#Learning from Marketing Challenges

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Card Game is coming out June 5! 🥳❤

Renegade Game Studios will release Good Omens: An Ineffable Game June 5th, charging players with stopping the apocalypse in seven different battle games, each of which you can learn as you play, all in one box! Each of the seven cooperative battle games sees players taking on a different challenge, and each can be played at varying difficulties! 

“We’re thrilled to be collaborating with Amazon Studios to bring fans a Good Omens game” said Scott Gaeta, President of Renegade Game Studios, “Being a huge fan myself, it was important that we capture the spirit of the show and I think that designer, Matt Hyra, came up with something fans will really enjoy.” 

In Good Omens: An Ineffable Game players will call upon characters, both much-loved and deeply-loathed, in order to defeat the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Fight Heaven, Vanquish Hell, and even prevent Armageddon. The battle games are easy to learn but pack a challenge for any group, and each is themed around the confrontations that take place at the conclusion of Good Omens Season 1. 

Fans can catch up on the first season of Good Omens now streaming on Prime Video ahead of the second season premiering July 28th. The series is co-created by Neil Gaiman and is based on the well-loved and internationally best-selling novel by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“Good Omens: An Ineffable Game promises to bring the world of Good Omens to life in an exciting new way” said Jamie Kampel, Head of Licensing & Merchandising for Amazon Studios, “We are thrilled to be creating this game in collaboration with a well-known board game publisher like Renegade, who is passionate about the property and has adeptly captured the tone and details of the series in a way that will delight fans.” 

Renegade will be producing three versions of Good Omens: An Ineffable Game, each with their own unique box art and bonus items, but all feature the same great gameplay! The Amazon exclusive version will include 12 foil versions of the character cards in the game. (= First Version) The Barnes & Noble exclusive version includes a Heaven & Hell-themed black and silver embroidered Good Omens dice bag (= Second Version), while the Hobby Market exclusive includes an Agnes Nutter Book of Prophecies-themed dice bag, in a luxurious green with gold embroidery (= Third Version). 

Good Omens: An Ineffable Game will be available wherever games are sold and have a suggested retail price of $25. 

Amazon - $25.00 - the exclusive 12 foil character card versions (First Version)

renegadegamestudios.com or Hobby Market- €25.00 - seems like this is the Third Version with the Agnes Nutter bag, they have several internet stores that you can switch at the left corner of the page (for example for EU click on the last one):

The Barnes & Noble (Second Version) didn't publish the product at their pages yet :)

The Agnes Nutter Book of Prophecies-themed dice bag from the third editon:

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product

There’s something oddly comforting about the idea that “if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product,” namely, the corollary: “If you can afford to pay for a product, you won’t be the product.” But it’s bullshit. Companies don’t make you the product because you don’t pay — they make you the product because you can’t stop them.

The theory behind “if you’re not paying for the product…” is that old economist’s saw: “incentives matter.” Companies that monetize attention are incentivized to manipulate and spy on you, while companies that you pay just want to make you happy.

This is a theory of corporate behavior grounded in economics, not power, a creature of theory and doctrine that never bothers to check in with the real world to see how that theory and doctrine map to actual events. Reality is a lot uglier.

Apple has blanketed the planet with billboards and print and online ads extolling its privacy-forward system design (e.g. “Privacy. That’s Iphone.”). There’s something to this: in 2020, the company made it very easy to opt out of third-party Ios surveillance, and 96% of its users opted out:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

That decision cost Facebook $10 billion in a single year, and the losses keep coming. Facebook launched a campaign that accused Apple of privacywashing an anticompetitive maneuver, claiming that Apple didn’t care about its users’ privacy, they just wanted to eliminate competition for Apple’s own ad brokerage:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/facebooks-laughable-campaign-against-apple-really-against-users-and-small

Facebook’s campaign poses itself as the true champion of its users, accusing Apple of shamming. It’s laughable. Facebook manifestly despises its users and proves that fact every day in a thousand ways, large and small. Facebook’s true objection to Apple’s privacy tools is that they reduced Facebook’s earnings by $10b. Obviously.

But that doesn’t mean that Facebook is wrong about Apple’s cynicism. Apple exercises enormous control over its users. It’s a direct control. Apple blocks you from installing software of your choosing or from using third-party repair services of your choosing. They pour millions into engineering to make this technically challenging, and lead a coalition of large corporations that kill right to repair legislation whenever it is mooted:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

Some of Facebook’s critics accuse it of exercising similar control, but via a far more insidious method: they say that Facebook’s voracious surveillance of its users, combined with machine learning, allows Facebook to control its users’ minds, stripping them of their free will and turning them into algorithm-addled zombies who do whatever Facebook directs them to do.

This is an extraordinary claim, given that every previous claim of mind-control turned out to be bullshit, from Mesmer to MK Ultra. The best evidence for these mind-control claims comes from Facebook’s own marketing materials, where the company assures advertisers that they should spend their money on FB’s platform because of its mind-control features.

When FB critics repeat these claims, they’re engaged in “criti-hype,” Lee Vinsel’s useful coinage describing criticism that serves to bolster the target’s own propaganda. If FB are evil geniuses, well, at least they’re still geniuses.

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Some Facebookers doubtless believe their own hype, but that doesn’t mean we have to join them in self-delusion. We can criticize Facebook for seeking control over its users, and for using that control to do things that serve its own interests at the expense of its users’ interests.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

That’s the true sin of Big Tech: using deception and coercion to control users. Companies that gain this control can be reliably expected to use it in whichever ways they can get away with. They are paperclip-maximizing artificial life-forms bent on devouring the human race, not ethical actors.

Apple’s commitment to privacy is best understood as instrumental. Apple thinks that protecting your privacy will attract your business, and they’re right. I would like to have privacy! But while Apple can increase its revenues by telling you they’ll protect your privacy, they can increase them even more by lying about it.

That’s just what they do. Earlier this month, a small security research firm called Mysk released a video revealing that when you tick the box on your Iphone that promises “disable the sharing of Device Analytics altogether,” your Iphone continues to spy on you, and sends the data it collects to Apple:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JxvH80Rrcw

The data Iphones gather is extraordinarily fine-grained: “what you tapped on, which apps you search for, what ads you saw, and how long you looked at a given app and how you found it.”

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-analytics-tracking-even-when-off-app-store-1849757558

It doesn’t stop there: “The app sent details about you and your device as well, including ID numbers, what kind of phone you’re using, your screen resolution, your keyboard languages, how you’re connected to the internet — notably, the kind of information commonly used for device fingerprinting.”

The researchers had to jailbreak an Iphone in order to find this lie. Apple has gone to extraordinary lengths to make jailbreaking illegal. Apple claims that allowing users to disable the locks on their phones will make them vulnerable to bad actors who will install deceptive, coercive software.

That is true, but it’s also true that these locks make it impossible to determine whether Apple’s software is deceptive and coercive. The walled fortress that keeps you safe from third parties is also a walled prison that leaves you at the mercy of the warlord who owns the fortress.

Once a company attains a certain scale, it becomes too big to jail, and then it monetizes you however it can. If you think the future of technology is battle is between Google’s approach and Apple’s, think again. The real fight is between the freedom to decide how technology works for you, and corporate control over technology.

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Apple and Google are like the pigs and the men at the end of Animal Farm: supposed bitter enemies who turn out to be indistinguishable from one another. Google also has “privacy” switches in its preference panels that do nothing:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Indeed, there are so many places in Google’s location privacy settings where you can tick a box that claims to turn off location spying. None of them work. A senior product manager at Google complained to her colleagues that she had turned off three different settings and was still being tracked:

https://twitter.com/jason_kint/status/1398359580275523590

Apple is now the subject of a California class action suit over its deceptive practices, which violate the California Invasion of Privacy Act.

https://www.bloomberglaw.com/public/desktop/document/LibmanvAppleIncDocketNo522cv07069NDCalNov102022CourtDocket

As Gizmodo’s Thomas Germain notes, Apple has a good — if self-serving — reason to spy on its users. It has launched its own ad network, and is selling advertisers the ability to target its customers based on their activities:

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-privacy-analytics-class-action-suit-1849774313

Companies will only protect your privacy to the extent that it is more profitable than not doing so. They can increase those profits by advertising privacy promises to potential customers. They can increase them more by secretly breaking those promises, And they can increase them even more by using privacy claims to block their rivals’ spying, so they’re the sole supplier of your nonconsensually collected personal information.

That’s what’s happening with Google’s endless proposals to “increase privacy” in Chrome that block third parties from spying on users, while letting Google continue to invade our privacy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/googles-floc-terrible-idea

If we want our privacy, we need both transparency (so third parties can investigate companies’ claims to protect privacy) and regulation (so cheating companies will face consequences when they’re caught by those third parties).

That’s why it’s so exciting that the FTC has announced its intention to treat privacy invasions as antitrust violations:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

For so long as corporations can use technology and law to hide their misdeeds and power to avoid consequences for those misdeeds, “voting with your wallet” is as useless as opting out of Ios tracking.

We had advertising-supported media for generations — centuries — without mass surveillance. The problem with advertising isn’t incentives — it’s impunity.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: An Apple 'Privacy. That's iPhone.' ad. The three rear-facing camera lenses have been replaced by the staring, red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

[multific]

The Same Mistake

K'uk'ulkan x Reader

A/N: Alternate version of Second Chance. 

You were once a Queen, now you were a traitor. 

The people who used to respect and love you, turned against you and chased you out of the water.

Along with the love of your life, K'uk'ulkan or you should probably call him, Namor.

The man who once loved you more than anything. The man who promised you everything.

Turned against you all because you refused to fight. 

He was ready for a war against Wakanda and the entire world. He wanted to burn it all down. He wanted you by his side. 

But you refused.

And so, you were chased away.

Thankfully, the Wakandans were extremely kind people, Shuri offered you a home near the river. Even if you told her you couldn't return to the water.

Namor said he would personally come to kill you if you do.

And so, you and your baby had to learn to live above water.

Your baby, as you often ran your hand down your belly, was the very reason you refused to participate in the fights.

Your baby was the reason you didn't wish to burn the world along with Namor. 

You refused to give birth to your child and bring them to a world of misery and pain.

If because of that, you were said to be a traitor, so be it.

When you refused to fight, your child was only a suspicion of yours, you weren't sure if you were really pregnant or not.

Wakanda was even kind enough to guide you to a lake. A lake not connected to any other water, in there you gave birth to your daughter.

Your beautiful daughter who looked just like your husband.

She became your everything. It broke your heart that she might never see Talokan.

But you will try your best to show her that not all people on the surface are bad.

Once she was of age, you often brought her with you to the market. Almost everyone knew the little Princess by now. Kindly named after her grandmother, Fen was a true ray of sunshine.

She was only two months old, but she was already laughing and giggling at everyone.

But she did look a lot like her father.

Her ears pointy as his, but she didn't have any wings on her ankles. She had your smile and nose, but his eyes. She was a spitting image of her father.

Which really gave you a big challenge.

You tried to hate Namor. Tried to resent him for sending you away and for tearing himself away from a child he didn't even know existed.

But you had to be strong for Fen and for yourself.

Shuri often invited you over to the palace. Just casually talking as she showed you her newest projects.

Much like today. 

Nakia took your baby from you so you could have a couple quiet moments.

You laughed along with Shuri when the door busted open. Okoye followed in two Talokan soldiers.

"As I said, she is busy!" Okoye yelled at the three men. 

"Princess. We wish to speak." said Namor.

You were frozen in your seat. The entire room went quiet as you refused to look at him.

"I'll take my leave." you quickly said before turning to run out and find Nakia and your daughter.

Even just being near him was extremely difficult.

You soon found your daughter as you took her into your arms and ran out of the palace. But of course, it wasn't that easy, because just as you were about to leave, Namor was standing in the doorway, still talking to Shuri but everyone noticed you.

You slightly tightened your grip around your daughter as you tried to work your way around the two soldiers. 

But of course, it was more difficult than it needed to be.

Your daughter was getting fussy as the man in front of you still didn't move.

"Let me leave." you begged in your native language, but the soldier didn't move.

"You are holding a true treasure," said Namor behind you. Thankfully, you were hiding her from the people around you, covering her ears.

"I'm only a traitor, let me leave." you asked once more but no one moved. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Namor approaching you from behind as she took a step closer to you, trying to see your baby.

You suddenly turned and looked into his eyes.

The same eyes your daughter had.

"Let me leave." you said once more before Namor nodded and the soldier moved, you rushed out.

"She married someone?" asked Namor from Shuri who refused to answer instead she turned and walked back to her lab.

But the thought didn't leave Namor.

You were the love of his life, yet you found someone else so quickly. He felt betrayed on a whole new level. 

And in his anger, which blinded him greatly, he went to your home. Ready to kill the man who dared to take you from him.

He swam up the river and easily found you, he could hear you sing softly as he approached the window. He was flying as he looked inside, hiding in the dark night, he watched you, your child on your shoulder, sleeping as you bounced her.

Then as you turned Namor saw her ears. The little ears which looked exactly like his.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

You put Fen to bed before returning to the living room, ready to clean up when you nearly jumped out of your skin as you noticed Namor standing by the opened balcony door.

"I never entered your waters! You have to leave!" you said but he didn't move.

You noticed how his eyes changed. His expression was completely different from the previous one. No more anger can be seen. 

"Why didn't you tell me I have a daughter?" you were taken aback. Did he see her before? Or did he come here for revenge and saw? 

Probably the latter, knowing him.

"You told me if I enter the water again, you would personally come to kill me. And you wouldn't hesitate."

"I thought you knew, I would never hurt you. I felt betrayed."

"How do you think I felt? One disagreement with you, and you sent me away. Declared me a traitor. I wasn't sure that I was pregnant. I didn't know back then. But I refused to give birth to a child into a burning world." he stayed quiet. "Please don't take her from me." you whispered, trying not to break down as you finally let fear enter you. 

He was powerful, more powerful than you, a God.

He could do anything he wanted.

Your statement seems to strike him.

"I could never. I thought you found someone else, and got over our centuries-old love so easily, I'm happy I was wrong. I thought... we tried so much... I thought we couldn't have children."

"I wasn't expecting it either. But when I showed signs... you were talking about a fight and war." when you sensed to anger in him, you also calmed. "Do you want to see her?" it didn't take him long to say yes.

You guided him to her room, in there she slept in her little crib.

"She is just like you, but she can go far longer than you without water."

"What's her name?"

"She was named after a very strong and kind woman. Her name is Fen." you watched as he reached out, running a finger down her face.

"After my mother... she is beautiful." 

"She is a very happy baby. Always smiling and giggling at people."

There was a couple minutes of silence when he just kept staring at her. 

"You need to return to Talokan. She needs to be with her people."

"No." he suddenly turned to look at you. "You sent me away, you said you don't want me anymore, that you don't love me anymore. I can't put her through the same."

"It was anger and fear talking not me. I never stopped loving you." 

"You say that now, but what happens when we have another disagreement?"

"Do you still love me?" he suddenly asked.

"I do. But I need to think of her as well. If you throw us out or me out... I wouldn't survive that." he moved to stand in front of you.

"I swear to you, on my own life on our people's lives on the secrecy of Talokan that this will never happen again. Ever." he could tell you were still unsure.

"I will stay here with her, you could come and visit. I want you to prove it to me, to us, you will need to gain my trust again." he nodded, understanding your decision. 

"I will come every day when I can." you nodded this time.

He spent a couple more minutes looking at her before he left.

You were so nervous, you decided to sleep with her in your bathtub. 

The fear of him taking her from you was too big.

---

As he promised, he arrived the next day, although you weren't in your home. He decided to wait.

He soon saw you return with your daughter in one hand, the other holding a bag of food. 

Fen was currently too occupied with your necklace to see the man.

"Let me get that for you." he said as he took the bag from your hand, his eyes never leaving his daughter. "She looks like you." he said as he followed you into the home.

"I think she looks more like you." You whispered as you began to prepare some lunch. 

"I can hold her if you want, so you can move around." he saw your grip tighten around Fen. "You think I would take her from you? You think of me as a monster who would separate a mother from their child?"

"You separated me from my home, my people and from my husband." your reply cut deep with him. But he couldn't deny the truth. "But you also know that I wouldn't stop at anything if you do take her from me."

"I won't take her from you. And I do know what you are capable of, yes." with that, you slowly lifted her off of your hip, she made a noise of confusion before she looked at the stranger to who she was handed to.

"Hello, My Little One. I'm your father, I'm sorry I wasn't here before." Fen was quiet, was too quiet, it was completely uncharacteristic of her. It did worry you but soon her attention drifted to Namor's necklaces. "She is much like you. You also adore my jewels," he smirked as he looked at you but you were too busy preparing lunch.

He knew that with these small steps, he will be able to get you back. And he will make sure to never make the same mistake again. 

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[pandorasword]

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS

CHAERI'S MASTERLIST

CHAERI'S LOVE LIFE IN A TIMELINE

Love interests - 2015 to present

A summary of dating, rejections and any romantic interaction between Chaeri and others

The night market - april 2013

In which Chaeri and Jungkook sneak out of the dorms during the trainee period

Chaeri and Jungkook as babysitters - march 2017

In which a little girl is asked to keep Chaeri and Jungkook's biggest secret

Isn't it wrong so good? - April 2017

In which Chaeri and Jungkook need some time alone

How the members reacted to Chaeri and Jungkook's relationship

A love letter - summer 2017

In which Chaeri and Jungkook have a sneaky little date

Clingy Jungkook [a private Instagram post] - april 2018

Red gardenias - october 2018

In which a bouquet of flowers can be worth more than a thousand words

Chaeri's Bodyguard Betrayal - early 2019

In which we learn why Chaeri's bodyguard betrayed her

Silver lips 1/2 | Silver lips 2/2 - november 22, 2021, American Music Awards

In which Chaeri has an incredible urge to be the first to kiss her ex-boyfriend, Jungkook, who has just had his lip pierced

2 a.m. decisions - december 2021

In which a kiss leads Chaeri to a forced hiatus and, when she returns to Korea for New Year's Eve, Jungkook decides to visit her

A look through Chaeri and Hoongjoong's relationship - 2022 to present

BTS and ATEEZ's reaction to Chaeri and Hongjoong - 2022

Chaeri and Hongjoong first times - january/february 2022 to june 2022

Hongjoong and Chaeri caught in intimate moments - june 2022

In which Chaeri and Hongjoong end up on the front pages of local gossip papers

Fire mouth - june 2022

In which Hongjoong finds himself addicted to something he dislikes, only because he tastes it from Chaeri's lips (+ a video about them parenting Ateez)

The Price of Love in the Public Eye - july 2022

In which Hongjoong experiences being in a public relationship as a kpop idol

How Hongjoong and Chaeri's relationship broke all the logics of the KPOP industry - second half of 2022

In which Hongjoong and Chaeri break all the logic of KPOP by being overly public with their relationship

When night comes - July/August 2022

In which Chaeri stays overnight at Hongjoong's for the first time

If by Chance - august 2022

Snippets of Jungkook's perspective on the relationship between Hongjoong and Chaeri

Checkered Flag for Love - september/october, 2022

In which Chaeri takes Hongjoong to a GP

Trip Vlog - Stockholm - october 2022

In which Chaeri and Hongjoong go to Stockholm for a vacation

Romantic Hongjoong [an instagram post] - november 2022

Jungkook's 03.03.2023 live - live moments recalling January/February 2023

In which fans, during the live, notice obvious references of Chaeri and Jungkook during January and February 2023

Jungkook's 14.03.2023 live - live moments recalling January/February 2023

In which Jk's live on 14.03.23 is nothing more than a summary of his time with Chaeri at the beginning of the year

Eden's wedding - late january, 2023

In which Hongjoong cannot help but notice the way Jungkook looks at Chaeri

Calvin Klein 1/3 | Calvin Klein 2/3 | Calvin Klein 3/3 - march 2023

In which posing for Calvin Klein turns out to be a more challenging job than she'd ever thought it would be

Seoul Love On tour 1/2 | Seoul Love On Tour 2/2 (Two Ghosts) - march 20, 2023

In which Harry Styles' post-concert doesn't go as planned for Chaeri, as Jungkook has something to tell her

Calvin Klein Event - may 10, 2023

In which fans receive informations about Chaeri and Jungkook's argument

A Break-up? Speculation and theories - june, 2023

In which medias speculate about a possible breakup between Chaeri and Hongjoong

Chaekook to LA - june, 2023

K-talk: More speculations about a possible Break-up - july, 2023

In which a podcast talks about a possible breakup between Chaeri and Hongjoong

Seven - july, 2023

In which Chaeri is the guest star in Jungkook's new MV

Why do you love? - august, 2023

In which Hongjoong releases a song about a love that has ended, and the fans turn against Chaeri

You came - december 11, 2023

The night before Jungkook's enlistment

[redflagbreakfast]

Introduction:

Buckle up, because this ride is going to be a doozy, and I already know it, and the story has just begun. I am constantly drawn to successful, handsome men who fall head over heels for me and do all the things I could dream of to win my affection in return. Sounds like a dream, right?

But hold on to your panties, ladies, because these guys aren’t your typical prince charmings. Nope, they’re narcissists. And guess what? Now I’m going dates with them on purpose! I don’t seek them out, they find me, and rather than immediately, turning down, I simply stick around long enough to journal about the red flags.

Now, some of you may be thinking, “Why the hell would someone willingly subject themselves to dating a narcissist?” Well, friends, let me tell you – it’s all for the sake of education, entertainment and training purposes only.

You see, I, like many women out there, have been taken advantage of by narcissistic men in the past. But instead of wallowing in self-pity and bitterness, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’m dating these men as a social experiment to learn their ways, document the red flags as they happen, and ultimately teach women how to be in control. I mean…what could possibly go wrong?

I will be writing this journal in real time, and sharing past stories of my spectacular dating failures along the way. So obviously, I don’t even know how this ends. Maybe it’s a journal of my ultimate demise, maybe I fall prey to one of these men, or even worse, fall in love because I am not as tuned in as I think I am. But, I doubt it, Fuck, I eat red flags for breakfast.

And let me tell you, the red flags are already flying high…and it has only been a few short weeks. Love bombing, jealousy, and a sense of entitlement – these guys have it all. But I’m not one to back down from a challenge. As an entrepreneur who owns multiple companies in male dominated markets, I know a thing or two about taking charge.

So join me on this potentially haphazardness roller coaster. Let’s take a page out of these narcissist’s play books and learn how to be in control, no matter the situation. Who knows, you may even pick up a few dating tips along the way (but let’s be real, probably not from them).

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 07

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Foul language; Word Count: ~11.6K Previous chapter: 06.

The run had completely exhausted me. Steep hills were clearly not my strong point, but I couldn't say the effort wasn't worth it. The line of the horizon fused with whatever lines we’d woven for ourselves, which had divided the two parallel lives we lived away from each other’s gaze.

Although having him around was challenging, I felt lighter. Experiencing the person he had become, mature and adult, but still so him, made me proud and sad in the same measure. Nonetheless, that talk and confrontation were needed. I needed that, to see and listen to that other side of him and learn to trust it. That other side, the version of him that took shape in these last years. Sainz.

It was Sainz that I couldn’t trust. Not Carlos, not Chili as we used to call him. Sainz. The night before, during the match, I had seen a fraction of Carlos when he put his hand on my thigh and made sure I was comfortable with the guests, a fraction of Chili when he got me a beer without me asking, and then a lot of Sainz each time the people around us tried, forcefully and some times even embarrassingly, to get his attention.

It didn’t matter the glimmers of hope that having him around brought me, there was still a barrier. The fall was too big to risk and the rope was held too high. And yet, having him back seemed to offer a glimpse of stability in a life that had become increasingly unsteady.

Rio was leaving, the unpredictability of my career was taking a toll on me and everything else seemed to be constantly shifting. In the midst of all that chaos, the possibility of Carlos staying around was like an anchor that kept me from being swept away.

The fear of getting hurt again was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but for better or for worse, Carlos Sainz had once again become a fixture in my life, and I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us.

That afternoon, after lunch, I fell asleep near the pool, and my feet dipped in the water.

I woke up to the sound of two loud motors, a distinct sharp noise. They were not cars or jetskis. I sat up and looked around, half of me still battling laziness and sleepiness, another part of me completely annoyed by being woken up by that sound.

Marjorie, who I gathered had been asleep in one of the loungers, grunted while getting up. “What the actual f—” and then her tone shifted, “Hi babe!”

I looked behind me; my brother was standing on the terrace, at the top of the stairs.

“We got two bikes!” Rio proudly announced.

“You got what?” Her ginger hair fell in waves on her back.

“Two bikes, for me and Chili.” He pointed with his thumb to the path leading to the front of the house. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Weren’t you two supposed to go to the market?”

“Evita, come oooon. We couldn’t let the opportunity escape.” I looked at Marjorie, confused and she was looking at me too, with sleepy eyes and frowned brown. “Andiamo, ragazze!”

Marjorie motioned with her head and I got up from the sponge mattress I’d laid down on the grass. The fabric was hot to the touch. I dragged it to one of the loungers before turning back to my brother who impatiently waited.

“Where did you even find the bikes?” I asked him.

“We rented them.”

I looked up, my hands on the straps of my sandals. Carlos appeared behind Rio, holding what seemed to be two pairs of leather gloves and a white helmet. He passed one of the pairs to my brother and instantly, a childish grin took his features; his eyes glistening like a little kid on a Christmas morning.

“Nice,” he said under his breath.

I made my way up the stairs fixing the creases on my dress, tight but fresh, crocheted in summery clothes. Marjorie and I had spent the early hours of the afternoon on the sea, and then laid down for a nap near the pool, in the shadow of the trees in the garden. My hair, in a braid, was still a bit wet, falling over my shoulder.

“Are you even allowed to ride a bike during summer break?”

Rio looked down at me, and then at Carlos and me again. “Help me here, mate,” he extended his hand to the Spaniard and while Carlos helped him with the strap, he said: “It’s just a bike ride. We need to get his back tomorrow.”

Marjorie turned to the guys and called out, "Carlos?”

I looked over to see my sister-in-law motioning towards me, silently asking for his confirmation. "It's just a ride to the market and back," he reassured me, "relax, just a stroll." I let out a defeated sigh and glanced over to Marjorie, who simply shrugged in response. "The bikes are in front," he informed us.

As I walked towards the front of the house, I saw the bikes and three more helmets parked in the shadow next to Carlos' car. Carlos himself was already getting on his bike, putting on his leather gloves and white helmet, his hair slightly dishevelled but somehow still looking impeccable. Damn him and his hair. He then donned his Ray-Bans.

A couple of steps away, Rio had already started his engine.

Carlos extended the last helmet to me. "Come on. It'll be fun.”

I took the helmet and then his hand, hopping on the bike behind him. A rush of excitement ran through me, though it was tempered with a tinge of nervousness. He placed his right hand on my thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping through mine. He turned his head back to me. "Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The wind blew through my hair as we rode along the narrow path leading to the main road. I held onto Carlos' waist tightly, feeling the muscles under his shirt tense as we swerved around sharp corners. I let my arms wrap around his waist, my hands meeting each other on his abdomen. We rode in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the rush of air in my ears. The scent of the sea melded with the smells of oil and rubber, as well as Carlos' cologne. The notes of sandalwood grew more intense with the heat and the sweat.

It didn’t take us long to arrive at the familiar market, planted near a small village bathed by the Mediterranean. Rio and Marjorie had already parked their bike and were waiting for us. Carlos parked next to them.

"Not that bad, huh?" my brother's voice roared over the sound of the engine, approaching us to help me dismount. "Drama queen."

“Not bad.”

“I could get used to this, actually,” Carlos said.

I snorted, undoing the straps of my helmet. “Nah, you couldn’t.”

Carlos took off his helmet, running his fingers through his hair, and I couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight caught the highlights in his hair. “Why not?”

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you ride a bike.”

“And?” He extended his hand and took my helmet out of my hands.

“If it was not for Rio, you wouldn’t rent it, in the first place. Let alone buy one.”

“Did you hear this?” He asked my brother.

“And she’s right.”

As Carlos chuckled, he reached into his pocket, tucking his gloves away as we strolled towards the bustling market. The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder with each step, and the sweet scent of ripe fruit tickled my senses, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

The market was bustling with locals and tourists alike, the stalls selling everything from fruit, to fresh seafood and handmade crafts. The air was thick with the mingling of scents and languages, creating an atmosphere that was full of the Mediterranean's enchanting charm that I missed so dearly.

As we wandered, Rio and Carlos drifted ahead. Meanwhile, Marjorie and I lingered at each stall, taking in the sights and sounds, chatting with the sellers, and breathing in the fragrant aromas. Our organic net bags were already heavy when we found the guy—Rio on his phone, and Carlos hunched over one of the stalls. Marjorie stopped next to Rio, and I walked over to the stall, sneaking in being Carlos.

“Oh, the sign says they’re the sweetest in the market,” I said. Carlos turned to me, holding a small bunch of grapes. I motioned to another stall not too far away, “they all say the same.”

The Spaniard raised the bunch of grapes to the level of his eyes. “They look pretty good to me.”

“But are they the sweetest?” I replied, my tone teasing.

He plucked a grape from the bunch, his grin wide and eyebrows raised playfully. "Let's find out."

A Spanish song that I didn’t know was playing on the radio set over a crate of fruit, and a tired, melancholy whistling could be heard accompanying the melody. I looked around. With his eyes on a newspaper, an old man was sitting on a wooden bench; a coffee stain on the sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“You can’t eat the grapes…” I whispered, my eyes drifting from the old man to the handsome, way younger Spaniard in front of me. Carlos teased me, opening his mouth. I frowned.

“You eat it, then,” he held it out to me. I shook my head. “He won’t go after a lady. Come on.”

I hesitated for a moment, but the whistling continued, and the man seemed too distracted with the news to pay attention to two tourists in his stall. Carlos’ eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite understand, his expression becoming sterner as I leaned him, grabbed the grape from his pinch and popped it in my mouth.

It burst with flavour, the sweetness tingling on my tongue, making me close my eyes in pleasure. Carlos' grin widened, and he plucked another grape, offering it to me again.

"You know what, the sign might be actually telling the truth.”

“Should I have this one?”

“Hm, hm,” I nodded, reaching for another one, from the small bunch he was holding. He, too, reached for another grape. My eyes drifted from his portrait to his slender fingers, taking their time picking one of the half dozen left in the saturated red bunch.

But instead of hearing a pleasurable hum coming from his lips, the old man’s voice permeated the moment. He was now hobbling over to the stall, eyes flashing with annoyance.

“¡Que cosa! Look at the sign!” The old man harrumphed, pointing to another sign. “No eating before paying!”

“Oh, no, I—”

“Lo siento, señor,” Carlos turned around, interrupting me. “We’re just…”

The old man's eyes widened, and he took both hands to his head. "Ay! Carlos Sainz!" he exclaimed, rushing over to us in fast, unsteady steps. Carlos looked at me, his embarrassment resembled in his shaky grin.

Carlos chuckled, "Yes, that's me."

"My grandson loves you!" The old man beamed, gesturing to a small frame next to the radio, a small boy was smiling in the picture and then shook Carlos’ hand vigorously. "He always wants to watch you on TV. And your father! Your father is a legend." The man looked around. “Is he around by any chance?”

“No, no,” Carlos pointed at me, and then at the couple waiting for us not too far away. “Just the four of us, for today. And let me apologize for the grapes, we’re going to pay for them.”

The old man just waved his hand dismissively, "No, no, it's okay. Keep them!” His voice softened, noticing Carlos wouldn’t accept to take the fruit. “It’s my offer. Please, take them. And take this, too." He then reached behind the stall and pulled out a small basket. His hand, wrinkly and hairy, hovered on top of the fruit. “Do you like figs?”

The bright colours caught my attention. The smell, the colours, the music coming from the radio, so slow and light, stretching through the air. It felt like being trapped in a living painting.

“Eva,” I heard Carlos. I hadn't noticed he was looking at me before. “Do you like figs?” And then, motioned to the old man, waiting for my reply.

“I’m sorry. I do, I love figs.”

The old man's grin widened. “Come close, try one.”

The old man opened it up for me. I took a bite. Soft and juicy, with a delicate sweetness that was almost addictive. As I bit on it, the juice ran down my fingers, creating a thin, sweet, shiny film around my lips and fingers. I couldn't resist licking them, savouring the sweet nectar and the way it clung to my skin. I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under Carlos' intense gaze. His eyes bore into me, fixated on the way my lips wrapped around my thumb. It was like he was watching my every move, studying my every expression, trying to decipher my thoughts.

I couldn't help but feel a little flustered under his gaze, but at the same time, I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me. There was something about the way he looked at me. Intense and magnetic, that sent shivers down my spine.

Carlos cleared his throat, breaking me out of my reverie, and turned to the stall once again.

"Yeah. We will take some figs.”

Wednesday was slow.

Heart beating fast, but reality danced around us at a slow pace.

What can one do when reality tastes like figs and smells like the sea and sandalwood?

It was not just the figs and the sea air, and the cologne. It was not just the Mediterranean light or the aura that so easily takes us over. It was the way he looked at me. The adoring gaze, that I knew from before, but was now tainted by a thin layer of lust, tick enough to cloud my senses and drive me into spirals.

Thursday passed in a breeze; I only saw him for dinner, as he spent all day golfing with the boys. And then came Friday.

Like some other days, we were at home. We spent the day alternating between basking in the sun on the yacht, driving around in jetskis or diving into the crystal-clear water. Easy.

It was easier when we were at home.

The trees and the sea shielded us from reality and for a time we could simply live without worrying about curious eyes or unwelcomed lenses. I liked that. To be locked away from the world in a reality moulded to us, for us.

On top of that, seeing my friends talk in the garden, or joke around in the yacht, wearing swimsuits with a beer in hand, and walking around barefoot not worrying about anything else but the moment, reminded me of the little family we once were. I loved our bubble, where no one was famous and no friendships had been torn apart by distance.

Like I did every day, I texted a photo to my mom — Rio laid in a hammock, with the sea as the background, but this time she texted me back saying she should have accepted Reye’s invitation to spend a few days there. I said she should have, it would have been nice for them.

And then I read the messages Lin and Nicola had left in our group chat, avoiding all the questions about Carlos, because there were a lot of them. And finally, I called Amanda, trying to assure her I was in fact enjoying the vacation and was not locked in the office. I think I spent half an hour talking to her, filling her up on the events of the recent days before my brother interrupted me.

“C’mon. Volleyball,” Rio stood between me and the sun, putting a shadow over me and shielding my skin from the warm kiss of the sun. “Carlos wants to play. Vamos.”

Amanda said goodbye in a hurry, probably after listening to Rio’s voice. I left my phone on the side and sat up on the lounger, facing Rio that was already standing in his blue swimming trunks with an orange and yellow volleyball under his arm.

“And what do I have to do with that?”

“We’re uneven.”

“Well, stay with me and Carlos plays in your place.”

In response to my suggestion, my brother just shrugged and looked behind him at Guillermo, Blanca’s boyfriend, helping Carlos assemble the net. My attention was grabbed by Marjorie, running down the stairs with her ginger hair arranged in a messy french braid and wearing a long shirt over her black swimsuit.

“Eva! C’mon, lass,” she screamed, joining Carlos and Guillermo next to the net.

“Volleyball isn’t played with teams of four!” I screamed back, making Rio sigh again, this time threatening to throw the ball in my direction. I just put both my hands in front of my face, in an instinct to protect myself. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“DiMaggio versus Sainz,” Carlos screamed from the other side of the garden. The net was set and he was standing next to Marjorie.

“Ah, you traitor,” Blanca interjected, joining her boyfriend on the other side of the net. Ana and Rodrigo joined them too.

Rio looked back at me, his eyebrow raised in a defiant expression and the victorious look of someone who knows that had won a battle. He knew I couldn’t say no, especially now that everybody was ready and waiting for me, and there was an actual challenge. As I went past him, I took the ball from his hands, hearing in response a couple of Italian curse words and a strident laugh from Marjorie.

Carlos, on the other side of the net, smiled at me. “See?” he asked Marjorie. “All it takes is adding a bit of competition and she changes her mind.”

“I won’t forget you’re the enemy, Sainz,” I threw the ball at him. “You serve.”

That didn’t take the smile away from his face. Marjorie ran to her position in front of her husband and I went to her side. I looked at Carlos as he spun the ball in his hands and threw it in the air.

The following moments rolled in slow motion. His arms extended over his head and his hair moved graciously with his jump. With the sound of the impact of his hand on the synthetic leather of the ball, a wave crashed over me. My eyes ventured along the lines of his body; it was inevitable to not admire the way his arms contracted or the way his movement revealed a patch of paler skin, covered with a light brown fuzz, just above the waistband of his shorts.

The lines, the sumptuously curved outlines of him. His body seemed to be sculpted with the sole purpose of making me desire him.

I turned my head to the other side of the net, my eyes following the ball, fully committed to the game, but I couldn’t forget Carlos was there, always two steps away from me. I tried to dodge him every time we got too close, always looking back to be sure I wouldn’t have to feel his sweaty skin against mine.

Every cell of my body buzzed just from that idea.

I wanted it more than I cared to admit.

Even to myself.

In the intervals between points, Marjorie and Rio would kiss or hug each other. In the meantime, Carlos would approach me with a smile and an open hand for a high-five and our eyes would lock. No words, nothing. Just a casual glance and I would feel myself melting inside. Everything else faded in comparison. The conversations, the laughs, the screams and the insults. Each time his eyes landed on me, everything went silent. And I realised a big part of why I enjoyed that little bubble was because Carlos was with me in it and, for the first time in a while, none of us was trying to burst it.

“Last one,” Blanca was the one to call it and, although we had a pretty good advantage, I knew we wanted that last point on our side. “We need to leave in two hours.”

Rodrigo took the ball in his hand and I moved to my place. I could see Blanca on the other side of the net, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. In a couple of seconds, her face became a blur and the screams and the laughs came back in a rush.

“Eva!” Marjorie screamed my name and I knew I was the only one who could reach the ball. I ran to the net, ready to block their move and all of a sudden, a strong grip on both sides of my waist.

Arms extended over my head, hands ready to take the impact and my mind desperately trying to ignore his strong firm hands. The ball fell on the floor on the other side and, quicker than that, I felt my feet on the ground and my back going against Carlos’ chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around my body, stopping me from falling.

I turned around, my eyes locked with his. My eyes refused to let go of his, my body was unresponsive to anything but the warmth of his embrace. I looked down, at my hands on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat on my digits. His sweat on my palms. Jesus.

I knew he felt it too.

“Good team effort,” he whispered.

Rio screamed victory, I took a step back. The bubble burst.

Carlos turned his back, not before winking at me, and then walked to Marjorie and Rio and I, still trying to recollect myself and drift back to reality, went back to my sun lounger, where my phone and water bottle rested in the shadow. I sat down, had a sip of the water and looked at the group, each individual following their own path. Guillermo and Carlos stayed there to take down the net, I went inside.

The skin of my palms tingled.

Even under the cold brush of the water, I could feel the beating of his heart on my digits and the fire his touch had ignited on my skin. I was down bad, horrendously bad. Not even a cold shower could bring me back on my feet.

Carlos had made his point straight, with words and gestures both.

The brush of his fingers on my arm during the flight. The touch under the table. His piercing gaze. The grip on my waist that afternoon. That was his way of showing it. He would not cross any line, but he was not going to back down.

And I hoped, God, I really hoped, I was reading it right.

I promised myself to make an effort to understand that whatever lines we’d drawn for ourselves weren’t eternal. They were just as ephemeral as every moment we chose to share with each other and so, they were capable of being erased and forgotten.

Dropping my barriers and welcoming the idea of trusting him again wouldn’t be as difficult as forcing him back out once again, now that he’d settled himself under a comfortable light in my mind. He was going back to being Carlos again. The boy next door and my brother’s best friend. Not the cocky, egoistic and overly busy Ferrari driver.

I left the room after being called twice by Rio, the first of all of us to get ready. He’d sit on my bed for a while, waiting for me to get ready and complain about my make-up and the dress I’d chosen. Rio was just like my dad—a fan of simplicity. He even made me spin in front of him, in the dusty pink backless dress, to make sure it wasn’t too revealing for the occasion.

We stopped as soon as we reached the entrance hall, where a portion of the group had already gathered. Guillermo and Rodrigo were already waiting outside, having a casual conversation by the car which keys were already in Blanca's hand. The keys to the other car, the Alfa Romeo Stelvio that Carlos had been driving over the last few days, still remained in the decorative bowl on the console.

“You haven’t decided on the ride, yet?” Rio sounded annoyed, a short sight leaving his lips before sitting next to his wife on the sage chaise lounge in front of the console.

“What’s the deal? Why isn’t Carlos driving?” I asked.

“They are eighteen again,” Marjorie mumbled, slightly irritated.

“We deserve a proper boys’ night,” my brother corrected her, his arm wrapping around Marjorie’s shoulders and giving her a small kiss on the cheek. “Where’s he, anyway?”

“On the phone,” Blanca replied. “We’re late. Do you want to call a cab?”

“No need, I can drive,” I said, walking to the console and taking the keys. “It’s fine.”

My brother and Marjorie followed Ana and Blanca outside, their silhouettes disappearing against the sunlight cast on the driveway. Before entering the car, the older shouted. “The car’s parked in the garage!”

With them outside, Carlos’ voice was clear, echoing in the space. It was easy to find him.

“We need to leave,” his eyes met mine the second I walked through the archway that led to the kitchen. He was putting his phone in the pocket of his dark jeans, standing near a window. “We’re already late.”

“Okay, let’s go, then,” he walked to me, extending his hand in my direction.

“We agreed I was going to drive,” I closed my hand around the keys and he stopped in front of me.

He frowned. “I don’t care. I’m driving.”

I took a deep breath and looked at him before speaking. Bad choice. He had his usual smile on his lips, a sweet smile that in the blink of an eye became a smirk full of meaning. I narrowed my eyes, my grip on the keys getting stronger.

“I do. I’m driving.”

Carlos took a step forward, getting closer to me. I had to raise my head a bit more to maintain eye contact. Annoying bastard. I rolled my eyes at his attempt to make himself look intimidating, or whatever it was he was trying to do.

“Drop it.” He glanced at my hand. “You know I don’t like being driven around, especially in my own car.”

“I’m holding the keys. Unless you take them from me, I’ll be driving.” Carlos didn’t move an inch. “We can stay here until you get tired.”

"Is that a challenge?"

"Try me."

Joder. He relaxed his eyebrows and his smirk grew bigger. The next thing I knew, the air around us was being charged with electricity as his hazel eyes locked onto mine like he was trying to read my soul. God damn you. His sweet, tender gaze had turned into something darker, something so much deeper.

He took another step and, once again, he was dangerously close. This time I wouldn’t mind if he erased all the lines and barriers and dropped all my shields himself. His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. My eyes couldn’t leave his face. I was petrified at the moment, drifting away from all the negative feelings and diving into him. He leaned in and, for a second that seemed to last an eternity, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But he didn’t.

And I had opened my hand, just enough for him to take the key from my hand before I was able to understand what had just happened.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do it,” Carlos’ lips were brushing against my ear. My eyes were open wide, looking into the void. “Learn the lesson the first time.”

He left the kitchen. I just shook my head, my mind completely bereft of everything but the electricity his little move had filled my body with. I took a deep breath and resigned to the fact he had taken the best of me. I would’ve found that funny if I wasn’t completely flustered. Fucking idiot.

                                                        * 

We had been invited to a party by one of Carlos’ friends.

There was a small group waiting for us, from which I recognized a fair share of faces from that night. From the way the group welcomed Carlos, one would think the party had been thrown for him or by him. The host had even reserved him a parking spot on the driveway. Blanca had no such luck; she parked outside, on the road.

The house was not too far away from Costa del Pins and, just like the Sainzes’, it was located on a hillside and offered a nice view of the serene sea, still clear blue and dancing with ease against the rocks. From the driveway, standing next to my brother and Marjorie, I admired the house. My gaze continuously shifted from the building to Carlos, whose attention resided on a blonde girl, Mila, to who we were introduced the night of the match. They seemed to get along well.

For a second, I regretted leaving so early that night.

Just minutes before he had been so close to me that I felt inebriated by his perfume, almost dizzy just from experiencing him so close, and now there he was, walking alongside this girl with too much make-up and a sad sense of fashion.

Jealously doesn’t look pretty on me.

And I was not even sure why I was jealous.

As we walked across the stone path that lead us to the terrace at the back of the house, the music got louder and the voices and laughter became more clear. Rio and Marjorie were too busy with each other, as usual, and Blanca and Ana were talking about something I couldn’t find interest in simply because my eyes couldn’t leave the man walking ahead of us and the blonde on his side.

“Sainz!” The German accent that shouted out was strong. It stole Carlos’ attention and, consecutively, mine. I remembered that face from the night before and quickly realized that the German rally driver a.k.a. The Guy, was our host for the night. “You came, ’migo!”

Of course, Carlos pulled him for a hug, like they hadn't seen each other in forever. Suddenly, everything he did made me angry. Every drop of resentment was coming back. I was jealous and although I was doing everything to look like I wasn’t, I didn’t bother to convince myself otherwise.

“You already know them, no?” Carlos pointed to us. Rio hugged him as well and Marjorie did the same with her usual enthusiasm. Blanca and Ana were more simple – a polite kiss on the cheek was more than enough. Their boyfriends opted for a handshake.

When I approached him, the guy had a smile on his face. His eyes sparkled when I smiled at him too. I kissed his cheeks, once on each side. “I’m Eva.”

“DiMaggio, I remember,” he completed. “If Sainz didn’t steal all of our attention yesterday, I’d have more things to recall about you.”

“He likes the attention,” I think my eyes drifted to the girl for a second. “You’ll get used to it.”

His name hadn’t yet come to my mind. I couldn’t remember much from last night, not even who was the team Real had played against because, as the German said, Carlos had been the only thing I cared to pay attention to.

The guy only chuckled at my comment and patted Sainz on the back. “Call for me if you need anything. I’ll be around.” Then, he turned back to me. “You don’t need to call, I’ll have an eye on you at all times.”

That was a surprise, I’ll admit. The words drew a small laugh and a nod on my part. “I’ll remember that.”

When the guy turned around, Marjorie came up to me. Her ginger hair was tied in a high ponytail that fell over her bare shoulder. She looked at me with a big smile.

“Uwe’s into you!” Uwe. That was his name. Too unusual for me to simply remember. “Be sure to have some fun today.”

“He’s too… German?” I pondered, watching him disappear in the crowd; his shirt, with an awful pattern, disappeared with him.

“He’s quite a character, I know…” she paused. “But you probably won’t see him again, ever.”

That was a good argument, I’ll give her that, but it also reminded me of a certain Italian driver, whose presence had been lingering on my mind since the morning I’d left Imola. I tried not to think about him, which was not that hard considering that Carlos monopolized my attention the last few days, but I couldn’t help thinking about why he didn’t say anything about that poor spectacle in my hotel room.

I knew I would see Pulcini again and it didn’t stop me from anything.

On the other hand, I was pretty drunk that night and tonight I couldn’t even drink half as much. Also, Carlos was right there. If the mere memory of him had made me leave Andreas in a bathroom stall, I couldn’t tell what his presence would provoke. But, to be honest, if the blonde didn’t leave his side, I would probably sleep with Uwe just out of spite.

As I said, jealousy doesn’t look pretty on me.

“This may sound terrible, but I don’t remember all the names from last night. Could you reintroduce me to your friends?” Oh, her voice was annoying. My gaze drifted to her and then to him. Rio, standing next to Carlos was the first to step closer and introduce himself. Carlos made her a favour by introducing the rest of us. “I’m Mila, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in return.

I couldn't do more than just smile before excusing myself and leaving the group. Marjorie walked by my side, accompanying me to the bar on the right side where the guests were talking and swinging to the music.

Everybody seemed to know everybody. During the short walk, Blanca and Ana stopped multiple times to hug a few friends and introduce me and Marjorie to the ones we didn’t yet get to know. The good looks and the expensive perfumes were abundant. It actually seemed like it was the ideal night to have some fun.

An hour had already passed while we sat on the couches near the bar and my feet were already complaining. It surprised me how easy it was to get lost in the small talk, especially when the people around turned out to be more interesting than I thought. I accepted two flutes of champagne. That was plenty to get just loose enough to enjoy the party without getting drunk.

Every time my eyes met Carlos, he was always surrounded by a different small crowd, but the blonde girl was always there, right at his right side. Each time I laid my eyes on them it was a reminder of his status and the rumours that often appeared connected to his name all around social media. They’d gotten worse after Carlos signed for Ferrari and because we hardly saw each other since then, and I refused to say his name or talk about him with his sisters or my brother, there was no way of knowing if those rumours were real or just fabricated lies the fans made to entertain themselves.

Either way, Mia, Mila, or whatever her name was, didn’t leave his side. There was no way of denying that she really wanted his attention all for herself and, unlike the photos that occasionally appeared online, this time I could see them crystal clear. No blur or too much grain.

“Those meetings you’ve been having…” Blanca captured my attention, “work or race-related?”

“Normal work, nothing exciting,” I let her know. Marjorie and Blanca seemed appeased with the answer too. “I’m trying to not worry about racing, just for one week.”

“You deserve a real break,” the younger of the Sainzes took a sip of her drink. “And that includes tonight. I don’t wanna talk about work, especially when we know Eva is having a hard time.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, my back hitting the soft fabric of the couch. “I haven’t asked you yet,” my attention drifted to Marjorie, looking at me with a confused look on her face. “How are you handling all of this?”

“Oh,” a pause, then a sip. Then, she let the cup meet the mate black coaster placed on the table and played with the napkin at its side. “Not bad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That means it’s not going well.”

“It’s not bad,” she repeated herself. “These last days have been amazing, I feel like I’m rediscovering my husband. At the same time, it feels like a goodbye, you know?”

Ana and Blanca shared a look. I think they felt displaced. They barely knew Marjorie and the last days didn’t give them enough time to understand the dynamics of her marriage with my brother.

“I mean,” she continued and quickly stopped again, almost like she was analysing what to say, or how to say it. I felt her eyes drifting to the man standing a few feet ahead, leaning to the railing on the other side of the terrace and accompanied by a blonde who was still laughing too much at his words and I quickly understood where the conversation was leading. “Look what the distance did to you and Carlos.”

“Carlos and I were never married. Not even— Don’t go there.”

“Nevertheless,” she kept going, “I have two kids at home and Fabrizio wants to move to Italy. We’re talking about it, but it seems wise to move. At the same time, I see what all of this did to you two and you were not even married,” she rebated my point with the same argument. “It’s hard enough when he travels two weekends in the same month. How am I supposed to deal with having him home for only two weeks a month, if I get those two weeks?”

Fair point.

“We’re married. I’ll miss him, as a husband,” she sighed. “And the babies... you know.”

I blinked, no words left to be spoken. I knew. I didn’t miss Carlos as a husband, nor as a boyfriend, but I’d missed him. In the beginning, those phone calls and facetime sessions made the feeling grow, but the love I felt for him grew at the same rate as the longing. I’d missed him as much as I’d loved him. So I couldn’t picture what the future would be like for Marjorie.

“I don’t know if it helps,” Blanca said, “but our father wasn’t around either. He spent a lot of time away. That didn’t make us love him less.”

Marjorie shrugged. “The only thing I know is that I will never ask him not to go. I know it’s difficult for him too, although it doesn’t look like it.”

A smile tugged the corner of her lips and her eyes travelled across the crowd. My brother was talking and laughing with two guys I recognized from the match the night before. Marjorie looked at him with a warm smile on her lips.

“Trust is important,” I said, “and you both trust and love each other so much it makes me nauseous. You will be fine.”

Trust is important. Trust was everything stopping me from acting, even though my body was ready to betray me and fall into Carlos’ trap. No matter how much I desired Carlos, I couldn’t trust him and that meant we would fall from the tightrope the second I surrendered my body and soul to his arms and warm lips.

“What’s hardest to trust?” Marjorie said, looking at her man, who was now winking at her. She smiled at him, and then turned to me, again. “Him or the people around him?”

She was talking about Rio, and whatever could happen during race weekends, or the eventuality of him moving alone to Italy, but that hit a little close to home.

“Him,” I said. “People won’t do anything he doesn’t let them do. He won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

The blonde, Mila, was touching him. Small pats on his arm to pull his attention back to her, another small pat on his chest while he spoke and she leaned her head back, laughing at whatever he was saying. Another embarrassing show; quite pathetic.

“That’s true,” Ana added. “But you don’t seem like a couple with problems in that regard,” she continued, her hand reaching for the cup filled with white sangria. “Rio is and always was a nice guy, you know it better than us.”

Marjorie was not uncertain about how faithful her husband was; she was scared of the void he would leave behind. The unanswered calls. The postponed encounters. The empty space at dinners and birthday parties. I promised her that I would sleep at hers one or two nights each week to keep her feet warm; she knew I wasn’t joking.

After this conversation reached its natural end, I dragged her to the dance floor. On top of her wearing heels, she complained about not having enough rhythm to dance, or even enough balance. I told her to get another drink, with the excuse that the right amount of alcohol would give her the rhythm she needed. Marjorie found her rhythm and new confidence at the bottom of her fourth drink and I found myself to be less patient than I thought. In need of both resting my feet and taking a break from Marjorie, who was too playful and talkative after those four drinks, I led the group to the couches where the boys were sitting.

Carlos’ blonde had disappeared. Another one had resurged on his side, this time a man—the host.

After almost forcing Marjorie to sit next to Rio and take a break, I went to the bar. One of the two silver foxes serving drinks stopped what he was doing to pay attention to my request. Virgin Mojito, I asked. My insides were asking for more alcohol, especially before my amazing idea of getting my friends drunk, but I knew my limits.

“Quite a character, no?” I didn’t need to look to my right to understand who said these words. I would recognize his voice and accent anywhere.

“You and Marjorie are spending too much time together; she said the same thing.” Carlos put down his tumbler on the counter; the bartender replaced it with another, this one with a thick line of a brownish liquid around a large ice cube. “How many of those did you have?”

“Not enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you care?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wanna drag you from the car to your bed. Marjorie is giving me enough trouble already.”

“Don’t worry about it, Blanca can take me home,” he deadpanned and then, with two sips, Carlos drank the whole thing. I abstained from making any comment. “Don’t look at me like that. I can get drunk once in a while.”

“Where’s your blonde? Did she leave you hanging and now you’re mad about it?” He scowled at me. “Am I wrong? Sorry, my mistake,” I huffed sarcastically. Carlos didn’t say anything. I was getting more annoyed with each second he ignored me. “Can you please stop ignoring my presence? I’m right here.”

“Where she is, is not of your business.”

I tilted my head. “Are you a grumpy drunk? I was hoping for something different.” Carlos looked around, his hand going to his hair and sorting it out. The wind was messing with his hair, but somehow, he still looked handsome. “Or are you just mad?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos turned to me, eyes piercing through mine. He bit his lip and then shook his head.

“Go enjoy the party. Our host had a lot of questions about you,” he finally responded. My gaze looked for Uwe, sitting with another group, his rebellious blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. The man didn’t seem to stop in one place for more than two minutes. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to stay a stranger.”

Reverse psychology or what?

“Maybe I will,” I responded offhandedly and took a sip of my drink that I didn’t notice was waiting for me on the counter, drops of condensation staining the coaster of a deeper black. “Enjoy Mia.”

“Mila,” he corrected me, to which I just grinned. He knew I knew her name.

Leaving the bar behind, my feet starting to ache on the heels and my eyes already tired from the strong lights that had replaced the pastel dusky tones of the sunset, I found myself in a dilemma, contemplating what game Carlos was playing.

Marjorie sat on Rio’s lap to give me her place on the couch. She was just another level of clingy when she was drunk and my brother didn’t seem to mind. His hands were around her, holding her close to him. Compared to the other two couples in the group, they were more carefree. The Sainzes were not big fans of PDA.

“I hope that one has alcohol on it,” the enthusiastic and accent-filled voice of our host erupted in our surroundings a few beats later, interrupting a boring conversation about how Rodrigo could improve his golfing skills.

The German driver leaned against the back of the couch in front of me, behind Ana. “Oh, it doesn’t,” I replied. “I’m behaving tonight.”

“Too bad,” the guy winked and Marjorie patted Rio’s shoulder. My brother dragged himself to the end of the couch and moved slightly to the side, creating a little spot for Uwe to sit. He put his beer on the table, next to the fancy glasses filled with drinks of all colours. “Your friend there told me you’re a driver too,” he signalled to Carlos with his head. “In which category?”

“For the last year, I’ve been driving in the Ferrari Challenge. I’m looking at endurance for next year,” his eyes widened and his smile grew a bit more. “I made my debut in WEC last year when a driver got COVID. That was good.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

Marjorie leaned into me, trying to whisper something to Uwe, but failed and her words came out loud and excited. “She won the championship last week!”

“Ja?! Sainz forgot to mention that,” he looked at me, impressed. Men usually didn’t get this excited when told about my driving skills and just from his reaction, the German scored some points in his favour.

“The first woman to do so!” Marjorie added and I rolled my eyes.

“Marjorie—” I stopped her, but the guy interrupted me.

“What? If the fruit won’t sell itself…” Marjorie said in her defence and the guy nodded in agreement. “Take her dancing, Uwe. She needs some fun.”

I was surprised by her tenacity in ensuring I have some fun tonight. The tall blonde German took my hand and walked in front of me, gently dragging me to the dance floor. My eyes dropped to the floor to be sure my heels would not fail me. When I looked back up to find him, I noticed the height difference. Too German, indeed.

As soon as we approached the small crowd around the DJ, he pulled me close by my waist. His grip was firm and confident and his posture changed the second his fingers found my skin, as if he enjoyed my delicate size and weight. The crowd surrounded us when he stopped, the bodies of the guest shielding us from the eyes of those scattered around the terrace. His hand drifted to my bare back. He felt warm and gentle.

“I hope you enjoy the music,” he whispered as I drowned in his cologne when he leaned against me, so close to my ear I could feel the brush of his lips against the sensitive skin. He smelled of pine and bay – fresh, crisp and masculine. “I’m hoping for some reggaeton.”

I laughed and he grinned back at me. “It’s a better fit for dancing, that’s for sure.” The rhythm of the current music was not bad, but not suited for the contact I knew he was hoping for. He hadn’t let go of me. His warm touch on my lower back kept reminding me of Marjorie’s words. “I hope you get lucky.”

He chucked. “That’s up to you.”

“Don’t step out of line,” I got on my tip-toes and, on the way to his ear, I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The music carried us away, not reggaeton yet, but it had just the pace we needed to dance and explore each other a bit more.

I didn’t feel anything whenever his lips got closer to my skin, not even in anticipation to feel them end all the need for touch and attention. Thinking about it, I didn’t even remember the last time I got laid and that was worrying, to say the least. Even though Uwe was there, making sure I knew he was available, he was not Carlos; in fact, he was Carlos’ polar opposite. Attractive, nonetheless. Blonde, tall, strong. Nice accent. Nice hands. Long, warm fingers. I could go on, I could make a list of this man’s wonders and I knew he would not make me feel half as good as Sainz could.

He bit my earlobe. Hands conducting my waist. I moved a few inches away, the corner of my lips curling into a smile. He tightened the grip around my waist, both his hands holding me close.

“Behave,” I said playfully.

“You can walk away if you want to,” he let go of me and I shook my head in disapproval. His hands met my waist again. The music changed and I chuckled at the familiar sound and so did the crowd, as they quickly started singing. “Dance with me, DiMaggio,” he commanded.

We danced, slowly and easily. I didn’t even know where we were standing, as the music and his touch clouded my mind with nothing but this moment. His fingers kissed my skin in an adoring way, the lyrics to the songs escaping his lips with a funny accent he tried to fight. It made me laugh and correct him on his Spanish more than once.

He turned me around, my back to his chest, his hands on my waist, his touch warm, firm and strong, pushing me to him. The shirt was so thin that his body heat seeped through the fabric and reached the exposed skin of my back. I could feel his strong hands everywhere as we danced some more until the set ended. As the music changed to a more upbeat one, I turned back to him.

During the movement I caught a glimpse of him, alone. A beer in his hand and nothing but the dark sky around him.

“Another drink?” The German���s voice snapped me back to the moment.

My eyes seemed too hard to move, I was stuck there, on him. But then a slimmer silhouette appeared at his side, with blonde hair and a big smile.

I smiled. “No, thanks. I told you. I’m behaving.”

“Hope that’s only regarding the alcohol,” he murmured and he licked his lips.

“Let’s see,” I said as my eyes dropped to his lips and then to the medallion hidden under the fabric of his shirt. “What does it say?”

He noticed what my gaze has fallen upon and he followed it by dropping his forehead closer to mine. “Das Blaue vom Himmel versprechen,” he answered. I turned it around with the help of my fingers.

“The blue of the sky?” I asked, not letting go of the amulet.

“Promise the blue of the sky. It’s a saying. There’s a certain ring to it.” I nodded at the explanation and out of nowhere, his lips crashed against mine.

Harsh and wet. Brutal and aggressive. Ocean and tequila.

Tasted so wrong. So wrong.

Wrong in way too many ways.

The moment awakened the memories of an Italian guy left alone in a bathroom stall and the reasons that had made me leave. He was not Carlos. They were not Carlos. Carlos. My eyes drifted to him, his eyes piercing through the crowd to find mine. Even with his friend’s lips on the skin of my neck and his arms firmly grabbing my ass, I couldn’t find the strength to break the eye contact.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. I could feel every cell of my body reject the man touching me, yet I was locked in a man standing not too far away, not moving, but getting more distant each second.

My look, a shout for help.

His made me burn. No emotion, just a blank expression.

Surprisingly, Uwe didn’t seem to be bothered by the glances Sainz cast in our direction; in fact, I wasn’t even sure if he was aware of them. His attention was focused on me. His hands, his lips, his eyes. Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t reciprocate the devotion.

Every time his eyes dropped to another part of me other than my face, my eyes would go back to the Spaniard on the other side of the crowd, leaning against the fence of the terrace. Alone. He’s alone.

The cast of Carlos' gaze was making me dizzy. Even worse, making me feel guilty. Guilty. His eyes were half-lidded, his hair mussed and his clothes dishevelled. He looked drunk. He was drunk.

And he started walking towards us.

“Eva,” his voice resonated, hoarse and deep as always. The only difference was that his lips were barely moving. “I would like to go home.”

“Already? But we’re all having so much fun, ‘migo,” the German exclaimed. Carlos was unfazed. Uwe’s words seemed to enter one ear and escape from the other, as Carlos didn’t even look at him. I was unsure if he had even listened to his friend.  His gaze was focused on me.

“Eva.”

“Don’t worry, pal, I can take her home,” Uwe offered, his hand falling on Carlos’ shoulder. The Spaniard moved just enough to make the blonde retract his hand.

“Eva, I need you to take me home,” Carlos insisted. I sent an apologetic look to Uwe, whose confused eyes drifted from me to Carlos, repeatedly. I looked over the crowd, my eyes trying to find Blanca. He grabbed my hand. “Take me home.”

For fuck’s sake.

The man was drunk and acting like a fool and yet my body reacted to that gesture, electricity sparkling from the point of contact. I looked at him, directly into his eyes. They were dark, the black of his eyes dripping into the hazel iris. He tensed his jaw.

I turned back to Uwe. My hand on Carlos’. The German nodded at my words and took a step back to let me through the crowd.

“Not what I expected when told you to enjoy the party.”

“Sorry?”

“This,” he motioned to Uwe. I dropped his hand.

“You think I was?”

“Looked like it.”

A frown instantly took over my face, confusion growing inside. I walked to my brother, who was probably as drunk as Carlos, and his girlfriend, who was leaning against the handrail. Rio’s eyes followed Carlos and not me. His lips curled into a smile watching him trying to reach me.

“Land him a hand, ‘Vita. He’s fucked up.”

Of course, I didn’t. My steps led me to Marjorie and I stood next to her, waiting for Carlos to slowly make his way through the crowd. I dared to look down, at the foam the waves created when they kissed the cliff and followed the trails of white foam. The music made it impossible to hear the claps of the waves.

“You’re so wasted, bro!” Rio hailed Carlos when he finished his unstable walk and finally reached us. “Where’s blondie?”

“You should worry about your wife,” Carlos responded and my eyes drifted to Marjorie, frowning at the Spaniard’s comment.

Rio and Marjorie walked in front of us. He was holding her by the waist, saying things in her ear I was sure I didn’t want to listen to. I didn’t try to match my pace to Carlos’, but he made an effort to catch mine. We had to wait for him in the car.

                                                        * 

“Could you please stop?”

Carlos had opened and closed his window three times in the last ten minutes. “It’s hot,” was the excuse he gave when he lowered the glass for the first time. And for why he had closed it a short moment after, he only offered a measly “It’s messing my hair”. After those first times, he repeated the words two times, each time after the annoying noise of the mechanism.

“I’m hot,” he said for the fourth time, the glass going down and the cold night air filling the car. I could feel my skin being taken by goosebumps as the cold air touched my skin.

“I’ll leave you on the side of the road if you close it one more time,” I threatened him.

Marjorie and Rio had fallen asleep five minutes into the drive home and Carlos had sat in silence next to me, watching me drive. My ear drums were still suffering from the loud music of the party, so I was quite enjoying the silence.

“Oh, please don’t,” he said, his voice mildly sarcastic and his eyes avoiding mine. I could see his pupils dilate as he looked at me.

“Just shut up, please,” my eyes didn’t leave the road, which was only lit by the headlights and the street lamps, except to look up at the dark velvety stripes painted in the night sky. “You don’t even look like yourself when you’re drunk,” I mumbled.

“You’re sober and I can say the same.”

“Why?”

“You kissed.” There was a slight pause but I refused to look at the man whose arm, resting on the console, almost touched mine. “You didn’t let me kiss you.”

You didn’t let me kiss you.

I blinked, trying to understand if the words were real and not a fabrication of my tired mind. Does he think I wanted that kiss? I kept my eyes on the road, my grip firm on the steering wheel. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“D’you like it?” he continued, “Him? The kiss?”

“You’re drunk. We will talk tomorrow,” was all I said. This was not the time or place to talk about anything remotely related to all the feelings and emotions I wanted to repress.

“I’m not that drunk, Eva,” he sighed. A long breath escaped me, not knowing exactly what to do or say to amend the situation.

Again, the imabalance. If on one side I was pissed at him for dragging me out of the party like he owned me and had some kind of sick power over me, I was also thankful to know he still cared. Also, not only he cared but he was jealous of Uwe.

Is this insanity taking over?

You didn’t let me kiss you. Another man's kiss would never make me descend into a weeks-long spiral. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted him to know that I’d been craving him, desiring him, dreaming about him each night since our dinner weeks before.

“You flee my touch. You act like I’m a pervert,” he kept going.

What? I glanced at him from under my lashes, trying to gauge his expression. His stubble framed his face, giving him a vulnerable look that made my heart dance in my chest. The wind was making his hair messier; the untamed dark strands made him look even more vulnerable, yet his words cut deeper than ever. How could he look so fragile and yet sting me out like this?

“I don’t—”

“You do. And now that guy? That guy? D’you really think I don’t notice how you step away from me every time I touch you? Every fucking time, Eva.”

“It’s not like that.” Carlos looked over the window. I peeked in the rearview mirror, hoping I would find Marjorie and Rio still sleeping. They were. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No.” Just no.

But he didn’t speak. For a couple of minutes, silence reigned in the car and a battle happened inside me. So many thoughts and guilt. Resentment and desire in the same measure.

“Tell me what’s it like then.”

“I don’t want to,” I sounded like my two-year-old nieces, for fuck’s sake. I turned into the gate of the residential area.

In the five minutes it took me to drive from the entrance to the residence, Marjorie and Rio woke up and complained two times about how cold the car was. Two times each. I didn’t say a word until I parked the car in the driveway, leaving enough space for Blanca’s.

“You should use the garage,” Carlos complained, dragging himself out of the car. His hand over his abdomen and a funny expression on his face.

“And you should drink less.”

Before I could reach the house, whose door my brother had opened, I heard his room’s door close. They were in a rush. Behind me, Carlos walked slowly. Not that drunk, he said. The man could barely walk in a straight line or have his eyes completely open.

I stood by the door, on the inside of the house and waited for him to go past me so I could lock the door. As he did, he turned to me. One of his hands travelled to the cold skin of my waist, the other to my face, his index finger caressing my cheek.

Warmth and delicacy. He could barely stand straight but his touch was delicate and soft against my skin. Seconds of pure bliss. I felt a silent sigh leaving me and, without realizing it, I took a step back. Like a marionette cut from its strings, my back hit the door frame.

I immediately condemned my body for doing so. He shook his head. “See?”

He left me standing there, my blood rushing inside my veins. The sad look in his eyes and the memory of this touch remained in my mind until I saw his body disappear being a wall. Then I placed my hand on the place he’d touched me, trying to bring back the comfort of his touch. I could feel the leftover warmth on my skin.

I didn’t move until I heard his steps reach the top of the stairs, making sure he would make it upstairs safe. When the sound stopped, probably indicating he had reached his bedroom, I turned away. I walked to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle and a large bowl and then I made my way upstairs.

Upstairs was dark and silent. Rio and Marjorie’s door was closed and even though Carlos had left his open, I couldn’t hear anything. Before walking to his room to check if he was okay and to leave the water and the bowl next to his bed, I left my heels and wallet in my room.

I knocked. Didn’t hear anything. The door was ajar and the silence hurt my ears, still buzzing from the loud music at the party. I peeked inside; an orange hue was talking over the room, coming from the lamps on the bedside tables. Carlos was nowhere to be seen.

When I was about to call his name, I saw a stream of light coming from the bathroom, casting a white line on the dark rug in front of the door, but the silence continued.

I left the bottle and the bowl on the nightstand, where his phone was charging and his wallet was left open, and then turned around to the door from where the light was coming. I couldn’t see much more than the image of his back through the small gap. Although I felt like I was invading his privacy, as I actually was, I let myself enjoy that moment of intimacy.

He was still wearing his jeans. And socks. Green socks.

I would have killed to see him like this.

I heard the splash of the water hitting the porcelain of the sink. My image was reflected in the mirror when he bent down to wash his face and even though I tried to escape his gaze, his reflexes were faster than mine. He turned to me.

“I left water and a bowl on your bedside table,” I said. “Just in case.”

Carlos used a towel to dry his hands and face and walked past me, turning off the bathroom light on his way. Darkness fell into the room, the glow from the lights too low to light up the whole space. He became nothing but shades.

“I’m not a child,” I heard him undo the zipper of his jeans and take them off under the orangy glow. I drifted my gaze to the well-lit water bottle and, made myself read the label, fighting the urge to look at him. “You can go now.”

“You have no right to be mad at me.”

“Now you want to talk,” he deadpanned. The ruffle of the comforter and then a muted thud, his body meeting the bed. “I want to sleep.”

“Have some water first,” mentally, I complimented the choice of low brightness on the lamps. I really didn’t want to see his reaction to my words – his grunt was enough to know he was annoyed. I grabbed the bottle and extended my arm towards him.

He turned to me and the light reached his face faster than my eyes did. The beams outlined his features: the nose,  the lips, the full eyelashes and gave a new sparkle to his eyes. Under the warm tones, he looked peaceful and somewhat delicate, and that wasn’t a word I would naturally use for him.

“I’m not a child,” he repeated his words from before and didn’t take the bottle from my hands.

“Yet you’re behaving like one.”

“Go to bed, Eva.”

“I don’t want you to choke to death on your own vomit.”

His eyes widened, a snort coming from his mouth before his words. “I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure,” I replied and I moved the bottle in front of his face. “Just a sip.”

“Eva,” a sigh and then my hand got lighter. He took the bottle from my hand and I took a step back. It didn’t take long until I heard a satisfied sigh.

“Try to not die,” and with these parting words, I walked away from the bed.

“Eva,” he called my name again and each time he was taking more time with it. Perhaps he was tired, or the alcohol was slowing him down, but my name sounded like music.

The accent. The v on his lips sounded like a b. Soft and tender.

And just like that, I couldn’t resist turning back to look at him. He was a striking silhouette under that stupid orange dim light; shirtless, his head against the headboard and his hair falling on his forehead and at that moment, I understood it was too late to fight the feelings.

“Can we talk tomorrow? You need sleep.”

“When?”

I shrugged. “Any time will do.”

“Eva,” he had his eyes almost closed, his face down on the pillow; my name sounded like a siren call. I wanted to dive in and meet him in bed. “Don’t see him again.”

His soft whisper cut through the silence like thunder.

I got close, just so I could turn off the lights and let him rest, but as I did so, my eyes caught the sight of his tired face. The line of his perfect lashes, the hair ruffled against the pillow, the light kissing his face, making him even more beautiful.

My fingers lingered over the light switch, postponing the gesture that would make him disappear in the dark. I stood next to him for a couple of minutes, staring adoringly at his face and appreciating the tranquillity of his sleep. It didn’t feel wrong, not even for a second.

He had ruined me the moment he brushed his lips against mine and reopened the door where all the what-ifs were stored and left to be forgotten. He set them free and they twirled around me, poking me with all the scenarios I’d made so much effort to forget.

But perhaps I shouldn't forget them. Perhaps I belonged here, at his side, not afraid to look at him and adore his face. Without the weight of the world and its expectations, I could just be here, tracing the lines between the light and the shadows with my eyes, be free to admit I wanted to kiss him right where the light touched him. How much I envied that orange dim light that staked a claim on him before I could.

With a click, all of it vanished into the dark.

I don't even know what to say. First of all, THANK YOU for reading and leaving messages and comments. I can't tell you how much I value every single word you write me. also: virtually hugging all of you sainz girlies. it was tough, today. still hurts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think. See you around, Bru 🩷

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Thrawn Alphabet

Pairing: Thrawn x Fem!Reader (no she/her pronouns used) Word Count: 3.8k Rating: Explicit Content warnings: sexual content (M/F anal, oral, PIV), uniform kink, toys, bondage, dom/sub undertones; no Y/N

posted on ao3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Every time you’re with Thrawn, from the very first to months and years after you first met, he’ll ignore his comm chime three times, but never more than a fourth. He is intent on you, murmuring to you in Cheunh. If he has just fucked you over his desk, he’ll help you stand, carry you through to the bedroom. If he’s just had you on the bed, he lets you collapse, a shuddering, oversensitized mess, and he stays just long enough to see that you’re alright. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The question leaves him silent at first. He doesn’t think of you or himself that way, as separate parts of a whole. But eventually, on a warm, sunny afternoon at an outdoor art market, he answers. “Your eyes,” he says. He’s examining an unusual piece, and doesn’t look at you at all. 

“What?”

“My favorite part of you. Your eyes.” They are beautiful, he tells you thoughtfully, the way the light caught them just now, though he most admires their intensity when you are thinking hard about your next move in dejarik, or challenging his reasoning. 

Not a day later, his answer is different. He has you bent over his desk, and he tells you your ass is the most perfect one he’s ever seen. Perfect for grabbing, perfect for spanking, perfect for fucking. 

Another time, on your knees with his cock in your mouth-- “your lips are particularly lovely.” He smirks down at you, red eyes glowing. 

The elegant curve of your back, one evening. The next, your hands, small and soft in his as he rubs the aches out of them. Your legs, when they’re wrapped around his waist or he’s just watched you walk across the room naked. Your neck, which he likes to adorn with finely crafted jewelry. Your breasts, so sensitive as your arch to his touch. 

And of course… “in Cheunh we call it k’tusah,” he says, before licking a broad stripe up your slit. His deft fingers spread your folds, his tongue finds the very center of your need and you know he won’t relent until he’s tasted his fill of your pleasure.

**C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) ***CW!!! Anal sex***

Thrawn cums a lot. Like, a lot, and he likes pumping your cunt and ass and mouth over-full of his cum. Likes watching it drip down your legs and chin and neck. Sometimes he’ll spill in your mouth and forbid you from swallowing. Just keep it there for me, pet, let me see-- his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. He knows you like these games, and if he’s in a mood he’ll cum in your ass and plug it. For you to think of him, he tells you. Throughout your day, and every little thing you do, you’ll feel his cum and the plug barely holding it in, and you’ll think of that morning when he’d reamed your tight little hole. These are the only times he talks like that. An obscene, visceral shock to hear in his cool modulated voice. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Thrawn feels more comfortable in a military uniform than he does naked. He has no shame or hangups about his body, in fact he likes the way he looks, but he’s been wearing a uniform for so long, it’s part of him. It’s something he takes a quiet pride in. Pristine white, no wrinkles, trouser creases always sharp, boots shiny. Often, he’ll have you stripped bare while he never even unfastens his collar. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Despite his age and accomplishments, he’s not particularly experienced. Only a few partners, and not all were satisfying encounters.  Being who he is, though, he did learn from them, and what he doesn’t know, he is able to observe and learn quickly. He has no embarrassment admitting he doesn’t know something, and will readily ask for help or guidance.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Something that Thrawn has come to understand about himself, as he has grown older and made his way through the galaxy, is that he enjoys holding power and control. Command is natural to him, and he likes a partner who complements that aspect. If it’s up to him (and it usually is) he’ll put you on your knees, or over his desk, even prone on your belly, under him. He can get deep this way, the way he knows you want it, he’ll have his hands on your waist, or else one gently but firmly grabbing your hair and when he’s close to cumming, he’ll lean over you, chest flush to your back, holding you close as he pounds into you. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You can imagine trying to joke around and be silly with him, during an intimate moment or otherwise, would not go over well. That’s not to say Thrawn doesn’t have a sense of humor. He does, but it’s very dry, and during a moment alone, he’s going to be focused only on you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

In general Thrawn is very well groomed. His hair is always slicked back, showing his distinguished widow’s peak. Chiss typically don’t have much body hair and Thrawn is no exception. He has no hair on his chest, back, arms, underarms, and very little on his legs. Only around his pubic area, and it is an unusual texture (to humans), rather straight and smooth. He is equally fascinated by your hair, especially the texture, and often takes an extra moment just to pet you, trailing his fingers between your legs and giving a knowing smile at your soft breaths of anticipation. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy, and other people’s need for it, takes him a long time to understand. He’s not unromantic. But he shows it in different ways. He learns to like kissing you. Kissing, as far as you can gather, is not foreign to the Chiss, only to to Thrawn. 

The first time he kisses you properly is right after the first time you disagree with him. You point out a flaw in his reasoning— he doesn’t have all the information— and stand your ground when he questions you. Your emotion is high; Thrawn, shoulders square and hands clasped behind his back, is glacially calm. You raise your chin in defiance and then, so fast, he has you pinned, dipping his head, meeting your lips. There is intensity and focus in everything Thrawn does. 

He brings his hand to the back of your neck. His lips light on yours, exchanging breath. When you respond, pressing your body tight against his, desperate for more, he pulls you closer, deeper. His mouth hot and lush, as if he’s suddenly realized he needs this too. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Spending his whole life in the military-- first the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet and then the Galactic Imperial Navy-- Thrawn has been used to having little to no privacy, let alone time, for personal indulgences.  

For many years, he considers sexual release just another physical need, like food and sleep. He does it when he has to, rushed and furtive in the fresher or under the covers in his rack. Even when he gets his own command, and by the time he is given another command in his second career— the Thunder Wasp— the habit is so ingrained in him. He does it alone, fast, pumping his cock hard. 

But then, after you’ve known him for a while, you ask once to watch him. It seems a natural question. He is bemused, but assents. He goes slow, teasing you with it, has you restrained, wet and needy. It is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. He’d never take this much time if he were alone. He undoes the fastening strip on his uniform, lets his jacket hang open. Pants, too. His normally sleek hair is mussed. Fucking slowly into his hand, his eyes don’t leave yours. His breath comes out in small puffs in the cold air of his quarters. You have to savor the sight of him like this, as it is rare. Thrawn is not one to forget himself, yet here he is in front of you, and he is gloriously disheveled. He tenses, long fingers squeezing his thick length as his movement stalls. A string of words in Cheunh, and your name, tumble from his lips in a ragged moan. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Thrawn has an artist’s eye, but he does not create. He sees beauty the way an artist would: in the mundane, bizarre, and skillfully-made. Tattoos and scars fascinate him. He spends hours and idle moments tracing over your skin, asking you about them in a way that always seems like he already knows your answers. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Thrawn is a very private person --it takes having known him for six months for him to divulge the significance of his full name to you-- and this trait includes places he feels comfortable having sex. Never in public. Despite his well known disregard for rules and regulations, Thrawn never neglects military decorum, and that includes no open displays of affection. (Try to hold Thrawn’s hand, see what happens.) He prefers somewhere quiet, anonymous, and free of distractions. Ideally, his office, surrounded by his art. But, he is not one to deny himself, whether at some posh hotel on the Coruscant social circuit, or in the passageways of the Chimaera— he will pull you aside, discretely. Up to his room, or office, even a supply closet, as long as the door locks. Then, swift and direct, he��ll be on you, pulling at your collar to mouth at your neck and press urgent, hot kisses to your breasts. No bed, no problem. He’ll have you against a wall or on a counter. He’ll ruck up your dress, lift you by your ass and thighs, and thrust up into you, his usually cool voice rough with lust. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)//alternate prompt: Massages? (Yes/no?)

Art, of course, and the thrill of commanding a battle, especially one where he had to take big risks. On the bridge of the Chimaera, as the dust clears, he’ll turn from the forward viewport, resplendent in his uniform, hands clasped behind his back. His red eyes always seem to glow brighter after a victory like this. His crew are in awe of him. His eyes meet yours for a mere second, and you know what he wants. As he strides down the command walkway, you fall in step behind him, heart racing with anticipation as you follow him to his office.

Massages are rare. They are an unknown concept for Chiss, and Thrawn does not like them. He will do it for you if asked, though. You pad over to him in the evenings, when he is working, or studying art, and quietly hold out your hands. Sore from needlecraft, or sketching, and he loves to observe you as you work. He never complains, never refuses. He puts down whatever he’s doing and massages your hands, arms and shoulders. Sometimes you talk about what you were working on, or he does, speaking quietly about art and tactics and switching back and forth mid-sentence between Cheunh and Basic. You start to learn, bit by bit, though he makes no active effort to teach you. The night you come to him, hold out your hands and say ‘please’ in Cheunh earns the first genuine smile you see from him. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He ultimately most enjoys a partner who he perceives to be his equal, so someone incompetent or with no intellectual curiosity is a turn off. While he is game to experiment, he won’t introduce anything new without talking about it first. And despite his reputation as an Imperial Warlord, he has no appetite for anything that will really hurt you, nor any desire to override your free will. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Make no mistake, Thrawn is excellent at eating pussy. He is uncommonly perceptive and the very first time he goes down on you, he figures out what you like within seconds. He likes giving you pleasure on his terms. With his tongue on your clit, he owns you. 

As for receiving… at first, sucking his cock is a privilege, and one you are desperate to earn. He puts you on a leash, tied down, and lets you strain to even get a taste of his cock. Gradually, he trains you, shows you how to take him fully in your mouth and down your throat. On days that he’s very busy, he keeps you by his desk, where you kneel patiently. Sitting in his executive chair, he’ll spread his legs, still reading on his datapad and not bothering to look at you, undo his trousers, push the fabric down to free his hard cock. “Balls first,” he orders absently. You’ll crawl in, suck and lick them until he tells you to switch. You take his thick, heavy cock in your mouth and do as he says: “keep it warm for me.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Perhaps surprisingly, Thrawn is quite sensual. He tends not to be overly rough, and prefers to take things slow if he has the time, though he usually doesn’t. Even when he is fast and rough, he is quite attentive, sliding a hand between your legs, wanting to feel you cum around his cock before he’s finished. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s all for a quickie. Grand Admirals don’t have a lot of free time. But the first time you use the word he doesn’t understand it. 

“Quickie?” He repeats coolly, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t know this word. Explain what you mean.”

“Oh! Uh, well, it’s just having sex real quick. Like, a fast one, not taking too much time.”

“I see,” Thrawn says, “and you would like to engage in a quickie with me?”

“You seemed really busy, I thought it would be more convenient.”

“Very well. In the interest of efficiency and convenience…”  He turns, gesturing to his desk. “I assume this will be sufficient?”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Thrawn truly enjoys and cares about giving you pleasure. So he’ll try almost anything you ask for. Spanking, restraints, a collar. He likes taking risks and experimenting if it gives him more insight into what you like. And it doesn’t take him long to start predicting what you’ll want. Once, he has you wear a rope harness under your clothes for a day. He works the elaborate design himself, makes sure a string of knots pass right between your legs, pressing on your clit every time you make the slightest movement. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)//alternate prompt: Sexts (Yes? No? Pictures?)

Thrawn’s stamina is yet another mystery potentially solved if he would ever give you straight answers about his species, but he doesn’t. He can cum repeatedly. Like, the very first time you’re together, he fucks you and cums and when you move to get up he tells you, “stay. We’re not done.” His cock is still hard, he pushes back into your oversensitized, swollen hole, you can feel how he displaces his own cum, makes it run down your legs as he fucks you again, and a third time. 

Yes to sexts. He never even questions it as a misuse of Imperial resources. And the more artistically done your pictures are, the better. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

A few, that he uses on you. None on himself. Plugs, ropes, a collar and leash. Whatever you like, whatever you ask for, he will get it. He treats it like he does his art hobby, finds exquisite, unique pieces, most of which cannot be displayed in his office. Silken spun rope to tie you with. Gleaming toys, plugs, the bases decorated with finely wrought gemwork. Each time before he uses one on you, he presents it for you to kiss. You must show the proper reverence. He always watches intently, with a peculiar gleam in his glowing red eyes. You ask him once, while he is winding the rope in elaborate patterns across your body, if he has a favorite, and he laughs softly. “My favorite toy? You, of course.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The Chiss do not make idle boasts or promises. Every tease, every lingering touch, you know Thrawn will pay it off. And he does love teasing you, sometimes over the course of days or weeks. Denying your climax, seeing how desperate he can make you. It’s a game to him, tonguing and sucking your clit as you get wetter and wetter, almost there, until he decides you’ve had enough for now. He’ll do it again an hour later. Tell you to stay after a meeting in which he has watched you squirm the whole time while he calmly lays out battle plans. He has you show him your slick pussy right there in the conference room after everyone else has left. Lift the front of your skirt. Spread the lips for him with your fingers. “Hold yourself open for me, pet, yes, just like that.” He trails one finger through your folds, much too slow. Circles your clit. He responds to your frustrated sounds with a smile, or a quiet, low ‘hmm’. Patience, he reminds you when you get mouthy. You are here for his amusement. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Thrawn has a reputation for being even-tempered, verging on soft-spoken. You’ve heard him come close to yelling once. Intimately, he’s mostly quiet-- not to say he isn’t expressive, but he is not loud. He gives low, breathy moans when he’s fucking you, small gasps and whispered Cheunh when he feels you cumming on his cock and his release is close. Occasionally, when his blood is up, when he is on edge from dealing with incompetent subordinates, you’ll hear a growl. An almost feral sound, deep in his chest as he puts you where he wants you and tears off your clothes. Be a good pet now, he says. His normally smooth voice is ragged with need. I have no patience for your bratting today, euhn in’a.  

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

In the early days of your acquaintance with Thrawn, even before he levels his glowing red eyes at you and asks how long you’ve been fantasizing about fucking him…  one of the first things you notice about him, that sets your mind spinning with possibility, is how he smells. You pick up the scent of starch from his perfectly pressed uniform as he leans over your shoulder, pointing at something on a datapad. He smells of wool and brass polish and leather.

And, when you get closer, something else. Something close to human, familiar, but not quite the same. It is crisp and wintry, like morning in a cold forest, or the thin, pure air you can breathe on the highest balconies of Coruscant skyscrapers, close to the space-atmosphere barrier. 

It quickly becomes a comfort for you, and the times he is gone, you wrap yourself in his spare uniform coat. Exacting as he is, when he returns he never seems to mind finding you in it. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The fact that he is all blue never ceases to be novel. The sight of Thrawn in anything less than his full dress whites is enough to make your breath catch. When he shrugs out of his coat, exposing his broad, sculpted shoulders, you hear your pulse in your ears. The sight of him sparring against droids in a black tank top and his white uniform jodhpurs and black jackboots is an image immediately seared into your mind. It’s supplanted only by the first time you see him fully naked. He walks out of the fresher dripping wet, cross with you about… something or other. Maybe leaving your clothes all over the floor, but it seems your brain has short circuited. He is slim and tall-- so tall-- and strong and perfectly formed. And he is nonchalant about it. His cock and balls, which you’ve seen and felt and tasted before, are newly fascinating, hanging thick and heavy and swinging a bit when he walks. You swallow thickly. As good as he looks in the uniform, it hides how beautiful he really is. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not particularly high, usually. It seems to come in waves, almost like he’s on a cycle, but when you’ve asked if the Chiss have mating cycles he denies it. Every so often, though, he gets a certain gleam in his glowing red eyes. You learn to recognize it, and what it portends. It means he makes excuses to his senior staff and the crew, about why he suddenly cancels meetings. It means he’s suddenly insatiable, fucking you three, four, five times in a row, and doing it again a few hours later. It means he sucks bruising kisses onto your neck and thighs and breasts, and it means he growls his pleasure and forgets for a moment that you don’t understand Cheunh. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Thrawn almost never sleeps, it seems to you. A quirk of his, something about his brilliant mind that just won’t shut off, plus Chiss biology. But the rare times he does fuck you in an actual bed, he’ll stay, curling his body around yours, stroking your hair. He runs hot and the heat will lull you to sleep. He likes feeling your breathing begin to even out and slow and deepen, likes feeling you relaxed and satisfied in his arms. When he’s sure he won’t wake you, he gets up, pulling more blankets over you, and presses a quiet kiss to your forehead and murmurs something-- always the same phrase-- in Cheunh. 

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Flowers

Summary: Newly moved into town and single, you embrace Miley Cyrus words and buy yourself flowers. Taken by surprise by the handsome man who owned the flower shop.

Pairing: AU!Pero Tovar x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings: modern AU, Flower Shop AU, mentions of failed relationships, flowers, fluff, some flirting

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The immortal words of Miley Cyrus brought you to the local flower shop. 

You took some time out of your Saturday to stroll into town, wearing your favourite summer dress, enjoying the first real summer day of the year. 

Life had been busy these last few weeks. From starting a new job to moving out of your ex-boyfriend's house and into the tiny cottage-like house you had found. It was just big enough for you to live there. A tiny garden spread all around the house, challenging your non-existent green thumb. 

Things with your Ex ended on good terms. If you were honest with yourself you had been more roommates than lovers for a long time. 

You weren’t looking for something new right away, wanting to enjoy and embrace being single for a while. 

You wouldn’t search for the right person, they’d have to find you. 

But life had other plans.

You pushed your sunglasses up your nose, your little basket tucked to your side, filled with fresh vegetables and fruit you found on the local market. 

Humming you slowed your steps, taking in the many vibrant colours of flowers outside the little shop that had been your destination all day. 

Pink roses caught your eye. A beautiful arrangement with some peonies and some greenish stuff you couldn’t name exactly. Your hand reached out, stopping yourself before you could touch the soft petals. 

“Can I help you?” a voice startled you and you felt your cheeks growing warm for some reason before you looked up, finding the man who had asked standing with a big bucket of sunflowers not far from you. 

“Uh….” you responded, uncertain. He raised his left eyebrow, you noticed a scar over his eye, before he set the bucket down, rubbing his hands over the pants he was wearing as he stepped towards you. 

“I… wanted to buy myself some flowers?” you said finally, sounding more uncertain than you liked. Frankly you were a little dumbfounded over how handsome the man was. He was taller than you, unruly brown curls that seemed to invite you to run your fingers through them framed his face. Brown eyes looked at you expectedly. 

“I think you’ve come to the right place,” he said, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. 

You chuckled, shaking your head to yourself, trying to work through the awkwardness you felt. 

“I actually never really bought myself flowers,” you said, your eyes wandering back to the pink roses you had eyed. 

“Never?” he asked. You looked at him, shaking your head. 

“Why?”

“I… actually don’t know. My ex used to buy me some in the beginning, but…. It’s been a while. And I recently learned that I can indeed, buy myself flowers,” you grinned and he rolled his eyes, a playful glint in them. 

“I really can not listen to the song anymore, but I have to admit it is good for business,” he winked and you laughed. 

“I can only imagine,” you set your basket down, reaching for the bouquet of flowers. 

“I just moved here and I wanted to treat myself to something pretty while my house is still a mess,” you said softly, looking at the flowers before you looked up at the man again. 

He was looking at you with warm eyes. 

“Let me pack them up for you,” he said and you nodded. He took the flowers from you and you picked your basket up, following him inside. 

You were in awe of the store that seemed to stretch endless. You weren’t sure if you had ever seen so many plants and flowers in one space before. Then again flower shops had not been something you had visited before.

“Wow,” you gasped as you followed him deeper and deeper into the shop before he walked behind a counter tucked into a corner of the big shop. 

He was smiling as he put your flowers in some paper. 

“Are you…. Is the store yours?” you asked. He nodded. 

“For some years now. Needed a new start and…. It brought me here.”

He leaned with his hands on the counter and you noticed the veins on his muscular and tanned arms. 

Down girl. 

“It was the same for me. I really like it here.”

“It is a nice town. The people are very welcoming and always there if you need help.”

“God, I hope so. I never had a garden to take care of by myself, I’ll need all the help I can get,” you laughed, reaching for your purse. You pulled some bills from them, pushing them towards him on the counter to pay for the flowers.

“Well. If you need advice or help? I… kind of have a green thumb,” he winked, accepting your money before he rounded the counter, giving you the bouquet back. You carefully put it in your basket. 

You smiled at him. 

“I can see that. I… I might come back and ask for help sooner than you like.”

“I am counting on it,” he said with a playful glint in his eye and you shyly looked down at your feet before you looked at him again. 

“Ask for Pero if I’m not here. Pero Tovar,” he said.

Recognition washed over your face. 

“You…. You live across the street from me I think? The house with the many sunflowers?” you asked. He nodded slowly. Hesitant. 

“Sorry. I’m not a stalker. I promise,” you laughed awkwardly. “I got some of your mail last week and brought them over but no one was there…”

“Oh. Yeah. We have a new mail guy and he’s… well….,” he made a face and you laughed. 

You both looked at each other before you broke eye contact and took a deep breath. 

“I should go. I have a long to do list to work over today,” you said and he nodded. 

You turned around, slowly walking towards the exit.

“See you around, Pero,” you smiled, turning your head to look at him. 

“I am counting on it,” he said, with a wink and you released a nervous breath as you turned around, feeling a nervous tug in your belly that brought a bashful smile to your face before you slowly walked back home.

The next morning as you walked to your mailbox a smile sneaked to your face at the bouquet of sunflowers sitting in front of your door. 

You looked across the street, finding Pero sitting on his porch with a mug in his hand, holding his hand up in greeting. 

Smiling, you nodded at him.

You picked up the flowers and walked inside to put them into some water, before you thought about how you could thank him, allowing you to dream that maybe the right person had already found you after all. 

[yaut-jaknowit]

Our Hands Together

Pairings: Male Yautja/reader

Summary: Together, off in the universe, you and your yautja lover stop at a space port. Vic'tao is a massive, towering male but he's not one to hurt you. You make a small notion of that.

Word count: 1755

Note: Here's another random story from a writing prompts. If you guys enjoy these, I'm open to ideas. I like writing for these guys. It's fun!

Ao3

Masterlist

Aliens bustled around the two of you. The market was a bit quieter than usual, when you’re alone. With the burly, bulky, and grumpy alien striding next to you, everything changed. Many know not to mess with him, let alone his kind. Everyone gave a wide berth at his passing figure. They didn’t dare cross his path, or yours. Not unless they wanted a threatening snarl thrown at them. That alone made any sane creature beat it.

Not you. You understood he would never hurt you, unless you called for it; with humans words specifically. There were a few scars that decorated your body because of him. All that were wanted. He also wanted you to show them off, especially around his hunt brothers.

Gout-ti, Xew, Iopu’tor, and Rhi’v have come around and accepted you. The others… let just say, it’ll take a lot longer for them to warm up to you. Nothing was easy now, but a challenge you liked to enjoy. It’s much different compared to earth. The pace and dangers. You liked it better out here then stuck at home or work. This was your life now.

The two of you continued to travel down the crowded pathway. Vic’tao walked with pride in his every step, head held up high and shoulders square. The perfect image of a Yautja in his prime. And that, he ensure you knew at every open opportunity. A smirk graced your lips at the thought. A big upgrade compared to earth, again.

Some alien chittered to you in their own native language. The others around them tried to hush them as quick as possible, but it was too late. Few aliens actually don’t know what or who the Yautja are. “You’re strange looking. What are you?” The translator behind your ear, underneath skin, was quick to do its job.

Their words made you stop. You usually wouldn’t pay them a lick of attention when you’re alone. But in front of your alien hubby, you won’t let it slide. Similar to him, you liked to act strong around him. Showing off the muscles and strength he helped build over time.

Your head turned calculated over to the group. The ones around them had put their heads down or found something more interesting.

Everyone in the vicinity also turned to watch this whole seen unravel before them.

Vic’tao was right behind you, not stepping in just yet. His heat kissed your back softly. He knew you could handle yourself. He, also, knew you hated when he would intervene when help wasn’t needed or called for.

“Human. I’m from the planet called earth, in the milky way system. Or, more well known as 429 system,” you responded with a light tone. At this point, you couldn’t tell if this alien had bad intentions about what you were. This was test.

One grey alien to their right nudged them then spoke softly. The words far too quiet for your translator to pick up. You felt Vic’tao tense up behind you. Your hand touched his rougher side, feeling the cloth that hung from his waist. It took him a moment to settle. Then, he placed one of his own massive hands on your shoulder. Reassurance.

Their buddy must have gotten it through their head who and what Vic was. Someone you don’t mess with. They profusely bowed their head and put their four arms out in front of them. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t know. Please accept. Sorry,” they sprouted out nonsense.

That’s one of the things you don’t like when Vic comes with you or you went out with Vic in public. You simply raised a brow. “Everything’s good. Don’t mind him. He has no reason to hurt you.” Suddenly, you spotted a book in German on their table. Reading was one of your most favorable past times.

You rushed over to the table and picked it up. Two years of German and self-learning taught you to understand the language. Not completely fluent, but enough to keep a conversation. “How much for this book?” you questioned excited. Vic has a scheduled mission coming up. The time before would be spent mostly with him in your home back on Yautja Prime. Afterwards, you needed something to keep you busy.

They slowly raised their head, three eyes staring fearfully at you. “Free. You can have it!” the alien stated and carefully put their arms down. You shook your head.

“No, please tell me.” There was no answer from them. “Just tell me how much, please,” you requested again. Your honesty was something Vic loved about you. It was an honorable thing to be honest in life, even in the face of temptation.

Finally, the unknown alien softly stated the price, a little low for your taste. To help with that, you added a hundred more credits to it. That was about twenty in US dollars if your math was correct.

Now, with your book in hand. You turned back around and strolled over to Vic. The hunter tilted his head down to stare at you. It would be difficult to leave you once more after that little show. He knows he picked a mighty fine mate to be with until the end of his days.

The pair began down the pathway once more. Everyone’s eyes that had been on you were quick to turn away when you two started to move.

This time around, you slipped your hand in his and squeezed. Vic returned with a gentleness that’s not usually seen with him. Not out in public. This is as much as you could get out of him when there’s this many people around. This included his own species. He told you why and come to understand and respect that wholeheartedly. He, in return, knows you like a little contact, reassurance. So, he allows hand holding or his hand on your shoulder.

Vic comes to a stop in front of a vendor you two were friendly with. Jekor stood with her usual grumpy face, an arm missing, and nasty scar running over her chest.

At the sight of you two, her hardened façade cracked. “Look, it’s mah favorite two gun-lops!” That last word doesn’t translate doesn’t into English but you take it lighthearted. You knew she meant no true harm to you or Vic.

“Jekor, how have you been?” Vic greeted and slapped a might hand on her shoulder. His other still holding yours. You held onto your book as you stared up at the taller aliens before you. A bright smile on your face.

Mentioned alien rolled her eyes. “Tryin’ and goin’. Na one has an eye for the goodies anymore. Bu’ I know wha’ yer here for Vicy. Don’ worry youngster, I have safe and sound,” she said and turned away from you guys. Underneath Vic’tao’s mask, you knew he rolled orange eyes at her. Jekor was a character and a half to be around. You learned the hard way after a drink with her. Don’t drink hard stuff out here, you’ll end up somewhere thought to be impossible. Don’t ask.

That comment Jekor made you laugh. Vic’tao, in your eyes, was far from a youngster. When it came to the lean alien before you though, she was ancient, older than even the ancients back on Yautja Prime. Yet, she barely looked a day over thirty in human years. You wanted to know her secrets.

“I would hope so, Jek. I paid extra,” Vic fell into a teasing tone with her. Jekor swiped something from underneath the table and handed a box to him. You didn’t know what it was yet. Your partner deflected what is was. In time, you dropped it. You trusted Vic. “And that’s where you did it? You think that’s safe?”

Jekor rolled her eyes and rested a fist on her hip. “It’s in yer hands, ain’t it?” She had a point. Plus, similar to the Yautja, people don’t like to mess the Yarreki. There aren’t many left but they are strong and vicious.

Vic’tao huffed but knew she was right. “Yes, it is. Thank you, Jek. See you around.” With that, your little duo started the journey back to the ship he has. Your hand still encased in his. The sight made you smile.

For such a large and dangerous alien, he was so sweet and gentle with you. Most mornings, he’ll have your favorite coffee already brewing. Sometimes the reason you woke. When the days got rough, he would drop everything for you and help you through the troubles. It was the same with him.

These Yautjas may seem tough and nearly unbreakable on the outside, but they were similar to humans. Mental illnesses do run through their kind, more than you would think on the outside. Vic has his days where he breaks down. He needs someone. That someone is you. You drop everything, even in front of the elders and ancients, and run to your lover. You’re always there for him, off planet or not.

You playfully knock into his side then rested your head against his arm. The warmth easily seemed into your bones. He was truly a powerhouse for warmth. The best for when you’re on planets like this, where a jacket is necessary. Plus, space is cold.

“What is it, my mate?” he questioned and squeezed your hand. That draws your attention down.

A strange thought comes to mind. Before you could truly think, the words are already passing your lips. “I like the way my hand fits in yours.” His engulfed yours. The claws that tipped each end were sharp enough to kill you with one swipe. But he would never do that. The scene was sweet and perfect in your eyes.

Vic clicked his laugh and shook his head, short tresses smacking against one another. “You, my mate, are very strange.”

“But you love me!” you stated and bumped your hip into him. Love shined in your eyes.

“I show you my weakness and lay bare for you.” In short terms, that meant ‘I love you’ in their language. Those simple three words don’t mean much to them. Unless it was coming from you, then Vic knew it meant the same to his.

Unfortunately, with the crowds still around your pair, there was no chance to give him a kiss, quick or not. Making Vic uncomfortable was the last thing you wanted to do. Words were enough in the moment.

They didn’t mean as much as actions though.

[learnfromjobs]

Hey there, learners! Are you ready to dive into the world of innovation and entrepreneurship with me, your favorite snarky blogger? I hope so, because today we're talking about the one and only Steve Jobs.

Now, you might think you know everything there is to know about the co-founder of Apple. He's been idolized, analyzed, and dramatized to death in movies, books, and documentaries. But I'm here to tell you that there's still plenty to learn from this tech titan, even if you're not an Apple fanboy or fangirl.

Let's start with one of Jobs' most famous quotes: "Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower." Pretty bold statement, right? But the thing is, Jobs walked the walk when it came to innovation. He wasn't content to follow the crowd, copy what others were doing, or rest on his laurels. No, sirree. He was constantly pushing the envelope, exploring new technologies, and disrupting industries.

And here's the thing: you don't have to be a tech guru or a Silicon Valley insider to innovate like Jobs. You just need to be willing to challenge the status quo, think outside the box, and take risks. Maybe you're a small business owner trying to come up with a new product or service. Maybe you're an artist trying to break into a crowded market. Maybe you're just someone who's tired of the same old routine and wants to shake things up.

Whatever your situation, Jobs can teach you a thing or two about innovation. He believed that the best ideas come from a combination of intuition, creativity, and practicality. He also believed in the power of simplicity, elegance, and user experience. And he wasn't afraid to fail, or to iterate until he got it right.

So, my dear learners, let's take a page out of Jobs' book and embrace our inner innovators. Let's ask ourselves: what can we do differently? What can we improve? What can we create that doesn't exist yet? And let's not be afraid to take risks, fail, and try again. Who knows? We might just come up with the next big thing, and change the world in the process.

[learnfromali]

How to Become a Billionaire in 10 Easy Steps (According to Ali)

Hey there, folks! Today, we're going to be talking about something that's near and dear to Ali's heart - making bank. That's right, Ali knows a thing or two about becoming a billionaire, and he's generously decided to share his secrets with all of us. So sit back, grab a notebook, and get ready to take some notes.

Step 1: Get a Loan

The first step to becoming a billionaire is to get a loan. Sure, it might seem counterintuitive, but trust Ali on this one. Borrow as much money as you can and invest it in something risky. If it pays off, you're already on your way to the top.

Step 2: Take Risks

Speaking of risks, that's another key ingredient in the billionaire recipe. You can't be afraid to take chances if you want to make it big. Whether it's investing in a new company or quitting your job to start your own business, you need to be willing to put it all on the line.

Step 3: Be a Hustler

If there's one thing Ali knows, it's how to hustle. You can't sit around waiting for opportunities to come to you - you need to go out and make them happen. Whether it's networking, pitching your ideas to investors, or cold-calling potential clients, you need to be willing to put in the work.

Step 4: Surround Yourself with Successful People

As the saying goes, you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. If you want to be a billionaire, you need to surround yourself with other successful people who can mentor you and help you grow.

Step 5: Learn from Your Failures

Failure is an inevitable part of the journey to becoming a billionaire. But the key is to learn from those failures and use them as opportunities to grow and improve.

Step 6: Stay Hungry

Once you achieve success, it can be tempting to rest on your laurels. But if you want to stay at the top, you need to stay hungry and keep pushing yourself to achieve more.

Step 7: Embrace Technology

In today's digital age, technology is key to success. Whether it's using social media to market your business or using cutting-edge software to streamline your operations, you need to stay up-to-date with the latest tech trends.

Step 8: Give Back

As Ali always says, "it's not about the money, it's about the impact." Giving back to your community and supporting causes that you care about is not only the right thing to do, but it can also help boost your brand and reputation.

Step 9: Stay Focused

With so many distractions and competing priorities in today's world, it can be easy to lose sight of your goals. But if you want to become a billionaire, you need to stay laser-focused on what you want to achieve.

Step 10: Never Give Up

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, you should never give up on your dreams. Becoming a billionaire is a lofty goal, but with hard work, determination, and a little bit of luck, it's definitely achievable.

So there you have it, folks - Ali's 10-step guide to becoming a billionaire. Are you ready to take on the challenge? Let us know in the comments below!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’m a little in denial about everything with Lilia but I gotta ask: Do you think Malleus OB can “fix” Lilia in a certain way? Like how sometimes hibernation gives second wind to animals (or how humans feel better after naps.

I am very well aware I’m grasping at straws. I just don’t want my tied for favorite boy to die.

I… don’t think that’s possible, no matter how much we may want it to be.

When Vil greets Lilia at the farewell party, he asks Lilia point-blank if there “really is no other way”. Vil recalls his own predicament returning from Styx HQ as a withered old man and how Malleus was able to restore him to his youth. He asks if Malleus can do the same for Lilia so he can retain his magic and stay enrolled at NRC. To this, Lilia explicitly states that is isn’t possible. “Malleus said it himself: he cannot turn back time.” The only reason Malleus could help Vil was because some external factor robbed Vil of his time; the same is not true of Lilia, who is losing his fight with time (something everyone will naturally succumb to eventually).

Things in the world of Twisted Wonderland are destined to move forward and change, in spite of how much one may wish to remain in their current blissful, carefree school days. All Malleus is doing now in his OB state is prolonging the inevitable because he cannot accept, nor reverse, that change. The whole point of these events and the buildup to it is that “no matter how much power or magic Malleus has, he cannot do anything to change his circumstances”.

Now, I don’t know if that necessarily means TWST will actually permakill Lilia (because he is an integral part of the main cast and marketing) 💦 If time loop or dream theory turns out to be real, then it’s possible some external forces or other deux ex machina could save Lilia…? But at the same time, saving Lilia would kind of detract from what Malleus would have to learn about mortality, friendships, and change. I have no idea what direction the story is planning to go with him from hereon out or how dark the devs will be allowed to go. We’re waiting with baited breath for what’s next 🥲

Side note, I wanted to share something I noticed while thinking about how to respond to this question. So… the wording of the ask is very telling and reflective of the current state of the TWST fandom. “I’m a little in denial about everything […]”, and, “I am very well aware I’m grasping at straws. I just don’t want […]” Don’t we realize it???? We sound exactly like Malleus. We’re in denial about what’s happening and we don’t want things to change.

I wonder if this was planned out from the very beginning. The devs getting us invested in the world of TWST and its characters, only to threaten to take it all away at the very end. This relates exactly with lines Malleus drops about his beloved virtual pet: “Gao-Gao Dragon-kun is fictitious, he more or less exists in a fairy tale. If that is the case, then I don’t see a reason to put a (30 day limit) on his lifespan.” Lilia chimes in, agreeing that it is like a “never ending fantasy”, but then points out that it is because you need to eventually say goodbye that you will cherish the time spent together all the more. Notice their phrasing, all the references to desiring a fairy tale which never ends. That is what we, the players AND Malleus, want. We want to stay like this, forever and ever, locked in one place. We don’t want Lilia to go, we don’t want the third years to leave on their internships, we don’t want the students to graduate and leave us.

This is what fiction like TWST provides for us, an escape from reality, where magical things happen and we’re surrounded by fun people who always stay with you no matter how much you change in the real world—and now TWST is challenging that notion. Is it really right to want to live in an eternal dream like this, at the cost of fabricating your happiness?? Or is it better to wake up and face reality, no matter how harsh it may be?? Even if our loved ones will leave, even if Lilia will die? This is both what Malleus and we, the players, need to come to terms with, rather than continue to delude and convince ourselves to stay in “the dream” with a false sense of security.

[anarchopuppy]

You are invited to join for the first annual Weelaunee Food Autonomy Festival March 10-13. Together we will build our capacity in the forest by meeting each other, planting hundreds of fig, pawpaw, and persimmon saplings, grafting onto callery pears, and sharing in a variety of food autonomy workshops and discussions.

As we experience intensifying climate instability, economic disparity, and ecological destruction, our hands have been in the dirt, working to share food and growing techniques within the communities we inhabit. Across the continent, diverse collectives, farms, and mutual aid hubs have organized themselves, especially since 2020, and have been busy creating autonomous food systems, developing grassroots crop breeding, building food production and distribution systems for collective resilience and communal luxury—outside of the market or USDA management. These efforts at mutual aid and horizontal experimentation challenge state violence, racist dispossession, and the myth of scarcity.

At the same time, a movement in Atlanta enters a third year defending a 300 acre forest, which is threatened by construction of a police training facility (dubbed Cop City) and what would be the largest soundstage in the world, solidifying Atlanta as the new Hollywood. Those defending the forest from these dystopian projects are also creating a world outside of the market or state's control. Eggplants and fig trees sunbathe at the edge of the creek, a cold frame awaits spring germination, foragers commune with the undergrowth, and carpenters improvise structures on the ground and high in the canopy.

Restoring this forest, scarred with a history of indigenous dispossession and prison slave labor, is a complicated task. But we know autonomous food production can break the dirty cycle of land displacement and dependence on the capitalist food system. Moving in this way, towards food autonomy, is essential to the vitality of all life inhabiting the forest. We want to take this opportunity to share lessons and knowledge in all things plants, and learn from the ideas and work of others from all over, inside the fertile context of a forest occupation. Now is the perfect time to combine practical discussions of food autonomy with the movement work of defending the Atlanta forest, in what Cooperation Jackson calls a strategy of "building and fighting."

Learn more

[mostlysignssomeportents]

One weird trick to make monopolies self-destruct

Kim Stanley Robinson’s 2020 novel Ministry For the Future was a groundbreaking work: it’s the tale of a detailed, plausible transition from a world on a collision course with civilization-ending climate catastrophe to one where the challenge is met, with humanity collectively deciding to save itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/03/ministry-for-the-future/#ksr

Robinson’s book is important: it not only disproves the (variously attributed) capitalist realism aphorism that “it is easier to imagine the end of the world than it is to imagine the end of capitalism” — it also imagines the means by which that ending was brought about.

It’s a tale of what I’ve called “The Swerve”: the day we stop listening to the first class passengers at the front of the bus that’s barreling towards a cliff, rush the driver and yank the wheel before we go over the edge:

https://locusmag.com/2022/07/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

Since the book’s publication, it has been the subject of intense foment, such as the excellent Crooked Timber seminar on the book’s strengths, flaws, and future:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/12/seminar-for-the-future/#imaginations

The latest project inspired by the book comes from NESTA and The Prospect: Minister For the Future is a series of policy proposals to someone holding that office, as proposed in Robinson’s novel, for dealing with inequality, food, demographics, networks, mental health, automation, pandemics, health, and other subjects:

https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/specialreports/minister-for-the-future

I also contributed a piece: “Enticing monopolies to unwind themselves,” which addresses the existential risk of monopolies: when monopolies reign, it is all but impossible to make good policy, because the monopolists can outbid all comers and turn every truth-seeking exercise into an auction that they win:

https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/politics/enticing-monopolies-to-unwind-themselves

That is, after all, the story of the climate emergency itself: a handful of giant firms colluding to distort science, delay action — and risk billions of lives to make trillions of dollars. Monopolies create superdense concentrations of power that, like a black hole, warp the normal rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/05/eldritch-physics/#wouldnt-start-from-here

The best time to tackle monopolies would have been 40 years ago, when all over the world, regulators stopped enforcing anti-monopoly law. The second best time is now. Lucky for us, antitrust regulators have the bit between their teeth and have vowed to halt the march towards market concentration, blocking mergers rather than waving them through:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

They’ve also promised to take on existing monopolies, unwinding the predatory acquisitions and anti-competitive mergers that produced so much concentration in so many industries, which now rule over their regulators, hurting us in a million ways with utter impunity:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

But while breaking up monopolies is important work, it’s also slow work. It took 69 years to break up AT&T!

https://doctorow.medium.com/podcasting-jam-to-day-c451dd289f2

Blocking future monopolies without ending existing ones is a huge risk. Any monopoly in an industrial supply chain can destroy the smaller firms it buys from and sells to. Think of how Big Pharma’s mergers let it gouge hospitals on drug prices, leading to regional hospital monopolies that had the bargaining power to push back. But then those hospitals turned around and started screwing insurers, who also formed regional monopolies in order to defend themselves from price-gouging.

In the end, monopoly leads to monopoly, with workers and consumers at either end of the supply chain, unorganized and vulnerable, which is why health workers make less money under worse conditions and patients spend more money for worse care. It’s not enough to prevent future monopolies — we also have to break up the ones that are all around us.

How can we make that happen without waiting 69 years while the monopolists use their vast cash reserves and influence to delay the reckoning? That’s where my proposal comes in.

https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/politics/enticing-monopolies-to-unwind-themselves

I am old enough to remember when corporate raiders took over companies in order to break them up and sell them for parts, rather than merging them into monopolies. Rapacious, remorseless finance assholes once stalked the corporate world, shattering firms with impunity.

What if we brought those monsters out of retirement for one more job?

My proposal is simple: a two-year capital gains tax holiday on profits from unwinding any 21st century merger involving a firm with more than £10b in market cap: “Watch them do in months what decades of courtroom grinding couldn’t hope to accomplish.”

This is a very Ministry For the Future kind of idea — one of the novel’s subplots involves bribing oil companies to leave oil in the ground by buying up all their stranded assets, and swallowing the galling proposition of giving still more money to the people who wrecked the planet.

I’m ambivalent about my proposal for the same reason I was ambivalent about Robsinson’s stranded-assets thought-experiment. But the last time I talked with Robinson, he shrugged and said, “We’ll just take it all back with a wealth tax.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dfgfh3SYu8Y

The whole “Minister” package is a fascinating one, and there is something extremely refreshing about imagining a post-Swerve future, where high officials are bent on actually addressing our most urgent problems, backed by an unstoppable political will.

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Jimmy Baikovicius (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/jikatu/22143653260/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[Image ID: The Google 'Googleplex' office by night. It has been split in two by a giant axe, whose handle is emblazoned with the Wall Street 'raging bull' statue.]

[poohbea]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍.

geto suguru | angst | detective!au

wordcount: 1.8k

content: detective!geto, criminal!reader, established backstory, implied past relationship, a knife is used, swearing, trespassing, just a lot of stuff they haven't really worked through

synopsis: a life of crime wasn't necessarily your first choice, but after the hard life you've lived it seemed to be the only option. but this however, makes you a target and the one taking aim is an old flame.

note from pooh: this was a bit of an unplanned release, i think i wanted to expand it a bit more but after a little more thought i kinda liked it being something short and sweet like this. this was inspired by an old work of mine for something personal i had been working on (i have a few of those). but it came out lovely, so as always...

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

You perused the farmers markets of Manila, tugging the hood of your jacket over your face, blending yourself into the crowd. The owner of a fruit stall greets you kindly, offering you the specials of the morning. Thanking him coyly, the glossy produce shines in your hand as you turn it, inspecting it so thoroughly you miss the body leant against the post beside you.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you l/n?” The man in uniform eyes you up and down, hands buried in his coat pockets.

You smile. “Well, it did take you this long…” Placing the fruit back down on the stand you continued your stroll along the various stalls, eying their vibrant goods curiously. All the while trying to maintain your composure around the familiar bounty hunter at your tail. “I was starting to think you forgot about me, Detective.”

“Forget…” He scoffs and chuckles simultaneously, an amused expression on his face. “Hardly. You’ve been making my life difficult for months.”

You peered at him over your shoulder innocently. “Me? Little insignificant me?”

“Keep that attitude up and I'll cuff you right here.”

“It’s shameful to put your hands on a lady, Suguru. You of all people should know that.” You watched a challenging glint flash in his dark irises as his name left your mouth.

You enjoyed this game of cat and mouse you played. Using his first name, acting as if you'd known him for decades, it seemed to just piss him off more. You weren't friends, not in the slightest, not anymore, but it didn't make pushing his buttons any less enjoyable.

“Not if that lady has a warrant out for her arrest in over twenty countries. I’d call that necessary force.” With a switch of the basket between hands, you continue your stroll and to your dismay so did Geto.

“You know what your problem is?” You question, to which he responds with an interested gaze. “You've been on a high horse ever since you got promoted. You used to have a better moral code before you became a detective. Less… how do you say? Kiss ass.”

“And you would know a thing or two about morals?”

“At least I maintain mine, you on the other hand… have your head so far up the government’s ass I can smell what they had for dinner yesterday.”

“You know what your problem is?” He picks up a glass off the display table you were currently browsing, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Please, enlighten me oh Great Detective Geto.”

Strolling was over. He'd never let you go peacefully, the man was too stubborn for that. Once he'd found his target, there was no pulling him away from it. A trait you'd come to learn from months of this relentless pursuit.

You’d stepped into an alley way out of sight and out of the way of prying eyes littering the marketplace. The basket hanging from your forearm, empty.

“You've lost your edge. This is your life now.” He gestures to the dirty gully, water ridden and dank. “Stuck hiding yourself from the world, running away from me for the rest of your life.”

“Mm, you like to flatter yourself don’t you?” The look on his face almost made you laugh. “While you ran off to kiss political ass, I had to figure out how to make a living. You see this,” you gesture to the scar across your cheek. ” Is what I had to do to stay alive, it kept everyone alive after you abandoned us. And for what? A job as a pig?”

“You had so many other options than the fucking Underworld! Criminals y/n!” Silence befell you both.

He hadn’t addressed you by your first name in years. It was one you replaced since starting down this path. You didn’t mind, it was easier when no one knew who you were.

The regret in his eyes only made it worse because that told you he didn’t mean to let it slip out. It was a mistake.

“What should I have done, Geto? Subjected myself to slavery? Mental and physical abuse? Overworked and underpaid in a ‘stable and lawful’ occupation? I thought you knew me better than that, I really did.” You begin walking further into the alley, searching to find any way out of this conversation.

“I thought so too, but here we are having this conversation.” His footsteps mimic yours further behind.

“Don’t follow me.”

His pace picks up to match yours. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a shit what you ‘can’t’ do.” Instinctively you flinch away from his grasp, too close for comfort. “You touch me and I’m keeping that hand.”

“I have orders, l/n.” There he went with the formalities.

Coming to a fire escape you stop, analysing your escape route. “And I hate you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” That struck a nerve in you. Why? You didn’t really know.

“No! Fuck you! For everything! For all this! For your selfishness! For leaving me! For breaking my fucking heart…” It was your turn for a mistake.

He didn’t speak immediately, but his eyes graced you with sympathy, a sentiment that infuriated you more than his voice ever could. “I can’t… I…”

“You know what? Forget it, I prefer it when you act like you don’t know me anyway. I can treat you like the stranger you are now.” Securing the basket over your shoulder, you jump and take hold of the ladder, letting it fall before you make your ascent.

Geto stood speechless behind you, mindlessly witnessing your escape up the metal platforms periodically.

“Y/n, I- stop!“ He follows behind you with haste, clumsy in his oversized raincoat.

“Don’t follow me!”

An open window invites you inside, the place dim as grey clouds shielded the sun. The sound of water beating against the tiled floor told you the owner of the apartment was in the shower, the coast was clear.

“L/n!” Geto shouts, sounding a little out of breath. His face comes into view in the windowsill, cheeks pink, a layer of sweat upon his brow.

The wry expression on your face has him swearing. Bowing through the window, while probing his surroundings hesitantly.

“You don’t listen do you?” You throw the question nonchalantly as you rush for an exit, pathing your way through the strangers home like it was your own.

“Not to you, no.” Flicking hair out of his face, his feet imitate yours through the unfamiliar place, hot on your tail every step of the way.

You can't help but roll your eyes, kissing your teeth as your hand finally reaches the handle of the front door. Soon to be covered with his larger one. “What did I say about that hand Suguru?”

He takes your threat lightly with a low chuckle, not making an attempt to move. “You can certainly try.”

Right as your mouth opens a scream catches you both off guard. A middle aged woman stood in the hallway, towel clutched to her chest as she eyed you both in horror.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!” She thrusts forward a cast iron skillet, flicking the pan between Geto and you with shaky hands. Most likely the closest weapon she could find in her compromised state.

“I was just leaving!” You and Geto blurt in unison, blinking before your eyes meet in confusion.

Without a second thought you unlock the door and burst out the entrance, starting down the empty corridor to the stairwell at the end of it. Slamming into the awaiting emergency door, you force your way through it, nearly slipping whilst your foot hits the first step.

“L/n! Fuck! Y/n!” His voice echoes above you, mixing with your laugh that bounced teasingly off the walls.

“Better luck next time Suguru-!” You were made to eat those words, forced to the ground almost instantly as they left your mouth. “Get off me you piece of shit!” A whimper is drawn from your throat as his weight presses further into your chest. Did this prick really just jump from the floor above you?

“Would you stop struggling?” He grunts, hair falling into his face, dishevelled from the chase. He tries to hold off your hands and legs thrashing against his own, likely painting bruises into his skin on impact.

“Geto!” You growl, frustrated and tired, doing anything in your power to push him off you, to no avail. Somehow always being outmatched when it came to strength and size. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Just sto-“ His words die with the bob of his Adam’s apple, now imprinted with the side of a blade that threatened to draw blood. “Really now? This is what we’re doing?”

You laugh in his face. The audacity was astonishing. “Don’t act like you’ve never done the same thing to me.”

“Touché.” Was all he could manage before being silenced by the blade pressing further into his skin. “Okay, okay, okay.” He concedes, slowly sitting back on his heels with his hands raised. All the while you followed, keeping the knife close to his larynx, ready to slit his throat at any given moment.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get up and you’re not going to follow me. Got it?” You sneer, keeping a close eye on those hands of his.

He gulps, gaze shifting to the blade then your face. “I can’t. I can’t just let you go, I have a job to do. Orders to follow.”

“And those orders automatically outweigh your morals? Is that right Suguru?” With squinted eyes you feel your heart race, begging, pleading for him to just let this war between you end.

“I’m not going to go through this with you again.” His exasperated sigh has your jaw clenching.

“You’re fucking pathetic.” You curse the break in your voice, tears rimming your lash line as a wave of buried emotion hurtles toward you. “Leave me be, do I make myself clear?”

“Y/n-“

Don’t. Don’t use my name. Don’t put me through this again. “Do I make myself clear, Geto?!”

His eyes close hesitantly, nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he lets out a deep exhale. “Yes.”

That was all you needed. Withdrawing the knife from his throat you tuck it back into its sheath at your hip, before making a break for it. Your shoes squeak with each hastened step down the stairs, ears on the lookout for the patter of the detective's own footsteps behind you. To your relief they never came.

You finally make it to the exit, swinging the door open haphazardly, catching the attention of the few passers by. You pay them no mind as you draw your hood over your head, merging into the crowd effortlessly. Driving forward and missing the dark haired man in the window above watching you slip away from him yet again.

tags: @getosarea, @gardenof-venus, @sintiva, @sailewhoremoon, @okhotel, @xharia, @sakinotfound

© poohbea, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. if you intend to translate any of my works please ask permission first ♡