#and I’ve just felt the weight of that so heavily lately

[blissfulbarbie]

I Hope You're Happy / Joel Miller x Reader

Description: Joel breaks up with you, thinking that he's setting you free to chase your dreams. And you do. And he gets another girl pregnant. And you meet each other in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. And you hope the other is happy. But you're not. You're both not.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Angst angst angst. No outbreak AU.

Deep down, you knew this day would come. What did you expect, dating someone 10 years older than you? You just didn’t think it would come this soon. Or that it would hurt this much. 

As you sat there in the dimly lit living room, the weight of Joel's words hung heavily in the air. It had been a typical evening, sharing a meal and telling each other about your day, but something felt different tonight. The air seemed heavy with tension and Joel’s smiles didn’t really reach his eyes, betraying an inner turmoil that you hadn't seen before.

"Listen," he began, his voice tinged with regret, "I’ve been thinking a lot about something."

You felt a knot tightening in your stomach as you nodded, prompting him to continue.

Joel stared at the floor, avoiding your gaze. "I love you. So much. More than I ever thought I could love someone. But, I can't keep pretending that I can give you everything you deserve. I'm 35, and I've lived a life that's... complicated. I don't want to tie you down, especially when you have so much of the world left to explore."

You tried to understand his perspective. Tried to see where he was coming from but all you could think was, Why now? Why now when I’ve already fallen in love with you?

"I don't want you to look back one day and regret being with me," he continued, his voice gentle as he clasps both of your hands in his. "I couldn’t live with myself if one day you look at me and all I’d see is regret in your eyes. I want you to experience the world, to find your own path. I know you'll go on to do amazing things, and I don't want to be the reason you didn't." His eyes glimmered with tears. 

“And what about what I want?” You stared back at him, defiant. “What if I want to be here with you?”

He smiled softly and shook his head. “You know, I could be selfish and keep you here with me. But what can you achieve in this town, really? You had such big dreams when we met, remember? Don’t think I forgot.” 

He was right. You passed on a few big job opportunities in New York when you settled down with Joel, and you kept telling yourself you’d apply next week, which became next month, next year, until it never happened. Suddenly a fancy job and new apartment in the Big Apple didn’t seem appealing anymore. Not when you had Joel. 

“Dreams change.” was all you managed to get out before your throat started to tighten and you felt the prickling of tears in your eyes.

Joel pulled you in for a hug and buried his face in your shoulder. “Don’t change them for me. Never for me.” 

Deep down, you knew you had to go. Not because you wanted to, but because you knew Joel would never forgive himself if you didn’t. It was ironic and so painfully stupid that it hurt - he thought this breakup would help you and you went through with it to help him. 

So there you went. You packed your bags and you were out of there in less than a week. You moved in with a friend in New York for a couple of months until you secured a stable job and an apartment. You followed Joel's advice, exploring the world, pursuing your dreams, and building a life that was uniquely your own. You missed him more than you cared to admit, but you knew that his intentions had been pure, and in a way, it did benefit you. 

You have proper savings now, and you are a fully independent adult, carving your way painfully through a year of hard work, job searches, apartment hunting - all while navigating a broken heart. And while you love your new life, late at night in the dark of your fancy new apartment overlooking the city skyline, you often found yourself thinking, was it all worth it? 

But you shake your head out of the daze eventually. Because if it isn’t worth it then all the pain and all the tears were for nothing. So you had to love this life. Forced yourself to love it because that’s what Joel wanted for you. Joel. Even now, you still live for Joel. 

Until you didn’t. Your fingers freeze on your phone as you read the caption on Cassie’s new instagram post with a man who looks all too familiar. 

Excited to welcome a new chapter into our lives. 👶❤️

Your stomach sinks. Your phone drops to the bed. And tears sting your eyes. No. It can’t be. You pick up the phone again and there he is. Your Joel, messy hair as if he just rolled out of bed and his scruffy beard. Smiling at Cassie who’s holding a picture of an ultrasound. CASSIE? And JOEL?

You try to think back to every interaction they had during the course of your relationship but it had never been more than polite small talk at neighbourhood gatherings or run-ins at the grocery store. Wasn’t she married? Fuck this. You double tap the picture, giving it a “like”. This will give them something to talk about, you think spitefully. He wanted me to move on with my life? Well this is me, moved on. As you throw your phone to the other side of the bed, the pain finally sinks in and you cry into your pillow, wondering if you truly, will ever move on. 

In the years that pass, you try to distract yourself with work and your new friendships. On paper, your life in New York was going swimmingly well and you had even dated a couple of nice guys. Dating still gives you a little twinge in the heart but you ignore it for the most part. People would kill for the life you have and you will NOT be ungrateful about it. 

But of course, life is never that simple. Just when you think you’re able to find happiness, you get thrown a curveball. And this curveball came in the form of Joel Miller, standing in the cereal aisle of your local grocery store. He’s older, grayer, but damn him, he still looks so fucking good. You stand there staring for a moment, while he examines the box of Cap’n Crunch. As he puts the box back down and glances up, he meets your eyes and you hate this cliche, but you swear to God, time stands still. 

He whispers your name, almost in disbelief as his brows furrow. “Hey. Wow.” 

“Hey.” 

“You… How are you?” 

“I’m good. Yourself?” 

“Yeah great.”

Somehow this exchange cuts you deeper than the day he broke up with you. When did you become people who could barely speak 3 words to each other? 

Trying to alleviate the clenching of your heart, you speak up. “What are you doing here? This is the last place I thought I’d ever run into you.” 

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, I uh.. Tommy’s up here meeting a couple of friends and asked me to tag along. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out by the way, I should have texted when I knew we were heading –” 

You cut him off, not wanting to hear lies. “No, that’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to. You must be busy now anyways with the kid.” 

His eyes soften at that, guilt and pain flashing through them but you push on. “It’s fine, really. You’re not obligated to tell me these things. I just saw on Cassie’s instagram. Is she here too?” 

At that, he visibly stiffens and clears his throat as he replies, “Oh, Cassie and I aren’t together anymore. Well we were never.. But we kind of.. Yeah she’s not in the picture. It’s just me and Sarah.” 

Sarah. He had a girl. A little girl. Your stomach twists and you kind of feel like throwing up so you try to find an exit. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, Sarah is lucky to have you. I always knew you’d make a good dad.” 

He smiles for the first time in this conversation. “Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m doing half the time but she’s a good kid.” 

Enough. Enough. Enough. “Well, it was nice meeting you again Joel, and I’m glad you’re doing well–” 

“No, wait. Can we talk, please? I.. I’ve missed you. I want to talk.” Joel steps towards you as if to stop you from leaving but then holds himself back. 

“I don’t think we have anything much to say to each other anymore, Joel, don’t you think?” You chuckle a little to mask the overwhelming urge to cry. 

“I just want to know how you’re doing.” He looks at the ground, like a puppy scolded by his owner and you know you can’t resist the floodgates that pour out. You take a deep breath and let it all out in one exhale.

“Fine. You want to know? I’m doing great, just as you said I would. I make a ridiculous amount of money every year, I have a fancy apartment that overlooks the city, I have nice friends and a good life. It’s everything you wanted for me.” 

“You deserve it. I knew you would.” He says, nodding with a sad smile.

“So why don’t I feel happy yet?” You can’t believe it but you actually start to cry. Here in the middle of the damn cereal aisle in front of your ex-boyfriend. 

He stands stunned for a moment, his eyes concerned and brows furrowed. He eventually steps fully in front of you this time. His hands hesitate, as if he doesn't know where to put them, until he settles for your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I thought.. I thought you would be–” 

You bat his hands off your shoulders. “Yeah, you did. But it doesn’t matter because what’s done is done and we’ll never get it back. Any of it.” 

He says your name, pleadingly. 

“No, I don’t blame you. I left, didn't I? It was my decision too. I guess deep down some part of me thought I would be better off. And in a way I am. I really am. But I cannot lie to you and say that I’m happy Joel, because I’m not. And nothing will change that. Because this is my life now.” 

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as the weight of the years of separation hangs there. “I’m not either,” he whispers. 

“What?” 

“I’m not.. happy. Cassie and I had a fling when I was heartbroken and dealing with our breakup. She had just gotten divorced and I was.. I was planning to ask for you back. I was prepared to get on a fucking airplane and beg on my knees until you took me back. Whether that meant moving you back home or me moving here, it didn’t matter to me. We’d make it work. I just wanted you to know that I made a mistake and I shouldn’t have decided for you.” He places his hands on your shoulders again, and you let them stay this time. 

He continues, speaking quickly as if a dam has burst. “But then Cassie got pregnant. And I knew I had to make a choice. We said we’d try to raise the kid together and be a family but.. A few months after Sarah was born she just left. Literally, took off and left, and I have no idea where she went. Frankly, I don’t even care. And then I got so busy with the kid and then years passed, and I just lost the timing. What, am I just supposed to call you up 10 years after breaking up with you, telling you what a joke my life has become? How I’ve regretted every moment since you packed your bags?” 

You let all of his words sink in for a while before choking out, “And what do I do with all this information now? What do you expect me to do?” 

He’s tearing up and his voice rises a little as he replies, “Nothing. I don’t expect nothing. I just needed you to know that I never spent a day without thinking of you or loving you. And that I’m sorry. And that I wish you were happy, because if you were, then at least all of this bullshit would be worth it. But you’re not.” 

You nod, your brain not fully able to come up with words at this point, so he continues. “If you’d told me you were happy, I would have swallowed my pride, wished you well, and walked out of this store with the knowledge that at least all this pain has finally brought you joy. But we’re both hurting now, so what does that make us?” 

“Two idiots crying in the cereal aisle?” You offer with a small chuckle through your tears. 

He breathes out a small laugh. “Yeah. That it does.” 

A woman passing through the aisle snaps you both back to reality as you wipe your tears and gather yourselves. “It is really good to see you, Joel. And.. thank you for telling me all of it. It doesn’t change anything but I think I needed to hear it.” 

He shakes his head before looking into your eyes. “You know what the sick part is? 10 years ago I told you I never wanted you to look at me with regret in your eyes. Yet here you are.” 

You nod and smile sadly. There’s nothing left to say. 

His gaze turns soft. “I hope you’ll be happy someday. Maybe not now, but someday.” 

“Maybe. And yourself?” 

“Maybe.” He replies cheekily, smiling softly. With that, he pulls you in for a hug and the familiar waft of his cologne transports you back to 10 years ago when you hugged in his living room before saying goodbye, when you used to cuddle together so close at night, when he used to hug you before leaving for work. Your memories together flash before your eyes like a sick Hallmark movie except this time you know the ending. 

You feel the press of his lips against your head and you swear you hear him whisper the words “I love you” but you can’t be sure because your heart is pounding and you can feel it in your ears. Your life from this point on will always be divided into before and after. The point where you know, you just know, the choice you made is irreversible. You will never have Joel Miller ever again.

As you pull away, you both tearfully smile and look at each other for the last time. You spend a good minute just looking, memorizing the other’s face. You both don’t bother with the polite pleasantries of promising to keep in touch because you know that would be a lie. It would be too painful. This is your fate now. 

You walk past each other, leaving your memories and feelings behind in the dust of your footprints. To passersby, you look like strangers. Passing each other in the cereal aisle, meeting for a moment and then never again. And maybe that’s what you are now. Strangers, destined to be in each other’s lives for a moment, and then never again. 

Joel eventually goes back home to Austin, and you stay in your beautiful apartment which seems to be mocking you with how big and yet empty it feels. 

Joel looks at his daughter and wonders what it would be like if this kid was yours, and you stare at your phone, a message from your new date asking you to confirm a meeting time flashing on your screen.

Joel wonders what life would be like if you’d stayed. You wonder the same thing.

Tag list: @just-some-random-blogger @joeldjarin @pattwtf

[lovedrruunk]

‘Awkward meetings ❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Venture (Overwatch x reader)

Authors note!! ＼(＾▽＾); second venture fic!! Tbh I just rlly rlly rlly hated my last one so I’m giving it another go bc I’m actually just so in love with them.. If you see me pocketing the HELL out of a venture mind yer damn business. also im having a pretty tough time coming up with scenarios so id rlly appreciate some ideas!

This was new. Sloane wasn’t nervous; they weren’t the nervous type! They’re bold, and fun, and eccentric (in a good way!) and they most definitely weren’t nervous! So why was it that each time you came around they seemed to trip over their words?

“Young love…” Tracer and Angela couldn’t help but smile, looking at the two of you from a distance as they were enjoying their coffee in Gibraltars HQ lounge.

Any regular person would call them crazy for seeing anything romantic about your awkward short interactions, but knowing both of you when you’re apart tells them everything they’d need to know.

“Yea!... I like your nails! They look… aesthetically pleasing…”

“Oh, thank you! Yea um- painted them myself!”

“Really? Wow! That must’ve taken like… a billion years!”

“Haha!...Yea!”

In the distance, both women were heavily facepalming. They couldn’t help but cringe at the conversation, and as cute as the two of you were, awkwardness had its limits and you two seemed to hit it a while ago.

Sloane didn’t plan on the conversation going this way, they promise! It’s just each time they try talking to you their palms start to sweat and their knees start to wobble and the only thing they can focus on is your face and your voice and trying to think of the right joke to make you laugh and suddenly all those late nights of coming up with scenarios in their head of what to say to you while giggling and kicking their feet are left completely forgotten. All the diary entries describing exactly what they would say and do in order to at least be your friend have now gone to waste.

To be more than an acquaintance to you, that's all they’re asking for, they’ve lowered their standard and yet they couldn’t even reach it!

With a heavy sigh, they turn to look at you, wanting to give the conversation one more try. “Look… I’m really sorry for how lame I'm being. To be honest, I just think you’re really cool and it feels like I have no idea how to approach you!” They smile as they feel their nerves calm now that they’ve confessed to their nervousness. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy they had decided to break the ice first.

“Oh gosh okay, I’m so glad I’m not the only one who felt that way!! I’ve always thought you were cool and funny, honestly I just really wanted to get to know you.”

At this point, you were both smiling and it seemed like the heavy atmosphere had completely vanished now that you were both being transparent.

In the background, Tracer and Angela celebrated quietly, proud of the two of you for finally being able to act normal around one another. You two spent the next couple of minutes warming up to each other as you laughed and joked making plans to hang out, a warm feeling now in your chests.

“Y’know I don’t even know why I was so intimidated in the first place…”

“You could sense my gay agenda.”

[starogeorgina]

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen × OC

1.12

You stare at Aegon as he sleeps, your eyes glued to his chest, terrified his breathing would stop at any moment. The hour was late, and your children were asleep with several knights posted outside the nursery they slept in, along with Rhaenyra’s younger sons. With everything that had happened recently, the castle had an eerie silence to it, making everyone more on edge, waiting for the next attack to happen and the next tragedy to strike. In the last few days, your heart feels like it's been ripped apart, leaving you empty and hollow, making it hard for you to think straight.

The flames of three candles flicker gently, casting a warm glow around the room and providing just enough light to see the sorrow etched on your uncle's face. He knew what you were feeling, as he had lost his second wife during childbirth along with their baby, and now he and Rhaenyra had lost a daughter.

“You may go, uncle,” you say quietly. “The hour is late, and the queen needs you by her side, so there's no point in you exhausting yourself and staying up all night.”

“It was Rhaenyra who told me to watch over you.”

Of course. Daemon was your babysitter until you could be trusted not to burn anything else down.

A few hours after you returned to Dragonstone, Daemon informed you, Alyssa, that your sweet daughter had been killed, and ever since you felt a mixture of emotions, grief being the strongest one. The question of whether you could have saved her if you stayed will haunt you forever. You clench your fists tightly, feeling the weight of both Alyssa and Harys loss pressing heavily on you. Both of them had been taken from you in a devastating manner, one that no parent should ever have to live through. Two rat catchers Daemon had hired to kill Aemond after he attacked Lucerys, double-crossed him, and killed your daughter as she slept.

It was unclear who paid blood and cheese to return to Dragonstone and commit such a horrendous act against a child, but you didn’t believe it was Aemond. Not when he still thought your children—at least your daughters—were his own.

The person you once were was long gone, and in the place of a princess who was once selfish and carefree was a scattered and broken woman. Your insides burn with an unyielding determination to avenge those you lost, yet you remain close to your family.

“Theo?”

Hearing Aegon’s hoarse voice pulls you away from your thoughts. Leaning forward, you take his unburnt hand and press a gentle kiss to the back of his unburnt hand multiple times. “You're awake.”

“I dread to think about what I’ve woken up to. I was dreaming of us.”

“Of us?” Your eyes shoot across the room to Daemon, who bows his head slightly before leaving the room. You doubted he would go far, but at least he was gracing you with some privacy.

“Do you remember when you demanded a foot rub from me and Aeron copied me? I dreamt I was back there, with you and the children.”

You remember the memory fondly. It wasn’t long after the bump of your third pregnancy started to show that your daughters played with their toys on the floor beside the chair you sat on in your bedroom. Aegon took pity on you when he saw how swollen your feet and ankles were and gently removed one of your shoes and began massaging your foot to try and relieve the pain. Aeron watched Aegon for a few moments, then pulled your other shoe off and started trying to copy his ‘uncle’. The both of you smiled at how sweet your son was.

“You had the babe.”

The feeling of his hand resting against your soft stomach brings you back to reality. You press your hand atop his as tears roll down your cheeks. The cheerfulness in his voice pains you. “I had the baby,” your voice cracks. “It was a boy; I named him Harys.”

“Is he asleep? I suppose the hour is late; I wish to see him when he wakes.” The drowsiness in his voice from the milk of the poppy becomes more evident the more Aegon speaks. “Theodora?”

The pain of delivering bad news was something you weren’t familiar with. Up until recently, nothing bad had really ever happened in your life aside from losing Tracy, and now, in the space of ten days, your father had died, Rhaenyra had her crown usurped, the both of you had given birth to dead babies, Alyssa was murdered, and both Lucerys and Aegon almost died. You look at your brother and can see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes as you mentally prepare to tell him everything.

“Theo,” he says, turning to you, sensing the gravity of the situation. His brows knit together in concern. “What is it? What happened?”

“Harys,” you begin, swallowing hard. “Harys didn't make it.”

—

After breaking fast with Aerion and Alina, you watch the two of them tearfully as the ladies-in-wait chosen by Rhaneyra prepare to help you get dressed. You were still in pain from Dallax crashing into the water and giving birth, but you refused the maester when he offered you something for the pain. You didn’t wish to cloud your judgment anymore.

“Which gown, princess?” The younger lady in waiting asks while holding up two dresses. One was crimson red with black detailing, and the other was black with a red undercoat.

“The black one.”

She nods and hands the other dress to the lady behind her. Her soft eyes flicker between you and your children. “Do you wish for them to be taken to the nursery while you are getting ready?”

“No, leave them be.” Although it was deemed improper, your son and daughter had both witnessed much worse than their mother getting changed in the same room as them. Alina would be too young to comprehend or remember anything that had happened, but it fills you with fear knowing Aeron would.

Neither your son nor your daughter look up from their toys while you get changed. The fabric of the dress was smooth against your freshly oiled skin. Since you arrived back in Dragonstone, all the gowns brought to you had the color black incorporated, a very obvious sign of showing what side you were backing.

The thought of being a family divided made your eyes well up with tears again, but they didn't fall this time. You need to be much stronger than usual; you need to hold it together; otherwise, grief would consume you.

“Mama?”

You look down at Alina. “Yes, sweetling?”

“Can we visit Uncle Aegon now?”

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure. Aegon was devastated when you told him your baby didn’t survive childbirth, but learning Alyssa died completely broke him. You stayed by his side and slept into the night until the milk of the poppy took effect and he fell into a deep slumber again.

Forcing a smile, you say, “Perhaps we shall see how he is feeling first.”

—

“Aegon,” you say quietly, not wanting to disturb your brother if he hasn’t fully woken up yet. “I have a young prince and princess here who wish to say hello. Do you feel up—”

“Yes,” he answers before you even finish the question.

Hearing Aegon’s voice, Alina brushes by your legs and runs to him excitedly, but she pauses, and when she reaches the bed, she notices the damp bandages covering one side of his body. Alina climbs up onto the bed and snuggles beside Aegon’s good side. Smiling, you pick up Aeron and walk over to the bed. He seems more frightened than his sister by Aegon’s appearance and buries his head into your neck.

You sit down across from the bed, still holding your son. Prince Daemon had been lurking nearby all morning, making sure you didn’t do anything rash, but knowing he and two knights were outside the room made you feel a little safer.

After some time, both children fall asleep, and you place Aeron beside his sister on the bed. In a hushed tone, Aegon begins speaking with you in your mother tongue. “Have you heard from our mother or Aemond?”

You stare at him for a moment, trying to determine if he’s being serious or if the milk of the poppy is messing with his mind. “What would Aemond say to me? I’m sorry, I almost killed you and started a war by attacking our nephew.”

“We started the war.”

"No, we didn’t,” you snap defensively. “We refused to usurp the rightful heir to the throne, that is all. We had nothing to do with Aemond attacking Lucerys.”

“No, we didn’t. But we are the reason Aemond snapped. Do you really think he wouldn’t have put two and two together when I left with Aeron?”

Your lip trembles. You had spent years flaunting the privilege of being a princess without facing consequences for any ill actions. You had even started to become a little brazen with your affair while pregnant with your twins. But you still didn’t believe Aemond knew the truth; if he had, he would have flown on Vhagar to Dragonstone and burned it to the ground, or at least died trying.

A lump forms in your throat. “What can we do about it now? We’ve all made our choices and need to live with them.”

“Does he know the babe is gone? That my daughter is gone?”

“No, I did think about letting our mother know, but I wouldn’t know what to say. We have no idea of what version she has heard. Your eyes tear up again. Despite everything, you never wanted to be at war with Aemond; he was still your brother. “I don’t know how to make this right, Aegon. I can’t bring Alyssa back; I don’t know how to make this pain go away.”

All the pent-up emotions burst out at once as you began to sob hysterically. The pain of losing two children was far too much for you to bear. When you regain composure, you almost chuckle, seeing that both your children are still sleeping.

Aegon carefully stretches his inburnt arm over and cups your face. “I think you should write to mother.”

“What about our sister? I don’t want her to think this is a slight against her if I do.”

The door to the room opens, and Prince Daemon, who had been eavesdropping, enters with a stern look on his face. “I shall speak with our Queen while you write to your mother. Word has just come from King's landing; it is believed you and Aegon are dead.”

—

You stand around the painted table, joined by the others in the black council, as they discuss war plans. Although your sister is advised to take her dragons into battle, Rhaenyra shows restraint and refuses to bring dragons into war, knowing that more innocent lives would be lost than enemies defeated. Plus, bringing the dragons into battle meant risking their riders' lives, and that’s not a mistake she would make again when it came to her family.

“Fucking green usurper cunts!”

Rhaenyra dismisses everyone from the room aside from yourself, Daemon, Rhaena, and Lord Coryls. Prince Jacaerys insisted on not leaving his brother's side unless absolutely necessary, and Princess Rhaenys and Lady Baela had gone to Rook’s rest on the dragon's back. The most recent news from the keep had the black council furious. “I fear this is a story fabricated by my grandsire. Twisting the truth to suit his own agenda is a skill he excels at.”

Apparently the stress of the death of King Viserys caused you to lose your baby, and you had gone mad with grief. The fearless King Aegon II of his name and Prince Aemond had gone flying on their dragons to attempt to bring you back home safely when you were attacked by the blacks. The dragons fought, and Aemond was the only survivor, and he claimed his brother died saving him.

“Is anyone foolish enough to believe this?” Lady Rhaena asks.

“No,” you answer plainly. “But nobody on the King's Council will question the story, not if they value their lives. Aegon told me our grandsire had lords who refused to bend the knee hanged in the courtyard, even those who were loyal allies to my father.”

Rhaenyra places her head on her chest as her eyes become teary. She seems genuinely shocked and upset by this news.

“Forgive me your grace, I assumed—” you're cut off when a knight enters the room, holding a scroll in his hand.

The knight bows his head at his queen. “My Queen,” he says, then turns to face you and nods his head. “Princess, a raven has arrived from the king's landing addressed to you.”

Your heart flutters with nervousness as you take it from him; you recognise the handwriting as your mother, and a little flicker of hope bubbles inside you. If anyone could help meditate, it was her; she would be furious with you and Aegon, but you prayed she would understand. Your hands shake as you open the letter and start to read it.

“Well?” Daemon says it impatiently. “Who is it from?”

“My mother,” you gasp, tears of rage forming in your eyes.

Rhaenyra holds onto her husband's arm, concern etched on her face as you ball your hand into a fist, scrunching the letter. Her gentle touch softens Daemon’s facial expression as they both realize something is wrong. Stomach acid burns in the back of your throat. How could she? How could she?

“Theodora, what’s wrong?”

Seconds before a piercing scream of anger erupts from your throat, Dallax roars loudly in the distance.

[swelling-ftm-belly]

My Werewolf & Me

You took me raw and quick a few months ago, for the first time. I’ve known you for a while in your human form, you used to stalk and hang around the diner where I worked shifts, you used to sit behind a table and pretend to not watch me from afar, while I knew your stare was resting heavily on my body. You watched me, so intent, I walked by you many times and caught a glimpse of you staring at my butt, so hungrily. 

I thought you were a creep but couldn't help being weirdly drawn to you. Your intense, brownish eyes sent goosebumps down my spine, and the way you licked your lips when our eyes met. You had red flags all over you.

But here I was, on my back, legs wrapped around you, you massive cock buried deep inside me. You growled in my ear how you have been celibate for ages, for ages didn’t get to release your seed. I was too horny to pay attention to the way your body transformed, how you grew a full coat of fur, while you were above me pressing my body with your weight, thrusting into me, the tip of your cock breaking into my cervix. It was too late when I realised I was having sex with a big, hairy, horny werewolf.

Your cock was stretching my tight hole to the max, and I was eager to take you all in - I was a prude before I met you, it was as if you had awakened a deep desire within me, to be filled with your cock. You looked deeply into my eyes while you were mounting me, your face was totally a wolf’s, except your eyes which I recognised, I was moaning, my moans got so high that you put your clawed, furry hands over my mouth, while increasing the pace of your thrusts as if you were on a mission. You pressed me hard as if afraid I’d leave, and I wouldn’t.

You were as surprised as me of how eagerly, hungrily I was taking you inside, I wrapped my legs tighter around you to gesture my willingness, so you deepened your thrusts, your shaft going all the way out then all the way in with great rigor, I let out muffled screams, my tight and small belly being taken over by your enormous, lustful member. I felt it twitch and pulsate, and I knew what was coming.

I was being creampied by a werewolf. I felt your hot thick load fill my womb and expand it, you kept ejaculating ropes of hot semen, I was glad to take all that warmth. It was a warmth that my cold, empty womb longed for. 

I felt my lower belly expand, filling up with your semen, and when I thought you’d pull out and let it all spill, you knotted me. 

For the next few days I walked around carrying your semen inside me, my lower belly already showing a slight bump. When I didn't see you at the diner for multiple days, I began to worry that you might have abandoned me.

On my way back home one of those nights, I heard a low growl and I knew it was you. In the dark I felt your strong, big hairy arms carry my body so swiftly, you held me securely and ran taking me into the deep, dark woods.

I found myself on all four being pounded again by your massive cock. You put multiple loads in me that night. And in the morning, you took me back to town. 

I realized that you have become a full werewolf, and that you can never go back to your human life, or your human form. Just about the time that my symptoms started. I started waking up nauseous, and when I skipped work for multiple days, they let me go. And you came to find me. 

You came knocking my windows at night. You offered to take me away, but once I go with you, there won’t be going back to the human world. 

I was aware of my pregnancy. It was just so soon, it didn’t take you long to knock me up, massively. My human womb was so eager to carry and grow your pups. I just knew then that it didn’t make sense for me to live in the human world when I was carrying my werewolf’s litter in my belly.

You carried me as you did the other night to your hiding place in the woods. I found that you already prepared it for me, for a human to feel comfortable and satisfied. Once I settled in, you provided me with food. We started fucking.

Over the coming days, my nausea would subside and the pregnancy hormones would drive me even more crazy for your cock. And you were quite pleased with it. You kept me safe, cared for and well fed, while taking me raw and breeding me whenever you wanted. My belly was swelling with multiples, and it didn’t take long to be so massively pregnant that I could barely move.

I delivered your 4 pups that summer, and once mh belly was empty, you kept breeding me until I swelled again, and so soon, with another litter. I knew then that my werewolf was going to keep me pregnant, giving him as many pups as he wanted. 

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 04

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess?  Word Count: ~12K

As soon as we arrived in Verona, regret and shame hit me right in the gut. Seeing my grandpa's unsteady gait as he rushed to meet Rio, the tears in his eyes, and the quivering voice with which he whispered "my grandson works at Ferrari" made me realise the magnitude of his achievement.

"My grandson works at Ferrari." My brother works at Ferrari .

The words rang like a church bell in my head the whole week. Mixed feelings fighting inside— the fear of being alone, the disappointment to have it all hidden from me and the regret of having said such harsh things to the person I love and admire most in the world.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d tried to apologize, Rio would refuse to talk with me outside any mandatory meeting.

I’d messed up. There was no doubt about it. And I needed to do something about it.

But there were two races left to win and a championship to grab and if I wanted my name on that trophy, I needed to completely focus on racing. So, no matter how much shame and guilt weighed on my lungs, I needed to ignore everything going on outside the track.

That included my brother. That included Carlos, who had tried to call me twice during the week. That also included my dad and his constant talks about contracts and the promises for next season.

I forced myself to put a tampon over these feelings, stopping myself from even talking about them. And the worse thing about the roof of an empty hotel room is the fact that late at night it can become a mirror; Each night I was faced with myself, and the effects of all that had happened in the last weeks.

Regret and anxiety. Pressure and fear;

The weight of all these emotions and the expectations people around me held for that weekend weighed heavily on me. When I stepped onto the track on that Saturday for the first race of the weekend, the air was heavy and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Passion fighting head to head with the anxiety. The emotions inside burst with the same intensity as the ones on the grandstands.

Imola’s grid was full, but my eyes couldn’t focus on the dozens of cars aligned on the track, not even on the black and red Ferrari parked in front of me, at the first mark of the grid.

The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced before.

The noise was constant, a low rumble that rose and fell with the action on the track. And now, they were silent, observing us. I had watched them the day before, I’d felt their passion at the end of the qualifying session in the morning, from where I’d gotten my sixth pole position of the season. Each time a car drove by, the crowd erupted in joy, a sea of red and yellow taking over the grandstands. It was an incredible sight and sound, either standing on the track or inside the car.

I had never felt that kind of energy; such an electric atmosphere, the crowd burning with anticipation.

The passion .

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.

“10 minutes.” Rocco’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing next to me, headphones over his head. “They need you back in the car.”

Right . I just nodded. My mind was focused on just one goal: to be the first car to reach the finish line, whatever the cost. And, by starting in pole position, it didn’t seem like a hard challenge.

It was a hot day in northern Italy. The tarmac was hot under my feet and the air was hard to breathe in. I could feel the sweat forming in my temples and my chest, even before having my suit on. I had it hanging down my waist, a cold vest around my torso, trying to stay cool amid the heat wave happening throughout Europe.

As I approached the car, I felt the adrenaline taking over.

Rio was standing next to the door, already opened to welcome me. My helmet, mainly black with red and yellow stripes framing the vizor, was resting on top of the Ferrari 488 EVO. I got my balaclava and suit on, feeling his gaze burning on my skin. Before entering the car, I dared to look at him.

My eyes travelled up and looked into his.

A dreamer's gaze. Hopeful smile and deep green eyes, always looking beyond the horizon that lay ahead of him. The gleam. A deep, calming voice that inspires confidence. He had always been like this. Strong-willed, driven by ambition, by the paths he waves for himself, by the paths he chooses for himself; never turning back, never giving into somebody else’s dreams, no matter what obstacle he encountered along the way.

A dreamer, not a planner.

And there I was, blaming him and someone else for making it real.

Carlos’ meddling was more about not postponing the step Rio was meant to take, rather than coming up with one for him.

We were doing well in the Challenge, but as I looked around where I was standing, I knew we had done everything we had and could do here. We both knew it was time for a new future, time to take the step. And even if I was not ready for it, he was. I knew he was. He knew it too. And his apologetic look, as I got ready for what would be, possibly, the first of our last races together, told me everything I was trying to ignore.

There was a lot at stake. Even more than just a championship.

This was for Rio, too. For his future.

“You’ve done it loads of times,” he straightened my suit, tucking my braided hair snugly between the black and red suit and the dark fireproofs. “You’ve got this.”

Rio left me after a short hug. I looked around at the dozens of people walking around the grid, their hurried footsteps and the voices that overlapped each other creating a murmur that screamed louder than my thoughts. I remained silent, straightening the balaclava lines around my eyes and nose as I watched the other pilots.

“Ready?” Pietro’s voice made me turn to the car. The old mechanic stood with my helmet in his hand. “You seem tired, Evita.”

“Tough weekend,” I said, taking the helmet he extended in my direction.

He scrunched his nose. “Not ideal,” he said before patting my shoulder. “But I know you’ll get around when you get inside.”

I nodded, sliding the helmet over my head. “We won’t disappoint you today, don’t worry,” I reassured the old man, before completely lowering the helmet around my head.

The second I slid into the cockpit, I felt my heart rate picking up and the heat becoming almost unbearable, as the height of the expectations slowly took over my mind and manifested themselves on my body. While the mechanic made sure I was secure and all the seat belts were adjusted, I focused on the track ahead. No car in sight.

Yet.

They would come.

I waited for the sign, my hands resting on the wheel. My door was still open.

Silence fell on the track.

The calm before the storm.

Pietro leaned inside and my hand left the wheel to hold his. The old man squished it, looking into my eyes. He was a bit older than my father; he carried his age on his grey hair and moustache, and around the lines near his eyes, where the skin wrinkled when he smiled. I closed my vizor with one hand and squished his with the other.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina ,” he said, still holding my hand in his. It was a promise he always made and one he always fulfilled. I’ll wait for you at the finish line.

And then the door was closed.

Looking at my rearview mirror, I could see the last of the personnel leaving the track with urgency as the engines started to roar. Pietro was among them, now joining Rocco, waiting on the other side of the pit wall.

The storm was arriving.

Gradually, the grunt of the engines took over the circuit. My car awakened around me, vibrating, singing in my ears. A perfect melody. My lips were taken over by a smile as my hands settled on the steering wheel.

The race began on the formation lap, with Pulcini’s not-so-subtle taunts. I could see the black and yellow car appear in the peripheral field at every turn, remembering he was there. He would be there at the start, posing a threat to my much-envied position.

Besides my car and the nineteen turns ahead, Andreas Pulcini was my only worry. My direct competitor for the championship. We had a comfortable margin between us but I knew a bad race could switch things around. If he knew how to push my nerves on and off track, I knew how to retribute.

Each time he tried to poke at me and threaten my position, I returned the favour by playing my part in that mental game that began even before the lights went off. I was the one who held the power. The one in control. And that fed my ego.

As always in the Ferrari Challenge, it was a rolling start. I had the power to control the rhythm. I stepped on the brake as I entered the last turn. The Safety Car was no longer in sight. My eyes were focused on the lights. The cars were slowing down around me. Slow, slow, slow.

At any moment those lights would go off. The red would cease.

And then, the whole grid would step on the accelerator.

And at that moment, it was only me and the car, the embodiment of power and speed. The second the lights went off, I pressed the accelerator. My car lurched forward easily, cutting through the main straight, side to side with the blue car.

First turn, Pulcini was closing in dangerously, Fox just tenths behind him.

The car was handling them beautifully. I was flying. As I got to Tamburello, I had them behind, fighting each other. I could see them in my rearview mirror, but my focus was on the road ahead.

Each turn, each straight, a dance.

Grande macchina! Adrenaline was taking over. My blood was rushing through me quickly, energy building up in my body. My eyes followed the curves, the car drawing the correct lines. A comfortable margin grew between me and Pulcini. I was in the right headspace, my car was behaving beautifully. Everything seemed to be working as planned.

“Car stopped at turn 12.” I heard it on the radio. “Be careful.”

“Safety Car?”

“Yes,” the answer came quickly. “You know what to do.”

As I went through Aqua Minarelli, I saw a purple and yellow car over the grass; no signs of impact.

“Is she okay?” I asked after not seeing the driver next to the Ferrari.

“Driver’s okay.”

A Safety Car could be both salvation and doom and at that moment, it was a threat to my lead. I had to stay calm. The distance that had grown between me and Pulcinni was beginning to shrink. The three laps we spent behind the Safety Car were enough to turn the seconds I had managed to win over both Pulcini and Fox into tenths.

“Safety car in this lap.” I heard and looking in my mirror I could see them at my heels, so close.

As the green flags were waved and the race restarted, the engines roared louder. As I got to the main straight, while trying to keep away from my two competitors, I felt the car struggling.

“Something’s off. Losing power.”

“We’ll take a look after the race,” the answer came quickly.

Pulcini was right behind me, taking advantage of my power loss. If you can’t be fast, be smart. I remembered my Sainz Sr’s old advice. I took a deep breath. Turn by turn, that’s the plan. Despite the power loss, the car was behaving beautifully. As we got to Tamburello, I could feel Pulcini’s car close to mine but I held my line and came out ahead.

“Brava, Eva!” I heard on the radio. “Keep going.”

I couldn’t pull away from him.

He was smart and fast. I kept defending as best as I could, but it became harder every time he tried to get past me. The second time we went through the main straight we were side to side. My heart was in my throat as I saw the other car right behind him.

Fuck no .

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

As we entered Turn 1, he was still there. I refused to give up the fight. There was no way I would let him go away and take the lead from me. I knew him, I knew exactly how he would try to overtake and all I could do it take it difficult for him. Block his moves and think ahead. I braked as late as I possibly could and, as expected, he did the same. What I didn’t expect was to be pushed off track.

“Stronzo! Imbelice!” I yelled to the silence, feeling the car spin on the grass, after a strong impact on my rear.

There was no friction as the car turned on the grass. I prayed to not make contact with the barrier or another car. My head was bobbing in my seat, preventing me from having a clear view of the circuit. The cars passing by me just looked like blurs.

My chances would be gone if I didn't finish that race.

“Are you okay?”

As soon as I regained control, I accelerated. The car was back on track. Pulcini was not behind me, I couldn’t see him in the mirrors.

“Fine. Position?”

“P4. Fox is P1. Pulcini next.” No. Fuck, no. These men won’t take the win away from me. “Just bring it home, Eva. We have tomorrow.”

Andreas was ahead? Fuck no.

“That fuc— Ah!” I stopped myself from cursing in my engineer's ears. I repeatedly slammed my clenched fist into the steering wheel, immediately grunting in pain. What a fucking disaster.

“Pulcini is 0.7 ahead,” I heard Dante’s voice on the radio, a few laps later. “Fox, 3.5.”

“Copy that,” I just said, my focus on the car ahead. He was faster, I knew it, but he was losing time just like me. Although my car wasn’t okay, neither was his. We were in the same position. It was a fair fight.

“Krogen behind,” a pause, “she’s faster than you.”

No, no, no.

I was shaking my head, even though he couldn’t see me. I could see the pink car in my rearview window. I was ahead, the margin was not too short but it was enough to make me worry.

I knew what I had to do, I was trying to do it but the car was not responding.

Besides, I had Pulcini less than a second away. I needed to focus on him, attack him and move forward and not let him escape while I was busy defending from Krogen. The main straight was the longest part of the track and the perfect place to regain my position but when I got there Pulcini was too far ahead to reach. I needed another lap.

“Time left?” I asked on the radio.

“Five minutes, plus one lap.”

Okay. That could be three laps, four maybe. I could do it.

I had absolutely no chance to overtake him that lap. My car didn't cooperate and I felt like I was fighting the tide. I felt my blood boiling with frustration, especially seeing Pulcini so easily evade my attempts to overtake him.

“Krogen is half a second behind,” I heard again. “Pulcini, 1.3”

Fucking hell.

I was trying, really fucking trying, but the car was unresponsive. I was pushing to the limit, but it just wouldn’t go any faster. I was shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, fears and doubts. I was trying to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast.

I had been so focused on Pulcini and Fox that I had neglected Krogen. And she was taking full advantage of it. She was right there. She was coming too fast.

“What is happening with the car? Do I have damage?”

“We believe so,” Fuck . What a shitshow. “Bring it home. The fight’s tomorrow.”

Fuck that.

My eyes were on the mirrors. Krogen was close, way too close for comfort. And Gostner, in the blue and white car, was right behind. I needed to defend like hell if I wanted a chance at winning the championship that day, in front of that amazing crowd.

But as we got to the last turn and faced the straight ahead, I came to the realization: there was nothing else to do.

Even though I exited the corner better, my car just couldn’t keep up with her speed. She overtook me in the straight. Gostner was very close to doing the same.

“Last lap.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I screamed in the silence of the car, my screams being muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine.

Gostner became my challenge. He was young, with little experience. That was my salvation. The lack of experience and confidence made it easier for me to hold him behind in the last lap remaining.

I crossed the finish line in P4, 0.4 seconds behind Krogen. 0.4 seconds away from my championship. It was not lost, but, at that moment, the disappointment rushed over me, taking me whole.

There was a dark haze floating around my mind when I parked the car on the pit lane, vision blurred by tick tears, weighted by anger. Pietro was there to unleash me from the seatbelts, as he promised. I didn’t take off my helmet or even raised my vizor.

“I’m sorry, donnina ,” he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Behind the tick layer of tears, I could see Fox celebrating his win. I would congratulate him on it, but right now I felt as like being crushed by the weight of the world. I raised my vizor to clean the tears and the sweat forming around my eyes. And then, feeling like I would explode if I continued sitting there, I got out of the car.

My helmet shielded me from the chaotic atmosphere that had settled in the pit lane. People would move out of the way as I crossed through the crowd, walking towards the garage. I left my helmet on one of the counters and desperately tried to get rid of the balaclava. Lungs aching for a breath of fresh hair. Pressure grew on my chest. A cloud blinded me.

I grabbed a bottle of water and left.

Some strands of hair were sticking to my face as I walked aimlessly around the paddock, the sweat pooling on my temples and cheeks, as I tried to find a safe place to be left alone with the ticking bomb my mind had become.

I ended up sitting on the floor, my back against the wall of a truck, hiding from the curious looks that shamelessly followed me. I was still shaking when I sat down, feeling like I was going to vomit. So much was happening inside. I willed myself to take deep breaths.

Each second of the desired silence and quietness was making me overthink every lap of the race and each decision that led me to my result. The voice of the inner impostor was taking control of my own mind. I felt powerless. The pressure in my chest increased as my rib cage seemed to shrink around my heart and lungs, working faster and faster.

My arms were shaking.

I felt my muscles tense and darkness took over my vision.

Without feeling it, I was rocking my body back and forth, with the palms of my hands resting on my chest. Trembling, I brought my fingers to the zipper of the suit, opening it up, and then to the collar of the fireproof, pulling the fabric down. I wasn’t breathing. I was slipping into some sort of deep panic.

I was crumbling under the pressure and frustration, the fear and insecurity. I had been reckless and immature. I didn’t read the race well. I underestimated a driver and suffered the consequences. I ignored my team, which was waiting for me at the pit lane.

I opened the water bottle. My dry lips, relentlessly wrapped along the bottle, drinking the cool water with desperation, trying to escape that living nightmare. I poured water into my hands and splashed the cold liquid over my face. I leaned my head against the wall, my hands at the side of my body, touching the hot tar where I was sitting.

I can smell burnt rubber. I can see the flag that the wind waves. I can hear the crowd. I can feel the heat of the tar on my fingertips. I can feel the cold drops of water running down my neck. I can see the pigeon crossing the sky. I can smell the fuel. I can feel the texture of my suit. I can hear the giggle of a child. I can hear the engines. I can smell the sweat. I can taste it on my lips.

                                                        *  

I don't know how much time it took until I felt grounded enough to get back to the garage. Head down, suit secured around my waist, and my hair up in a ponytail, I made my way back under the curious eyes of a couple of people in the paddock. A couple of feet ahead, Pulcini stood next to Krogen. His lips turned into a small smile, and his hand went up in the air, waving in my direction. His long dark hair was still wet from the champagne. I waved back at him and before he could catch me to exchange some words (and probably apologize for whatever had happened in the race), I rushed to the garage.

Rio was in the middle of the mechanics, all of them hunched over the hood of the car. Their heads turned to me when I entered, and slowly each one of them went back to work, except for my brother, whose eyes lingered on mine for one more second.

“Is it too bad?” I asked, and like my voice was a trigger to his action, his head went back down.

The air in the garage grew tense. Immature. I just turned my head to Pietro, standing next to him, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us.

“We can fix it, don’t worry,” Pietro said, patting my brother’s back as he stood up straight. I walked over to them, stopping on the other side of the car. In between us, the car, Rio had his hands dirty with dust and oil.

“Sure we can. What can I do?”

“Nothing, Eva. Go back to the hotel and get some rest,” replied my brother.

Pietro brought his heavy hand to my shoulder. “You can help me once we start working in the rear, donninna .” I nodded. “Now, go eat something. Rest.”

Once again, I nodded before walking to the back of the garage where a small workbench and a couple of tools were. I sat down, my attention on my brother and the group of mechanics. Their hands moved with the precision of a machine. A couple of movements, a couple of voices and sounds echoed throughout the garage as if it would be the one thing that would guide me out of the miasma.

“She’s okay,” I heard my father’s voice. My head turned to the door, watching him walk through, with the phone glued to his cheek. “I’ll go check on her.” He was talking to my mother, perhaps.

Pietro was back with the group, my dad was still on the phone. My head dropped down, tired and disappointed. I was tired. So tired. My body and mind. My hands were still shaking, and I felt like they were feeding on the last bit of energy my body still retained. I had been doing just fine up until this week. In a week, my mind had collapsed. I’d failed.

“Good job out there,” my dad’s voice pulled my attention, as he sat down next to me. “You did your best. It was not enough today, but it’s your best. I’m proud.”

I simply nodded. My rib cage tightened around my chest again, with all the restlessness coming back around to hit me as my eyes met my father’s. The dark haze floating around us prevented me from seeing the pride in his eyes. There was none. He handed me a protein bar and went back to his phone.

“I am sorry, papa, ” I muttered, as I took a bite. He looked back at me. “The way I acted at the end of the race, on the radio, and…” I sighed. “The dinner, the other night. The way things have been these last days too.”

“Eva,” my dad said as he shook his head. “It’s passion. You’re passionate. I would be worried if you didn’t get frustrated.” A faint smile. “We have tomorrow.”

He was avoiding it, as he always did with all the sensitive aspects within our family. It was what frustrated me the most about him: his neutral and always perfect facade. I had never watched him cry, or be actually angry. At that moment, I wanted him to correspond to my feelings, to feel the same emotions in their enormity as I did. I wanted to see a bit of me in him, to feel understood.

That could possibly make it easier to understand his vision for me.

“I just…” I just can’t trust myself to take another step and this just proved it. I can’t do it alone. I just know I’ll fail. I know I’m not capable. I need you. I need Rio. I can’t do it alone. I can't be alone . My mind was still racing, leading me down agonizing paths. “I’m just so frustrated,” I said.

That wasn’t half of what I was thinking.

“I know,” he said. That wasn’t half of what he was thinking too. His hand caressed my hair; my mind eased at his touch.  “Nothing is lost.”

                                                        *  

I spent the final hours of the afternoon in the garage.

The race ended around 4 pm, and from there until sunset we stayed working, completely oblivious to the reality outside our garage, only the roar of the engines reminding us of the other races happening just a few meters away.

With the garage doors down, with only the too-bright white lights coming from the ceiling and some lanterns scattered around us, we joined forces to understand what was wrong with the car and get it ready for qualifying, happening at 9 am of the next day.

There was a problem with the engine, alongside the damage in the rear, caused by the impact with Andreas. The team divided itself into two groups; I stayed with Pietro and Eddie, his son. The boy, three years younger than me, was sitting on the floor next to his dad, lying under the car. At Pietro’s command, he would pass him the tools.

The scenery took me back to my early years as a driver.

Everything I had learned, I had learned like this - kneeling on the floor of the garage, or leaning over the hood of a car, with Pietro’s voice narrating whatever he was doing. We had met years ago when Rio joined the team. At that time, he was meant to be the driver. He gave up the wheel when he decided to go to college, after a year of competing in the Challenge as an amateur.

I was still wearing the racing suit. My red knee pads had oil stains on them and my suit probably had them too, but I couldn’t perceive the stains on the dark fabric. The fireproof was sticking to my skin, leaving me uncomfortable. I needed a shower and a good night of sleep.

The old man’s head slid from under the car.

“You can go now,” he said, cleaning his thin and agile fingers from the black substance, with a yellow cloth that was beginning to take on the same hue as his fingers. “It’s done. I just need the guys to check a few values and we’ll be done for the day.”

“I won’t leave until you do,” I insisted. If they were working to fix my car, especially because of damage coming from an impact, it was my duty to be there with them.

"You're not going to sleep here, are you?" the old man raised one of his thick grey eyebrows.

"I said what I said,” I shrugged as I stood up, my legs and back struggling to fight gravity.

"Eva, go. We won't be here for much longer and you need to rest." Rest, a shower, a meal , I thought. "You've had a tough day. Rest. You need it for tomorrow."

Tomorrow . I wanted to postpone tomorrow. Delay as much as possible the night, and consequently the morning.

I went around the car, wiping my hands on my tights. The car was looking good. No visible damage in the back, at least. Over my shoulder, the old man watched me, with an arched eyebrow.

“Eva…”

"Okay, I'll go," I gave in. "But please, call me as soon as you're done."

Pietro called me not even an hour later. I heard the muffled ringing coming from the bedroom as I was leaving the shower. The phone was still inside my backpack. I hadn’t paid attention to it the whole day.

Our brief talk didn’t take more than three minutes. Everything was okay.

I sat on the bed in front of the window. A tiny breeze entered the room to kiss my skin, not yet totally dry. A dusty orange lustre was breaching in through the curtain. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost 9.30 pm. Dinner would be served in half an hour.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, a wall of notifications stared back at me. They were mainly messages from friends and family, especially from Marjorie, who had to stay in Spain with the twins. I read them without much care, just taking the time to hear the audio message she had sent last: the delicious confusing mumble of my nieces, wishing me good luck for the next day.

And then, messages from Carlos. Plural.

“I’m so sorry.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Call me if you need.”

And a couple of hours later:

“I know you are winning this tomorrow. Can’t wait for it.”

And half an hour later:

“I was serious. Call me if you need.”

"Anytime you need.”

I couldn't help but crack a smile. This was what I had been missing for so long, what I had silently asked for and never received. These seconds that he never managed to dedicate to me. But at the same time, so many questions, and so little trust.

“disappointed. stupid mistakes."

"i could have avoided all of this.”

“It happens. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”

“You are still leading the championship. You still have tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Looking at the mirror at the side of the bed, I barely recognized the reflection. The image in the mirror looked back at me with a tiredness that matched my own. My eyes, usually so full of life and light, were now dull and sunken in, the skin around them darker than usual. The long blonde hair on my back was still wet. My face was free of makeup, revealing the cracks of my so imperfect facade.

I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders drop as the tension left my body. So, so many mistakes that could have been avoided.

Looking at the messages one more time, I felt a warmth in my chest.

“not that easy. you know that.”

“I do. I’ve been there. What’s done is done. You can’t change it.”

“Amaze us tomorrow. Read the race. See the lines. You have it in yourself.”

At least he understood.

I put on a black tank top and some washed boyfriend jeans and left the room with my hair still wet since I was feeling so tired I couldn't bother to style it. I felt like I was in a daze — tired, emotionally and physically. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the race.

The phone vibrated in my hand when I stepped outside the elevator.

“Maybe I can call you later?”

“please do.”

I felt the void in my chest deflating. I looked at the phone for a second longer, taking in a small victory, before taking the last steps to reach the dining hall. Tables and chairs were scattered around the dimly lit room. Groups of people, some of them familiar faces, were chatting and enjoying their meals. It wasn't until I saw the food that I understood how famished I was.

My mom and dad chose a table in one of the corners of the room beside a large painting of a 248 F1 crossing the finish line at Imola. On the corner of the painting it was written “Michael Schumacher, 2006”. I greeted them with a small nod of my head and a tired smile as I took my seat. Rio was not at the table.

“Where’s Rio?” I asked as I reached for the napkin.

“He’s already eaten,” my mom answered with a tone that I knew meant she disapproved of his decision.

“Did you watch the race?” my dad asked. Eyes on his plate.

“I didn’t have the chance yet,” neither I wanted to , I desired to add. My mom filled my cup with water and raised a hand to call the waitress. “I just got back from the track. I was helping with the car.”

“I see,” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses. I knew that look. “Make sure to watch it before bed.”

He was not asking anything wrong of me, but there was nothing to learn from the race. I knew exactly where my mistakes were made and why I had made them. Figuring out the reasons behind my bad judgements was something I had to reflect on, but I wouldn’t solve this by watching the race.

I resorted to nodding in silence and playing with the cutlery. For my dinner, I picked the first option from the menu and ate in complete silence. My parents seemed to be lost in their thoughts, just sharing casual words about the food trying to make the dinner less uncomfortable. It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and the awful things I had felt right after that were making me doubt my capacity to battle the next day.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced as I got up from the table. I kissed the top of my mom’s head and lightly stroked her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at the track.”

“Get some rest, my love,” she said. My dad didn’t speak a word.

Walking away from the dining hall and looking outside to the big golf course extending past the back of the hotel, I felt tempted to go for a walk. Just the thought of it made me feel even more tired than before.

Bed it is , I thought.

The light from the laptop screen was too bright for my eyes. The roar of the engines and the fast voice of the commentator were too much for my head. I felt it implode as I tried to focus on the race. I turned off the volume. There was nothing but the hum of my breath and the laptop fan whirling.

I kept reviewing the same moment. The impact at Turn 1. The car spinning in the grass. I watched the slow-motion replays and the onboard cam and I went back to the restart to watch it over again. And again.

Anger swelled up inside of me. I was frozen in front of my screen, sitting in bed, watching my own race over and over again, looking for answers that weren’t there. I was torturing myself with the thoughts of what could have happened if I didn’t regain control of the car.

Where would I be if the car had ended up in the barrier? Or at the middle of the track? How many drivers would I take with me?

And I felt it again. That pressure on my chest, the void in my lungs, as if those thoughts were taking the life out of me. My mind was racing as fast as my heart, weaving horrible scenarios, and poisoning me with a reality that was just another mistake away.

Before completely losing control of my own body and emotions, I got up from bed and walked to the window. The feeling of the carpet under my feet was enough to ground me in my current reality and as I parted the curtain to look outside, I felt peace taking over.

The empty golf course stretched across my vision until it was taken over by darkness. I looked through the darkness at the tiny dots in the clear sky, way more numerous than the ones I could see in Madrid.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”

As I inhaled deeply, I felt the pressure on my chest release its grip. The darkness in front of me started to take shape. The golf course, the trees and an artificial lake in the distance. The moon was bright enough to cast a pale light over everything.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me. Carlos. Our photo.

“Hi,” I walked back to the window.

“I’m glad you picked up,” a tired voice emerged on the other side. “I tried calling you a couple of times.”

“Sorry, I was…,” I looked for the right words; anything else than almost having a panic attack for the second time today would work. “Watching the race.”

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was clear. I pictured him in his room, about to go to bed, with the same worries as me, not knowing what to expect from the race he would have to battle in.

“To be honest,” a sigh. I sat on the floor, my bare tights touching the comfortable creme carpet. “I’m tired of being asked the same thing over and over again.”

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” a lie. I could still feel my restless fingers shaking from the anxiety. “I’m just— you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

“Three, I guess?”

“Don’t you already know what you did wrong?” a pause, my eyebrows frowning as confusion took over me. “I’ve watched you race before; You’re methodical. I know you are fully aware of the reasons behind the incident today,” another pause, not big enough to make me feel the need to fill the silence. “Don’t make yourself go through it again. Sometimes it’s not worth it to watch a race.”

“That surprises me,” actually, a lot of what he said surprised me.

I didn’t want to mention Rio’s new job or the fact that my heart had skipped a beat when he said that he had watched me race. Hearing it from his mouth was way different from hearing it from his mother’s.

“I would think an F1 driver would encourage me to watch and rewatch it,” I continued.

“I want you to win and to be better, but not at the price of your mental health. You need to be in a good headspace tomorrow.”

Tomorrow . I closed my eyes for a second. Focused on the deep tone of his voice in my ear, the warmth of his words, loaded with genuine care and understanding. He understood. He had his fair share of bad races and disappointments.

“How did quali go?” I asked, remembering that I didn’t have the chance to look at his results. For a second, I felt bad.

“George snatched pole within a very tiny margin, at the very last second,” Oh . His tone had said more than his words. He was pissed .

“Ouch,” he chuckled on the other side. “Did you get frustrated?”

“Of course,” a chuckle again, this one way more sarcastic than the previous. “I still am.”

“And how do you overcome that?”

“By remembering that there is always tomorrow,” a brief moment of silence. “Just focus on the next one. That's what life taught me. That’s how I do it.”

His words resonated with me. There’s always tomorrow. I repeated them in my mind.

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“For what?”

“Texting me. Calling me,” I looked over at my reflection in the dark window, the shadow of a lonely girl. “Even before everything the other day. For being here,” sometimes it feels lonely, I wanted to add.

“That’s what friends are for.” Friends . A brief moment of silence. I couldn’t find the right words, I couldn’t feel the right feelings either. “Will you watch it again or are you ready to get some sleep?”

“Just once more, I think.”

“I can do it with you. I know Imola and it wasn’t very kind to me this year as well.”

“I think that could help.”

“Alright,” I heard some noise, “Give me five minutes. I need to grab my laptop. Should we do this over the phone or… video?”

I looked at the window again. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the oversized t-shirt. Then I thought of him and the way his gaze grows more powerful when he’s focused on something or the very unique way the corners of his mouth twitch when he speaks. I didn’t want to have him as a distraction.

“Phone, if you don’t mind.”

And he hung up, just to call me again a few minutes later when I was sitting in bed with my laptop open in front of me. The recording was paused on the frame of my back as I walked away from the car at the end of the race. We analysed the race lap by lap and we also talked about the track, examining the curves I wasn’t taking so perfectly. Carlos explained to me his methods, tricks and tips to defend and attack in particular corners. Time flew by.

“Any questions before going to bed?”

I laughed at his tone, leaning against the headboard. “You’re taking this way too seriously, professor .”

“Well, I want you to win.”

“I know, I know.” I closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, softly. “I’ll need to get ready tomorrow. There’s no such thing as just being ready.”

"I know," I replied. “Do you… fear it, sometimes? Racing?”

The flames from Austria came to my mind. I would fear it. I would hate the thought of having to be back in the car a few days after and race like nothing had happened. Perhaps he thought about that too, because he stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Racing itself, or the results? Or the danger?”

"Everything," I replied after a few seconds. "The unpredictability of it all. There’s this thing my mind does,” I admitted. “I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.”

“I think we all do it sometimes.”

“And how do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

“I don’t,” he said, with a small laugh. “I go in with the same headspace I have every time, I put my helmet on and I try to concentrate on the race. In the car, it’s just me and the machine. My mind is blank. If my car is not my safe space, I know something is wrong and I need to do something about it.” A pause. “You can think about the race in your mind, imagine the most important corners and how you’d attack them. Beforehand, you can think about it all the time, but at the moment, while you’re racing, you can’t think too much. It’s a matter of removing unnecessary things from your mind and trying to focus on what you need to do. If you’re second doubting yourself, things won’t go well.”

“How are you so confident in the car? In life.”

“I guess it’s just experience,” he replied. “Seeing the amount of times that things went wrong and being able to learn from them. We are constantly learning, every time we drive. I know you learned something new today.”

“I did.”

“What was on your mind?”

“So many things I can’t tell you what they were,” I dragged my hand over my face. “Rio moving, this incredible pressure, the talks about next year… you .”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You,” I replied, a little absent. “The issue is not with racing. I’m happy when I’m in the car. It’s just… everything happening around me right now. I need a break.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve…” he paused, probably unsure of his words.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt you. At all.” He paused again. “And here I am, calling on the night before a race, once again.”

“Well, I won the race last time, let’s see if the same happens again tomorrow.”

“That’s all I can wish for,” a laugh against the phone. “Go sleep, now. Goodnight, Eva.”

“Goodnight,” I said almost in a murmur. “Good luck out there too, Sainz.”

“We talk tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.

                                                        *  

Rio joined me and Rocco for a workout the next morning. Just like in the previous days, we didn’t exchange more words than the ones the activity obliged. The cold air of the morning invigorated me and by the time we had finished, I felt ready to take on the world.

Qualifying went smoothly. Another pole position. Andreas would start the race in fourth place, which gave me an advantage that I gladly welcomed.

By the time the race start procedure began, the sun was high in the sky and the air was still and dry. The asphalt was sizzling under my boots. There was no breeze entering the car when Pietro leaned in to say his goodbyes.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina. ” This time I squished his hand with more strength. It was all or nothing.

I had a chance to redeem myself and make history for this sport. That could be a greedy way of thinking, but I wanted that trophy as much as I wanted to have my name connected to the Challenge and Ferrari for years to come. That could be the last chance if I was to part with the category and chase other aims.

The start of the race was uneventful. Lap after lap, I kept my position. I was in control, completely dominating the race. I had them at my back during the whole race. In front of me were just the support of the crown, the red and yellow flags, and the prancing horse; all weaving in the grandstands.

A hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The noise of the machines and the ecstasy of the crown echoed around the circuit as I left the car. I climbed to the top, my arms raised in the air, my clenched fist pointing to the sky, as my team celebrated around me. What a beautiful feeling.

No mistakes, no fears. No doubts. No more uncertainties.

I had done it.

My chest got lighter and lighter as the ecstasy took over my body and mind and the chants of my team set the rhythm of the celebrations. I jumped down and immediately was taken in a hug. I could feel the patting on the helmet. I could hear and feel them singing and jumping around me. I lifted my vizor to look clearly at their faces.

My dad took me into his arms the second I got rid of my helmet and balaclava. He kissed my warm cheeks, over the tears running down my face, which I didn’t even notice I had shed.

“I’m so proud of you, Evita,” he whispered in my ear, lifting me from the ground. His heart was beating as strong as my own. “So, so proud,” he cupped my face in his hands. I never saw him smile that hard. “Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”

Rio pulled me in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around me with a strength I had never felt before from him. It was a goodbye. He stepped back. His teary eyes, the big smile, the messy hair, the undone shirt from all the jumping.

I felt my lips tremble and I made an effort not to cry. He was an extension of me. I had never spent more than two weeks without seeing him. He embraced me again. Even tighter. Even more meaningfully.

“You’ll be great,” I muttered while he sniffled next to my neck. I stroked his back gently as I spoke. I could feel his hands clinging to my suit. “You’ll be one of the best.”

                                                        *  

His words mingled with the cacophony, making it hard to understand what he was saying. I sat down on one of the benches, of the outside garden. Dinner and the prize-giving ceremony were happening inside.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In a bathroom,” he replied. “I had to hide from the team. I wanted to talk to you before this dinner. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know…” I said, almost in a mumble. Hours had passed since the moment I crossed the finish line and I couldn’t seem to put some sense into what I was feeling. Utter happiness and disbelief and, at the same time, fear and uncertainty of what the future was saving for me. "Hard to put it into words," I said, a short giggle coming out with my words.

"I can imagine." The smile in his voice was easy to perceive. Instantly, my mind pictured him leaning against the wall, with his phone pressed to his ear. "You were great out there."

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”

“This race didn’t win you the championship,” he paused for a second. “You were amazing all season.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need to thank you for what you did yesterday,” I insisted. My fingers were restless in the fabric of my dress, gripped by my inability to discern what last night had awakened in me. “And I need to say sorry. For the other day.”

For the first time, I could feel that we were going through the same thing. After years of parallel lives and not being able to understand his world, or even trying to, I finally felt like I could relate to him. That we weren't that far apart. I felt him close. Closer .

“You’re welcome,” he said after a short silence. I could hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “And don’t worry about it.”

I didn’t really know what to say. The words were building up in my throat as quickly as they were disappearing. I didn't know how to deal with him. To be fair, I don’t think I ever knew. It was impossible to resist the sensations he ignited in me, which so easily took me back to the times when just the sight of his face made me blush.

"I should probably go," I said, seeing Nicola and Lina calling me inside.

"Save some champagne for me.”

“Of course,” I said. “Enjoy that dinner.”

“Enjoy that win. You deserve this.”

I mumbled a thank you and a fast goodbye and the line went dead shortly after.

                                                        *  

As I walked down the red carpet flanked by several Ferraris from various eras and categories, my attention was locked on the trophy weighing heavily in my arms. Striding through the aisle with confidence, teary-eyed but donning the biggest smile my lips had ever formed, my gaze dropped to the silver plate, with a thick gold rim and a yellow medal in the centre, on which the prancing horse was drawn in black. Around the rim, the title I had just conquered was imprinted on the golden metal.

I couldn’t help but smile as the flashes of the cameras lit up in my face. I had done it. Against all odds, I had become the first woman to win the Ferrari Challenge. At the end of the aisle, around the long rectangular table, my team was applauding me. Around the huge room, hundreds of people clapped.

I raised the trophy over my head, my arms reaching for the higher aims I always wanted for myself. I had finally conquered them. I did it under the weight of the stares and the pressure of expectations. And if there was a day where it weighed me down, this day it inflated my glory.

I had been living under a magnifying glass that whole year, but this time it was different. I had won it, despite all the scepticism. I looked around, still with my arms outstretched. In between intervals of blindness caused by the intermittent flashes, I watched the faces of the crowd clustered at the tables on either side of the aisle. Among them, I saw the sceptical faces that once told me that it was too late to turn pro, that I could continue as an amateur in lower categories and not waste my father’s money in racing. Those who, years before, had tried to convince my father to invest in other teams when Rio decided to stop racing and I proposed to take his place, were now applauding me as I walked back to my table, carrying the most important trophy of the room in my hands.

I reached the table in a few steps. The familiar faces smiling back at me, their eyes as teary as mine. Every single one of them was happy for me. Proud of me.

Rio looked at me with pain in his eyes, an uncertain smile, a duality that took over his expression. My chest ached to feel such an antithesis in his features, aching to feel him so restless, overwhelmed by scattered feelings. I set the trophy down on the table.

"Go hug your sister, Fabrizio," I heard my father say, pushing him towards me. The second I opened my arms to hold him in a hug, he was already there. Holding me in return.

"I'm so sorry. I’m so so sorry." I murmured as I caressed his back, hands open.

I pulled away and looked at him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie. The top buttons were left unbuttoned and his face was perfectly shaved. His hair was slicked back, leaving his green eyes uncovered. The deep green stared at me, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. I had changed, Carlos had changed, but I had forgotten Rio had changed too.

He had always been my older brother, that unshakable figure who resisted everything and gave up nothing. The ambitious Rio, objective and analytical, with dreams and ambitions. The guy who taught me how to drive, how to make donuts and how to rollerskate. He was all that, but he had also grown to be a father and a husband, he had cultivated in him a huge sense of responsibility to care for and think of others, sometimes putting others ahead of himself.

“I want to make sure you understand my choices,” he took me by the arm and walked with me to the other side of the table, where we were previously sitting. “Don’t want to leave anything left unsaid.”

“I do. It may have taken me a while, but I do,” I sat down and Rio occupied the seat by my side.

I looked over at my parents, still standing near the rest of the team. They were beaming with pride. My father had his arm around my mother's waist and she was resting her head on his shoulder. I felt a lump in my throat and turned my gaze back to Rio.

“I won this for us ,” I whispered. “It has our name on it, not just mine.”

My body leaned over the table to pick up the trophy, which I then placed on my lap, over the silky red fabric of my dress. Around the trim, “DiMaggio” was imprinted in the space just before the title. I showed him the detail.

"I asked them to do it this way," I explained. "I wanted to share it with you."

"Eva," he looked deep into my eyes. His voice cracked and he had to pause to compose himself. "This is yours. You won it. You did an amazing job this season."

" We did an amazing job," I insisted. “I don’t care where you’re going next. Why you’re going, even. We deserve this.”

"Yes," he conceded. His finger traced the outline of the brim. "We do."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, in silence.

"I'm going to miss you," I said finally.

"I'm going to miss you too." He took my hand and squeezed it. "Maybe for just one day or two.”

I turned my head down and laughed again. When I turned to him again, his eyes were now locked on the golden band on his finger, “Marjorie told me I should talk to you first. I didn’t listen. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m ungrateful?”

“Rio…” I laid my hand on top of his and did a gesture with my head as I got up. I felt the weight of the stranger’s eyes on us. He got up after me and walked by my side until we reached the outside.

The icy night air seeped through the slits in my dress, touching my skin everywhere and making me shiver with cold. There were a few people scattered around the terrace - some were alone, drinking or smoking, and some were accompanied. I walked to one of the corners of the terrace. The cigarette butt in the ashtray, still scattering a line of smoke, told me that until a few minutes ago someone had been there. I sat on the wooden bench, positioned under a still small and fragile tree and looking out over the golf court, from which the terrace offered a beautiful view.

"I said it out of fear," I began to speak as soon as the background noise of the ceremony died down. "I never believed you were really ungrateful. I saw the things you’ve done for me and the team. There’s nothing ungrateful in this. But you made the decision by yourself, spent weeks keeping this away from me and I admit that hurt me.” That was no lie. Looking at him, his painful expression and the look on his face throughout the whole weekend, I could see he was going through a lot. “Perhaps you were being a bit unfair, but not ungrateful.” I paused.

Rio leaned against the glass railing that surrounded the terrace, facing me. His body blocked the view, making the darkness disappear and filling my field of vision with the image of his tired and remarkably upset face. Now, maybe, even a little confused.

“Unfair?”

“Yes… To yourself and to me too. It was a tough decision to make alone,” I explained my point. “And it saddens me that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with me. I’m not a teenager anymore. I could have helped.”

He nodded. Just that. No words, no dry smiles or sarcastic remarks. Silence took over, which was not common between us. We would fall into disagreements and arguments every time we had a tough matter to handle. That’s how it had been the last week. The gut-wrenching silence that fell whenever we weren’t obligated to talk over any work-related subject.

He had his lip caught between his teeth and his gaze focused on the perfectly polished sailing shoes he was wearing. And if I knew him, I knew that hard-to-decipher gaze was a sign that his mind was full. I wondered what words he was saving and what was the reason to do so.

“I didn't want to approach you and simply say I was bored at the Challenge,” he raised his eyes to find mine. “At one point, I felt like I was doing nothing, that I had barely any service to the team. You were doing all the job.” He paused quickly. “And you did it amazingly! But there was nothing more for me to do than gather data and pass it on to you. I was not being challenged .”

A dry chortle from his part, noticing the play on words.

“So you decided to send out resumes?”

"Not only that," he shrugged and leaned away from the fence. He took a few steps, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. The night was unusually cold for July. I warmed my arms with my hands. "But yeah, essentially that was it. I started to send them out until the day I was talking about the season with Carlos and he decided to act on it.”

Carlos. His name didn’t take long to surface in the conversation.

“How involved was he in this?”

“Not much.” He sounded honest. “I didn’t want it to be any other way. I just needed him to tell me if there was a chance for me or not.” He paused. I raised an eyebrow and gestured with my hand, encouraging him to continue. "Two, three, weeks later I got a call. They asked me for some reports. And a few days later, when I travelled to Silverstone, they surprised me with an interview."

“What did Carlos do, exactly?”

I wasn't sure where I was going, there wasn't much thought behind my questions. I knew Rio had gotten the job on his own merits. All the work my brother had done with the team, the way his insights managed to unify a set of strangers and turn them into a winning team was remarkable. It was more than enough to promote him to any category above the Challenge.

So my question wasn't what Carlos had done to get him a job. And I think he knew it.

“He mentioned my name? I think. I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t talk to him about the job until after I got an offer. Why so many questions?”

I shook my head. There was no reason for so many questions, other than the lack of trust I had in myself and Carlos. With each barrier he broke down, another one rose.

I hadn't been naive enough to think that it was really the longing that made him take a step towards me, but I had let myself bathe in the happiness that thought brought me. However, it was one thing to allow me to think about it and use such excuses as a justification for not trusting him, and it was another thing for Rio to confirm to me that he had indeed encouraged Carlos' action.

“This might sound dumb, but,” a dense exhale left my lips, taking with it the restlessness of my ideas. The answer Rio would give me wouldn't be black and white, but maybe it would be the ideal shade of grey. “Did you ask him to talk to me?”

He didn’t take long to answer, nor did he hesitate with his words.

Rio had no reason to be careful with his words and spare me the answer. It was a yes. Simple as that.

"Asking you would be a dead end," he completed.

That was a certainty. I was too stubborn to deign to talk to him, even if my brother asked me to. Rio had leaned back against the fence again, his hands now in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other. The night accentuated the expressions on his face, especially the frown lines on his brows and his clenched jaw as he tried to read my face.

I didn't realize that I was silent.

That was one hard shade of grey to decipher. Only then I realised I was grabbing onto the hope of a different answer. That maybe, even if Carlos’ motivation had been Rio’s well-being, at least he acted by himself, without any interference from my brother. Once again, my hopeless romantic streak jumping ahead of me.

"I'm guessing you two have talked by now.” I nodded without saying a word. I needed a few seconds to think. "Things didn't go right, did they?"

My torso heaved with the dry laugh that had escaped. I couldn't say things were worse, but they weren't right. They would be if desperation and longing hadn't clouded our minds and had put us in that position . Literal and figurative. If only he had never gotten so close like that, or if I had retreated at once instead of allowing us to levitate so close to each other, harvesting feelings I thought had long since withered and disappeared.

"Didn't he say something about it?"

"Not really," he said. "Until now, I had no idea if he decided to try to talk with you after his failed attempt in Mugello."

I looked into his eyes, my mind trying to think of some way to put my feelings into words. I was confused, upset, angry… Everything I felt was too tangled up to be able to answer in one go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Eva,” he sat down by my side and clapped his hands on his tights, “I just need you two to get along well. I don’t need you to become best friends, I just want you to be able to share a room, or a table, without any of you feeling uncomfortable with each other’s presence.”

He had a good point. Avoiding us sitting close together at the same table will be the least of his worries the moment they start to work together. Until now, it was Rio who occasionally visited Carlos wherever he was racing. In a couple of months, it would be me who would have to go to Rio. And Carlos would be there.

Imagining a future where everything stayed as it was, Rio would be destined to live a nightmare, running through a complicated labyrinth whenever he needed me.

“You two were really good before,” he continued. “I don’t see why things won’t get better.”

I sought comfort in him. I laid my head on his shoulder and stared into the darkness, imagining lines between the points of light that marked the paths through the grass a few feet away from us.

“I don’t think things will go as well as you deserve them to go.”

"No worries," he answered with a tender smile, looking at me. "I just need them to go a little bit better."

We stayed silent for a bit, my mind finding the rest it needed on the good memories of the three of us, especially the weeks in winter we would spend in the snow with our parents, or the long summer days we used to spend by the pool.

“Don’t be mad at him for only speaking to you now,” he continued and I moved my head to be able to capture his face. “I'm sure I'm not the only reason he decided to finally do something about it. If what I asked him to do had any impact, it was just so he could blame me if things didn't go well,” his lips turned into a funny smile and I chuckled. “You two,” he paused, “have a problem with empathy. Not the lack of it. The total opposite. And both of you are so stubborn… It was difficult to see you drifting apart and not being able to stop it.”

His words brought the restlessness back. I got up, pacing around between the bench and the fence, trying to settle my unquiet mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That each step he takes to reach you is way heavier than you could ever imagine,” he explained. “He has a way to deal with his feelings, a way to show them… he talks, he acts, he…”, Rio stopped for a second, thinking, “he doesn’t let himself be vulnerable. He uses his tough guy attitude to hide it, but you know he’s not all that.”

My mind pictured the beautiful sight of his face so close to mine - the perfectly shaped brown eyes, the thick lips parted, ready to take mine. I could hear his laughter in my mind and the murmur of his breath. He had been vulnerable with me.

“I would pay to know what you’re thinking about, Eva,” he disrupted my thoughts. “Don’t use this to create a glass box around you, thinking it will protect you from him while giving him the illusion he’s getting close.”

“I’m not like that,” I interrupted him.

“He protects your feelings more than his own, Eva. That’s why he let you go,” my brother's countenance changed as his patience wore thin. “I was there to witness the way he looked at you, the way he used to get jealous when you talked to someone else. He was crazy about you. But he…” Rio hesitated, “ respected you so much he was not capable to stop you from living your life to live by his.”

From this moment on, my mind was blank to anything but his words.

"You were way too careful with each other," he continued. "You take a step forward, or a step back, but never to each other’s pages. Because you are too afraid to let yourselves do it. You’ll find every excuse to not do it. Just like you’re doing now.

“You’re waiting for me to say something that will either make you trust him or verify every excuse your mind has been weaving since the last time you talked. And he’s probably doing the same. He doesn't have faith in his feelings. And he definitely does not have faith in himself, to the point where he thinks it’s acceptable to jeopardize his relationship with me or our family if he takes the step."

"I want it to go well," I said.

"I'm sure you do," Rio took my hand and smiled. “But if you're waiting for me to make you feel comfortable, you'll have to wait a little more." I nodded at his words, a fragile smile taking my lips as I saw the corner of his curling. “I can’t tell you to follow your heart, or whatever saying you or anyone else would say,” I chortled and he continued, “especially because I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but I can just tell you to admit to yourself that you miss him and that you want him around.”

His words reached me and if it hadn't been for his usual sunny disposition that was being brought back by the smile emerging on his face, I would have probably started crying at that moment.

Next chapter: 05.

Next chapter we'll have Carlos in a suit roaming around Eva's backyard. Keep that in your mind, eheh. Hope the race narration wasn't too boring. Thank you so much, see you all around! <3

[vexingwoman]

Uh not actually here to hate but to say thanks???? Ive been thinking alot on my self expression and trying to figure out how to word it, and seeing some of your comments with other people really helped to put in perspective what I was trying to come to terms with. Ive always struggled with my gender but acknowledge fully that I'm biologically female. (Stay with me here till the end please i know lol) I genuinely dont care what pronouns I'm called either and none have ever felt right if I'm honest and nothing I've read or tried has been adding up for me over the years to help me feel any better.

Kinda realizing over the past year or so that I just have this deep ingrained idea from being surrounded constantly my whole life in a woman hating environment that I just have a *really* heavily masked hatred for what general society treats women as and was trying to remove myself from it hoping itd somehow save me from the terrible shit we all go through daily. And it just made me feel even more alienated doing that to myself. Its been a long time of coming around to this and I know how it sounds but I dont wanna consider any of my time wasted. I dont remember what it was but something you said to someone in a long ass comment fight clicked for me and rn I'm sleep deprived and wont even remember what it was in the morning either but I feel like some kind of weight has been eased off me. Im doing my best to unlearn the sexist misogynistic bs ive had shoved down my throat my whole life that made me think being a woman was something to be shameful of and better off without.

Its been hard trying to look into this radfem community and find someone who didn't immediately just insult and exclude ppl that werent already on the ball agreeing. Basically I appreciate your ranting with strangers. Amd indulging some of their curiousity as clearly as you can+defining everything you say constantly so I dont get lost in a whirlwind of hard to understand metaphors. Idk you get it. Something clicked and i dont feel ashamed for the time gone bc I know it was heavily influenced by the oppression of all things normal-human-womanly around me. I hate that we're all so tied into these stereotypes. Its painfully hard to unlearn. Thanks for the help. Have a fat block of text as thanks cause I'm not sure how to sound as genuine as I feel rn. Have a nice day and an even better tomorrow. Im gonna get some sleep now💀(stayed up WAY too late painting lol) bye!

This is so wonderful to hear. I know how dreadful it is doing serious introspection and making yourself aware of how deeply and unconsciously your internalized sexism runs. I’ve been there, and I know it’s even more difficult to deconstruct the subtle sexist attitudes which have been ingrained into to us since birth. Often it seems as hopeless as chasing smoke, because some of our internalized sexism is so deep that it’s invisible, and worse, inarticulable.

Some women will never think on these subjects beyond their surface level—will never dissect their preferences, will never concede that their choices are influenced by sex-based socialization, will never seriously reflect on why they are so desperate to identify out of womanhood. And in a strange way, I sympathize with these women, because I understand that it’s easier to shut your eyes and convince yourself that you were born in the wrong body than it is to open your eyes and acknowledge how much sexism has seeped into and corrupted our own minds.

Basically, I’m proud of you for putting yourself through the pain of deconstructing your own internalized sexism. You are better for even attempting it, and I hope you continue to do so.

P.S. I know exactly which long-ass comment fight you’re referring to, because I only put myself through that once. At least someone benefited from the literal month I spent arguing with that stranger. They blocked me, so unfortunately I can’t even go back and analyze the conversation if I ever wanted to. I would love to know what you took away from it, if you ever do remember.

[eridianfic]

꧁Late꧂

Take from me/what you want/what you need

Pairing: MC X Sen

Length: <1k

Tags: hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, angst, general audience

a/n: there's so much angst inherent to Sen's concept! This is probably wildly ooc bc we know so little about her, but I couldn't help myself:) heavily inspired by two songs, embedded at the end.

You know she’s not in the bed besides you as soon as you wake. It’s not the temperature that alerts you. After all, her side is always cold as the grave, just like her. No- it’s the weight of the bed that’s different, the mattress pressing around you instead of shifting towards her, and the blankets pushed off to the side when she got out of bed.

You find Sen sitting on the window ledge in the kitchen, tiles cold under your feet. You’re cold too- the air is chilly on your skin now out from under the comfort of your blankets. It’s almost pitch black in the rkkm and you just faintly see her silhouette, a dark void in front of the moonlight outside. She’s nearly motionless but she acknowledges your approach with a slight turn of her head towards you. You breathe together, quietly. Her breath comes out slower, more labored. After a pause, she speaks.

“I don’t think I can stay here much longer.”

“You’ve made up your mind?”

She sighs, a deep, rattling thing. “You know I have. I can’t hold on longer for you. I’ve been trying. It’s not working.”

Her faint outline against the moonlight feels more akin to a ghost than a person sitting in front of you. You guess it’s only fitting.

“Sen, I know it feels hopeless, I know that. But listen, we haven’t been searching for that long. I think there’s a cure out there for you, something that will alleviate your suffering and bring you back to-“

She cuts you off. “Bring me back to you? Back to life? I wish I could be with you. You know that. I’ve been trying and trying. And when I tell you it isn’t possible, it feels like you don’t hear me. Like you’re choosing to not hear me. You need to let me go.”

Your breath catches a little as your throat tightens. "Sen. Sen, I'll give you whatever I can. Whatever you need from me. Stay here. Stay with me. We'll figure it out".

She laughs at that, sharp and jagged. It cuts into you. "What I need from you is your blessing. Your acceptance that the person you know is already gone." She softens a little, and you can hear the rustle of her against the windowsill as she shifts towards you. "You've fallen in love with a ghost. It wasn't meant to be."

You stumble towards her in the dark, kneeling in front of her.

"God, Sen. You told me we shouldn't get to know each other when we met. But aren't you glad we've had this time together? Don't you want more of it? There's so much we haven't done together, so much I don't know... If it's about hope? I'll have enough hope for the both of us." You scoff dryly. "All the sins in the world and the one I got was greed. I want you. I want more time with you, more memories, more opportunities to find out how to fix this". Your hand reaches out to hold her cold hand in yours, fingers running over the delicate line of stitches.

What you don't say is that she's the only one you have. That if she leaves, you'll be alone. Alone again, always betrayed, always left behind, never worthy of being fought for. With her, there's something that you've never felt before. Serenity frozen, isolated from the world. Insulated from each of your problems. A place, deep in the earth where you can hibernate, together. A grave, perhaps. Away from time.

Her hand slips out of yours. "Don't do this to me," she whispers. "I've been brought here against my will. When is it going to be about what I want, for myself? I can't. I can't sacrifice myself for them, for you. I don't want to. Help me find a way to end this. To let me rest in peace like I want to. Don't you know? I've experienced it. Peace, at the end of it all. The stillness and richness of soil, of stone. That's what I want."

You hate yourself for saying it, but you say it anyways. Mutter it, in spite of yourself. "My peace is you, Sen. How can I have that without you?

There's a note of finality to her voice. "I guess you just can't understand. It's not something for you to know. It's my journey to go on, and you can choose to accompany me or not."

You've known that she felt this way. Couldn't stop yourself from trying to convince her one last time. You nod. "Whatever you'll give me. Whatever time we have left together."

You rest at her feet for a moment, leaning against her knee. She places her hand at the nape of your neck, gently carding through the strands of hair. You sit there together, quietly.

Your head nodding sleepily and resting heavily against her leg causes her to pause. "Come back to bed. We'll start looking again in the morning."

You follow her upstairs. You'll follow her until you can't any more. Until she goes to a place you can't reach.

[erin-bo-berin]

hello! like everyone else I’ve been totally glued to your Steve fics lately. your take on his character/mannerisms are perfect!!

I have a request, if you’re interested: reader’s horny as hell and it’s all Steve’s fault. (personally I’m a sucker for future dad Steve/pregnant reader but if that’s not your vibe feel free to come up with another reason why we’re blaming him). Anyway, normally Steve would love nothing more than to help you out but today he’s actually working at his desk on some project due tomorrow morning so you’ll just have to wait until he’s done before he can attend to your needs. But that’s not going to stop you from trying your best begging/teasing techniques throughout the day, saying things that rile him up, touching him, blaming him for the situation, and appealing to his very deep need to take care of you.

After a long day putting up with you/attempting to stay strong, you finally say or do something that sends Steve over the edge. (He actually knocks over his desk chair as he mauls you.) But Steve’s going to have to pay you back for all the teasing you’ve unleashed on him all day by taking his damn time.

smut city, pls!

Ooh now THIS is appealing! But yes I’m all for having horny pregnant reader. I mean good lord if I had that to look at every day, I’d be popping out kids every year because I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him 🤣

Let’s pretend this is how Steve looks after a good fuck 👀

All Your Fault

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Smut (lots of smut, it gets pretty filthy I’m sorry), Pregnant Reader

You thought you knew what to expect during pregnancy.

Morning sickness, cravings, weight gain, fatigue, you get the drift. You even knew to expect mood swings throughout the pregnancy.

What you didn’t expect was to be as horny as a wild animal in mating season.

You were nearing the end of your fourth month of pregnancy. The nausea had dissipated, your energy had increased some and you felt better than you had in weeks. Your body was growing and changing daily, making room for the life that was growing exponentially fast with each week passed.

You’d finally made it through the stage where you no longer look bloated, but we’re starting to sport a small, noticeable bump. Most likely it was going to double in size by the end of next month, but for now, you treasured the baby bump, knowing you and Steve’s baby was growing like he or she should be.

You were taken back at first by how high your sex drive was at this point in pregnancy. You craved him as badly, if not more than the snacks and treats you’d been consuming lately.

Usually, Steve was more than happy to help you out. You were sure he was even more thrilled than you were about the extra intimacy. But this lately was wild, almost animalistic, lust-filled sex. Ironically enough, you hadn’t had much of that since the night you likely conceived.

But today, Steve had to be an adult. Or well, he had work to do.

Keith had unfortunately—much to your dismay—tasked Steve to do the inventory numbers at Family Video, leaving the task until last minute. Thus, he gave the annoying job to Steve, who had been hunched over his desk, hard at work all day, trying to finish the job before they were due in tomorrow, at the beginning of the month.

“Steeeeve,” you whined, “Can’t you take just a tiny break?”

“Baby, you know I’d love to,” he sighed heavily, pushing his hair out of his face, “But I still have a ways to go if I want to finish this before tonight.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping on the couch across the living room from him. You rubbed your belly soothingly.

“Daddy’s being mean to us, baby,” you pouted.

“Daddy’s also trying to get this nightmare of a project over with,” he mumbled in return, “Also, mommy is being over dramatic.”

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” you huffed.

“I think it’s more like the hormones from pregnancy, not me.”

“Is it possible to die from horniness?” you asked, dead serious.

“Babe, if it was, you would’ve killed me years ago,” he responded, his back still turned to you.

You stuck your tongue out at his back playfully, telling yourself you were going to concentrate on the game show that was on TV, but it didn’t last long at all.

Your eyes returned to your boyfriend, watching him. Your eyes slid along his back, knowing the feel of the muscles in them moving under your fingers as he moved above you. You could see the faint sign of his leg bouncing through the loose, gray pants he wore.

His butt looked amazing in those pants somehow, but so did his dick. It was amazing how they seemed to be loose fitting yet hugged the parts of him that you really shouldn’t be thinking of right now.

Then your mind wandered to his thighs. Ones you liked to perch yourself on, sometimes you rode them, getting yourself off by just a thigh alone. The delicious friction of it against your throbbing clit.

You really did have to stop your train of thoughts before you got yourself in a worse situation than you were currently in.

That was when you got the wicked idea to tease him. You were gonna make him sorry for leaving you in such a desperate state.

•

Lunchtime came and you fixed him a sandwich, bringing it into him, knowing he wouldn’t stop working to eat if you didn’t.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist, patting your side, hand resting dangerously low on your ass.

This son of a bitch really was pushing your buttons at this point.

“No problem,” you smiled sweetly.

You looked over his shoulder at the paperwork in front of him, spread out on the desk.

“Not done yet?” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind, hands gliding down his chest.

It was a delicate balance; trying to be purposely sensual but playing innocent as if you weren’t trying to seduce him at all.

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame,” you pouted, kissing his cheek, lips hovering near his ear, “How about a short lunchtime break? Let you bend me over this desk and have your way with me, hmm?”

You bit his earlobe softly, feeling him shudder under your touch.

“You know I can’t,” Steve said, surprisingly more firm than you were sure he felt.

“Hmm. Suit yourself. I think I’m going to take a bath, wash up really good. Over my chest, my legs. Lather up the ladies real well,” you said, motioning to your boobs, which had grown fuller over the last few months.

He was blinking at you like an owl, unable to say anything.

“T-That’s fine,” he cleared his throat of the rasp that’d come out, “You go ahead, I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Well you know where you find me, if you need me,” you winked, sauntering off towards the bathroom.

The bath wasn’t that great, honestly. It was fine, refreshing, but all you wanted was Steve to strip naked and join you. You groaned, stepping out when you were done, draining the water.

You needed to up the ante if you wanted results.

•

The soft, silky bathrobe you donned was tied loosely at your waist. One tug and it could easily pull right open to expose your naked body underneath.

You carefully arranged the neckline of it so it showed the perfect amount of your cleavage. Where he could see your chest heaving from your labored breath, could access your neck where your pulse was spiking—symptoms of your intense desire for him.

He’d barely moved from where you’d left him.

One of his hands was in his hair, head resting in his hand, arm propped on the desktop, his fingers clutching a pencil and scribbling. Occasionally he would pause, punch some numbers into the calculator next to him and then resume writing.

The plate next to him was empty save for some crumbs. At least he’d eaten, that was something.

You stopped at the edge of his desk, rapping your knuckles against the desktop to get his attention.

“Can I get you anything else to eat?” you asked, motioning to the plate when he looked up at you.

“No, that was enough. Thanks for fixing it for me,” he smiled.

“Not a problem,” you replied, casually.

Purposely, you reached across the desk from where you were standing to grab the plate, making sure he had the perfect view of your cleavage. When you pulled back, one shoulder of the robe had slipped, exposing even more skin.

You might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking straight at him, but you saw Steve’s eyes flicker downwards then back up to your face, looking glazed. Then he blinked and was back to normal.

You let the disappointment settle internally and immediately went on to your next plan.

“Let me know if you want anything else,” you called in a sing-song voice as you headed towards the kitchen with the dirty plate.

You could’ve sworn you heard an answering grumble come from behind you.

•

Steve turned when he heard movement behind him.

“What are you doing?”

You looked up from where you were organizing the books on the small bookshelf you had in the living room.

“Just doing a little cleaning. Don’t let me bother you.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Steve, I’ve gotta burn off this excess energy somehow,” you responded, turning back to where you alphabetizing the novels.

You made sure he was still looking when you bent over, as if peering closer at a certain book, making sure he got a full view of your ass in the tiny lounge shorts you decided to don.

You heard a creak behind you and turned to see Steve had turned back to his work.

You groaned inwardly. You were going to get him to fuck you if it meant you had to walk around naked.

•

As tempting as that thought was, you decided to forgo the walking around naked part. You were desperate, but you weren’t quite that desperate yet.

“How goes it?” you asked, walking in the room.

You’d spent the last few hours sitting in the kitchen reading your book and snacking on some strawberries. Just because you couldn’t have one of the things you were craving didn’t mean you were going to deprive yourself of your current food craving.

“Well I’m closer to being done than I was, if that tells you anything.”

“Steve, you’ve been at that desk nearly all day,” you frowned, “You must be stiff and sore.”

He groaned, rubbing at his neck and shoulders as if the power of suggestion was enough to make him realize just how sore he really was.

“Here, let me rub it for you,” you offered.

You put your hands on his shoulders, massaging gently, thumbs pressing into soft circles of his neck, kneading the knots out of his muscles.

He moaned softly, heading falling forward.

“That feels amazing, Y/N,” he complimented.

He was just asking for it at this point.

You leaned forward, breasts pressing against his back as you kissed his cheek, seemingly innocently.

“I know how else to make you feel amazing,” you purred, “And make you moan even more than you already were.”

His throat bobbed at his obviously hard swallow. One peek down at his crotch and you could see his cock was all aboard for the idea.

“I could suck you off, then let you get back to work,” you whispered, your voice as tantalizing as your words, “Let me wrap my lips around that pretty little cock of yours, make you moan so loud the walls rattle.”

He turned to look at you and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his. Your mouth purposely moved tantalizingly slow against his.

He hummed when you pulled away, his eyes still closed.

“You taste like strawberries,” he whispered.

“I know,” you smirked, your hands once again running down his chest.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Y/N,” Steve said, giving you a stern look, removing your hands gently from him.

“And what’s that?” you blinked innocently.

“You’re trying to get me to cave because you’re honey as fuck,” he said blatantly.

“I can’t help that I want to jump you,” you groaned, “But I know, I know, I’ll wait.”

“I don’t have much more to do, then I promise, I’m all yours,” Steve promised, kissing your cheek, turning back to his work.

You decided to give in to defeat at that point and just try to be patient, even if you did already feel like jumping out of your skin.

•

“I’m amazed you’ve been patient this long,” Steve said casually.

It was nearing late afternoon, three o’clock soon to be turning into four.

“Believe me, it’s not been easy,” you mumbled, resting against one of the stuffed chairs, watching him.

“Especially when my brain decides to turn every little thing you do into some sexual.”

He chuckled, amused.

“Like what?”

“You just writing for example. All I could think of is your hands and how they feel on my body, how your fingers feel tracing every curve, how they feel inside of me making me beg you to cum,” you groaned, “Sorry, I’m getting carried away again. I oughta just have gotten myself off. At least have one good orgasm imagining it was your hand instead of mine and—”

You jumped, hearing a loud crash. Without realizing it, Steve had hurled himself out of the desk chair, knocking it over. You gasped when he was on you, pulling your weight away from the chair you were leaning against, pressing your body into his. He kissed you hard, hungrily, making you moan into the kiss.

He was already moving you by the time you’d parted, breath heavy from the intense kiss. He backed you up against the edge of his desk, his body holding yours there with his own.

“There is no way I’m letting you get yourself off when I know I can do it and better,” he practically growled in your ear, pressing his crotch into you.

You felt his cock straining in his pants and you moaned, eager already for it.

“Fuck, if I knew that’s all it would’ve taken to get you to pay attention to me, I would’ve done it so much sooner,” you laughed a bit breathlessly.

“I was trying so hard to resist all day so I could get my work done,” he groaned, kissing you again.

“Not the only thing that was hard was it, big boy?” you giggled, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Don’t think you’re gonna get away with your little tricks,” he smirked, pushing all the contents of his desk on the floor.

You gaped at them, surprised.

“I’ll worry about that later,” he muttered, “I’ve got a gorgeous girl to tease.”

He grabbed your hips roughly, setting you on the desktop so you were at the same level as him. Before he did anything else, he practically tore your shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of your breast, nipples hard.

His hands grabbed them firmly, massaging them roughly in his large hands as his mouth moved against yours. You groaned at the wonderful feeling of his rough palms against your peaked nipples. You had never been as turned on as you were right now, your clit throbbing painfully, your panties soaked so thoroughly you wouldn’t be surprised if you left a puddle on his desk.

“Steve,” you whimpered, his mouth moving over your jaw and neck, sucking harshly in certain, random spots, “Can’t we just forgo the teasing this once?”

“Nope. Gotta give you a lesson you won’t forget,” he smirked, lowering his mouth to your chest.

Your breasts were still a tad sensitive and the feeling of his mouth on them practically made you salivate.

“Oh god,” you groaned, back arching into his mouth, his tongue and mouth sucking and licking at your nipples, giving them plenty of attention.

“See this is why I’m constantly horny,” you chuckled weakly, his lips moving back upwards towards your jaw and lips, “You’re too damn good at this.”

His hands had slid from your waist to your outer thighs, squeezing them as if to emphasize his next words which just so happened to be breathed over your lips.

“It’s because I love making you moan.”

God, not only his touch, but his words alone could like make you cum.

Your mouths connected again, his hands grabbing your ass roughly and pulling you into him as he ground his hips into yours. Your hands while tangled in his hair, quickly got on the same track as your brain, moving to his shirt to tug it off.

If he was gonna rub his dick against you like that and expect you not to act like a sex starved being, especially in your condition, then he was sorely mistaken.

He pulled away from your touch, causing you to scowl, but you were relieved to see he was just shedding his shirt. You were awarded with the glorious sight of his bare chest and stomach. If only he’d let you have a minute to just kiss and suck and lick the entirely of his naked upper half…

Much to your disappointment, he didn’t return to your lips, he stayed where he was, pulling off your shorts, cursing at the sight.

“I didn’t think you were wearing underwear when you pulled that bending over stunt,” he grunted.

You smirked, a bit proud of yourself.

“You sure stared long enough.”

“Yeah because all I wanted to do was take you, bent over like that,” Steve ground out.

Your thighs clenched, another pool of warmth gathering between them.

He tutted, like scolding a child as he once again pushed your thighs apart, readying you for his next level of teasing. He was on his knees before you before you could protest, his lips leaving a gentle kiss against your inner thigh.

“I’ve been so wet all day because of you,” you moaned, your desperation already showing.

You really were screwed if he had too much more teasing planned because you were already so desperate for him to have his way with you.

“And now you’re gonna learn how to be patient, aren’t you baby girl?”

He trailed his fingers along your entrance, gathering your slick.

“Yes, Steve,” you nodded eagerly.

You’d probably agree to anything right now as long as made home do something.

A finger pressed against your clit with just enough pressure to make you hiss through your teeth. Then came his tongue, licking a slit all the way up your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed.

His touch left you, his tongue taking over the job. With a few gentle laps at your clit, he moved on, tongue thrusting in and out of your entrance.

You moaned louder, entire body arching, your hands on his hair, wanting to keep him there forever. It never failed to amaze you that he knew just how to kiss, suck and lick every inch of you perfectly.

His fingers rejoined the performance, gliding in and out of you with ease, twisting and curling in perfect time with the coil of your building orgasm. His lips sucked on your clit, only adding to the bliss.

You were out of control, you’d never felt on fire like this before. Your hips were grinding against his face, body arched and hands squeezing your boobs, pinching your nipples. He was going to send you to an early grave. He was definitely going to send you to heaven during this orgasm.

“I’m close,” you whined, thighs squeezing at the sides of his head.

He held your thighs in one hand and did the worst possible thing.

You were seconds away from shattering completely when all contact was gone. His fingers were gone from you and so was his mouth.

“No, no,” you whined, “Steve, what the fuck?”

“Patience, darling,” he smirked that infuriating smirk.

He was soon forgiven when he started back up, your orgasm closer and stronger than it previously had been.

When he stopped a second time, right at the last second, you didn’t know whether to cry in frustration or slap him.

Apparently, your mouth decided on anger before your brain could catch up.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Harrington.”

“How bad do you want to cum?”

The gleam in his eyes was wicked, the desire driving him almost as wild as you’d been acting. By this point, your brain was shut off and your mouth was saying whatever. If anyone else were to overhear, they might’ve mistaken you and Steve for an actual porno.

“So bad, so bad,” you whimpered.

“Say please,” his grin was as wicked as his stare.

“Please, Steve, please.”

You were actually going to combust when he was through with his teasing. You were actually going to explode into a million little pieces and float towards the earth like ash raining down. Not that you cared less. You welcomed it.

The second time he resumed, his fingers moved quicker, licks and sucks harsher as he was determined to let you finish this time. Maybe there was something to this science because the building knot was even stronger than the previous two times and you were sure you were gonna make a mess all over Steve’s face.

You were squirming inadvertently on the desk, hands holding his head right where you wanted him because over your fucking dead body was he going to quit before you could cum.

Your moans filled the room the only other sound your labored breathing and whines.

“Oh, fuck!” you partially screeched, a long moan laced with your words.

Your orgasm hit and your entire body trembled with the strength of one you’d never, ever felt. The journey had been pure torture, but damn if the pay off wasn’t worth it.

The aftershocks were just as powerful and you whimpered, trying to push him away as your entire lower half had become too sensitive for more at the moment.

Steve sat back, chin still glistening with a satisfied grin on his face. Wiping his chin on his shoulder, he stood, taking your face in his hands.

“Holy shit,” you have groaned, amazed just by him.

“You okay? We can stop now if you need to.”

“Oh hell no,” you laughed, still trying to catch your breath, “Just give me a moment.”

You leaned forward and kissed him again, one hand bypassing his pants and boxers, reaching in to grip his now throbbing cock, firmly. You pressed a kiss to his chest as his eyes fluttered closed at your touch.

You pumped him slowly, your wrist turning slowly, teasing him now.

“I thought this was your lesson,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“I happen to like hearing you moan,” you smiled, devilishly.

“I don’t want to cum unless I’m inside you,” he breathed.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You removed your hand, pushing his pants down his hips, his boxers going as well.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss.

In the midst of the kiss, your hand wrapped around his cock once again, guiding him to your entrance. He pushed into you, mutual moans of pleasure coming from both of you.

“So good, fuck you’re so good for me, Y/N,” Steve mumbled hand on your cheek, giving you another quick kiss as he started moving at a slow, languid pace.

You didn’t complain at the moment, just enjoying the feeling of him moving in and out, his hard length gliding and running against you in such a pleasant way.

“Come on Steve,” you provoked, “I know you can do better than that.”

He growled, gaze boring into yours as he grabbed your ass, lurching you for in one swift, hard motion as he thrust into you roughly, making your head loll back.

“Jesus,” you moaned, gripping his shoulders, suddenly short of breath once again, “Yeah, that’s m-more like it.”

Just as your hips were getting used to the rougher pace, he pulls out of you completely leaving you aching and shaking, left wanting more.

You let out a protesting whine, but he shushes you.

“I wanna try something different, is that okay?”

You nodded, letting him manipulate your body like he wanted it.

He turned you around, bending you over the desk, wrapping one arm protectively around your abdomen, protecting your vulnerable bump, so it wouldn’t hit the edge of the desk.

The small gesture makes you smile and you turn your head, kissing the shoulder of that arm.

Your smile fades quickly into your mouth dropping in pleasure as he thrusts back into you, the angle allowing you to feel him so deep, it automatically has your body shaking.

“I got you, I got you,” Steve mutters against your shoulder as he thrusts roughly into you, holding onto your front firmly, aiding you in your own backwards thrusts of your hips.

“Fuuuuuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell, Steve,” you’re a moaning, babbling mess, fully drunk on him and his cock buried in you.

Your hair is wild in your face and you push it back, your body rocking back against his and you reach out to grip the edge of the desk. Your other hand hasn’t moved from where it rests over his, as if double protecting the growing baby inside you.

“Is it as good as you imagined all day, baby? Shit,” he grit his teeth, moaning the curse at the end of his sentence.

“Better,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So much fucking better.”

He’s repeatedly hitting a spot so deep with you that your eyes might be rolling back in your head. His hair brushes your cheek as he bends over you, reaching down between your legs.

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know he’s dangerously close and trying to hurry you to your climax. You’re unintentionally squeezing around his cock, your muscles quivering and contracting from your own pleasure.

He finger circles your clit frantically and the pressure starts building inside you again, signaling your impending orgasm is near. His hand’s frantic movements matched his hips frantic pace.

“Wanna cum,” he moaned lowly, “Wanna cum so hard in you, baby girl.”

“Do it,” you begged, “Fuck, Steve, please. Make me a mess. Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your mouth was forming and releasing words that you had no comprehension of, you were so close and with every thrust, he got you closer.

Another mind blowing orgasm hit you and you moaned his name repeatedly, clutching on to him and distantly you heard your own name falling from his lips. You could feel his body that was now slick against yours, tense and shudder as his own body was wracked with his own ecstasy.

You were spent by the time he slid out of you, your entrance sensitive and dripping from your combined releases. You would’ve fallen forward against the desk due to your wobbling, unsteady legs, but he balanced you in both arms, scooping you up in them.

The exhaustion was heavy in your limbs. Pregnancy sex was mind blowingly amazing, but the exhaustion afterwards was twice as bad.

“Your papers,” you mumbled weakly.

“I’ll worry about them later,” Steve answered, “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He carried you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed while he went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth, wiping your thighs clean and running it gently between your legs, knowing you were still incredibly sensitive.

You open an eye when he returns from discarding the rag.

“You know, it won’t be too much longer before I’ll be too big for us to do that,” you said, motioning to the doorway, meaning your precious little escapade.

“Then we’ll just have to enjoy it while we can,” Steve smirked, laying down next to you.

“By the way, I’m thankful it’s all your fault I’m so horny because you sure deliver,” you mumbled, already half asleep.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he chuckled.

You were out before he finished his sentence.

[mishwanders]

• Sky • Sun & Moon •

Summary: A prophecy leads to Sky having to find someone willing to be the mother of the Hero’s spirit and to your surprise he chooses you, his moon.

Warnings/tags: AFAB!reader, mention of pregnancy but not in detail, prophecy, poly relationship, older Sky and Sun who already have a kid (Sunflower <3). No smut, safe for everyone.

Author's Notes: oh my god I’m finally getting around to the ideas I had that I’m so completely normal about and not obsessing over. I tweaked a bit more (moving it from kings + queen to village leaders) but that’s okay, the premise still stands. Prepare for lots of symbolism. Written by Mishwanders.

All Sky wanted to do was stay in bed, fast asleep with Sun, snuggling with her and his darling Sunflower in between them until late into the afternoon, but he knew better. As a village leader, he had to get up. There were things he needed to tend to.

Like the prophecy.

Sky silently made his way out of bed and made his way into the next room, dawning on his clothes for the day. He intended to go out and explore the area more, see where they could expand further, what was safer, cull any more of the demons that Demise left behind. It would give him some more time to think about the new situation he’d found himself in, and what he could even do about it.

The spirit of the goddess and the hero would have to be passed down in one way or another. He and Sun had brought life to their darling Sunflower, a little girl who looked just as beautiful as her mother in his eyes, one of the sweetest things to exist in his life, someone he would also give everything for, just as he did for Sun.

But there was also the matter of the hero’s spirit - his spirit, his predecessor's spirit. No matter how many times they had attempted for another, no child would come. It weighed on him heavily. If Demise’s prophecy were true, he knew the evil beast would return in some way, and Sky had to ensure that there would be someone there to stop him and save his goddess everytime.

It was crushing to even think of the possibility of his soul not being there to protect his goddess from Demise. It was a thought he tried not to dwell on too much, for he needed to find a way to pass the spirit down.

After a matter of many long discussions about it, he and Sun decided that he should look for other prospects - someone who would be befitting as the mother to the hero’s spirit. It wasn’t a painful decision, if anything Sun was very hopeful about it. She loved him all the same, just as he did, but prophecy had its way of taking life from those it deemed fit to carry the weight. This was just another weight he had to bear.

At least, that’s what he thought at first.

That all changed when you appeared, an answer to his silent prayers for guidance, the Moon to light his way through the darkness. He hadn’t realized how incomplete he felt without you. No sky could be complete without its Sun and Moon.

It had all happened so abruptly too that day, he was out in the woods, fending off an attack from a crew of no blind when you descended down from the tree above, moving like water through the battle, as swift and precise as a current cutting down the ones at his back. Once it was all over he turned to you, seeing your face come into full view as you removed your hood and mask. Your voice came out with a hint of confused worry as you spoke.

“Commander? What are you doing out here this early?”

He smiled at him, putting away his blade. “I could ask the same of you.”

You put away your weapons as well. “Scouting. I’ve been following these pests for a while now.”

“All on your own?” He asked curiously.

You nodded. “You know I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to. Allow me to assist you, I know the area, I could be of some help.” He replied.

He could see you mulling it over, weighing out the pros and cons before you finally agreed to it. That was good. It meant that he could get closer to you.

He spent many moments with you in the morning out scouting missions, taking out the demons by your side. Your passion and courage knew no bounds, rivaling that of his own, but that wasn’t all. You tended to his injuries with a gentle touch, cared for him in a way he’d only ever seen with Sun, seeing him not just as your commander, but something more. It stirred something within him, his spirit recognizing yours and it longed for you.

Sun had noticed it too, felt the same pull as he had when you entered their home as a guest. They both knew you were the missing piece to them, one they hadn’t realized was missing until now. They both knew it was time to attempt to court you as their love.

Sky continued to do so by spending time with you, growing closer through training and scouting, getting to know you better through the intimate moments he had when he forced your back to the wall with your blades clashed together. He could see the desire in your eyes when he had you this close, but he could also see you fighting it at every turn, pushing him away and attempting another attack.

Sun even made her attempts too, knowing you were more practical than most. She had a pair of sleek daggers made for you, stitched together a sailcloth of your own, even embroidered a tunic for you. All of which you happily accepted, but she noticed the wavering concern in your eyes too, something she intended to address with Sky, and soon.

Before she could though, you had made a move to surprise them both. You had set up a date, a sunset loftwings ride in the sky to an undisclosed location - one you had spied out for a while now. You had taken the lead on your loftwings, guiding them through the pink and violet sky, when the sun and moon hung at the edges of the world. Sun stayed close to you with Sky on the other side, taking in what felt like a picture perfect moment. Both of them were even more surprised when they descended down below the clouds, straight into a secluded area surrounded by trees, a clear pond, and a lovely camp set up. They both looked at it all in awed surprise, to which you chuckled at their reaction.

“I’ve been spying on this location for a while now, it’s completely safe.” You stated, getting off your loftwing. “I thought it was the perfect place for a date.”

Sky and Sun looked between each other and you chuckled at their reaction again. “You two aren’t very subtle. You think I don’t notice when courting is occurring? Besides, it took you two so long to confess your feelings for each other, that an evil demon god had to get involved. I figured it’s not best to risk something like that happening again with you two.”

Sky looked at you apologetically, as if he’d been caught red handed. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Perhaps. Still doesn’t mean that I don’t have a plethora of questions.” You stated, crossing your arms.

“We’ll be happy to answer them.” Sun replied, taking up to Sky’s side.

“In due time.” You say, moving over to the camp and grabbing three flasks. “But first I think some drinks are in order.”

Sun and Sky follow you, their Moon over to a short cliff side where you all sit together. They’re stationed on either side of you and you hand them their flasks before drinking our own, taking in the sweet taste of the liquid within. There’s a moment of comfortable silence between the three of you as you watch the sunset together, taking in the sounds of the forest, the caw of the birds, the cicadas, the little lightning bugs that were beginning to appear under the trees, the slow movement of the water below you as fish surfaced for food. You took another swig of your flask before finally asking.

“So, why me?”

Sun and Sky both glanced at each other, trying to gauge who would go first in this conversation, but you immediately turned your attention to Sky, whose ears and cheeks pinked as you looked at him.

“Was it your idea or Suns?”

“I - uh - it was kind of a joint idea.” He stated

You looked between them both. “So it was discussed? I’m not going to lie, it makes me feel better knowing that, but uh, again, why me?”

Sun placed her hand in your free one, dragging your attention to her. She smiled at you, her pretty golden locks framing as if she were a picture perfect example of beauty. Her smile and voice knew how to draw you in. “Because we didn’t know what we were missing in our life until recently, in our little family. We both care about you so much that we want you to be a part of it as well.”

Sky’s voice pulled your attention away from her and to him. “We both feel something for you, something that’s much deeper than even I fully understand. But above all of that, we both love you.”

Those words took you off guard as your mouth hung open in surprise. “You love me?”

You felt Sky’s hand on your back and Sun hand gently squeezing your other hand before he replied, “We do. We wouldn’t know what we’d do without our Moon.”

The nickname made your heart swell, they had already been drawing you into them for much longer than they realized. “I guess I should confess too that I’ve had feelings for you both. I’ve been conflicted, however. I didn’t want to be the divide in your happy relationship, but when I noticed you both making efforts to get closer to me, I figured this would be the best way for me to do so as well - or at the very least have somewhere that you could have fought this out without everyone else seeing it.”

“Did you think we were cheating on each other?” Sky asked

“I mean - not necessarily? It was a bit of a toss up there for a moment on what was happening since neither of you made mention of it.” You stated

“That’s fair, maybe we weren’t the best as we’d hopped on making a confession earlier.” Sun replied

“But I’m happy we’re here now, together. I love you two.”

You could see the glimmer in Sun’s eyes as she rested her head on your shoulder, feel the warmth of Sky’s lips on your temple as he kissed you, settling in closer together. It was a nice moment between the three of you, quiet and relaxed now that the issue of courting was out of the way. Sky gazed down at you two, happy to have you both at his side.

He was happy. Happier than he’d ever been.

Well, almost.

The months after were spent with the three of you tangled up together, enraptured in the other, unable to be pulled away from the other. It was the moments when he had both of you in his arms when he felt the happiest, right before he dozed off to sleep.

The next happiest would be when he was told that he would be a father. Twice.

His sweet little Sunflower was his beautiful blessing sprung out of pure adoration, but his little Starlight was the light of his eye, his strong little warrior whose courage knew no bounds, just like himself and his mothers. Sky felt as if his heart would burst with all the love he had for his family, how much adoration he had for each and every one of them.

Yes, prophecy may have forced his hand, but if he had to choose once more? He’d choose each of you again and again and again, until the end of time.

For the Sky could not be the same without his Sun and Moon. He could not live a single day without seeing them and his darling Sunflower and his courageous Starlight.

[thekinkyleopard]

Stay Like This

A Biziil x Meeko Snz Fic

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Snz Fic, Contagion, Care taking, Fluff,

Description: Biz and Meeko are at home enjoying a night in while Connie works overtime. Meeko has been slowly coming down with something and it starts rapidly presenting itself, leaving her large Bear boyfriend to tend to her aching needs.

Based loosely off this prompt

Author’s Notes: I’ve decided there isn’t enough Biz and Meeko. I need it. Here it is. Meeko and art by @aller-geez

Silently, Biziil was re reading one of his favorite book series. Twilight. Before you judge the man, he was a bit late on the hype. This is his second read through trying to find any hidden things he had maybe skimmed. Biziil loved a good book while his darling girlfriend Meeko was laying half asleep on his chest, curled up fully in his lap, his arms comfortably around her to maintain the hold on his book. One hand, lazily threading through Meeko’s softened orange strands while the other kept the ledger secured.

Meeko had come down with something gnarly a few days prior but was fighting off the brunt of it this evening as the wheezing sound of her breaths filled the silence of the room. Biziil would absent mindedly kiss the top of her head every so often just to remind her he was still paying close attention, if she were to need anything.

Connie was working overtime to make up for the time Meeko was out sick, their hard working girl. Connie always thought it best Biz did the care taking most times, Connie always felt at a loss when her partners were sick. Leaving her helpless and aching for their health.

Meeko’s eyes barely cracked open an inch, looking over the barely legible words on the book her partner read. Her mouth hung open, nose too stuffed and full to even consider a nose hole to breathe through. She sighed, heavily, her chest caving and following the motion with a hacking, and violent cough. “Hnnn….” She whimpered after. She really just wanted to breathe normally again, but every time she tested the waters she found that familiar prickle, scratching at the back door. ‘Let me out….’ It threatened and beckoned for her. ‘Let me out!’ But she couldn’t. She was so comfortable and she ran the huge risk of dampening the pages of her lover’s book. “SndfF…” she tried her best to clear herself of the fog. To no avail.

“Darling?” Biziil looked down, hearing the concave struggle of his girlfriend’s breathing, and more or less sniffled struggling. “Do you need another tissue, my love?” He asked softly, already preparing himself to grab one before she even decided to nod yes. However, she did.

“Please,” she responded with the most pathetic, low volume voice one could possibly muster in a time like this.

“Of course, Princess,” setting his book down for a moment he reaches over his side in order to grab a tissue from the box beside him on the ground. The box had once been on the side table by the couch but with a change of position, it was too hard to reach. The bear had properly placed it next to him on the floor, and was more than prepared as his fingers expertly swafted a tissue from its box with a *thwiff*. “Here you are sweetness,” handing it to her, but before she could even reach out, her face threatened to crack under the weight of her virus. Twisting and scrunching to avoid the fatality.

Her chest felt hot, her head started to sweat and she realized there was no out running the inevitable. Her nose starts to drip just ever so slightly, her hand working to push the stream back, but found it hard to keep her eyes open while doing so. Her body shivers, her head starts to pound and the more she tries not to think about it, the more prevalent it becomes. Sitting on the folds of her frontal lobe. “H-Hih….” She hitches, trying to swallow it back the second it falls from her mouth. “Hh…hhi—…HIH…” Biziil now scrambling to set his book aside, and cradle the back of her head in his now free left hand, and the right coming to a pinch just under her nostrils.

Just in the Knick of time, because the second the tissue was placed in the correct positioning, Meeko blew the top straight off her lip. “hih’KKSSSHHHuh!!” Loud, pronounced, her body shook, her legs buckled the sheer force and display drew up a brightened pink blush across the bear’s face. Without much warning or notice, the young woman finds herself yet again, struggling to catch a breath. Her throat clasps around the intake of air and shuts out any ability to get a good breath in. She stutters, almost hiccups as it sticks inside her throat.

“Let it out darling, don’t hold them back like that….you know how demanding they are,” he clicked his tongue, rubbing the back of her neck between 4 fingers and his thumb. Hoping the motion could soothe her some. It couldn’t. “Hh-h…HIH…h…. HA’AETTCCCHH’uh!! Eh’KSSSSOO, K’SHIEW!!” They were prominent, thunderous, they echoed the picture framed walls and Biz held onto her for dear life, as if everything they lived for was at stake, swiping, pinching, scooping what mess he could with the tissue still clutched to her face.

“Goodness, my love…Bless you,” his voice concerned, his eyebrows furrowed as his hand moved back to pushing the white bangs from her forehead, feeling her temperature. “Sweet girl, you’re burning up….”

Meeko turns, buries her face into the crook of Biziil’s armpit, trying her best to hide the deepened scarlett blush that decorated her usually pale face. “Hnnn….do’d loog ad me….” She whimpered with embarrassment. She absolutely hated how loud her sneezes were, they always made her feel less feminine somehow.

“It’s alright, darling, there’s really no need to apologize,” the grey haired man chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “Come now, don’t hide one of my favorite things to look at….” He leaned in closer to her ear, gently moving the orange threads that once shielded it.

“Hnnn….” She groaned back at him, wishing to disappear into a pile of ash. Or sneeze goo. Whichever she could manage first and faster.

“Do you wish to go to the bedroom, Princess?” Biziil asks her softly, in a gentle whisper as his arms tighten around her.

“……No……” her own voice softer this time, almost too muffled for the larger to make out, but he still strained every muscle he could to hear it.

“Then we shall stay here like this, for as long as you wish, my dove,” pulling her face from within his pit, they now face each other, eye to eye. “I love you, beautiful,” he leans in to kiss her tender lips before Meeko quickly shoved her index finger between them.

“I love you too Bizzy…..but I don’t want you to get sick…” her voice almost breaks, not from sadness but from the scratchiness, the soreness and the over all trashy way she was feeling. Her lidded eyes looked up at his with sincerity, and all he could do was smile.

“It’ll be worth everyday I fall ill….now please,” he responds in a sultry, but gentle tone, before leaning in and pressing their lips lovingly together.

The End

Author’s Notes: I know it’s not very long but I just wanted to write something cute, fluffy, and sweet 🥹🥹🥹 I loved writing this tbh. 🥰💚

[ghoulelegy]

Notes from the Greenhouse

Summary: You come down with the ghoulish flu one morning. Despite feeling unwell, you remember to return borrowed items to Primo's greenhouse and end up encountering Papa Emeritus.

Pairing: Primo x Sick Reader

Words: 2230

Contains:

Primo being a doting grandfather

Mentions of doctors

Foraging and Journalling

Knitting

Comfort

Safe for work

Gender Neutral reader

Read Notes from the Greenhouse on AO3 - if you prefer that.

Note: thank you @em0bussy for being my beta reader.

The ghoulish flu had taken hold of you that morning, its unwelcome grip wrapping you in icy cold shivers and fatigue. Its frosted tendrils crept through your body, wrapping you in an unrelenting embrace of discomfort. Every movement felt like a battle against the weight of exhaustion that settled heavily upon your shoulders. Chills danced along your spine, each one a reminder of the fever that raged within, alternating with waves of heat that left your skin flushed and damp.

Your sinuses were a battleground of congestion as if a dam had been erected within your head, blocking the natural flow of air. Each breath was a laborious effort, a struggle against the barricade of mucus that stubbornly refused to yield. Your throat, a usually clear passage for words and nourishment, had transformed into a raw and scratchy passage, protesting every swallow and causing a twinge of pain with each cough.

Your eyes, typically filled with brightness and bursting with life, were now veiled in a dull haze of fatigue. Redness clung to the edges, a testament to the strain of your body's battle against the invading virus. Sleep eluded you, as the coughing fits and restless discomfort kept you in a state of half-wakefulness. Sister Imperator had insisted you take the day off, recognizing the exhaustion that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

But before you could fully embrace the rare luxury of a break, your memory tugged at you, reminding you of the mortar and pestle you had borrowed from Primo. With gratitude for his generosity in allowing you to use them for your homemade paint, you made your way to the greenhouse to return the items.

With the late summer air, you found yourself going on walks and foraging wilted flowers (you decided to leave the living ones for the pollinators) which you then later used to make inks and paints for your writing. Primo had so kindly offered you to borrow his working utensils, to let you experiment with the paint-making process.

“I see you child, come in.” You hear a warm voice calling you in. You enter the greenhouse, the temperate room offering a stark contrast to the frigidity of the hallway of the abbey. You see Primo in his usual attire, kneeling next to some flowers, spraying them with some mist from a bottle.

“Papa! I’ve come to return your stuff. Thank you for lending them to me. The paint turned out nice”. Your words came out with a nasal tone, echoing with the rasping sound of your throat.

"Ah, I'm so glad. What did you use for the paint?”

“Just some berries I found the other day. Bilberries, I think?  Anyways I uh - I wrote all about it in my foraging journal. I can show you if you want” you muffle out, struggling to talk due to the pressure built up in your sinus.

“Ah, that would be lovely. But first, I must ask, are you alright? You sound…congested…and your eyes…they're so red."

"I'm alright, it's just…a little cold."

"Oh, you poor thing. Come, come, come. I’ll examine you, and then I’ll make you a cup of tea, child. Rest assured we’ll take care of that cold of yours.”

“I’m not entirely sure if you sound like a doting grandfather or a doctor”. You teasingly spit out

Papa chuckles warmly “I am neither, um well I suppose I am the age of which many would consider me a grandfather, however, I am but a simple herbologist. I trust you are scheduled to see a doctor?”

“Tomorrow, yes” 

“Lovely, I can give you some stuff to help with your discomfort in the meantime, but I still need to examine you first”.

He takes a torch, which he shines in your mouth.

“Hmm, you have some redness it seems, your lymph nodes seem swollen too. Does it hurt to swallow?”

You nod.

“Do you have a fever?”

“Not sure, really”

“Hmm, hard to tell for sure without a thermometer, but you do feel quite warm, might be fair to assume you have a slight fever” he says as he places his palm on your forehead. “Not to worry, I’ll make you some tea and bring you some medicinal syrup for your throat. One minute. I’ll be right back.”

He goes to the back of the greenhouse, on a table filled with glass jars. He goes through the jars one by one, uttering a series of hmmms before landing on an “Aha” before walking back to you.

He hands you a glass jar of black syrup. “Here, child, take this. It’s elderberries, thyme, ginger, turmeric…..some other stuff…yes…uhh here’s the label - cloves, cinnamon and honey.  Not the best tasting, I’m going to be honest, but it should help with your throat.”

He then proceeds to hand you a tablespoon. You pour the dark reddish-brown syrup into your spoon. You can’t help but chuckle at how it reminds you of the paint you made the week before. You notice that it smells richly of fruit as well as spice. You consume the concoction, the slightly viscous silkiness of the syrup coating your throat. Your olfactory sense has been dulled down due to your sickness but the rich sweet taste of the elderberries made it through, along with the immediate warmth of the ginger and cinnamon.

“That was not as bad as I expected it to be. It was actually quite pleasant, Papa” you chuckle.

“Well, I’m glad. Take a teaspoon twice a day or as needed”.

“Okay, now you sound like a doctor, Papa” You chuckle which sends you into a coughing fit.

“Now I shall make you a nice herbal tea, and you will feel better soon. Come, let us go to my office, child.”

He directs you to his office, a small but cosy room with a desk, desk chair, and two couches in the middle.

He sits you down on the couch, while he drapes a blanket over you, before handing you some lemon and ginger tea.

You notice that on his desk is a pair of wooden knitting needles, and a skein of brown wool.

 “You knit, Papa?”

“Indeed, I do. I’m making a blanket right now, got a lot of time on my hands now that the winter season is fast approaching. Don’t need to be outside as much now.”

“Okay, now you’re a doting grandfather. My old school had an unofficial knitting club. We’d sometimes used to gather on Friday after our classes were done for the week and just chill in the common room knitting to some weird TV show we found that day.”

As the tea warmed you from the inside out and the blanket cocooned you in comfort, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the unexpected connection that had blossomed between you and Papa Emeritus. In this haven of herbs, warmth, and shared stories, you found solace amid the ghoulish flu's grip. You still felt like you wanted to rip your throat out, with the occasional fit of coughs and sneezes, but the comfort of the blanket and the warmth of the office were enough to offer you some temporary relief.

Suddenly, a thought sparked within you. You reached into your satchel and retrieved your foraging journal, a weathered and well-loved notebook filled with pressed flowers, handwritten notes, and sketches of the plants you had encountered during your walks.

"Papa, I thought you might like to see this," you said, holding out the journal for him to see.

He took it with a gentle smile, his eyes lighting up as he flipped through the pages. "Ah, what a treasure trove of knowledge and beauty you've collected here."

You watched as he examined each page, his finger tracing the delicate lines of your sketches. It was as if he could feel the very essence of the plants you had encountered through the pages of your journal. There was also a section dedicated to berries as well as mushrooms (illustrated with mushroom spores)

"Tell me, child, about this flower here," he said, pointing to a vibrant illustration of a purple wildflower.

“Oh, that’s the sketch of a Michaelma Daisy. I found it on a walk, I used some withered ones to make the paint, then used that paint to paint the sketch.” Papa Emeritus nodded in approval. "A remarkable find and your sketches capture its beauty splendidly."

Encouraged by his genuine interest, you continued to share the stories behind the various entries in your journal. Each plant held its own significance, whether it was a remedy for headaches or a symbol of hope in challenging times.

As the afternoon sunlight painted the room in a warm glow, you felt a profound connection forming between you and Papa Emeritus. The exchange of stories and shared appreciation for the natural world created a bond that transcended the constraints of time and illness.

"You know," he began, his eyes twinkling with a mix of wisdom and playfulness, "I believe that the act of documenting nature's wonders is a form of magic in itself. It's a way of preserving the fleeting moments of beauty and drawing inspiration from the world around us."

His words resonated with you deeply, and you realized that amid your fatigue and discomfort, you had discovered an unexpected source of inspiration and strength.

Papa Emeritus returned the journal to you with a gentle smile. "Keep documenting, keep exploring, and keep finding beauty even in the most unlikely places. Your journey with the natural world is a gift to both yourself and those fortunate enough to share in it."

And as you close your foraging journal and place it back in your satchel, you see Primo running quickly out of his office, before returning, carrying several books in his hands.

"Ah, my young forager, mind if I share some of my research and knowledge? "

“Of course, Papa”

Curious, you settled in, eager to hear what Papa Emeritus had to say.

"Some books about the plants and mushrooms you've been encountering," he began. "Fascinatingly, did you know that lingonberries were once used as a natural dye for textiles? And that bilberries were considered a source of sustenance for generations of foragers. Legend has it that pilots during the war would eat bilberry jam before missions, to improve their night vision during flights. Well of course the night vision part was disproven.”

Your eyes widened as Papa Emeritus shared his insights. The fact that he had taken the time to delve into the history and uses of the very plants you'd been collecting made you feel an even deeper connection to him.

“I had no idea“ you admitted, your excitement matching his own. "It's incredible how much knowledge is hidden within the natural world.”

Primo nodded; his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Indeed, and every discovery adds to that tapestry of knowledge. It's a tapestry that we contribute to with every step we take into the woods, every journal entry we make, and every moment we spend in the company of nature. I have plenty of books here you can borrow on how to make use of things you encounter.”

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself engrossed in the exchange of stories and insights. With each shared fact and anecdote, the bond between you and Papa Emeritus deepened, transcending the roles of mentor and student, and transforming into a genuine friendship rooted in a shared love for the wild and its mysteries.

As the conversation flowed between you and Papa Emeritus, the hours slipped away unnoticed. The sun's warm embrace gradually gave way to the gentle hues of twilight that painted the room in a soft, amber glow. With each shared tale, the bond between you deepened, and the walls of Papa's cosy office seemed to hold not just the scent of herbs and tea, but also the weight of stories exchanged.

“I just needed to return the things—you let me borrow. And boy, I’m so glad I did”

With a contented sigh, Papa Emeritus leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "You know, my dear, sometimes the most unexpected moments bring us the greatest connections."

As the evening deepened, Papa Emeritus rose from his seat and walked over to a small shelf filled with leather-bound tomes.

“You should probably go rest, child” Primo gently voiced his words

“Yeah. I really should.”

"But before you leave, my dear, allow me to gift you with a book from my collection," he said, selecting a beautifully worn volume and placing it in your hands. "Consider it a token of our shared passion for the natural world."

You ran your fingers over the aged pages and smiled warmly at him. "Are you serious?” you ask “That’s so sweet of you.”

With a nod, he gestured toward the door. "Now, my dear, rest and let the herbs work their magic. Tomorrow is a new day, and I do not doubt that your resilience will triumph over this ghoulish flu."

As you left the cosy haven of Papa's office, carrying not just a book but also a heart full of newfound connection, you couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose and a heart brimming with gratitude, you stepped back into your room, you can’t help but feel like smiling as you collapse on your bed.

~ Fin ~

[viintxgephrxg]

— ANPU [6]

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley/Teen Reader [GN]

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Platonic

𝗙𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺(𝘀): Marvel/Moon Knight

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: The Moon God; Khonshu chose Marc Spector as his avatar when the man was on the brink of death, little did they or the rest of the Ennead know, The God of Death; Anubis had chosen an avatar of his own

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Series spoilers, angst, vulgar language, fighting, depictions of violence and death, gender neutral terms (they/them), (y/name) is used but no specific gender is assigned

𝗔/𝗡: hey lovelies! i’m so sorry i went on a hiatus for a bit and sort of abandoned this story for a little while, but i’ve got my groove back and pounded out the rest of this chapter, as in most of it was already written but a few pieces were missing and i’d just filled them :) don’t expect much because it’s kinda sloppy and a bit diced but i just really wanted to get a new one out.. i’d abandoned it for a bit because i didn’t want to write something that i would not be proud of.. again i’m so sorry this is so fucking late! as said i’d lost inspiration for the story and had a tough rut of writer’s block for a phat minute, but i’m back and chapters will be much more consistent now. thanks for understanding… enjoy!

[F/Name] = [Fake/Name]

—

The atmosphere in the boat was thick and tense, it was awkwardly uncomfortable to say the very least. And [Y/Name] didn't like it, they didn't like the intolerable air surrounding them. It felt like it was sneaking through their thickly barbed defenses and burrowing into their chest like a parasite.

They knew this would happen. They knew the mood would be metaphorically tight, and they swallowed slightly choked at the coil of said energy wrapping tightly around their neck.

"We have a bit of ways before Mogart's," Layla informed then she along with Marc found themselves looking to [Y/Name].

They'd opted to sit just a bit away from their parents, not so much so they were sat on an entirely different bench, just enough where there was space between them and [Y/Name]. "We wanna know what happened that night."

The incident in question left [Y/Name] utterly broken, forcing the teenager much too young for the fate they met, to haphazardly piece themselves back together.

They would move on to harden themselves to the world outside and the people that surrounded them, now protecting their broken pieces behind thick vaulted steel doors. Hoping the cold emptiness of the indifference they now held for everything would abate the searing ache in their heart. That it could somehow quench the burning in their chest, the fiercely sharp sting of the repercussions of what had occurred that horrible night some years ago.

But, they were not fortunate enough to be granted such freedoms. And their hurt and pain would now weigh down heavily on them, a weight that as the years have passed they learned to carry. Strong and firm in the resolute determination in keeping the pain from swallowing them in it's everlasting isolation and darkness.

On particularly hard nights few and far between young [Y/Name] would find themselves perched just outside their parent's window. The warmth from the love the two shared calling out to them like a siren, the golden wisps of the welcoming tenderness curling around their form and caressing their face.

And they very many times had desired to move through that window, sink into the warm embrace of family. Home. But they knew very well they could not, they didn't have the courage to. Not after... everything.

"What is there to know?" [Y/Name] averted, still not entirely comfortable —if at all, to share any information on the trauma they suffered through. They certainly didn't feel any sort of closure from it, that man was still alive, somewhere out there.

And they had been blocking it out from their mind for so long that they didn't think they'd even have the strength to recall it again. Therefore, they'd continue to keep all of those memories from ever resurfacing again. Even from their parents.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Marc spat, unintentionally sounding more bitter and angry than he meant to. "I want to know where you've been the past five years! And I want to know why you never came back to us! To your family!"

"It.. was a long time ago.. it doesn't matter anymore," they gruffly choked out. It did matter, the man responsible was known among the family. And he had stabbed Marc in the back, unbeknownst to him of course.

Marc could sense the reluctance to tell him was because the haunting pain from their experience would utterly destroy them if they lived through it again. Even telling him about it seemed enough to cause them fear, the thought of having to relive that night solely for his knowledge made them anxious.

They just couldn't do it.

And he had enough sympathy from his own childhood that he tries so hard to repress, to understand they're reluctance and refusal. Instead of pushing them harder, he opted for a much gentler approach. Scooting forward on the bench he sat upon and taking their hand in his, [Y/Name] looked up from their narrowed glare at the bottom of the boat. And they felt a sliver of warmth in their chest at the understanding look in their father's eye.

"It does matter [Y/Name], because you're my kid.. my own flesh and blood. I love you more than anything as I have since the day you were born. Whether it was five years or a thousand, you matter to me. And you always will."

They exhaled raggedly at his words, the sliver of warmth from before had grown so exponentially they felt the urge to leap forward and hug him. Just sink into the warmth only a father can provide for his child, the urge was so prominent they felt the tingled twitch in their blood. Vibrating beneath their skin as it moved through their veins.

But, just as all these years that have passed, there was that wall of heartbroken betrayal that always divided them and Marc. Separating [Y/Name] from the one person they used to trust most in the entire world. Keeping them from reaching each other with it's bitterly cold build, made of nothing but pain and heartache and devastation. All melded together in a blockade that stood firm and strong between them and their father.

They slid their eyes closed with slanted brows, swallowed thickly and then with slight hesitance pulled their hand from his. "I think... I think that what happened is best left where it remains. It's best to leave the past in the past, we should not look back. Only ahead."

Marc felt another pang of aching hurt ripple through his body, he had made his confession to them. He had made his feelings to words and he had let them know exactly how he felt. And they had still distanced themselves.

But, he decided the other night when they had managed to interact with each other that he'd respect their desire for space. Therefore, he didn't touch much more on the matter. He could see their firm and resolute desire to leave that night where it sits, in the past. And he would —once again— respect their choice to keep it suppressed.

With a slight hitch in his chest he leaned back to press his back against the wall of the boat. And he exhaled softly when [Y/Name] pressed their hand against the lower half of their face then turned to face away from both him and Layla.

Layla, whom had been quiet during their entire interaction. She'd agreed so wholeheartedly with everything Marc had said to them. And she too had so desperately wished to know what happened that night. She needed the closure.

Regardless, of her child being there right in front of her in the flesh. She needed to know why they had changed so drastically, what exactly had occurred for them to be so withdrawn in themselves. And most importantly why there was such a bitter and intense air between them and her husband.. —ex-husband.

She had felt so many emotions when she saw them in his apartment that it made her head spin. There was the shock that had overwhelmed her, quickly followed by a deep disbelief at the fact they were standing there in front of her. And then came the relief, it was like a cold bucket of water had been thrown over that fiery and stifling ache in her chest.

It swiftly quenching that painful feeling of longing she —until previously— had thought would never, ever go away. A longing to just hold her child in her arms, just be with them... love them.

But, this invisible force that was keeping [Y/Name] and Marc apart was a wall she didn't understand. Because she didn't know. Only they and Marc knew. And even Marc was in the dark about what had went on when [Y/Name] had been left alone that night.

It was a blockade that was slowly starting to thicken, she could tell that it was already such a strong and sturdy barrier that she desired to know exactly how it was built. And why it was there. She knew there wasn't one between her and them, but she also knew that the space between them also was not entirely empty. It may be thin, but she could feel that it was there. Built upon the grounds of bad feelings between them and Marc.

And she didn't feel like that was fair. She, of the three, was the most in the unknown. And she felt lost on how to untangle the mess that was between her child and their father. Which in turn, left her lost on how to get her child back.

The one who was all smiles, happy and lively. Not the one that looked beat down by the world, and thoroughly exhausted, the one that had a dark and worn out look in their eyes. Like a walking corpse.

In the scheme of things, [Y/Name] was.. tired. Tired of life, tired of the weight of their trauma reminding them of it's existence every damn day. Like a knot in their shoulders and a heavy ache in their chest. They were done, and if they were being honest they didn't know how much longer they could keep this up. They were just.... done. And Layla could see that... she could see it clear as day in the way they carried themself. In the way they looked, their aura and presence, and the way they continued to deflect any sort of affection... and it broke her heart.

There was a silent agreement between all three members of the broken Spector family. Their conflict and unresolved deep hurt needed to be put on pause.. for now at least. There were no promises silently made by either parents they wouldn't request to be told of what had went on that night.

[Y/Name] knew they would ask again... eventually, but they were relieved all the same when it was in accord they'd focus on Ammit and Harrow first.

When the music on the boat picked up, the young teenager found themselves intrigued as the woman who had previously been sitting next to her stood and joined the other occupants near the back. She began ululating rhythmically to the sound of the music and the others cheered as she did so.

[Y/Name] kept their focus to those boat passengers, comfortable in just watching as they danced and enjoyed the company of others.

"I haven't heard that sound since... since our wedding," they heard Marc speak up. And while they weren't facing them they knew both of their parents were now paying sole attention to each other.

"You could've told me. You know? What it's been like for you, about Steven." Layla countered, and they listened as a tense silence followed. Shortly after Marc responded.

"For what it's worth I had it under control until very recently."

"What happened?"

Marc didn't have the heart nor the willpower to divulge the truth, because he faced the same weight that his child did. A primal need to keep his past trauma where it rightfully belongs.

"We could've handled it together." Layla warmly reminded, and [Y/Name] couldn't help it when their eyes narrowed at their father's response.

"Yeah. That's not really what I do, is it? Never really been able to just talk about everything."

"Anything real?"

"Yes."

"Yeah I know, but.. that doesn't mean that we shouldn't have." Again, Layla was being the warm and loving person her child knew her to be. Yes, of course their mother is a badass and they knew that very well.. but they also knew she was just as tender hearted when she needed to be.

"Yeah, maybe.. it's a little too late for that now though." Came Marc's reply and again his child felt slightly irked by his sniped response.

They didn't turn their head but listened attentively as their parents made their plan.

—

The small ferry had finally docked alongside a pier, the grounds of Mogart's mansion lively and alight with people bustling about. Marc climbed out first then offered a hand to Layla, and as his young teenager followed... offered his hand to them.

An offer they hesitated in taking though ultimately accepted, allowing their father to help them up onto the dock. As Marc was knelt on the ground sliding their bags beneath the dock's stair, movement on the water caught both his and [Y/Name]'s eye.

And the teenager tensed then bristled at the reveal it was the same two men they'd seen in the market, the ones that had disappeared into the crowd.

"Harrow's men keeping tabs?" Layla inquired upon also taking notice of the men, Marc responded he wasn't sure before Layla ordered them away.

"Remember; your name is Rufino Estrada, and you're our child; [F/Name]." She firmly stated as all three made their way through the flow of locals and up to the fenced off arena. The grass beneath their shoes turning to sand as the two different materials blended together on the border.

The arena ahead was lit up with pale white light, smaller bulbs of colored light strung up alongside flags across the beams that lined the fenced perimeter. Just ahead, they could see two golden pyramid structures on either side of the path up to the mansion. And they figured the sarcophagus of Senfu must be in one of them.

In front of them, a dark skinned man approached and Layla called out to him, Bek was his name. They shared a friendly handshake before the man turned and began to guide them to the sand arena. Marc grabbing Layla's hand, then placing his other on his teenager's back to truly sell the bit. [Y/Name] tensed but ultimately went with the last minute ruse and walked along with their parents.

The area ahead was.. sort of like an equestrian bullpen, and inside the fenced perimeter were men astride beautiful horses and clashing spears against each other as they passed. El-Mermah. Marc made a joke about that, poking at the owner of the property and making fun of his activities. Said man, had halted his horse several feet in front of them and dismounted, Bek easing a blood red robe onto his broad shoulders.

"Layla. Come in." He welcomed upon seeing her, and she walked up to him followed by Marc and their child. Of which was too focused on keeping an eye on their surroundings to pay much attention to the conversation that followed. Only zeroing back in on the interaction when Layla had introduced them.

Pushing [Y/Name] forward by a hand at their back, Mogart took their outstretched hand and shook it firmly before he turned around and began walking towards the gate at the far side.

"Keep your wits about you my little jackal."

They had reached the pyramid when the teenager's eyes found the sarcophagus, they ignored the conversation between the adults as they slunk backwards a bit, hiding behind their father as they urged their optical ability to come forward.

With practiced willpower they only allowed their pupils to slit, enhancing their vision and sharpening their sight keenly.

"Very clever baby Spector."

The scratched in writings were visible, and clear as day to them now. They began reading the hieroglyphs etched into the sides and inside the lid of the sarcophagus.

Though, the only thing the written words told them was how to guide the dead. And being the avatar to Anubis they had already known all the knowledge on that matter.

The answer they were looking for must be within the coffin somewhere. Then, they noticed the written texts of the astronomical plane.. the answer must be there somewhere. As vast and ever-going as it is.. they had to find a way to get that answer.

But the writings gave no more clues, they'd have to get closer. Maybe there was something on the wrappings of mummified man lied inside. There had to be more on the cartonnage, there must be.

When their parents were permitted access and began to walk towards the pyramid they followed, then moved to stand beside the sarcophagus. And as they had predicted there was astronomical markings on the papyrus fabric inside.

Only problem was, they didn't entirely understand it. It was obviously some kind of map or something other of the stars. Maybe a particular night perhaps?

They'd looked at it long enough to ultimately decide they'd need Steven, though their father was firm in his refusal to let the Londoner out. It wasn't until the urgency from his child did he ask Layla to leave so he could speak with Steven.

And she listened, walking out as the Anubis avatar, whom ignored their father's conversation, circled the sarcophagus. Trying to understand the writings all along the wood.

Then there was an abrupt click, and [Y/Name] shot up from behind the opened sarcophagus. Marc had a gun on Bek, and Mogart had entered with two other men pointing guns at Layla.

Two others entered and moved around the sarcophagus to stand behind the teenager, both pointing their guns at [Y/Name]'s head. Much to the tense annoyance and ferociously overprotective fury of Marc and Layla.

Mogart came in and went off on Layla about the situation, it wasn't until another man came in and whispered in his ear did he fixated on something else.

"It seems we have an interested third party here," Mogart mused as he stepped out. He jerked his head and his men forced the trio to follow him outside.

And [Y/Name] grit their teeth at the sight of Harrow, the man slowly moving closer with his cane in hand and two followers behind him. Their hands previously raised next to their head, had lowered when they saw he'd entered the palace courtyard.

Harrow mouthed off as predicted, after showing Mogart exactly what the staff he obtained from Ammit could do, he prattled on about Layla’s father and consequently [Y/Name]’s past too.

Revealing far too much with few too little context about what exactly had gone on that night. And in turn stirred the thick and tense atmosphere brewing between the young teenager and their mother and father.

"You won't tell them who is responsible," Harrow goaded, the young teenager gritting their teeth hard as their jaw clenched tightly. Their narrowed eyes furiously piercing him where he stood. The Ammit worshipper neared and lured Mogart into a showcase of Ammit's power. Lifting his cane and speaking in a different language as the glowing purple color erupted from the cane and the ground beneath the sarcophagus. Crushing the only guidance to Ammit's tomb and partially destroying the clues in finding it.

[Y/Name] ignored the burning stares of their parents —both staring hard at the fact Harrow knew of what had occurred that night, and they didn't— as they watched Harrow leave with his men. The long haired man turning back to smirk mockingly at the teenager. [Y/Name] felt a rage burning deep in their blood at his actions and the fact it had stirred the already dark and tense air between them and their parents. The loud demanding voices of Khonshu and Anubis encouraging them and Marc to suit up and escape the situation they were in, not helping at all in quelling the fiery burn in their chest.

Only when their voices grew too bothersome did the pair listen—

"They're gone!" One of Mogart's men exclaimed and they all looked to find both he and the teenager had indeed vanished. Then, a voice proclaimed the pair had gone to stand at the top of the pyramid.

They all looked to the pointed top of the golden structure, and sure enough, Marc was stood there with [Y/Name] crouched beside him. Both dawning their opposing suits of stark white and deep black.

"Don't kill any of them," [Y/Name] spoke out, they hadn't turned their head to their father, but he had definitely heard what they said.

"What?" Marc looked to them in disbelief at their request, then reeled back barely a touch when they turned to face him. Their eyes now a glowing amber with slit pupils, their stare sharp and hard.

"None of these men are meant to meet their end any time soon, no killing.. it is only more work for me."

“Very well.”

With that the two leapt off the pyramid to take action against the men surrounding them. And they’d handled them with practiced expertise.

Marc adhering to his child’s forewarning and holding back on killing any of them, merely injuring them enough to the point they wouldn’t longer stand against him or them.

The only one who had lost his life was Mogart, and that was [Y/Name]’s doing, solely because he was charging after their mother with a spear. And clear intent to murder written all across his face.—

— [Y/Name] sprinted forward as Mogart charged, they ignored their father’s call for their mother and dove for her. Pulling her out of the way in the nick of time.. Mogart’s horse with him astride thundering past, in one single and fluid motion, [Y/Name] stood and spun quickly with a spear in a white knuckle grip. They threw it fast and sharp sending the spear hurtling towards Mogart where it pierced through his back then further all the way through his chest. And he slumped then fell to the side off the horse and into the sand, where he lay in a growing puddle of deep crimson colored blood.

[Y/Name] had reacted on emotion alone in that moment.. and that was what bothered them. Normally they could just choke back any and all sentiment for others while on duty. But… their father’s return into their life was screwing with their feelings on the worst way possible.

And they didn’t like that affect he had on them. He didn’t deserve it. Not any kind of feelings —tender and loving.. or otherwise— did he deserve to see from them.

Their feelings were scrambling, ever since that moment on the boat and every event following behind and leading up to now. When he allowed a moment of vulnerability and laid out his feelings for them, when they had first began to fight Mogart’s men and he wrapped both Layla and them up in his cape to deflect bullets fired from the men.

[Y/Name] just couldn’t handle the tense atmosphere and they hoped this mission would be completed soon.. because no matter the circumstances between them and their father. They had agreed that for their god and for the safety of the world.. they would see this mission through to the end—

— no matter the cost.

—

@wast3ofurtim3 @oscar-isaac-enthusiast

@mateihavenoidea @avatar-of-procrastination

@jvdethirlwall @revenge-of-the-bucket-demon

@itznox @handswritteeen @leighanne03

@jinxedleo @femalemarvelself @yorkeylover

@galactic-galabee @whelvedfeelingsstuff

@guyinachair27 @technikerin23 @galacticstxrdust

@vix3nspirit @astrobuzzsstuff @the-vex-archives

@daughterofthequeen @the-vex-archives

@stevengrants0sugarmommy

—

a/n: would you fucking look at that, finally a goddamn chapter got fucking posted.. i’m really excited to get back into this story, i’ve really missed it.. also i’ve excluded the stars spinning back scene in this chapter because i’d like it to be the set up for the next chapter.. as i’ve been back on socials and things i’ve seen all the wonderful things y’all have sent and said 🥹 makes me happy and ofc i’ll add all y’all newcomers to the taglist.. speaking of if i’ve missed you please let me know! hope you liked! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ oh also.. @cavepantherfury love your theory.. and worry not dear child.. all will be revealed in due time 💖

[silver-tooth-the-panther]

Hi! I wanted to ask if you could do some Shigiraki vore?

Plot: Reader is in the LOV and is mute. Shigiraki decided that Reader needs rest after finding out that they are not getting enough sleep?

(Hello there! Sorry it took so long to do this request. I did really enjoy writing this though! So I hope you like it!)

Need Sone Sleep?

(A Shigaraki Vore Fanfic)

Warnings: none!

Your eyes grew heavy as you slumped over your desk. Insomnia has had its fierce grasp on you for a couple days now and it showed. Your poor disoriented mind hasn’t been able to focus properly during the League of Villains’ meetings and you often couldn’t spend any time with Toga or even your boyfriend, Shigaraki.

Despite his wickedness, Shigaraki really did care about you. He noticed your lack of focus and was wondering why that was the case. Unlike how he treated the others, Shigaraki didn’t jump to conclusions with you. This did irritate some of the other LOV members, since they often thought it was unfair favoritism.

Luckily, Shigaraki never let them get to you. He was always able to help you, even when you couldn’t utter the words. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Shigaraki hummed softly. “I’ve noticed that you haven’t been focused as of late and I wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

You turned around in your chair to face him, your eyes drooping heavily. “Looks like I’ve made the right call. Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Shigaraki tilted his head curiously. You had to think for a second before signing to him, “Regret.” Shigaraki slowly approached you and crouched down in front of you. “Are they not letting you sleep?”

You nodded as tears began to well up in your eyes. Shigaraki wiped the tears from your eyes. “It’s okay, Y/N. I can help you with this..” He thought about the situation for a moment. “Would you like to be tucked away?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that this might be the best option. Shigaraki smiled softly at you. “Alright then.” Without a second to waste, Shigaraki lowered his jaws over you.

The warmth of your boyfriend’s body put you at ease. The gentle and soft muscles of his throat carefully pulled you deeper and deeper. With every swift swallow he took, the environment grew darker and warmer. His soft heartbeat thumped with a hypnotic rhythm. All of this together made this trip incredibly soothing.

Eventually, you reached Shigaraki’s belly. The soft pouch cradled your fragile and tired body. Special breathing rhythms brought the walls to life. They moved around you with the gentlest of touches. You smiled warmly as you curled up within him.

Shigaraki sighed as he felt your weight enter his gut. “There you go. Now you can finally rest. Are you alright in there?” You patted his stomach walls to tell him that you’re more than okay. He chuckled warmly as he got up and walked over to the bed.

“Remember, if you ever need anything, just let me know. I’ll always take care of you.” Shigaraki hummed as he tucked himself in. He started to hum a soft lullaby, which was muffled yet still relaxing. You felt your eyes grow heavier and heavier with each passing second. Eventually, you fell asleep in the warm confines of your lover’s tummy.

[xinfamousxunderdogx]

Disconnected (Jaskier x Reader)

Hello hello there, 

well, it’s been a while since I’ve shared a story on here. But I managed to finish something I’ve started writing quite a while ago. It’s not very long, but I needed a bit of comfort from the bard, as we all do. So I thought I’d share it.

This story is heavily inspired by the song “Disconnected” by Imminence, which I can highly recommend to you.

Quick summary: The reader os having quite a hard time to cope with their feelings on their own, but Jaskier is there to comfort them

“You’ve been in there for hours and you’ve had this song on repeat for weeks now already.” He leaned against the door frame, pale blue eyes fixating on me, eyebrows furrowed, a worried expression on his face.

And I looked away. I couldn’t face him.

He was right. I recently barely left my room, from time to time at least, only if I had to. And these times piled up the past weeks. I tried to hide it, because I didn’t want Jaskier to notice. Tried to keep up that smile and the bubbly energy we both shared. And I thought it worked. But yet again I realized I couldn’t trick him. He was way too good with people and knew me too well.

“I’m just tired. This week’s been exhausting.”, I murmured, still not looking back at him. Right now, there was still a chance that Jaskier would give up and simply leave me alone. But if I’d face him I knew I would start to cry, and then I would have to explain myself, but I know I wouldn’t find any words for what was going on inside my head right now. The past weeks. Months, even. Everything felt off, in a weird way, and I wasn’t able to explain. So, it was easier to deal with this on my own, in my head. Where I wouldn’t have to try and phrase my thoughts and feelings.

I grabbed my phone and turned up the volume just a tad bit, hoping Jaskier would understand and leave. With a sigh I closed my eyes, waiting for the familiar sound of the door closing and footsteps distancing. The door closed. But the footsteps approached, and a second later I felt the weight of his body lowering the mattress. Couldn’t he just go away? Couldn’t he just leave me alone?

“Jaskier, please, I said I’m fine I’m-“

“You can’t fool me, dear”, he interrupted me, and his voice was so incredibly soft, so caring and warm that I knew if he continued to talk, I wouldn’t be able to hold the tears back.

“I don’t expect you to talk to me, not if you don’t want to. I’m definitely not going to force you. But …”, he remained silent for a moment, as if he was trying to find the right words. “I’m worried. You haven’t… you haven’t been really … you, lately. I can see that there’s something bothering you, something that heavies your heart and mind, and I’m worried that it eventually might suffocate you.”

That was it. The first tear was running down my nose, but I did my best to try and keep my breath steady and calm. I hated to cry in front of others, at least when I was crying out of sadness.

“I just want you to know I’m here, okay? I’ll always be, whenever you need me. Remember that, okay?” I nodded quickly, giving him a sign that I was listening and not ignoring him. I wanted to thank him. But the lump in my throat was too big, so I just nodded.

“Good … good”, he whispered in response, and when I felt him shifting on the mattress to get up I quickly reached for his hand. I realized that I didn’t want to be alone, that I needed someone, but not to talk … just to be there.

“Could you … stay?”, I asked, barely audible, my voice almost cracked. But Jaskier sat back down, I felt the warmth of his body against my back again, giving me a feeling of safety. As if this warmth protected me, from the world, from my thoughts. I felt safer.

I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump in my throat before I spoke again. “I … don’t want to talk, though. But I think I could need some … some company.”

“Shhh, you don’t have to explain or justify yourself. If you need company, I shall, no, I will provide it, okay? Without question.” His fingers slowly intertwined with mine as his thumb started to gently rub circles on the back of my hand. Which only caused more tears to run down my face, and I desperately tried to suppress any sob, but Jaskier knew me too well. The grip around my hand tightened just a bit, and he turned so he was completely facing me.

“Do you need a hug?”, he asked and I just nodded, gritting my teeth, but as soon as Jaskier wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer, it was like something in my brain that was responsible for me holding back shut itself off. Tears were streaming down my face and I started sobbing almost uncontrollably. But Jaskier held me close, and my fingers were clinging onto his forearms as if my life was depending on them, on him. Everything that I’ve been holding back. suppressing, all the tears and emotions, now came over me at once like a tidal wave, and even though for now it felt like i was drowninhg in all of these feelings I knew I would feel better afterwards.

A loud, frantic sob escaped my throat and Jaskier wrapped his arms even tighter around me, gently rocking back and forth, he was mumbling something, I couldn’t understand the words but the sound of his voice and the vibrations I felt from his chest kept me safe.

I don’t know for how long we sat there, how long he held me while I was falling apart in his arms, crying every tear ive swallowed over the past few months. But eventually, even the last single tear ran dry and my breath got calmer again. I didn’t feel much better. But lighter than before. But even after I’ve stopped crying Jaskier kept holding me. And I was glad. I didn’t know if I was emotionally or mentally ready to let go of the shelter his arms and his body provided.

“I just ... I just feel so empty. And lonely.”, I whispered almost hesitantly after a while. “Most of the times, there’s just a void inside of me, and I don’t seem to be able to fill it. It’s ridiculous, because I know that theres is no reason for me to feel like that. I ... I have everything I need in life. Maybe that’s what frustrates me the most. Other people have it so much worse, have experienced so many horrible things and yet there’s nothing I can do against feeling that way even though I know there’s no reason for these kind of feelings.”

My voice got quiet again in the end, nothing more than a raspy whisper. There it was again. The habit to justify myself for my feelings, and to understate them. It’s always been this way. I wouldn’t allow myself any negative feelings that had no cause. Not because I didn’t want to, I really tried, but my mind was telling me other things.

“Can you be happy without any specific reason?”, Jaskier asked, his voice a gentle whisper right beside my ear. The question confused me. “Uhm ... yes, of course”, I replied, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Is that feeling of happiness, you can experience without any specific reason less intense, less of an actual, valid feeling?”, he asked further. “What? Of course not, Jaskier, why should-” “Then why”, he interrupted me “Should any of your negative feelings such as sadness be less real, less valid even though in your opinion there might be no good reason for these feelings?”

I really had to think about this for a moment. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument. I had to admit that he was right. As much as I hated it.

“But I feel so guilty”, I whispered, and in this moment i was glad both uo us were facing the wall. I knew I couldn’t keep up this conversation when I was looking at him. Because right now, i showed myself the most vulnerable I ever had. It was difficult, but Jaskier made it a bit easier.

“We are human, love. We try to find explanations for everything, or anyone to blame. But feelings aren’t something that can be explained so easily. We don’t care when it comes to happy, psoitive feelings. of course not, why shouldn’t we.But with tzhe negative feelings ... when there’s no explanation for that, the most logical consequence is to blame ourselves for them. Even though there’s no need to. Because feelings come and go, no matter what kind of. If, for example, you love someone, but they don’t love you back - they haven’t hurt you, they just don’t feel the same. Then you get sad, which is a reasonable response to the situation. there’s an explanation for your feelings, yet noone to blame. You wouldn’t blame yourself there, too, would you? So why do you do it now?”

Jaskiers voice was calm, soothing. And for the forst time in months I felt rather ... alright. As if his words managed to seal the leaks in my mind that were spreading the void, finally helping me to form clear thoughts again. His words calmed the chaos up there.

The way he explained it everything seemed to make so much sense. And he was right, I coulnd’t say anthing against it. But I knew that was just for that moment. The thoughts would come back. The guilt.

“I understand that I won’t be able to change your mind about this with just one conversation. That’s not my intention”, he continued, as if he’s been knowing exactly what I was thinking about. “But ... if you’ll let me, we can work on this together. If you allow me to help you we will find a way. A way for you to cope. To allow any kind of feeling, good or bad. To be human, but to accept everything that comes with it.”

A single tear rolled down the bridge of my nose, but I wasn’t crying because of sadness again. more because of relief. It felt good that now someone knew what was going on. Someone I trusted, someone I know would support me. Just for the moment I had the feeling that with Jaskiers help I could actually manage to put my thought in order again, to show them theor place. To work with them, not against them.

And I was more than thankful for that.

[swelling-ftm-belly]

Big & Pregnant for Xmas

I laughed it off when you first told me that you wanted to start a family with me. But here I am, caressing my belly while your twins are kicking inside me.

I looked at my swelling belly in disbelief, my body was so pregnant and was so marked by you; the man I tried to reject many, many times. 

When we first met, I liked the way you’d look at me, with intense desire in your eyes, and I played hard to get. I wanted to see how badly you wanted me; I'd toy with you as I pleased, leading you on but never giving in. 

I’d give you a small taste of what you so desperately craved, I’d let you get your brief kisses, your tongue casually on my neck, I’d let you feel me up, your hand squeezing my perky butt. Id’ never let you have your way, and I knew what you wanted, you wanted to bury your rock-hard cock deep inside my tight hole.

You were relentless, and I never wanted to give in to you. It was one of those times when we got together after I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder for a while. I remember how you were so hungry for me, for my body, but I don’t remember how we ended up in your place, on your bed, and I’d never remember when or how you managed to take off my boxer, both sweaty and totally lost in the moment; your hand reached down my crotch, I was dripping wet already, my t-cock engorged and so hard for you. You put the tip of your hard cock over mine, and rubbed it there, your pre-cum mixed with me wetness, it felt so good, I lost all my defenses, and as I slightly opened my legs, the tip of your cock moved lower, gently pressing against my opening, then you grabbed my hips and plunged your member deep inside me. I was embarrassed by how eager my hole was, to grip and swallow your cock so deep, I heard myself moan shamelessly, while you grunted and devoured my neck, I heard you breathe into my ear, “I can’t believe I’m finally inside you, babe.” 

And I just let you fuck me, that night, many times. I just let you shoot load after load into my unprotected womb, you told me you were saving yourself for me. 

I took so mucc ccum, I was leaking for a couple of days afterwards, and I promised myself this was going to be a one time thing, never again. But then you showed up at my place one day, you walked up to me, and whispered in my ear, “I want to fuck you hard, and raw.”

You took me back to your place, many, many times. And I always said, jokingly, “if you keep coming inside me like that, you might get me pregnant.” and it’s not like I can get pregnant, right? I’ve been told so many times that testosterone would make it highly unlikely. I was so, so careless. But then you said, “I’m going to knock you up, yes. I wanna have a big family with you, babe.”

I thought it was too late for me to start a family, let alone a big one. So I didn’t think much of it, until I was gaining weight mysteriously, soo I went and got a test.

I showed up at your day the same day, holding my then faint-baby pump, your eyes rested on my belly, I said, oout of breath, "I am four months pregnant."

You were so elated you carried me to bed and fcuked me passinately for hours.

time flied and I was already so big with your twins at 5 months, and at six months everyone was starting to notice, especially my friends.

In the beginning I was so embarrassed; I used to tell my friends that I’d never allow you to touch me, claiming that I never found you attractive, that you were not my type. I couldn't hide the fact that I was heavily pregnant with your twins, and you loved to show me off at every chance.

At our Christmas gathering I was huge, my aching pregnant body at 8 months was strained by the weight of your twins, but I loved every minute of it, you’d touch my massive belly possessively and I enjoyed letting you show me off to family & friends; everyone knowing how you claimed me. 

At the end of the evening while everyone was busy unwrapping gifts, you put both your arms around me from behind, resting your palms on my belly, whispered in my ear, “I can’t wait to knock you up again soon, babe, just in time that you gonna be big & pregnant like this for next Christmans.”  

You squeezed my swollen chest, and buried your nose in my neck, I could feel myself getting all wet and flustered, I breathed heavily between your arms, and said, “Me too.”

[canmom]

L’Aventur de Canmom à Annecy - Jeudi 1: Art College 1994

Woke up super late today - turns out you can’t run on 5 hours sleep a night, who knew. Rip to another chance to see Mars Express lmao

The silver lining is that I can write more about Stuff Wot I Did At Annecy.

First thing on Thursday, I joined my friend to watch Art College 1994 dir. Jian Liu. This donghua was pretty different from most donghua I’ve seen, which have tended towards mythology and fantasy - it’s a very grounded slice of life about a handful of students at (can you guess) an art college in 1994.

The main characters are two painter boys and two musician girls, and the film consists of a lot of long conversations - a lot about art, modernity and the influence of western art movements vs traditions, conceptual art, what the purpose of art is, how and where to try to get renown, etc., but also what to do with their lives, whether to leave China, relationships, etc etc. And while the film doesn’t put a lot of weight on historical context, we do see the effects of China opening up in the post-Deng period: characters will covet Japanese sound systems, visitors come from America and Taiwan, and the young students are fascinated by Western modernist art movements, which they see as progress.

It’s very naturalistic: characters will ask questions and not answer them, and we will see carefully depicted everyday activities, eating, washing, sleeping etc. In this it reminded me a lot of the films of Richard Linklater (AN120), such as Waking Life.

Before the film, the director came on stage to say that this film was his way of showing respect to this generation. So perhaps there is an element of nostalgia. But mostly I got the feeling that the students in the 90s in China were much the same as students of every generation.

The animation style was interesting. The character designs are so realist and consistently drawn that I wonder if rotoscoping was involved, but the movement does not feel like roto at all, so perhaps rather than roto it’s just heavy photo reference? Or maybe the animators are just that good at drawing lol. The drawing count is very low (not surprising with all the detail), but the motion we see is in general very carefully observed and naturalistic - there’s rarely anything really flashy but it’s very consistent. It’s a film that could easily have been done in live action, but given the theme about art, it’s interesting to present these characters as constructed drawings.

The backgrounds deserve special praise. They must be heavily photoreferenced, but they’re insanely detailed line drawings with mostly flat colours, which gives a very strong effect. I don’t know if they had some kind of digital posterisation shortcut but it honestly looks too good for that; it makes the cuts to nature and the sense of place extremely strong. The amount of effort to make them must have been extraordinary. The music too, while sparse, is very effective when it’s deployed. Overall the film really captures a feeling, of a moment of undetermined possibility.

The film ends on an ambiguous note, but after-credits text tells you what became of all of the characters, which felt like a bit of a misstep. Nevertheless... the pacing is slow and it’s definitely one I think you need to be in the right mood to see, but overall I enjoyed this film. I’m definitely curious to check out Jian Liu’s previous films. And it’s exciting to see donghua branching out from mythological films - don’t get me wrong I love the mythological films but I would love to see donghua become as diverse as anime.