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This song is like a hazy childhood memory

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Missin’ the ahs fandom during quarantine… it got me through rough times

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Formula 1 masterlist

MAX VERSTAPPEN

Blushing fruit (+18)

Summary: a series of events teasing Max | TW: sex, fingering (max verstappen x fem!reader

[capuletoo]

Blushing Fruit -Max Verstappen

-note: Omg, my first fic for f1!! Please bare with me

-summary: A series of events teasing Max

-TW: sex, fingering, smut without plot | Max Verstappen x fem!reader

-words: 1.9k

The sun is hung low, casting a golden light that projects two shadows walking in the vineyard. Max walked in front of you, leading the way. The air smell of ripe grapes and the vineyard rows stretched infront. 

Glass of red wine in your hand, its velvet color symbolized the intensity of the sun in your eyes. The sun shining into the crimson liquid, swirling, your fingers wrapped around the base, caught the eyes of Max as he glanced over his shoulder. The clinking sound of crystal to crystal was soft along the rustling leaves.

Max was entrance by the way you were holding the glass, as if it were to break. The way you took a sip, lips parting and caressing your tongue, it stirred something inside of him. Your eyes met his, but the sun was too bright you had to squint your eyes. 

The sun caressed your exposed skin, a warm sensation left behind, that drew Max´s attention to the subtle sheen of sweat in your collarbone and also looking at your neck while you took small sips of wine. 

You took a hand up to your forehead to shield you from the sun as you moved your head towards a tree with enough shadow for the both of you. 

Your back leaned into the truck of the tree, a strap of your sundress falling down, the moving shadows caused by the leaves painting your hair. Max was holding a whole bottle of wine, which you motioned him to exchange your glass with the bottle which you uncorked, making a pop sound.

You filled Max´s glass and yours while he was holding them, as you poured a drop of wine spilled into your finger. Max´s gaze fixated on the crimson droplet, his fingers twitched, he wanted to catch it, to feel the cool liquid against your skin.

You put down the bottle and grabbed your glass, your eyes following him until it reached the wine droplet. With a smile you held out your wine-stained finger to him, offering the taste of the wine and something more. "Care for a taste?" you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Max leaned in, capturing your finger in his mouth, savoring both the rich wine and the essence of you. The world around them seemed to fade into the background as this shared moment of desire intensified.

A few seconds went by in silence, your heartbeat in your ears.

“Ew, I was joking you freak”

[...]

The way your lips were faintly wet thanks to the watermelon was just so addicting to Max. He couldn't help but be drawn to the unique, smoky allure that had settled on your skin. 

The smell of soap coming from your skin made him crave your touch. He wanted to run his fingers across your body moles. 

You decided to cut open a watermelon while sitting down comfortably in a beach lounge chair, which was a bad idea after some juice dripped into your thighs and your arms. You were too busy laughing to notice the heat that spread across Max's cheeks. The watermelon juice dripping from your fingers makes his eyes wander. 

“Want some?” Your voice is raspy.

He could only nod, no words coming out of his mouth. Your fingers brushed his as you passed him a slice, which he took a bite out of. The sweet and refreshing taste combined with the saltiness of your skin was intoxicating.

You took a last large bite of the slice you had and got up running towards the ocean. 

Max watched your back as it disappeared into the ocean waves, juicy droplets falling into the sand underneath his chair. 

After a while you came out of the water and stood infront of him. He was wearing his sunglasses. 

He looked at a water droplet that fell from your hair into your stomach, his gaze followed it down, passing besides your belly button all the way down to the waistband of your bottoms. Before his eyes wandered lower he returned to your eyes. He was thankful for putting on his sunglasses. 

Youre biting a slice of watermelon youve mustve grabbed when he was distracted and smiling. “What? I didn't want to have watermelon juice in my legs”

[...]

One night during the summer vacation, Lando decided to host a dinner for the drivers. The warm breeze and the sound of the waves breaking against the shore set the perfect ambiance. 

As you all gathered around the table, laughter and conversation filled the air. The table was decorated with glasses of your favourite champagne that Daniel had bought. He presented it to you with a smile, and you were surprised he even remembered, after months of telling him. The bubbles in your glass reflected in your eyes. 

Max sat across from you, and throughout the dinner, he seemed to be accidentally kicking your feet under the table. At first, you thought it was a simple accident, but as the dinner continued, it was obviously not. His foot brushed against yours, and each time it happened, your heart skipped a beat. The burning sensation was driving you insane and the fact that he would do it while he was in the middle of a conversation, not even glancing at you, is if nothing was happening, it made you crave him. With every caress, you felt a deeper pull, a longing that threatened to consume you. The way Max's leg occasionally rested against yours, the heat of his skin warming yours, was intoxicating.

As dessert was served, Max's foot found its way to yours once again, but this time it was less accidental. His touch was more deliberate, more possessive, and it sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of the connection was undeniable, and you couldn't resist playing along.

His gaze finally met yours, and you decided to be bold. You grabbed your champagne and didnt break eye contact while some of your drink dripped down your chin.

“what are you doing?” Lando looked at you, laughing. Your cheeks turned red as you cleaned the champagne with your hand.

“I got in a trance” You tried to give an explanation, but saying it out loud, made you feel more embarrassed. 

“Jesus” His laughter resonated through the table.

[...]

After embarrassing yourself at Landos you found yourself in your hotel room. The room was dimly lit with the soft glow of a small lamp. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about dinner, the way you completely forgot that other people could watch, but the memory of the subtle touches shared with Max, kept your heart racing.

Two knocks in the door breaked the silence. You opened it slowly, revealing Max standing there, his eyes filled with an intensity that you havent seen. Without a word, he stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him. The dim, intimate light of the room cast enticing shadows on his face, making his features appear all the more alluring. Max took a step closer, his presence filling the room. 

You could still feel his breath, when he made his way to your couch. 

“Whatever you thought of at dinner, you can do it, you know.” He finally sits down. You could only walk up to him, after not finding an answer for him. He extended a hand to you, inviting you to sit down next to him. 

As you sat down, the silky fabric of your dress rustled, drawing his attention to the way it caressed your curves. The low neckline hinted at what lay underneath and he found himself yearning to explore.

The fragrance of your perfume was like a whisper that hung in the air, and it intoxicated Max. The softest sigh of pleasure escaped his lips as he leaned in to breathe in your scent, and his fingers longed to trace the delicate contours of your neck and collarbone.

As Max's hand brushed yours, he felt the warmth and softness of your skin.

“All these glances, all these touches…” His lips were just centimiters away. “I dont think i can hold back”

With a knowing smile, Max reached out to cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His lips met yours in a longing kiss, full with desperation.

His hands roam through the cold fabric of your thighs as he bringed your leg to his hip, making you straddle him. He holds you close by your neck and doesnt let go of your lips. You could still taste the champagne from earlier in his lips. You put your hands in his blonde locks and bring him even closer. After all this teasing, both of you were craving this.

“I want more” You say between breaths. You feel him between your thighs, the warmth of his hands in your hips. You couldnt stop with just his lips, you wanted to have all of him. You wanted him to caress the parts that ached to be touched.

He reached for the hem of your dress until you were just in underwear. His hands roam at your back, your stomach, your legs and you reach over to his pants. He unclasps your bra and his fingers wander around the lace of your panties. He faintly touches your clothed pussy making you dig your nails into his shoulders. He finally gets rid of them.

Both of you are naked when he slides his thumb over your folds “So wet” He moves it up and down, you lean into his shoulder wanting more friction. “You have no idea how much I wanted to feel you” He curls his fingers into your pussy. You whimper and search for his lips once again.

You moan into his ear, and he holds you down with his other hand. “I went through hell with all these months of teasing” He grabs you by the jaw, making you look at him with glossy eyes as he increases the speed of his fingers.

“God” He takes hold of your cheek. “Look at you, all pretty moaning for me” your hand travelled down to his cock and gave it a few strokes, before he stopped fingering you.

“You want this?” He grabs his cock and slides it through your folds. You nod and he slowly slides into you, grabbing you by the hips. He moans in unison with you as he streeches you out.

He speeds up and has you moaning. “You like this? hmm? You stretch so good around me” You clench around him, your response for his question. He slows the pace. “Say it” You let out a cry. 

“Yes” You said without breath, as you grind up and down him wanting to pick up the pace. He holds you still at the hips.

“Yes what?” He moves his hips in circles around his cock at a slow pace. 

“Yes, I love the way you stretch me out!” You cry out and he picks up the pace, building up your orgasm.

You twitch around him and feel the way his shoulders tense up. He releases into you and you finally release, leaning into his lips. 

As both of you try to catch your breath he removes the strands of hair stuck at your forehead, and looks at you with his lips swollen and cheeks flushed.  

Your hands rest on his sweaty chest, as you lean again for a quick kiss. 

“I still can't believe you spilled champagne all over yourself infront of everyone, '' he said with a small laugh. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment once more, and you started to stand up, but were stopped by his hand on your neck pulling you down to his lips. 

“It worked, no?” You replied.

[capuletoo]

Euripides, Herakles (tr. Anne Carson) / Mary Oliver, Red Bird / Portrait of a Lady on Fire (dir. Celine Sciamma) / Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights / Christian Gottlieb, Orpheus and Eurydice / Jules Supervielle, I Dream You

[capuletoo]

the love we left — carlos sainz jr

carlos sainz jr x fem!reader [8.8k] summary: you weren’t aware that your family’s worry had extended so far that they’d brought in the heavy artillery, it being carlos sainz of all people. the very same person who’d turned you into someone you didn’t recognise in the mirror anymore. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, very angsty, mentions of alcohol abuse and drug use, heartbreak, childhood friends, brother's best friend, public sex a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts, unfinished for a whole month so I went back and thought that it deserved a second chance. and voilà, here you have it! my very first carlos fic!! i'd love to hear your thoughts on this, because I love how this turned out. happy reading my lovelies!! x

The music was pounding, borderline rupturing your eardrum with good music that had you bobbing your head gently to the intimate beat. Everywhere you looked were bodies, moving in unison and hands roaming sweaty skin.

The bartender poured drinks like his life depended on it, and you watched him pour you another shot of tequila without a verbal request from you, shooting you a friendly grin and side stepping to help the next customer. You downed your shot, pulling a small face at the rancid taste as you made your way to the dance floor.

You didn’t know when you’d become this type of person. The person who’d spend their weekends in clubs, dancing the nights away until they got blisters on their feet and most likely woke up with their head in a toilet bowl. It had started out as something you and your girlfriends did, sneaking into clubs when you’d just turned legal, but then you’d started going alone because you found out that sitting in your apartment alone with your thoughts was way too much for you to handle.

You weren’t strong enough to deal with your emotions, preferring to find people and alcohol to distract you. It had worked out quite well for you and the multiple shots you’d taken over the span of two hours were starting to settle in your bones, buzzing right beneath your skin and giving you enough courage to seek out the dance floor.

Your body moved like it was an entity of its own, face tilted up to the ceiling and eyes closed as you felt the music. It rattled your bones and settled in your hips, the bottom of your heels sticking to the floor with every step you took.

I’ve never seen someone look so at home on a dance floor, he’d once said. The words came sneaking into your mind, unbidden. You could still remember the party, how your brother had bought the whole gang shots and you’d taken to the floor with laughter and happiness in your bellies. The DJ hadn’t been very happy when your brother and the man of the hour stepped up to the booth and completely took over with their non-existent experience of manning a DJ booth, but he’d relented when your brother had drunkenly explained that this man right here? He’s gonna be racing cars professionally, cabrón.

You were so far gone in your head, not even flinching at the pair of hands sliding over your waist and pulling you into a body. The person smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, and it made something roll in your stomach at the mix of it in your nostrils but you couldn’t pull away. He was yet another distraction from your messed up life, and you welcomed it in all forms.

If you let yourself take a step back and think of exactly why you allowed a complete stranger to touch you the way they were, you’d come to the conclusion that the reason was because the feeling of hands on your hips reminded you of him. That one damned night that changed you, that made you into this.

He’d cornered you against the wall, claimed your lips in a bruising kiss that left you panting and his hands. Fuck. His hands had gripped your hips so tight that you’d had bruises for a whole week after that encounter.

You’d thought that finally, finally the both of you would be together after years of pining; Spending your awkward teenage years wishing that your brother’s best friend would look at you as a girl he could imagine kissing, and not as his best friend’s sister and a family friend. But then he’d acted like nothing happened, leaving you in the dust with little to no explanation as he went to kickstart his career.

Bile rose in your throat as your brain entered dangerous territory, and you blinked your eyes open against the lights. It was blurry, and it took a few moments for you to realise that there were tears welling up in your eyes. You’d stopped crying long ago, but sometimes the tears managed to sneak up on you when you were vulnerable and drunk.

The hands on your body were suddenly too much, and just as you were about to run, someone grabbed you and yanked a little harder than you had been prepared for. You stumbled, a wordless shout leaving your lips when you were pulled to the side of the dance floor, legs struggling to keep up. It took a second for you to realise that someone had grabbed you and was in the process of dragging you off the dance floor, away from the sweaty and dancing bodies, away from the man who you’d danced with. Your eyes were scanning your surroundings, feeling too drunk to think of a good plan to escape so you settled for the only thing that would hopefully get someone’s attention.

Before you could open your mouth and scream, a hand settled right on your lips and muffled the sound, your eyes flickering up to the man in front of you in the hopes that you could shoot him the most pleading look through your eyes.

You found yourself looking into round and dark eyes, so eerily familiar that it made your stomach violently turn and you took a stumbling step back like shock itself had shoved you, turning around to promptly retch into a nearby trash can. You heaved and clutched at the edge of the bin with your hands, moaning miserably until it finally stopped.

“Come on, let’s get you outside.” His voice sounded somewhere behind you, somehow overpowering the pulsing music.

His hands grabbed at you, helping you steady yourself and you didn’t bother to spare him another glance as you weakly shoved his hands away. He didn’t fight you, nor say anything when you walked straight out of the club, legs feeling incredibly weak and hands shaking; like you were two seconds away from breaking down.

And you were. What the fuck was he doing here? Why would he come back?

The chilly air was welcomed when you pushed the back door open, stumbling out into the alley and breathing in, in an effort to sober up. You ignored your trembling hands as you dug around in your purse for gum, anything to get rid of the sour taste in your mouth but you doubted it would do much to settle the nausea roiling in your stomach.

You heard a scuffle behind you, causing you to freeze because you’d been hoping that it was all just your drunken mind playing tricks on you; Because it happened sometimes. It had happened in your dreams, and once when you’d smoked a dodgy rolled up joint and hallucinated him being there. But no, he was standing there when you turned around, eyebrows pulled together in that annoying frown he always wore whenever he disapproved of something. His face was passive though, eyes not giving away anything and it was so infuriating.

He’d always played the older brother, acting like he had some kind of right to decide over you just because he was your brother’s friend. But his feelings had been anything but fraternal, he’d made that very clear when he decided to fuck you and leave.

You swallowed, feeling nauseous as you stood staring at him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, cursing yourself quietly when your voice shook. But you sounded stern, even in your drunken state and something about your tone made the man grit his teeth.

“I was worried—“

No. You didn’t need to hear the same old spiel again. He didn’t get to be worried about you, not anymore.

“What are you doing here, Carlos?” You cut him off, making him cringe at the way you said his name, sharply and angry - so differently from how you used to say it.

“Your family is worried about you.” He replied slowly.

The way he talked reminded you of someone who spoke carefully as to not scare away a skittish animal. It was very bizarre, the feeling so unreal that you had a hard time believing that your fucked up mind hadn’t decided to conjure him up on a random Sunday night. A few moments passed as you stared, and stared. He was truly there in the flesh.

You were aware that your mother had been worried, calling you every day to check up on you and you gave her the same old answer because what else was there to say?

You just weren’t aware that your family’s worry had extended so far that they’d brought in the heavy artillery, it being Carlos fucking Sainz of all people. The very same person who’d turned you into someone you didn’t recognise in the mirror anymore.

“I wanted to check up on you, see how you are doing.” He broke the drawn out silence, stuffing both of his hands into the pockets of his jacket like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

You remembered the odd habit he used to have, where he’d wring his hands whenever he felt out of place. It was such a minuscule detail that barely anyone took notice of, but you did. You always did.

Your eyes dropped to follow the movement, noting the casual jeans and the red hoodie under his black jacket. You quickly looked away, refusing to think about how good he looked.

“Well, now you have. So you can go.” You shot him a smile with no real joy behind it, turning around and walking down the alleyway in the direction of your apartment.

You knew that he wouldn’t leave you alone, and a big part of you wanted him to. But you couldn’t deny that one percent that wanted, needed him to stay.

The sounds of his footsteps let you know that he wasn’t far behind and you jumped like he’d burned you when you felt his fingertips touch your arm. Just a quick touch that lit your body on fire. Your eyes found his and you took a big step back, feeling your chest go tight at the slight downwards tilt of his lips, like he hadn’t expected you to react negatively.

“Nena, please. Let me walk you home, at least.” He said and your throat tightened up at the familiar pet name he’d called you since you were children and so incredibly naive.

“Don’t call me that.” You sniffled, bringing a hand up to rub at your nose. “You don’t get to show up here after two years and play the hero. I don’t need one, and I certainly don’t need you.”

“Lo sé.” He said, but he really didn’t know, did he?

You didn’t say a word, taking two steps before glaring down at your shoes. They had been a pain the whole night and now that the alcohol wasn’t doing its job of numbing the pain, your feet were starting to hurt from being pinched for the past few hours. You balanced yourself with a hand on the wall, slipping your heels off with a quiet grumble and shoving the offending footwear into the man’s chest. Carlos grunted at the unexpected force, hands coming up to catch the heels before they dropped and raising both eyebrows at you.

You weren’t looking at his face, but you could tell that he was baffled by your actions and it made you feel just a tad bit smug. If he was going to show up and insist on pestering you, he might as well make himself useful.

The concrete was uncomfortable to walk barefoot on, but it felt freeing and you took comfort in that feeling. Anything to not think about exactly who was walking a few steps behind you, feeling his eyes on you like hot coal on your skin.

“Do you live far from here?” He asked, tone cautious like he didn’t want to say the wrong things or set you off.

“No, why?” You turned your head to look over your shoulder and found him walking way closer to you than you thought. “Is the neighbourhood not up to your standards?”

You knew you were being petty now, playing unfair and it clearly annoyed Carlos as he looked away to avoid your cold gaze. It wasn’t his fault that he’d gone and got himself an even more lavish lifestyle where he raced cars for a living and got millions out of it. You’d always been proud of him, one of his biggest supporters before everything transpired and although you didn’t want to admit it out loud, you’d always keep tabs on him.

There weren’t enough fingers on your hands to count the amount of times you’d struggled to not pick up your phone and text him after he’d won a race, or if he did badly. The urge to comfort him and to be happy for him was still there, even years later.

“I live down the road.” You said, desperate to break the tension. “You can go.”

Carlos fell into step beside you, not sparing you a glance as he nodded.

“I know.” He said, but made no effort to leave you alone.

The two of you walked in relative silence, interjecting with small talk every now and then to fill the unbearable quiet that had blanketed over you. It took a few minutes for Carlos to relax, shoulders dropping like the tension was slowly seeping out of his body when he realised that you were beyond your anger now, speaking softly rather than the tone you’d carried a few minutes earlier. He didn’t like how you sounded though, mellow and short, like you’d given up on caring. It made something ugly swirl in his stomach to the point where he started to feel nauseous.

He was starting to spiral in his thoughts, trapped inside his head and just as he opened his mouth to speak, you beat him to it.

“How’s Ferrari treating you?” You asked and his head snapped to you. You weren’t looking at him, staring straight ahead with your mouth in a thin line. “You’ve been doing well lately.”

Carlos didn’t know if you were trying to act nonchalant and if you were, you were doing a piss poor job because he could see how you struggled to maintain a neutral expression on your face. He didn’t want to point it out though because his mind had finally caught up to your question, teetering along the edge of she’s keeping tabs on me.

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and he hurriedly cleared his throat. “It’s been good, felt like a dream when I signed the contract.”

You could still remember when he started karting, how he’d plead with his parents to buy him merchandise with the Ferrari logo poorly pressed onto the material. It had always been a dream of his, and something about him achieving it made you smile.

“I bet it was.” You said softly, glancing at Carlos to find him staring at you; eyes wide and searching, like he was taking in your smile. You hurried to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with the rush of old emotions storming back and taking residence in your entire being.

“How have you been?” He asked, genuine and curious.

You considered ignoring his question, not knowing how to answer him without making yourself out to be the most pathetic person to grace the earth. How could you tell him how you’d been in a downwards spiral for the past years? Could you even admit to the things you’d done, how you’d drank yourself to oblivion in hopes to numb yourself and worked dead end jobs to keep yourself afloat?

“I’ve been fine.” Your tone was flat, letting him know that you weren’t in the mood to delve deeper and thankfully he respected your wishes, keeping silent. “Well, here we are.”

You nodded up at the apartment complex you’d stopped in front of, suddenly feeling awkward as you found yourselves staring at each other with no idea how to proceed.

Carlos fidgeted as you stared at him, looking as anxious as you felt and it made you a little sad because you’d been better than this, once upon a time. You’d never known awkward silences or odd looks, but you’d somehow managed to go from close to whatever the fuck this was. Strangers. Ex-lovers. But could you even dub him as an ex-lover when you’d only slept with him once?

You took in the sharpness of his jaw, the stubble growing on it fitting him as well as you remembered but there was a certain edge to him that hadn’t existed last time you saw him. He looked fully grown up, like an adult who didn’t have time for children’s games and torrid love affairs.

Homesickness bloomed in your chest the further your mind delved into the past, suddenly wishing that things were different. Wishing that you’d swallowed your pride and picked up your phone.

Would he have answered? Did he change his number?

You swallowed excessive saliva in your mouth, trying not to grimace when it felt like swallowing gravel as your eyes traveled down his arm that he’d successfully managed to free from his pocket, hanging by his side. Your eyes latched onto the space between his thumb and pointer finger, where the tan skin was white and raised in a small bump. A healed scar that brought such a rush of memories that the words tumbled out of your mouth before you overthought them.

“Do you wanna come in?” You asked and Carlos couldn’t manage to hold his surprise in, eyebrows shooting up and jaw going a little slack. “Just… for a while.”

It probably sounded wrong, like you were inviting him with ulterior motives and you weren’t. Really. Just the thought of him touching you made bile rise in your throat and you realised that you weren’t ready. For any of this. But then again, would you ever be ready?

Whatever inner monologue you were running through in your head was halted when Carlos exhaled, glancing at the apartment building before nodding twice.

“Me encantaría.” He said, voice gentle.

You hurried to get your keys out of your purse, hands shaking a little and you didn’t know whether it was from your nerves being shot or the unhealthy amount of alcohol you’d consumed not even an hour ago. The door gave way when you turned the key and pushed it forcefully with your shoulder, stepping inside and flicking the light on.

It wasn’t much. A one bedroom apartment in a safe enough neighbourhood. Your brother had scowled and made his displeasure known when he’d helped you move in, even offering to find you a better place to rent out but you refused. Mostly because this was further away from your family and because it was yours. It had its defects and flaws, but you loved it from the moment you stepped foot inside.

Your brother and Carlos were like one person in two bodies, so you almost expected him to get his two cents in when he stepped in behind you and closed the door; Eyes roaming around and taking in the place. His face gave nothing away, as always, but then his brown eyes landed on you and his lips twitched.

“I like it.” He said, like you’d asked.

You gave a nod, secretly pleased but then you scolded yourself because why the fuck did you even care what he thought? Mierda.

“Glad to know you approve.” You muttered, annoyance pricking your heart and you didn’t know why. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a minute.”

You left him to his own devices, standing in the middle of the living area looking a little lost while you sought out the comfort of your bedroom. The door closed with a click and you hurriedly changed your clothes to something more comfortable, snatching your makeup wipes where they’d fallen on the floor to wipe at your face. Your makeup was smudged, embarrassingly so but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when your heart was racing a mile a minute, thinking of the man on the other side of the door.

There was a moment of panic where you felt that shit, you shouldn’t have invited him in because this apartment was the only place he hadn’t touched, soiled with his fake promises and lies.

The memories of you in his bed came back with full force, thinking of how you’d woken up in the middle of the night with a smile on your face that got wiped as soon as you touched the cold side of his bed. He’d been nowhere to be found, and you’d contemplated staying and hoping that he’d come back in the morning but then you’d found his contract on the kitchen counter and the packed suitcases you’d somehow skimmed over when you were wrapped up in him.

It had felt like a gut punch and it still did as you stared at yourself in the mirror, swallowing against the nausea swirling up from your stomach to your throat. Your eyes welled with tears, and you gave yourself a moment to silently cry before you wiped angrily at your eyes, reaching for your toothbrush.

You thought back on your younger self, how she’d been so happy to have finally caught the eyes of her brother’s best friend. After years of pining and hoping that he’d see her as something more than his sister. How he’d once wiped a thumb under her eye when she’d first started experiencing with makeup in her teenage years, and he’d softly said that you don’t need so much of it. You’re beautiful, nena.

You deserved better, but you didn’t know what better was. Was it in the arms of a man or the bottom of a shot glass? It was a terrifying revelation, to realise how fucked up your life had become and it was all your fault.

Closure. That was what you needed, wasn’t it? But you didn’t want to move on from him, because despite it all, you still loved him.

Carlos had his back to you when you came out of your room, staring hard at the frames on the wall and you briefly wondered if he noticed how you’d deliberately left out the pictures with him.

“I remember this day.” He said quietly without looking at you. His finger pointed at a framed picture of you and your best friend, at an animal sanctuary with your hands stretched out, feeding a giraffe. “You were so happy to finally see giraffes, no one could pull you away from them.”

You wanted to smile at the memory, but it was hard when emotion was still clogging up your throat. You embraced yourself and sat down on your sofa, making a small hum of acknowledgement instead. Carlos turned around at that, sweeping his eyes across the small area before settling on you.

“Things change.” You said, because they really did.

“Sí.” He sighed, taking a seat in the ottoman. The seat furthest away from you, you noted. “I have that picture in my driver’s room. Not that one, but a similar one where you’re by yourself.”

You knew what picture he was referring to and it made you frown. Why would he confess to that?

“Why?” You asked, because that was the question, wasn’t it? Why, why, why?

Carlos inhaled through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Reminds me of how simple life used to be.” He said, like it answered the million questions in your head.

You didn’t ask him to elaborate, because you didn’t want to hear it. It must’ve been difficult to lead such a fast paced life, hopping from one country to the other and spending hours on driving cars. You’d imagine that it got a little too much at some point, rendering you homesick and yearning for a simpler life. But it didn’t work like that. Life rarely went the way you wanted it to.

“Why are you really here, Carlos?” You asked, the question so sudden that it cut through the false sense of security the both of you had managed to build.

He stared at you, eyes unmoving and it was so unnerving that you looked down in your lap, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

“I miss you.” He said, and you barely managed to hold in the scoff. Barely. “I miss us.”

“There was no us.” You interjected, spitting the word out like it was venom.

It might as well have been because Carlos hands curled into fists where they stayed in his lap, something he always did to reel his frustration in. Somehow, that angered you. You weren’t the one who walked out. You weren’t the one who left him behind.

“I kno—“

“No, you don’t!” You hissed, fury finally unfurling in your chest. “El problema es usted no sabe mi dolor o mi vacío. You just walk back into my life like I’m supposed to welcome you with open arms.”

Your breathing was picking up, chest heaving with the lack of air you were heaving in and it did nothing to stop the pricks of tears in your eyes as you raised your head to glare at him. Carlos looked taken aback, hands slack from the previous fists and his eyes looked… Sad. Regretful. It was so pitiful that you couldn’t help but laugh wetly and humourlessly, bringing a sleeved hand to wipe at your nose.

“I don’t know what to say.” He admitted after a painful silence.

You looked away, sniffling as tears started falling traitorously, tracking your cheeks and you hated yourself for it. The last thing you wanted to do in front of Carlos was cry, but it seemed like your heart disagreed.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” You said, quietly. “You’ve already had me and it wasn’t enough.”

“It was enough.” His voice was more forceful than you expected, making your stomach drop. “It is enough. The fault was never with you, it was me.”

“Cállate.” You shook your head. “Don’t do the it’s not you, it’s me bullshit.”

Carlos sucked his teeth in exasperation.

“You know I’ve always loved you, nena.” He said and it made you look up.

Love? For a moment, your heart stopped beating in your chest as hope flared in every crevice of your body. But you reeled it in just as quick, because if he called fucking and dumping love, then you were better off. You might’ve been damaged but you still recognised that you deserved better.

“I don’t know.” You set your jaw. “You have a funny way of showing it, if you do.”

He sat up in the ottoman, ignoring the groan of protest it gave under his weight. The both of you stared at each other for a second and it felt like the longest hour of your life.

“That night…” He began, trailing off like he wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. “Nena, I didn’t do anything that I regretted, and I still don’t. The only thing I regret is leaving you the way I did because you deserve so much better.”

Something wet touched your throat and you hurried to wipe at it, realising that tears were still rolling down your face. It irked you.

Carlos sighed heavily, like the conversation was too much to bear and you agreed with that sentiment, for once.

“Then why did you? Leave?” Your voice was quiet, broken and you hated the sound of it.

Carlos pulled a small face like it pained him to hear you so broken down, and it sent a small zip of satisfaction through you. You wanted him to hurt like you’d hurt.

“Because I was scared.” He confessed. “I was scared about everything. Your brother, this new life that I got pushed into. It was too much and I was panicking that night. I just wanted to feel normal again.”

“So… you slept with me and left?” You laughed bitterly.

Carlos cut you a stern look that still, to this day, shut you right up. He’d always had the face for it, the round and wide dark eyes and the bushy eyebrows. He could look intimidating when he wanted to, not that he ever scared you but you knew when to shut up.

“No. I sought you out because you were the only person who feels safe, who feels like home.”

He said feels. Not felt. So did that mean you still felt like home to him? You weren’t sure what to think or believe, feeling nauseous and lost all of a sudden.

“I realise that I went about it completely wrong.” He continued when you still hadn’t spoken. “I have a lot of regrets in my life, nena. But leaving you in my bed is the biggest of them all.”

The confession felt heavy, riddled with underlying emotions and confessions that you weren’t really ready to confront nor unpack. It was exhausting, all this new information invading your every sense and Carlos must’ve sensed how overwhelmed you’d suddenly become, because he palmed the tops of his thighs and sucked his teeth.

“Do you wanna get out for a bit?” He asked and you raised your eyebrows in slight bewilderment.

“It’s two in the morning.” You replied slowly and that prompted a smile from Carlos.

The sight of it was so unexpected and beautiful that it felt like a sucker punch, making you look away before you started staring.

“That never stopped you before.”

Before. Before when you’d sneak out of the house with your girlfriends to meet up with other friends and go to the most obscure parties. And Carlos would always be the one to catch you in the act, whenever he stayed over the house. He’d never berate or rat you out, just smirk and tell you to stay safe. To call if you ever needed him.

“Fine.” You relented, standing up and making your way over to the hallway. “Do you have a car?”

“Yeah, I parked it not too far from here.” He regarded you silently when you reached for your shoes, slipping them on. “Are you going to go out like that?”

It didn’t sound judgemental, only curious and that’s why you shot him an amused stare instead of picking up a fight out of annoyance.

“Yes.” You said, short and sweet.

He gave you a long stare before nodding, and that was that.

Fifteen minutes later and you were sitting in the passenger seat of a Ferrari, speeding down the deserted highway. There was no clear destination in either of your minds, but you cracked open the window and let the wind whip your hair, closing your eyes for a moment.

The radio was playing quietly in the background, almost drowned out by the roar of the engine, but it was comforting all the same.

Carlos hadn’t said a word since he started the car, only hitting you with a do you want seat warmers on? to which you’d shook your head. But he was good company, silent and comforting, just like he used to be.

“I love this song.” You said softly when the voices on the radio drifted off, the familiar tunes of Lovers Rock filling the relative silence.

Carlos didn’t say anything, just reached a hand out to turn the sound up a few bars, shooting you a glance that you felt in your core. It was amazing how he still made you feel like that, like someone had reached down your throat and fisted your heart violently. It was a sickening feeling, one that was so addicting and dangerous but you still yearned for it.

You were still mad at him, but you could also see a clearer picture now that he’d given you his side of the story and apologised. It wasn’t that you forgave him - that would take time - but you weren’t holding a grudge as strong like before.

It was hard though, to not acknowledge how he still made you feel like the wide eyed teenage girl who’d once saw the stars and moon in his dark eyes, who’d feel sick with love and admiration for him.

Because love can burn like a cigarette,

and leave you alone with nothing.

There was an irony to the lyrics, one that seemed to fit your current life like a glove. Carlos cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, breaking the silence.

Your stomach still felt unsettled from the drinks you’d had and from him showing up and upending your life, so you shook your head in the negative and turned your head to look at him.

“No, thank you.” You whispered.

Carlos didn’t take his eyes off the road and you took the chance to look at him, taking in the sharpness of his jaw and his strong nose. His hair was longer than last time you saw him, floppy and soft without any product in it and it should’ve annoyed you how beautiful he looked. Like something straight out of a romance movie.

There were a slight shadow under his eyes though, looking a lot like a person who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders and you fisted your hands in your lap to avoid reaching out to swipe a thumb over the bags of his eyes. You’d been so swept up in your anger that you’d failed to realise that Carlos was probably hurting just as much, he just couldn’t show it or self-destruct.

“Estás mirando, nena.” His voice, paired with the pull of his mouth made you look away.

Warmth spread all over your body when you realised that you’d been caught staring, for far too long to play it off.

“Where are we going?” You asked, in desperate need to change the subject and Carlos noticed it, because his nose flared as he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth; Like he was trying to hold his smile off.

“La playa.” He said.

The air had chilled considerably when you stepped out of the car, the wind whipping your bare legs and you pulled your sweater over your hands to find some comforting warmth as you gazed out over the beach.

It was dark, completely deserted even by the boardwalk and it was perfect for you, not in the mood to run into anyone who might know the man who was currently walking a few steps behind you.

The sand found its way into your shoes but you paid it little to no mind as you hurried your steps to the shoreline, far enough that the water wouldn't reach you, but close enough to hear the ominuous sounds of crashing waves.

"It's cold." Carlos said and you turned around, taking in the scrunch of his nose as he glanced around.

"Es perfecto." You said, waiting until Carlos looked over at you to give him a tentative smile. There was something in his face that changed at the sight of your open and vulnerable expression, but you didn't stop to think too hard on it.

Instead, you reached for your oversized sweater and pulled it clean off your head, ignoring Carlos' sounds of mortified and confused protest. His voice climbed in octaves when you kicked your shorts off, toeing your shoes away before you began walking backwards toward the ocean.

"Ay, what are you doing?" He asked, taking a step forward like he wanted to stop you. "You're gonna get sick!"

You ignored him, only breaking eye contact when the current carried up the shore, frothy water licking your calves and it was so cold that you felt it in your entire being. A sharp gasp left your lips, but you were determined to get a dip in just to clear your head.

It had been a long night, and getting sick was the last thing on your mind as water enveloped you.

Carlos watched silently, though his heart was pounding against his ribcage whenever he lost sight of you for a mere second. You'd always emerge from the water, smiling like you were in your own world and that's probably what stopped him from stalking right over and yank you out of the bed of water.

You looked so free, the complete opposite of how you'd looked the entire night and he selfishly didn't want that look on your face to diminish. Granted, you weren't smiling out of joy nor were you directing it at him, but the burden on your shoulders looked a little lighter when you finally started walking out of the water.

He tried hard not to stare at your body, the skimpy lingerie doing absolutely nothing to hide the most private parts of you. Carlos didn't know if he was just imagining things, but you'd truly grown into yourself since he last saw you.

You were shivering when you reached him, arms embracing your upper body like they were going to provide the warmth you needed to not send yourself into shock. He shrugged his jacket off without thinking when you hurriedly redressed in your sweater, water still dripping down your hair and body.

Carlos was ever the worrier, sitting you down on the sand and draping his jacket around your shoulder. You didn't protest, happily accepting it with a stuttered thank you that had his chest squeezing.

"You've always been good at surprising me." Carlos said when a few minutes had passed. He smiled when you gazed at him, trying not to react when you shifted and accidentally bumped your thigh against his.

You pulled away slightly, looking out into the darkness.

"How long are you staying?" You asked, quietly and slowly like you weren't sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

You knew realistically that he couldn't stay, he wouldn't. Carlos had a whole other life to live and a job to tend to, but you'd foolishly believed that maybe he'd stick around.

Carlos had a crease between his eyebrows that told you otherwise though, and you knew what was coming out of his mouth before he even said the words.

"Two days." He replied quietly, the sound almost getting swallowed up by the rushing waves in the distance. "I'm supposed to be in Italy by now but I wanted to see you."

You smiled despite yourself, a small graze of the lips that had Carlos inhale through his nose.

"I'm glad you came." You confessed out loud, the very same words you'd been scared to utter for the past hour.

Now they were out in the open, and Carlos was staring at the side of your head like he'd maybe heard wrong.

"Me too." He said softly, watching you shift as a breeze blew by.

Your thigh grazed his and this time, you didn't move away, letting the warmth of your flesh seep through his jeans.

"I'm sorry for everything." Carlos pulled a leg up to rest his cheek on the knee, head turned towards you. "I wish I could take it all back."

"I know." You said quietly.

You looked at each other in silence and you took in the slope of his nose and the tanned skin. The apples of his cheeks were a little sunburnt, lips dry but oh so full and inviting. You stared at them, thinking back to how they'd tasted that one fateful night.

Carlos cheeks went a little pink at your scrutiny and you quickly looked away, feeling yourself flush warmth all over at being caught staring so obviously.

"Come with me." He said and you blinked, confusion marring your face when you turned back to look at him. "To Italy. Just to get away for a bit. You can meet my friends and watch me race."

You hesitated, feeling lost all of a sudden because you weren't sure if you were ready for it yet. But a small part of you wanted to go with him, to let go of this life of destruction you'd managed to envelop yourself in.

Carlos hesitantly touched your hand that you had in your lap, fingertips against the palm of your hand and that one small touch was so electrifying that you filled your belly with air, holding your breath until it hurt your chest before exhaling.

"Charles has a girlfriend who I think you'd get along with well. She’s very much like you." He continued, sounding an awful lot like a salesman and it made you smile. “You’d love her, I think.”

You didn't know who Charles was, but the name rang a bell and you took a shot in the dark that it was his teammate.

"I probably would." You replied slowly and Carlos pinched eyebrows relaxed a tad bit when you finally broke your silence, like your silence had built some anxiety. "Can I think on it? I just —"

"Yes." He interrupted you, like he completely understood. "You don't have to explain yourself. I'll be around for two more days so you can take your time."

You thought about your brother, wondering if he knew what had spiralled that night before Carlos left to start his career. Did he have a hunch or did Carlos tell him? All you really knew was that your brother had flown out plenty of times to attend races, so you knew that they were still in contact, and by the looks of it, good friends. He’d invited you along the first few times, only stopping when your polite no’s had turned into snapping.

“What are you thinking about?” Carlos voice brought you out of your thoughts and you realised he’d been looking at your face the entire time, trying to read your thoughts when your eyebrows furrowed.

“Does he know?” You asked and Carlos looked confused for exactly two seconds before his eyebrows smoothed out, a humourless smile twitching his lip as he gazed out at the ocean in front of you.

He pulled up both legs, resting his forearms on his knees and clutching his hands together.

“Yes.” He said and your stomach dropped a little. “He came to a race in Miami a year ago and I felt… guilty. He was talking about how you should come to a race sometime and how concerned he was for you.”

Your eyebrows jumped. Your brother knew. How much did he know? He hadn’t even brought it up with you, not once.

“I told him.” He let out a laugh with no real joy behind it. “He punched me, called me a motherfucker and left.”

Your mouth gaped open as you took in the new information, eyebrows raised so high that you were scared they’d get stuck in your hairline but you couldn’t bring yourself to relax.

You had never really been that close to your brother, close enough to spend some time in the same circle of friends whenever it was called for but you weren’t sit down and talk about your feelings close. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he hadn’t reached out to you and spoke to you about how you’d fucked his best friend, but he hadn’t treated you any different the past year. He still called and texted to check on you, expressing his worry whenever you gave him the old I’m fine reply. Now you knew why he’d been so gentle with you.

“I deserved it.” Carlos said after a stretch of silence, looking at you.

It made you sad for him then, and a little ashamed of yourself that you’d never stopped to consider how Carlos had felt in all of this. You’d always thought that he ran because he couldn’t deal with turning you down gently, but looking at him now? He was clearly struggling as well.

“You didn’t.” You said and Carlos pulled a face like he didn’t believe you. “I’m just a little horrified that my brother knows I slept with his best friend.”

The both of you smiled at each other.

“It’s not his business, anyway.” Carlos said, leaning his weight to one side so he could bump his shoulder against yours. “Just you and me, ¿verdad?”

“Sí.” You smiled like the words he was saying didn’t turn your stomach inside out.

Carlos looked straight ahead, and you scooted closer to him with a shiver, still cold and wet. He didn’t even hesitate to put his arm around you when your sides pressed together, leaning your head against his shoulder and basking in his warmth when a breeze blew by.

Your stomach was doing somersaults, twisting with nerves and a sense of giddiness and you really hoped that he couldn’t hear the harsh pound of your heart against your rib cage when he turned his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Te amo, nena.” He whispered, faint and intimate but it still felt like he’d reached into your bones and rattled them with a violent shake.

Hearing the quiet love confession come from his mouth stunned you, hope blooming in your chest as you picked your head up to take a look at his face. He was close, so close, and the inviting pout of his lips made it all the more difficult to resist pressing your lips against them.

Carlos inhaled sharply through his nose when you grazed your lips against his, a whisper of a touch that electrified you to the core. The arm around you tightened, pressing you closer as your noses brushed.

“Kiss me.” You whispered and Carlos did exactly that.

The press of his lips made you warm all over, hands coming up to clutch his hoodie when he pried your lips open; the touch of tongues making you push harder. It felt a lot like coming home, like universe had aligned itself, and you basked in the feeling of it all.

“Nena.” Carlos murmured when the kiss reached its end, lips touching yours as he spoke. He pushed his forehead to yours, eyelashes laying so pretty on the tops of his cheeks as he closed his eyelids. “I want you, I’ve wanted you for years. But maybe we should take things slow.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t resist stealing another kiss that he was all too eager to respond to. A groan rumbled in his chest when you placed both hands on his wide shoulders, letting him guide you to lay down on the sand.

It wasn’t as dark as it had been when you first arrived, but the faint light cast an almost beautiful shadow to his face as he hovered above you. His eyes were dark pools, staring into yours while his hand brushed wet strands of hair from your face. He crooked them behind your ear, cupping your cheek to bring you up for another kiss that had you whimpering for more.

Take things slow. Wasn’t two years enough? How much longer were you supposed to wait?

Carlos must’ve shared that sentiment, trailing his lips down your jaw to your throat in sucking kisses. He licked your skin, tongue warm against your flesh as he tasted the saltwater and you squirmed at the touch.

“Need you, Carlos.” You murmured when he pulled away.

He laughed breathlessly like he couldn’t believe the words you were saying, a hand travelling down your body with his eyes fastened on yours. You didn’t even dare to blink, staring at him until his hand found its way into your shorts and underwear, brushing his finger against your clit. Your eyelids fluttered shut, mouth going slack when he swiped his fingers through the mess of wet, bringing them back to circle your clit.

You grabbed him with terse hands, gasping and moaning while he brought you to a quick climax. It was sudden and fast, absolutely earth shattering when you climbed up to the edge and toppled right over. Carlos silenced your moans with his mouth, not kissing, just slotted over yours as he stole your breath and sounds.

“You sound beautiful, nena.” He murmured, fingertip nudging your sensitive clit just to see the way your mouth dropped open in a shivered gasp. “Missed that look on your face.”

“Carlos.” Your voice sounded pleading, hand sliding to the back of his head to bury your fingers in his hair. “Want you right now. Please.”

He let out a shuddered breath, pulling his hand out of your shorts to unbutton his jeans and zip them down far enough to fish himself out. You struggled to not stare down between the two of you as you kicked your shorts and panties off, marvelling in the sounds he made as he spit in his hand and jacked himself off; slicking himself up generously.

There was a moment where you looked at each other, unblinking and silent. His cock slid against you, slicking himself up further before his head caught where you were clenching in anticipation. It was stupid and reckless, to not use protection and to even do it so publicly but you needed him.

You couldn’t wait for another hour, and neither could he, judging by the way he slid inside with a gasped breath. Your eyes clenched shut as the intrusion locked your body up, finding comfort in his hands as he brushed your face and pressed kisses to it. You relaxed, feeling the girth of him stretching you out the further he pushed inside.

It had been a while since someone had stretched you to your limits like he currently was, but you were eager to feel every inch of him and you made it clear by wrapping your arms around him, spreading your legs further like an invitation.

Carlos let out a breathless laugh, pushing his lips against yours in a loving kiss and you lost yourself in it as he began thrusting. He hit you deep, kissed your spot with the head of his cock and the coarse hair of his groin rubbed deliciously against your clit.

It wasn’t romantic, not something you’d see in movies, but it was intimate and perfect for you. He conveyed so much in the movement of his hips, eyes stuck on you like he didn’t dare to look away in fear of missing every twitch and movement of your face.

You got a hand between the two of you, moaning and gasping when your second orgasm crept up on you. It made your head spin, how fast you’d been brought to the edge yet again and you clenched around him, screaming out your climax. Carlos wasn’t far behind, all kinds of curses streaming from his lips as he pulled out and came on your lower abdomen.

The stark contrast of his warmth against your cool skin made you shiver, still struggling to come down from your high. Carlos let out a drawn out groan that screamed of sudden exhaustion, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the come off your skin before he dropped down; Half on top of you and half on the sand.

“Where are you staying?” You asked, voice a little raspy from how dry your throat was.

“My parents house.” He replied, eyes taking in the slope of your nose and the pout of your bitten raw lips.

You turned your head to smile at him, eyes fluttering as he pushed forward to kiss your mouth.

“You can stay with me.” Your voice was timid, a little shy and it made Carlos smile.

“Bueno.”

Carlos’ hand found your collarbone, stroking the pads of his fingers against the raised bone. His eyes caught on the glimmering necklace around your throat, heart stopping for a split second when the pendant caught the light and he realised what he was looking at.

The number 55 was staring up at him, so small but so glaringly obvious that he wondered how he’d failed to notice it.

You must’ve sensed his body language shift, eyes flicking over his face where it remained unmoving.

“I wanted to keep you close to my heart.” You whispered and it was like gospel to Carlos’ ears. “I never stopped loving you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, face softening even more.

“Neither did I.”

He thought of the years he’d lived through without you, thinking of the missed time and opportunity he could’ve had with you if he had just picked up the phone. But it didn’t matter now.

Carlos gazed at your face, at the stars reflected in your eyes, and made a vow to himself to never let you slip away again.

[capuletoo]

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it. 

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired. 

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel. 

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing. 

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors  and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t. 

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly. 

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything. 

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you. 

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately. 

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be. 

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page. 

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months. 

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus. 

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive. 

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception. 

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches. 

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years. 

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust. 

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks,  a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit. 

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property. 

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with. 

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile. 

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses. 

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way. 

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy. 

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you. 

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be. 

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty. 

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks.  “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly. 

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest. 

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder. 

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special. 

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you. 

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail. 

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard. 

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine. 

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender. 

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in. 

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary. 

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest. 

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you. 

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster. 

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken. 

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small. 

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to. 

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines. 

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it. 

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side. 

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by. 

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day. 

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands. 

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan. 

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support. 

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be. 

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

[capuletoo]

━━━━ guidelines!

★ Pls be patient with your requests

★ i don’t feel comfortable writing too explicit smut (if you request that keep in mind that i will probably write more context than actual smut)

★ be more specific when you submit a request -pls put more context of what you want to read: scenarios, quotes etc-

★ if i don’t feel comfortable or don’t find inspiration to write your request i wont write it (sorry :( but i will keep it safe in my asks when the time comes

[capuletoo]

CHILDHOOD HOMES (and why we hate them): After over a decade, you return home to find it unchanged.

A short, interactive horror story, and my first attempt at making something in Twine. Inspired by Anatomy, House of Leaves, and my deep hatred for my own childhood home! Full trigger list included on the itch.io page.

Play here!

[capuletoo]

A house in Nebraska

Exiled

[capuletoo]

Blue Valentine — Thomas Raggi

—note: it’s been so since i wrote something for måneskin…please please request something because i wanna write for them but have no ideas

—TW: stealing hehe, fluff | thomas raggi x fem!reader

—summary: After a party the reader meets a boy with a motorcycle

—words: 1.3k

THE WORDS IN ITALICS ARE LYRICS OF THE SONG ‘BETWEEN THE BARS’ BY ELLIOTT SMITH

You end up leaving with regret. You don't want to go back to the party. In addition, the effects of alcohol are beginning to dissipate: You tremble with cold and your head throws you atrociously. Arms crossed in a vain attempt to comfort and venture randomly into the street. There are not even cats, it seems that you are alone. Footsteps resonate in silence.

“Drink up baby,

stay up all night with the things you could do,

you won't but you might…”

You take the opportunity to sing, just to warm up.

“The potential you be that you never see,

the promises you'll only make. Drink up one more time,

and forget all about the pressure of days.

Do what I say and I'll make you okay,

I'll drive away the images stuck in your head…”

The coolness of the street and the dull noise of cars in the distance take a weight off your shoulders. You feel strangely lighter. Maybe because you are far away from the party, or perhaps because you're disappointed.

“People you've been before that you don't want around anymore…” A second voice is added to yours. “They push each other and won't bend to your will, I'll keep them still.”

The voice is clear and suave. You immediately turn around to see a slender silhouette wedged against a black motorcycle a few metres away. Same black shirt that reads joy division same face. He's the boy with the red chipped guitar

“You have a pretty voice” he compliments. “Why didn't you go on stage earlier?”

“I don't sing in public.” You bite your lower lip, unsure of his intentions. After all, you don't know him.

“It's a shame.” He detaches himself from the machine and advances nonchalantly a few steps, hands in his pockets.

“I didn't hear you with the noise there was,” you said.

“I know, it was hell, we couldn't play.” You remembered how his bandmates were angry at everyone, voices louder than the strings of the guitar, the bass.

“Are there many of you?” You say, trying to convince him that you didn't really pay attention to the small improvised stage, but you remembered every face that was up there with him.

“Yeah, I have bandmates”

“Oh, so you're a real artist?” He smiles and seems to understand a joke that escapes.

“Not you?” It's your turn to smile.

“ It´s not my field.”

“I would say that…” He tilts his head and pretends to think. “Are you writing?”

You nod your head and then sniff. The freshness is starting to feel serious, if you don't go home soon, you'll get cold. “What betrayed me?”

“I don't know, I guessed it as soon as I saw you.” He says and glances back at his motorcycle. “How do you get home?” He asks without giving up his half-smile, a child's smile.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I'm supposed to spend the night with a friend, my father is coming to pick me up in the morning” a tone so bleak that he raises his eyebrows.

“Did you leave the party early?”

“I was fed up.” You rub the floor with the tip of your boot. “It's only one o'clock in the morning.”

Your gazes meet, and you can already tell the next question he's about to ask, and you already know the answer you would give him.

“Do you want to go for a ride?

[...]

The wind caressed your cheek and dragged the scent of his jacket. A fragrance, both intriguing and luxurious, you could recognize the notes of wood.

As you held him by the waist, the engine roared to life, and the motorcycle surged forward , carrying you both into the night. The cool breeze whipped against your face, ruffling your hair and awakening your senses. The city lights straked past, creating a blur of colors.

On his back you could feel the vibrations of the mototcycle beneath you, the ehythmic rumble resonating through your body. It was a thrilling sensation. Yet, being with him, it felt oddly liberating.

Your breath feels upside down, it makes you forget that you have no idea where he is taking you, forget that you don't know the time he will bring you back. Everything is fine, for the moment. You want to laugh, dance and sing. The feeling of speed reminds you of cycling without hands when you were younger.

When we descend, the stars are reflected on the river that runs along Verona. Thomas - that's his name - takes a bottle of white wine out of the trunk of his motorcycle. So you walk in the cool night, bottle in hand. He doesn't think about the small size for a wine or the fact that you don't drink. He doesn't tease you, he's not heavy like all the others are. He drinks quietly, from time to time, observes and listens and you imitate him.

Most of the noise comes from the nearby cafes and bars.

He proposes that we rent a boat to cross the river. I accept but warn him that you don't know how to swim. He makes no remarks, he is not surprised. And even if you knew how to, you doubt that there will be people renting at this hour.

“I will save you if you fall, " he just answers by catching the oars on each side of the gondola. There’s no one there. You can’t help the feeling of stealing.

So you sail on the shore. The noise of the city fades and the crickets are singing. Fireflies appear. They form dozens of small lights that are all reflected in Thomas' eyes. His eyes whose intensity is close to the abyss. You don't see the end. It's beautiful, it's undeniable.

He is calm too, and his half smile is similar to that of a child. You have never seen anyone like this boy before. His smell embalmed the air again and you want to fill your lungs with it. He is still stoned, which dilates his pupils in an exaggerated way. He begins to hum a melody and the sound of his voice transports you elsewhere.

“Are you writing song right now?” He asks suddenly.

“It happens sometimes” You said, keeping your eyes closed.

“Give me a title you wrote.” His voice is getting closer.

“Blue Valentine.”

“I love it” His breath is mentholated and your eyelids remain closed. “What is it about?”

Now you feel him distinctly, his smell. It surrounds you like a halo, you bathe right in it: you are in Paradise. And the sound of his voice, it is almost made up of material, you can almost feel it.

“From a slightly chaotic girl. Of a love that is not enough.” You refuse to open your eyes, you don't know why, you have the impression that they are welded. His face on yours. A warm breath hugs your cheeks. You feel it very close, very close.

“And what is the last verse?” He moves his lips while talking, and touches yours.

“The bread will be my redemption.” His lips gently and voluptuously crush on yours. You can feel a smile and wonder if it's about the kiss or if he's making fun of the last verse.

An electric current runs through and gently ignites. His lips are delicately sweet. The contact does not last more than a second but it is enough to turn your head. Colors dance under your eyelids, his mouth is like two petals. He marries mine perfectly. So perfect that it's almost unreal.

Your eyes are open: he is only a few centimeters from you and his look is so intense that you feel something melting. His face is too perfect, he's too close, you are going to erupt. His blonde locks, his smell is too stunning, even his Adam's apple seems to make you look.

Without a word, Thomas leans in once again, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the electric embrace. It feels like a spark igniting a fire within you, a rush of emotions surging through your veins.

As the kiss lingers, you feel a warmth spreading throughout your body. It's not just the physical contact but also the emotional connection that seems to be growing stronger with each passing second. In this moment, you forget about the regrets and disappointments of the party.

When you finally break apart, a sense of exhilaration and wonder lingers in the air. You both catch your breath, your eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes. The electric energy continues to crackle between you, fueling an unspoken desire for more.

Who is this boy and what is he doing? You look at each other like this for several seconds that seem endless. And finally you put a word about the sensation that passes through you: electric.

[capuletoo]

Peaches, Figs & Cherry Stems

Pairing: Thomas x Reader Wordcount: 7.7k Summary: You become fascinated with Thomas eating fruit, and Thomas catches on, getting progressively flirtier with you while everyone around you is oblivious to your little game. Warnings: Food, Smut

Add yourself to my taglist.  / Masterlist

.#####.

It’s summer time in Italy and if you learned one thing it’s that summers in Italy are always hot. And this one is especially hot, even hotter than the last. Even with smothering yourself in sun cream your body feels like boiling and your cheeks are heating up for a different reason completely. 

Thomas climbed out of the pool moments ago. Water dripping down his body, his chest, his long legs. There are water droplets falling out of his hair and he decides to be an asshole and shakes his head while standing over you, water raining down on you. You don’t complain, it feels like a welcomed refreshment. 

However your cheeks heat up and you can feel yourself getting red-faced when one drop of water on his chest catches your eyes. Your gaze follows it travelling down his chest and then his tummy, right down to the waistband of his swimming trunks. Before your eyes travel down further you catch yourself and let your gaze glide up to his face again. 

He is biting in a slice of watermelon he must have taken when your eyes were occupied with something else. The watermelon juice running down his fingers makes you blush even more. You’re happy that your eyes are hidden behind the dark shades of your sunglasses and you let your sun hat glide into your face with one little movement. It’s better than to stare at him. 

You can still hear it in his voice, the smirk that you imagine is plastered all over his face, when he asks: “Want a slice?”

.#####.

You spent the day at the pool again, the sun is burning on your skin, it’s too hot for your liking. Watching Thomas from afar doesn’t help. He’s eating raspberries out of a small bowl that’s sitting on his stomach. Water droplets all over his body again. His lips and his tongue are a slight red-pink from the fruit he just swallowed when he bites his bottom lip. And you ask yourself why you agreed to go on a vacation trip with them. For two weeks, it’s only day two and you’re already feeling like losing your mind. Every time you see Thomas you are sure that he’s going to do something that has your insides turn, your mind cloud with desire and having you want. Or having you want to die on the spot - maybe you’re close to a sunstroke.

“Thomas,” you hear Ethan call from somewhere in the shade, “You’re supposed to share. And please get some sunscreen on your skin asap.”

Thomas grumbles something that sounds like I’m an adult, asshole but he still gets up. 

“I am just making sure you aren’t getting skin cancer.”

“Of course, mum!”

On the way inside Thomas drops the bowl of raspberries on your body, almost between your boobs. And then he disappears inside, Vic is snoozing on the sunlounger next to you, a sunburn starting to bloom just over her bikini bottoms.  

You’re completely lost in your own thoughts, and you only realise that Thomas is back when he’s towering over you blocking the sun and he grabs your wrist. You want to protest and ask what he’s doing when he already puts his lips around your index finger - and gets the raspberry of the fingertip. Lost in your thoughts you put some of the berries on your fingers earlier. Thomas lets your finger go and goes for the next one. If your earlier thought was that he’ll drive you insane, it now changed to you’ll black out.

“Mmhhhh,” he hums around your finger. His eyes cross your gaze when he pulls off. He takes a raspberry out of the bowl and holds it to your lips, without your agreement your lips open for him and the berry, then he pulls back completely. Ethan is squeezing his eyes at you from afar, you’re sure he only sees blurry, and Vic lets out a snore.

“Did you put suncream on?” Ethan asks.

“Yeeeeaaassss.”

You can see some white cream trapped in his happy trail and your mind reels and goes places where it shouldn’t go. Get your head out of the gutter, you scold yourself and you wonder if he knows. The smell is intoxicating, and it comes in waves when he leans over you to get the bowl of raspberries back - it’s still placed on your body, between your boobs. You think about his rough calloused fingertips against your skin and have to bite your lips. 

He leaves behind a cloud of suncream, raspberry, the chlorine smell of pool water drying on his skin, his body wash, cigarette smoke, faint sweat and sandalwood. You want to drown in it. There’s only his smell and confusion left when he’s back at the other side of the pool and he takes his glass.

“Cheers.”

.#####.

Making dinner later is a challenge. Damiano is trying to cook, you are making a salad, Vic and Thomas are causing havoc every time you turn your back on them while Ethan sits at the table nipping at his glass of wine, slapping Thomas’ ass when he’s on the way running into Damiano at full speed. He turns around to Ethan and squeals. Damiano drills the cooking spoon between his shoulder blades, tomato sauce all over his white tank top. 

“What the fu…,” Thomas turns back.

“Be helpful for once in your life,” Damiano tells him, “instead of being stupid.”

He lets out a tirade of Italian curse words but comes closer to where you are fighting with the pomegranate. You already took off the top of the fruit in your hands and sliced the skin. Thomas takes it out of your hands without asking. Pries it open with his own bare hands, his long fingers holding and simultaneously ripping it apart - but all the same he’s gentle. So gentle that it has you wondering. His fingers popping the blood red kernels out of the pulp right into the salad bowl. The faint red liquid running down his fingers, he isn’t even saying one word. But he looks at you when he’s done, when he grabs for the tea towel that you threw over your shoulder earlier. He still looks at you when he washes his hands, the red off the silver of his ring, and dries his hands.

“Thank you.” 

You don’t know why you feel like you want to cry. And for a split second you think he knows because he raises his hand to your face, your hair, before he lets it sink again without doing anything.

“There’s tomato sauce on my back,” he still looks at you, “Isn’t there?”

There’s a piece of pomegranate falling out of your hair when Thomas has left the kitchen to find Victoria again.

.#####.

Waking up from a loud splash wasn’t what you expected to rip you out of your more than pleasant dream. Sleepily you walk to the window to see who is responsible for your suffering. You’re surprised to see Thomas in the pool, smiling and waving his hand to greet you just when Vic joins him and dunks him under water.

After you get somewhat presentable, or at least what you can chalk up under presentable, you leave your room. On the way down you run into Ethan, who isn’t saying much, and looks as tired as you feel but he sits down with you when you get breakfast for yourself and offer him a coffee. Strategically you place yourself in a chair which allows you to look out of the big french windows. Best look at the pool. And Vic and Thomas - and the bowl of blueberries.

You can observe how Vic throws the blueberries for him and you smile when you see that he tries to catch them with his mouth. You can see him fail again and again. Berry after berry.

Ethan is too immersed with his phone to notice, and if he does he’s too polite to mention or call you out on it. Even when you get up, clear the table, set a new cup of coffee in front of him and leave, he only mumbles a short Thank you. Thomas is still failing to catch any of Victoria’s blueberries.

Just when you come through the door he finally catches one. He makes a slight courtesy in front of you and you do him the favour to clap. You don’t tell him that you watched how he missed all the other ones.

.#####.

Later in the morning Ethan and you both have your noses hidden behind books. Ethan a book with a title you already don’t understand and yours is behind a book you bought in a museum shop. 

You can hear the crinkly package of an ice cream sandwich being opened next to you but before Ethan can dig his teeth into it, Thomas' head appears behind Ethan’s book. He sniffs not unlike a bunny and you laugh when you realise that he’s sniffing out food and his next target is Ethan’s ice cream sandwich that he takes out of Ethan’s hand with one swift motion.

He licks around the edges, some strawberry ice cream on his lips that he licks away while looking at you, and only then he bites into it. 

“Nah,” he shakes his head and hands it back to Ethan who looks at him like he can’t believe what just happened.

“Why do you think I want something you just licked?”

.#####.

“Someone has to do the shopping,” Damiano says, trying to not look at anyone specific but he still looks at Ethan, “I already made a grocery list.”

“I’ll just pay someone to do that for us,” even with the sunglasses hiding most of her face you can still see her roll her eyes behind the shades.

“You don’t have to,” you say, also thinking about the small market you saw on your way, “I’m happy to do it. Good to get outside this house for a bit.”

“I’ll join,” Thomas chirps in. Four pairs of eyes are looking at him, all of them in different states of disbelief. “What? What she said, good to get out of the house.”

Vic raises one of her eyebrows.

“And as I will eat most of it, I might as well choose.”

“Great, having the house quiet for most of the day is a dream,” Damiano says, “Please leave as soon as you can.”

You do leave half an hour later, you in the passenger seat and Thomas driving. Smoking and the wind blowing through the open windows and his hair. 

Getting the groceries is easy, Thomas and you working through Damiano’s list from top to bottom. He picks out fruits really carefully, rotating them through his fingers, looking for spots and only taking the ones which he deems worthy enough to go into your small basket. He picks out some lychees he peels and eats straight away. Your eyes are trained on his hands, the fruit, and then his lips. He smiles at you when he offers you one. 

When you pick out vegetables Thomas looks suggestively at a cucumber, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You just roll your eyes and he giggles, but as soon as he has his back to you again you smile. 

“We should have some gelato,” Thomas says when all your errands are dealt with, “That ice cream sandwich was terrible.”

“What are you,” you laugh, “some kind of ice cream connoisseur?”

“Actually … Yes, let’s do some ice cream testing. I saw a shop in one of those alleys over you.”

The girl behind the counter looks intimidated when she sees Thomas step through the door, she almost drops the cone she’s just handing over to a happy customer. And her eyes go even bigger when he says: “Could I … just get a bit of everything, please?”

For some reason, and you believe the reason to be someone being starstruck, he gets what he asked for without any questions being asked or to deny him the request.

He takes two cups from her and two little wooden spoons. 

First he steals some pistachio gelato from the cup he handed you before sitting down in front of the little shop. Then he tries the peach that is in his own cup, and he closes his eyes in delight. When he notices your eyes lingering on him he gets another spoonful and feeds it to you from his spoon.

“Mmhhh.”

“Perfect.” 

.######.

It’s almost evening when the two of you are back from your little shopping trip. Damiano is already waiting, rummaging through your bags to find ingredients he needs to cook dinner. 

Thomas takes a mango and a knife and disappears outside to sit in the glowing evening sun. You follow him outside, Vic and Ethan are at the table as well. Ethan smoking, Vic painting his nails. But you only have eyes for Thomas and how he cuts the mango into small pieces. How he picks up a piece with his fingers to pop it between his lips and how he licks the sweetness from the corner of his mouth. 

It’s almost like he’s treasuring the taste, but at the same time he’s devouring it. There’s only one thought in your head: You want to know how everything tastes from his lips.

.#####.

When Damiano calls out that dinner is ready, Thomas is the one who jumps up and makes it inside the fastest.

“You could think we would starve him,” Ethan shakes his head.

But when you see the pasta Damiano cooked, you kind of get Thomas’ urgency to find a place at the table. The food smelling and looking delicious, making your stomach rumble. A gentle reminder that Thomas and you skipped lunch in favour of a gelato sampling.

“Thomas,” Ethan exclaims when he slurps the spaghetti into his mouth.

“What?” He says, “Compliments to the chef?”

Damiano rolls his eyes but takes the compliment with kiss hand, to Ethan’s dismay. You have to admit that it isn’t really sexy or appealing at all but it has Vic and you giggling while Ethan once again shakes his head.

.#####.

The next day feels slow and lazy. The most you do is getting in and out of the pool and reapplying sunscreen every now and then, all under Thomas’ watchful eyes. 

For lunch everyone’s creating their own pizza with the dough Damiano prepared the night before, so everyone can choose who’s pizza they want to try later. Thomas looks at your creation with interest and then looks back to his own.

“They are the same,” he tells you and when you have a closer look at his, you see that he’s right. 

“Oh.”

It’s a strange moment of connection that fades as quickly as it came but has you discussing the Top 10 pizza toppings while eating and Thomas jokingly proposing the idea of a pizza eating contest. You all know he would win. 

.#####.

The sound of laughter and splashing fills the air as Thomas and you engage in a playful game of catch in the pool. Thomas has a height advantage but you’re moving quicker when he doesn’t know how to coordinate his limbs. You both sit at the edge out of breath when Vic offers you a fig. 

As you bite into the fig, the sweet juice drips down your chin without you noticing, you barely notice Thomas who seems to be entranced by you.

“You know,” he says, leaning in closer so Victoria can’t hear him, “I’ve always heard that eating a fig is one of the most sensual experiences you can have."

“Is that so?” you ask, taking another bite, “Any other ideas to explore your senses?”

You decided there was no harm in flirting back, and Thomas’ laugh and sly smile reassures you with your decision. You laugh as well and you can feel the air around you charged with playful flirtation. 

“I might have some ideas.”

.#####.

Ethan decided to declare tonight movie night earlier in the day, writing it on a chalkboard, which Damiano primarily used to write down a menu for every day, in bold big red letters. Everyone followed the invitation you can see when you’re the last one to arrive. Luckily Thomas pads a free space next to him on the sofa that he saved for you.

As soon as you sit down, he puts a glass of white wine in your hand and a bowl of popcorn between your legs before he sneaks one arm around your back. 

Approximately it takes you fifteen minutes to forget what film Ethan picked to watch. The bowl of popcorn is between your legs. A place where Thomas’ other hand now travels to grab for the popcorn. You squirm and blush.

“I told you I have some ideas,” he says a little bit too loud and you expect to be called out but there’s just a Ssshhh from Damiano and Ethan gratefully smiling at him, nothing more. 

.######.

“I’ll cook today,” you tell Damiano over a cup of coffee during the early hours of the morning, “If you don’t mind.”

“You kidding?” He gives you a smile, the kitchen is quiet otherwise, everyone else still laying in bed, “I could do with a day just chilling and smoking pot.”

.#####.

For lunch you prepare a picnic, salad, fruits, cheese, sandwiches, and some freshly made raspberry lemonade. Thomas joins you in the kitchen from time to time. Sometimes to touch your back, to let his hands linger on your waist when he hugs you from behind but mostly to steal food from plates and bowls and baskets.

Only when you prepare the last item for your little picnic, a lemon tart, he stays in the kitchen without any signs of leaving. And you decide to leave him be and shift your attention back to your dough. 

One unfortunate moment Thomas leans his long neck over your shoulder, just when you’re adding flour to a bowl. It startles you so much that you jump, flour packet in hand, and some of the flour landing on your dress and some of it directly on Thomas’ cheek.

“Sorry,” you wipe it off his face apologetically. He smiles an honest smile at you, and the moment turns from embarrassing to cute with that. 

You offer him a slice of lemon and he takes it happily, almost as with the glee of a child. He bites into it and you can imagine how the juice explodes in his mouth, the tangy, sour but somehow still sweet flavour capturing his senses all at once. Thomas closes his eyes while savouring the flavour and then he seems to become aware that you’re watching him, your eyes intense and focused solely on him. 

Your eyes meet, the moment passes, but there’s a spark of attraction and desire you can’t quite place but you also can’t ignore. A shared moment of pleasure on a hot summer day. 

“Could you squeeze them for me?” You roll the lemons to him and point at the lemon squeezer press on the counter. When he gets the knife to cut them in half, you think this was a bad idea but he makes it without cutting off his fingers. 

He’s just about to say something, one half of lemon still in hand, and then a sudden burst of lemon juice hits your eye. 

“FUCK!” It burns and stings but it calms down at least slightly when you press a wet towel on it. And your initial shock quickly turns into banter. “Thomas, why did you do that?”

“Oh,” he looks at you playfully, “Now it’s my fault that you’re staring at me?”

Just when you want to answer, Ethan barges into the kitchen: “Can I help?”

“Yes,” you say - towel still on your eye, “You could span the parasol, get some blankets, take the plates and cutlery outside.”

“Oh,” he looks at your eye, “I heard screaming, everything okay?”

“Yes, just squirted into her eye,” Thomas admits sheepishly. 

“Squi- … Sorry, you did what now?” 

“The lemon,” you point at the culprit - Thomas who still has the lemon in his hand, “He squirted it into my eye. Actually take the menace out of my kitchen as well.”

“You sound like Damiano,” Thomas pouts at you but still leaves. Not that he has another choice when Ethan throws him over his shoulders and leaves for the door.

“Those sandwiches are lovely,” Vic says later, “And I’m excited to taste the lemon tart.”

“Went through a lot of trouble for that one,” Thomas says but you choose not to correct him. You went through all the trouble. However you playfully put a lemon slice into Thomas’ lemonade.

“Hey,” Vic squeaks, “Why is he getting special treatment?”

“Because I’m a really special boy.”

.#####.

For dinner preparations Thomas stays away from the kitchen, too busy playing guitar at the pool. You seek out Damiano’s help, he happily obliges and fires on the grill that’s on the terrace. You can conveniently hand him the things that need to be grilled while the air is filled with Vic’s laughter, the sound of Thomas' guitar and a cicada background concert. Damiano and you happily chatting from grill to kitchen window until he calls everyone for dinner.

Thomas looks at his plate and then up to you.

“Figs stuffed with goat's cheese and wrapped in prosciutto,” you tell him, “And Damiano grilled them. You know I’ve heard somewhere that eating a fig is one of the most sensual experiences you can have.”

He blushes and you know that your flirting just became more intentful with this small gesture of food. 

“Sexy little appetiser,” Vic laughs. 

Damiano plates the next round of food, so everyone is free to take what they desire. Steak, vegetables, salad and grilled stuffed portobello mushrooms and little stuffed tomatoes. Thomas’ eyes stay a bit too long on them before he takes something of everything.

“I see,” he says, “We have some kind of a theme going here. Everything is stuffed.”

Now it’s on you to blush, but everyone is still gleefully chewing their food, so you take your chance: “I guess you can think of other things too?”

“I had those filled zucchini boats lately,” Ethan says oblivious to Thomas and you shamelessly flirting right under everyone’s nose, “Lovely dish.”

“The dish,” Vic asks, “Or the girl?”

“Both,” Ethan says before he quickly puts a fork full of food into his mouth.

.#####.

Later when everyone else left for bed, Thomas takes a spread of cheese, crackers and grapes that’s still left from your lovely garden picnic outside and places it between you. He stumps out his cigarette before he picks up a grape and holds it up to your lips. You open your mouth, and the grape bursts with flavour. Thomas leans in and for a short moment in time you think he leans over to kiss the sweet taste of the grape from your lips but even this moment passes. 

Next you hold a grape up to Thomas’ lips and he takes it with a hum. The intimacy of the moment isn’t lost on you and you’re certain that isn’t on Thomas either, a felt sense of surrender to the pleasure of the moment. Somehow getting lost in each other, the world around you fading away as you focused on the simple joy of grapes and Thomas next to you. 

As the bunch of grapes dwindles, you find yourself with a sense of sadness once again. You don’t want the moment to end but you know it will and while you both savoured the last few grapes you took your time and relished in the moment.

When the grapes are gone, only cheese and crackers left, you both laid there for a few more heartbeats, basking in the afterglow of the experience. You both don’t need words to express what you were feeling, you knew that you shared something special. You both had surrendered to the moment, and in doing so, you found something truly beautiful.

.#####.

Ethan and you are both standing in front of the chalkboard in the kitchen the next morning.

we’re going out tonight

Is written on the board in Ethan’s handwriting.

FOR DINNER!!!!

Underneath in Damiano’s. 

“But …,” Ethan says, “there’s this fair close by, I thought that would be fun.”

“I booked a table,” Damiano says apologetically, “but tomorrow we’re going to the fair, I promise.”

.#####.

Lunch is an adventure, you daydream with your eyes open, Thomas always the centre of your gaze. 

Thomas is dangling cherries over his mouth while Vic happily captures his every move with her phone camera. Thomas once again came to the table only in his swimming trunks, his bare feet edging around yours under the table. 

“Who do you think can spit the pit the furthest?” Vic asks Ethan who are the only ones that haven’t touched the cherries yet.

“Thomas,” Ethan answers. 

“Okay,” Vic says, “My bet is on her. 50 Euro?”

They both lose, when Damiano ends up being crowned the winner of your cherry pit spitting contest.

“But I bet you can’t do this,” Thomas says before stuffing a cherry stem into his mouth.

You can see utmost concentration reflecting on his face. 

“Show off,” Damiano comments before he turns away to talk with Ethan and Vic. 

Thomas looks into your eyes the whole time, you can see his tongue move. Hot pleasure sparking up your spine. And then he sticks out his tongue, still looking at you, the cherry stem laying on his tongue, a knot in it. He takes it off his tongue, rinses it in his glass of water before he puts it into your hands and you look at the knot in the stem fascinated. 

“How did you do that?”

“I can teach you,” and when he’s sure that everyone is distracted by something else he adds: “You know, I can put it to good use somewhere else as well.”

.#####.

You have to admit that Damiano picked a lovely little restaurant, you can see the sea from the terrace. Even Ethan is happy exclaiming that he was here not too long ago with someone.

“Who’s this mysterious person you’re keeping away from us?” Thomas teases.

“Special,” is the only answer he gets and Thomas shrugs. 

You can’t decide on a cocktail when Ethan nicely offers his advice which is why your choice falls on a sparkling raspberry cocktail called Love Potion that comes with a popsicle served in your glass. 

You carefully take the popsicle out of your drink when it arrives and suck on it under Thomas watchful eyes. He squirms in his chair, it’s even visible to Victoria who asks him if everything is okay. It’s the first time that you notice - really notice - that you have an effect on him as well.

.#####.

The next day Thomas eats peaches when everyone else retreats from the sun for a bit. You’re feeling close to blacking out but it isn’t the sun that troubles you, it’s Thomas. 

You’re in the pool, cool water engulfing you, while Thomas sits on a chair, sucking some juice from his fingers before he takes another one and bites into the flesh. When he’s done he seats himself at the edge of the pool, feet in the water. 

“You didn’t wash your hand,” you call him out but swim closer to him, interested in his antics. 

 “Yes, but I thought …” he trails off, “You like peach, right?”

He puts his peach-soaked fingers on your lips and without thinking you suck on his fingers, savouring the taste of peaches and Thomas’ skin. You’re between his legs. Once again a shared moment of intimacy, the water creating a private oasis where you can let your guard down and explore your attraction. That is until Vic jumps into the pool, ass first. You pull back and Thomas lets his fingers plop out of your mouth before Vic looks at you two smiling and you both wave at her.

.#####.

Later Vic offers you a lollipop, you happily take it from her when you think about the popsicle and the reaction Thomas’ body showed to it. 

After a few minutes Thomas has to dip into the pool and dives under water. You take it as a small success after the peach.

.#####.

“Since when are you on your phone 24/7?” Thomas asks Ethan when you’re walking through the fairground. “Did Vic possess you? Or are you flirting? Is it special?”

“Stop being mean,” you elbow him in his side.

“It’s okay,” Ethan assures you, “Yes, really special, thanks for asking. She’s a writer and sent me this idea a few days ago, so I’m just trying to be useful to bounce off ideas.”

“Cute,” you say and take his phone from him. He looks at you confused but then Vic hands him cotton candy. “Let me take a pic of you with that, you can send it to them.”

“Wonderful idea,” Vic comments and you can hear Thomas whispering something that sounds like All this time I have been surrounded by secret romantics only.

It doesn’t take long for you and Thomas to lose sight of the other ones. It’s a beautiful beach setting, the sounds of waves crashing on the shore. And you sit down for a bit, Thomas enjoying the sweet taste of cotton candy that Vic handed to him as well, while the sun slowly sets on the horizon. You laugh and talk and he feeds you some of the sticky treat as the sky turns into a canvas of oranges and pinks. The salty sea breeze gently brushes your skin. Thomas teases you with his sticky fingers and playfully wipes them on your cheeks and your nose before you chase him down the boardwalk. 

When you catch up with him, you can see that he smeared some of the sticky sugar on his cheek while biting into the fluffy treat. You take a tissue for yourself to get rid of the sticky residue on your cheek and then take another one to wipe his cheek clean.

“Thanks, babe,” he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement, “You’re always looking out for me.”

You blush, feeling a warm sensation spread through your chest. 

“Secretly romantic yourself, huh?” 

.#####.

The candy cotton gone, Thomas is having a debate with himself if he wants chocolate covered strawberries or if he wants a candy apple before joining Ethan for a hot dog who just called to ask where you two got lost.

He decides for the apple, once again a sticky mess, sticking to his chin and you pass him a tissue. You can’t help but laugh.

“You’re a mess,” you say, smiling at him kindly. 

“I couldn’t resist, and this takes the longest to eat,” he grins, his eyes sparkling with joy, “Which means I can spend more time with you alone.”

You blushed, feeling a flutter in your stomach. You walked through the fair, Thomas taking your hand in his, admiring the brightly lit rides, the sound of children laughing and music blasting from booths with silly games. As you approach a small ferris wheel he looks at you, again a twinkle in his eye: “You want to go up?”

You hesitate for a few seconds, unsure if you’re ready for the heights. But you look at him and he’s still smiling.

“Sure, let’s do it.”

“I promise, I’m gonna hold your hand the whole time.”

As you board the ride and you begin your ascent, Thomas leans close to you, still holding your hand and whispers: "I'm glad we did this."

“Me too,” you say softly, feeling the rush of the wind and the uncomfortable rush of heights but the comfortable touch of Thomas’ hand in yours. As you reach the top of the ferris wheel he gently squeezes your hand.

“You know, I feel like we have a connection," he says, his voice low.

You can feel your heart race, not only from the rush anymore.

“I know what you mean,” you’re saying with a surge of courage. You talk about the last time you both have been on a ferris wheel and then your topic of conversation swiftly switches to what was the most stupid thing you did to impress someone to what was your biggest regret. 

As you make your way down the Ferris wheel, he keeps his arm around you, holding you close and making you feel safe and protected. And then the ride already stops before you know it. 

More than half of his candy apple is still uneaten and as he takes another bite he starts to twirl his apple on the stick, trying to impress you with his finesse. He spins the apple faster and faster, trying to look impressive. You watch him with amusement before giving him a daring smile. Then he stops and takes a huge bite of the apple but as he does he accidentally bites into the stick, causing the apple to fall to the ground. You burst out laughing, and Thomas blushes, a hint of embarrassment. 

“Maybe it’s time to find the others.”

You find them ten minutes later in front of the hot dog stand Ethan mentioned earlier.

“Did you get lost or something?” Ethan asks.

“We got sidetracked,” you say, “By food and the ferris wheel.”

Vic looks at Thomas, disappointment visible on her face: “Hey, I want to go on the ferris wheel with you.”

“Sorry,” he grins, “Maybe ask Damiano.”

“Hell fucking no!” he shouts. 

“Maybe Eth here is interested,” Thomas suggests, “When he can leave his phone for a minute or two. Or maybe you aren’t interesting enough, Vic. Would she be crazy enough to go on a ride with you?”

Ethan looks up from his phone, you can see how he just sent another photo from when Thomas and you were lost. Not very Ethan like and when he sees your questioning gaze he says: “Everything for a little bit of joy, you know.” Then he looks at Thomas, “Yes! And I would hold they hand the whole time while watching the sun.”

“A crazy thing to do,” Damiano chirps in.

“Love story of the summer,” Vic smiles at Ethan, “Happy for you.”

Thomas winks at you when your gaze crosses. 

.#####.

Thomas has a frappuccino and strawberries for breakfast the next morning when you come into the kitchen in your pyjamas, the rest of the house still quiet. 

He takes small sips of his pink drink while maintaining eye contact with you. Then he takes it a step further, running his tongue over his lips after he had a sip. Next he playfully dips his finger into the whipped cream but instead of offering it to you, initiating physical contact this way, he licks the cream off himself and lets out a satisfied moan. Still looking into your eyes, it’s a bold move but by now you don’t expect anything less from him and when he takes another sip he lets some whipped cream get on his nose. 

“Oops,” he says playfully, “Would you mind helping me?”

You know, he did it because of the night at the fair prior, and it’s kind of silly and cute in it’s own way.

“That the connection you talked about?” you ask.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, “I love the day long foreplay, really enjoying it, but I also love talking with you, and listening to your ideas and sharing my thoughts with you.”

He grabs your waist and gently pulls you down in his lap. 

“I love conversations with you too.” And then you grin when you see Thomas' soft gaze, you know it’ll take him off guard. “Foreplay you said, hmmmm?”

“Uhhhm,” he squirms under you, “Yeah.”

He takes a strawberry and takes it between his teeth, edges closer to you. Your hand on his stubbly cheek. You take it off him with your lips and it’s the first time you feel his lips on your, a kiss. He takes another strawberry that you steal from him and he lets his tongue dance around yours for a few minutes before he bites your tongue and you moan into his mouth. 

You wonder how everyone is still oblivious to what you two are doing.

.#####.

For lunch Thomas drinks red wine across from you. Lovely colour on his lips, against his pale skin. He takes notes out of your book, still remembering the fig, red lips and wine dripping down his chin. 

He bats his eyelashes at you innocently.

You want to kiss the spill away but he takes a napkin before anyone else can notice.

.#####.

That night Damiano serves champagne with dinner and you decide to be bold. Even bolder than Thomas, you don’t care that everyone is watching when some of your drink drips down your chin.

“What the fuck is going on?” Vic asks, “How did you both get stupid? He somehow can’t eat normally anymore, you’re spilling everything over yourself. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m great,” you answer, “Just spilled something.”

Thomas looks at you fascinated. A little bit of pride sparking in his eyes, his gaze still at your lips while you’re thinking about all the things you want to do to him.

The rest of the dinner is quiet and civilised, no one calling you out on your bullshit, or stopping you to get deeper into this. After you finish your plate you get up and outside to clear your head.

Thomas follows you only minutes later to the back of the garden, hidden by trees and plants. He has the bottle of champagne in hand.

“Whatever you just thought of, you can do it, you know.”

He hands you the bottle. Thomas moans loud when you climb into his lap, tipping some champagne into his mouth that he willingly opens for you.

“God, Thomas. Stop masturbating in the wild,” you can hear Damiano say from the terrace and you quietly laugh against Thomas’ neck. 

You let some spill over Thomas’ neck before you get some champagne on Thomas’ nipples and you lick the liquid away. Thomas shudders and moans under you, quieter this time. There’s champagne on his stomach and some that you lick out of his navel. Thomas squirms more and more under you the closer you get to his dick. He gasps when you spill cold champagne over it and lightly blow against the tip. Thomas’ hand grabs for your hair and you moan as well. He squirms more with every lick, every kiss to his sensitive skin.

“Fuck.”

You don’t do more than french kissing him but every reaction shows you that it does something for him. 

“Fuck, I’m not gonna be able to hold that.”

You teasingly let your tongue play with his tip, which already draw the most moans out of him before, now the moans are turning into little whimpers before he bucks up his hips and cums. 

“Sorry,” he says and uses his shirt to get the cum off your face, “I … I didn’t touch myself since we started this.”

“Interesting,” it’s absolutely not what you expected and you shamefully think about the times you touched yourself, you blush. Thomas looks at you. “You think you could do that again?”

His eyes go wide, another whimper escaping his lips.

“Before we fuck fuck?”

“That’s a possibility?”

“Oh, hell yes,” you laugh and Thomas enthusiastically nods his head. “No touching for you but maybe you can show me what that talented tongue can do with other things than a cherry stem later?”

“Yes,” you can feel his breath against the skin of your neck, “And then in a few days we can … switch?”

“Sure,” you say and leave another kiss on his lips before you get up.

You can't help but feel a sense of closeness and vulnerability, as if you're sharing a secret that only the pool water can hear.

On the way inside you see Damiano sitting by the open window and looking at you shocked when you enter from outside.

“Oh god, I am soooo sorry … On Thomas’ behalf.”

“What?”

“Wait, did you not he- see him?”

“No, I did, he sits in the grass,” you smile at him, “He smokes.”

“Thank god.”

He doesn’t know that you just licked off champagne from Thomas’ nipples. And his dick.

.#####.

Thomas joins you in your room half an hour later when you’re just taking a shower. As the warm water cascaded down your body, you let out a contented sigh. You always loved the soothing feeling a shower gives you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the water wash away every thought that exists in your head.

You suddenly hear the bathroom open and footsteps approaching, you turn around and expect to see Thomas just grabbing a towel or to announce that he’s there but to your surprise he undresses himself and walks straight towards the shower.

“Hey,” you laugh, “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t resist,” he smirks, “And I think I promised this talented tongue to someone.”

He steps into the shower and wraps his long arms around you. 

You lean into Thomas’ embrace and tilt your head up, meeting his lips in a gentle kiss. Your bodies pressing together, the water cascading down your skin as you explore each other's mouths.

As you continue to kiss, Thomas’ hands begin to wander, tracing patterns over your wet skin. You shiver at his touch, feeling a familiar warmth building between your legs. You press your body closer to his, silently asking for more.

He responds by trailing kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, sending more shivers down your spine. Thomas nibbles gently at your earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. 

You stay there in the shower, lost in each other. Reluctantly, you pull away from each other and step out of the shower, wrapping each other in towels. Drying him you give him a knowing look, both of you feeling the heat between you.

He slowly leads you to your bed and follows closely after you when you fall down on it and then he’s between your legs. Smiling up to you. 

“So,” you smile at him - getting your hands into his hair, “That talented tongue you’re so proud of?”

Thomas nods between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in the sight before him. With a shy kiss, he begins to explore every inch of your sensitive flesh. His tongue tracing every curve and fold with precision and skill. As you catch your breath, you look down at him and see the look of satisfaction and pride on his face. You smile and run your fingers through his hair, pulling a little harder. 

As he continues to tease and tantalise you, you find yourself succumbing to the pleasure building within you, your breath coming in short gasps, arching your hips towards him and moaning with each flick of his tongue, and gentle suck of his lips. There’s a knock coming from Damiano’s room above and Thomas laughs when you can hear Damiano shout of the window to please stop. 

The sensations become more intense with each passing moment. His tongue delves deeper, until finally you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge. You cling to the sheets as you shudder with ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride the waves of your orgasm. As you come down from the peak of pleasure, Thomas’ face comes into view, his eyes full of satisfaction as he gazes at you with reverence.

You lay there, panting and sweating, feeling a sense of euphoria sweep over you. You start smiling when Thomas pulls himself up to lay beside you, wrapping his arms around you. Holding you close. Your bodies entwine, and you bask in the warmth and comfort of each other's embrace.

When you can finally breathe again, you’re both flushed, your bodies still buzzing with desire. 

"I think we've discovered the most sensual experience of all," you say.

He smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"Oh, I think we've only just begun to scratch the surface here.”

As the night progresses you find yourself lost in each other’s company. Talking about everything and nothing. The dimly lit room seems to glow with a sense of intimacy all around you when Thomas falls asleep in his arms.

.#####.

The next morning there are no restraints anymore, you leave for the kitchen together but Thomas is still playing his games when Vic joins you at the table, still oblivious to everything.

Thomas chooses pineapple, bread and takes some honey, an unusual choice for him, but when he gets back to the table you know why he all of a sudden felt the craving for it. While he tries to get honey on his slice of bread, he drips honey on his thigh. On a spot you licked champagne off his skin last night. 

 “What a dilemma,” he says and Vic laughs while you blush. And somehow get even redder when Damiano enters the room.

“When?” he looks at you, then at Thomas, “When and where did this happen?”

“Here,” Thomas says, using his fingers to delicately take off a piece of pineapple from his plate, taking a playful bite first before he runs it along your lips, “Right under all your noses.”

Victoria looks at you shocked, and also searching for guidance in what’s going on: “Wait, what? You two are … Wait, are you fucking?” She slaps his shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“We didn’t even fuck yet,” Thomas says.

It’s the first time Ethan says something: “Well, whatever you two did last night, I’m sure it counts as sex.”

“Please wait with the fucking until you’re home,” Damiano looks at you, “Please.”

Thomas pouts at you from the side and shakes his head, probably thinking about the fact that he isn’t allowed to touch himself until then.

“Sure, that’s only a week.”

.#####.

@writingmaneskin, @oro-e-diamanti, @iamtashaquinn, @teenyweenynightghost, @findaqueenwithoutaking, @foreveryking-thatdied, @findoutwhoyougonnacall, @maneskinbrainrot, @little-moonbeam-666, @ethaneskin, @maneskin-dimensione, @l0standn0tf0und, @butkutee, @gr8rainbowpunk, @maneslut, @maneskintifoso, @weareoddlydrawn, @hiraetheral, @imjustanerdwholikestoread, @cuzimitaliano, @hopelessromantic727, @dating-villain, @maneskinsimp, @till-you-scream-and-cry, @wonderlandishell, @h1ppieth1ngs, @paralianeyes, @livvyysstuff, @que–sera–sera, @romanoffswoman, @lovelyy-moonlight, @crwnnjules, @roisinlove123, @whitewolf-writes, @lizzylynch1, @fugg1977, @maneaterdoll, @imposter-27, @lizzylynch1, @gaiagoddess26, @ami--gami

[capuletoo]

hi! i love the way you write 🤍

could i request an angst for ahs asylum about kit walker and female reader getting caught for something and kit deciding to take the entire responsibility to protect reader from the caning punishment [much like that scene w grace], but where the whole story is actually written from kit's pov? like his own interpretations of things and what went through his mind to do it etc etc?

tysm

Sordid thirst — Kit Walker

—note: sorry to keep you waiting and thank you so much i happy that you enjoy my fics <3 been dealing with insecurity ab it :() also i know this is not the best, honestly i was getting used to only writing in second person!!

—summary: kit gets caught with the reader within the corridors of briarcliff.

—TW: angst | kit walker x fem!reader

—words: 1.1k

[Kit’s point of view]

The night light shone through the window, casting eerie shadows as we walked hand in hand through the corridors of Briarcliff.

With every step we took, the echoes of our footsteps reverberated like a whispered secret. As we walked through the dimly lit passages, the flickering light danced upon her face, illuminating features that hid behind a veil of sorrow.

I reached my hand to take her cheek.

Standing just one feet away from the door of the common room, the rusty handles closed together.

The burning sensation against my fingertips when they touched her cheeks sent me shivers.

Breathing the same air, suffocating us, so close together I could see the deepness of her eyes, alluring and mesmerizing they could hold a depth that seemed to contain a universe of emotions.

In that moment, I saw a flicker of vulnerability mixed with determination, as if she was battling something as if trying to stop it from consuming her.

I leaned in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The scent of her filled my senses, a delicate fragrance that mingled with the musty air of the asylum. Our breaths intertwined, creating a fragile connection between us.

For a moment, time stood still. The world outside ceased to exist, and it was just the two of us, lost in the labyrinthine corridors of Briarcliff. The weight of our pasts and the uncertainty of our futures were momentarily forgotten, as if this brief encounter held the power to heal all wounds.

Her lips, I could compare them with ruby gold.

But reality soon seeped back in, reminding us of the harsh truth that we were prisoners in this haunted place. The distant sounds of tortured souls and the muffled cries of despair served as a haunting backdrop to our stolen moment of intimacy.

We reluctantly pulled away, the distance between us widening like an unbridgeable chasm. Our hands slowly slipped apart, fingers reluctantly relinquishing their grasp. I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes, mirrored by my own. The connection we had shared, however fleeting, had left an indelible mark.

“Let’s go, someone could see us” she said

As we continued down the corridor, the night light cast long shadows behind us, like ghosts of what could have been. Briarcliff loomed ahead, a foreboding presence that held us captive in its clutches. But even within its walls, I vowed to protect her, to shield her from the darkness that threatened to consume us all.

The echoes of our footsteps followed us as we disappeared into the depths of the asylum

Still in silent moments we shared glances, in the silence of our shared moments, words became unnecessary. And also trying to be as quiet as possible to not get caught.

Our eyes spoke volumes.

As we navigated the labyrinthine corridors, each twist and turn seemed to mirror the complexities of our own emotions. We were both prisoners, not only of Briarcliff but also of our own pasts. The weight of our histories hung heavy in the air, threatening to unravel the fragile connection we had forged.

But as the night wore on, the reality of our situation became increasingly apparent. We couldn't linger in the shadows forever, nor could we ignore the ever-present danger that lurked within these walls. Our stolen moments had to be cherished and then concealed, locked away in the recesses of our hearts.

I wish i could go through her thoughts, because in mine i was willing to risk it.

The common room lay ahead, and I looked at her once inside. It seemed that the moon shone with full potential, illuminating her face.

It only reminded me of the things that took the love of my life from me, leaving me alone. It felt like a bucket of iced water was poured onto me. I felt helpless, it was too late to even do anything now.

Afraid that the same thing might happen to her, I reached out to her, only our fingertips were touching.

It was a silent plea, a desperate attempt to shield her from the horrors that surrounded us.

Her eyes met mine, and I saw a reflection of my own fears mirrored within them. We both knew the risks, the dangers that lurked within.

Time seemed to stand still once again, as if the universe itself held its breath. We were suspended in that delicate balance between hope and despair, knowing that our love was a fragile flame that could be extinguished at any moment.

But the echoes of footsteps drew nearer, snapping us back to reality. The danger of being caught loomed like a dark cloud over us, threatening to tear us apart. Reluctantly, we withdrew our hands, aching for the warmth and comfort they had provided.

With one last longing look, we turned away from each other trying to flee the scene but soon the doors of the common room were opened.

Sister Jude came barging in.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, heavy with the weight of authority and the unspoken rules. We were like mice caught in a trap, frozen in our tracks.

"What do we have here?" Sister Jude's voice cut through the air like a whip. Her eyes darted between us, narrowing.

A wave of panic surged within me, threatening to expose our secret. I glanced at the girl beside me, her face etched with fear. I knew we had to think quickly, to come up with an explanation.

Summoning my courage I said: "Sister Jude, it's my fault. I was disoriented and accidentally led her here. She had nothing to do with it." Poor excuse considering that it was the middle of the night

Sister Jude's gaze bore into me, "Is that so? At these hours?" Her voice dripped with skepticism. "You seem quite protective of her. Why is that?"

I struggled to find the right words, my mind racing. "We... We became friends here, Sister Jude. It's a difficult place, and we support each other. I didn't want her to get in trouble because of me."

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with suspicion, but she seemed momentarily intrigued by the idea of friendship. She crossed her arms, considering my words.

"Friendship is not the focus of this institution," she finally responded, her voice sharp. "Specially between a man and a woman”

“It won’t happen again” i said while looking back at her as if to say let’s get outta here

I was following her from behind until sister jude voice cracked the silence.

“Not you mr. walker” my eyes looked at hers and i nodded letting her know that she could escape.

I turned around and saw judes stare.

Later in jude’s office I imagined that I ran until I reached her, overcoming the sordid thirst. For her…

I did it for her.

[capuletoo]

This was so cute :‘)

Lady Vinyl

Graham Dunne x Fem!Reader

Requested by anon: Graham x shy reader! Just two softies being cute together

Summary: Your shyness was always a hindrance, but not when you were behind the LA radio speakers. Graham was curious about you from the first time he saw you at the bar where they played, and since then he has needed to get closer to you.

Warnings: none

Word count: 4.0k

🪕 Graham's masterlist

a/n: In case you'd like to be tagged in other djats stories of mine, the link to my tag list is at the end of the story. Good reading :)

The bar is dark and smoky, lit only by a few flickering candles and the glow of neon signs in the windows. You can smell the heady mix of alcohol and tobacco in the air, along with a hint of something else - something more illicit.

The room is small and cramped, with mismatched tables and chairs scattered haphazardly around the space. The walls are lined with vintage posters and photographs, most of them faded and peeling with age. The bar itself is a sturdy wooden affair, its surface scarred and scratched from years of use.

Behind the bar, your dad is mixing drinks with practiced ease. He looks up as you walk in, giving you a nod of recognition before turning back to his work. You take a seat at one of the tables, the one that is furthest away and almost hidden in a poorly lit corner, feeling a little out of place among the regulars who are already settling in for the night.

When listening to the sound of guitar strings and drum sticks against the drums, you glance up at the stage. The lighting is dim, with just a few spotlights illuminating the musicians. Your dad had asked you to stop by the bar that night, and even though you're busy with your radio show stuff, you decided to grant his request.

"Hey peaches." Your dad greets you, handing you an orange juice. "How are Lady Vinyl's projects, huh?"

"Shiii! Dad, I told you a million times already." You scold him, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. "Don't mention her, not here where someone can listen."

"My bad my bad." He chuckles as he shakes his head, he sits down beside you. "Rod said they're good, maybe a band will please my little girl for once, huh."

You smile, taking a sip of your drink before responding. "We'll see about that, dad. But I did find some really interesting bands while I was out doing research for the show. I think this next one will be a hit with our listeners."

Your dad nods, looking over at the stage where the band is setting up. "I trust your gut, kiddo." He gets up and places a kiss on the top of her head. "Wait for me here, alright? As soon as I close, I'll drop you off at home."

As the band takes the stage, the room is charged with anticipation. The first notes of their song 'Look me in the eye' echo through the bar, and the crowd begins to sway along with the rhythm.

You pull out your notebook and start scribbling down notes, trying to capture the essence of the band's performance. But your mind keeps wandering to your own radio show. You're proud of what you do - you've built up a loyal following by sharing your extensive knowledge of rock music from the 60s and 70s. And the anonymity that comes with using a pseudonym allows you to feel more free and confident on air.

You had an idea for the next show and you were very excited about this one, you had visited some local bars to listen to the up and coming bands there and talk about them on the show. That was another good side of being behind the pseudonym, nobody would find out that you were the broadcaster of the show and would treat you differently for it, you would see the raw presentations in their pure apex. So when your dad said he had booked a band on Rod's recommendation you decided to stop by to see.

As the song progresses, you notice the crowd's reactions. People are smiling and nodding along with the music, some even singing along to the chorus. You're impressed by the band's energy and presence on stage, as they seem to command the attention of everyone in the room. But one person in particular catches your attention, the guitarist had amazing energy, he felt every chord he played in a unique way... It was so captivating, you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

You find yourself transfixed by the sight of him, drawn in by his passion and talent. You've always loved music, but you've never seen anyone play like this before. For a moment, you forget about everything else - the noise of the crowd, the smell of smoke, the weight of your own shyness. All you can think about is the music, and the man creating it.

The hours passed and they kept the energy at the same level, it was impressive how each new song conveyed more of their passion for what they were doing. You wrote down every detail that attracted you to the performance, and without realizing it you had focused too much on the guitarist, you laugh when you notice your slip and write more things about the drummer for example.

As the night wears on and the band's set comes to an end, Graham's eyes keep darting towards you in the back of the room. He can see that you've been taking notes throughout the performance, and he's curious about what you're been writing. And there was something in your manner that he was itching to find out more, he remembered seeing you a few times at the bar, but no more than minutes so he never had the opportunity to speak to you. But today he would do it differently.

As the bar begins to clear out, Graham starts packing up his equipment, shooting occasional glances in the direction of you, at first you think you're getting crazy and started to see things, but when he smiles at you, you immediately take your gaze to your notebook, pretending it wasn't you. He can feel his curiosity getting the better of him, and as he finishes packing up his guitar, he turns to Warren.

"Warren man, can you cover me?" He says winding up the guitar wire.

Rojas turns to him with a cigarette between his lips. "Of course man, but don't you take too long because I want to talk to that chick over there." He says blowing smoke from his cigarette.

"No problem, I won't be long." The younger Dunne walks off the stage, heading towards you.

You feel him approaching and anxiety takes over your body, you try to calm down but nervousness won't let you. You drink the rest of the juice in your glass, thinking about how to act normally, your father watches you from a distance and laughs at the situation, shaking his head.

"Hey." His voice sends a jolt of energy through your body, you knew there was no escape now and you look at him.

"Hi." Your voice barely comes out, and you close the notebook looking at him.

"Is it okay for me to sit here with you?" His eyes looked much lighter up close, and you had a hard time taking yours away from his.

"Sure." You said a few things, and he notices your nervousness, finding it kinda cute.

"I couldn't help but notice that you wrote down a lot of things in there." He points to the notebook in front of you. "Any ideas on how I can improve my performance?"

"I don't... Oh, sorry if I distracted you." His voice came out in an almost whisper tone and he couldn't help but smile, you were interesting.

"The only thing you did was give me one more reason to play better." He says capturing your attention more. "Being in the audience... You know? Like, you inspired me to play better..."

"I understood the pick up line." You laugh at his nervousness feeling yours slowly slip away.

…

KLOS 95.5

Lady Vinyl (you): My dear listeners, I come to bring you wonderful news! The Rise of Rock at Sunset Strip is being born and enchanting the ears of anyone who takes the time to visit the bars at night. I must say that I feared this big musical change, but evaluating and listening more carefully to the bands that appear around, I feel that something good is coming. Can I be wrong? Yes, but y'all know that rarely happens [chuckles]. And speaking of good bands, I have to give a shoutout to 'The Six' who played a killer show at The Stache last night. If you missed it, you missed out on something special. But don't worry, I'm here to fill you in on all the juicy details. The energy was electrifying, and the crowd was absolutely loving it. They started the set with 'Look Me in the Eye', a song that I just can't get enough of. The guitar riffs were on point, the drums were pounding, and the bass was just groovy enough to get everyone moving.

"You hear that man!?" Warren exclaims while jumping of excitement. "Do you understand how big this is?"

"She said the bass made everyone move! ." Eddie says feeling a little cocky. "I knew I was wonderful that day."

Graham could only hear his friends as background noise, his focus centered on the voice coming out of the radio speakers, while Camila congratulated them for having won the attention of the broadcaster he could only focus on how familiar that voice sounded, he strained to try to identify where he had heard that timbre before and after a lot of effort, he can see the image of you writing things down during the show came in his mind. He smiles broadly, he needed to see you again.

Lady Vinyl (you): And let's not forget about the vocals, which were nothing short of amazing. There's no doubt in my mind that these guys are the new rock sensation of Sunset Strip, and if you trust my gut and know that I only bring you good things, believe me when I say: You will still hear a lot from them. So, keep your ears open and your turntables spinning, because the sound of The Six is here to stay. This is Lady Vinyl signing off for tonight my lovelies, next week I'll be here at the same time but until then... make me proud and keep these vinyls spinning. Bye bye!

"Hey Graham, did you hear that?" Karen catches the attention of the younger Dunne who comes out of his trance. "The new rock sensation of Sunset Strip!" She quotes you.

"Yeah yeah." He says without paying her attention, he could only think about you and how badly he wanted to see you again.

...

He felt beads of sweat trickle down his face as his fingers danced across the guitar strings in automatic fashion, the most natural muscle memory he had acting up while his attention was focused on finding your pair of eyes among the people on that dimly lit bar. But there was no trace of you, which made him a little disappointed as he looked forward to seeing you again.

When people had already left and the band was eating after introducing the youngest Dunne approaches the bar with a sad face, the bartender notices the man's downcast face and decides to talk to him.

"What has you so down son?" Tayrone's voice was thick, and echoed in Graham's ears.

"I've been looking for someone for days and nothing." A sigh escapes the guitarist's lips. "I think I'll just give up."

"Look, I don't usually keep tabs on all the regulars but maybe I can help." Your father was wiping some glasses while listening intently to the man in front of him.

"There was this girl here last week, she was sitting at that table in the back." Graham points to the far corner of the bar, making Tayrone arch an eyebrow. "She was writing things down in a black notebook..."

"I see," Tayrone says, nodding his head. "So, you're interested in her, huh?"

Graham nods, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, she's beautiful and she seems really interesting, you know. I've been looking for her everywhere, but I can't seem to find her."

Tayrone chuckles knowingly. "Well, I might be able to help you out with that."

"You can?" Graham's eyes widen in surprise.

Tayrone leans in conspiratorially. "She's actually my daughter."

Graham's jaw drops. "Your daughter?!"

Tayrone nods, grinning. "Yes, she's quite something, isn't she?"

Graham nods, still in shock. "Yeah, I believe so." His voice gradually disappeared, the shyness for having spoken about you like that to your father taking over him.

Tayrone chuckles again. "Well, no need to be shy now son." For a moment they are both quiet until an idea pops into Tayrone's mind. "Can you do me a favor kid? Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment late at night and I need to leave early, can you close the bar for me?."

Graham nods, still processing the information. "Of course old Tay, count on me."

...

Later that night you went to your dad's apartment for dinner, and you found yourself seated across from him at a rustic wooden table, surrounded by posters of rock legends that adorned the walls. The warm glow of candlelight illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows across the room.

You sipped at your wine, enjoying the rich, fruity flavor as your father regaled you with stories of his youth and the wild rock concerts he had attended. As the conversation flowed, Tayrone eventually brought up Graham.

"You know, you have a secret admirer at the bar," he said casually, a smirk growing on his face.

You felt your cheeks flush at the mention of the handsome guitarist. "What do you mean dad?"

"You know, that guitarist in the band I hired? The slightly awkward little boy seems to be quite taken with you," Tayrone replied, smiling knowingly.

You laugh at his comparison. "Dad, it's not his fault that you're almost ten feet tall." You take another sip of wine. "And another thing, I think you must have misunderstood... I just don't know if Graham and I have anything in common."

"And how do you know that little one?" Tayrone asks firmly. "You have plenty in common. You both love music, for one thing. And who knows what else you might discover if you give him a chance?"

"Not a chance dad." You take a piece of cheese from the tray in front of you and offer it to him, he declines and you eat it. "He probably just wanted to clear some doubts with me..."

"Doubts about what, dear?" He crosses his arms smiling pretending to believe her excuses. "If I didn't know you so well I would even believe that excuse of yours Y/N."

"What excuse?" You shrug, pretending not to understand what he was talking about. He just plucks his eyebrow, "I don't feel safe with myself for this dad."

"Oh don't sell yourself short, my dear. You're an amazing young woman, and any man would be lucky to have you." Your father opens another beer for you, feeling frustrated that you don't get his point. "Listen to your father my daughter, the boy is nice... Give him a chance."

You nodded thoughtfully, feeling a flicker of hope in your chest. Maybe your father was right. Maybe it was worth giving Graham a chance.

As the meal drew to a close, Tayrone brought up a favor he needed from you.

"Tomorrow, I need you to close up the bar for me," he said. "I have some errands to run and won't be back in time. Think you can handle it?"

You nodded, not suspecting a thing. Little did you know, your father had a plan in mind – a plan that involved you and Graham finally meeting and talking, and a plan that would change the course of your days.

...

You had picked up the keys from your dad a few hours ago, he said he was leaving the pub at 8pm and you were already on your way to pack up and close early, Sunset as always was busy music invaded your ears with everything as you walked to your family's establishment. When you approach the door you can see Graham sitting on the stage playing with the guitar strings, there wasn't supposed to be anyone there... Your father said you were just supposed to close the bar and leave. It doesn't take long for you to put the pieces together and understand old Tayrone's plan to get the two of you together, you take a deep breath trying to count the anxiety that builds in you and open the door.

Graham hears the bell above the door and looks up at it, smiling to see you there. He gets up from the stage and greets you warmly. "Hey there, I didn't know you'd come."

You try to sound casual. "Hey, Graham. How's it going?"

"It's going great now that you're here," he replies with a smile.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but what are you doing here?" You ask, trying to understand the situation.

"Your dad asked me to close the place." Graham says running a hand through his hair.

"Of course he did." You shake your head in disbelief at what he had done. "Funnily enough, he asked me to do that too."

"Oh I see." Graham couldn't help but smile, of all the things he thought old Tay could do, this wasn't one of them. "Good, since I'm here. Can I help you pack everything?"

"That would be nice, thank you." You say objectively, trying to avoid his gaze.

You can feel your cheeks turning pink and you look away, trying to control your shyness. Graham notices and asks, "Are you okay? You seem a little nervous."

You nod, still avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, I'm just...not used to being alone with someone like this."

Graham steps closer to you, his voice gentle. "Well, there's nothing to be nervous about. We're only going to spend a few hours together, we'll talk, but if you want, I can stay quiet." His joke makes you laugh, and when he hears the sound of your laughter he feels butterflies in his stomach.

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to dissipate. "Okay, that sounds nice."

You two start to clean everything around, little by little you start to feel more comfortable by his side, feeling a little more at ease. You talk about your love for music, your dreams and aspirations, and your favorite bands. Graham listens intently, nodding along and adding his own thoughts to the conversation.

After a while, he suddenly asks, "Are you Lady Vinyl?"

Your heart skips a beat. How did he know? You try to play it cool. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I've seen you at the bar a few times when you come to see the shows, she always talks about the same shows you are on, your voice matches hers" he explains. "And your taste in music is very similar to hers. I just had a feeling."

You hesitate for a moment before admitting the truth. "And what if I was her?"

Graham arches his eyebrows with a smile on his lips. "Well, you would be much more badass than I already think you are."

You blush, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and pride. He seems to notice your sudden embarrassment as he stops cleaning a nearby table and turns to face you. "Guess that confirms my theory huh."

You smile, rolling your eyes. "Okay, you got me. I am Lady Vinyl"

Graham explains. "I was blown away by your talent. I mean, I've been in this business for a while, and I can honestly say that you're one of the best DJs I've ever seen."

You're touched by Graham's praise, but at the same time, you feel a little ashamed. You've always struggled with imposter syndrome, and hearing someone as talented as Graham compliment your work makes you feel like you don't deserve it. "Thanks, but I don't know if I'm really that good," you say modestly.

"Don't be so humble," Graham says, looking at you seriously. "You have a gift, and you should be proud of it. I think you could go really far in this business if you just believe in yourself."

You look at Graham, feeling a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. It's not often that someone sees you for who you really are and believes in you without reservation. "Thank you," you say quietly. "That means a lot to me."

The hours of the night are slowly passing, without noticing you and Graham were already very loose next to each other. Your shyness had already gone out of your body, around him you felt free to be yourself, it was a similar feeling to the one you had on the radio, it was just you and him and he saw you as a unic person and not just another out there. The bar was already set up, but you didn't want to say goodbye to each other, so after telling Graham about your desire to learn guitar, he decides to teach you what he knows.

As you strummed the guitar strings, you could feel Graham's gaze on you, watching your every move. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as you made a mistake, quickly putting the guitar down and shaking your head in frustration. "I can't do this," you said, feeling defeated.

Graham chuckled. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Learning to play takes time and practice."

You looked at him skeptically. "But I don't have any musical talent. My thing is just talking about music, not making it."

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, reaching over to adjust your hand on the guitar neck. "Let 's try again."

You took a deep breath and began to strum again, this time with more confidence. Graham smiled encouragingly as you played, nodding his head in time with the rhythm. You felt yourself relax as the music filled the room, and soon you were lost in the moment, forgetting all of your worries.

As the night wore on, Graham patiently taught you different chords and techniques, always encouraging you to keep going even when you stumbled. And with each passing moment, you felt yourself falling more and more in love with him.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, Graham leaned in close to you, his breath warm on your neck. "You're a natural," he whispered, his fingers still on yours as you played. "Don't ever give up on this."

You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. There was a moment of silence between you, and then he leaned in and kissed you tenderly. As you kissed him back, you felt all of your doubts and fears melt away, replaced by a sense of pure joy and happiness.

And as the two of you pulled away, you knew that you had found something truly special – something that would last a lifetime.

…

KLOS 95.5

Lady Vinyl (you): Hey there, music lovers. It's your favorite music lover, Lady Vinyl, coming to you live from our cozy little studio. Today, I wanted to talk about a band that's been making waves in the music scene lately - The Six. Now, I know I've talked about them before, but I just can't get enough of their unique sound and killer guitar riffs.

But you know what they say, music isn't just about the notes you play, it's about the emotions you evoke. And speaking of emotions, have you ever had a moment that just takes your breath away? Maybe a sudden burst of inspiration, a breathtaking view, or even a surprise kiss that leaves you feeling dizzy and wanting more.

Well, that's the power of music, my friends. It has the ability to transport us to another world, to make us feel alive and passionate. And that's why I love what I do. And of course, don't forget to buy 'SevenEighNine'

So keep on rocking, and who knows? Maybe you'll have your own moment of musical magic soon enough. This is Lady Vinyl, signing off."

...

Hi, I hope you enjoyed it... If you wanted to ask for something my requests are open, and if you want to ask and don't have any ideas check out my prompt list :) xoxo

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[capuletoo]

Am i the only one that feels uncomfortable reading smut about kyle spencer specially if the author makes kyle clueless about sexuality idk

[capuletoo]

trying to see how messy my room can get before i finish the b-sides

[capuletoo]

hello, may i request a story for kit walker from ahs asylum x fem reader, please? like something with them being in briarcliff and stuff.. ty

Then what’s the worst? — Kit Walker

-note: i didnt really knew what type of story you wanted but i hope you like it! If you wanted something more specific pls let me know <3

-words: 1.2k | kit walker x fem!reader

-summary: two trapped souls within the walls of Briarcliff

INSPIRED BY THE SONG ‘HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY” BY LANA DEL REY | lyrics of the song in italics!!

“…he killed his wife! Tell me something more horrible than that” you heard another nurse.

Everyone in Briarcliff was labeled as broken, haunted by their own demons, and locked away from a world that didn't make the effort to understand them.

The smoke of the cigarette was carried away by the wind that entered the tall window. Sitting on the edge of it, in the uncomfortable blue dress they made everyone wear. It was hell on earth for those trapped within the walls of Briarcliff.

You would often find solace in the peaceful view outside the window. The wind whispered secrets to you, secrets you could never share with anyone else. It was a small refuge in a place filled with darkness.

As the chilling breeze brushed against your face, your thoughts drifted back to the unsettling conversation you overheard earlier. The mention of a man who had allegedly killed his wife hung heavily in the air. You couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl up your spine.

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

A man in cuffs stepped out of a car, chains hugging his chest and his tied hand in front of him. On the windowsill you had a clear view of him, his curls falling in front of his temple both of his arms had a firm grip of police officers that carried him into the front steps.

You looked at the scene for a long time until the warmth of the cigarette started burning your fingers.

You threw away the cigarette. A sudden realization dawned upon you. The man being escorted was not just any ordinary patient; he was the very personification of your deepest fears and haunting memories.

You stood up, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and curiosity. The weight of your own brokenness seemed to intensify as you realized that this man, this alleged killer, was now an inmate in the hell that held you captive.

Your mind raced with questions. How could they bring him here? The air grew thick with tension as you contemplated the implications of his presence.

With a mixture of trepidation and determination, you ventured into the dimly lit corridors, your eyes darting nervously between the patients and the nuns. The asylum seemed to hold its breath, aware of the profound shift that had just occurred within its walls.

As you cautiously approached the man's cell, your steps faltered. Doubt and fear gnawed at your conscience. What if you were wrong? What if he was innocent, unjustly accused? But your intuition told you otherwise, and your own experiences within Briarcliff taught you to trust those instincts.

With trembling hands, you reached out to the cold metal bars separating you from him. His gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. In those eyes, you saw a flicker of humanity buried beneath the weight of his alleged crimes.

“What’s your name?” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Kit” He got closer to the metal bars, the metal in his hands making clicking noises as he moved.

His response came as a whisper carried by the wind, intertwining with the echoes of despair that haunted the corridors. He spoke of a tragedy that unfolded in the depths of a tormented mind, a mind entangled in the webs of pain, remorse, and loss.

Listening to his account, you realized that he too was a victim, not only of his own demons but of a world that failed to understand the complexities of his anguish. The weight of his actions rested heavily upon him, blaming himself for the disappearance of his wife, a burden he could never escape, even within the confines of Briarcliff.

Despite the chilling nature of his story, you found yourself drawn to his vulnerability, recognizing a reflection of your own pain within his words. In that moment, a fragile connection formed between two broken souls trapped within the walls of Briarcliff.

As the days turned into weeks, you continued to visit Kit in his cell, engaging in clandestine conversations. Through these stolen moments, you discovered the complexities of his character, the relentless pursuit of truth that burned within him.

He talked about a strong light showering his house from above and taking the only thing he ever loved away from him. Even as the reached his hand to the light its was already too late.

Together, you delved into the mystery surrounding his wife's disappearance, piecing together fragmented memories and obscure clues. Amidst the chaos of the asylum, a fragile bond of trust and understanding formed between you and Kit. You became his confidante, his source of solace in a world devoid of compassion.

As your investigation progressed, whispers of a deeper conspiracy echoed through the corridors. The truth seemed to be buried within the very foundation of Briarcliff, entangled in the secrets of its staff, and concealed by a facade of sanity.

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

With each passing day, your determination grew, fueled by the injustice that permeated within these walls. Guided by your unwavering belief in Kit's innocence, you embarked on a perilous journey to uncover the truth and confront the darkness that plagued Briarcliff.

Soon they let Kit socialize with other ‘patients’ in the commun room.

He held a cigarette between his lips, a scar that gracefully touched the yellow part of it. Sitting there, on the same couch with him, you could almost see yourself from above. Giving a look to yourself sitting down beside him, both of you looking at each other, but your spirit was somewhere else.

“There’s nothing more I want to do, than get out of here…” you started, your voice hoarse for not talking. “…alive”

His hand traveled to yours and giving it a reassuring grip.

His touch burned. You reached for the packet of cigarettes, just to get his grip away but the lingering touch seemed to intensify.

You paused for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. There was a strange electricity in the air, a charged connection between the two of you

As you lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, the smoke intertwining with the tension in the room, Kit's gaze never wavered from you. His touch had stirred something within you, awakening a desire to break free from the chains that bound you both.

But even if you did get free, he belonged to someone else.

"There's a way out of here" Kit said softly, his voice carrying a glimmer of hope. "We can't let this place define us, destroy us. We have to fight back, find the truth"

His words resonated deep. The fire of determination burned in your eyes as you locked gazes with him, realizing that together, you held the power to reclaim your lives.

You needed to run away.

Run away from this haunted place, run away from your past.

Run away from Kit.

You couldn’t bare the thought that after the asylum, him finding his wife–if that ever happened– he still had someone to look forward to.

After all the long nights spent in his cell, he still had another name inscribed in his heart.