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preciouslandmermaid · 17 days

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nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - bonus post-epilogue chapter

Note: I randomly wanted to write a wedding, but I don't actually include the ceremony, so this is more like a "pre-wedding/post-wedding" story if we're being honest ! Also it takes place about 2 years after the epilogue :)

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Content! (Explicit Language/Sexual Content).

(Read on Ao3) /// (Masterpost)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sydney held the wooden spoon toward you and the scent of the honey and ginger glaze tickled your nostrils. Earlier in the afternoon, she rolled the sleeves of her dark green sweater to her elbows and the beaded bracelet (a gift from Richie’s daughter, Eva) slid partway down her wrist.

“Alright, it’s your entree. You get to try it first.”

“I thought that was the chef’s honor?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the bride so…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I think that superimposes chef’s honor.”

You smiled and raised both eyebrows at Syd. She didn’t have to help, especially considering how busy The Bear is nowadays, but she offered and you gratefully accepted. Wedding planning – as it turned out – was a stressful affair. You and Carmy had your location set, but the guest list, wedding registry, and menu were woefully incomplete. You tangled yourselves into knots over the planning, but the goal remained firm in your mind; a celebration with Carmy and your friends mixed with the legality of marriage. You would overcome any hurdles you needed to cross because all of it would be worth it in the end.

Wordlessly, you closed your mouth over the spoon. Your lips puckered and your tongue recoiled to the safety of your back molars.

“Oh, oh shit,” Sydney said emphatically, “you hate it.”

“N-no!” You coughed, swallowing, and grabbing your glass of water. “The acidity is just a little...strong. It needs to be adjusted, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” she said, slapping her palm on the wooden countertop. “Okay – uh – that’s okay. We can – I can totally fix this. No biggie.” When she tasted the glaze, her expression pinched before she stuck out her tongue and gagged. “Yeah, nope.” She released a forced, short laugh. “There’s no saving that one.”

You loved Syd’s earnest, anxious awkwardness. Her blunt nature had been the first foundational stone of your friendship. You liked that she didn’t let Carmy off the hook, regardless of his experience and talent, and their partnership was an integral component to the Bear’s continued success.

“Back to the drawing board,” you said, drumming your fingers on the countertop. “Maybe ginger is too sharp? Do we lean more savory?”

“Interesting idea coming from the baker,” she teased.

“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and infused your tone with as much indignation as you could. “Just because I run a bakery doesn’t mean I have a sweet tooth.”

Syd laughed. “There is literally a bowl of candy by the entryway.”

“It’s for Halloween.” You crossed your arms and said, “There are a ton of families in this building.” In truth, your lack of nicotine intake after quitting smoking had manifested into a ravenous sweet tooth and, the lollipops – although bad for your teeth – were monumentally healthier than cigarettes.

“Dude, Halloween is seven months away.”

“We’re prepared.”

“What for like kids who don’t know how to like tell time and show up a few months early?”

“Obviously.”

She finished scraping the glaze into the trash. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” Her bright smile faded and the light entered her dark eyes. You recognized it as her ‘I have an idea face’ and your mood lifted—the overly sour glaze quickly forgotten. When Carmy said he wanted The Bear to cater your wedding, you had been shocked, and concerned about the additional stress it would add to your lives. However, with Syd in your kitchen, the pan gripped in her hand and her expression rapt with wonder, you realized that you had nothing to worry about. The wedding’s menu and food preparation were in the best hands.

“Do you have any soy sauce?” she asked, “Worcestershire sauce will work too, or liquid aminos if we’re desperate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy watched as your fingers held aloft over the keyboard and the spreadsheet glared menacingly in a harsh blue-white glow. The guest list had been easy to start. The obvious ones were Syd, Natalie, Peter, Richie and Eva, and your best friend, Taylor. The harder choices were family and how to arrange the tables. Your eyebrows angled in confusion and you drew your hands away.

“I’m not inviting my dad,” you said after a moment’s pause.

Carmy nodded. “Okay.”

His neck prickled uncomfortably. It wasn’t the flushed heat that arrived when he felt embarrassed. No. This discomfort traveled from his neck to his fingers. It raked across his skin like a thousand needles, pricking every nerve, and drawing blood. He thought about going to his coat pocket and withdrawing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The quick, cold rush of nicotine would ease his headache and calm his nerves. But, if he smoked, then he’d need to walk downstairs and into the blustery sharp gray wind of March. And he didn’t want to bail on you. The puzzle of who to invite and who to sit with whom was a project for the both of you to untangle.

“I dunno if I should…” He cleared his throat and looked away when your eyes met his over the laptop screen. “I dunno.”

“Your mom?” you correctly guessed.

Carmy sniffed, scratched the side of his nose, and nodded. His heart thumped into his ribs. Maybe he should take a walk. Maybe the March air would clear this dreadful feeling from his skull. His stomach hardened into a pit at the idea of his mom coming to his wedding. But, at the same time, his dread and fear congealed into a sharp guilt that curdled his stomach acid. His mom was a force to be reckoned with. A hurricane of a woman. He loved her. He didn’t know if he wanted her at the wedding. He knew she’d be upset if she weren’t invited. But, both of you decided to keep the guest list small. The careful cuts were necessary, and not just due to the frugality aspect, but in terms of everyone’s enjoyment.

“She’d make it about her,” he said, “remember Sophia’s second birthday?”

You placed your hand on the middle of Carmy’s back, right between his tense shoulder blades, and he forced a harsh exhale through his teeth. They almost called the police, Carmy thought with a frown. His mom showed up and seemed fine, and then shortly before cake and presents, she buckled little Sophia into her car and claimed that Natalie hated her and didn’t want Sophia to have a relationship with her grandmother. His niece, at the age when separation anxiety often occurred, cried so much that she threw up on her special birthday dress.

“I do,” you said and your eyes softened.

“I’m a terrible son,” Carmy said, “I’m a fucking asshole. We have to invite her, don’t we? She deserves to be there.”

“Carmy, you’re not.” You rubbed his back. “Do you think I’m an asshole for not inviting my dad?”

He quickly said, “No.” The pit in his stomach gnawed at his smoke-deprived lungs. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“He has another family.” Carmy stood, raking his hand through his hair. “My mom only has Nat and me.”

“So you have to sacrifice your happiness and comfort for hers?”

“Yes!” he said immediately followed by a quick, “No. I don’t know.” He reached into his coat pocket hanging by the door and fished out the squashed packet of cigarettes.

You trailed after him and wound your arms around him, pressing your face into his back, your hands coming to rest over his heart. Carmy froze. The pressure of your hands on his chest made him realize how fast his heart was beating. He squeezed the cigarette packet and it crinkled beneath his clammy fingers.

“Remind me,” you said, voice faintly muffled by his t-shirt, “what was the possible diagnosis your therapist gave her?”

“Borderline personality disorder.” His therapist also said his mom could have narcissistic personality disorder, but BPD was more likely, based on his descriptions of childhood. It helped to have a name for it. It gave him a better understanding of everything he went through.

“Which defines her behavior but doesn’t excuse it,” you said as you circled around him to face him. “Carmy, I love you.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I will support you if you want to invite Donna and I’ll weather any storms she brings with her. Who knows...maybe it’ll be a good day for her.” Your tone toward the end of your sentence became dubious.

Carmy sighed. “I don’t think I want to invite her, but I feel like I should.” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it does. You feel an obligation as her son to share this big moment with her. I get it.”

“Do you feel guilty about not inviting your dad?”

“A little.” Your lips pursed. “But, if I visualize our wedding, the thought of my dad standing beside me doesn’t make me happy. I don’t feel excited about it. I just feel…”

“Dread?” he guessed.

You smiled faintly. “It’s more annoyance and anger for me.”

“Mm, yeah. Makes sense.” He leaned his forehead and touched it to yours. How did he get so lucky? He imagined the wedding. He imagined seeing you across from him, sliding the ring on your finger, and stuttering through his vows. The usual nervousness bubbled up inside his chest, but it was smothered by the overwhelming warmth and affection he felt for you that bled across his skin like thick honey.

“I don’t think I can invite her,” he whispered.

“That’s okay, Carm.” You kissed him softly. “That’s okay.” You repeated against his mouth. A sensation of cool and blissful relief extinguished the last lingering remnants of his dread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is weird,” you said, leaning forward in the passenger seat. “Why are there two florist vans? Did we accidentally get two?” You didn’t recognize the name on the second van either. Must be a local shop, you thought, although that doesn’t explain why they’re here.

“I don’t think so,” Carmy said.

As everyone poured out of their cars, their garment bags slung over their arms or over their shoulders, a sharply dressed black woman emerged from the entrance and strode purposefully toward you and Carmy.

“You must be the Berzattos,” she said breathlessly as she shook your hands. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Vivienne and I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“What sort of bad news?” Richie said, “The kind that gets us a discount?” He grinned at Carmy and your husband-to-be rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

Richie whispered, “Oh shit.”

“We’ve had some technical issues with our new scheduling program.” She wrung her hands together. “The venue has been double-booked.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, noticing all the additional staff buzzing to and fro across the manicured lawn.

Vivienne said, “I’m so sorry for the mistake. If you’d like, we can reschedule you.”

Your stomach dropped into your shoes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “people flew out to be here. We can’t reimburse flights and accommodations, and nor should we have to considering this is your error.” You sighed, feeling a headache press into your temples. “Why didn’t you notify us?”

“How about a discount and you can split the venue?” she offered, “we only realized the mistake when the two catering companies showed up.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” said Richie.

“Fuck,” Syd said.

Natalie crossed her arms. “I’m sorry did they say double-booked?”

“Mommy!” Sophia pulled at Natalie’s pant leg. “Mommy, look! Sunflowers!” She pointed at the floral van carrying out their arrangements.

You shared a glance with Carmy. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course. Again, we’re so sorry.”

You and Carmy broke away from the group of your closest friends and family. You rubbed your hands down the length of your face.

“We can’t reschedule,” you said, “but how the hell are we going to share the venue? They have one kitchen and we paid for our guests to stay the night.”

“Maybe the timing works out,” Carmy said, taking your hand in his. “You want to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Then fuck it. We stay.”

“Okay, fuck it.” You smiled. “Let’s negotiate a good discount.”

“Say the word and I’ll send Pete in,” Carmy joked.

You laughed. “God, we might need him.”

The organization was a cluster-fuck. The venue manager, Vivienne, assured and promised that the space was large enough and that the other party – the Carmichael's – were having a noon wedding with a 2 PM reception and everything would be cleaned up for your 4 PM wedding and 5 PM reception. But, you noticed the proverbial cracks in the foundation. The necessary kitchen prep work, the clashing decorations, the intermingling guests, and the underlying stress and confusion permeated every interaction. You practiced intentional breathing and hoped you’d make it through the day without bursting into stress-induced tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zipper was halfway up when it broke. You felt the snag, then the tug and pull, and the abrupt separation. You pressed your hand to your mouth and muffled the noise of discontent and frustration that threatened to break free.

Taylor pushed her long, thick dark braid over her shoulder and pursed her red lips at you. “We can work with this,” she said after a long moment of contemplation. “We can fix it.”

You released a strangled, “can we?” You blinked back your burning tears—you didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

“Yeah, most of these places have emergency sewing kits,” your best friend said while digging through the drawers, “also, this might be a bad time, but is the chef single?”

Despite everything, you laughed. “Which chef?”

“The tall blonde one with the accent.”

“Luca?”

Taylor’s eyes brightened. “Yes!”

“I’ll find out for you,” you said while reaching for your phone. You smiled at the sight of your phone background, a black and white photo of you and Carmy, and Taylor snickered.

“I remember when you told me about him,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were all tied into knots about it...and now look at you! Tying the knot.” She winked. “I’m glad you guys figured it out.”

Your chest warmed with pleasure. “Me too.”

“Aha!” She held the little sewing kit aloft. It had the venue's name printed on the front of the bag. “Do you think they write this so nobody steals it?” She asked while tapping the swooping decal.

Before you could answer, your mom bustled into the room, her billowing lilac sleeves trailing after her arms.

“Oh! Look at you!” She grabbed your chin and kissed your cheek. “I’ve got something for you. A little tradition.”

“Mom, I don’t know if I can stomach any more surprises.” Taylor began to fix your zipper and the cold metal teeth periodically kissed your skin.

“You’ll like this surprise.”

Your mom removed a potted plant from her purse. The dark soil clung to her fingertips, the plant likely got knocked around more than once, as she set it down on the vanity. You recognized the wide, verdant leaves.

“A basil plant?”

“Normally, we give a flower of some type, but I chose a basil plant instead.” She smiled, pleased. “Nurture the plant as you nurture your future and it’ll thrive.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks, Mom.” Your shoulders jerked as Taylor finished zipping and she whooped in triumphant delight.

“There we go, crisis averted,” said Taylor, “now we don’t have to worry about walking down the aisle naked.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the basil leaf and smiled at them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“God,” Richie said, fixing his tie, “I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married, cousin.”

“Yeah, me either.” Carmy scratched the side of his nose.

“I always thought Mikey’d get married before you,” he said, “he was just more charmin’, you know? He had a way with people, women especially, God…” Richie shook his head. “He couldn’t walk down the street without getting some chick’s phone number.”

Carmy stared sullenly at his reflection. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t? ‘Cause then he’d have an ex-wife, or a widow, or a kid or somethin, I dunno.”

Carmy wondered if he’d forever be in rooms with Mikey’s shadow stuck to the corners. It didn’t suffocate him as much anymore. Mikey’s memory lurked within every conversation – like slivers of light through the paneled window shades. Today of all days though, Carmy suspected those slivers would blind him. Mikey should’ve been here, could’ve been, and he wasn’t.

“Yeah, good point.” Richie turned the side and smoothed his lapels. “Still, it should be him.”

Carmy’s neck flushed with indignation. Did Richie seriously have to be such an asshole? His brow furrowed. It was his fucking wedding day for fuck’s sake!

“Cousin—” Carmy began.

“Standing here, I mean, as your best man,” said Richie. “Look, there’s no takebacks and this would be a hell of a time to change your mind but it should’ve been Mikey. Not me. I get that, okay? That’s all I’m trying to say…” He fixed his tie again. “And I’m gonna do everything to make sure that this day doesn’t go to shit. I can promise you that, alright?”

Carmy blinked, at a loss for words at Richie’s admission. It had been six years and counting since Mikey’s death and Richie had been with him for every one. If he was being honest with himself and not caught up on nostalgia, if Mikey was here, then Carmy wasn’t sure he would have trusted him with all the responsibility. Hell, Richie organized a pizza-making bachelor party for him. He offered to trash the other couple’s wedding.

“Who else would it be?” he asked softly, “you’re family, Richie.”

Richie sniffed, nodded, and clapped his hand on Carmy’s shoulder, jostling him. When Carmy met his eyes, they were glassy and bright.

“I know.” His lips twitched up into a grin. “Let’s get you fucking married!” He pulled Carmy in a one-armed, half-hug and shook him. “Put a fucking smile on that face, Carm. Come on! Come on!”

He affectionately pinched Carmy’s face in one hand, squishing his mouth, and Carmy shoved Richie away, annoyed, but laughing—in the same way he’d get annoyed and laugh whenever Mikey goofed around with him.

“Fuck off,” said Carmy, without any heat.

“Hey,” Syd poked her head into the doorway, “you ready? The photographer wants to see all of the groomsmen.”

“Shouldn’t you say grooms-people? To be like politically correct or whatever,” Richie asked, “or groomsmen and women considering you’re among us.”

Syd made a face. “Richie shut up and come pose with us.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be inclusive,” he said loudly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If someone asked you to recount all the details of your wedding—you didn’t think you could. It was the busiest and most stressful day of your life. You’d always remember the finer details like Carmy’s thoughtful, flustered vows, Richie starting a limbo competition, or Syd’s dad dancing with Taylor—at least for a while until she disappeared with Luca in tow. Good for you, you remembered thinking as you watched her form retreat down the hall.

But the rest of the day was an exuberant blur. It had been long and you were grateful to relax into the lush pillowcases with your short silk gown kissing your skin.

Carmy climbed into bed after showering and peppered kisses along your nose and jaw, his hands finding your hips beneath the covers and holding them.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you said with soft laughter before chasing his lips with yours.

“And you’re my wife,” he said, lifting your wrists and placing them over your head, “keep those there.”

You said, “We’ve been married less than twelve hours and you’re already bossing me around?”

Carmy chuckled and his breath puffed over your peaked nipples. His tongue laved over the silk, and moistened it before he drew your nipple between his lips. The soft silk and warmth of Carmy’s tongue was a heady, back-arching mixture.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, plunging your hands into his damp curls and scraping your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?” His calloused palm felt its way down your thigh, “Are you wet for me already?”

“A little,” you admitted as you parted your legs for him.

“God,” he muttered before mouthing along your breasts and wetting the silk with his tongue and lips. He held one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed, pushing the mound into his mouth again and sucking your hard nipple. The sensation turned to liquid, sticky heat between your legs. You moaned, pushing upward into his grasp and gyrating your hips in askance. His hand was frustratingly close to your cunt, but not close enough. He rubbed up and down your inner thigh from knee to apex, letting his knuckles occasionally brush your pussy, before drawing away without adding any pressure. The fucking nerve of him!

“My wife is so fucking hot,” Carmy said, and hearing the words sent a hot, fresh thrill trembling through you.

“And my husband is a fucking tease,” you said, digging your fingertips into his hard, sculpted shoulders.

Carmy pulled his mouth away from your wet breasts. The silk had darkened where his mouth had been and you could faintly see your nipples through the semi-translucent fabric.

“Am I?” He drew his hands away from you and grabbed your wrists again, pinning them above your head, “I thought I said to keep these here.”

You snorted. “When have I ever listened?”

“You’re a great listener,” he said honestly.

“I want to touch you, Carmy,” you said, matching his honesty with your own, even as his praise sang through your ears and warmed your skin.

He softened. “Okay.” He pulled your wedding ring-adorned hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. The moment he released your hand, you slid your fingers down his chest, smiling at the way his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks darkened. You wiggled your fingers beneath the tight waistband of his boxer shorts and found him hard and pulsing within your grasp.

“Fuck.” He shuddered. “I feel like I could come just by looking at you.”

He jerked his hips into your touch as your fingers encircled him. You craned your neck upward and kissed him, finding the familiar rhythm of tongue and teeth, and moaning wantonly into his mouth when his hand cupped your wet folds. He hissed when his index finger pledged into you and your mind went white-hot and blank.

“Do you think the stress of the day has manifested into being super horny for each other?” You asked, your other hand cupping the back of Carmy’s neck, pinning his face close to yours so you could kiss him. His pretty blue eyes blinked at you.

“Maybe. But, I think I just want to fuck my wife.” His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned.

“It turns you on to call me your wife, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

His admission made your walls clench around his index finger. Maybe you liked it too. Maybe. You felt Carmy smile against your lips. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he muttered, “filling you, listening to you moan.”

You gasped and your eyes rolled back into your skull. It wasn’t often that Carmy engaged in dirty talk, so when he did, it was a rare and special treat that never failed to drench your core. Carmy ran his tongue along your neck, tasting your sweat before a second finger speared between your folds and coaxed that inner fire.

“Keep this on,” he said, dragging his teeth across the strap of your gown, “when I fuck you.”

“Mm – fuck. Okay,” you groaned.

“Actually, I—” his words were suddenly lost to a moan as you adjusted your grip on his cock, your fingers slicked with pre-cum. “Fuck, baby. I need you on top of me.”

“Gladly.”

Carmy rolled onto his back, yanking his shorts down, and you smiled at the sight of him – as desperate as you were with his chest heaving and his wet curls falling onto his forehead. Your walls clenched in anticipation as you hiked the hem of the dress over your hips. Carmy’s hands settled on your thighs and he watched hungrily as you held the base of his cock and slowly lowered yourself onto him. Your spine convulsed and the sensation of him stretching you and filling you wiped out every lingering thought in your mind.

“God,” his voice was strangled, “you feel so fucking amazing.”

You cupped his face, resting your forehead on his as you rode him, and said, “so do you.”

“I love you so much,” Carmy said reverently, “so goddamn much.”

Your heart threatened to break and regrow the from sheer tenderness of his words. Carmy, you learned over the years, expressed his love with acts of service and he said ‘I love you’ most often while having sex. However, something about this ‘I love you’ was different. It was more intense on your post-wedding night. You buried your face into his sweaty neck, your bodies and hearts joined, your futures intrinsically linked.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tilted the watering can over the thriving basil plant and smiled.

“Auntie.” Sophia, freshly eight years old, held something in her hands. “I found a worm.”

You blinked at her. “Put it back?”

“Okay!” She replied cheerily and dropped the worm back into the potted rosemary. She spun when the balcony door slid open. “Hi Uncle Carmy! Do you want to see the worm?” She pointed.

Carmy smiled, first at his niece, and then at you. “Let me see,” he said, crouching. He balanced his wrists on his knees and the sunlight gleamed off his wedding band. Your heart skipped. My husband. You wondered what your grandfather would say if you could tell him that his death led you to your soulmate, a second family, and a range of new friends. Knowing him he’d tell me that he would’ve died sooner if he knew how happy it’d make me. Your grandfather had had a wry sense of humor.

Carmy stood and put his arm around you. “We’re going to need to re-pot the basil if it keeps growing like this,” he said absentmindedly.

You leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen 'carmy' berzatto x you

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drgenius-reid · 4 months

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In the Quiet

A/N: Happy New Year! I wrote this short little piece for the wonderful @foxy-eva. I hope you like it, friend! 🤎

Summary: After partying at Rossi’s, you and Spencer are in bed together talking about the family you have at work.

Word Count: 1320

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. I think that’s it, honestly.

It was in the quiet, when it was just you and Spencer in bed, recounting the day you’d had with the only light coming from the moon outside, that you loved the most. It was when Spencer pulled you lovingly into his arms and held you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple mumbling, ‘You’re allowed to rest, my love,’ against your skin.

It was when your mind was far from quiet, still reeling from a gruelling case that had well and truly taken everything out of you, and you didn’t want to relax but tried anyway. It was in your fiancé’s arms, your head on his chest and his heart beating against your cheek where you were almost able to forget everything you had seen and calm down from a busy evening out with friends.

After getting home from a rather demanding time in Ohio that took more out of you than normal, you’d gotten to the office to find Penelope dancing around the office to try and forget about the gruesome details you’d had to feed her during the case. The second she saw you all walk through the doors to the bullpen she lit up even further, rushing over to you with a tray of drinks.

‘I thought we could have a little BAU party!’ She beamed, holding the tray for you all to take a drink from it. You knew that she was trying to ignore the pain that rushed through her in the only way she knew how, by showering everyone with love and positivity. And fun drinks. ‘These ones have no alcohol but if we go to the bar we can absolutely get alcoholic ones.’

Unlike everyone else, Rossi found the idea of going to the bar less than appealing. Not when he had perfectly good alcohol and floors and tables that weren’t sticky at his place. Everyone was more than willing to take him up on the offer, knowing that he had the good stuff that you didn’t have to pay for.

Within minutes of finishing your drink and JJ putting the empty glasses in the kitchenette to clean the following day, you all headed down to the parking garage so that you could head to Dave’s house. You and Spencer, who had gotten to work the previous week on public transport, climbed into the back of Derek’s car where Spencer rested his hand on your thigh instantly.

Neither of you were huge fans of PDA but in the quiet moments where he put his hand on your body and held you close were some of your favourites. The warmth of his hand radiated through your body and made you forget about the cold Virginia weather momentarily.

‘Do we think that Emily and Derek decided to go to a club after like they said they would in the car?’

Spencer’s nose was buried in your neck and you sighed happily as he snuggled into you. Despite him not showing huge amounts of physical affection while you were out of the house, the second you were in your own space he was all over you. His hands roamed your body any time they could, and he loved to hide his face in your neck with his lips trailing over your skin.

‘There is a ninety nine point nine percent chance that they are currently in a club somewhere being one another’s wing…person.’

Emily and Derek, though happy to be going to Rossi’s house for the evening, had spent the entire car ride talking about whether they had it in them to go partying after the party.

‘Our very own two person after party!’ Emily had laughed as Derek pulled up to a stop sign. ‘We can be each other’s wing person. Think of all the ladies, Morgan. Think of the ladies.’

Derek turned to face Emily and tilted his head. Even in the dim light of the car you knew that he was smirking. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the light turned to green and he accelerated once more.

‘Well if it’s for the ladies.’

‘And the point one percent?’ You asked Spencer, gripping his hand that sat at your middle tightly, needing to be as close to him as physically possible.

‘They’re passed out somewhere in Rossi’s house.’

You breathed a laugh and made a mental note to text Emily before bed and find out what she wound up getting up to after you and Spencer had left Rossi’s.

‘If we’d have stayed there any longer we would have passed out on his couch too. Well I would have anyway. You slept on the jet for most of the flight. Even through turbulence!’

Spencer hummed against your neck, trailing his lips across the soft skin. The heat from his breath and the softness of his kisses had your eyes falling closed on their own accord. You relaxed yourself into his touch, physically feeling the stress leave your body. He ran his tongue across the bottom of your neck before pecking his way up to your cheek.

You twisted around in his arms and pressed your lips to his softly. Even after years together it felt surreal kissing Spencer. He was still just as gentle as he had been when you first started dating, taking his time with you as he held you close. When he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you for the access he desired the most, your heart fluttered deep in your chest.

Your hands pushed through his hair until they settled at the nape of his neck where you held him close as you kissed him back, granting him the access he craved. He tasted like fruit juice–sweet and sticky, and oh so intoxicating. His chest heaved against yours when he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours.

‘Tonight was fun,’ he whispered against the silence of the room. ‘Thank you for not letting me get out of it.’

You laughed softly and cupped his cheeks delicately. ‘You’re welcome, handsome. It was really nice getting to share that with you. And with everyone else.’

‘It was,’ Spencer whispered, capturing your lips in a small peck. ‘Did Penelope send you those photos yet?’

Reaching over Spencer you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and settled back into his arms, shifting until you could use both hands. As promised, Penelope had sent you the photos she had taken that night. There was no denying that they were some of your favourite photos ever.

They all so perfectly highlighted the fun that you’d all had together–Derek and Emily dancing around Dave in the kitchen as he tried to pour everyone a drink; Penelope and JJ dancing in the living room with Hotch in the background laughing at their dance moves; and one of you and Spencer curled up on the sofa, one of Spencer’s hands on your thigh as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

Out of them all, your favourite photo by far was one that you were all in. You all huddled in the living room while Penelope set her camera on a timer on the mantel, telling you all to get ready because she wasn’t willing to take more than one photo.

Something got lost in translation though because when she looked at the photo she bowed her head in shame. Emily had turned to flick Derek’s ear, JJ was staring at them telling them to stop acting like children, Hotch and Rossi were staring at the camera with rigid smiles, Spencer’s eyes were closed and you looked cross eyed.

All the while Penelope had the biggest grin on her face. It was the worst photo that could have ever been taken but it was also your favourite because it showed everyone so perfectly.

‘I like that one.’

‘It’s just…us,’ you smiled. ‘It’s-’

‘Family,’ Spencer finished for you. ‘It’s a family.’

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid writing #my writing #criminal minds fanfics #foxy-eva

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somejazzinthemorning · 10 months

Text

tightrope. 10

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content Word Count: ~14K

My dad had two frames on his desk.

On the left side, nearest to the computer screen, a photo frame showcased Nani, our beloved late Saint Bernard. Bless her soul. And across from Nani's frame, on the right side of the desk, was a photograph of Rio, standing with a smile so big it almost covered his bright green eyes. He stood on the second step of his first and only podium in F3.

It made me smile each time I laid my eyes on it.

The desk itself was a sturdy mahogany, polished to a glossy sheen that reflected the soft illumination of the room. Tall bookshelves adorned the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and meticulously arranged files. Dad was a perfectionist.

Everything was perfectly aligned, always.

Against the far wall, a large floor-to-ceiling window bathed the office in natural light, filtered gently by thin, cream-coloured curtains that swayed gracefully in the breeze. The window offered a lovely view of the garden, and even a portion of the pool if we were standing close enough and just at the right angle.

It was a serene backdrop, suited to calm my nerves as I waited for Dad.

He was on the other side of the stainless glass door, pacing the hallway busy with a call. I tried desperately to not focus on his silhouette, a dancing blur of all colours, going left and right, never stopping. Every couple of minutes, he would wave at me, as if saying sorry and asking for one more minute. And every couple of minutes, I would nod and try to find interest in the mutted carrousel of colours of the tomes or the boxes of the files aligned on the shelves.

Even when he entered, his attention didn’t leave his phone. Sitting down on the other side of the desk, he offered me a glance and a quick nod. Seemed so mechanic I wondered how many times he had done the same gesture that day. At my silence, he raised his head.

"Forgive me, Evita. I really needed to sort this out before dinner," our eyes briefly met before his returned to the screen. "But go on, dear. How was your flight?"

"The usual," I replied, trying to hide my growing impatience. I waited for him to shift his attention fully to me, but his eyes remained fixed on the phone, his fingers scrolling through messages.

Realizing that I needed to take the initiative, I pressed on. Hope and apprehension swirled around and inside me. "Did you... set up the meeting?"

"No, I didn't," he finally replied, setting the phone down on the desk. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. As has your brother."

"My brother?"

“He knows you. He knows the field. I asked him for help.”

"And?"

"And I don't think you're ready,” and then silence filled the room. I was not sure if he expected me to say something, or if he was done with the subject. I didn’t say a word. In all honesty, I was still trying to put sense into those words. “I don't know where this interest came from, so I won’t put my name on the line for your whims," he stated.

My heart sank at his words. The weight of his disapproval felt crushing, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that had ignited within me.

“My whims? How—?”

“Two months ago you wouldn’t even consider shifting teams, Eva.”

“Because two months ago I didn’t know you wanted to sell the team. I had a team. A good one.”

“I’m more than sure they will be willing to take you,” his eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up on the desk. “Whoever keeps it, I mean. We haven’t made a decision, yet.”

“And why are you selling?”

“Ah, Eva, you know…” with a shrug, he let his back meet with the leather of his armchair. “It’s expensive. And with Rio leaving… just doesn’t make sense.”

“Right. Silly me,” I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of frustration and defiance. “Without Rio, it doesn’t make sense. Not without the driver that just got you the championship.”

My father leaned back in his chair, studying me intently. The perfect facade not trembling for one second, as I felt mine starting to break. Too many emotions erupted through my cracks and the conversation had just started.

“I’ve seen your dedication, child. And your skill, too. But it’s business, you know, and sometimes we have to make hard calls. The sport is harsh. You will learn that, in a good or bad way. It's cutthroat, unforgiving,” he paused. “And, for sure, it takes more than just talent. It takes a certain level of mental and emotional toughness that I'm not sure you have. And money, of course.”

I felt a surge of frustration rise within me, only showing how right his words were. We were not talking about the team, anymore. And what pained me the most was the nonchalant way he spoke. Dad was not wrong, though. I was a mess mentally. I had a lot to learn. A lot to improve. But don’t other drivers too?

"Dad—,” my hands laid on my tights, slightly trembling. I took a deep breath. “I know this is not easy. I’ve faced difficulties before. I've pushed myself to the limit. I’ve raced and I’ve won. And that should be the proof you need to believe in me.” I paused, taking another break to breathe. “I’ve raced older, more experienced men…. and I won.”

“Eva, this isn’t about gender.”

My eyes narrowed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I know it's not about gender, but I can’t just ignore the implications. You had no problem feeding your 13-year-old son to this sport when it was clear I’ve always wanted this more than he did. He never wanted this, yet, he got everything. The best sponsors. The best tyres. The seat in F3.” At this point, I was not sure if my dad kept hearing me; I don’t think I was hearing myself. “I’m 25 and I’m asking you to help me. Because I want to do this. I want a better team, or just some team that believes in me and works on my potential. If I don’t do this now, I’ll never get a chance.”

“Don’t talk about your brother.”

“Why?”

There was a flicker of unease in my father's eyes. He didn’t answer my question right away. Instead, he took a second, choosing his words carefully. "Fabrizio has worked hard for his achievements, just as you have," he replied, his tone measured. "This conversation shouldn't be about him. It's about you."

“So let’s talk about me and the opportunities I didn’t have. The chances I wasn’t given. Go ahead.”

"Eva, it's not that I don't believe in your potential. But racing is a high-stakes environment, and there are no guarantees. I worry about the toll it may take on you."

“Yet you had no problem to—”

A bang. Loud and strong as his hand met the mahogany wood of the desk. The sudden outburst left me stunned, momentarily silencing my frustration. I felt my whole body freeze. The sound hung heavy in the air, casting a deep shadow over the conversation. His eyes, darkened by the weight of his disapproval bore down on me.

"You're crossing a line here, Eva," he continued, his voice laced with an undeniable intensity, as his stern gaze fell upon mine. "You keep proving my point. You lack stability. You don’t have a strong backbone. This sport isn’t fit for you."

“I—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted, rising from his chair and coming to sit beside me. He placed his warm hand on top of mine, his touch both comforting and unsettling. His skin was still tingling from the impact when it met mine. Awful sensation. “It's a tough and competitive world out there. Besides, racing is not meant for delicate souls like you. Look at you, piccina. The racetrack is no place for someone as graceful as you. Your job suits you so much better."

My anger surged, fueling my defiance. I wanted to get up, stand up for myself. But his hand was there, heavy on top of mine.

“You can take any car to the track any day. Enjoy yourself. Do a couple of races here and there to keep the mind sharp. But—”

“But?”

“But this isn't the right career for you, Eva. This isn't where you belong.”

The weight of his words sank deep into my chest. It felt like a physical force, pressing down on the fragile hope that had been slowly rebuilding. It was hard to take in, to digest. Dad was wrong. I knew this. I knew this was my calling. But it was hard to hear him say it out loud. And it was even harder to take in the reality of it.

I stood up from my chair, my body acting on its own accord as if disconnected from my consciousness. Reality seemed fragmented as if the boundaries between my emotions and actions were blurred.

"So what is it? My job? The office job?" My voice quivered, and the words poured out of me, unfiltered and raw. “You don't see? You don’t feel it, too? The trill, the challenge… the adrenaline. How happy I am when I’m on the track? You were there, beside me in the day I felt the most accomplished. You didn’t see it? You didn’t notice that that’s what truly drives me? Not an office job. That was the least I could do to feel merely content with myself.”

“Merely content?” Scepticism was palpable as he responded. So much doubt laced in his words. “You had so much more than many drivers could dream of, and you were ungrateful. Was that it? You own a pretty trophy and now you think you can take the world? What will happen when you get back to the factory? Better…” He got up from his chair, leaving an indented mark on the upholstery. My dad was only slightly taller than me, but he seemed so much bigger as he stood in front of me. “What will you say when you get to Fuji and realize you’ll be standing in the garage for days, not even touching the wheel of the car? Will you be happy? Or merely content?”

“You underestimate me.” A pause. A deep breath. His words had struck a nerve. “I'm not asking for a life of leisure or constant victory. I know the sacrifices and challenges ahead, and I’m willing to work for them. Marketing? Yes. It’s fun, it was something to keep me busy and yes, I can admit that it’s something that may suit me but will never fulfil me the way racing does…” I pointed at the frame of my brother. “Wouldn’t you like to have another child racing in F3?”

“You’re 25, Eva. Be realistic.”

Silence.

I didn’t know what was coursing through my veins, if sadness for my father’s unwavering position, or a surge of determination, keeping ignited the flicker of hope I shielded inside.

“And who defines what’s realistic?” The question left my lips and I dropped my shoulders, partially defeated. I knew it would be hard, and I knew I was probably not gonna make it, but goddammit, I just wanted him to have enough faith in me to instigate me to try.

“Where was that version of you these past months?” He questioned, his voice laden with disappointment. “You have been impossible to deal with, lately. Too emotional. Too frustrated. Too… unpredictable. Those mistakes on the track, that attitude.”

“You told me I was passionate—” I began, my voice tinged with confusion.

“I told you what I needed to tell you so you could stop crying and go back to work,” he interjected, cutting off my words. “And I can’t follow you around the world, whipping tears.”

Again, his words struck me like a blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. The weight of his dismissal and the invalidation of my struggles crashed over me like a wave. Memories of his hugs and comforting words in the garage surfaced, but they now felt like empty gestures. Anger welled up inside me, but instead of drowning me in a sea of fear and self-doubt, it fueled my determination. I had to prove him wrong, not just for myself but to shatter the doubts he had cast upon me.

Whether it took a year, two, or even longer. I vowed myself to make my way to F3 and fight tooth and nail for that top step.

And I would gift him my own frame.

Before I could find the right words to say, or to feel composed enough to turn my back and leave the office, his phone rang. Its vibration made an annoying sound against the wood, echoing in the room. Not to my surprise, my father was quick to turn his eyes in the phone’s direction. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up from the desk.

“I have to take this,” he muttered and then excused himself from the room to answer the call.

"You talked?" Rio's voice held a hint of anticipation as he picked up on the first beep. It was clear that he had been waiting for my call. The thought made me crack a smile, yet nothing but a melancholic sound escaped my lips. From the other side, I heard, "Pack some clothes and come over.”

Rio was waiting for me at his doorstep with Liv perched on his lap. A large smile cracked on her face as she saw me leave the car behind and walk through the driveway. Rio was not so smiley. His gaze held a silent acknowledgement. Dad had talked to him, of course. He knew his answer. He probably knew it back in Mallorca.

As I drew closer, my older brother pulled me into a tight embrace. Wordless comfort that spoke volumes.

"Papà said you're having a bad day," Liv whispered innocently, her little hand gently wrapping around my neck. "We're going to have a party to make you happy."

"A party?" I questioned, my voice filled with surprise as I glanced at Rio, unsure of what Liv had in mind.

Rio chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"A pyjama party!"

"A movie night," my brother corrected with a smile, opening the door wider to welcome me inside. "And we’ll all be wearing pyjamas."

The weight on my shoulders began to lift as I stepped into the warmth of Rio's home. The house was significantly smaller than my parents’ and decorated in a totally different way. So different that they rarely visited the house.

There was a groovy vibe to the house. A fusion of retro charm and modern comfort. The house was undeniably Marjorie’s domain, a testament to her eclectic taste and vibrant personality. Rio was on the small details—on the vintage motorsport memorabilia and weathered posters from races, teams or technical drawings adorned the shelves and walls, intermingling with kaleidoscopic prints from the swinging 60s. Even the furniture had a retro flair with bold and eye-catching colours that added to the electric atmosphere.

When we met, Marjorie and I bonded through our shared love for music and art. I found comfort in earthy tones and meticulously organized shelves, while Marjorie revelled in the vivacity of vibrant patterns and her devotion to what she affectionately refers to as “organized messes”. Yet, despite our divergent aesthetics, we found common ground in our discussions about art, our shared passion for Frank Sinatra, and our penchant for lighting incense—a practice my mom couldn't quite fathom. And, of course, our mutual adoration for Disney movies and romcoms.

The living room was a cozy haven, with the sunlight pouring through the large windows, casting playful shadows on the shaggy rugs that covered the floor. The room was adorned with retro furniture, featuring plush velvet couches and bean bag chairs, inviting relaxation and lounging. Between them, a couple of air mattresses, that usually don’t belong there.

Grace and Marjorie were already settled in the living room, their giggles filling the air. As soon as they spotted me, Grace's eyes lit up, and she hopped off the mattress, her unicorn slippers making soft padding sounds against the floor.

"Eva!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Look! Pantuflas de unicornio!”

“Oh, my!” A strident giggle left her lips as I crunched down to observe the slippers more closely. “You always have the coolest things!”

“D’you want them?”

“No, my love,” a chuckle abandoned my lips. “They’re too tiny for me. They're perfect for you, though."

Grace's face scrunched up in contemplation for a moment. The bright green eyes stared down for a moment, until she nodded, probably satisfied with my explanation. God, she’s adorable. Then, she slipped her slippers back on and run back to her mom, bouncing around the room, her laughter filling the air once again.

Marjorie was sitting on one of the velvet couches. While one of her hands held Grace’s, bouncing on the mattress, the other waved at me.

“Go change,” she pointed at the hallway. “Fast. Before he eats all the popcorn!”

“Come on!” Rio screamed from the kitchen, on the other end of the living room. “I literally took two! Two!”

I looked back, before disappearing into the hallway. Liv was laughing, with one hand around Rio’s neck and the other deep into the bowl of popcorn.

“He took more than two, mummy!”

There was a strange feeling in my belly as a hurried down the hallway, but I couldn’t understand what it was. As I slipped into my pyjamas and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a sense of contentment washed over me. The realization swept through me like a gentle breeze—I was no longer envious. If before I often felt jealous of my brother, his family and the beautiful home he had crafted for himself, now a different set of emotions took hold—excitement, curiosity.

And it was a strange feeling.

A new, scary, terrifying feeling.

“hate to admit it, but i miss you already”

I typed out the message, the memories of the past week seeping into my very skin, dissolving any remains of envy. I was excited. I wanted to embark on a journey of my own, forge my own path and witness where it would lead me—lead us. Me and Carlos, if he was willing to trace the path with me. A stupid thought —a house for both of us—yet, a peaceful one.

And God, I needed some peace.

After sending the text, I returned to the living room, where the infectious laughter of my nieces embraced me. Settling onto the soft mattress, I stole a glance at my phone, hoping for a reply that would bridge the distance between us. I had seen him that morning. Why was I already dying to get a hold of him, again?

"Alright, folks,” Rio declared, holding the remote high above his head, engaged in a playful battle with my determined nieces, their little arms reaching out to seize control. "Tonight's feature presentation is... drum rolls, please..." Rio paused, expecting a grand reaction, but all he received was an annoyed expression from Liv. Undeterred, he continued, "Tangled! One of Aunty Eva's all-time favourites. Am I right?"

The children froze in their tracks, their attention instantly captivated, their arms suspended mid-air, pointing eagerly at the coveted remote.

“Yes, it is," I confirmed with a smile.

Their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them, and as if in agreement, they lowered their arms in unison.

“I miss you, too. Just a couple more days and I’m home” came the comforting response on my phone screen. And, in that moment, surrounded by laughter and the anticipation of a Disney adventure, I felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude and warmth.

The peace I had sought seemed within reach.

Hours and movies went by. The twins, lulled by the enchantment on the screen, had fallen asleep by the end of Luca, and Marjorie was defeated by her sleep before the conclusion of Pretty Woman.

The familiar glow of the television illuminated the room as we watched How To Lose a Guy In Ten Days, one of my and Rio’s favourite romcoms. Light-hearted distraction, a temporary escape from the weighty realities that burdened my mind and the absence of innocent laughter and ceaseless questions that before had echoed in the room.

In the stillness, I turned to Rio. There was a silent understanding between us, a shared history that allowed us to navigate the unspoken spaces between our words. Yet, as I brushed my fingers through Grace’s curls, I couldn’t contain the question that lingered in my mind.

“He told you he was going to say no, didn’t he?” Rio shifted uneasily, his gaze momentarily drawn back to the flickering images on the screen, a fleeting attempt to evade the weight of the conversation. “Rio, please,” I implored. “He said he talked with you. What do you know?”

If you have a big brother, you know the look in their eyes when they witness you navigating challenges they've once faced themselves. It could be problems at school, petty squabbles with your parents—whatever the case may be. Rio’s eyes, tinged with a mix of empathy and understanding, mirrored the turmoil that swirled within me. Duelling with his own emotions, torn between protecting me from the truth and honouring the trust we shared, he lowered the volume of the movie and then turned to me.

“He made it clear he was not gonna help you,” Rio confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness that softened the blow. His words, like a ghost passing through a wall in a children's movie, permeated my being. "He doesn't believe that you truly know what you want. But," Rio continued, his voice gaining strength, "you and I both know that what he says doesn't actually care. You can make it on your own."

“Why?”

“Why what?” He was sleepy, and we were whispering. “Why doesn’t he matter?”

“No,” I rolled my eyes. “Why does he not believe I want this?”

A smirk played on my brother's lips, his eyes alive with understanding. "Well, he wasn’t spent enough time with you and Chili, ‘Vita.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

You needed to see him, to realize that you were letting the best damn version of yourself fade away." Rio paused, his words hanging in the air like a weighty truth. "I know you know it. You know he's the one who stirs up that… thing within you. And since Mugello, Eva... you've transformed yourself. I don’t know if you wanted to prove him something, or if he simply has some effect on you, but… I'd rather deal with the unpredictable beast than see you trapped in that soft shell of a person you were becoming.”

"Oh God, you're the worst.”

“What? Am I lying?”

I sighed and looked ahead, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "It's just...I don't know what to say now.” He laughed. “Stop. Shush. Your kids are sleeping.”

“What then?”

“Do you think I can make it?”

“Get to wag status or d—"

"Oh, you fucking idiot," I said with a grin, throwing a pillow his way.

"My kids are here!" He exclaimed silently, throwing the pillow back at me. "Next one and I’ll make you add to the jar."

“Ok. I’m sorry,” I held my hands in apology. “But I’m serious. Do you think I can make it?”

"I do. Whatever you want, I know you can achieve it. WEC, W-Series...maybe even F3 someday. Set your mind to it, and go for it. You know how to market yourself, you know what you bring to the table. You don't need Dad.”

Rio's voice carried a mixture of conviction and unwavering support. It was in moments like these that I truly appreciated having him around. It was in moments like these I started to miss him. I couldn’t imagine not having him 5 minutes away. Either at his house or in his hotel room. He understood the challenges I faced, both on and off the track. For the 25 years of my life, he was always there.

"You've got the charisma, Eva," he continued, his voice brimming with confidence. "You know how to connect with people, how to leave a lasting impression… That's a skill that can take you far. Read everything in your email, answer the emails as you know and call people. Just… be you. I can help with the bureaucratic stuff. I know any of the Carlos can help, too,” that drew a small chuckle from me. “Just believe in yourself and keep pushing. Now,” he pointed at the screen, “the movie.”

Andie was about to grab the microphone and start singing You’re So Vain and, of course, Rio had to join with his too-high-pitched, terrible voice.

“I miss you already,” I whispered, just as the music died.

“Shush,” he muttered, pointing once again at the screen. “The movie.”

Let's not even begin to mention the struggle of attempting to sleep in an impromptu king-sized bed with two toddlers and two adults. Air mattresses and blankets were strewn about, and suddenly Rio's snoring seemed like a minor inconvenience compared to the chaos unfolding around me. Grace and Liv tossed and turned, their tiny fists finding their way to every limb in their surroundings, without a hint of mercy.

However, when I groggily opened my eyes, sandwiched between my two nieces, a tray of coffee and freshly baked pancakes waiting at my feet, and another Disney movie playing on the TV, I couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Marjorie was curled up in an armchair, still in her pyjamas and with a steamy cup of coffee in her hands.

“Morning,” she said. Her pale fingers left the mug to slightly wave at me. “I didn’t know if you had work, so I let you sleep.”

“What time is it?” I looked around, looking for my phone, but in between the mess of blankets and pillows, it was nowhere to be found.

“Just a bit after 9,” she threw me my phone, which I caught phone mid-air.

After a quick glance at the screen, I could confirm her words: a little past 9 in the morning. The lack of sleep tugged at my eyelids, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery scent of croissants enticed me to wakefulness.

"Thanks, Marge," I mumbled, still rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "You didn't have to do all this, though."

She gave me a half-hearted smile. "No problem. Thought a little pick-me-up might help after Rio told me what was going on."

And help it did.

The warm cup of coffee worked its magic and coaxed my mind into alertness as I sipped the rich brew, especially when I noticed the not-so-subtle hints of whiskey under the caffeine tones. You can take a girl of Scotland, but can’t take Scotland of the girl.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked me.

“Not really.”

"Have you got work today, or will you stay with us?" Rio's voice called from the kitchen, still carrying a roughness from sleep. I was not sure if he had listened to Marjorie’s question and my quick answer, or if his question came out of the blue, but his voice was more than enough to change the subject. "Or is it today you're travelling?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving for Milan after lunch. Just need to swing by home to grab my things and say goodbye to Mom."

“Just Mom?”

“Don’t really want to talk with Dad, right now.”

A heavy silence settled between us, punctuated by Rio’s audible sigh. That was enough to make Marjorie swiftly get up and rush the kids inside, leaving us alone to talk. Rio waited until we were alone, gaze fixed on his adorable twins, making their way inside.

“Don’t forget, he’s still Dad, you know,” his voice rang with a certain frustration to it. “Don’t give him reasons to act this way. Try to not be immature about all this.”

I bristled at his words, feeling defensive. "Believe me, if you had the same conversation, you would feel this way.”

Rio's expression softened, “I had some really hard conversations with him, Eva. It takes patience. Especially with him.”

“I don’t really want to pretend I’m okay with what he said.”

“Ignoring him won’t change a thing," Rio reasoned. “Showing him you’re more mature than he thinks might just make him reconsider. Or at least…” he paused, “…bite his tongue.”

“And why is this mature thing coming from?” I stood up from the mattress, my limbs still feeling a bit numb from sleep. My mind, however, was becoming sharper by the second. “I’ve been doing my thing for years. I've always shown nothing but maturity.”

“A bit of self-awareness is welcome, sis,” he mocked. I raised my brow. “C’mon, Eva. Don’t make me go there.”

“Yeah, well. Go there.”

“You know him,” Rio's voice took on a gentle tone as he picked up the pillows, organizing the small nest we had created last night. “You know how dad is. Always so… straight and polite. The way you react to things… I don’t know. He says he spoiled you too much.”

"Now I'm spoiled and immature?" I retorted.

“Stop. You keep proving my point. Just prove him wrong. Be polite, be the most annoying version of Dad you can be.” He looked up at me, hair falling over his sleepy eyes. "He doesn't know you as I do. And I know you're capable of it. I've said it once, and I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

“Also,” he continued, taking a couple of steps in my direction. “If you really want to do this, wrap up all your ongoing projects and focus on getting a team and sponsors. Change priorities. Stop worrying about having a safety net. We won’t let you fall.” I nodded. Words silenced by the surprise his words caught me in. “Also, don’t waste time looking for Dad’s approval or validation. Call whoever you want to call. Stop doubting. Use Fuji to make contacts. Talk to people. Take matters into your own hands.”

Take matters into my own hands.

It was time to actually be independent and take a leap of faith. Not on another, but in myself. And God, I hadn't understood before that that was the most challenging—finding trust in myself.

Throughout that week, as I immersed myself in preparations for the upcoming race at Fuji with my endurance team and meet each night for dinner with my clients from Milan, I started to tie loose ends, just like my brother had advised. I told them about my move and guided them through what was about to happen. I would delegate them to Amanda, showed them how she would take care of them with the same dedication I had, and used the little free time between meetings and training to draft a series of emails, one for my boss and others for the individuals who held the keys to my future.

From afar, I had the help and support from Carlos.

Selfies, texts. A call at the end of the day, even if it was not much more than to exchange a good night.

Thursday night, at the end of the last day, when work was finally behind and the windows of my hotel room framed the lights of the city, I dialled his number. God. His voice. His accent. It soothed me in ways I couldn’t explain.

"You're going back home tomorrow?”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yes. And then straight to Avila.”

"What time do you arrive?”

“At Avila? Around eight, I think. Seven-ish.”

“I’ll be there by then, I think. But I can wait a couple of hours at the airport if you wish.”

"A couple of hours? No. Carlos—" I heard a grunt on the other end, a signal for silence. "No. Don’t bother. My parents will be there to pick me up. You can wait at home."

"Well, I can't.” I laughed, my heart fluttering at the sound of his voice that had just joined mine in laughter. “What? I simply can't."

There was a pause, filled with unspoken longing.

I could imagine his playful smile on the other end of the line. I could trace the wrinkle around his eyes, or the scrunch of his nose. Freaking hell, I was down bad.

“Did your sisters say something to your mom? I find it weird to be invited there, like this.”

“I don’t know,” he paused. “I mean, your mom helping set up the dinner. Blanca wants to make the announcement pretty intimate. And after last week, I don’t find it weird she wants you there. Did she call you?”

“Yes, but not before calling my mom. And she almost threw a fit over the phone, saying I don’t tell her anything.”

“Well, did you?”

I paused. “No, we barely talked. After all that stuff with my dad and going to sleep at Rio’s… you know… barely saw her.”

The ruffle of sheets made its way through the phone, suggesting he was moving on the other side.

“Yeah, about that…” his voice rang more serious than before. Deep and heavy. “How are you feeling? I’m happy to finally catch you on the phone at a decent hour so we can actually talk about it.”

A sigh escaped my lips, a mix of fatigue evident in my voice. "I feel like I need a vacation already. From all this, I mean…" I confessed, my weariness evident. Mentally, I felt exhausted from the constant juggling of obligations. From the moment I woke up until the moment I laid down to sleep, my mind felt like a swirling circus. Thoughts and ideas danced and twirled, leaving me overwhelmed with the cacophony of my own aspirations.

"How's Fuji prep going?"

"Oh, that’s going nice. I mean... Yeah, nicely," I replied, the uncertainty creeping into my words. The sound he made on the other end of the line felt like a gentle reprimand. "I mean, it's just that sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything, or at least anything that matters and I feel like each time I feel like this I’m proving my Dad right…"

"Eva..." his voice held a soothing quality as if reaching out to calm the waves of doubt crashing against my shore.

"Don't get me wrong," I quickly interjected, wanting to clarify my sentiments. "I'm—”

“Grateful?”

“Yes,” I nodded to the empty room.

“But?”

"But... it's hard not to feel frustrated," I admitted, my voice tinged with a mix of resignation. "I want to be out there, on the track, pushing myself to the limits. Not like this… I mean… I feel like an intern. A movie-type of intern, that gets coffee and sits at meetings, whispering one of two things to a superior and goes home feeling like crap. I mean… It’s good. We are improving. We feel like we can fight in the front next week if we qualify well, but… I want to feel the thrill of competing inside the car. The sidelines are not for me. I enjoy it and I’m so grateful for the opportunity, but each weekend I think it will be different, and it isn’t… I’m just tired of waiting.”

“I know that feeling all too well, love.” I can’t lie, my stomach twitched when I heard it. I was not used to that. Perhaps I would never get used. “I’ve been there, it’s natural to want more. The only thing I can tell you is to be patient.”

“You were there with Sebastian Vettel, not with this team.”

“The fight will make it worth it, Eva.”

I let out a sigh, allowing his words to sink in. “I know.”

“And you matter. Your work matters. You’re smart. You know how to give feedback. I’m more than sure the team is grateful to have you around.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips, comforted by the reassurance. "Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Be sure to not forget.”

“Hm,” I scoffed, immersed in the power of his voice and the darkness of my room staring back at me. I would have gotten lost in it if it wasn’t for his voice, anchoring me in a port of safety. “It is hard to forget, though.”

“Why?”

“Because the path seems so long and I’m 25. 25. I should stick to WEC or LMS instead of just—”

“Eva,” this time it sounded and felt like actually being scolded. “We’re not going to walk backwards. What do you want?”

“Now?”

“Well…” he pondered, ending up chuckling. I could pay to hear his thoughts. “Not now, but for the next months*.”*

“To race. In a car. To have a proper goal to train to. The Challenge is over and I’m not sure when I’ll actually be in a car. No simulators crap.”

He chuckled on the other side. We had the same view on simulators and racing games. We were raised on the track, under pouring rain and the hot Spanish sun. There was nothing in the world that could simulate the feeling of racing under the elements. Feeling and hearing the engine and the blood thickening with adrenaline.

“Okay, so the first step is to get you in a car, then.” He said like it was obvious. “We will sort that out. But after? What’s your goal?”

We will sort that out. That made me smile.

“I don’t know. Is it dumb to say I would really like to try to reach F3? At least.”

I could feel his smile when he replied. “At least. That’s what I wanna hear. It’s not dumb, at all.”

“You have more confidence in me than I’ll ever have.”

“Doesn’t it work both ways?”

The question came so quickly that it almost fell like a product of my own mind. A shiver ran across my spine, filling my body with this incredibly hard-to-decipher feeling. I had him back, yet it felt like I missed him more than ever, or that I was finally noticing how much I’d miss him.

"Yeah, it does. Always did," I admitted, my voice laced with a mix of nostalgia and affection.

Our connection ran deep—deeper than I dared to admit. Our roots were plunging down in the same place.

“Always,” he echoed, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

Wafting in the lavender-loaded atmosphere of the room was the bittersweet reminder of the times we had spent together, the memories etched in our minds like tire tracks on the asphalt. No matter how much time apart or how deep the sorrow seemed to hit, we would always have each other. We were part of each other. And if that used to bring me pain, now I couldn’t feel anything else other than utter glory.

His breath cut rhythmically the silence, I didn’t say anything because there was nothing I could say, and he didn’t either. For a couple of seconds, I let myself picture him there, on the other side of the bed.

“I’ll let you go to sleep,” he said, erupting through the silence.

Looking into the dark in front of me, I wished for his presence. To be able to stare into his eyes and drown in the honey mantle before me. Let my fingers roam through his hair. Inspire the sweet scent of his presence.

“One sleep away and I’ll be there, again,” he said.

“One sleep away,” I repeated. “See you tomorrow.”

Ávila, its ancient walls and medieval charm, are just a stone’s throw from Madrid, yet for a couple of summers, it felt like a whole different world.

That day, Dad relied solely on his memories to navigate the road. The familiar sights and scents of the countryside guided him out from Madrid, while stirring up anticipation and memories that had lived inside me and been tucked away beneath a heavy blanket of sorrow and regrets. At the first familiar sight, those memories came flooding back to me, vivid and alive in my mind. The oaks, the radiant sun, and the feeling of the gentle breeze that seemed to slow time down, as if we were stuck in a distant dream.

There were summers I spent more time in Avila than in Madrid.

It was our sanctuary—the days unfolded slowly, so lazy and simple; similar to Mallorca, but right at our doorstep, just an hour's drive from Madrid. I had my own room at the Sainz estate, but it was in Ana's bed that I inevitably fell asleep almost every night, after long hours of talking about everything and nothing.

My favourite tradition was the late-night walks after dinner. The five of us—Ana, Blanca, Carlos, Rio and I, would wander along the estate, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight and the few yellow lanterns we managed to gather before leaving. It was magic. It seemed like the moon itself was one of us, whispering secrets in our ears, secrets aching to be shared. Often, I would find myself walking along Carlos, footsteps in sync, away from the rest of the group. I don’t know if it was the moon and its particular allure, or just the tiredness of the night, but as the unhurried days melted into tranquil nights, our conversations grew deeper, more intimate. The night concealed our vulnerability, and the tint of our blushed cheeks blended seamlessly into the shadows.

I remember how I dreamed about kissing him under the moonlight, how it made his eyes even more captivating.

But I never did. I held back.

I wanted him to make the first move, although I never thought he would.

And during the days, when we were not laying by the pool or riding horses around the estate, we would give into our adventurous spirits. The whole property was our playground. Through the trees and the dirt road courses, we held impromptu rally races. Sainz Sr. would join us when he was around, turning those days into an intimate racing boot camp. Roaring engines, screeching tires, smoke and clouds of dust. Those were the moments I longed for, when imperfection was embraced and our hunger for knowledge pushed us further. It was so much more than just racing.

Some days, I would stay over, others I would go back home.

And every time I left, the marks La Piñonera had left seemed to reach deeper.

Rio shared the same feeling. It was during one of these days that he discovered that his true passion doesn’t lie behind the wheel but in the heart of the garage. When he heard the roar of the engine after hours of work, while his hands were covered in oil and the bed of his nails were nothing but pitch black, he knew he had found his calling. We all knew. It took him a year to tell Dad and even more time for Dad to let him quit racing.

However, it had been a couple of years since my last visit to Avila, and it was not until I had the first glimpse of the La Piñonera that I realized how much I missed the place. At the end of the dirt road, the house lay under the hot August sun, gates open, ready to welcome us.

Sainz Sr. waited for us on the patio, arms up, waving at us. A trail of dust followed my Dad’s Benz until it was parked under the gazebo, exactly where Senior had instructed to. Against the stone walls of the structure, were a few motorbikes. A fine layer of dust all over them. It was the first time I’d seen them there. They felt so out of place, like a recent photo lost in the middle of a childhood album.

Perhaps time doesn't actually stand still in Avila.

Around us, the air was thick with warmth, and not a leaf stirred on that still day. It was a hot August day, and the second I stepped out of the air conditioner of the car, I felt the heat embrace me. Tiny drops of sweat clung to my nose and temples. Looking around, hearing the crunch of gravel beneath my feet echoed in the stillness, I noticed how the holm oaks stood tall and motionless, the branches casting circles of shadow here and there over the courtyard.

That was just the same.

Reyes met us by the door and guided us inside. My gaze swept across the walls adorned with hunting memorabilia, including the imposing deer heads that had always sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but apologize silently to the frozen creatures for their fate. Their frigid stares followed me all the way through the room, as we made our way to the bustling kitchen. The scents of home-cooked meals and the clicking of utensils filled the air. Ana and Blanca donned their red aprons and summer dresses and moved around, their voices blending into a harmonious conversation. At the clink of my mother’s hells, they turned around.

"You’re here! Welcome back" Ana exclaimed. "My God, it’s been so long."

“Do you miss me that much, already?” I mocked, leaving a peck on her cheek and moving to Blanca, washing some vegetables on the sink. “It’s been… what? Four days?”

“Since you visited the house, idiot.”

“Oh, and I thought I was already being missed…”

I settled down near the window, watching them work from afar. My eyes couldn’t help but drift to the outside, taken by the curiosity of seeing how much had changed in the backyard. But it all matched the pictures in my mind. The green around the pool was still there, so saturated, so inviting. Around it, the herbs and oaks kept their brown and yellow hues, dark green leaves standing tall and watching us from afar. Towels on the loungers, a football near the pool… Oli sleeping in the shadow. Just like I remembered.

“How was the drive here?” Blanca asked, “do you still remember the way?”

"My dad drove. And you know how it goes. He found the worst detours possible and my mom desperately tried to not correct him every five minutes.”

“Oh, the joys of family road trips,” Reyes said. “We should do that more, girls.”

“God forbid,” Ana said between her teeth.

“I would do it more often if my husband had yours’s sense of navigation,” my mom commented. “Alessio can’t find the way even with the GPS in front of his eyes.”

Reyes playfully nudged my arm. "Speaking of trips, I hear you had quite the memorable one in Mallorca. Care to share?”

I raised an eyebrow, pointing at Ana and Blanca. "Now, what have these two been telling you?"

They both raised their hands defensively, shaking their heads. Reyes joined in, laughing along.

"Oh, go ahead, girls," my mom chimed in. "Eva hasn't told me a thing about the whole week. I need to hear it from you."

"There's really nothing to tell," I interjected. "It’s not my fault if these two exaggerated anything."

Ana turned around and walked to the fridge. "Who, us? Exaggerate? Never!"

I chuckled, discreetly pulling out my phone and texting Carlos. "Where are you hiding?"

Blanca playfully nudged Ana. "Watch out. With that many knives around, you don't want to tempt her."

“Don’t give me any ideas.” I slid the phone into my pocket, grinning at them. “Is there something I can help with?”

"Don't you rather go sit outside and relax for a bit?" Reyes suggested, glancing towards the inviting patio. She gracefully crossed the kitchen to pick up a couple of jars lined up in the window bay. The jars, adorned with rustic bows, held a delightful arrangement of lilies and lavender, their soft purple, pink, and yellow hues peeking out from the surrounding greenery. I knew my mom had picked those. They were the perfect choice for Blanca’s dinner. “It will be just us for dinner and everything is arranged for tomorrow. You can rest upstairs if you wish.”

I shook my head, a smile forming on my lips. "No, I can help. I'll help you set the table."

With a nod, Reyes motioned for me to follow her into the dining room. She laid the jars in a console in the dining room. My eyes wandered over the walls, taking their time in every door frame and window they met; I couldn't help but glance outside, secretly hoping for a glimpse of him.

The aroma of the meal being prepared wafted into the dining room, mingling with the gentle scent of the flower arrangements. Laughter and the clinking of utensils echoed from the kitchen, where my mom and the girls continued their lively chatter while cooking.

So warm, so familiar. Like I’d never left.

The tablecloth was similar to one of my memories—carefully burnished to fall neatly over the edges of the sturdy wooden table. Reyes took the lead, picking up the plates and laying them down with precision on the table. It was just us for the night, the guests would arrive the next afternoon, after lunch. Then, at dinner, Blanca and Rodrigo would announce their engagement. My mom would help all day with the preparations. She can’t say no to a party. And Dad would enjoy the morning hunting. He’s one of those.

“You know, if it wasn’t so hot today, we would have dined outside,” Reyes commented, leaning over the back of one of the chairs, using her index finger to align two cups on the table. “Carlos wanted to have a barbecue tonight, but after this week I feel like we all need a homemade meal, something… proper.”

“We can save the barbecue for another day. Senior’s a master on the grill, after all. I can say I miss his cooking.”

Reyes turned on her heels, facing me. “I meant the younger one, actually,” she said. “He really wanted to make you some burgers. I don't know what you did to him last week, but…”

“Oh, just...” I began, my words trailing off as a familiar voice filled the room.

“The younger one? Talking about me?” Carlos's voice resounded through the room, echoing off the cool walls that provided us refuge from the scorching heat, now entering through the door he had left open behind him.

Caco entered after, waving as he crossed the door, phone glued to his ear. The door was kept open and the hot air rippled in, gently brushing against my bare arms. When I turned around, pretending that Carlos’ presence was just another ordinary occurrence and it didn’t affect me the slightest, I couldn't help but notice that he too was battling the heat.

Thick, damp hair clung to his temples and neck, his shirt slightly creased against his torso and back, marked by lines of sweat that clung to his skin, accentuating the contours of his muscles. And he hadn't shaved. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, and the casual way he navigated the distance from the table to kiss his mother's temple as if the house and the air we were breathing belonged solely to him made my heart skip a beat. It was impossible to deny that he had an aura. An ethereal glow.

“Mom, she’s a guest”, Carlos remarked, a slight smile gracing his lips as he draped his arm over his mother's shoulders. She kissed his cheek, her hand moving along his back. Up and down, and up again. A warm feeling spread through my chest, and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Why are you making her work?”

With a soft smile, I replied, "I made myself work. I'd rather help."

"Had a feeling you would say that," he responded, closing the distance between us. Carlos leaned down, his lips gently pressing against each of my cheeks in a tender kiss. Our noses brushed against each other's as he made his way to kiss my other cheek. The gentle bump made me chuckle and I noticed it made him smile. His hand caressed my forearm, leaving behind a lingering warmth even as he pulled away. "How was the drive?”

“Quite an adventure, actually. Dad almost sent us down a hill.”

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right. That man needs a GPS, or a map, or something.”

"Or a couple of lessons from your old man," I pointed, making Reyes chuckle on the other side of the room. Dusty paw prints marked his trousers and he had a small scratch on his arm. "What happened there?"

"Oh, uh… Piñon," he replied, hastily brushing his hands against the fabric in an attempt to clean them. "I think he missed me.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Reyes swiftly crossed the room. The clack of her sandals made both of us turn her way. I couldn't help but suppress a laugh at her disapproving look, but Carlos looked genuinely puzzled by his mother's reaction. "What? It's the dog's fault."

"Come on! Dinner is almost ready, and you show up like this?" Reyes scolded, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"Don't I have like… ten minutes to shower?" Carlos retorted. “We were in the field all afternoon. I would need a shower either way.”

"Five minutes. Not a minute less," Reyes affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with affection. "Por Díos, we have guests, Carlos."

Carlos shot me a playful wink before obediently heading off to freshen up, leaving me alone with Reyes in the dining room. Reyes gestured for me to take a seat at the table, her warm smile finally returning. "Make yourself comfortable, dear. Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Could I... refresh up before dinner, too?" As words left my mouth, I saw Carlos slow down until he stopped by the archway. "Since Carlos will delay dinner, anyway."

“"Well… I don’t see why not. Carlos will end you get settled in. Won’t you, Carlos?”

"Of course," he replied from afar. "The one next to Ana's, right?"

Reyes just nodded and turned on her heels, walking back to the kitchen. Waiting for me, not too far away, a Spanish man, with a beautiful smile and a godly glare.

The atmosphere seemed to shift the second our steps fell in sync. My small suitcase waited for me at the top of the staircase, right at the beginning of the hallway. The scent of aged wood and the soft glow coming through the small windows, casting funny patterns on the art pieces on the wall, welcomed us upstairs.

"We are making some renovations," he said, picking up my suitcase. "It's mostly done, I mean. For my sisters' weddings."

"I couldn't tell," I admitted, between the sound of our footsteps echoing softly against the walls. "Everything very much looks the same."

He smiled at me. “I know. Time doesn’t go by in here.” That smile, united with his tousled hair and the faint scent of his cologne fed something inside me. The light, so warm and bright, fell perfectly on his features. He looked pretty. Homey.

"You didn't shave."

"You said you like it when I keep it like this."

My eyebrow pointed up, "That's why?"

"I'll have to shave it for dinner, but... yes."

We reached a door at the end of the corridor, its aged wood marked with intricate carvings. The door before that one was Ana's room, and it held so many of my secrets, shared in the dark, between the covers and girly giggles. Carlos turned the worn brass handle and pushed the door open, revealing the cosy, inviting room I was used to. That, too, felt the same. Soft sunlight streamed in through a big window, casting warm hues over the wooden furniture and the plush bed adorned with a vintage quilt.

Not much decoration, just the basics for a guest.

"You said you'll have to shave for dinner?" I asked, standing outside.

Carlos had his hand on the handle and his eyes pointed at the inside of the room, probably waiting for me to move. But I wanted more time alone with him. Study him. In his home. In his ambience. Understand if he missed me as much as I missed him. Play this game of how much more time I can’t pretend I’m not desperate to touch him.

"My mom doesn't like it," his hand left the handle to caress his own cheeks. "Neither do my sisters, to be fair. I think you're the only one."

"Believe me, I am not," I replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, his eyes filled with curiosity as he soaked in our conversation. "Oh, really?" he inquired, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Yes. A lot of people, actually.” When I noticed, my fingertips were up, extended to him, lingering on the roughness of his jawline. I’d lost my own game. "But my opinion should be enough.”

His gaze intensified, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Oh, love, it is," he responded, his hand reaching out to gently touch mine.

“You can’t do that,” I whispered.

“What, exactly?”

“Call me that like that.”

“Do you blush like that when I call you love on the phone?” His tongue wandered across his lips and I raised my hand to my cheek. “Don’t bother to check, baby. Why would I lie?”

I stepped inside the room, both my hands on my cheeks, leaving both Carlos and my suitcase by the door. The mirror over the dresser confirmed his words. I shot him a glance, but he just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well,” I moved around. "Don't you want to show me around? Maybe enlighten me on how the faucets work or something like that? Make yourself useful… instead of mocking me.”

Carlos chuckled, the sound filled with warmth and familiarity. "You know this house probably as well as I do, Eva.”

"Well, with the renovations, I can't be so sure anymore..."

"Oh, the renovations," he mused, laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Exactly. The renovations. What a terrible host, Carlos Sainz," I teased, playfully kicking off my sneakers. "I expected your mother to teach you better."

Pretending to take offence, he closed the distance between us. "Terrible host?"

"Yes. Absolutely terrible,” I emphasized, leaning closer to him, our faces mere inches apart. The air crackled with anticipation, and I could feel his warm breath against my skin.

"Well, how can I make myself useful, then?" Carlos's hands tightened their grip on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. There was no need for pretense or hesitation. His anticipation matched my own, the way his eyes held mine told me exactly that. His voice turned husky when he spoke again, "What do you want?”

To burn down in anticipation, I wanted to tell him. To drown in the bittersweet feelings that his presence evoked in me, both threatening and soothing—the urge, the longing, the tug in my belly that told me I was beyond ruined. Once again, his tongue wandered through his lips.

"Could you please just—" I began, my voice trailing off as he finished the sentence, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. The raw desire in his gaze set my senses ablaze, and I found myself leaning in, drawn inexorably toward him.

"Kiss you?" he finished, his breath ghosting over my lips.

The room fell silent as I held my breath, gaze locked with his. And then, I let it wander through his face, taking in every inch of his portrait, from the angle only I had access to. The freckles on his cheeks. The shadow of his eyelashes. The way his iris grew darker, as anticipation flooded his own senses. The droplets of sweat on the bridge of his nose. The way he pulled his lip between his teeth, as my eyes laid on them and travelled up again.

It was this that I needed from him. More than everything.

To be so close to the point of forgetting we were once apart.

With a whispered plea hanging on my lips, I nodded. "Yes, please.”

Carlos's breath hitched at my response, a mixture of anticipation and desire evident in his eyes. Without uttering another word, he closed the remaining distance between us, his lips crashing against mine with urgency. God.

The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the grip of his hands pulling me closer, holding me in place. Fingers burning against my skin. My hands instinctively found their way to his tousled hair, threading my fingers through the sweaty strands as I pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The heat of his body against mine sent pulses of electricity through every nerve, heightening the intensity of our connection.

The room itself seemed to respond to the energy between us, the soft sunlight casting a warm glow that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

"Eva, I need a shower," he murmured, his lips tracing my jaw, meeting my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

"Funny thing," my hands navigated to his nape, meeting the small droplets of sweat that had formed there. "Me too."

Carlos chuckled softly, “My room, then. Quick.”

The sound reverberated through me as he took my hand and led me towards the door. I only had time to pick up my suitcase before I was walking barefoot in the hallway, the warmth of the hardwood floors permeating my socks as I walked behind him, rushing through the corridor.

Once inside, he closed the door. The click of the latch echoed like a sealing promise and seconds after, my back was pressed to the door, his weight pressed against me and his lips travelling down my neck. A mix of nostalgia and passion hung in the air, as the walls themselves remembered the dreams of two teenagers, now fulfilled in their adult forms.

No posters on the walls. A couple of memorabilia here and there. Some photos. Totally different than I remembered. It seemed bigger, now, that I wasn’t looking through a small slit of the door, from the hallway. I think the memory made me laugh softly because I remember a small noise echoing in the room and then his voice following,

“What’s going on?” he asked.

"It's just funny," my laughter danced between us like a playful melody. "I'm finally in here."

He looked around, the smile never leaving his face. "My room?"

"The younger me would die to think of this, right now."

"Oh, imagine if she knew what I'm about to do with you," he said, lifting my shirt. I could see my breasts raise with my breathing, my tanned skin meeting the brim of my bra. He lowered his face to kiss the space between them.

A drip of sweat dripped down my neck to my chest. I looked down, whispering. "Shower." I indicated. And then, his lips were again against my neck. My jawline. "I'm gross.” My lips. “You’re gross.” My chin. ”And we have dinner.” My lips again. “They’re waiting.”

“And I’ve waited all week for this. They can wait twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, but my mom will come look for me,” I protested, even though my body was getting warmer.

"They’re distracted," he said, lifting my shirt over my head. "The…" He didn't finish his sentence. He was so busy trying to undo my bra that he forgot how to speak. He wasn't fast enough, though. His mouth was still gliding down my skin, the uneven stubble of his jaw grazing my smooth skin, but his fingers couldn't find their way. I helped him out, freeing myself of the black bra.

He paused, and then he took a step back, breathing deeply.

"Yeah," he exhaled, eyes on my chest. "This is happening.”

“I know,” I said, breathless. “That’s why we need to hurry.”

He was already taking off his sneakers and shirt as we walked to the bathroom door. My heart was pounding in my ears and my breath was coming faster. I forgot my tiredness and the fact that both our families were right there, just a staircase away.

The world ceased around us.

The glass of the shower was cool against my skin, and the tile of the bathroom floor was cold under my feet but when his lips found mine, my skin prickled with heat and I couldn't think about anything else but the way his tongue whipped into my mouth and how his hands slid down my back to pull me against him, trapping me against the glass divider of the shower stall and holding me there as if he had forgotten I needed air.

So urgent. So needy.

Desperate. Passionate. God. Carlos.

My hands were clumsy on his belt, pulling the leather without success. His hands fell over mine, heavy and warm, so big compared to mine. With a stronger thug and with the clink of the buckle, my way was freed.

He had to step away. The button. The zipper. And then he was undressing in front of me. His muscled kissed by the artificial yellow light of the bathroom. Swiftly, he came back to me, not even giving me time to admire him.

And God, how I wanted to.

I was feeling greedy, so greedy.

Shamelessly, my eyes drifted to the mirror in front of us. Our bodies seemed to be melting into one another. His back muscles flexed under his skin as he moved; drops of sweat slid along his back and disappeared into his boxers.

"The water," he pointed, undoing the button of my jeans and sliding them down my pants, as he knelt in front of me.

My hand searched blindly for the faucet, because this time I couldn't take my eyes off his tan shoulders, and the way his muscles responded with grace under skin stretched taut over them. His lips swooped down against my panties, feeling their elastic around my thighs. Without averting my eyes from him, I leaned forward to my right, my fingers finally meeting the cold iron surface. The water ran from the tap in a gush, ice cold, then cascading down, pooling on the marble floor with a splash that echoed in the room around us.

"In," he ordered, getting up and undressing his boxers.

I stepped into the shower, gasping. "It's freezing."

He followed me with two steps, his arm pressing against my back, trapping me against the glass again, this time on the other side. "That may be because you turned it to the wrong side, smartass."

I didn't see him change the faucet, but in a couple of seconds, the water ran warmer against our skin. He chuckled, his lips grazing my earlobe as his hands explored my waist. Our skin was already slick with sweat before the shower started, and now every inch of us was glistening under the artificial bathroom light. He looked like gold, tanned and carved into perfection. His fingers probed between my legs, arousing me further until I was biting my lip to keep from crying out. The droplets of water danced on my forehead.

And then he was pushing me against the cool tile, his hand finding my nipple and rolling it between his fingers. I gasped, biting his shoulder, and his other hand slid on my back, pushing me firmly against him.

"How is it possible that I miss you this much, uh?" He said, fingers now rubbing against my folds, his mouth whispering in my ear. My breath was coming out in shallow pants. "I'm so hard." His index and middle finger were inside me. Thumb pressed against my clit. Hearts beating against my chest. His and mine both. I pressed my head against his shoulder, my nails digging into his back.

"I missed you." I moaned, feeling my body tightening around his fingers. "I really did."

And I wasn’t talking about the previous week, anymore.

My eyes closed. His stubble was razing the skin of my neck as his lips moved to my earlobe, his tongue flickering over the right side of my neck. He tasted like mint and salt. Felt like heaven.

“You’re so hard,” I could feel it. Pulsating. Against my leg. Desperate. So close. “What if they…”

"They won't.” His teeth captured my earlobe between them. “We got time. Focus on me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through my body when his tongue reached my ear. I moaned against him, my hands gripping his shoulders. An emptiness hit me as his fingers slid from me, and I opened my eyes. His dark eyes glowed in the hazy fog that had gathered around us, and droplets of water flew over his showers and onto me. He glanced down admiringly at his wet fingers, coated with my arousal.

"D'you want to taste it?"

"No," I said, breathless. God, this man. On his knees, water running down his face. His lips glistened. His eyes glimmering. "I want you inside me."

His hand fisted my hair and his other hand grabbed my ass, fingers clawing my skin and pressing me against him. The desire to feel him inside me was maddening, taking over every part of me.

"Feisty."

"Thought that was a given."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, "I'm well aware." One last peck on my lips, his voice raspy and low.

I closed my eyes and felt his hand guiding his hardness into me, damp tip meeting my folds, slowly and provocatively. It was so warm. He was everywhere. He was still kissing my skin as he slipped inside me. So tight, baby. So good. Filling me, inch by inch.

The cold tire against my back was the only thing that kept me from collapsing. I slumped over it, my hair spilling down my shoulders and chest. Carlos’ eyes dropped to my chest, and my eyes did the same. Water poured from his shoulders, meeting my belly and making my skin glisten.

And then he pulled out, his hands on my hips, keeping me steady. His eyes were on mine, the same dark depths that held me captive since I met him.

"You okay?"

"More than okay."

He smiled, flexing his hips, and then pushed back in, harder this time. I moaned, gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. I was lost in him. In the way he felt inside me, the way his voice sounded when loaded with lust and pleasure.

His name came out in a whisper. He didn't answer but he quickened his pace, digging his fingers into my hips and kissing me harder. I loved the feel of him getting harder inside of me with every thrust, and I loved hearing him breathe faster and louder each time he squeezed my hips, muffling moans that followed immediately after. I loved the sensation of the water raining on me. How the sound of his breath was turning into something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

"Wait," I told him, between whispers and pants. Carlos stopped moving and looked at me, confusion etched into his features. "What's wrong?"

My skin was all shivers, my back was almost numb with the temperature of the tile. I only noticed how cold I was when the hot water fell on my shoulder again and dripped through my back.

"I think I'm just a bit cold," I whispered, mouth hovering over his.

"That's okay." Carlos' voice was soft, his hand sliding around my waist to the front of my body. One finger traced the outline of my nipple, back and forth, and I arched my back, pressing myself harder against him. His finger dipped inside my navel and I gasped, biting his lip. "Can we try something different?"

"Please."

"Here, then," he moved, pushing me with him closer to the water. The warmth relaxed my muscles and sent an overwhelming feeling over me. I let the water fall over me, as Carlos kissed my neck and shoulders. He was behind me, erection against my ass, hands on my waist, lips all over me.

My hands met the glass divider, warmer than the tile, but exactly as slippery. My hands searched for support as I folded forward. Water hit me right on the back, dripping down me like gold.

“Oh, God,” he uttered, hands firm on my ass, groping my cheeks and pulling them apart. His wet fingers travelled down my slit, slipping inside me again. My body fold even forward, elbows meeting the wall, ass pinned into him. "Every inch of you, baby. So pretty."

And then his hand was gone, replaced by his hardness again, rubbing against me, pressing against my entries, teasing me and making me whimper.

"Please," I begged, my fingers curled around the cold glass. My nails bit into my palms, the sensation unbearable, but incredibly wanton. "Please."

"Please what, baby?" I bet he was smiling when he pressed his thumb against my needy flesh.

"Please fuck me."

The words had just slipped out, and I didn't even realize it.

But it was okay. He knew what I wanted. And he would give it to me. Hard. Fast. And so deep that I would never be able to forget him again.

And then he was inside me, sudden and hard, and I cried out, my nails digging into the glass. I was so tight, I was almost choking him. He started moving, slowly at first and then picking up speed, and I reacted immediately, twisting around and meeting his thrusts. He muttered something in Spanish, in an accent so deep I couldn't understand his words, and I could feel my orgasm building, threatening to consume me.

"Please," I begged again, my voice trembling. "Make me come."

"C'mere," my body followed his voice, and my back meet his chest. He was smiling against my shoulder. He held me in place as he pounded into me, one hand wrapped around my neck, the other pushing down on my clit. I was shaking, my whole body quivering.

"You like this?"

"God. Yes." Words left my lips as my body was hit with waves of pleasure. Waves after waves of it. My toes curled. My stomach tightened. I'd forgotten how good it felt. How good he was.

"Go on, pretty girl," he said as his tongue flicked between my earlobe and the skin of my neck. His thrusts deepened and went faster, still without mercy, until they turned into a fury. I was feeling dizzy. Head elsewhere. Maybe from his grip on my neck or the heat in the room. Perhaps both."Cum for me."

"I'm so close," I whimpered. My hips swayed against him as I leaned back into his shoulders, arching my back. "I'm so close."

It was almost painful, really, how much I was enjoying this, how my body was responding to his touch, to his voice, to him. Go on. You're so pretty. You're so good.

"Oh, Carlos," I cried out, my head turning to his neck to rest on his shoulder, my hands flat against the glass. "Jesus—"

My childhood crush was making me cum in his childhood room. In his childhood home. And I was loving every second of it. I was coming in his arms, and I cried out loud for him. Pleasure tore through my body as he thrust into me, taking the breath from my body. My skin was covered in goosebumps, and my body was shaking uncontrollably.

Clit trobbing. Nerves about to snap.

I felt my muscles twitching around him, drawing groans and moans from his lips. He didn't stop moving, thrusting into me with more strength and power.

"Inside me," I said between moans and whimpers. "Cum inside me."

And then he did, slamming into me one final time and spilling himself inside me. I swore I saw stars. Felt everything. The way his body was shaking against mine. The way his heartbeat was thundering in my ears. The way he was still moving, still thrusting, still claiming me as his.

"You're mine," he told me, and I could hear the weariness in his voice. The way he was still holding me close to him.

When I turned to him, his eyes were closed still. His hands didn't move away from my skin and he embraced me, holding me there.

He was right. I was his. And I belonged there.

And it was natural. It was easy.

"I am," I whispered, eyes closed, my body trembling and weak.

"Oh, my good girl." Carlos' lips slanted over mine in a slow kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. My body leaned against his, completely and utterly at his mercy. "You're so pretty. Have I told you that?"

"Hm... I don't think you have, actually."

"Well, you are. Every inch of you," he said, smiling, his hands moving to my shoulders, then to my neck. "Should have told you that sooner."

"In all honestly, you should've done a lot of things sooner."

He shrugged, kissing me again. "Don't you think?" I said, my lips touching his neck. "Don't you think you should’ve kissed me that night during my... what? 16th birthday party?"

He laughed. "Maybe."

"Or, I don't know, when you got that fourth place in Adu Dhabi and hugged me like never before?"

Once again, he laughed, turning around to pick up the shampoo. "Maybe."

"Maybe is not the answer I'm looking for," I said, raising my head to look at him.

"Why didn't you?"

"I think Rio would have killed me. Or your dad. One of the other, for sure."

"So…” I teased, the corner of my lips tugging up as his eyebrows drew closer. “You were a chicken?"

"Yeah, that's one of the reasons." He opened the bottle of shampoo. "Turn around."

I turned and leaned my back against him so he could wash m hair. "One of?" I said, ducking my head under the water. "What's the other one?

His hands began washing my hair with long strokes. "I've told you. I didn't think I could give you what you needed."

"But you had girlfriends."

"I did." His hands began washing my hair. "But they weren't you."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I could have fucked it up and I wouldn't be failing you. I could fail. I could not be a good boyfriend because I wouldn't be your bad boyfriend." His hands were massaging my scalp, making my eyes close in utter bliss.

He finished washing my hair and rinsed it before turning me around to face him. His brown eyes were softened as he looked into mine. I watched Carlos in silence, my eyes tracing the shape of his face, the subtle lines of his jaw and his lips, which were still curved in a soft smile.

"And now?" I asked softly. "You think you are?"

He shook his head slowly and sighed. "No," he said, his voice low. "But I know you have a different opinion."

"We still have time to figure that part out, right?"

"We do," he said. "We have not much time until someone comes to call us for dinner, though."

"Yeah. Right." I gave him back the shampoo. "Please, tell me you have a good body wash."

"I'm not a savage, DiMaggio."

"You're a racing driver, Sainz,” he snorted. "That's almost the same."

2022, 29th August

Unveiling the Victors and Underdogs: Reflecting on the 6 Hours of Fuji

by James Anderson, Motorsport Commentator

In the fast-paced world of endurance racing, it takes something truly extraordinary to capture the attention of fans and fellow competitors alike. At the 6 Hours of Fuji, one driver accomplished just that, proving that age is no barrier to success and talent knows no bounds. Eva DiMaggio, the rising star of DAR Racing, made waves throughout the weekend, leaving an indelible mark on the race and the hearts of racing enthusiasts worldwide.

From the very start, the odds seemed stacked against DiMaggio. Forced to step in during the first practice session due to her teammate Matteo Serra's unexpected bout of food poisoning, she had to adapt quickly to the demanding Fuji Speedway. But adapt she did, showcasing her innate skill and lightning-fast reflexes with a couple of impressive laps during practice. The whispers began to circulate throughout the paddock, and everyone took notice.

As the race commenced, it became abundantly clear that DiMaggio was a force to be reckoned with. Her fearless overtakes in the Ferrari 488 GTE Evo were a sight to behold, displaying a level of confidence and determination beyond her years. She fearlessly navigated through the field, inching closer to the podium with every passing lap. The chemistry between driver and machine was undeniable, as if they were in perfect sync, dancing their way through the twists and turns of Fuji Speedway.

DAR Racing's decision to extend DiMaggio's stint proved to be a stroke of genius. She continued to push herself and the car to the limits, defying expectations at every turn. As the checkered flag waved, DiMaggio and her team celebrated a hard-fought fourth-place finish, a significant achievement considering the challenges they faced throughout the weekend. Their jubilation may have gone unnoticed in the immediate aftermath, as the attention turned to the traditional podium ceremony. But fate had one last surprise in store.

As Corvette Racing, in second place, was disqualified from the race, it was DAR Racing and Eva DiMaggio who were propelled into an unexpected third-place finish in the LMGTE Am class. The garage erupted with joy and pride as the realization sank in—their tireless efforts had paid off, and they stood on the podium as a testament to their resilience and unwavering spirit.

Beyond her impressive performance on the track, what struck me most about Eva DiMaggio was her infectious smile and genuine warmth. Throughout the weekend, she effortlessly engaged with fans, fellow drivers, and teams, leaving a lasting impression. It was heartwarming to witness drivers from different categories flock to congratulate her after the podium ceremony, recognizing her remarkable achievements and undeniable potential.

At just 25 years old, Eva DiMaggio has already made a great step to make a name for herself in the world of motorsports. DiMaggio’s performance in EuroCup and Formula 4, as well as her victory at the Ferrari Challenge Europe in 2022, showcased her talent and versatility. And while Fuji marked her first time in a car after that triumph, it certainly won't be her last. Once again, DiMaggio got the chance to showcase her ability to step up when needed and perform under pressure. I wonder what she can do with proper training and preparation.

Eva DiMaggio has undoubtedly established herself as a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the track. Her relentless pursuit of excellence, combined with her natural talent and infectious spirit, sets her apart as a driver destined for greatness. As we applaud her achievements at Fuji, we eagerly await the next chapter in her extraordinary journey, eager to witness the continued rise of this young motorsport sensation.

Thought a little pick-me-up would help after today's race, so I really tried to finish the chapter today! It's 11 pm and I'm super sleep deprived, so I'm sorry if you find a typo here and there, but I didn't revise as many times as I should've. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting for so long but life's been crazy. Can't promise when the next one is coming, but the story is not finished yet! It will come! Also: thank you so much for all the messages, comments and reblogs. You are amazing. If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is published, let me know! As always, sending you all the love!

#Tightrope #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #fanf1ction #f1 fanfic #driver x you #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #driver x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz angst

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askullinajar · 9 months

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it's been 6 years since I first took skully here to a con, and I'm finally doing a lockwood & co group again this year, so I figured I'd revamp him

painted the old jar with green glass paint. the lid and base are made from eva foam and paper straws (sort of based on the show look but less complex), and lined on the inside with green LEDs. also attached a wire handle so he can actually be carried around easily by our lucy. I think he looks pretty cool if I do say so myself 😎

#lockwood and co #skull in a jar #also updated my skully cosplay with actual effort put into it lol #hopefully will post some pics of that after the con #lockwood & co

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lightwise · 10 days

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TBB S3 E10 Reaction

Life has been a bit busier the last few weeks so I am finally catching up on my episode reactions (I’m determined to do all of them this season!) And I apologize y’all, this episode made me very snarky apparently.

I’ll be honest. When this episode first came out I was nowhere near as surprised by it or horrified by it as reviewers seemed to be. Nothing about Palpatine hunting down force sensitive children as experiments and using Cad Bane to do it is a surprise, and the Vault feels so much like Andor. But even on a rewatch this episode holds up so well and honestly just starts to give a cold chill under the skin as the quiet horror of it sinks in.

- Cute kid. And the Batch nowhere to be seen. This is going to be a different episode isn’t it

- Oh no. He’s force sensitive 😫😫😫 hmmm how could that possibly go wrong

- This is giving Andor vibes 👀

- It’s always interesting seeing “regular people” in Star Wars and little markets and how they’re just trying to go about their daily lives.

- Don’t go around snitching people! Nothing good ever comes of it!!!

- Yeah this guy is worse than Timm from Andor. Wtf dude. You’re turning in a baby!!

- Also is it just me or typical Star Wars “houses” end up being pretty dark and depressing?

- Wait okay okay. So this is the CX chamber. Why can’t we see any of them yet 😩😩 what is this red fog? What are these weird conditioning pods? What kind of armor is on this datapad?? *trying to crawl inside my screen* I NEED ANSWERS JENNIFER!!

- “Do you trust me?” Ooooh why do I think that’s going to come back around

- But also, babygirl, I don’t think you actually know what you’re signing up for

- “I could be more useful” “you wish to be the new chief scientist Dr. Karr?” “I believe I’ve earned it.” Alright. This. This is interesting. This fully encapsulates the dynamic that these two have shared. Emerie knows that Hemlock only values things that are useful, and probably only sees her own value in the light of what she can contribute, due to how she was raised and the circumstances she has been trapped in. Hemlock’s tone of voice implies that he has never considered her as being the new chief scientist, and yet he acquiesces quite quickly, almost as though he’s just too busy to think about it and if it means things are brought back up to production standard then he’s fine with it. His utter disregard for Emerie as an actual human and someone with merit is disgusting though.

- But I get it, the man’s busy, he’s got a lot of evil shit he’s trying to do all at the same time 🙄

- So we have “the assets”, which is the area that Hemlock took Palpatine in the first episodes, where the orange containment pods are and the zillo beast is being kept. We still don’t know what those assets are. The Vault is something different.

- Well. Shit. It’s Andor and Narkina 5 for kids. Lovely 😳💀

- “There are few adults left with such characteristics” I WONDER IN THE NAME OF ONE EMPEROR PALPATINE WHY

- Okay so this entire exchange is awful. The kids are so cute! Hemlock is so cold. “Specimens. Assets” ughhh Emerie what are you getting yourself into!!

- Is this the first time we’ve heard the word glasses in Star Wars?

- Oh no. So THIS is why Cad Bane was brought back 🥺🥺

- The score in this episode is perfectly eerie

- Lol Todo is not good with kids huh ��

- That poor mama when she wakes up and finds her baby is gone

- I hope that dude has his entire life flash before his eyes as he’s trying to pick all of those credits up

- “My name’s Eva” 🥹🥹🥹 Emerie has no idea how to handle this 😂

- I still wanna know what’s happened with these commandos. No way a clone of Jango Fett is able to look a child in the eyes, call them a “specimen” and not have even an ounce of remorse as they stun them point blank.

- “Jax?” And Eva just points. The power in knowing someone’s name vs a dehumanizing number

- It’s also interesting that these kids are species that are red, blue, and green, and when they get Bayrn in, he’s white. RGB colors make up white light when put together.

- The little peeks of Emerie’s backstory we keep getting are so interesting. She was abandoned by Nala Se. She knows that these children don’t belong here, the same way that Omega told both her and Crosshair that they didn’t belong here either. Nala Se says that the Empire will hold these kids to control them. Emerie feels like she has no power to do anything differently. So much to unpack here.

- Why is Tarkin’s holo so large?

- Lol I honestly love getting to see the backbiting politics of how the Empire functions. It’s so bad and so funny

- Also love that Project Necromancer is so secret that even Tarkin doesn’t know what it is. He’s so nosy

- Okay why does he bring up the CX schematic again and why is it so different than the one we saw earlier??

- Whoa Cid was tortured???

- “The other operatives aren’t ready to join you in the field” why????

- We’re visiting a lot of space stations this season

- Man I wish Emerie had fudged this test

- Nooo let the poor baby go home 🥺

- Oh and now we’re putting kids in solitary confinement. Great.

- C’mon Emerie. Keep clicking that moral compass until it points north

- She kept the straw Lula. She’s giving it to Eva 😭. There’s hope for her yet

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #star wars #the bad batch spoilers #Emerie karr #tbb s3 #the bad batch season 3

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maddascanbe-blog · 2 months

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Haven't done anything for A Vengeful Butterfly in a while! I've had a pretty steady change in art style, and I'm a lot more happy with how I draw Mirabel now. For fun, here are some civilian styles for Mirabel across all of the AU's of AVB.

(Left to Right)

A Vengeful Butterfly- A remake of one of the outfits I first drew for Mirabel, plus her leather jacket I describe a lot. Rocking her Kwagatama earrings.

A Fowl Vengeance- Mirabel having Dusuu as her primary influence would make her more streamlined outside of her Aguerey persona. Peahens are calmer, they slip into the background. Mirabel starts wearing more muted colors, but in higher quality. Of ccourse she still has her earrings. AFV Mirabel cut her hair short in an attempt to reclaim a bit of control at Dussu and Nooroo's suggestion.

A Lawless Cat- Aka Mirabel is she had a happy childhood. I imagine she doesn't want to scream Hellion, so she swaps her large black coats for greens. You might also notice she has new glasses. Her family thinks she is a Hellion fangirl and really want them to meet- oof.

A Petty Ladybug- Mirabel is absolutely rocking the Ladybug and Butterfly merch. Her family think its a spite thing, favoring the new 'heroes.' Mirabel wears Tikki's earrings, still red and has Ladybug motifs alongside her Butterfly patterns, though the colors have switched to green and purple for Bruno and Nooroo. She grew her hair out and started wearing contacts. Bruno's birthday present changes from a butterfly necklace to a ladybug, again for obvious reasons.

Hound on the Hunt- still 15 instead of 12 here, Think of her as the Paris Special alt. Mirabel dropped her brighter colors and blues for Isabela's purples, greens, golds, and blacks. Of course with Barrk's collar still front and center. She also bleached and grayed the tips of her hair for visual spice. Even de-transformed, Mirabel is a force to be reckoned with. Somewhere between Regina George and Eva from Bring it On the Musical.

#encanto fanfic #miraculous fanfic #a vengeful butterfly #mirabel madrigal

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scarlettjohanssons-mistress · 10 months

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Can you do a really possessive and dominant Artemisia x Fem Reader story please (with smut), where the reader is a Greek hostage who Artemisia had been charged with keeping a hold of but soon she quickly falls in love with the woman and becomes very possessive over her especially when Misia’s generals get a little to close to her.

Mine just mine

Warnings: Smut, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, implicit manipulation and therefore 14+ only

Word count: 1.6 K

Pairing: Artemisia x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Artemisia knows what to do with unplanned guests

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Eva Green characters]

"General"

The voice of one of my crew members cut short the explanation coming from my lips as I tried to explain to others how we would have to return to Persia in order to equip ourselves with more weapons.

"What do you want?"

"Shirin saw a body floating on a piece of wood. We saved it."

"A body, a dead body?"

"We thought so, until she opened her eyes."

"Her?"

"Yes. Now she's threatening the crew with a knife?"

"Bring a knife?!"

"Yes."

"You should have told me that first, you animal."

Quickly, I left the small room we were in, climbing up some small stairs to be able to see the scene that was forming.

A girl covered with a white dress, dry hair and battered by the salt of the sea, and with red eyes, was moving from one side to the other, threatening my men with a knife.

"Where am I?" She shouted "who are you?"

The men, like good men, did not even deign to try to respond, they just wanted to get closer.

"Calm down."

The girl turned to look at me, listening to my request. I could notice how her grip on the knife loosened a little, to tighten her fist around it again.

"Who are you, where am I?"

"Welcome to the Persian ship, I am…"

"Artemisia… "whispered

"The same"

Before we could react, the girl ran in my direction, but before she could plunge the knife into me, I hit her head, making her fall unconscious on the floor, dropping the gun. Gently, I took the weapon and checked it. It was made of iron, and on the blade came engraved something. Ἰσοκράτης

This woman was none other than the daughter of Isocrates, the famous Athenian politician. This woman was the definition of a gold mine.

"What do we do with her, General?"

"You and you, chain her up and lock her up tight in the cellar. Don't give her a chance to escape" quickly 2 men took the body and started down the stairs. "And you and you, you are going to take one of the boats and row to Athens, go to Isocrates and tell him the sad story of how his daughter ended up on an enemy ship" I mocked, making my sailors laugh. "Maybe that way we'll get more than Themistocles' head."

All the sailors let out a deep laugh, knowing that something big was on the other side of the horizon.

———————————————————————————

The next time I went down to the cellars, the woman, who I now knew had the name Y/N, was awake, and was even trying to untie the knots in her wrists.

"Try as you might, you can't escape."

My voice seemed to startle her, causing her to stop nibbling on the rope.

"Are you finally going to let me out?" her voice was hoarse. As if he hadn't had any water. My eyes glanced at the floor, realizing I hadn't touched either her food or the glass of water.

"You need to eat, you need to hydrate."

"I asked you a question!" she raised her voice, which made me raise my eyebrows, but that didn't make her back down "Are you finally going to let me go?" she asked again.

"No" I sat down across from her, took the plate she had been given, realizing that she had only been given a measly apple and a glass of water, so with my eyes I began to look for some food. "Not until your dear daddy sends us what we want."

Y/N let out a small but loud laugh, which made me take my eyes off the cereal sacks and land on Y/N's brown eyes.

"Then I'll have to die here."

"What do you mean?"

"My father banished me from Athens. So, no matter whether tomorrow you cut me to pieces or leave me alive, my father will want nothing more to do with me."

I stood silently, watching my master plan fall apart piece by piece.

I let out a big sigh and stood up, throwing the apple away.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll bring you better food."

———————————————————————————

Eventually, I had to realize that Y/N was right.

My men returned with empty hands and verbal refusal from the great politician.

"So, what shall we do?"

I didn't even have the brains to answer them. Even I didn't know what we were going to do with the girl.

It was one more mouth to feed, one more weight for this vessel.

But, she was the most sensual woman my eyes had ever seen.

I couldn't just throw it away.

"Does anyone know if she's awake?"

"Omar went to give her her ration recently and she was awake."

Without waiting any longer, I got up and walked to the cellar door, opening it and finding the woman, who was now held only by a rope around her ankle.

"You were right, your father ignored us."

"I told you so" she commented with a mouth full of rice. She was completely hunched over as her plate was on the floor.

Quickly, I took the spoon out of her hand and grabbed the bowl. I took a spoonful of the food and brought it to her mouth.

"I have to apologize to you" she gave me a confused look, but opened her mouth, letting me feed her, but raised her eyebrows, asking me for an explanation. "For keeping you in a place like this. You deserve better."

"That means you're not going to let me go, right?" she spoke again with her mouth full. She was hungry.

"Do you have someplace where you are completely welcome?" Y/N was quiet and simply waited for me to give her another spoonful. So, I took it and popped it into her mouth. "Here I will give you the life worthy of someone like you."

———————————————————————————

Things escalated very quickly, too quickly for me to relate in detail what actually happened.

Y/N loved it, so much so, that, she went from sleeping on top of a bean bag, to sleeping in my bed, every night, of course, after I stuck my fingers up to her vagina.

But, at first, Y/N at first, she didn't want me to go near her because she said he would never let herself be caught in the enemy's clutches.

"Please… don't stop!"

I pulled my mouth away from her pussy as I watched her eyebrows furrow, little beads of sweat on her forehead, her eyes closed tightly and an open mouth that never failed to be as sensual as she was herself.

"Do you want more, sweet girl?"

"Yes, please."

With force, I smacked one of her buttocks, causing Y/N to give a little jump as a high-pitched squeal came from those plump lips.

"You know how to order correctly."

"My lady, please let me cum."

"Cum for me, pet."

I buried my head between her legs again and began to suck on her bulge, while my index, middle and ring finger in her vagina, almost wanting to touch her insides, causing her now, to let out a loud moan, almost like a scream.

"General?"

Omar's head peeked into my room, causing me to peel my face away from Y/N's pussy and with my right hand I covered the woman's naked body with the blanket.

"What do you want, asshole?"

"We have Misia ships in our sights."

"Just get out."

The man slammed the door shut. I carefully got out of bed.

"Where are you going?" asked Y/N as a claim.

"Outside. I need you to shut up."

"But Artemi…"

"I told you to shut up!"

She did not speak again and allowed me to leave without further ado.

———————————————————————————

"We know you have it, Artemisia."

I stopped pacing the room only to focus my gaze on the man tied in the chair.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Don't get smart with me, Artemisia, we know you're holding Y/N hostage."

"I regret to inform you, General Themistocles, but no one is being held hostage here" the men behind his back began to laugh lightly "Lady Y/N is here of her own free will."

"Why would a woman as worthy as Y/N be with someone like you?"

"Because I fuck her like no one ever can. If you had arrived a few minutes ago, you might have been delighted with her moans."

"You are a danger. You don't deserve anything from her."

"And you do?" quickly, I pulled out my pocketknife and put it to his neck.

"She deserves better."

"She's mine!"

"She doesn't even want to be here with you!"

"No?" I turned away from Themistocles and signaled Omar. Minutes later he arrived with a Y/N on shaky legs and wrapped in the blanket.

"Y/N!"

"Themistocles?"

"Oh, honey" I gave her a smile "Come on, come here."

She as obedient as ever, came to my side, letting me slip my arm around her hip.

"Is Y/N well, has this woman done anything to you?" asked the Athenian.

"Come on, pet, tell this man that you want to stay with me."

I got up to walk to his side and duck my head so that it was in the curve of her shoulder and neck, leaving little kisses on her soft skin. I even went so far as to feel goose bumps.

"Tell him, my love" I whispered close to her ear "tell him you're mine."

"Forgive me General Themistocles, but, I want to stay with my General Artemisia. She is the one to whom I belong."

I gave her a last kiss on her neck to give a cynical and victorious smile to the Greek warrior.

Note:

After many setbacks, writer's block, heat, pride day (by the way, happy LGBT+ pride day and month, I love you) HERE IT IS. I hope I can write the others that remain in two days like this.

PS: Have you seen that my new personality is Barbie?! I am very excited about the movie.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

message me or send an ask to be added to my taglist!

#artemisia x reader #artemisia i de caria x reader #artemisia x fem!reader #artemisia i de caria x fem!reader #eva green #eva green x reader #300 movies #300 rise of an empire #eva green imagine #lgbtq #lesbian

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tomjamesavery · 1 year

Text

Because people asked me, I made some more Harry Potter Characters with AI, all still based on the descriptions and prompts from @breaniebree for her story and Universe of ASC

The only one I didn't manage to get right was Ginny, I just wasn't able to get a redhead girl with brown eyes who had her "distinctive look" for some reason lol

Starting with Harry, I sadly didn't manage the lightning Bolt scar.

Prompt: "A 20 year old man called Harry potter, with a sharp jawline, emerald green eyes, dark stubble beard, messy black hair, round glasses and a small lightning bolt scar on his forehead"

Next would be Ginny Weasley and for some reason, I just didn't get her right, mainly the eye colour but she also looks a bit too "innocent" lol!

Prompt: "A brave, strong-minded 20 year old woman with a determined look on her face called Ginny Weasley looking like Bonnie Wright, dark brown eyes, fiery hair and lots of freckles"

I also tried it without having Bonnie wright as a reference!

After that we have Hermione.

Prompt: "A 20 year old woman called Hermione Granger looking like Emma Watson with brown eyes and brown, unruly, curly hair"

Next one would be Draco Malfoy who is pretty spot on in my opinion!

Prompt: "A white blond 20 year old good looking man called Draco Malfoy looking like Tom Felton, black suit, dark gloomy"

Next Blaise Zabini, is also alright!

Prompt: A 20 year old good looking man called Blaise Zabini as a mix of Rege-Jean Page and Shemar Moore, dark suit, smug look

Next is Tonks again, just because the world can't have enough Tonks on it.

Prompt: "A 25 year old cool looking woman called Nymphadora Tonks looking like Keira Knightley with grey eyes and short pink hair"

Next is Walburga Black, Sirius´ Mum, which turned out good in my opinion!

Prompt: "A 40 year old beautiful evil looking woman called Walburga Black looking like Eva Green in a beautiful black dress, dark, gloomy"

Next would be Barty Crouch Jr, who is scary lol

Prompt: "A deranged 30 year old man called Barty Jr looking like Bill Skarsgard smiling, dark robes, dark gloomy"

Next the Greengrass Sisters starting with Daphne who turned out great in my opinion!

Prompt: "An arrogant beautiful 20 year old woman called Daphne Greengrass looking like Blake Lively, wizarding dress"

And her younger sister Astoria Greengrass, also turned out good!

Prompt: "A beautiful 20 year old woman called Astoria Greengrass looking like Katie McGrath"

Next, two Brothers and not the nicest of companions, starting with Rabastan Lestrange

Prompt: "An evil looking man called Rabastan lestrange looking like Cillian Murphy, dark suit, dark gloomy"

And his older brother Rodolphus Lestrange

Prompt: " A 40 year old evil looking man called Rodolphus lestrange looking like Peter Greene, dark wizarding robe, dark gloomy"

Next, something I tried, I am not too sure of, Augusta Longbottom, the Vulture hat sadly didn't work.

Prompt: "A confident, good looking 60 year old lady called Augusta longbottom with a determined look on her face in a wizarding dress"

Next, an Original Character, created by @breaniebree, Fiadh Alexander a Fae, also Fred Weasley´s Girlfriend.

Prompt: "A 25 year old beautiful woman called Fiadh Alexander looking like Tiana Benjamin with pale skin short straight black hair and emerald green eyes"

And speaking of Fred, we have the Twins Fred and George Weasley! (Fred on the left, and George with a beard on the right)

Prompt: "Two 20 year happy looking men, they are twins, called Fred and George Weasley, looking like Kenneth Bek, with red-orange hair and stubble, right one with a beard"

And at the end another great Original Character by @breaniebree Sebastian Kane, but Iam not too sure if he meets her expectations lol

Prompt: "A 25 year old man called Sebastian Kane looking like Francis Cadieux with dark brown hair and light blue eyes, stubble and broad shoulders"

All Credit for the Character Info goes to @breaniebree

Check out her stories ASC and TFTA where these Characters are in:

ASC: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12924292/1/A-Second-Chance

TFTA: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14061727/1/The-First-Time-Around

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mybeautifuldelirium · 1 year

Text

Of Peaches and Honey || Aegon ii x reader

Requested by: @cara-eva

A/N:finally got around to finish this one, hope u enjoy some soft pampering Aegon fluff 💚

Summary: it’s nearly impossible for anyone to get Aegon into a bathtub, anyone but his beloved aunt

Warnings: incest kinda, implied nudity, FLUFF, whiny Aegon

“Oh how I’ve missed our sweet talks, dear sister” Alicent beamed, taking Y/N’s hand in hers “Please, do visit more often, this castle feels empty without your presence”

“I shall try my best, your grace, I do myself indeed miss our family” the lady nodded with a smile “If you’d allow it, I would like to retreat to my bedchambers for the night”

Lady Y/N Hightower, the flower of Oldtown was renowned for her beauty, elegance and grace. Many were lined for the maiden’s hand yet, much to the displeasure of her father, the queen’s younger sister seemed to show no interest in any suitor.

Y/N walked down the long corridors that led to her chambers, quietly humming to herself, when she heard violent splashes of water followed by enraged shouts and grunts. Consumed by curiosity, the girl gingerly skipped to the slightly agape doors.

The room was an utter mess, puddles of soapy water leaked across the floor, pieces of clothing scattered across every corner and small glass vials shattered, leaking their precious oils. Her gaze traveled across the wrecked room until it fell on the very angered face of Aegon, her sweet nephew.

The prince was standing as bare as his nameday while several servants were desperately trying to get him into the large brass tub that stood in the middle of the chamber.

“Please, your grace, it shall only take a moment” a frightened maid begged him.

“NO! Remove your filthy hands off me, wench!”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a sigh as she finally decided to make her presence known.

“What’s going on here?” she pushed the doors, stepping in, all eyes falling on her “Aegon? What’s the meaning of this?”

“M-my lady, we’re so sorry for the disturbance” one of the maids stepped forward with an apologetic look “We were merely trying to help prince Aegon with his bath per usual”

“Is my nephew causing you trouble?” Y/N shot a warning look at the prince who scoffed in response

“N-no m-my lady, of course not, we-”

Y/N shook her head in disappointment “Out, all of you!” she ordered “I shall take care of this myself”

“B-but my lady, there’s no need, it’s our duty” the maid stepped forward

“You think me incapable of caring for my beloved nephew? Or perhaps you wish for him to awaken the whole castle?” she cocked a brow “I won’t repeat myself, OUT!”

Without another word of objection the maids swiftly saw themselves out of the chambers, heads bowed down. Aegon stared at his aunt, confusion spread across his beautiful features, it was as if he couldn’t grasp what had just happened.

Y/N slowly approached her nephew, seemingly unfazed by his current state of undress “Now my prince, let’s get you cleaned” she smiled gently, motioning towards the tub.

“N-no, I said NO” Aegon stepped back as anger and fear shadowed his face

“Now, is that a way to speak to your lady aunt?” Y/N lifted a brow “You can trust me” she gave him a reassuring smile and pulled him to sit on a small chair by the tub. “Now, tell me what’s wrong”

Aegon silently contemplated her words, he knew he could trust her, he always had, ever since a little boy, when he first laid eyes on his aunt, he had felt a deep sense of admiration towards her. He liked it when she would visit, he liked looking at her, her tight emerald green dresses that always sat just a little bit too low on her shoulders, her perfectly styled hair that always smelled of sweet peach and the glistening gold jewelry that graced her soft skin, it was hard not to stare at her in awe.

“These filthy wenches, I hate them” he sneered “I hate them, I hate everyone in this damned castle”

“Even me?” the lady lifted an eyebrow

Aegon shifted and quickly shook his head

“Good, I wouldn’t like it very much if my favorite nephew hated me” a sly smirk lingered on her lips.

“No need to pity me my lady” he scoffed, turning his head away “It’s no secret that my brother is the one favored by all…my mother included”

“I’m not “all” Aegon, neither I’m your mother” she scrunched her brows and gently pulled his face to look back at her “Am I not the one who would always tell you stories as a child, am I not the one who would always bring you gifts during each of my visits, the one who would sing you to sleep as a babe? Am I not, Aegon”

The prince sighed, looking into her eyes “Y-you are my lady…forgive my words”

Her features softened and she gave him a comforting smile “How about we go to my chambers, my prince, I’ll draw you a warm bath” she handed him his long green silk robe “I promise you shall enjoy my baths much more”

Aegon reluctantly draped himself with it and followed after her. The younger lady Hightower had always been his weakness, he would bring the realm to her feet if she asked; she was the only one who cared, the only one who listened.

Y/N’s chambers were humble in size at least in comparison to the ones of the royal prince, yet there was a certain aura in them, a certain warmth and comfort that made the young prince instantly feel at ease.

He stood by the doors, closely observing his aunt, as she was filling the big tub with warm water, taking in how nicely her thin silky dress hugged around her curves. The young lady wasn’t one for modesty, much to her sister’s disapproval, Y/N always preferred the scant styles of the Dornish attire.

“Sweet nephew, if you’re done staring, would you be so kind as to go in the tub so I can help you bathe?” she smirked, untying his robe. In any other scenario, with any other woman, Aegon would have smugly teased her for undressing him in such a lewd manner yet with her, with lady Y/N he could do nothing but silently stare in awe as her delicate hands slowly pushed down the robe from his shoulders. He then cautiously slid into the steaming bath, allowing his body to get accustomed to the heat.

“How is the water, my prince?” Y/N’s soft voice awaking him from his trance.

“Good…I guess” the prince mumbled, still not convinced of the whole ordeal.

“Okay then” Y/N sighed as she stood up, shuffling for something in a small drawer of her vanity “How about we try these instead?”

She was holding a small wooden chest, in which intricate vials of sweet scents were nicely placed.

“Go on, pick one, they all have special qualities”

Aegon blinked in surprise, he never knew he could choose the scent, he had gotten used to the maids soaking him in a heavy bitter vanilla essence, oh gods, how he despised that stench, but now, now he could actually pick for himself. The prince carefully examined each bottle, taking his time to inhale each intoxicating scent.

“This one” he lifted a small coral vial, a sweet peach scent with soft hints of honey, it smelled just like her, that sweet, sweet scent which would make him swoon each time she’d enter the room.

“Excellent choice, my prince” she smiled “My personal favorite, always helps me relax after an eventful day”

The young lady poured some of it into the warm water, gently lathering it with her hand.

“Ouch” Aegon winced as she began scrubbing his body “Stop doing that!”

Y/N swiftly withdrew her hand from his chest, the delicate pale skin, gleaming bright red from the harsh rag.

“Oh, forgive me, my prince” she caressed his cheek “I’ll be more careful, okay?”

He nodded, giving her permission to continue, this time using a soft cotton cloth to gently clean his sensitive skin. Aegon had finally begun to relax his muscles, allowing himself to indulge in her soft touch. She then moved her hands to gently wash his soft silver curls, taking extra care in preventing the soapy water from falling into his eyes. The prince’s lids grew heavy from the soothing technique she was using to massage his scalp, no one had ever put so much care into him, he wished he could stay like that forever, just the two of them.

“So pretty” she whispered as her hands then glided down his chiseled face “So perfect, the most handsome man I’ve seen”

“Y-you really think that?” Aegon’s eyes fluttered open in disbelief, no woman had ever said such words to him, well, except the flea bottom whores, but this, this was different, she had said them, she, on her own accord, Y/N, his Y/N.

The lady nodded with a smile, leaning in to place a small kiss on his cheek “Every word”

#aegon x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd imagine

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roeroe-world · 5 months

Text

could’ve been.

starring: eva apio as nefertari zain, tupac shakur as himself

set in 1993.

warning: profane language, use of drugs and alcohol, mentions of sexual activity

Loud rap music blared throughout the packed spacious building. Bodies danced together to the melodic beat of Snoop Doggy Dogg’s track, Ain’t No Fun (If The Homies Can’t Have None). Drinks and smoke surrounded the crowded, overwhelming atmosphere.

A nightclub named Pulse happened to be the club Nefertari and her childhood friend, Tanya, decided to attend. Dressed in their best, hair done to perfection as well as glam. They wanted to scope the scene tonight and so they did.

Their eye-catching appearance earned a plethora of stares, some of jealousy, several in admiration or pure desire. They were used to it. Los Angeles’ night life was their niche.

“This club is bumpin’ tonight.” Tanya acknowledges the live scene, slightly dancing along to the music. The pair immediately strutting for the bar.

Remaining silent, Nefertari just observed her surroundings and ordered a, “Sex on the beach.” As typical as it sounds, it happened to be her favorite drink. Her go-to.

The alcohol cocktail contained peach schnapps, orange juice, and Vodka. The sweetness mixed with the tangy flavor, curating a perfect fruity alcoholic drink. A Sex on the Beach could never go wrong in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Tanya just ordered a simple shot of Vodka.

As Nefertari takes a sip of her glass, the attractive women began to strut further into the dim-lit club, scoping out more of the scene. Upon doing so, the pair stumbled amongst the star studded VIP section.

Nefertari finds herself pausing in her tracks to meet eyes with the one and only, John Singleton. The director of films, Boyz N The Hood and Poetic Justice. Her brown orbs held a sense of familiarity and admiration.

John Singleton happened to be accompanied by the star of one of his films, Tupac Shakur.

Her mouth instantaneously goes dry, growing stuck in place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. It had been so long since she and John saw one another.

John’s eyes lit up, “Nefertari? That you? Girl, get over here.”

The velvet robe was let open and in came the pair, several eyes falling upon the women, including the ones that Nefertari couldn’t keep hers off of. Tupac Shakur.

He was a rap sensation. A rap sensation she’d been a fan of since his 2Pacalypse Now days. Vividly, she remembered the day of the premiere of his ‘Trapped’ video. She thought he was incredibly handsome. Also, enthralled in the fact that he’s extremely vocal about social injustices.

The famous director stands to his feet, happily embracing the young woman, “Damn. You look good, Nefertari. How you been?” He quizzes. She could feel several individuals eyeballing their interaction, knowing they’re probably wondering how the two knew of each other.

Well, to go into detail, Nefertari and John met at Eddie Murphy’s mansion in 1991. Eddie Murphy was throwing a party which was filled with actors, musicians, comedians, you name it. It was a truly star-studded event.

The young woman accompanied LL Cool J as his date and nothing else short or more than that. Apparently, that night, she caught the eye of John. It was quite funny because he thought LL and Nefertari were dating, deciding to back off after approaching to ask for her number when she was finally by her lonesome.

But, the rapper gave him the green light, “Nah, man. It ain’t even like that. She just the homie. Do you.” It was the absolute truth.

They were really just friends.

That night, she and John exchanged numbers and remained in touch for almost a year. The two would talk on the phone for hours on end, laughing and at times he would tell her his deepest secrets. That she held close to her heart. She wouldn’t tell a soul because it was some things he spoke out of comfort in her.

They hung out occasionally whenever neither of two weren’t busy. Either getting dinner, going to see a movie or just walking around a park while indulging in deep meaningful conversations. What they had was special in Nefertari’s eyes, though, that’s as far as their relationship had gotten. It was more of a friendship in her perspective, a very close friendship and bond that she cherished.

One day, Nefertari found herself changing her number due to an obsessive boyfriend she was running away from. So, in result, the two lost touch.

Being from North Carolina and moving to Los Angeles was a hell of a transition, both physically and mentally. It was quite difficult trying to adapt into a complete different state that was fast-paced. Quick to move on to the next.

During her time of residing in Los Angeles, she’s met a plethora amount of all kinds of people. Some were trying to become famous, some were trying to remain famous, while some were already famous.

Nefertari met a lot of powerful individuals along the way. Most of those individuals hold the key to the ins and outs of this industry. As long as she’s lived here, she held a lot of secrets. Secrets that could ruin careers, lives, and break up happy homes.

Hollywood could make you jaded. She didn’t understand how she, herself, was still in this town.

Sending a dazzling smile, showcasing her pearly whites, “I’ve been great. How are you? It’s been a minute, huh?” She suppressed her feelings. A habit she’d picked up after being in Hollywood for so long.

When she and John lost touch, it saddened her incredibly. She enjoyed their long conversations, his corny jokes and occasional unwanted film directing advice. But overall, he was one of the few people that understood her.

“Also, this is my friend, Tanya. She’s in town visiting me for the weekend.” Upon introducing her friend, she watches John embrace Tanya as well.

“So, where you been all this time? It’s like you disappeared on me.”

“Well..” Nefertari began to explain and their full-fledged conversation started from there. They were back like they never left, catching up like old times.

“Wait a minute. I haven’t introduced you two. Hey, Tupac…” With a swift motion of his hand, he motioned for the rapper to come closer. He was adamant on the two meeting. Eventually, their eyes met and it instantly sent shivers down her spine.

He was eye-catching, for sure.

His presence was demanding and almost made her nervous. It wouldn’t be long before she’d break a sweat, gulping silently. She took in his physical appearance, both of them showcasing their pearly whites.

His shaved, bald head was clean. Also, adorned with a black and white bandana. The diamond of his nose ring shined ever so brightly. He was dressed in a black and white baggy outfit as well as a pair of matching white sneakers.

He exuded confidence and self-assurance yet humbleness, she liked that in a man.

“Tupac, this is my good friend, Nefertari Zain. Nefertari, I’m sure you know who this is, Tupac.” He introduced the two, a grin amongst his lips.

The rapper stuck his hand outward and the beauty sat her palm against his, not able to take their eyes off of one another. “Pleasure to meet you, Nefertari.” He puts emphasis on her name with a smirk, irises analyzing her frame closely, enjoying the view. His soft, plump lips meeting the back of her hand.

“You too, Tupac.”

Nefertari couldn’t deny. She was extremely flattered.

It was apparent that they both liked what they saw. Nothing else or anyone else in that room mattered. And from that moment on, something ignited between them.

They would exchange numbers that exact night, flirting endlessly.

————

For months on end, they remained in contact and would talk on the phone for hours. They became close friends whom hung out whenever they could and had amazing times together. Equally, the pair enjoyed one another’s company.

They’d gotten so close that he introduced her to his family. Almost every studio session, she was there and observing how he worked. She watched him write, effortlessly freestyle, there was no denying his talent.

She’s dated several talents within the industry and honestly every single one of them inspired her. A very few held a special place in her heart, some were just there to get over the last. Tupac was already in that category of an individual that squeezed into her heart with his charisma and outspoken, blunt nature.

Which explains why the rapper decided to invite her out to his six-bedroom home in Atlanta. He paid every expense it took for her safe arrival, including a charming driver by the name of Antonio.

Comfortably, they laid in Tupac’s king-size bed. Fully clothed, considering neither of them participating in any activities that included them being naked. Instead the pair engaged in a conversation.

That was their relationship in a nutshell. Sex wasn’t a priority.

It was clear that neither of them cared or was thinking about sex in the heat of the moment. They shared a blunt and Nefertari sat quietly, listening to him rant about his legal troubles. She didn’t care about what they did nor talked about as long as they were breathing the same air, she would be fine.

It was no secret that Tupac ran into the law several times. In fact, he had cases on top of cases. He was a troublemaker but it wasn’t intentional.

Moments of being around him, watching how he interacted with family, friends and his fans. He isn’t entirely what the media portrayed him to be. He wasn’t violent for no reason. But he could get quite rowdy when you pushed his buttons.

From what she’s observed, you did not want to get on his bad side.

“What you thinking about?” His doe, brown expressive orbs pierced into hers. Their eye contact was often passionate, finding themselves staring into one another’s soul.

Twiddling with his dark brown vest, she smiles softly, “Just listening to you. That’s all.” Nefertari’s head laid onto his chest, his heart beating playing in her eardrums, her right leg on top of his comfortably.

This was what they did whenever they were alone, lay up. They also would play card games, video games, smoke good weed— whatever they were in the mood for. Tupac never pushed himself on her and for that, she’s grateful.

But at times, honestly, she wished he would because she would tear him apart. Plus, she wasn’t that bold enough to initiate anything.

His large hands caressed her clothed back, admiring her facial features as she admired his. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” One of his hands reaching to grip her chin to lift her face upward toward his, his red dilated eyes squinting slightly while blowing the smoke from between his lips and unintentionally entering her nostrils.

She began to blush uncontrollably, their noses only a few inches apart due to how close he’d gently forced her. The constant compliments would leave her blushing, making her melt internally and Tupac knew that. He was such a tease.

She loved the rush of being in his presence. There was never a dull moment with him especially when she’s riding shotgun in his Mercedes Benz while he drives like a bat out of hell.

He was also a gentleman. Something the media never seemed to want to showcase.

Often, they focused on the negative; Him shooting two cops, starting a brawl with the Hughes Brothers, supposedly taking advantage of a woman, etcetera. Nefertari was able to witness his good side, his soft side.

“Fuck the world!” She noticed he would often say aloud and she found herself screaming it as well especially when her friends would warn her about him. They had nothing but bad things to say about the rapper. Clearly, she didn’t care what they’d say.

She defended him with everything in her and would shout, “Fuck the world!” as Tupac would.

His ways were rubbing off on her and she loved it.

“I ain’t gon’ lie. I’m falling for you like a mothafucka.” He speaks truthfully, finger tracing up and down her arm. “I think I love you.”

“I’m growing to love you too, Tupac.” Neither of them moved a muscle, never breaking eye contact either. “What should we… do now?” She began, tension brewing over between the pair. “Should we act upon these feelings or just, let them be feelings.”

A heavy sigh passes his lips and instantaneously he looks away, Nefertari knew that he was bound to say something she wouldn’t like. “I have to let you know… there are other women.” She had no choice but to respect his honesty, remaining calm.

Her best attempt of maintaining her nonchalance seemed to be working. Though, in the inside, she was fuming with jealousy. The thought of him wrapped in another woman’s arms pissed her off to a great degree. Then again, she knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

But no matter what, she would always be there for him. No matter how many women he slept with. They weren’t her. They could never be.

“I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t even want you to think I’m leading you on. I truly enjoy your company and I would like to continue this thing we got going on. You aight with that?”

Truthfully, Nefertari had no choice but to be. The relationship the two shared meant a lot to her and she didn’t want him out of her life. He’d just stepped in four months ago.

Nodding, a light grin amongst her two toned lips, “Yeah. It’s cool.” No. It wasn’t. The grin was placed to cover up the frown she fought and won against.

His unreadable eyes searched hers as if he was looking for something in particular, though, he remained silent. Eventually, he connects their lips. “Beautiful.” He speaks in between the loving kiss they shared.

That’s all there was… a kiss. A passionate, soul-snatching kiss.

————

Overtime, Tupac had been filming another film, Above The Rim. But shortly after that began, she began to see less of him. Though, still they would speak on the phone every once in a while. But those phone calls became once every blue moon. With the amount of court dates, interviews, filming, he had a lot on his plate.

There would be times he wouldn’t answer her calls nor her pages. It was a clear indication he didn’t want to be bothered, so, she let him be.

Nefertari wasn’t sweating it though. She was busy as well, finding more work as a model and a video girl. During their hiatus, she was able to get more work done.

There she was at a fashion show on January 24th of 1994. The young woman was getting prepared to walk the runway for Calvin Klein, having her makeup and hair done. Her eyeballs peered onto the mirror, remaining silent, in deep thought as she observed both the beauticians work.

Suddenly, her phone would rang. Without a hesitation, she reaches for her Motorola Piper Cellphone that sat on the bright white-painted vanity. Answering in her soft tone, “Hello?” She awaits for the unknown person to speak on the other end, given the fact that she hadn’t even looked at the caller ID.

“Nef, how you doing, baby?”

She knew that voice by heart. Then, her heart actually began to race. After all this time, he finally gave her a call. But she wasn’t complaining. As long as she heard his voice, she was fine. The fashion show no longer mattered.

She was willing to drop everything to go see him where ever. Didn’t matter the hotel nor the distance. All he had to do was name it and she’d be there.

“I—I’m great. It’s been so long. How have you been? Filming going great so far?” She found herself stuttering, eyes fluttering and immediately smiling genuinely. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

“Yeah. We just wrapped that shit up like two months ago. What you doing right now?”

“I’m in glam, preparing for a fashion show.” As stated before, she would drop everything to see him. “Did you have any thing in mind, or…?”

A sharp silence meets her eardrums and her eyebrows furrowing together, remaining silent as well. She was awaiting a response, wanting to hear him say, “Come see me.”

But instead, he says, “I want to apologize.”

“For what?” Her inquiry passes her lips instantly.

“Doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do…” He began. “I lead you on. I knew that you fell for me— shit— I fell for you too.” Shuffling is heard on her end, indicating that he was shaking his head. “Like I told you before, you are not the only woman. That and I got a lot of baggage. It’s too much shit going on in my life for me to ever take a woman like you serious.” The rapper pauses, a heavy sigh escaping his throat.

“The day I told you I was still seeing other women, I didn’t say anything, but I saw the hurt in your eyes. You knew all along yet you didn’t say a word because of your feelings for me. You were more than willing to put up with it… when you deserve more than me. I can’t be the man you need me to be.”

Nefertari could feel her heart breaking into two, though she maintained her composure, considering the glam team was still working on her. “What are you saying, Pac?” Desperation filling her tone.

“Although we haven’t been much on speaking terms, I was still thinking of you. I was thinking of you in court, those jail cells, when I was filming—I’ll always think of you. You’re a beautiful creature, inside and out. You don’t need a fuck up like me in your life.”

“Don’t speak about yourself that way and I don’t care about any of that stuff or the media or—” She starts, only to be interrupted.

“This ain’t about the media, Nefertari. Fuck them. This is about us. As hard as this will be, man, I love you but we gotta part ways. All I’ll do is hold you back and you don’t need that. I’m fucked up right now.” The young woman couldn’t believe her ears right now.

No-one else in that room mattered, even from the night they met at that nightclub, “I wish you would stop telling me what I need.” She protests, her voice raising but she still remembered to conduct herself in an appropriate manner. “I know exactly what I was getting myself into. You’re who you are and I can’t do anything but accept that.”

“It’s over, Nef. I’m sorry.” There was not enough protesting she could do to change his mind. He was adamant on his decision, knowing he was losing a friend and a potential lover. “I wish you nothing but the best, baby. I gotta go.”

“Guess this is goodbye, then.” She has no choice but to let him go. It’s what he wanted.

A long, emotional pregnant pause poured amongst the two. No more words were exchanged. There was nothing either of the two could do or say to make their situation better. Technically, they had been over since he stopped responding to her calls and pages, but he’d finally given her the closure she deserved. That was the least he could do.

The rapper didn’t want to leave her hanging with unanswered questions, wondering why he’d disappeared on her. It was better to be honest than to avoid her like he planned to do initially.

The moment he ended the call was the moment he ended their relationship. There was no more Nefertari and Tupac.

Meanwhile, Nefertari’s stared into the mirror of the vanity in pure silence. A sense of derealization sneaking amongst her saddened being but she disguises it, holding her head high so the makeup artist could continue to work on her canvas.

Seven months and out of those seven months, they weren’t on speaking terms for two months. As naive as this may sound, Nefertari thought they were building something; a relationship. Just for that building to come crumbling down when Tupac told her, “It’s over.” Those two simple words ended it all.

Though, in the midst of her pain, the two words she could think of is could’ve been. They could’ve been, in different circumstances and in an alternate life.

Maybe another lifetime.

#black love #tupac shakur #black men #black women #romance #90s #eva apio

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