first arc in Lego Monkie Kid!

Between liking it as a finale and liking it as set-up for the next season, I decidedly like it as set-up more (but there is plenty to enjoy about what they answered/resolved). I think the 3x13 flashback gives a lot of depth to LBD (which is then later paralleled to by Azure), and it answers a couple questions along the way, like: why? Why did the Lady Bone Demon do any of this? Why was she in her prison? Why is the Mayor in league with her? And ultimately, what is her destiny?

As far as those questions go, I liked the answers the show gave and how LBD's defeat was ultimately brought about (through standing together and with that unity bringing about hope/the future, something that was contrasted by MK's s2 arc and supported by 3x08 and 3x10, doing it together vs doing it alone).

The final confrontation of ideals is beautiful to me, boiling down to perfection vs imperfection (chaos?👀):

Lady Bone Demon: "You would allow this world to continue to fester and rot? The eternal misery of countless souls because of your sentimentality for mortal pleasures!" MK: "*yells* You can't judge things by they're worst qualities!" Tang: "This world might not be perfect, but it's still worth fighting for!" Pigsy: "Yeah! Sometimes it's that little bit of char that makes for a more flavorful meat! Even if it is a bit tangy." Sandy: "You said it Mo! The world may be full of darkness, but to let the light shine, all we need to do is stand together!"

Like this sentiment of an imperfect world being worth fighting for, and by extension imperfect people being worth fighting for, is one I love. It also ties in nicely with MK and his low self-esteem, (like, thematically, heaven knows he has not applied his "you can't judge things by they're worst qualities" mentality to himself), where you can still love/defend things that aren't perfect or wholly "good". This naturally affixes itself to Wukong, who has lifetimes of mistakes. At this point MK chooses to ignore and repress his perception of Wukong's flaws, but eventually, we're going to go the direction of loving people in all there imperfectness. Yes, even when someone has made terrible mistakes, you can still fight for them and care about them (4x08, 4x13).

Though, let me also talk about Samadhi Fire Mei and possessed Wukong! I love both of these concepts, and I love the way they were executed. "Don't use the flame Mei...Be the flame!" linking to 1x09 "You don't use a weapon....you ARE a weapon!" This idea of "using vs being" intrigues me, and I think it works in tandem with being controlled versus having your freewill. The Lady Bone Demon both used Mei and Wukong for her purposes, and her ruin was for them to be themselves. I think you can also view Azure with this lens—he was so focused on using the Jade Emperor's Power to change the world/revenge, he ignored actually being the Jade Emperor.

Overall, I think Samadhi Fire Mei does a good job of continuing Mei's arc (using power to protect those you care about), and perpetuating the pattern of her following in MK's footsteps. For Wukong, he's a character who always desires the ability to do whatever he wants. So possession is delightfully ironic for Wukong, you know. He keeps running off to keep MK safe, but running off is what also put his protege in danger, from his own hands no less ("Can't you see you're hurting the people who care about you the most?" - "Until I know what I am, what my destiny is? I can't risk hurting the people I care about—the one's I have left.").

And obviously 3x14 has one of my favorite scenes in the whole show, that being the "To pain" scene, which continued to blur the "good guy"-"bad guy" lines that have slowly been obscured over the course of Monkie Kid. I will never shut up about that scene. Doing what you think is right and giving it your best can still lead to disappointing and terrible outcomes.

And of course, they began "A Hero is Born" with a Tang narration about the past, and then ended 3x14 with a Tang narration about the present. I always love a good book-ending.

[blvckqwz]

12. Hospital

If time wasn’t playing a trick on her, Isabelle was turning fourteen years old around that time of the year, when the coldness of the winter finally greeted the warm fuzzy air that belonged to the spring. March was behind the corner, and Isabelle wondered if she was going to live long enough to see her fourteenth birthday. 

Fourteen years old is an awful age, that was what she had heard, but it couldn’t be worse than being thirteen. Or twelve. Maybe all the ages are awful for her. Fourteen years old also brought with itself a terrible truth that Isabelle was purposely ignoring: she was a teenager. There was no way to deny it if she reached fourteen years old. As if trying to survive the apocalypse wasn’t already hard enough. 

Was fourteen a lucky number? Isabelle didn’t know, but she hoped that it was, because she desperately needed something lucky. Not only for her, but also for her loved ones. They deserved to be lucky more than she did. 

“We don’t know if she’ll even wake up. She was in a car accident. She has a broken arm, two cracked ribs, possible internal injuries and is severely malnourished and dehydrated.” A man whose voice Isabelle didn’t recognize spoke, the sound muffled, “It’s a guessing game.” “So guess.” Another voice spoke, this time a girl, perhaps a young one. 

“You have the key.” The man said, “Did you take it or did she give it to you? Because if she gave it to you, she did not do it out of the kindness of her heart.” What key? Where was she?

“Don't. Just tell me what medicine. I was trying to save my life. I'm still wondering if I did.” The girl insisted. 

Isabelle’s eyes fluttered open as she started to regain consciousness, her vision blurry due to the unfamiliar neon light above her. She felt disoriented as she closed her eyes again, the light too much to bear. She was in a room, even if the light was really bright, which meant that wherever she was they had electricity. 

She opened her eyes again, but she felt numb. She tried to move her fingers, but she couldn’t. It felt like she had slept for a million years, and now was in a future where the outbreak never happened. Her vision now was not only blurred, but also binocular, and with dark shadows around the edges. Dots danced in front of her eyes as she tried to move her head.

A sharp pain started blasting from the back of her head through all her body, like she was being hit by a truck. She opened her mouth to speak, but only air came out. Isabelle felt tears pricking her eyes as she tried to wiggle her fingers again.

She felt her pinkie slightly move, and it felt heavier than it ever had before. But it still moved, and soon the other fingers followed it. But only one hand was moving, while the other felt immobilized.

“Epinephrine drip, five milligrams. “ The man’s voice met her ears again. The girl closed her eyes and stood still. She didn’t know where she was, and something told her that this place was like Terminus. Or maybe it was her sick mind assuming the worst like it always did. “Good luck.” Then she heard the door close, footsteps getting quieter and quieter.

The girl stayed still, not daring to move a muscle as she listened to the footsteps slowly disappearing.

“You can open your eyes, he’s gone now.” The woman from before said, “It’s safe now Isabelle.” Okay what the fuck? Why did the mysterious voice know her name? She felt like she was inside the biggest inside joke ever as she slowly opened her eyes, first one, then the other. The logical part of her mind told her to not trust the voice, but something about it was comforting. Whoever was speaking was probably just a few years older than her, and wanted to save her life. 

And as Isabelle fully opened her eyes, she realized that she was right. The girl in front of her was probably barely eighteen, gold strands of hair falling from her ponytail, creating a halo effect around her head. Her eyes were blue, but they looked sad. Two deep cuts stood on her pale face, a faint smile on her pink lips as she looked at the younger girl.

“Water.” Was the first word Isabelle said, and she wanted to slap herself for it. She had the chance to say something smart like asking why she knew her name or where she was, instead she asked for fucking water.

But the blonde nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and turned around to grab a glass of water.

A clean glass of clean water. Isabelle felt in heaven, even if she knew that this was just her descent into hell. 

Then the girl sat down on the bed and brought the glass to Isabelle’s lips. The younger girl shot her a confused look. Yes, she was hurt and had internal injuries, but that didn’t mean she had to be babysat. 

“You broke your arm.” The blonde explained, “It’s okay, I also broke mine. Seems like they have this habit when they kidnap people.” Then she widened her eyes as if she said something she shouldn’t have.

The girl shook her head, “Before.” Her voice was hoarse, and now that she began to take small sips of water she realized that it had been days she hadn’t drank any. 

“Who… who are you?” She asked. “I’m Beth.” The blonde replied. 

Beth. 

Isabelle knew that she had heard that before, but she didn’t know when. Then it clicked. Beth was Maggie’s little sister. Beth was the girl her dad was looking for. Beth was the girl who was kidnapped. 

“You know my dad?” The question was stupid, but Isabelle had to know if she could trust the girl. Beth nodded, “I didn’t know if it was you at first, you look a bit different. But when I saw you open your eyes I knew I was right.” She explained.

“How?” Isabelle asked.

“Your dad showed me a photo of you when we were on the road. You two have the same eyes.” Her dad talked about her. 

“Where are we?” Isabelle then questioned.

Beth sighed, “Grady Memorial Hospital.” 

“Somethin’ tells me we can’t get out of here by just walkin’ out the front door, right?” Isabelle asked. The blonde sadly smiled before shaking her head, “I tried to escape with a friend. He got out, I didn’t.” “I have to give you something, or else you won't wake up.” She said.

“What?” Isabelle’s brows furrowed in confusion as she watched the girl get up. 

Then darkness surrounded her.

Isabelle’s eyes fluttered open as she started to regain consciousness, her vision blurry due to the unfamiliar neon light above her. She felt disoriented as she closed her eyes again, the light too much to bear. She was in a room, even if the light was really bright, which meant that wherever she was they had electricity. 

She opened her eyes again, but she felt numb. She tried to move her fingers, but she couldn’t. It felt like she had slept for a million years, and now was in a future where the outbreak never happened. Her vision now was not only blurred, but also binocular, and with dark shadows around the edges. Dots danced in front of her eyes as she tried to move her head.

A sharp pain started blasting from the back of her head through all her body, like she was being hit by a truck. She opened her mouth to speak, but only air came out. Isabelle felt tears pricking her eyes as she tried to wiggle her fingers again.

She felt her pinkie slightly move, and it felt heavier than it ever had before. But it still moved, and soon the other fingers followed it. But only one hand was moving, while the other felt immobilized.

Isabelle shot up as memory started to float in, looking around for Beth. But the blonde angel that saved her was nowhere to be seen. Confusion was Isabelle’s main emotion at the moment, followed by sadness. No one was there. Just her. 

She looked down at the uncomfortable bed she was currently sitting on. She was dressed all in a big light blue shirt, the rough material too loose on the girl’s tiny frame. Maybe the doctor was right when he told Beth that she was malnourished, Isabelle had stopped feeling hunger a long time ago. Now her stomach was probably the same size as a nut, used to long periods of starvation. 

A tube connected her arm to a bag lifted above her head, a clear liquid in it. Isabelle almost gagged as she was suddenly too aware of the needle in her arm. She swore that she could feel it in her vein as it pumped the nutrients in her blood, but maybe she was just going insane. Her other arm was now nicely in a clean white clast, the wooden piece Bob had tied dirty rags around long forgotten. She felt a bit sad knowing that the only thing Bob had done to her had been thrown away. 

The room looked clean like you would expect a room to be before. Now she was sure that she hadn’t seen a room so shiny since this all began. The floor was mopped, Isabelle could see it by the way it shone under the neon lights. No one in her family had even mopped the floor, at least not the one in their house. Her mom had been a cleaning lady among other things, which meant that she cleaned rich folks’ floors while the ones in their house had dirt encrusted on it. 

The air also smelt clean, like someone had sprayed one of those tiny things Isabelle had seen one time at her doctor’s office, the things that smell good when you sprayed them. She didn’t know what they were called. That spoke volumes about how her house smelt. 

A drawing was stuck to the wall, probably made by a child. Get better soon, it read. The walls were a pale shade of yellow with a big window in the middle of one of the walls. The scenery outside was quite depressing. Gray buildings stood outside, ruined by the bombs and the denied maintenance. Wherever she was, there were no way that there were survivors outside. 

“Goodmorning.” A man said as he opened the door. His hair was nicely groomed, and his uniform was ironed. He was dressed like a police officer, which made Isabelle very nervous. The hate for the police was probably engraved too deep inside of her, she thought, it took her days to accept Rick, and he didn’t dress like a cop. Isabelle couldn’t read the name tag from so afar, but it looked like it was something like “Gormon”

What an idiotic name. Or maybe it was the surname. Either way Isabelle now had two reasons to not like him, and she was sure that she would soon find plenty of others. 

“Gorman,” He tapped on the nametag, “That’s my name. What’s yours?” Isabelle just stared at him, her mouth closed. She wanted to ask for water, but she wasn’t so sure that he would be as nice as Beth was in her dream. 

“How old are you?” He insisted, “No wait, let me guess. I’m good at this.” Isabelle wanted to ask why, but she probably knew the answer. 

“Seventeen.” In your dreams. 

“Sixteen?” 

Was he dumb? She was all bones, tall like a toddler and he wanted to make her think that he believed that she was sixteen? 

“You can guess how old I am if you want, I won’t get offended, I swear.” He said.

Like I give half a fuck about how many centuries you are old.

“Gorman.! Someone called from outside. 

“See you later sugar.” The fake cop said before he walked away, leaving her finally alone. She took the opportunity to look behind the door. There were some people dressed in blue, but they had uniforms, like the ones nurses wore, while hers was barely a sack of potatoes. There were also normal people. What kind of place was that? A flash of blonde hair caught her eyes and she sat up straighter to look better at the teen dressed in blue as she also turned around to look at her. Beth. Beth was real. And she was there. 

She almost smiled, but then she looked at something Isabelle couldn’t see and her face turned in a mask of terror. Her eyes followed whatever was approaching Isabelle’s door and she shook her head to the young girl. Isabelle didn’t know what it meant. She still had a lot to learn about head language. 

Another cop showed at her door, but this time it was a woman. She looked severe, black shiny hair tightly tied in a bun and vicious blue eyes looking at the girl, “I’m Officer Dawn Lerner.”

Isabelle knew that she had to talk eventually, but the woman didn’t seem any better than the other cop. Another type of evil, but still evil. 

“You are going to talk.” The woman, Dawn, said, “Might as well start now. What’s your name?” 

“Naomi.” Isabelle replied. She didn’t trust them, but she quickly realized her mistake as Dawn’s eyes darkened. The cop shut the door with force, and the girl had to force herself not to flinch, “I don’t like liars.” She declared.

“Why would I lie?” Isabelle shot back. 

“I don’t know, but either you are lying, or Beth is.” Crap. She didn’t know what name Beth had told her. 

“Where am I?” Isabelle changed the subject. She didn’t like the woman. She didn’t like any of them. “In a safe place.” Dawn stated.

“Really?” Isabelle questioned a she tilted her head, “I don’t like liars either,” Suddenly Dawn launched toward the girl, grabbing her by the hair before violently slamming her head on the hard metal of the bed’s headboard. Isabelle hissed in pain, but there wasn’t much she could do with a broken arm and the other attached to a big ass needle, “Listen to me little brat, we saved you, you owe us. So quit being insolent and answer the questions, Isabelle.” 

The girl shot her a dirty look as she yanked her head away from her grip. At least now she knew what Beth had told them. 

“What’s your name?” Dawn asked again.

“Isabelle Bowie Dixon.” The girl replied with a sickening fake smile, “Now where the heck am I?” 

“Grand Memory. Atlanta.” 

“Why?” “My officers found you passed out on the street with rotters all around you.” Dawn stated, “If we didn’t save you you’d be dead. Which means that you owe us now.” 

“Owe you? I don’t owe you shit. I didn’t ask to be safed.” Isabelle spat.

“Don’t curse at me.” The woman pointed her finger at the girl, “You owe us. Everything comes with a cost. End of the story.” She could feel her inner Dixon coming out as she jumped forward and bit the woman’s finger. Dawn let out a scream as Isabelle’s teeth sank deeper into the woman’s flesh. “Let go of me!” The officer yelled, “I’ll shoot you!” “What is going on?!” Isabelle recognized the voice even before the man opened the door. He was the one who Beth was talking to in her dream, the man who told her what to give her. Curly short brown hair with a matching beard adorned the man’s scrawny face with a pair of normal black glasses on his nose. He had a white coat and one of those things doctors use to hear the heartbeat around his neck, so he must be one of the doctors. 

“She bit me.” Dawn revealed before raising her hand. A sharp sting started to irradiate on the girl’s face from the slap she had just received, and she felt like crying. But she didn’t, instead she bit her tongue and shifted her gaze to the doctor.

“I’m Dr. Steven Edwards.” The man introduced himself.

Dawn walked away from Isabelle’s bed but not before shooting her a dirty look and whispering something inside the doctor’s ear that Isabelle couldn’t quite hear but could easily understand the meaning. 

“Here at Grand Memorial we don’t bite people, Isabelle.” The doctor said as he looked at some papers in his clipboard.

“Yeah right, you just kidnap them.” Isabelle replied, “How merciful of you.” “We prefer to use the word save.” Dr. Edwards affirmed, “Here it says that you have possible internal injuries, two broken ribs and are severely dehydrated and malnourished.” He announced as he raised a brow, “It also says that you have had an untreated broken arm. How did you get that?”

“I got into a fight. I’ve won.” Isabelle said. She wasn’t going to tell him the whole sob story about how she had to kill a man who stomped on her arm in his last moments.

The doctor nodded, “Beth knew you. How?” Isabelle sighed, “She knew my dad and I know her sister.” She revealed, “They were lookin’ for her. And they will be lookin’ for me.” 

The man nodded again, “Obviously.” 

“Can I go?” The girl asked. “Go where?” Dr Edwards replied like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

The girl shrugged. She wanted to go back to her dad and to her friends, but she knew that if she wanted to do that, asking it wasn’t the right way. Beth said that a friend of hers escaped. They will do the same.

*

The shirt was uncomfortable, the pants were too large and Isabelle determined that she hated the color blue. Those were her reflections as she used a pencil to scratch her casted arm. 

She had been by Dr Edwards’s side all morning, checking on patients and bullshit like that and Isabelle was starting to think that this was just a way to keep her apart from Beth. But they would have to cross paths eventually. It was just a matter of time.

Dr. Edwards nodded with his head towards one of the doors, signaling Isabelle that there was another patient they needed to visit. The man disappeared behind the frame, Isabelle right behind him. 

Like every other room, the walls were pale yellow, the widow having the same view that hers had. The person on the bed was an old woman, with a scrawny face and graying hair. She had an oxygen mask on her face, and numerous machines around her making electric beeps. Isabelle didn’t have to be a doctor to know that the woman’s situation was critical. 

“Broken ankle, cardiac arrest, malnutrition.” The doctor read from his charts, “We did what we could.” He simply stated before walking towards the machine that Isabelle assumed was for her breathing. He pressed a button and the machine stopped, and the beeping started to become more rapid. “You are killin’ her.” Isabelle declared, “You have to help her!” “We did what we could.” The doctor repeated, ignoring the girl’s shocked look. 

Then the beeping stopped and the room was silent. 

“Why didn’t you help her?” Isabelle’s voice was low as her eyes didn’t move from the corpse. 

“We have limited resources.” Dr Edwards explained, “C’mon, we have to throw this away before it gets cold.” Throw it away? 

Isabelle wanted to ask the man what he ment but he grabbed the bed on which the dead woman laid and began to move it towards the door. So Isabelle just followed his lead and grabbed the other side of the bed, her hands shaking as they tried to hold thigher to the cold metal. It was normal to see people die, it was the apocalypse, but seeing such an indifference in front of an old woman dying sent shivers down Isabelle’s back. 

The hallways were filled with other cops and occasionally other people dressed in blue like her. They were all working, either helping recovering patients or cleaning the place, but they looked lost, and sad. 

“What is this place?” Isabelle asked the doctor. 

“A hospital.” He simply replied.

“Were all of these people here from the start?” “No, some of them came as patients through the months.” “What about the police?” Isabelle questioned, “Are they real cops?” The man chuckled, “They came here to evacuate the building… but it was too late.” “Why do you stay here?” The girl lowered her voice, “This place seems like hell on Earth.” “Outside isn’t any better.” Dr. Edwards said, “Here we have a purpose.” The pair arrived at what looked like an elevator shaft, but with no elevator, “What is this?” “Where we throw the dead bodies. We've managed to secure and guard the stairwells, but the windows are blown out on the ground floor. Rotters find their way into the basement when they hear a noise. And if the bodies are warm or warm enough, they clean up some of the mess.”

Isabelle scrunched her nose as the doctor inclined the bed, the corpse slipping from it and falling down the shaft. The growling of walkers started echoing from the basement. Disgusting.

“You should go to dinner.” Dr. Edwards suggested, “We have a dining area. You must be hungry.” Isabelle just nodded her goodbyes before walking towards the food. The doctor was right, she was quite hungry, just the mention of dinner made her stomach growl in anticipation. The smell of disinfectant she had once found nice now was starting to make her feel sick as she wandered around the hospital. 

She hoped her dad was looking for her like he had been looking for Beth. She was already sick of that place. She wanted to go back to the church, even if it was creepy and there was blood on its floor. She wanted to see Judith, and Maggie, and Carl, and even her dad and her uncle Merle. She wanted to eat those tasteless canned beans with Carl as the adults drank wine and talked about DC. 

She wanted to go back to the group. Her group. 

Did they think of her as one of them? Technically she was the newest addition, except for Garbiel, but he didn’t really count, so maybe they didn’t think of her as one of them. Maybe she was a Garbiel to them. They had been through hell and back together, but she didn’t. At least not with them. Yes, her and Carl had been through some rough times while on the road, but did it count? 

Were they looking for her? Were they worried? She didn’t care if they were less worried for her than they were for Beth, she just wanted to know if they were a tiny bit worried. Did they notice that she wasn’t there? 

“Hey.” A familiar voice spoke. Carl once said that Beth liked to sing when he was explaining his group to her, back when they first met. Isabelle could understand why. She had a beautiful voice. 

“Beth.” Isabelle breathed out as she turned around, the blonde right in front of her. She greeted her like she was an old friend, because in some way she was. They knew about each other even if this was the first real conversation they ever had. 

Isabelle didn’t know if it was awkward or not, but to her it was normal. So she ran towards the older girl and hugged her. The blonde must have shared her same opinion, because she hugged her back. And it felt good, because they both needed it. Even if deep down they were both thinking about the other as an extension of a man that was probably looking for both of them.

[akittyboy]

Another Life (part 2): Eunhyuk

Sweet Home FF | Hyunsu x Eunhyuk

Debris crunches under a pair of heavy booths and there's soon a familiar presence at his side, a cool hand on the curve of his tense shoulder. It's Eunhyuk.

.

.

.

Hyunsu is conflicted. He doesn't know whether it's alright to feel relieved, whether it's fair to the old Eunhyuk.

"Give it some time," the alien says that inhabits Eunhyuk's body, easily reading Hyunsu's awkward posture, the indecisiveness that fleets across his face whenever he spends too much time in Eunyu's presence. "We've waited for so long, what's another couple of months, or a few years? Maybe it's for the better. The world is slowly mending, perhaps it will be a safer place to live by then. And once she's ready, we'll help Eunyu learn everything she needs to know."

Hyunsu glances up, messy bangs falling into his dark eyes as he squints in the white sun, wondering whether Eunhyuk can afford to make that kind of promises — whether it's all a lie.

Eunhyuk remains impassive under his scrutinizing stare, thin lips carved into a neutral line and sharp eyes dull even under the gentle rays that splinter above their heads through the paper-thin clouds.

His smooth face gives nothing away.

Hyunsu swallows thickly, the knot bobbing painfully in his throat, and ends up nodding slowly anyway, not leaving Eunhyuk out of his sight. Because every day when he wakes up, Hyunsu chooses to trust him. Even back then at Green Home apartments, when Hyunsu was nothing but a tool to him, a weapon, a mean to survive, he still trusted him — because it gave his lousy life a purpose. There was suddenly a light at the end of the dark tunnel that he'd been trapped in for such a long time. 

Ironically, the end of the world turned out to be his salvation.

A sharp glint of sunlight stabs at Hyunsu's eyes, forcing him to blink. And in the lost space between two heartbeats the bright day suddenly distorts around him with a blur. He finds himself submerged into a hollow space void of sound and color, a sluggish mass slithering around his body. There's a phantom flutter of warmth against his dry lips, a soft caress along the line of his neck, his jaw. Someone is holding him close, cradling him viciously in their embrace with so much desperation that it hurts, squeezing the air out of his lungs until they're on the verge of bursting like the finest glass.

Hyunsu blinks and the illusion breaks into splinters like shooting stars, leaving him lightheaded and empty. Aching.

He frowns in confusion. It couldn't be the monster — too vague and too fuzzy for a desire dream. Was this his empathy kicking in then? Did he just reach into Eunhyuk's mind with a mere touch? Hyunsu glances warily at the hand still on his shoulder. He wasn't aware that his abilities had an effect on neo humans. Even with people going through the monsterization process, he still had to force his way in to get to the deepest core of their desire. It shouldn't be so easy to catch a glimpse of Eunhyuk's deepest mind.

Of course, if there's even anything distinctly human left inside of him — besides the undying call of those throbbing, womblike cocoons that all neo humans and monsters alike seem to sense like blood on the wind.

Unaware of, or plaintively ignoring Hyunsu's muted distress — it certainly wouldn't be the first time — Eunhyuk's mouth quirks faintly into a semblance of a smile at the meager acknowledgement he gets from their exchange. He squeezes Hyunsu's shoulder briefly, almost reassuringly, before dropping his hand away, leaving a burning imprint that lingers on Hyunsu's skin far longer than he would like to admit.

"It's good that Eunyu has you," he states without looking at Hyunsu, letting the words hang heavily in the space between them.

Eunhyuk turns around then, motions sharp and precise as he operates his new body, all long limbs and lean muscle. He stretches his legs out and leans back against the rickety railing that squeaks faintly under the added weight while he settles.

Standing side by side, they silently watch for a few more minutes Eunyu explore this new, precarious world that has emerged from remaining scrapes of human ingeniousness. Her lonesome silhouette is outlined against the brilliant, blue sky as she moves around with practiced ease, gracefully arching her body to the classical notes flooding her ears. The fluidity of her motions is cathartic in a way. She's like a butterfly, exploring the world for the very fist time.

"Was it like this for you too?" Hyunsu asks quietly, breaking the easy silence.

He also wants to ask; At what point do the voices stop and how does it feel to forget everything? But refrains. He's caught glimpses of the stained photo that Eunhyuk stares at sometimes with this empty, soulless gaze, holding it so ever reverently in his hands like something precious. It's both depressing and fascinating, and not wholly unlike Hyunsu, the way he clings to the pitiful dregs of his humanity. Maybe it would help Eunyu recover faster as well to see the photo, yet Eunhyuk doesn't seem eager to share.

Hyunsu turns his head when a reply doesn't come fast enough, staring curiously at the symmetrical planes of Eunhyuk's profile, his skin almost alabaster-like in the sun.

Like this, stripped of any visible human weakness and without his wire-framed glasses, Eunhyuk seems too artificial, emotionally unattainable, hard to understand despite the logical arguments he voices in his unnervingly even tone. After the bullying incident, the memory of which was now nothing but a sad, little movie playing to a miserable tune inside his head — something from a completely different life — Hyunsu has never truly recovered his social skills either. So, navigating this estranged partnership with Eunhyuk amidst a post-apocalyptic world has truly proven to be a challenge.

If it hadn't been for Eunyu, the two of them surely wouldn't have crossed paths again.

Hyunsu decisively ignores the chill that slithers through his lower stomach at this thought.

"Yes," Eunhyuk replies after too long of a pause, even now finding ways how to annoy Hyunsu, and slips his hands into the front pockets of his rustling jacket, his feeble gaze strained on Eunyu. "Except, I had no one that waited for me, watching over me like this. I think... I crawled back to the cocoon twice or thrice on my bare hands and knees before I regained a sense of self-awareness and could protect myself. After that, it took a while longer for my memories to come back."

For a period of time he was nothing; a leaf in the wind; a maggot crawling in the dark.

And then he was everything.

So much of everything, that it became nothing. Silence.

Hyunsu's eyes widen in alarm at this piece of information, pupils large, but then he frowns immediately, dark brows drawn over his burning gaze. He crowds a little into Eunhyuk's personal space, shoulders and elbows bumping. The knit fabric of his sweater softens the hard lines of his body pressing into Eunhyuk's and then, of course... there's the rich tang of smoke and warm amber that seems to permanently cling to his skin nowadays.

"Eunyu waited for you," Hyunsu insists softly. His voice is serious, more defined in the crisp air. It could've been quite a lovely spring day if not for the stinking misery slinking in their shadows. "Whenever I helped her, she always hoped that it was you, not me. You're the only family she has."

Eunhyuk turns his head, bringing their faces mere inches apart, studying Hyunsu. It's refreshing to see him speak up more, Eunhyuk thinks as the cool breeze tosses his silky hair around, bringing a trail of Hyunsu's scent with it and Eunhyuk tries not to let it sweep him away.

"And you?" He asks into the sliver of space left between them, disregarding Eunyu's plight. "Did you wait for me?"

What's your desire? He wants to ask instead. Why do you think Eunyu doesn't see you as her family?

What is a family, anyway? Eunhyuk and Eunyu are not even real siblings. And yet, they've only ever had each other, no matter how broken their relationship has been throughout the years.

Hyunsu's lips part in bewilderment, his gaze searching as he stares at Eunhyuk but the other one remains expressionless, merely awaiting his reply. Hyunsu licks at his lips then, heart trashing uncontrollably within the too tight confines of his ribcage; like a trapped bird wanting to break free; like a bird slamming straight into a closed window with a noisy splatter. The whispers of the monster inside him grow louder, ripping viciously into his gut only to spill all of his dirty secrets along with his mushy intestines and blood and muscle tissue, cruelly stripping him bare before himself — a pile of loose skin and rancid gunk lying at his feet.

No. He didn't dare to hope. He never thought that he would get so see either of them again. It's too good to be true. Hyunsu is too scared to even question it.

What if it is a dream?

"I—" Hyunsu articulates helplessly, slowly, mouth moving without a sound while his heart races madly in his throat and then finally, finally he breathes out, "Yes. I waited for you." Eyes wide and dark like the oblivion, seemingly shocked at his own admission.

The monster laughs at him. Liar. Coward. I know what you want.

Eunhyuk nods, shuffling his feet in the dirt as he processes Hyunsu's reply, always rational, always analyzing. Used to filing away his own reaction, crushing it down until there's nothing left. Veering off track and getting far too emotional had meant a sure death once upon a time, before he evolved, rising above fickle humanity.

Staying numb meant that they were all safe, perhaps even now.

"Funny. It didn't seem like it though, with the way you tried to kill me last time. It was quite the reunion, don't you think? Or were you just too happy to see me again and couldn't hold back your excitement?" Eunhyuk supplies in monotone, yet manages to sound patronizing, much like everything he says. "What's it called—? Cute aggression?"

He keeps his face carefully angled away from Hyunsu, but Hyunsu can still glimpse the faint curl of a smirk on his sharp lips. He's being deliberately obtuse. What a bastard.

Ignoring the pinch in his gut, Hyunsu snorts and pushes away from the railing. The voice whispers pure filth into his ear; what he would like to do to Eunhyuk; how he'd like to torture him and rip his limbs apart, one by one, and then bury them all in different places so that he couldn't be reborn from those slimy cocoons ever again.

And the truth is, Hyunsu feels annoyed for having been strung along by Eunhyuk's little spiel just now, so he gives in, just a tiny bit.

<< previous part | next part >>

[sebdoesthings]

idk if u already did that before but how bout geroche bathing together? 👀

Yesss, thank youuu!

Here you are, the rest is under the cut:

It was late at night at the Blue Stripes’ barracks in Vizima. The day had passed monotonously with drills and one-on-one training for the new soldiers Roche had recruited. Geralt, too, had taken them to task – more because they’d been curious how they’d measure up against a witcher, and less because he had any skills to impart to them. They were both fighters of some sort, true, but their respective fields were so far apart they hardly had anything in common.

The water sloshed around Geralt as he stepped into it and sat down, small waves rippling against the edge of the tub and spilling over. They landed with a satisfying splash on the cobbled floor.

Suddenly, the door opened – Geralt had left it unlocked on purpose – and Roche stepped through, but halted abruptly when he saw him.

“Oh—”

Geralt leaned back and grinned. “Do you ever knock?” he asked, and Roche scowled at him.

“I thought everyone’d gone to bed.”

A shrug made warm water brush over Geralt’s skin. “Join me.”

“I can wait until you’re done.”

“Why would you, though? Water’s not getting any warmer.”

He reached out, and Roche considered his hand for a while before closing the door and taking it. Geralt’s fingers wet his gloves as they threaded with his, tugging him down so their eyes were level. Leaning in, Geralt kissed Roche. His lips were warm and tasted of the ale he’d drunk earlier.

“Come on,” Geralt said when Roche pulled back and stood up.

Clothes were discarded one by one, and Geralt watched with delight. Roche had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war; his ribs no longer showed, and there no longer was the jarring jut of his hip bones. He looked healthier, and though his build was naturally lean, Geralt was happy he didn’t have to think of it as gaunt anymore.

He reached out when Roche stepped over the edge of the tub. The water splashed softly as he submerged himself, going down easy and fitting into Geralt’s embrace. There was little room to spare, admittedly, and Geralt’s legs knocked against the wood as Roche turned, leaning his back against Geralt’s chest.

Finally, he came to rest and sighed, satisfied. Practiced motions wet his arms and poured water over his head, hands rubbing over his face. The short bristles of his hair stuck together, forming clumps. Geralt bent forward to press a kiss between them, to the scalp beneath. In response, Roche shifted, leaning his head back to catch so much as a glimpse at Geralt. All he saw was the ceiling boards. Geralt slung his arms around him.

“And now?” Roche asked.

“What now?”

“You’re hugging me so tight I can’t even wash anymore.”

A snort. “Now we just relax for a bit. That such an outlandish concept to you?”

Shrugging, Roche shifted again, casting his eyes at the blurred image of their tangled legs underwater. His hand rose, dripping, and he listened to the sound. “I’m used to quick baths.”

It was such a simple statement that encompassed so much and gave a vivid glimpse into the life Roche led. Geralt, too, was used to underwhelming bathing experiences, most of them stemming from icy rivers, mucky ponds, or quick wipe downs with a damp cloth. He’d learned to be efficient, to not mind and simply be grateful for the opportunity to clean himself. But a side effect of that was that he craved long, hot baths even more. They were, so he thought, his one big indulgence in life.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take your time every once in a while,” Geralt said. His hands explored Roche’s skin, the left wandering up his side, the right up his arm, squeezing in that way they shared, in quiet reassurance of each other’s presence.

They sat for a while as the water cooled, breathing easily and deeply, listening to the sparse sounds of a house asleep; A mattress creaking as someone turned over in bed upstairs, a small cracking of the old wood, the wind outside, and further away – audible only to Geralt – two patrolling guards conversing.

“Oren for your thoughts,” Geralt mumbled against Roche’s shoulder. He’d been dozing off, and when he lifted his head, he was afraid there was a spot of drool he’d left behind.

“Just thinking about the training plan for tomorrow. Martin still needs—”

“Stop thinking.”

Roche huffed. “Easier said than done.”

“Do it anyway.”

“If I try, will that make you happy?”

“Mhm...”

“Alright. I’ll get started on thinking less first thing tomorrow,” Roche said and smiled when he felt Geralt’s lips contort into a grin against his skin. A kiss was pressed to the spot just behind his ear.

“Let’s go back to your place,” Geralt said. He did so love the bed they shared there, as small and unremarkable as it was.

“Let’s.”

[sapphire-weapon]

i've only played the remake and not the og re4, but i've watched some cutscenes from the og and the rs between leon and ashley is very different in the og vs the remake. og ashley definitely develops a big of a bodyguard/hero crush on leon, but i get the feeling she's more into the idea of him (handsome older man with unshakeable confidence) vs the man himself.

i'm sure she's grateful to him for saving her life, but it feels like she (and og leon as well tbh) treats it as a given, almost? as in, she's the president's daughter and he's the agent sent by the president, it's his job to save her and so he does. and after, since he's fulfilled his duty (bringing her back home safe), that's the natural end of their rs, and i don't get the sense that ashley would try to keep in touch with leon, or try to be a part of his life in any way (especially after his rejection of her advances)

compared to remake ashley, who you can tell starts to care for leon beyond the fact that he's her saviour and literally her only chance of getting out of there alive. she starts to dream up scenarios where she can continue to spend time with leon after they're back home, she constantly reminds / seeks leon's reassurance that they're a team. i can believe that she would keep trying to stay in leon's life, even if only in the periphery

all this to say that, while devastating, i can see why og leon would forget the significance of saving ashley. it happened so long ago, he hasn't heard from ashley at all since then, probably has himself convinced that she's moved on from it completely and forgotten all about the ordeal, which means he never had any significant impact on her life. but there's no way remake ashley would let leon forget about what happened in 2004, because she could never forget it either, how he saved her and she saved him, and how every good thing she's able to do now is because leon never gave up on her, and she'll be damned if she lets leon give up on himself

I mean. I certainly don't agree with that assessment of OG. I haven't been shipping these two for eighteen years for no reason.

I've said it before, but very little of my meta is comprised of brand new thoughts. This is all shit that I've been saying for eighteen years -- or, at least, the vast majority of it is. The only difference between then and now is that it's much easier to explain to other people what I mean with more examples from the actual script.

Well. That and the fact that Capcom actually intentionally canonized an actual romance for them. But either way.

Ashley disappears from Leon's life because fans hated her. That's literally the reason. Fans hated her so much that Capcom even erased her dad from future canon. We can try to bullshit a story reason for it happening just for the sake of keeping headcanons straight for fic purposes, but it's important to know that the reason why OG Ashley is absent is not because her relationship with Leon wasn't strong enough.

I do agree with saying that her absence/silence is what causes Leon's memory of the incident to begin to skew negative, though. Without being able to see the effects of the good thing he did, it's much easier to let the bad parts take over -- especially since Las Plagas is a nightmare that keeps repeating.

That is what's actually at the heart of all of this. Even though Leon technically "won" the fight in RE4... he didn't, really, because Las Plagas is still a problem even ten years later.

So, without Ashley... I'm sure that the Los Illuminados incident does just sort of blur together in his memory alongside all of the other plaga incidents. Especially when he's drunk.

It just sucks, man.