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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

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Pinky Promise

Logan Sargeant x Vowles!Reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: you had it all planned out — do whatever you can to make Carlos Sainz regret the day he signed a contract to replace your best friend — falling in love with both of them wasn’t in your plans, but when has love ever been predictable?

The soft hum of the air conditioning fills the hotel room as you and Logan lie side by side on top of the crisp white sheets. Your heads are close together, almost touching, as you both stare up at the ceiling. The silence between you is comfortable, but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Logan’s voice breaks through, barely above a whisper. “I still can’t believe it.”

You turn your head slightly, studying his profile. “I know. It doesn’t feel real.”

He lets out a long sigh. “I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but ... I thought I’d have more time, you know?”

“You deserved more time,” you say firmly. “Dad should have-”

Logan cuts you off gently. “Hey, no. Don’t put this on your dad. He’s doing what’s best for the team.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a frown. “But you’re what’s best for the team.”

A small, sad smile tugs at Logan’s lips. “That’s sweet of you to say, but we both know that’s not true. Not anymore, at least.”

“Logan ...”

He shakes his head, still staring at the ceiling. “It’s okay. Really. I’m... I’m grateful for the opportunity I had. Not everyone gets to live their dream, even if it’s just for a little while.”

You flop back down onto the bed with a huff. “Your dream isn’t over. This is just ... a detour.”

Logan chuckles, but it sounds hollow. “A detour to where, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But somewhere amazing. You’re too talented for this to be the end.”

There’s a long pause before Logan speaks again. “They’re saying Sainz is going to replace me.”

You stiffen at the name. “Carlos? Are you sure?”

“Nothing’s official yet, but ... yeah. Pretty sure.”

You sit up abruptly, a fire in your eyes. “Well, that settles it then.”

Logan looks at you warily. “Settles what?”

“I’m going to make his life absolutely miserable next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Y/N, no. You can’t-”

“Oh, I absolutely can,” you say with a mischievous grin. “And I will.”

Logan sits up too, shaking his head. “Come on, you know that’s not fair. It’s not Carlos’ fault.”

“Maybe not,” you concede. “But he’s benefiting from this injustice, so he’s fair game.”

“Your dad will kill you,” Logan points out.

You shrug. “Worth it.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” you challenge, holding out your pinky finger. “I’ll even make it official.”

Logan eyes your outstretched finger like it might bite him. “I’m not letting you promise me that.”

“C’mon Logie, live a little,” you tease, wiggling your pinky enticingly.

He groans. “I’m going to get fired for conspiracy or something.”

“Well, they already fired you once,” you point out. “Can’t do it again. So let me just make this promise to you.”

Logan hesitates for a long moment before finally relenting. He hooks his pinky around yours with a resigned sigh.

“I, Y/N Vowles, pinky promise to make Carlos Way Too Many Names Sainz wish he was dead-”

“Y/N,” Logan warns.

You roll your eyes. “Okay! I solemnly swear to make his life a living hell! Better?”

“Marginally,” Logan mutters. Then, with a hint of a smile, he adds, “Okay, and I, Logan Sargeant, pinky promise to win whatever the hell I end up going to next … this is ridiculous.”

“Logan!” You gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t say that. We’re doing a ritual here.”

You tug your joined hands towards your mouth, lightly kissing Logan’s finger where it’s wrapped around yours. He mirrors the action, and you both pretend not to notice the dusting of pink on each other’s cheeks.

“Now what?” Logan asks softly as you lower your hands.

“Now we wait for the future,” you reply with a small smile, slowly detangling your pinkies.

Logan flops back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The future. Right. No pressure or anything.”

You lie back down next to him, your shoulders just barely touching. “Hey, no pressure. Remember? We’ve got pinky promises on our side now.”

Logan snorts. “Oh yeah, because those are legally binding.”

“More binding than any contract,” you insist solemnly. “Break a pinky promise and you lose the finger. It’s the law.”

“Is that so?” Logan asks, amusement coloring his voice.

You nod sagely. “Absolutely. It’s in the Constitution and everything.”

“Which Constitution would that be?”

“The International Pinky Promise Constitution. Obviously.”

Logan finally cracks, letting out a genuine laugh that makes your heart feel a little lighter. “Oh, obviously. How could I forget about that very real document?”

You grin, turning on your side to face him. “See? I knew you’d come around to the seriousness of our pact.”

Logan mirrors your position, his expression sobering slightly. “Y/N, you know you don’t actually have to do anything, right? I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you jeopardizing your relationship with your dad or ... or doing anything you might regret.”

You reach out, gently squeezing his arm. “Hey. I know. And I’m not going to do anything truly terrible, I promise. But a little harmless mischief to make Carlos’ life interesting? That’s fair game.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Define ‘harmless mischief.’”

You grin wickedly. “Oh, you know. The classics. Whoopee cushions. Plastic wrap on doorways. Maybe I’ll learn to play the kazoo and practice outside his hotel room at 3 AM.”

“You wouldn’t,” Logan gasps in mock horror.

“Try me, Sargeant,” you challenge.

Logan shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. Logan’s eyes widen slightly, and you find yourself holding your breath.

“Yeah,” he says softly after what feels like an eternity. “I guess I do.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest, but before you can respond, Logan clears his throat and sits up.

“We should probably get some sleep,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes. “Early start tomorrow.”

You nod, trying to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

As you both stand up from the bed, an awkward tension settles over the room. You hover uncertainly by the door, not quite ready to leave.

“Logan?” You say softly.

He looks up at you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “No matter what happens next ... I’m always going to be in your corner. You know that, right?”

Logan’s face softens, and he crosses the room to pull you into a tight hug. “I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thank you.”

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “Anytime. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

Logan pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. For a moment, you think he might say something more, but then he just smiles and nods.

“Right,” he agrees. “Best friends.”

As you leave his room and head back to your own, you can’t help but wonder if there might be something more simmering beneath the surface of your friendship. But for now, you push those thoughts aside. Logan needs you as his friend right now, and that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Besides, you have a season of mischief to plan.

***

Carlos steps into the Williams headquarters with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. It’s his first day as an official driver for the team, and he’s determined to make a good impression. As he’s led through the facility, he can’t help but notice the curious glances and whispered conversations that follow in his wake.

“And here’s our main break room,” his tour guide announces, pushing open a set of double doors.

Carlos’ attention is immediately drawn to a figure standing by a table laden with what appears to be refreshments. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight before him.

You’re wearing a pale blue apron over a simple sundress, your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. There’s a smudge of what looks like flour on your cheek, and your eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief. To Carlos, you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a 1950s magazine, and he’s instantly smitten.

“Ah, Carlos!” You exclaim, your voice warm and inviting. “I’m so glad you’re here. I made something special to welcome you to the team.”

Carlos approaches, unable to take his eyes off you. “That’s very kind of you, señorita ...”

“Oh, where are my manners?” You giggle, extending a hand. “I’m Y/N Vowles. James’ daughter.”

Carlos takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from your father.”

You blush prettily, and Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. “All lies, I’m sure,” you tease. “But come, you must try the cake I made. It’s a special recipe.”

Carlos allows himself to be led to the table, where a beautiful cake sits proudly on a stand. It’s frosted in a vibrant red, with delicate swirls of orange and yellow that make it look almost like flames.

“It looks incredible,” Carlos says, genuinely impressed. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

You wave off his words with a bright smile. “Nonsense! It’s not every day we get such an esteemed driver joining our team. I wanted to make something that would really ... leave an impression.”

There’s something in the way you say those last words that makes Carlos pause, but he brushes it off as nerves. After all, what could be wrong with a simple cake?

“Well, then,” Carlos grins, “I’d be honored to have the first slice.”

You clap your hands together excitedly. “Wonderful! Let me just grab a knife.”

As you bustle around, cutting a generous slice and placing it on a plate, Carlos can’t help but admire the way you move. There’s a grace to your actions, but also a hint of barely contained energy, like you’re holding back laughter.

“Here you are,” you say, presenting him with the cake and a fork. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

Carlos takes the plate, noticing how several other team members have gathered around, watching with interest. He supposes it’s natural for them to be curious about the new driver.

“Gracias, hermosa,” he says, flashing you his most charming smile. He takes a bite, savoring the sweet flavor for a moment before ...

Fire erupts in his mouth.

Carlos’ eyes widen in shock as the heat hits him full force. It’s like someone has poured molten lava directly onto his tongue. He coughs, struggling to catch his breath as tears spring to his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” You ask innocently, though there’s a glint in your eye that suggests you know exactly what’s happening.

Carlos tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gasp. He reaches for the nearest glass of water, downing it in one go, but it does little to quell the inferno in his mouth.

Through the haze of tears, he sees you watching him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. And despite the agony he’s in, Carlos can’t help but think you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Hermosa,” he finally manages to croak out between coughs, “I’m touched you tried to make a cake in honor of my nickname, but I got it because I don’t like chili.”

You tilt your head to the side, the picture of innocence. “Oh? I had no idea. How terribly unfortunate.”

Carlos isn’t sure, but he thinks he detects a note of satisfaction in your voice. He wipes at his streaming eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“What ... what kind of pepper did you use?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You tap a finger against your chin, as if deep in thought. “Oh, you know, just a little of this, a little of that. I believe there might have been some Carolina Reaper in there. And maybe a touch of Ghost Pepper. Or was it Trinidad Scorpion? It’s so hard to keep track.”

Carlos’ jaw drops. “You ... you put the world’s hottest peppers in a cake?”

You shrug, your eyes dancing with barely concealed glee. “I wanted it to have a real kick. After all, you’re going to need all the fire you can get to keep up with our team, aren’t you?”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder if there’s more to this than a simple baking mishap. But surely, he reasons, no one would go to such lengths just to make him uncomfortable on his first day. Would they?

“I ... appreciate the thought,” Carlos says, trying to be diplomatic despite the fact that his entire mouth feels like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper. “But perhaps next time, a simple vanilla cake would suffice?”

You laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, Carlos. Where’s the fun in that?”

Carlos finds himself chuckling despite the lingering burn. There’s something about you that he finds utterly captivating, even if you did just try to melt his taste buds.

“You know,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ve heard that milk can help with the heat. Would you like some?”

Carlos nods eagerly. “Sí, por favor. That would be wonderful.”

You disappear for a moment, returning with a tall glass of milk. Carlos takes it gratefully, downing half of it in one go. It’s only after he’s swallowed that he realizes something is ... off.

The milk tastes sour, curdled. Carlos gags, barely managing to keep from spitting it out in front of everyone.

“Oh dear,” you say, your eyes wide with feigned concern. “Is the milk not to your liking either? How terribly clumsy of me. I must have grabbed the wrong carton.”

Carlos looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s sure that none of this is an accident. But why? What has he done to deserve such treatment?

Before he can voice any of these thoughts, you’re already backing away, that mischievous smile still playing on your lips.

“Well, I should really get going,” you announce. “Lots to do, you know how it is. Welcome to the team, Carlos. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

With that, you turn on your heel, giving your hair a little flip as you saunter towards the door. Just before you exit, you glance back over your shoulder, meeting Carlos’ bewildered gaze.

“Oh, and Carlos?” You say sweetly. “Do try to stay cool out there on the track, won’t you?”

And with a final giggle, you’re gone, leaving Carlos standing there with a burning mouth, sour milk, and more questions than answers.

As the other team members rush to get him water and apologize for the “mix-up,” Carlos finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Despite everything, he can’t deny the spark of intrigue you’ve ignited in him. You’re a puzzle, one he’s suddenly very eager to solve.

“Are you alright, mate?” One of the mechanics asks, looking concerned.

Carlos nods, a slow smile spreading across his face despite the lingering burn. “Sí, I’m fine. Just ... adjusting to the Williams welcome, I suppose.”

As he’s led away to continue his tour, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that his time at Williams is going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated. And somehow, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

Because if there’s one thing Carlos loves, it’s a challenge. And you, with your sweet smile and fiery surprises, might just be the biggest challenge he’s ever faced.

Game on, he thinks to himself. Game on.

***

The bell above the door chimes as you step into the local Boots pharmacy, a mischievous glint in your eye. You scan the aisles, searching for your target: the hair care section. As you approach, a friendly-looking employee notices your slightly lost expression and approaches.

“Can I help you find anything?” She asks with a smile.

You put on your most innocent face. “Oh, yes, please. I’m looking for some hair products, but I’m not sure where to start. What would you say are the absolute worst ones you carry?”

The employee’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, did you say worst?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly. The ones you’d never recommend to anyone. The cheapest, most damaging products you have.”

“Well,” the employee says hesitantly, “we don’t really carry anything I’d consider ‘damaging,’ but there are certainly some budget options that aren’t as high-quality as others.”

“Perfect!” You exclaim. “Those are exactly what I’m looking for. Could you show me?”

Still looking confused, the employee leads you down the aisle. “May I ask why you’re interested in these particular products?”

You think quickly. “Oh, it’s for a ... science experiment. I’m testing the effects of different hair products on ... um ... synthetic hair fibers.”

The employee doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she shrugs and starts pointing out various items. “Well, if you’re looking for the least effective products, I’d say stay away from these. This shampoo tends to leave a residue, this conditioner is known for making hair feel greasy, and this styling gel can make hair crunchy and flaky.”

You nod along, grabbing each item as she mentions it. “Excellent, excellent. Any others?”

By the time you’re done, your basket is overflowing with an assortment of the cheapest, least recommended hair products in the store. The employee eyes your haul with concern.

“Are you sure you want all of these?” She asks.

You flash her a bright smile. “Absolutely! The more data points for my experiment, the better. Thank you so much for your help!”

As you make your way to the checkout, you can’t help but giggle to yourself. Phase two of Operation Humble Carlos is officially underway.

Later that evening, you find yourself outside a sleek apartment building in the heart of Grove. Your heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you fish a key out of your pocket — a key you had “borrowed” from your father’s desk drawer earlier that day.

“Sorry, Dad,” you mutter under your breath as you slip into the building. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You make your way up to the fifth floor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Pausing outside apartment 5C, you take a deep breath and slide the key into the lock. It turns smoothly, and you’re in.

Carlos’ temporary apartment is immaculate, with minimalist furniture and a few personal touches here and there. You spot a framed photo of him with his family on a side table and feel a twinge of guilt. But then you remember Logan’s devastated face when he learned he was being replaced, and your resolve hardens.

“Right,” you say to yourself, setting down your bag of drugstore products. “Let’s get to work.”

You head straight for the bathroom, knowing you don’t have much time before Carlos returns from his evening training session. The bathroom is just as pristine as the rest of the apartment, with a array of expensive-looking products lined up neatly on the counter.

You pick up one of the bottles, whistling low under your breath as you read the label. “Oribe? Fancy.” You turn the bottle over, eyes widening at the price tag still stuck to the bottom. “Holy... that’s more than my entire hair care budget for a year!”

Shaking your head, you get to work. One by one, you empty out Carlos’ high-end products, replacing them with the cheap alternatives you bought. You’re careful to match shampoo for shampoo, conditioner for conditioner, making sure the consistencies are as close as possible.

As you work, you can’t help but imagine Carlos’ reaction tomorrow morning. Will his precious locks turn into a frizzy mess? Will his signature style fall flat? The thought makes you giggle.

“This is for Logan,” you remind yourself as you squeeze the last of a particularly goopy gel into its fancy counterpart’s bottle.

Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on your handiwork, you hear a key in the lock. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Mierda,” you hear Carlos mutter from the other side of the door. “Where did I put that ...”

You freeze, panic setting in. You hadn’t planned on him coming back so soon. Thinking quickly, you gather up all the evidence of your presence – empty drugstore bottles, discarded packaging – and shove it into your bag.

The front door opens just as you’re zipping up your bag. You can hear Carlos humming to himself as he moves around the apartment. Holding your breath, you ease the bathroom door open a crack, peering out into the hallway.

Carlos is in the kitchen, his back to you as he rummages through the fridge. This is your chance. You slip out of the bathroom, tiptoeing towards the front door with the stealth of a cat burglar.

Just as your hand touches the doorknob, Carlos speaks. “Hello? Is someone there?”

You freeze, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he must be able to hear it. You hear his footsteps approaching and, in a moment of panic, you duck behind the coat rack by the door.

Carlos appears in the hallway, looking confused. “Huh, could have sworn I heard something.”

He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — a spicy, woodsy scent that makes your head spin a little. You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t look too closely at the coat rack.

After what feels like an eternity, Carlos shrugs and turns back towards the kitchen. “Must be imagining things. Maybe I need an early night.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, you make your move. In one fluid motion, you slip out from behind the coat rack and out the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind you.

You don’t stop running until you’re out of the building and halfway down the block. Only then do you allow yourself to breathe, leaning against a lamppost as you try to calm your racing heart.

“That,” you gasp between breaths, “was way too close.”

But as the adrenaline starts to fade, a giddy excitement takes its place. You did it. Operation Humble Carlos, phase two, is complete. Now all that’s left is to wait and see the results.

As you make your way home, you can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will Carlos notice the difference in his hair? Will the promotional photos be a disaster? The possibilities are endless, and you find yourself grinning at the thought.

“Sweet dreams, Carlos,” you murmur as you unlock your own front door. “Tomorrow’s going to be a bad hair day.”

***

Carlos arrives at the Williams factory, his stomach in knots. He’s been dreading this moment since he woke up this morning to find his usually luscious locks in a state of utter disarray. No amount of styling or product seemed to help — if anything, each attempt only made things worse.

As he walks into the building, cap pulled low over his eyes, he can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. His hair has never betrayed him like this before, not even on the most humid race days.

“Carlos! There you are,” James greets him with a warm smile. “We were starting to worry you’d gotten lost.”

Carlos forces a laugh, trying to appear at ease. “Lo siento, just a bit of traffic. You know how it is.”

James nods sympathetically. “Of course, of course. Well, the photography team is all set up in the main conference room. Shall we?”

As they walk, Carlos can’t help but scan the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Despite the cake incident and his current hair crisis, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you. There’s something about your mischievous smile that both intrigues and unnerves him.

The conference room is a hive of activity when they enter. Lights are being adjusted, backdrops shifted, and various team personnel mill about in their crisp uniforms. In the center of it all stands the photographer, a petite woman with a no-nonsense air about her.

“Ah, there’s our star!” She exclaims upon seeing Carlos. “I’m Lisa, I’ll be shooting you today. Let’s get you to hair and makeup, shall we?”

Carlos feels a wave of panic. “Ah, actually, I was thinking ... perhaps we could do some shots with the cap? You know, for a more casual look?”

Lisa frowns. “That wasn’t in the brief. We need clean, professional shots for the team profiles.”

“I know, I know,” Carlos says quickly. “But maybe just a few? For social media or something?”

Before Lisa can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the room. “Oh, come now, Carlos. You can’t hide that famous hair of yours.”

Carlos turns to see you sauntering towards him, a playful smirk on your lips. His heart does a little flip, even as alarm bells ring in his head.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, your eyes twinkling with barely contained mischief. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m quite interested in seeing how you ... present yourself to the team.”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, if you might have something to do with his current predicament. But surely not. How could you possibly have tampered with his hair products?

“Well,” Lisa interjects, clearly growing impatient, “cap or no cap, we need to get started. Carlos, if you could please take a seat in the makeup chair?”

Carlos hesitates, his hand unconsciously moving to adjust his cap. “I ... I’m not sure that’s necessary. I did my own styling this morning.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you now? Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Smooth Operator. Let’s see this expert styling of yours.”

The room has gone quiet, all eyes on Carlos. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he weighs his options. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he slowly removes his cap.

There’s a collective gasp from the room. Carlos squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the looks of horror he’s sure are on everyone’s faces.

“Oh my,” he hears Lisa mutter.

“Carlos,” James says gently, “is everything alright?”

Carlos opens his eyes, forcing himself to face the room. “I ... I don’t know what happened. I used my usual products this morning, but ...”

His voice trails off as he catches sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror. His normally sleek, perfectly coiffed hair is a disaster. It’s frizzy and dull, sticking out at odd angles and looking more like a bird’s nest than anything resembling a hairstyle.

“Well,” you say, barely containing your laughter, “I suppose this gives new meaning to bed head, doesn’t it?”

Carlos turns to you, a mix of embarrassment and suspicion coloring his cheeks. “This isn’t funny, Y/N. I look ridiculous.”

You put on an exaggerated pout. “Aw, come now, Carlos. I think it’s rather ... charming. Very avant-garde. You could start a new trend.”

Despite his predicament, Carlos finds himself fighting back a smile. There’s something about your teasing that he can’t help but find endearing, even if he’s fairly certain you’re somehow behind this catastrophe.

“Right,” Lisa says, clapping her hands together. “Well, we can work with this. Margie, bring out the heavy-duty products. We’ve got some ... taming to do.”

As the makeup artist approaches with an array of styling tools, Carlos braces himself for what’s sure to be an uncomfortable experience. To his surprise, you pull up a chair next to him.

“Mind if I stay and watch the transformation?” You ask innocently. “I’m always fascinated by the magic of Hollywood-style makeovers.”

Carlos narrows his eyes at you. “Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this a little too much?”

You gasp dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Me? Enjoy your discomfort? I would never.”

Despite everything, Carlos finds himself chuckling. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

As Margie gets to work on Carlos’ hair, applying what seems like gallons of product and wielding a comb like a weapon, you keep up a steady stream of chatter. You ask about his move to England, his first impressions of the team, his hopes for the upcoming season. Despite his initial wariness, Carlos finds himself relaxing, drawn into easy conversation with you.

“You know,” he says during a brief lull while Margie fetches more hairspray, “for someone who seems intent on making my life difficult, you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing at your lips. “Who says I’m trying to make your life difficult?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “The cake? This hair situation? I may be new here, but I’m not stupid.”

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe I just like seeing you a little ... ruffled.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat at your proximity. He’s suddenly very aware of the subtle floral scent of your perfume, the way your eyes seem to sparkle with hidden laughter.

“There!” Margie announces triumphantly, breaking the moment. “I think we’ve salvaged it.”

Carlos turns to the mirror, bracing himself. To his immense relief, his hair looks ... well, not perfect, but certainly presentable. It’s styled in a slightly messier way than he usually wears it, but it works.

“What do you think?” He asks, turning to you.

You study him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, you reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Not bad,” you say softly. “But I think I preferred the bird’s nest.”

With that, you stand up and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

“Alright,” Lisa calls. “Let’s get you in front of the camera.”

As Carlos takes his place in front of the backdrop, his mind is racing. He’s still not sure what game you’re playing, but he’s becoming increasingly certain that he wants to be a part of it. There’s something about you that draws him in, despite (or perhaps because of) your apparent determination to keep him on his toes.

“Smile!” Lisa instructs, and Carlos obliges, flashing his most charming grin at the camera.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots you watching from the sidelines, that ever-present mischievous smirk on your face. As the camera flashes, Carlos makes a silent vow to himself. He’s going to figure you out, Y/N Vowles, no matter what it takes.

***

The Australian sun beats down mercilessly on the Albert Park Circuit as Carlos leans against the wall of the Williams garage, his eyes fixed on the screens displaying telemetry data from Alex’s current lap. It’s the first day of preseason testing, and while Carlos is eager to get behind the wheel himself, he knows his turn won’t come until the afternoon session.

A familiar voice cuts through his thoughts. “Well, well, if it isn’t our resident Spaniard. Enjoying the view?”

Carlos turns to see you approaching, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. Despite his best efforts to remain wary after the hair incident, he can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, coming to stand beside him. “Oh, you know me. I like to keep an eye on things. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? And here I thought you might be here to cause more mischief.”

You gasp in mock offense. “Mischief? Me? I’m wounded, Carlos. Truly wounded.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe after the cake incident. And the hair fiasco.”

“Pure coincidence,” you say airily, waving a hand. “I can’t be held responsible for your sensitive taste buds or your apparent allergic reaction to ... whatever hair products you used that day.”

Carlos narrows his eyes, studying your face for any sign of guilt. But your expression remains innocently neutral, save for that ever-present glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Coincidence. Of course.”

You lean in closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “You know, Carlos, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were becoming a bit paranoid. Seeing sabotage around every corner. That can’t be healthy.”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken at your proximity. Despite his suspicions, he can’t deny the effect you have on him. “Perhaps I have good reason to be cautious, no?”

You pull back, laughing. “Oh, lighten up, Chili. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here. You wouldn’t want to be bored during your first season with us, would you?”

Before Carlos can respond, a cheer goes up from the garage as Alex completes another fast lap. You both turn to watch the screens, momentarily distracted by the flurry of activity.

“He’s doing well,” Carlos comments, genuinely impressed by the times he’s seeing.

You nod, a hint of pride in your voice. “Alex is a fantastic driver. You’ve got some big shoes to fill, you know.”

There’s an edge to your words that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, about your relationship with the team’s previous driver. He’s heard rumors about your close friendship with Logan Sargeant, the man he replaced.

“I intend to do my best,” Carlos says carefully. “For the team, and for myself.”

You turn to face him, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you will. Just remember, Carlos, this isn’t just any team. It’s a family. And family ... well, family looks out for each other.”

There’s a weight to your words that Carlos can’t quite decipher. Are you warning him? Threatening him? Or simply stating a fact?

Before he can ponder it further, you abruptly change the subject. “Oh, did you happen to see that article I was reading earlier? Fascinating stuff.”

Carlos blinks at the sudden shift. “Article? What article?”

You pull out your phone, scrolling through it with a look of concentration. “It was about recent medical findings. Quite eye-opening, really. Did you know that having your appendix removed has been shown to shorten your life expectancy?”

Carlos feels a chill run down his spine. “What? That ... that can’t be right.”

You nod solemnly. “Oh yes, it’s all here in black and white. Apparently, the appendix plays a more crucial role in our overall health than previously thought. Something about gut bacteria and immune system function. People who’ve had appendectomies are at higher risk for all sorts of health issues later in life.”

Carlos’ mind is racing. He had his appendix removed just last year after a sudden, severe case of appendicitis. At the time, he’d been told it was a routine procedure with no long-term consequences.

“Can I ... can I see that article?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

You look up from your phone, a look of concern crossing your face. “Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about your surgery last year. How insensitive of me to bring this up.”

Carlos shakes his head, reaching for the phone. “No, it’s fine. I just want to read it for myself.”

But you’ve already tucked the phone away. “You know what? Let’s not dwell on it. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. These studies are always changing, right? One day something’s bad for you, the next it’s a superfood.”

Carlos frowns, a nagging suspicion growing in the back of his mind. “Y/N, why did you really bring this up?”

You blink innocently. “Bring what up? Oh, the article? Like I said, I just found it interesting. No ulterior motive, I assure you.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that tells Carlos otherwise. He takes a step closer, his voice low. “Is this another one of your games? Are you trying to get in my head before the testing session?”

You hold his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Now why would I do something like that? I’m just making conversation. Keeping you company during what must be a very boring morning for you.”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, frustration and confusion warring within him. “I don’t understand you. One moment you’re friendly, the next you’re ... what? Trying to sabotage me? Scare me? What’s your endgame here?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Oh, Carlos. Not everything has to have an endgame. Sometimes life is just ... interesting. Don’t you think?”

Before he can respond, a commotion from the pit lane draws both of your attention. Alex’s car is being wheeled back into the garage, signaling the end of his morning session.

“Well,” you say brightly, “looks like it’s almost your turn. Better get ready, Chili. Wouldn’t want any ... distractions affecting your performance, would we?”

With that, you turn on your heel and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of frustration and intrigue.

As he watches you disappear into the crowd of team personnel, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that he’s just been played. Again. But instead of anger, he feels a strange sense of ... excitement? Challenge?

“Two can play at this game, Y/N,” he mutters to himself as he heads towards the locker room to change into his racing suit. “Two can play at this game.”

As he prepares for his testing session, Carlos finds his mind drifting back to your conversation. He knows he should be focused on the task at hand, on the data he needs to gather for the team. But he can’t help but wonder what your next move will be. And, more importantly, how he’ll respond.

For the first time since joining Williams, Carlos feels truly alive. The racing, the competition, it all pales in comparison to the intricate dance he seems to be engaged in with you. It’s dangerous, he knows. You’re a distraction he can’t afford. And yet ...

As he climbs into the cockpit of his car, helmet in hand, Carlos makes a decision. He’s going to solve the puzzle that is Y/N Vowles. He’s going to figure out your game, your motivations, your secrets. And when he does ...

Well, that’s when the real fun will begin.

With a grin hidden behind his visor, Carlos starts the engine. The roar drowns out all other thoughts, leaving only the track ahead and the challenge that awaits. Both on the circuit and off.

***

Carlos strolls down the plush carpeted hallway of the hotel, his mind still buzzing from the day’s testing session. The scent of leather and polished wood fills the air, a stark contrast to the oil and rubber smells he’s grown accustomed to at the track. As he approaches his room, a familiar voice catches his attention.

He pauses, realizing the sound is coming from your room, just a few doors down from his own. Carlos hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but curiosity gets the better of him. He takes a few quiet steps closer, straining to make out the words.

“... miss you too, Logie,” he hears you say, your voice muffled but unmistakable. “It’s not the same around here without you.”

Carlos’ eyebrows shoot up. Logie? As in Logan Sargeant? Intrigued, he moves closer, pressing his ear gently against the door.

A male voice responds, tinny and distant — likely on speakerphone. “I know, Y/N. But hey, at least you’re keeping busy, right? How’s Operation Torment Carlos going?”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken. So he was right — you have been deliberately messing with him.

He hears you laugh, a sound that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine despite the circumstances. “Oh, it’s going splendidly. You should have seen his face when he took off that cap at the photoshoot. Priceless!”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a note of concern. “Don’t you think maybe you’re taking this a bit too far? I mean, it’s not really Carlos’ fault that Williams decided to-”

“Shh,” you interrupt. “We don’t say that name around here, remember? And besides, I made a promise. A pinky promise, Logan. Those are sacred.”

Carlos leans in closer, his ear practically glued to the door now. A promise? What kind of promise?

Logan sighs audibly. “I know, I know. But seriously, Y/N, you need to be careful. If your dad finds out-”

“He won’t,” you say confidently. “Trust me, I’ve got this under control. Carlos doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Carlos has to stifle a snort at that. If only you knew.

“Speaking of control,” Logan’s voice turns playful, “when are you going to get that under control and come visit me? It’s not the same without my number one fan cheering me on.”

There’s a pause, and Carlos can almost picture the soft smile he imagines is on your face. “Soon, I promise. Things are just ... complicated right now. With Dad, and the team, and ... everything.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice softens. “You know you don’t have to stay there for me, right? I’m okay. Really.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to. For you, for the team ... for myself.”

Carlos feels a pang in his chest at the emotion in your voice. He’s starting to realize there’s a lot more going on here than he initially thought.

“Well,” Logan says after a moment, “whenever you’re ready, there’s always a place for you here. The house is all set up, and I know a great little taco place that-”

“Logan Sargeant,” you interrupt with a laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me with tacos?”

“Is it working?”

“... maybe a little.”

Carlos finds himself smiling despite the situation. The easy banter between you and Logan reminds him of conversations with his own close friends.

“Seriously though,” Logan continues, “how are you holding up? Really?”

There’s a long pause before you answer. “I’m ... okay. It’s strange, you know? Everything’s the same, but different. The garage doesn’t feel right without you there.”

“Y/N ...”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just ... I miss my best friend.”

The raw honesty in your voice makes Carlos feel like he’s intruding on something deeply personal. He knows he should walk away, but he can’t seem to make his feet move.

Logan clears his throat. “I miss you too. More than you know. But hey, we’re making it work, right? Long-distance at its finest.”

You laugh, but it sounds a bit watery to Carlos’ ears. “Right. Absolutely killing it.”

“Speaking of killing it,” Logan says, his tone turning serious. “Y/N, about this whole revenge thing ...”

“Logan, don’t start-”

“No, listen to me. I get it, okay? I do. You’re angry and hurt, and you want someone to blame. But Carlos ... he’s just doing his job. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Carlos finds himself holding his breath, waiting for your response.

“I know that,” you say softly. “Logically, I know that. But when I see him in the garage, in your driver’s room, talking to your engineers ... it just hurts. And I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

“By talking to me,” Logan says gently. “By letting yourself feel it instead of bottling it up and taking it out on some poor, unsuspecting Spaniard.”

You snort. “Poor? Have you seen him? Nothing poor about that man.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a warning tone, but there’s amusement there too. “Focus.”

“Right, right. No objectifying the enemy. Got it.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at your words. He shakes his head, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Look,” Logan continues, “all I’m saying is ... maybe give the guy a chance? Who knows, you might even like him if you stop trying to make his life miserable.”

There’s a long pause, and Carlos finds himself leaning even closer to the door, desperate to hear your response.

“I ... I’ll think about it,” you finally say. “But no promises. Well, except the pinky one. That still stands.”

Logan groans. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” you reply cheekily.

As the conversation drifts to lighter topics, Carlos slowly backs away from the door, his mind reeling from everything he’s heard. He makes his way back to his own room in a daze, collapsing onto the bed as soon as he’s inside.

Carlos stares up at the ceiling, trying to process it all. You’re not just messing with him for fun — this is about loyalty, about friendship, about dealing with a loss. He thinks back to all your interactions, seeing them in a new light now.

Part of him wants to be angry. After all, you’ve been deliberately sabotaging him, making his transition to the team more difficult than it needed to be. But another part ... another part understands. He thinks about how he felt when he was in Logan’s position, when he had been dropped from his dream team and replaced. Wouldn’t he have wanted a friend like you in his corner?

Carlos sits up, running a hand through his hair as he comes to a decision. He can’t pretend he didn’t hear what he heard. But he also can’t confront you directly — that would only make things worse. No, he needs to be smarter about this.

A slow smile spreads across his face as an idea forms. If you want to play games, he’ll play. But he’ll play by his own rules.

As he starts to plan, Carlos can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach. This season is shaping up to be far more interesting than he ever could have imagined. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

***

Carlos strides into the Williams motorhome, a determined gleam in his eye. It’s been two weeks since he overheard your conversation with Logan, and he’s been on a mission ever since. Operation Charm Y/N is in full swing, and Carlos is pulling out all the stops.

As he enters the main area, he spots you chatting with one of the engineers. Your eyes flick towards him, and he flashes his most dazzling smile.

“Buenos días, Y/N!” He calls out cheerfully. “You’re looking radiant as always. Is that a new hairstyle?”

You blink, clearly caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “Uh, no? It’s the same as always.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Well, it must be the lighting then. It makes your eyes sparkle beautifully.”

A faint blush creeps across your cheeks, and Carlos feels a surge of triumph. Progress.

“Right,” you say slowly. “Thanks, I guess. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your interviews?”

Carlos waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, there’s always time for a chat with my favorite team member. How are you finding the track so far? I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Since when do you care about my thoughts on the track?”

“Since always!” Carlos exclaims, feigning hurt. “Your insights are invaluable, Y/N. I hang on your every word.”

You snort, but Carlos doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. “Now I know you’re full of it, Sainz. What’s your game here?”

Carlos puts on his most innocent expression. “Game? There’s no game. Can’t a guy just appreciate his talented and beautiful colleague?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the compliment, and for a moment, Carlos thinks he might have pushed too far. But then you shake your head, a reluctant smile forming.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your words.

As you turn to walk away, Carlos notices your gaze lingering on the water bottle in his hand. It’s just for a split second, but it’s enough to raise his suspicions. He glances down at the bottle, wondering if you’ve tampered with it somehow.

Determined not to let on that he’s onto you, Carlos keeps up his charm offensive throughout the day. During interviews, he makes sure to mention how wonderful the entire Williams team is, singling you out for special praise whenever he can.

“Oh yes, Y/N Vowles is an absolute gem,” he tells one reporter with a wink. “The heart and soul of Williams, if you ask me. We’re lucky to have her.”

From across the room, he sees you stiffen at his words, a mix of confusion and guilt flashing across your face.

As the day wears on, Carlos notices you becoming increasingly agitated. Your eyes keep darting to his water bottle, and you seem to flinch every time he reaches for it. He makes a show of almost drinking from it several times, watching your reaction carefully.

Finally, during a brief break between interviews, Carlos decides to force the issue. He picks up the bottle, slowly bringing the straw to his lips while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes widen in panic. “Carlos, wait!”

Before he can react, you’re across the room, knocking the bottle out of his hands. It clatters to the floor, spilling water everywhere.

“I ... I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your face flushed with embarrassment. “I just ... I saw a bee! It was about to land on your bottle. Wouldn’t want you to get stung, you know? Allergies and all that.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “A bee? Inside the motorhome?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, a bit too enthusiastically. “Must have snuck in somehow. Crafty little things, bees. Anyway, I should go ... get a mop. For the water. Sorry again!”

With that, you turn and practically run from the room, leaving Carlos staring after you in bemusement.

“Well,” he murmurs to himself, “that was certainly interesting.”

As the day winds down, Carlos finds himself lost in thought. Your reaction to the water bottle incident was telling, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped his charm offensive might have started to break through your defenses.

Sighing, he gathers his things and heads for the exit. As he approaches the door, he hears a rustling sound coming from around the corner. Curiosity piqued, he peeks around the edge of the motorhome.

There you are, glancing furtively around as you try to shove something into a nearby trash can. Carlos squints, just barely making out the label on the package you’re attempting to dispose of.

Laxatives.

He has to stifle a laugh. So that was your plan. It’s juvenile, sure, but he has to admire your commitment to the bit.

Deciding to seize the moment, Carlos steps out from his hiding spot. “Fancy meeting you here. Doing a bit of spring cleaning?”

You jump, nearly dropping the package. “Carlos! I ... this isn’t what it looks like.”

He steps closer, his voice gentle. “No? Because it looks like you’re trying to get rid of evidence.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I ... I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid and childish and-”

“And exactly the kind of thing I would have done in your position,” Carlos interrupts, surprising both you and himself with his honesty.

You look up at him, confusion written across your face. “What?”

Carlos sighs, leaning against the wall of the motorhome. “Look, Y/N. I know about the promise you made to Logan. I ... may have overheard a conversation you had with him a couple of weeks ago.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You ... you were eavesdropping?”

“Not intentionally,” he says quickly. “But yes, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been ... let’s say, less than welcoming.”

You cross your arms, a defensive posture. “So what, you’ve been playing nice to try and manipulate me? To get me to stop?”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, not manipulate. I just ... I wanted to show you that I’m not the enemy here. That maybe we could be friends, or at least friendly colleagues.”

There’s a long pause as you process his words. Finally, you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do that, Carlos. Logan, he’s ... he’s my best friend. And seeing you here, in his place ...”

“I understand,” Carlos says softly. “Really, I do. But Y/N, don’t you think Logan would want you to be happy? To enjoy your work, to make new friends?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Maybe. But the promise ...”

Carlos can’t help but chuckle. “Ah yes, the sacred pinky promise. Well, how about this — instead of making my life a living hell, why don’t you promise to make it ... interesting?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Challenge me,” Carlos suggests, warming to the idea. “Push me to be better, on and off the track. Keep me on my toes. But maybe without the laxatives, sí?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I suppose that could work. But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you, Sainz.”

Carlos grins, holding out his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Vowles. Do we have a deal?”

You eye his hand warily for a moment before reaching out to shake it. “Deal. But I’m warning you, I can be a real pain in the ass when I want to be.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Carlos laughs. “Now, what do you say we get rid of this evidence properly and grab a coffee? I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

As you both head towards the nearest café, Carlos can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. He may have won this battle, but he has a feeling the war is far from over. And honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Carlos pushes open the door of the quaint coffee shop, holding it for you as you follow him inside. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans fills the air, and the soft chatter of other patrons creates a cozy atmosphere.

As you both approach the counter, Carlos gestures towards the menu board. “Order whatever you like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of your usual mischief returning to your eyes. “Oh? And what makes you think I can’t pay for my own coffee?”

Carlos grins, enjoying this glimpse of your feisty side. “Consider it a peace offering. Or reparations for all the grey hairs you’ve given me these past few months.”

You snort, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Fine. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carlos chuckles.

After placing your orders — a latte for you and an americano for Carlos — you both find a secluded table near the back of the shop. As you settle into your seats, an awkward silence falls between you.

Carlos takes a sip of his coffee, studying you over the rim of his cup. Now that he’s finally got you alone, without the pretenses and the pranks, he’s not quite sure where to start.

You break the silence first, your voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “So ... you said you overheard my conversation with Logan?”

Carlos nods, setting his cup down. “Sí. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but ... well, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been, shall we say, less than welcoming.”

You wince slightly. “Yeah, about that ... I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit?” Carlos raises an eyebrow, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Y/N, you tried to give me laxatives.”

You have the grace to look embarrassed, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “Okay, more than a bit. I’m sorry, Carlos. Really.”

He waves off your apology. “Water under the bridge. Or should I say, laxatives down the drain?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Carlos grins. Then, his expression softens. “But in all seriousness, Y/N ... I get it. I do. Logan is your friend, and seeing me here instead of him ... it can’t be easy.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a vulnerability in your eyes that Carlos hasn’t seen before. “It’s not just that. I mean, yes, I miss Logan terribly. But it’s also ... this team, it’s like family to me. And seeing someone new come in, someone who didn’t grow up with all of us ... I guess I felt threatened.”

Carlos leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod, wrapping your hands around your coffee cup as if seeking comfort from its warmth.

“Why the elaborate schemes?” Carlos asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were ... creative. But why not just tell me how you felt?”

You let out a long sigh, your fingers tracing patterns on the side of your cup. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I guess ... growing up in this world, you learn to play games. To never show your true feelings because they might be used against you.”

Carlos tilts his head, intrigued. “What do you mean, growing up in this world?”

A wry smile crosses your face. “Carlos, my dad is James Vowles. I practically grew up in the Mercedes garage during the Brocedes era. You think I didn’t pick up a few things watching Lewis and Nico go at it?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in realization. “The mind games.”

You nod. “Exactly. I saw firsthand how effective they could be. How a well-placed comment or a seemingly innocent action could throw someone completely off their game. I guess ... I guess part of me thought that if I could do the same to you, maybe ...”

“Maybe I’d leave?” Carlos finishes softly.

You look down, guilt written across your face. “Maybe. Or at least ... I don’t know. Maybe I thought if I could prove you weren’t up to the challenge, Dad would reconsider his decision.”

Carlos reaches across the table, gently placing his hand over yours. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Not unless the team decides I’m not good enough. And if that happens, it’ll be because of my performance on the track, not because of any mind games.”

You nod slowly, a small smile forming. “I know that now. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad. You’re ... you’re good for the team. I can see that now.”

Carlos feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

You pull your hand away, but the smile remains. “Don’t let it go to your head, Sainz. I still think Logan’s better.”

“You know,” Carlos draws out, “I’m glad we did this. Cleared the air.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. “Me too. And Carlos ... I really am sorry for all the trouble I caused. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Carlos shrugs. “Like I said, water under the bridge. Or should I say, hair products in the bin?”

Your jaw drops. “How did you know about that?”

He winks. “I didn’t. But thanks for confirming my suspicions.”

You groan, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

“Oh, hermosa,” Carlos grins, “you have no idea.”

***

Carlos stands in front of your hotel room door, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. In one hand, he clutches a bouquet of flowers so large it partially obscures his vision. In the other, he holds the key card you had given him just a few days ago, a symbol of the trust that has grown between you.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. Over the past few months, your relationship has evolved from antagonistic to friendly to ... something more. Carlos can no longer deny the feelings that have been growing inside him. Tonight, he’s finally gathered the courage to ask you out on a proper date.

With one final steadying breath, he raises his hand and knocks on the door. “Y/N? Are you there?”

Silence greets him. He waits a moment, then knocks again, louder this time. “Y/N? It’s Carlos. I was hoping we could talk.”

Still no answer. Carlos frowns, a tendril of worry creeping into his mind. It’s not like you to ignore him, especially not after the closeness you’ve developed.

“Maybe she’s in the shower,” he mutters to himself, trying to quell his rising anxiety.

He debates waiting, but something urges him to check on you. After all, you did give him the key card for emergencies. This isn’t exactly an emergency, but ...

Before he can talk himself out of it, Carlos swipes the card and pushes the door open. “Y/N? I’m sorry for barging in, but I was worried when you didn’t ...”

His voice trails off as he takes in the scene before him. The flowers fall from his suddenly numb fingers, scattering across the floor.

There you are, on the bed, but you’re not alone. Carlos’ predecessor at Williams is there with you. The two of you are tangled together in a way that leaves little doubt about the nature of your relationship.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Carlos blinks rapidly, his brain struggling to process what he’s seeing. You and Logan stare back at him, equally frozen in shock.

Logan recovers first, quickly pulling away from you and tugging a sheet over himself. “Carlos! What the hell, man?”

You sit up, clutching a pillow to your chest, your face a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Carlos, I ... we can explain.”

Carlos opens his mouth, then closes it again. A thousand thoughts race through his mind, but the one that finally makes it to his lips surprises even him.

“Can I join?”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implications. Carlos immediately wants to take them back, to pretend he never said them. But a small part of him, the part that’s been drawn to both you and Logan in ways he’s never fully understood, holds its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes widen in shock. “What?”

Logan looks between you and Carlos, his expression unreadable. “Dude, are you serious?”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks burning. “I ... I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I came here to ask Y/N out, but seeing you both ... I can’t deny there’s something there.”

You exchange a look with Logan, having one of those silent conversations that only people who know each other intimately can have. After a moment, you turn back to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you say gently, “I think we all need to take a step back and talk about this. Properly. When we’re all ... dressed.”

Carlos nods, feeling slightly dazed. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’ll just ... I’ll wait outside.”

He turns to leave, but Logan’s voice stops him. “Wait. Carlos, man ... I’m sorry. We should have told you.”

Carlos looks back, meeting Logan’s gaze. There’s genuine regret in the American’s eyes, and Carlos feels some of his hurt and confusion start to dissipate.

“It’s okay,” he says, surprised to find he means it. “We all have our secrets, no?”

You slide off the bed, wrapping yourself in the hotel robe. “Carlos, please don’t go. Stay. We should talk about this.”

Carlos hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. Part of him wants to run, to pretend this never happened. But a larger part, the part that’s grown to care deeply for both you and Logan, makes him turn back.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s talk.”

You gesture to the small sitting area in the corner of the room. “Why don’t you sit down? Logan and I will get dressed, and then we can figure this out together.”

Carlos nods, moving to the armchair as you and Logan disappear into the bathroom. He sits there, staring at the scattered flowers on the floor, trying to make sense of his swirling emotions.

A few minutes later, you both emerge, fully dressed but with an air of awkwardness that wasn’t there before. Logan takes a seat on the small sofa, while you perch on the arm, creating a triangle between the three of you.

“So,” you begin, your voice tentative. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Carlos nods, his eyes moving between you and Logan. “How long has this been going on?”

Logan clears his throat. “A while. Since right before I left Williams, actually. We just ... we didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“I see,” Carlos says, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. “And all those times you were talking about missing each other ...”

You reach out, as if to touch Carlos’ hand, but stop yourself. “That was real. We do miss each other. But it’s ... complicated.”

“Complicated,” Carlos repeats. “Is that why you were so hostile towards me at first? Because I was taking Logan’s place in more ways than one?”

You wince at his words. “Partly, yes. But Carlos, you have to understand, it wasn’t just about that. I really did feel protective of the team, of Logan’s place there.”

Logan puts a hand on your arm, a gesture of support. “Y/N, it’s okay. He deserves the truth.”

You take a deep breath, looking Carlos directly in the eye. “The truth is, Carlos, I started developing feelings for you too. And that ... that scared me. I felt guilty, like I was betraying Logan. So I lashed out.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. “You have feelings for me?”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “Why do you think I gave you that key card?”

Logan chuckles softly. “I told her she was being too subtle. Should have just asked you out like a normal person.”

Carlos looks at Logan, curiosity overriding his confusion. “And you’re ... okay with this?”

Logan shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I know how Y/N feels about you, and ... well, I can’t say I haven’t noticed you myself.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at Logan’s words. “I ... I don’t know what to say.”

You slide off the arm of the sofa, kneeling in front of Carlos. “You don’t have to say anything right now. We sprung this on you, and it’s a lot to process. But Carlos, I want you to know that what I feel for you is real. And if you’re open to it ... maybe we can figure this out. All of us.”

Carlos looks between you and Logan, his mind racing. This isn’t at all how he expected this evening to go, but he can’t deny the thrill that runs through him at the possibility.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that I’d like that. To figure it out together, I mean.”

Logan grins, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Well, in that case, maybe we should start with dinner? I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”

You laugh, the sound breaking the remaining tension in the room. “Trust you to think with your stomach.”

Carlos finds himself smiling too. “Dinner sounds good. But maybe ... maybe we could stay in? Order room service?”

You and Logan exchange a look, then nod in unison. “Sounds perfect,” you say, squeezing Carlos’ hand.

As Logan reaches for the room service menu, and you start picking up the scattered flowers, arranging them in a water glass, Carlos feels a sense of rightness settle over him. This isn’t at all what he had planned, but somehow, it feels like exactly where he’s meant to be.

“Hey,” he says, catching both your attention. “Whatever happens ... I’m glad we’re figuring this out together.”

You and Logan smile back at him, and in that moment, Carlos knows that no matter how complicated things might get, you’re going to be okay. More than okay, actually. You’re going to be amazing.

***

The Williams garage buzzes with pre-race energy, mechanics scurrying about and engineers huddled over last-minute data. In their own bubble despite the controlled chaos, three figures stand slightly apart, heads bent close in hushed conversation.

Carlos glances around before leaning in closer to you and Logan. “Are we sure about this? It’s not too late to change our minds.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty clouding your features. “I don’t know. Maybe we should stick to the original plan. Logan’s just here as a friend, nothing more.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. “It feels wrong, though. Hiding. Like we’re ashamed or something.”

“We’re not ashamed,” Carlos says quickly, his hand finding Logan’s and squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s just ... complicated.”

You nod, your eyes darting to where your father stands across the garage. “Dad’s going to freak out. And that’s putting it mildly.”

Logan follows your gaze, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “To be fair, I think he’d freak out no matter how we told him. Finding out your daughter is dating not one, but two drivers? That’s a lot for any father to handle.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Not to mention one of those drivers is his current employee and the other is his former one. It’s like a telenovela.”

You swat his arm playfully. “This isn’t funny. We need to decide what we’re doing. The race starts in less than an hour.”

Logan takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “Look, whatever we decide, we’re in this together, right? All of us?”

You and Carlos nod in unison, and for a moment, the three of you just look at each other, drawing strength from your connection.

The moment is broken by the sharp voice of Carlos’ race engineer. “Carlos! We need you for final checks. Now!”

Carlos sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you and Logan. “I guess decision time is here, whether we’re ready or not.”

You reach out, straightening his race suit collar. “Just focus on the race, okay? We can figure everything else out later.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah. Go out there and show them what you’ve got. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Carlos looks between the two of you, his eyes softening with emotion. “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Before you or Logan can respond, Carlos makes a split-second decision. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he pulls you close and kisses you deeply, right there in the middle of the garage.

You gasp against his lips, too shocked to pull away. Around you, the activity of the garage comes to a sudden halt, all eyes turning to witness the unexpected display.

But Carlos isn’t done. As he pulls back from you, he immediately turns to Logan, cupping the American’s face in his hands and kissing him with equal passion.

The garage, already silent, seems to hold its collective breath. You can practically hear the gears turning in everyone’s minds as they try to process what they’re seeing.

As Carlos finally steps back, a satisfied smirk on his face, the spell of silence is broken by a loud thud. All heads turn to see their team principal sprawled on the floor in a dead faint.

“Dad!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

Logan and Carlos exchange a panicked look before following you. As you kneel beside your unconscious father, the rest of the team seems to unfreeze, a flurry of whispers and movement erupting around you.

“Someone get the medic!” A voice calls out.

“Did ... did I just see what I think I saw?” Another mechanic mutters.

Logan kneels down next to you, concern etched on his face. “Is he okay?”

You nod, relief washing over you as your father starts to stir. “I think so. Just shocked, I guess.”

Carlos hovers nearby, looking both guilty and defiant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause such a scene. I just ... I couldn’t stand the thought of hiding anymore.”

As James’ eyes flutter open, his gaze immediately locks onto the three of you. “Y/N? Logan? Carlos? What ... what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, helping your father sit up. “We need to talk. But maybe not right here in the middle of the garage floor?”

James nods weakly, allowing Logan and Carlos to help him to his feet. As they guide him to a nearby chair, you can’t help but notice the mixture of confusion, shock, and curiosity on the faces of your coworkers.

Once your father is settled, he looks between the three of you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and dawning comprehension. “So, when you said Logan was coming to visit for the weekend ...”

You nod, taking both Carlos and Logan’s hands in your own. “It wasn’t just as a friend. The three of us ... we’re together. All of us.”

James blinks rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. “Together? As in ...”

“As in dating,” Logan says, his voice steady despite the nervousness evident in his posture. “All three of us. We’ve been in a relationship for a few months now.”

Carlos nods, squeezing your hand. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I got ... carried away. But we’re not ashamed of our relationship, and we don’t want to hide it anymore.”

James leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I ... I don’t even know where to begin. Y/N, honey, are you sure about this?”

You meet your father’s gaze, your voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Dad. I love them both. And they love me ... and each other.”

The garage around you is still unnaturally quiet, everyone straining to hear the conversation. You can practically feel the weight of their stares, but in this moment, all that matters is your father’s reaction.

James takes a deep breath, his eyes moving between the three of you. “This is ... a lot to process. But Y/N, if you’re happy ...”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “I am. We all are.”

James sighs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful. At least I don’t have to worry about you dating some playboy from another team.”

Logan chuckles softly. “No, just an IndyCar driver and your star employee.”

The tension in the air starts to dissipate as James shakes his head, a reluctant smile forming. “I have a feeling my life just got a whole lot more complicated.”

You lean down to hug your father tightly. “Thank you for understanding.”

As you straighten up, Carlos’ race engineer clears his throat loudly. “I hate to break up this ... touching moment, but we have a race to drive. Carlos, car. Now.”

Reality comes crashing back as you realize the race is mere minutes from starting. Carlos looks torn, clearly not wanting to leave in the middle of this pivotal moment.

You give him a gentle push towards his car. “Go. We’ll be right here when you finish.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah, babe. Go show them what you’ve got.”

Carlos hesitates for just a moment before a determined look settles over his features. He leans in, placing a quick kiss on your cheek and another on Logan’s before turning to your father.

“James,” he says seriously. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make Y/N happy and to make this team proud.”

James nods, still looking slightly dazed. “Just ... just drive safe out there.”

As Carlos jogs towards his car, the garage seems to come back to life. Mechanics resume their tasks, albeit with frequent glances and whispers in your direction. You, Logan, and your father are left in a small bubble of calm amid the renewed chaos.

Logan clears his throat. “So ... I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. “You could say that. I think we just gave the entire paddock enough gossip to last the rest of the season.”

James shakes his head, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face. “You three certainly know how to make an announcement. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t decide to share the news during a press conference.”

As the sound of engines roaring to life fills the air, you find yourself filled with a sense of lightness. The secret’s out, for better or worse, and now you can face whatever comes next together.

Logan puts an arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him, watching as Carlos’ car pulls out of the garage. “Well,” Logan says with a grin, “I guess there’s only one thing left to do now.”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He winks, guiding you towards the spectator area. “Cheer our boy on, of course.”

***

Four Years Later

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of the spacious living room, warming over the three occupants. You’re nestled comfortably on the couch, your hands resting on your swollen belly, a contented smile playing on your lips as you watch your two partners bicker good-naturedly.

Carlos paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair in mock distress. “I just can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Our child, our beautiful baby, will be one-third American!”

Logan, sprawled in an armchair, grins widely. “And what’s wrong with that? Afraid our kid might actually develop some taste?”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Boys, please. The baby can hear you, you know.”

Carlos stops his pacing, turning to you with wide eyes. “Exactly! We need to counteract this American influence immediately. Quick, where’s that Spanish lullaby CD my mother sent?”

Logan snorts. “Oh please, like that’ll do any good against the power of apple pie and freedom.”

“Apple pie?” Carlos scoffs. “Please. Our child will have a sophisticated palate. Paella, gazpacho, tortilla española-”

“Burgers, hot dogs, s’mores,” Logan counters, ticking off on his fingers.

You can’t help but laugh at their antics. “You do realize the baby will be more British than anything else, right? Given that I’m the one actually carrying it?”

Both men turn to look at you, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

“Dios mío,” Carlos whispers. “I didn’t even think of that.”

Logan nods solemnly. “We’re doomed. Our child is going to have terrible teeth and an unhealthy obsession with beans on toast.”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily, laughing. “Watch it, Sargeant. This Brit is the mother of your child.”

Carlos flops down on the couch next to you, placing a gentle hand on your belly. “Don’t worry, mi amor. We’ll make sure our little one has the best of all worlds. The passion of Spain, the ... whatever it is Americans have-”

“Awesomeness,” Logan interjects.

“-and the ... charm of Britain,” Carlos finishes, winking at you.

You lean in to kiss him softly. “Nice save.”

Logan gets up from his chair, moving to sit on your other side. He places his hand next to Carlos’ on your belly. “Hey, little one. Don’t listen to your papa. He’s just jealous because he knows you’re going to prefer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to croquetas.”

Carlos gasps in mock outrage. “Take that back!”

You groan, leaning back against the couch. “Oh god, is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of our lives?”

Both men turn to you with identical grins. “Absolutely,” they say in unison.

Despite your exasperated tone, you can’t help but smile. This is your family, quirks and all, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suddenly, you feel a strong kick under your partners’ hands. Their eyes widen in surprise and delight.

“Did you feel that?” Logan asks excitedly.

Carlos nods, his eyes shining. “Sí, it was so strong! Our little footballer in the making.”

“You mean soccer player,” Logan adds with a smirk.

Carlos groans. “Por favor, not this again. It’s football, Logan. The rest of the world calls it football.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of the world is wrong,” Logan retorts, sticking out his tongue.

You shake your head, amused. “I swear, sometimes it’s like I have two children already.”

Both men have the grace to look slightly sheepish, but their hands remain on your belly, waiting for another kick.

“You know,” you say thoughtfully, “we still haven’t decided on a name.”

Carlos perks up. “I’ve been thinking about that! What about Carlos III for a boy?”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “Because the current two of you aren’t enough? What about something cool, like Maverick?”

“Maverick?” Carlos repeats incredulously. “What is this, Top Gun?”

“Hey, Top Gun is a classic!” Logan defends.

You clear your throat. “Gentlemen, might I remind you that I get veto power on all names?”

They both turn to you, curious. “What did you have in mind, babe?” Logan asks.

You smile mysteriously. “Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m not sharing until you two can agree on at least one name together.”

Carlos and Logan exchange a look, a silent challenge passing between them.

“Fine,” Carlos says. “How about ... James? It’s a name that works in all our cultures, and it would be a nice nod to your father, Y/N.”

Logan nods slowly. “James ... I like it. Simple, classic. And we could call him Jamie for short.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest. “James is perfect. Dad will be over the moon.”

“James it is then,” Carlos says with a soft smile. “For a boy, at least. What if it’s a girl?”

Logan’s eyes light up. “Oh! What about Liberty? You know, because-”

“Absolutely not,” you and Carlos say in unison.

Logan pouts. “You guys are no fun.”

Carlos chuckles, reaching across you to ruffle Logan’s hair. “Come on, querido. Surely you can think of something better than that.”

Logan leans into the touch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “How about ... Sophia? It’s pretty, and it works in all our languages.”

You nod approvingly. “Sophia is lovely. What do you think, Carlos?”

Carlos smiles. “Sophia is beautiful. Sophia Sainz-Sargeant-Vowles. It has a nice ring to it, no?”

“It’s a mouthful is what it is,” Logan chuckles. “But I love it.”

You feel another kick, stronger this time. “I think the baby approves too.”

Carlos leans down to speak directly to your belly. “Hello there, little one. Are you a James or a Sophia?”

Logan joins in, his voice taking on an exaggerated American accent. “Now listen here, kiddo. Whatever you are, just remember: you’ve got red, white, and blue running through your veins. USA! USA!”

Carlos groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “Dios mío, what have I gotten myself into?”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “A lifetime of this, darling.”

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the room, you find yourself filled with an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. This unconventional family of yours, with its mix of cultures and personalities, is everything you never knew you needed.

“Hey,” you say softly, drawing both men’s attention. “I love you both. So much. And this baby is going to be so loved, no matter what nationality they end up identifying with.”

Carlos and Logan’s faces soften, all traces of their playful argument disappearing.

“We love you too,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “More than anything. All three of you.”

As you sit there, sandwiched between the two men you love, their hands protectively cradling your unborn child, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Spanish passion, American spirit, and British charm — your child will have the best of all worlds, and a family full of love to support them every step of the way.

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athenamikaelson · 5 months ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 3

Word Count- 2.7

Warnings- swearing, canon violence, spoilers obvi, puking

“I really think this is a bad idea,” I tell Elena and Rose from the backseat of Elena’s SUV. Earlier this morning Elena called me and asked if I would go with her to one of Rose’s friends to learn more about Klaus. I had originally going to tell her no, but then remembered Theo had been trying to get me to take him to some football game upstate and I needed a reason to say no. I may hate the supernatural, but not as much as I hate packed arenas filled with drunk older men.

“Everything will be fine, Y/N. We’re just going to ask Slater some questions and we’ll be on our way back to Mystic Falls before dinner,” Elena sends me a reassuring smile from the front seat, “Besides, Slater can be trusted. Right, Rose?” She questions the pixie-haired vampire who sits silently in the driver’s seat.

Rose nods along to Elena’s question, “I’ve known Slater for a long time he’s the only person I have fully trusted other than…” Her face falls into a solemn look and I presume she’s thinking about Trevor, her now headless friend. Elena sends her a sad look while I try to find interest in my hands. Dealing with other people’s emotions has never been my strong suit.

“The bottom line is, we can trust him. If anyone is going to know anything about Klaus and ritual it’ll be him.”

I sigh and lean back into my seat, staring out the window. I watch as we drive by countless people going throughout their days. Normal-average-looking people doing mundane things, walking strollers, going to work, and school. Now that I know about the supernatural though questions swarm my mind if the people I’m watching are actual people. I mean I’m going to guess that baby in the stroller wasn’t a vampire…well.

“Do vampire babies exist,” I ask aloud. Elena turns to look over her shoulder at me and Rose just lets out a deep sigh as she flips the blinker on.

“Vampires can’t reproduce, so no,” She responds solemnly to which I shake my head, “No I mean like can babies be vampires?”

This question gains Rose’s attention as she turns over her shoulder and looks at me with an “Are you serious” look. Elena just looks from me to Rose, then back to me before shaking her head.

“No,” She pauses in thought, “At least I don’t think they can be. I mean technically maybe they could be but I don’t think an infant would be able to hunt for blood.”

Elena and I nod together as we come to the final conclusion that babies can in fact be vampires.

“Baby vampires don’t exist,” Rose states annoyed.

“Why not,” Elena turns to Rose who looks like she’s close to turning this car around or driving it off a cliff.

Rose is quiet for a moment as if she is actually going to give the question an answer before she shakes her head and sighs.

“They just can’t,” She turns the wheel into a parking spot in front of an industrial building, “We’re here.”

—

“Well, looks like he’s not home. Better come another day,” I’ll tell them as Rose’s knocks are met with no response. I twirl around on my heel and climb down a step but halt when Elena’s hand grabs the sleeve of my jacket.

“Mmn, no. We didn’t come all the way out here for nothing,” She says as she motions at the door to Rose. Rose just rolls her eyes as she breaks open the latch on the door. Impressive. Rose motions for us to walk in and I begrudgingly follow behind Elena.

Slater’s apartment is large with brick walls. My gaze catches odd-looking artifacts that line the bricked walls, along with artwork that appears to be mid-century.

“I don’t think he’s going to be much help,” Rose’s voice comes from the living room. Elena is already walking towards her when she lets out a gasp making my spine lock up. I slowly peek my head past the door and choke down bile as I see the veiny corpse of who I’m assuming was Slater.

“Shit.”

—-

I’m sitting on the couch of the dead guys' apartment as Rose and Elena look through Slater’s stuff. I wrap my sweater around my tighter as I watch them get stumped by the password-locked computers. I listen to Rose tell Elena we should just leave since we don’t have the password when a rustling comes from the room behind us.

“Is the dead guy alive,” I whisper as I kneel on the couch and barely raise my eyes over the top of it to try to look at the door? Rose walks to the door and clutches my sweater tighter to me as she opens it up and stares out.

“Alice,” Rose’s voice questioned.

“I thought the dead guy's name was Slater,” I whisper-yell to Elena as she just shakes her head. We both whip our heads to Rose as a dark-haired girl runs into her arms crying. So not Slater. I slightly cringe at her high-pitched cries and lower myself back onto the couch as Rose tries to soothe her.

—

Ten minutes later Rose, Elena, and I are in Slater’s kitchen making Slater’s “widow” tea. I had felt a moment of sympathy for the black-haired woman about losing her boyfriend until Rose enlightened Elena and me on her real reason for being with Slater. She had wanted to become a vampire aswell.

Rose and I watch from the kitchen as Elena tries to get the passcode out of Alice. It doesn’t seem to be going well until Elena promises Alice that she’ll get Rose to turn her if she helps us. Unsurprisingly that changes Alice’s dark mood and she skips over to the table of monitors. She puts in his password as Elena and Rose watch from over her shoulder. I haven’t changed from my seat in the kitchen though, just silently sipping the spare apple juice box I found in the fridge.

My ears perk up as Alice tells us his password was Kristen Stewart and how predictable Slater was. I pull myself off my bar stool and walk into the living room sipping my juice.

“What about that one? “Cody Webber, THey exchanged dozens of e-mails about Elijah,” Rose asks Alice pointing out some emails.

“I could call him,” Alice tells her.

Elena hands her her phone, “Tell him that we’re trying to send a message to Klaus. The doppelganger’s alive, and she is ready to surrender.”

Elena’s admission shocks me so much I drop my juice box onto the floor, “What the hell?”

Elena doesn’t look at either Rose or me as she tells Alice to get the message to him and she walks out of the room. Rose and I just stare at each other for a moment in shock before we rush after Elena.

“What are you doing,” Rose presses Elena.

“I’m getting Klaus’s attention.” Is all Elena says as if it’s not signing her own death certificate. Last night after I’d gotten home from picking Theo up Elena called me and filled me in on everything about this ritualistic sacrifice with this old guy Klaus. That’s the reason we had been taken. So why she wants to get this old guy’s attention now is beyond me.

“Well, no shit Elena! We got that part. What we want to know is why would you want to,” I throw my hands up at her in exasperation.

“If Klaus finds you he will kill you,” Rose looks at Elena as if she’s grown a second head and then comes to a realization, “which is what you wanted all along.”

Elena shakes her head, “It’s either me or my family.”

“So this whole charade was some suicide mission so you could sacrifice yourself and save everyone else.” Rose shakes her head at Elena’s actions as the sound of heals and the smell of Victoria’s Secret perfume enter the room.

“Cody is on his way,” I side-eye Alice, “And he really wants to meet you.”

—

Rose and I watch silently as Elena walks back into the living room, to wait for the Grimp Reaper named Cody.

“Ok listen to me,” Rose calls my attention as she pulls out her phone from her jeans, “You’re going to use my phone to call Damon and get him here no matter what. Do you understand me? I’ll go distract the suicidal one.” Rose shoves the phone into my hand and speeds off into the living room. I open her phone to find Damon’s contact and hope he picks up.

“What,” Damon’s annoyed voice comes from the other end.

“Um, hi. This is Y/N.”

Damon’s side goes quiet for a moment, “Who?”

I roll my eyes at his annoyed tone, “Y’know the girl that got kidnapped with Elena?”

“Elena gets kidnapped a lot you’re going to have to be more specific.”

I sigh deeply, “The one that smelled like vomit.”

“Ah, that one. What do you want Pukey, and why do you have Rose’s phone?” His tone has a sense of suspicion in it that makes me unnerved.

“Well long story short Elena made Rose and I take her to this dead guy's apartment,” I stop for a moment, “Well technically we didn’t know he was dead but..”

“Pukey spit it out I don’t have all day.”

“OK fine, sorry. Anyways, long story short Elena’s planned some suicide mission to give herself to Klaus and we need you to come to the dead guy's apartment to help us get her out of here.”

Damon lets out an annoyed growl from the other line, “Send me the address.”

“Ok, great I’ll send that-,” The dial tone cuts me off, “Ok then, rude.” I send Damon the address and pocket Rose’s phone hoping that he’ll get here in time.

—-

I try to focus on the coolness of the new apple juice in my hand as I watch the door from my spot on the couch. Elena’s pacing can be heard from behind me which is almost as noticeable as the scowl on Rose’s face. Elena’s pacing stops, gaining my attention as I move my gaze from the door to her.

“I’m just going to get a drink,” She tells me as she walks towards the kitchen. Rose and I share a look of discomfort as she exits. Elena’s gasps catch our attention though and my stomach drops expecting the worst as I rush to the kitchen. My guard drops slightly though as the familiar blue-eyed vampire, who I’m 89% sure is in love Elena stands in front of her.

“What are you doing here,” Damon questions Elena.

“What are you doing here,” Elena’s voice comes out breathy and she turns around to look at Rose and me.

“You called him,” She exclaims earning a small shrug and pursed lips from me, and a frown from Rose.

“We’re sorry, Elena,” Rose apologizes for us both.

“You said that you understood,” I go to chime in that I never said that but Damon speaks first.

“She lied.” Elena turns and I can only guess glares at him, which seems to be something she does a lot when it comes to Damon. I groan deeply as I get another whiff of that fucking perfume.

“Damon Salvatore,” Alice exclaims as she enters the room acting like she and Damon are old friends.

Damon tells Rose to get rid of her without breaking eye contact with Elena. As Rose leaves the room with Alice and my nostrils are free from the assault I stand awkwardly behind Elena and Damon as they argue back and forth. Elena tells him that she’s not going anywhere and Damon tells her the exact opposite. I try to sneak backward to escape this awkward situation but my back hits a shelf behind me knocking a vase of it and I watch with a scrunched-up face as it shatters against the floor.

“Whoops.”

Damon shoves Elena into a chair, “You sit down, and you,” Damon’s attention turns to me, “just don’t touch anything else.” I raise my hands in surrender as I keep my hold on my juice.

Everything’s going fine until the front door slams open causing me to spill some juice onto the top of my shirt in surprise. I can’t bother to clean it up though as I watch in fear as three bulky men enter the room. Where Rose, Damon, and Elena stand up to face them I slink further into my armchair with my comfort juice. I would help but I don’t think I can hold a candle to three vampires.

“We’re here for the doppelganger,” the blond one in the middle says.

“Thank you for coming,” Elena attempts to step forward but is grabbed by Damon. He tells her something but I’m too far away to hear it.

Damon turns back to face the men, “There’s nothing here for you.”

I jump in my seat when the man in the back falls to the ground. That turning feeling in my stomach from days ago returns as I see the man who is supposed to be very dead standing VERY much alive. Elijah. His brown hair is parted down the middle and a deep scowl is plastered on his face. Just like the other day, he’s dressed in a fancy button-up and slacks with shoes that probably cost more than my car.

Elijah speeds forward to the other two men, and I find myself involuntarily inching forward in my seat. I freeze though once I realize this movement has captured Elijah’s attention and the dark look from before has lessened into something that makes something deep in my chest flutter around. What the fuck Y/N? I’m frozen in place as Elijah’s eyes move across my face and down to the apple juice I’m now constricting in my hands. I watch as for a moment the corners of Elijah’s lips perk up.

“I ki

“I killed you, you were dead” Damon accusingly says to Elijah. Elijah's gaze slowly slides from mine and towards Damon.

“For centuries now,” Elijah’s nonchalant voice has me swallowing down a snort as I cover my mouth. Elijah’s eyes slide to mine for a moment making me realize he must’ve heard.

The burly man from before is the next to speak, “Who are you?”

“I’m Elijah.”

This revelation has the two men instantly dropping their alpha male acts, “We were going to bring her to you…for Klaus. She’s the doppelganger. I don’t know how she exists, but she does. Klaus would want to see her.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his words. It’s kind of obvious she’s the doppelganger buddy. Elijah doesn’t glance at the man once.

“Does anyone else know that you’re here,” As Elijah says this I get a sickening feeling in my gut just like before when I watched him decapitate a grown man. Elijah’s eyes pan to mine and then he glances at the window next to me. I look away from him and focus on the outside world beyond the glance since I feel what’s coming.

“Well,” Elijah continues, “then you have been incredibly helpful.” Gasps are the next audible thing as I clench my eyes shut and listen to two bodies drop to the floor.

—--

Elena’s hands are holding my hair back as I puke up my guts in the apartment parking lot. Damon who is already in the car is sighing so loudly I can hear him over my gags. Asshole.

“Just let it out,” Elena brushes back my hair soothingly, “Everything’s ok now.”

I whip my head back to throw her a, “are you serious” look. To which she responds with a shrug. I lift off my hands and knees and wipe my lips. Elena guides me to Damon’s car as I slide into the back seat. Elena’s door isn’t even fully shut before Damon hightails us out of the parking lot.

“I thought Elijah was dead! You guys told me he was dead! Why isn’t he not dead,” I exclaim from the backseat.

Damon’s fists tighten on the leather steering wheel, “Great question Pukey. It’s almost like no one else was wondering it.” His sarcastic remark and the unflattering nickname have me glaring at him.

“Damon enough,” Elena backs me up, “Y/N is right. Why is Elijah alive and why did he just leave us there alive?”

We sit in silence for a moment pondering the truth of Elena’s question.

“I’m not sure,” Damon glances at the side of Elena’s face, “But I’m going to find out.”

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alchemistc · 5 months ago

Text

chisme 1/1

read on ao3

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.” “But...you could find out.” “Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.” Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.” “Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.” ___ The LAFD likes to gossip. They all take advantage of the fact that Tommy knows their favorite subject to gossip about.

“You see that kid on the news?”

Jones shoots him a raised brow, and Tommy shrugs. “Captain Nash will sort him out.”

“Or he’ll wash out in a month,” Jones singsongs, and Tommy bites back on the defensiveness he feels bubbling up.

They’d been growing towards something, when he left. Even he knows that whatever Bobby Nash was doing was rare. He... misses it, some days.

He’s still getting used to this new crew. They’re... there’s nothing wrong with them, it’s just that Tommy’d been at the 118 for years, and even though he doesn’t look back fondly on most of it, or the person he’d been, that had been home for a long fucking time. He’d made a decision, the moment Bobby slid the LAFD pilot certification paperwork across the desk to him, his last review, that he wasn’t gonna hide himself anymore.

It’s fucking work, being genuine. Honest. Open.

“You got any plans for the night?”

Tommy takes a deep breath through his nose, stretches his shoulders back. Tilts his head a little, tips his chin down so he doesn’t look so fucking tense. “Does trawling the horrific depths of LA Grindr until I fall asleep count?”

Jones goes still. There’s a terrible, horrible moment where every shitty thing Gerrard, his father, his CO’s, his high school buddies ever said washes over him. And then Jones’ face does something strange. Pursed lips, raised brows, scrunched nose, like the surprise is washing over him uncontrollably, and then — “Well shit, Kinard, that’s just depressing. Let me and my man take you out tonight.”

Tommy blows the breath back out, feels the corner of his mouth tilting uncontrollably up, has to roll his tongue over his teeth to keep it from going too wide. That — he hadn’t known that. Everyone here uses ‘partner’ to describe their significant others, he figured it was just some initiative they’d all taken to be inclusive. “As long as you’re not looking for a third. No offense, Jones, you’re not my type.”

Jones smirks. “Who says you’re mine?”

Tommy slaps a hand over his heart, really plays up the hurt expression. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Jones’ eyeroll is a thing of beauty. “You’re too pretty for me, Kinard. And I’m too mean for you. You need a nice boy with a heart of gold to keep you humble.”

Tommy thinks, fleetingly, of the lost little look in that kids blue, blue eyes, camera shoved in his face and the flashing lights of a tilt-a-whirl behind him.

“I’d eat him alive,” Tommy says, and Jones’ laugh follows them both out of the lockers.

---

“What a fucking day,” Gatlin says, laid out across the length of the bench, one arm over his face,

It’s been a series of days, actually, but Tommy doesn’t feel like being pedantic about it.

Tommy just hums, and does his best not to be annoyed about having to juggle his duffle in one hand while he shifts the sad, unused basketball out of his locker to stuff it in the open neck of his bag. They’ve all been through the ringer, Tommy’s gonna give the new guy a moment to regroup.

“Hey, did the 136 ever find their captain? In all the chaos I don’t remember anyone radioing it in.”

Tommy nods an affirmative. He’s so fucking tired from calling out locations of trapped survivors that he’s sure his voice sounds like sandpaper. “Swept up in it like all the rest. Someone on patrol found him pinned under debris. An officer had to saw off his arm, poor bastard.”

Gatlin sits up like he’s rising from the dead. “You’re making shit up. This is a hazing ritual.”

Tommy slides him the most serious face he can manage around the yawn threatening to escape. His phone is blowing up — texts from dozens of people who’d been working the same shit as him, and it’s the first time in a while he’s regretted deleting Facebook. The marked safe function would have saved him about sixty texts so far.

“Heard from Waters that one of the 118’s kids was on the pier when the wave hit,” Gatlin tells him, finally groaning and rising to gather his own shit.

Tommy’s gut drops even as he’s opening up Hen’s contact in his phone, gratefully dumping the duffle onto the bench, now that Gatlin’s legs aren’t taking up the entire thing.

“Kid has CB or something, some lady found him and carried him around for like half a fuckin’ day until she found the old VA popup.”

“Mr. Rogers would have been proud,” Tommy says, and stares at the unsent text he’d typed out with shaky hands. Is Denny okay?

“Huh?”

Jesus, he’s young. “Look for the helpers?” Gatlin blinks at him. “Never mind. Change your clothes. Drink some water. Go the fuck home and get some shut eye, Gatlin.”

“You too, Kinard.”

He deletes the text the moment he’s in his truck, but scrolls back to her contact about twenty times, lying in bed that night, trying to get some sleep.

When he wakes up there’s a text from Hen.

Tommy scrolls up to find a keyboard smash he’d somehow managed to send at 2 in the morning.

Hen 3:27 AM: ???

Hen 3:28 AM: You good?

Hen 3:31 AM: We’re fine. If you were wondering. I assume you fell asleep talking yourself in circles about whether or not to reach out.

Hen 3:42 AM: One of our guys was at the pier with the probies kid. They’re both fine. Tell your crew to stop gossiping so much.

Hen 5:53 AM: Call me if you need anything

Tommy ignores the ache behind his ribcage.

Tommy 7:33 AM: Glad you’re okay. Tell Karen I said hi.

Hen 8:24 AM: Karen and Denny send their love.

---

Tommy’s elbow deep in wiring when Thomas sidles up to the cockpit. He’s got a look on his face that Tommy would normally like to entertain, but there’d been something fiddly with the altimeter his last flight out and he wants to check this before they get called out again — better to ground her until someone can take a real look, if he finds anything, than wave it off ‘til the end of the day.

Thomas shifts closer, tips his head in so he can duck under the open door.

“So, you still know a couple of the guys over at the 118, right?”

Tommy grimaces.

The fact of the matter is, Tommy knows a few guys from all over the city. He’s been around a while, has made many an appearance at the bars first responders like to flock to, has seen enough people come and go from stations to know a guy here and there everywhere. He’s thinking of setting up a pick-up game for whichever LAFD members want to show, maybe seeing if he can wrangle enough people for at least a bi-weekly trivia night.

The breakup with Jason sucked and he’s definitely trying to avoid going home to his empty apartment. Maybe he should get a dog.

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.”

“But...you could find out.”

“Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.”

Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.”

And now he’s thinking about Jason, again. Christ. Don’t date anyone you meet on calls, Sal had told him, five years in, when everyone still thought his flirting with every hot chick they ran into meant anything other than him desperately trying to cover for the way his eyes were always drawing to the wide stretch of shirts across broad shoulders and the tight fit of a pair of classic 501s.

How he’d managed to convince himself Jason would be the exception is beyond him.

And the guy pinned under the engine had only made things worse, so he’s not particularly in the mood to gossip about him when Jason had used the whole ordeal as an excuse to start a massive fucking fight about the risks of the job for the fifth time in as many months.

“Yeah, I get it, oh wise one. Are you wise enough to figure out why the fuck the guy is suing the department?’

Tommy’s interest is piqued.

God damnit.

It hasn’t even been that long since Chim called him last, Tommy rationalizes as he tips the flashlight in his mouth with his bottom teeth.

“Give me ten minutes to figure out if there’s a short and I’ll make a call.”

---

Tommy’s got one eye on the television and another on the pool table. Brody’s got a pool cue tipped under her chin, and he can already see the chalk shifting onto her skin.

“So, we all agree they’re fucking cursed, right?”

Tommy takes a sip of his beer while a few of the guys make noises of agreement.

“Like, I’m thinking of starting a pool to decide what disaster they’re gonna have a starring role in next. But I don’t want repeats, and at this point I’m not sure how to list them all.”

“Rebar through the brainpan,” Trent says, shaking his head. Tommy feels a flash of guilt for never calling Chim after the initial text he’d sent.

“Plane crash,” lists Jones, eyes still on the reporter being drenched in the downpour as she recites the same tired story about the boy down the well.

“Bath salt werewolves.”

“Earthquake high rise rescue,” Tommy tosses out. He’s still a little annoyed he’d missed that one.

“Unwitting bank heist,” Brody says, phone out and typing furiously. “Oh, do we count ‘targets of teenage Unabomber’ and ‘pinned under a fire engine’ as two separate events?”

“This is getting a little morbid,” Trent says. Still no updates about the guy who’s been buried alive with the kid down the well.

“Armed chicken,” Tommy contributes, hoping to lighten the mood, and grins when they all turn to him with incredulous looks. “Maurice. Knives for feet. He introduced Nash and Grant, technically.”

Brody rolls her eyes. He never should have let her in on his secret love of love stories, she’s such a cynic, she hates when they all gossip about each others love lives.

“This is life or death situations, not dangerous fowl turned rom-com moments. C’mon, what else have we got? I’m including tsunami. Wasn’t your buddy’s girlfriend at dispatch when it got taken hostage? I’m counting it.”

Christ, he really needs to do a better job of keeping in touch.

Tommy’s eyes flit back to the screen. He can see the NASH dashed across the back of one set of turnouts, the end of a name, just ‘LEY” on the set next to his. He’s suddenly not feeling great.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” he tells them, and Jones raises a brow at his half-full beer.

Tommy chugs it and tries to ignore Brody continuing to list things off.

---

Tommy’s getting a little tired of the argument about his job. There’s always a fucking argument, and he’s always somehow the bad guy for being the one saving lives day in and day out.

At least Peter hadn’t lasted long enough for Tommy to really get all that invested.

The house is too quiet, though.

And the dating scene is hell. He’d never —

The whole landscape of dating had been a shit show from the moment he’d decided he was done fucking around with hookups and lies, and it’s only gotten worse. He feels old, and he hates that he’d never let himself try when everything wasn’t app based and fraught with weird expectations.

He shoots off a message to Chim before he heads in to work. He needs a break, maybe. He’s got half an empty drawer and one less toothbrush in his bathroom and there’s an ache, in his bones, for the easy way he’d always been able to let loose with Chim and Hen.

(He’s not sure they even know he came out, and the superficial relationships in his life just keep smacking him right in the face.)

The pileup on the freeway provides a nice distraction, for most of the day, and he tries not to feel too disappointed when the message he sent to Chim goes unanswered.

It’s three days later before he gets a slightly blurry picture back. It’s — it’s a baby, and Tommy is unprepared for the wave of longing that threatens to crush him.

Howie 4:35 AM: I’m a dad!

Howie 4:35 AM: I made that!

Howie 4:36 AM: Sorry, man, I’ll be tied to this pooping, crying creature for the foreseeable future. But we should grab a beer sometime

Tommy 4:45 AM: Congratulations. She’s beautiful. You get out in, what, 18-20?

Brody pokes her head over his shoulder when he pulls up the picture again. “Cute baby.”

“Chim’s,” he tells her, and her expression shifts.

“Wasn’t his brother in the pileup last week?”

Tommy keeps his eye on the picture, wets his tongue against the top of his mouth before he speaks. “He didn’t say.”

---

They’ve all been on edge for days, now. Technically most of them aren’t in much danger, eyes in the skies that they are, but there’s not a single one of them who doesn’t have a friend or two outside of Harbor that wears the uniform.

They’re already two men down. And they’re all going a bit crazy.

So of course, when Tommy lands the bird and steps into the hangar, it’s to find everyone huddled around the TV set up in their little rec area, murmuring to themselves. Tommy runs a hand through his hair and makes his way across to them.

“Is he —?”

The guy’s insane. He’s got a vest and a helmet and no cover at all beyond the metal bars encasing the ladders of the crane tower. He’s surrounded on three sides by high rises, with wide windows and balconies just ripe for someone to set up an easy fucking shot.

The news crew pans to the witnesses on the ground, and there’s 118’s engine.

“Didn’t his partner just get shot? What is the 118 even doing out there?”

Someone hums. There’s a line of tension in every single set of shoulders huddled around the TV, watching, waiting. If Tommy was a praying man, he’d send something up to the big guy. Too bad they don’t believe in each other.

He’s still climbing. Three points of contact always, Tommy thinks, watching, holding his fucking breath the higher he climbs.

The camera cuts away once he’s out on the arm.

“Did anyone see who it was?” Remy asks, and they all shake their heads, but Tommy’s got a mental list from his sparse contact with Chim. Diaz is in the hospital. Bobby’s on the ground. This is Buckley, the kid he’d missed meeting by the skin of his teeth, when Bobby fast tracked his transfer.

In another life, under a different set of circumstances, the idiot making himself a target for a psycho would have been Tommy.

Tommy watches with bated breath until they switch back to the desk, both anchors looking a little wide-eyed as they report that the guy on the crane has been successfully freed from the cable that had had his arm pinned, and both him and the firefighter are fine. On the ground. Out of danger.

For now.

---

“Pay up, dickheads. Prison riot officially made it on the list.”

Tommy shakes his head, amused more than anything else. He pulls a five from his wallet, and Brody stares at it.

“It was twenty. A piece.”

“This is a gesture of goodwill, Youngs. You never paid me for the mudslide.”

“We worked the mudslide, it doesn’t count.”

“Oh now you’re creating arbitrary rules after the fact? Give me my five back.”

---

Brent smiles with his whole body, and kisses Tommy like he’s proving a point, and he doesn’t care that Tommy’s job is dangerous. The problem is that Tommy would like him a little more if he wasn’t so obsessed with the job.

“He worked out of your old house, didn’t he?” Brent asks, legs up on Tommy’s coffee table and a gleam in his eyes as Taylor Kelly reports on some Angel of Death wannabe who’s been shuffled from station to station, city to city, state to state for years with no real oversight, and Tommy — Tommy is tired of talking about work.

He hums, and takes a drink. Brent’s a Heineken man, and for some reason takes real offense to Tommy’s inability to drink them without making faces. Tommy stopped drinking them a month ago.

He’s not sure what he’s doing, anymore.

“Isn’t Taylor Kelly dating one of the guys from the 118?”

Tommy hums again.

“Feels like a quick turnaround on that news story. You think she’s getting an inside scoop?”

“I think we should break up,” Tommy says, and Brent blinks once, twice.

“Yeah. Probably for the best.”

Brent sees himself out. Tommy throws out the lone bottle of Heineken left in his fridge.

---

Donato is a breath of fresh air. She’s brash, and kind of an asshole, and dead set on proving herself a better pool player than he is.

She’s also a newer source of information for the gossip mongers of Harbor station.

“No, that’s the same guy,” she’s saying, biting her lip as she tries to beat Jones’ high score in Asteroids. She’s got a choking grip on the joystick and Tommy can already tell she’s gonna miss it by a mile.

“I — sorry, the guy who got pinned is the same guy who climbed the tower before the sniper was in custody?”

“Same guy. Also the same guy who hopped into that Speed style runaway truck with me. He’s kind of a badass. I mean, they sort of treat him like the station dalmation, over there, but that’s because if you rub behind his ears he wags his tail.”

“He’s not the same one Bosko accidentally got into Fight Club, is he?”

Lucy laughs. “Uh, no, Buck is absolutely a lover, not a fighter.”

“So which one —?”

“Probably the one I was filling in for.”

“The one who got shot, you mean.”

Lucy hums.

None of them have brought up Greenway, which Lucy seems to be marginally grateful for, but Tommy knows she’d worked with him. He hasn’t worked out why she’d worked with him — he’s pretty sure she’d been on the same rotation as Chim and Hen.

Tommy doesn’t feel like touching that with a ten foot pole, if he’s being honest. “So how are Chim and Hen?”

Lucy looks a little cagey. She curses up a storm when she collides with a pixelated flying saucer. “They’re — chugging along.”

“Oh, there’s a story there,” says Lemming, and Lucy shoots Tommy a look between her lashes, something fierce and vulnerable that tells him she’d throw down to protect the open wounds of the 118, same as him. He tips his chin, raises his bottle.

“Boring story,” Lucy says, eyes gleaming. “I bet you’ve got plenty of more interesting stories, Lemming. Weren’t you the one who had to rescue the UFO guy?”

Lemming is easily distracted, and happy to toot his own horn.

Tommy thinks of text sitting unsent on the blank conversation history with Chim.

---

“That wasn’t on the list,” Tommy says, trying for levity and failing miserably. His throat feels tight, and there’s an ache somewhere in his torso that feels like it’s spreading.

“Man, any time you think things are gonna stop happening to that house, they gotta go do something to prove you wrong.”

Tommy’s phone buzzes against his hip. It’s Lucy.

Donato 6:30 AM: Hen says he was down for three minutes.

Tommy 6:31 AM: He good?

Donato 6:33 AM: Inconclusive. He’s got a pulse, but he’s not breathing on his own.

Tommy 6:37 AM: You good?

Donato 6:55 AM: I worked with them for five minutes, Kinard

Donato 6:57 AM: Buck’s a good guy, though. I know you’re not a praying man, but maybe we could all send some good vibes the 118’s way

Tommy 7:01 AM: Jones’ is doing his mindfulness shit in a few. We’ll all be thinking of them.

Tommy hasn’t prayed since he was seventeen, but when Young ducks his head a few minutes later, eyes closed like he does every time they get news of one of their own going down, Tommy lets his own mind drift to his old house, and the people there who’d made him brave enough to live an actual life. Jones’ little meditation practice turns the hanger quiet, and Tommy listens to them all breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

He tries not to think too hard on it when they get the news, days later, that Buckley’s expected to make a full recovery.

---

Tommy’s been eyeing the guy at the bar through his lashes for the past fifteen minutes, and he knows Donato has clocked it. But there’s something — there’s something that keeps drawing his attention.

He’s — objectively attractive. Tall, broad shouldered, jeans that fit nice. Full pink lips and a flirty smile aimed at the woman he’s with.

Tommy’s always refused to bring dates to a ladder bar, even when his crew gives him shit for it. Mostly it’s because the conversation always eventually turns to all the crazy shit they’ve all pulled, all the risky maneuvers, all the scars. It’s always a pissing contest, and Tommy’s been burned a few too many times by guys who like the look of him, and not the reality of his career.

Tommy loses sight of Lucy for half a second only to find her approaching the couple as they move from the foosball table to the bartop.

He shakes his head. She’s spent weeks trying to squirrel information out of him about his love life, which is distinctly lacking at the moment. He doesn’t expect that to change any time soon.

Maybe he’ll hit up Brian once he’s had a few more beers. See if he’s seeing anyone. See if he’s still as flexible as Tommy remembers.

She doesn’t linger when Thomas calls her back for her turn, but by the smirk on her face she’s managed to put her foot in it exactly how she meant to. The couple are closing out, the guys head tilted to stare at his tab, color high on his cheeks. Tommy takes a deep pull off his drink and rolls his jaw when Lucy sinks three in a row, and then the eight ball too.

He gets a full thirty second reprieve before she’s sidling in to the seat beside him, a knowing look on her face.

“Look, I get it,” she starts, and Tommy takes another drink as Young starts a to rerack. “When the bar light hits just right on those broad ass shoulders, you really can’t help but wanna see if his lips taste as sweet as they look.”

Tommy knows his expression is long suffering.

“They are, just in case you were wondering.”

“Donato,” he warns, and she grins, playing with the pool cue with her free hand.

“Got it, Kinard. Backing off. But you know, I’ve got a cousin...”

“Not interested,” he tells her, already swinging out of his seat to break for his round.

He barely even notices he couple leaving. He breaks clean, a few stripes finding their way into pockets, and doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the way the guys flustered laugh sounds as he guides his date out the door.

---

Donato still looks a little shell-shocked.

“They — uh — they’re all good?”

“They’re all pretty banged up. But yeah, from what I heard, they all made it out.”

“Cap — Captain Nash. They found him?”

“Pinned at the bottom of the rubble, but he got lucky. No serious injuries.”

Lucy slumps. She looks exhausted, minutes out from crashing. Tommy’s flown away from enough disasters moments before they get worse to know exactly how she’s feeling.

“Go change, Donato. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” she argues, and Tommy’s gaze catches hers. Holds.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’m gonna cry all over your nice leather seats, though.”

He doesn’t point out that they’ve seen his tears plenty, but from the look in her eyes he figures she kind of knows, anyway.

She’s quiet, for most of the drive. It’s a longer one than he’s used to, and the detour caused by the bridge collapse makes it longer.

“I don’t know what it is about them that makes me feel like I’m losing a limb every time one of those stupid assholes gets hurt. They’re a magnet for disaster, you think I’d be used to it. I didn’t even work with them that long.”

They’re still ten minutes out. Tommy had thought she’d passed out with her face plastered to the passenger window.

“You miss it?”

“Do you?” she asks, defensiveness creeping in to her voice.

Tommy flips his indicator as the light goes red in the turn lane. “I missed the bulk of the Bobby Nash Experience. Mostly I’m just bitterly resentful that I never got to experience the turnaround of my old house.”

He can feel her eyes sliding to him, the curious stare. “Is this what it takes for Tommy Kinard Honesty Hour? I witness something traumatic and you finally open up a little?”

Tommy shrugs, thumb tapping along to the sound of his blinker. “I’m old school, Donato. Usually you gotta save my life for a glimpse up here.” He taps to fingers to his temple.

She takes that in in silence. There’s always been a kinship there, between them, some part of Tommy that sees a lot of himself in the way Lucy conducts herself, the brash way she pushes past the rough days, the spark in her eyes when she’s seconds away from doing something ill-advised.

“Chim’s getting married,” she says into the silence, and Tommy hums. “I’m pretending not to be upset I didn’t get an invite.”

She’s the only one who gets being jealous of that tight-knit little group of psychos.

“So yours got lost in the mail too, huh?”

“Been a long time since I’ve been close to anyone there. I didn’t expect one.”

Lucy tips her head back against the headrest. Sighs. “Yeah. I guess eventually I’ll get there too.”

---

Jones levels him with an incredulous look.

“They should fire your ass.”

Tommy raises both hands in supplication, but he can’t quite keep the grin off his face as Diaz and Buckley both round the side of the chopper, both of them looking like they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It’d been an uphill battle, trying to figure out the logistics of who was going where, after the fact. Chim and Hen had gotten stuck in the back of buses to the hospital.

Diaz and Buckley had ro-sham-bo’ed for shotgun to get back to Diaz’ truck, and Tommy had spent the short flight back from the rescue ship trying not to notice the pouty tilt of Evan’s lip from the back, or pay attention to the back and forth over the headset as Diaz reminded him he’d already had his chance.

There’s a thrum, under Tommy’s skin — the thrill of being reckless is fading, a little, but beneath that there’s a possibility opening wide — Eddie Diaz in the seat beside him pumping him for information on his army days, Evan Buckley shifting restlessly at his side as he comes to stand beside him, arms crossed and staring at Jones like he’s about to go guard dog mode.

All this time he’s been getting second-hand gossip about these people, listening to the wild and sometimes exaggerated rumors that follow them around the LAFD. This time he got to play a part, and neither one of these virtual strangers seems keen to let the moment pass.

Evan’s shoulder glances off of Tommy’s, and he fights the urge to dart his gaze to the side, to check out his profile, to see how ridiculous he looks when those puppy-dog eyes get defensive.

Eddie claps a hand to his shoulder on the other side. “They should give you medal,” he says, pointedly aiming the comment in Jones’ direction, and Jones huffs, eyes rolling.

“Get the hell out of my hangar before I find a reason to be anything other than jealous.”

Tommy laughs, cheeks aching as he waves his passengers out through the open bay door to guide them back to the spot he’d had them hide their truck.

---

Tommy rolls up to the court and watches as some ten-odd firefighters clam up completely.

Well, shit.

This is the first time he’s ever been on the other side of this.

Price is the first one to break. “You’re not bringing anyone from the 118 this time, are you? Seriously, Kinard, one was already pushing it, you’re tempting fate. I don’t want to catch the curse.”

Tommy rolls his eyes good naturedly, doesn’t mention that if the curse were contagious he’d be neck deep in it by now.

“Tommy’s the one we need to be worried about, Price. He’s lucky he wasn’t collateral damage in that lovers quarrel, last time.”

It’s been two weeks.

Tommy has to remind himself. It’s been two weeks. Since he’d gone to make it clear he had no intention of stepping into whatever shit was between Eddie and Evan, to make it clear that he planned to keep spending time with Eddie but he’d never meant to get between them. Two weeks since he’d taken a leap, hedged his bets, kissed a beautiful boy in the orange light of his kitchen.

Less than a week since he’d taken a sip of a terrible coffee concoction and leapt right back into the chaos.

“Are we playing, or do you all want to crack open a bottle of red back at my place and play at being Dan Humphrey?”

Tommy dribbles the ball, raises an eyebrow, watches them all shift guilty looks between themselves as they grumble and move to stand.

---

Lucy spins the metal chair across from him, settles with a leg over each side, arms crossed over the back of it, shit eating grin on her face.

“So. I heard a rumor.”

Tommy’s not sure what his face does. He’s hoping for disinterested, but more likely than not his lips are twitching bashfully.

“The nurses at PIH are incredibly easy to pump for intel,” she continues, and Tommy can feel his ears burning. Donato’s grin goes wide. “I can’t believe you didn’t get me a last minuet invite, too.”

Tommy recovers in time to avoid the full-body blush. “Well, the next time you No Homo me in front of a mutual friend and make up for it with a grand gesture, I’ll think about it.”

Lucy tilts her head. Her grin goes soft, eyes taking him in. “Shit, Kinard, you like him. Damn it. I can’t tease you about that.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The expression goes mischievous again. “He really didn’t even wipe the soot off his face before he hard launched you?”

Tommy ducks his head, failing miserably at hiding the grin on his face.

#tommy kinard #tommy kinard fic #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #bucktommy #lucy&tommy friendship supremacy #i threw like five different headcanons in here so if you notice something specific it's probably bc i already posted the hc at some point

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daechwitatamic · 8 months ago

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 16 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: ig major character death but that’s kind of a technicality, vampire biting, blood drinking, vampire biting, fangwarming??? lmfao, fluff, what i hope is a plot twist lol wc: 5.1k

The passage behind the thrones leads to a corridor not far from Taehyung’s wing. It’s close to the section of rooms that are meant to be yours now. Yours, for your new life as an Infracti. For your new life as the King’s sperasa, until you become Queen.

You’d agreed that doing the ritual in your wing would be best, so that they won’t have to transport you - newly turned, probably unconscious - through the palace.

You are afraid.

You let yourself feel it, don’t deny yourself the right to float in the crawling sensation of terror clawing its way up from your stomach. Taehyung’s hand in yours can’t dispel it. Your pride in him and your love for him, mighty as they are, can’t dispel it.

You’ve become accustomed to fear in your time here. You press on.

In your main room, still unfamiliar to you, Taehyung holds you close, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your waist. You let him hold you, close your eyes.

“Brave,” he whispers.

“I don’t feel very brave,” you admit quietly.

A knock on the door comes and the Queen enters, followed by Jimin. Behind him is Seokjin of Score, and Namjoon. Taehyung arranged all of this once you and Dr. Kim had explained what would be needed.

Namjoon finds you and approaches, face solemn.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as you look over the written countercurse together.

“Have to be,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods. “We can do this,” he asserts.

“And then you get to go home,” you say.

He nods, looking up at you from the parchment. “I’m going as soon as we can confirm it worked,” he tells you, a bit of apology in his tone. Like he’s sorry he isn’t staying with you - even though there’s no way he could.

“Good,” you say, meaning it. “Tell your grandfather… Thank you for everything. And… Thank you, too. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“It was an honor,” he says, quietly, then adds, “I’m grateful, too.”

You feel yourself choking up, and you will it away. You need to be clear-headed, professional. There isn’t room for this - not now. You’ll have to be sad later. Still, you tell him, “I hope I can come see you both soon. I’ll try - as soon as I’m able to be around humans.”

He smiles sadly. “Don’t come until you’re sure you won’t eat us.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling a little.

He regards you seriously again. Behind him, Taehyung seems to be organizing the items you’d asked for, going over the directions again. Namjoon says, “This might be goodbye for a while, huh?”

“If the countercurse works,” you agree.

You both seem to hover on the precipice of a hug goodbye. In the end, he gives you a final clap on the shoulder, and then the plan is lurching into motion around you.

The Queen has the things you need - the metronome, a jar of ashes.

You set the metronome to a slow rate, and then usher everyone into place in the open space of the room. Then, you sprinkle the ashes in a perfect circle around the group, locking you in with the magic. No one speaks. They just watch you work, ranging from curious to subdued.

When the circle is perfect, you pull out the parchment with the countercurse and explain one last time.

“This is the point, right here,” you say, pointing and showing the paper around the group of Infracti, “when Namjoon will take over the incantation. The ashes will keep the magic close-by, but you need to close the circle as quickly as possible or we’ll lose the connection.”

“We’ve got it,” Seokjin assures you, steady. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, pulse thundering. You wish there was anything you could do to stall. You wish there was a blanket you could pull over your head. You wish there was someone from the future who could come tell you that everything would work out, that things would go as you intend.

“If anything goes wrong,” you add, “break contact as fast as you can, and break the circle of ashes to let the magic out. The quicker the better.”

It is the Queen - though, she is not that anymore, now that her son has been crowned - who lays a cool hand on your arm.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she tells you evenly. “We are all here beside you.”

You nod, wordless.

“I’m going to start, then,” you say, but you have to clear your throat once to make it audible.

You mutter a spell you’d looked up just for this, and your parchment obeys the command, hovering mid-air between you and Namjoon, supported by nothing. Namjoon stands to your right and the Queen to your left, and you press your palms to theirs. With everyone in place, you make a perfect circle, with Taehyung straight across.

“Breathe with the beat of the metronome,” you instruct. “Inhale… exhale…”

You breathe in time with everyone around you until you feel your magic rise up, flowing out to mingle with theirs. It takes some time before you feel ready to start the incantations; with Taehyung all the way across the circle it takes a few minutes before you feel his magical signature touch yours through the flow of everyone else’s. But it is unmistakable when he does, the warmth and belonging that accompany the sensation couldn’t be from anyone else.

When you feel like your magic and his are secure, thoroughly immersed with each other, you begin the incantation. You speak slowly and carefully, feeling the familiar sensation of the curse beginning to untangle. You keep your eyes on the page, try not to get distracted by the others.

There is no room for error - you can’t die twice.

There is no snag this time, no pull behind your navel that tells you the curse is fighting back. When you say your last line, you take your hands from those next to you and step into the circle.

Across from you, Taehyung steps forward too.

Around you, the remaining four step closer and fill the gaps you’d left behind, their hands meeting to close a small circle around you and Taehyung. Namjoon’s deep voice picks up the incantation where you left off. He’s borrowing, pulling magic from the Queen and from Jimin, who flank him.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes. Your heart is in your throat. There is so much you want to say to him. That you love him. That you trust him. That he’s worth this sacrifice.

You can’t speak, though, not during the incantation. Instead, you step close to him, breathe him in, and let him envelop you.

He wraps his arms around you, just as he had before everyone else had entered your rooms. He would have to hold tight, he’d warned you, to keep you from moving too much when your body began to instinctively fight him. And then, after, to hold you up when your legs inevitably give out.

He’d also warned you it would hurt.

You are afraid.

You are afraid, but Taehyung is cradling you between his arms like you are precious, so you take a breath and nod.

Taehyung leans down and nuzzles the spot on your neck that he tends to favor. You stifle your cry when his fangs puncture you, letting out a mangled groan of agony through gritted teeth. You’re glad for his inhuman hold around your back, because your knees do go weak for a moment before you will them back into compliance.

There is no pulling sensation, and no welcome rush of venom. Instead, Taehyung’s hands tighten around you like a warning and then the location of his bite goes white hot.

You hear yourself scream.

The heat spreads, up your neck, down your chest. Your eyes roll back, your throat rasps as your scream continues. Your legs give out, useless beneath you.

You feel yourself start to fight, hands clawing at Taehyung’s sides, body beginning to twist and tug. Taehyung’s hold is true, and you get nowhere. Your lungs burn and your scream dies to a whimper before starting anew after you drag in a breath.

Everything is on fire - from head to toe you are aflame. Your muscles strain to aching as your body tries and tries to wrench itself away from the pain.

Darkness creeps in the edge of your unfocused vision as you kick fruitlessly at Taehyung’s immoveable legs. You hear yourself gasping out sobs between shrieks of pain. You can see less and less, the black swirling at the edges of your vision taking over by the second.

Before the darkness closes in on you, you will yourself to focus, choke down the next scream that crawls up your throat.

You want to see him. You want to see him before you die.

Your eyes fight to find him against the blurriness, and you blink away tears. His mouth is wet with your blood and his cheeks are wet with tears, but when he sees you looking at him, he presses his forehead to yours, and his hands on your back unclench and soothe up and down instead.

There he is, you think. My King. My love. And then you let the darkness come.

—

Taehyung looks around the meeting room, then closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face.

His cabinet, a mix of his father’s people and some of his own, wait him out.

“Three weeks,” he repeats hollowly.

The Infracti he directs that at nods. “Yes, Maiesti. The council needs time to deliberate. This is, as you know, a bit unprecedented.”

Taehyung purses his lips. It’s true; never before has a King - or former King, technically - been put to trial. Dethroned, murdered, cast away - yes. But not like this - a trial, a ruling of guilt, a council deliberating on what sentence he should serve. A sentencing that could take nearly a month, apparently.

“Very well,” Taehyung frowns. “And what of the other trials?”

An uneasy look passes through the room.

Taehyung sighs. “I asked for this myself,” he points out. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me about it.”

A woman at the table inclines her head in deference to her king. “Your trial has been scheduled the week after your father’s sentencing. We thought we ought to give you time to help your sperasa recover.”

That’s where Taehyung would rather be right now, in your dark rooms with you, and everyone in his cabinet knows it.

“Thoughtful,” he murmurs, because it is, because it’s not his cabinet’s fault that he murdered innocent humans while under the power of the curse, not their fault that he wants to answer for it.

“Hoseok and I will be fully prepared to represent your defense by then,” a dark-haired Infracti seated near Jin tells him. “I’m confident in our outcome.”

They move on to discuss the third trial - Seokjin’s father, the leader of the Scores. Seokjin listens politely, but the tips of his ears go red until the topic changes.

Taehyung ticks the trials off in his head, all three, ducks in a row.

“Let’s meet in four days’ time,” Taehyung suggests, glancing around to see if anyone objects. “The trials were my first order of business, but we have a lot of work to do restructuring things around here.”

Everyone at the table nods, and once Taehyung gives a few cabinet members specific directions for tasks to handle in the next week, they disperse.

“Off to see your feral beast?” Jimin teases, as he and Taehyung follow the trickle of people out into the corridor.

Taehyung can’t help but grin, big and boxy. “I like her like this. I’ll almost be sad when she settles down again.”

Jimin laughs at this. “It’s only been a week since you turned her. You have at least another week or two before she calms down.”

Taehyung’s expression slides into a grimace. “Hopefully I’ll still be around once she’s settled and not rotting in the palace prison.”

Jimin’s face goes unreadably blank. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly somber and quiet. “You’re the King. You could call it off - no one could say anything.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I need to.”

Jimin purses his full lips at him, but doesn’t retort. Taehyung thinks that Jimin understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yoongi will defend you well,” he says finally. “I’m sure the sentencing will be light.”

“I want the sentencing to be fair,” Taehyung says petulantly. “That’s the whole point.”

“It will be,” Jimin argues. “You were cursed. No one is going to hold that against you.”

Taehyung twists his mouth but doesn’t address this. They’ve been walking as they talk, and they near the doors that lead to your rooms. They’re heavily guarded - Taehyung counts seven Infracti but he knows there are more - mostly to keep you inside.

Jimin tells him goodbye, and the guards move to let him enter. He’s careful to slip through the crack in the doors quickly; the guards are careful to be ready, just in case you get through.

Your rooms are dark, the lamps all unlit, the heavy curtains closed and drowning out any sunlight that might filter through. Normally, Taehyung might expect you to have a fire crackling in the hearth, but part of turning includes several days of unbearable heat, and he’s not sure you’re past that yet.

You come out of nowhere, slamming into him from the shadows to his left, and Taehyung lets himself get knocked to the ground, landing squarely on his ass.

“Ouch,” he says, pouting at you.

Straddling him, rearing back so he can see the column of your throat working in the darkness, you curl back your upper lip, bare your brand-new fangs at him and snarl, the sound snapping and cutting.

He grins. He loves you like this. It makes him feel proud.

“What is it you need, my Queen?” he teases.

Your scowl at him, fangs hanging over your lower lip; you haven’t mastered putting them away yet, and Taehyung thinks it’s the damn cutest thing in the world.

“Drink,” you say, a demand.

“Are you thirsty?” he coos. Your scowl deepens. He knows your consciousness is cloudy right now, a haze of thirst and want and heat obscuring your finer thinking. But you’re in there, behind the haze, and each day a bit more of you shines through.

“Drink,” you insist again, petulantly.

He wishes he could take you hunting - deer, maybe even a bear. He’d loved to see you in action - he has no doubt you’d be a formidable predator, and it sends a thrill through him. But it would be too dangerous; if they happened across a human, you’d have no control. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Instead, Taehyung flips you without warning, laying his body heavy over yours. You begin thrashing immediately, snarls rolling through you like seismic activity, but he’s stronger and he manages to hold you in place.

He gives a sharp whistle and your doors open. Your thrashing intensifies as you see an escape route, but the guards who wheel in two carts are quick, and soon enough the doors are shut again. Taehyung lets you up, and you skitter to the door, hands working at the knobs. They don’t budge.

You whirl around, looking at him furiously.

“Look,” he says happily, unphased by your anger, “they brought you drinks!”

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you peer at the carts. There are a few items of blood-food, but unsurprisingly you pass them over. There are carafes of dark liquid, and if you wanted you could just drink. But Taehyung knows what your body is craving - just blood won’t be enough to sate you. Your fangs are tingling, itching to pierce, itching for warmth. You won’t feel better until that need is met, too.

The bags, just big enough to be cradled between two hands, are simply called Prey - a little joke by their inventor, none other than Jimin. They were created for newly-turned Infracti, meant to satisfy both needs at once. The pouch is not real skin, though it feels close enough. The blood inside is real.

You hold one between your hands, claws digging in like it might escape, and bring it to your mouth, piercing the pouch and beginning to drink. You let out a happy little sigh, and Taehyung comes to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“There,” he soothes. “Drink all you need. You’ll feel better.”

You work through three pouches before you stop, dropping the deflated Prey onto the cart it came from and turning to Taehyung with wide eyes, and the cutest fang-adorned pout.

“What is it, my love?” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of your head soothingly. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had some to drink?”

You nod, then reconsider, frowning and shaking your head.

“What’s not better?” he asks, moving to pull you into a standing cuddle.

Your frown deepens and you raise a hand and rub at your mouth, fingers sliding along your protruding fangs with a squeak.

“They hurt?” he asks sympathetically.

“Bite,” you mumble around your pout.

“Alright,” he tells you. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You loop your arms around his neck, and he takes a second to smile into your hair, holding you close. He likes you like this, too driven by your needs to be proud. He likes that you need him, that you want him, that the part of your brain that might make you pretend otherwise, or at least act like it’s less, is currently silenced by your bloodlust.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you deeper into your wing, seeking out your bedroom. The blankets are rumpled, half-thrown on the ground, like you’d tried to sleep but had eventually kicked the blankets off and gotten up to pace, instead.

That’s probably exactly what happened.

He settles back against the pillows and you straddle him, arms still around his neck. You bury your face against his chest and whine.

“I know,” he tells you, rubbing a hand up your back. You hiss at the contact, pulling away from where you’d been hiding your face.

“Hurts,” you complain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying to touch more gently. He knows your muscles are sore, skin hot to the touch as your body adjusts. “You can bite if you need to bite.”

“You sure?” you ask, and Taehyung notes that it’s one of your first multi-word utterances. A sign that you’re making progress, coming out of the fog a little.

“I’m sure,” he tells you.

You nose at his neck, and he strokes lightly down your back until you find a spot you like.

It’s only a sting when you pierce the skin of his shoulder, over his deltoid, for which he’s thankful. You don’t drink - sangru can’t be ingested - but leave your sore, sensitive fangs buried in his flesh. You wrap yourself around him even tighter, settling in and closing your eyes as you feel relief for the first time all day.

Taehyung tries hard to hold still so he doesn’t knock you loose. He’s glad he can do this for you, help ease your way.

He still finds it incomprehensible that you’d give up your human life for him. He holds still, and he whispers to you that it’ll get better soon, that Potato misses you, that he loves you.

After a while, he feels your breathing even out. He shifts gently, wincing as your fangs slip from his shoulder, the wounds starting to ooze tar-black sangru. Unbothered, he moves you gently into a more comfortable sleeping position, smiling when you hum in your sleep. Then, even though he’s slept all night ever since the curse was undone, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with you in his arms.

—

You lay still when you awaken, slowly taking inventory of each thing that hurts. Your head isn’t pounding - that’s a first, since the night Taehyung had turned you. You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, stretch your legs towards the end of the bed. Things are stiff, but not painful the way they’d be the last few times you’d woken.

You rise gingerly, making your way to the windows, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. You blink against it, letting your eyes adjust.

You’re in your own rooms, your new wing in the palace. You wander from room to room absently, trying to familiarize yourself. You feel a little lost, a little out of place. You hadn’t inhabited these rooms for long before turning, and now you’ve been out of it for so long that you don’t even know what day it is.

You’re standing in the middle of the main room - with couches and an unlit hearth, just like Taehyung’s wing - staring absently at nothing when one of your tall doors cracks open.

You almost sag with relief when you see Satuel peek her head inside.

“Hi,” you breathe, deflating.

“You’re up,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “It’s harder to keep track of you now that I can’t hear your heartbeat from outside.”

This makes you smile. “What day is it?”

She tells you as she comes inside, and you start counting on your fingers. Almost three weeks to the day since you’d performed Taehyung’s countercurse.

“Can I get you anything, Maiesti?” she asks.

You feel your face heat. “You shouldn’t call me that,” you say, a bit aghast. Your voice is rough from disuse. “I’m only Prince Taehyung’s sperasa.”

“You will be Queen soon enough,” she says in that cool, even way of hers. “What can I bring for you?”

You hesitate. “I’m very thirsty,” you admit.

She gives you a quick bow and retreats, and you sink into a chair, a bit dazed. Now that you’re noticed it, the thirst is powerful, and you find it hard to think about anything else.

Satuel doesn’t leave you suffering for long. She returns with a cart full of options - pitchers, Prey, and various pastries that must be blood-food.

You choose the pouches, the Prey, since they relieve both the thirst and the tingling need to bite. Though, you notice absently, the tingling isn’t so bad today.

While you drink, Satuel catches you up on what you’ve missed - the former King’s guilty verdict, Seokjin’s father’s trial underway, Taehyung’s own trial impending. Word that Namjoon made it back, that he’s doing fine settling back into his old life. That Taehyung has been here every day, helping you adjust, in between meetings with his new cabinet.

“Maiesti will be pleased to see you feeling more like yourself,” she notes.

“Do you think he’ll be long?” you ask, a bit wistfully.

Satuel gives you a knowing smile. “I think if I tell him you’re awake - really awake - he’ll leave his cabinet mid-meeting to come dote on you.”

You flush.

“Should I inform him?” Satuel asks, almost teasingly.

You wonder if, somehow, she has ended up as your friend.

You hesitate. “Could I… go see him? I’d really like a walk.”

You clean up before you go, and you’re pleased to find that you remember your way through the palace from these new rooms. It’s startling to walk down the corridor - your gait is awkward, your legs wanting to go faster than your brain thinks they can. But, of course, your brain is wrong - it needs time to catch up to what your body can do now.

You pause at the door of Taehyung’s meeting room, listening.

“I just think,” Seokjin is saying, somewhat hotly, “that there needs to be some weighting to the representation. The great houses should have more say than the lesser houses. We’re the ones here doing the work, we’re the ones here solving problems. The lesser houses can have a representative, but court families should have more.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, their tone carefully polite. “Beginning this new venture with an imbalance of power will only invite trouble. The lesser houses will be resentful from the beginning. It could brew into conflict. We don’t want to replace one monarch with a group of monarchs. Your Majesty, you wanted equality across Infracticus - that means you must start with equal.”

“You both make valid points,” Taehyung muses. “How do we decide? Should we vote?”

You step into the room. A few cabinet members look up, eyes widening. Another does a double take, at first deeming you unimportant and then looking again when they register who you are.

Taehyung lets out a noise like a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “My love!” he cries. “You’re well?”

“I know my name today,” you tell him. “So that’s something, right?”

He starts to push his chair back, but you raise a hand to stop him. He halts mid-motion, clearly confused.

“What if you appointed representation by breaking up the land instead of by house?” you suggest, jumping uninvited into the conversation you’d interrupted. “I’ve seen it done that way above - it works, more or less. Then it doesn’t boil down to do the Runes get one or two, it would simply be that the Runes living in a designated area have the same representative as anyone else who lives there, too.”

Taehyung’s smile, if possible, triples in size. He finishes standing, pushing his chair away. He points at Seokjin mirthfully. “Discuss this suggestion in my absence,” he commands. “My Queen requires my attention now.”

Out in the hall, he sweeps you into a hug, swinging you in a circle. You laugh, slapping half-heartedly at him until he sets you down.

“You,” he says, “are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful Queen Infracticus has ever seen.”

“I’m not Queen yet,” you point out.

“We’ll start planning today,” he says, and then falters. “That is… if you want. I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited.”

You can’t help but smile, slipping a hand into his. “No,” you say shyly. “I do… want. Should we wait, though - for after your trial?”

He sobers. “Yoongi thinks it’ll be over in a day,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze now. You squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. “The Elders will testify that I was cursed… Namjoon is willing to testify as well… some of my guards, who kept me in my rooms…”

“I could, too,” you offer.

He nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying yes. “If it comes to that,” he hedges. “But, like I said, Yoongi doesn’t think it’ll be much of a case. I’ll be relieved when it’s over, either way.” He shoots you a conspiratorial look. “And then, yes, we can start planning our events.”

“Events?” you echo.

“Wedding,” he ticks off on his fingers. “And then we’ll have to have a coronation for you.”

“I’d rather do it all in one go,” you admit. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

He smiles indulgently at you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “If it helps, from now on, it will never just be you in the center, at least not alone. Wherever you go, you’ll always have me.”

And it does. It does help.

—

“Come on!” Taehyung’s voice is boyish, downright gleeful, as you struggle to keep up with his long legs.

“Where are we going?” you call to him, but your voice is lost by a strong ocean breeze, the sound carried away and drowned beneath the cries of the gulls and the crashing of waves.

In truth, you’re going slow on purpose, trying to savor this: the ocean you get to live beside, Taehyung laughing and carefree in a way you’ve never seen before, a sense that you belong right here.

It’s hard to wrap your brain around the truth that you don’t need to savor it, don’t need to make it last - you’ll have more time here than you can imagine.

Then, you recognize the stone steps he’s bounding down. He’s taking you to his stables.

“Potato missed me too much?” you tease, finally catching up. He grins at you in response.

Inside the stable, he tugs you past Potato’s stall, giving her a quick pat on the nose as he goes.

“Ta-da!” he crows, leaning over the wooden door to the stall, peering down into the space below. You follow his gaze and gasp, hands flying to your face.

“Taehyung!” you shriek. “No way!”

“You’ll scare her!” he chides, but he’s laughing, reaching to unlatch the door so you can properly meet the baby amarisca that stands in the stall. Her coat is royal blue, her hooves navy, and her eyes as black as Taehyung’s.

You sit on the ground and let her come to you, trying hard not to squeal and scare her even though you’re absolutely vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” you all but sob, so happy you’re almost incoherent.

“You need to name her,” he points out, sitting down next to you, hay and dirt be damned.

“Noodle,” you say immediately. “Her name is Regency’s Noodle. Taehyung, oh my god!”

You almost lose it again when she presses her nose into your hand, and Taehyung beams, his smile as bright as the sun.

You’ve come a long way in your transition. You can go almost the whole day without drinking, mostly needing one end-of-day “meal” (four or five Prey pouches) to get you through. You’re more steady on your feet, practicing zipping around lightning-quick the way you’ve seen others do. And your magic is stronger, too. You’ve been thinking of asking Taehyung if there’s a more formal way you can train in magic, once things are settled.

There’s a lot still to come. Your wedding, your coronation. And though the cabinet has been hard at work, King Taehyung has yet to announce that he plans to dissolve the monarchy and create a more democratic system in its place. Neither of you - none of the cabinet members - expect the news to go over smoothly.

Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. It helps that Seokjin is so involved, practically Taehyung’s second-in-command.

“When she’s big enough,” Taehyung promises you, “we’ll race to my island. We’ll travel to the ends of Infracticus together - I’ll make sure you see it all. We’ll ride together and see all the places you grew up reading about.”

“And then what?” you ask, half-teasing. You have an eternity to fill, after all.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “We’ll do whatever you want, My Queen.”

And he slides his hand into yours, where it fits like it belongs.

—

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when he meets with you and the Infracti who will defend him at the trial, Yoongi and Hoseok of Cleave.

“I was… going to keep this to myself,” he admits, shoulders rounded with shame. “But I need to know that I truly answered for what I did. And I can’t do that if you only know part of the truth.”

Yoongi looks at you, like you might have some answers. You do not.

Taehyung wilts just slightly more. He glances sideways at you. “My love,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Maiesti,” Yoongi says, voice low with warning. He trails off.

Taehyung fiddles with the rings on his fingers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “The whole truth,” he says, so quiet that you and Yoongi both lean closer to hear him, “is that the curse… it wasn’t what I intended - something went wrong -”

“What happened, Taehyung?” you ask, knowing it when you see him start to spiral into half-thoughts.

He braces himself, and then tells you both what happened five nights before you’d arrived.

Before you came to Infracticus, Taehyung had spent an entire night in the deepest archives the palace held. He had thrummed with energy and desperation, as if stopping his father’s actions faster could also undo them. As if finding a solution quickly could absolve him, earn forgiveness.

He’d slapped a palm over the page when he found what he was looking for, after hours of searching, reading for so long that his eyes watered and begged to close.

A curse. A curse that would end his immortality, give him a human lifespan.

“If I die young, without an heir,” he had argued with absolutely no one, his voice echoing in the empty, stone room, “then the crown cannot pass on. After my father, it goes to no one.”

It didn’t solve the problem now, he knew. It meant Sunjae would continue to rule unchecked. But someday. Someday, Taehyung would die, and then Sunjae would die, and then the crown would be free.

He’d rest easier knowing that even if every plan he thought up eventually failed, at least Sunjae would be the last. Taehyung would spend however many years he got trying to stop him, and if nothing worked then at least he could die knowing that after Sunjae, it would end. The monarchy would cease to exist. Something better could rise from its ashes. It had to.

He had stood and pulled the book closer to the edge of the table so he could see it clearly and began borrowing, pulling magic from the world around him. He’d end his immortality, he’d kill his immortal self. For his people. For Infracticus.

“I am Taehyung of Rune, Prince of Infracticus,” he had told the empty room. He would bring his father down. He would end his house’s rule. “But perhaps I can be of Ruin, too.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for being here!! i hope you enjoyed this crazy world as much as i did. may scuttlebug tae live on forever in our hearts :')

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bordysbae · 1 year ago

Note

hii!!! congrats on 500, i love your work so much!

could i request a blurb with 1. "you're the only one who can calm him down" from the fluff list and 5. "i got in a fight because of you" from the angst / sad list with trevor zegras?

thank you!! congrats once again, your writing is amazing! <3

“not even dating”

trevor zegras x f!reader

🦋 BORDYSBAE’S 500 CELLY!

ahh tysm! i’m glad you enjoy my writing it means so so much!

— ୨୧ —

although you two aren’t official, anyone who knows boston university’s hockey player, fraternity brother, and student, trevor zegras, knows who you are. if there’s a party, best believe you’re there and under his arm. if there’s a hockey game, you’re wearing one of his boston hoodies. it’s a ritual at this point. neither of you are seeing anyone else, and everyone knows that.

you two are practically the it couple of boston university, but it’s ironic since you two aren’t even dating. this has been going on for at least three and half months now, but you don’t mind. you kind of like being unlabeled and so does trevor, but what he doesn’t like is other guys talking about you.

“yo trevor, you see y/ns recent insta post? if you won’t cuff her up i will,” trevor’s teammate dominic says. one of trevor’s eyebrows raises, “what’d you just say to me?” he chuckles angrily, hoping dom is just messing around.

“look man, she’s a nice girl and she’s hot too. you better cuff her up soon before someone else does,” dom shrugs. trevor rises from his spot on the chair and makes his way towards dom. suddenly he throws a punch right at doms left eye, and gasps can be heard. trevor attempts to throw more punches but not before he’s held back by his other teammates.

as he’s being taken outside of the dorm room he states, “and for the record dom, i have cuffed her before,” with a smirk. he can’t control his anger as he paces the dorm hallway, and his teammates can only think of calling you. they take his phone and dial your number, only praying you’ll come over and help.

“hello? trev? aren’t you with your friends?” you question.

“hey y/n, can you come over? trevor got in a fight, and you’re the only one who can calm him down. we’re at doms dorm.”

those words make you let out a huff before you grab your things and head out the door. dominics dorm is only a block away, so you walk your way there. you climb the stairs to the third story, and see trevor sat in the stairwell with his head in his lap. “you okay?” you ask as you sit next to him.

he looks up at you with a soft smile, “i’m sorry,” he states. your brows furrow, “why are you sorry?”

“because y/n, i got in that fight because of you. dom was talking about how i’m gonna lose you if i don’t ask you out soon and i just got scared and angry. what if he’s right?” trevor mutters quietly.

“well he’s wrong. i’m not going anywhere, i’m ready for anything whenever you want it. you know that, trev,” you say quietly, matching trevor’s tone. you rest your head on his shoulder and take his hand in yours.

“so, you’re okay with being my official girlfriend?” he nervously asks, making your cheeks heat up. “you know i am, so yes trevor. i’ll be your official girlfriend,” you smile while taking your head off of his shoulder. you look into each others eyes before leaning in and meeting halfway. kissing as an official couple for the very first time.

#bordysbae’s 500 celly #trevor zegras #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras fluff #hockey blurb #hockey imagine

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cyten0 · 1 month ago

Text

A Symphony in Crimson

Act 1: A Movement in Black

Chapter 14

Finally. Back at this storage room. It took a while, you made sure the party got through without a scratch on them. The scent of blood isn’t as bad anymore, you can control yourself, but it still feels horrible to smell, for many reasons.

The ONE thing you nee to do right now is keep them safe, that matters more then anything else, even a drop of blood makes you feel like a blinding failure. What’s the point of all of this if they get hurt? You’ve already failed them before, you won’t let it happen again if you can help it.

It makes them a little nervous, seeing you puppet the sadnesses about, making them flee, or tear each other apart. But it’s fine. As long as they're safe.

This is now YOUR lair, not the kings. And you’ll never let them get hurt here.

But right now, they're trapped here. And it’s past time to fix that. Your family watches as you grab the book about wishcraft from the shelf and flip it open, searching for answers.

◉ “What do you have there Siffrin?”

✦ “A book on wishcraft”

...Oh they probably want to know why your looking into it. Hm.

✦ “… It’s likely how the king got the power over timecraft.”

▲ “Oh Crab!”

◉ “T-That seems important!!”

◆ “Mind if we take a look?”

They can’t read it but they don’t know that. So you just show them the book. As expected, they look at it frustrated, before handing it back.

✿ “Those were bad letters.”

◆ “Honestly surprised you can even read it.”

Perhaps you should go into detail. They might have insights.

✦ “I’ll translate, and explain. Take a seat.”

▲ “Awfully serious huh? “

◉ “Reminds me of the teachers here… I guess that makes this an extra class!”

You nod. Teacher angle makes sense. You’re a little tired to make all the normal expressions, but you’re frankly excited to teach this again! Properly this time!

✿ “Do we have to? I don’t want to do school again.”

✦ “You sure? You’d learn how to do real miracles. But I guess if you aren’t interested...”

✿ “I am now very intepid.”

◆ “Interested.”

✿ “That.”

▲ “Wait, hold on a second, you said actual miracles?”

You give Isa a grin. You have everyone's interest!

✦ “Take your seats, and we can begin.”

They sit down around the nearby table, while you skim the book quickly to make sure you’re ready.

◆ “Very well, professor Siffrin. Whenever you please.”

Alright. Best start with the basics first.

✦ “Now then. Wishcraft is, as the name implies, the ability to craft with wishes. Specifically, it is the art of turning raw belief in a desire into real force by drawing from elsewhere. This is done through any number of rituals, which help translate and amplify your intentions to the stars in the night sky. Then, your will to see it done sways them into granting that desire.”

▲ “The stars? They can do that?”

Ah, you should explain this again. You briefly explain the stars, other worlds, their craft energy, and so on.

◉ “Wow, that’s… So, every time we make a wish, we’re taking from hundreds of other people?!?”

✦ “Billions, but... No, it’s more complex then that. Like I said, We’re also a star to them, and they can draw from us. It’s more like sharing, on such a wide scale we can't tell. But more importantly, it’s normally borderline impossible to draw anything meaningful normally. That’s why rituals need to be designed for this.”

◆ “And what do these rituals involve?”

✦ “I’m glad you asked! Every star has affinities for certain actions, desires, objects, and so on. In order to contact several, you have to find stars close enough to each other that work together. But, since we don’t have a say in what these affinities are, the rituals can get… Unusual.”

✿ “I wanna know one! Tell us, tell us!”

Well, you know one like the back of your hand, so...

✦ “Well then, let’s go for something you’re familiar with. Favor trees.”

▲ “WAIT WHAT!?!”

◉ “THEY CAN GRANT WISHES?!?”

✦ “Yes! They can. It’s not the strongest ritual, but it can work small miracles. Like learning a skill effortlessly, giving good luck, or with strong desire, even stuff like transformations and small bits of magic-like abilities.”

▲ “I-It can’t be as simple as just clapping your hands can it? We would have known by now!”

✦ “Right. Visiting the tree is just one step. The actual ritual goes as such: First find a leaf that represents yourself, whisper the wish into the leaf a number of times significant to you, or just three if you want, fold it closed, and then set it loose in the wind.”

They all just take a second to process that.

✿ “That’s so weird.”

◉ “Kinda complicated. And nothing like what we were taught…”

You feel a little annoyed at that, for some inexplicable reason.

✦ “Hey, designing rituals is tricky. Finding a specific combination of stars that even respond to favor trees took MONTHS of work, and after that you just have to work with what’s available to make something even doable at all. The fact there even IS one is a borderline miracle.”

◆ “No need to get upset Siffrin. It’s not like you designed it.”

… Wait

… Oh. That’s why it’s so clear in Siffrin’s memory. And why you know so much about this from them.

...AND they could tell from your silence.

◉ “...Oh Change.”

✦ “I tried, okay?”

▲ “Hey it’s a good ritual, you did your best.”

✿ “Yeah, but why’d you never tell us! I would’ve totally used it yesterday!”

✦ “...I forgot.”

They have a bit of a chuckle at that. Oh stars, that’s really embarrassing…

Siffrin wanted it to be a gift for their neighboring country. You barely even remembered it. It would have been the perfect thing to share.

◆ “So, these rituals contact the stars. But that leaves me with a few questions. For example, how do they make sure it goes to the wish, and not something else? And what about contradictions, such as if two people wish for opposing things? And also, what kind of ritual did the king use for their powers? Is there a way to disrupt it?”

Huh. You can’t quite remember. But it seems important. You start flipping through the pages…

✦ “Hm… Not getting much. It seems those first few points are handled by something called an Arcanum, but it doesn’t mention much about them. And this book doesn’t actually list many rituals, more just how Wishcraft works.”

◉ “Then we should keep an eye out! I’m kind of invested now!”

✿ “I really wanna know more magic stuff!”

You nod, and everyone gets up. Alright. That’s a new insight! You might have talked a LOT there, but the recap was important, for them and you both. The headache is mild, since you were mostly reading for that knowledge. Worth it.

And it served as a bit of a distraction. The reality of you being in the house suddenly comes back to you in full force. Right. You have to keep them safe till the next book. Now you need to make extra sure you don’t loop until the end, or else you will have to do all that over again.

You walk out the door, and see a sadness. NO. You sing, and it rips itself apart. You stab it for good measure, before the others even get out the door.

◆ “...Gems, that never gets any less unsettling.”

You hear Isa whisper under their breath.

▲ “(Back to cold Sif, I guess… Hope their okay.)”

...Oh. You… haven't been putting effort into being expressive lately, have you…

...It’s fine. Save your energy for the parts that matter. Even if you have to go a bit monster in between.

>>>

Second floor. You ended up having that talk at that diary in the library, and… let them know that that’s where you, and wishcraft come from. It felt important to mention this time.

It was. Nice, how they comforted you afterwards. But, you assured them it was fine and moved on. You can’t accept comfort for that. They’d never forgive you if they found out the truth. No one would.

Still, you made your way to the secret library. And searched the shelves for that book. You hope it has what you need… Perfect!

✦ “Guess what I found! A book on constellations, and it has a section discussing Arcanums!”

▲ “CRAB Yeah!”

◉ “Yes! Please, tell us all you can!”

✿ “I wanna know if there’s any magic wish stuff I can do!”

◆ “Yes, if you would be so kind?”

You nod, and start skimming through… Hm. This is rather interesting.

✦ “Okay, so first off, the Arcanum is a construct of sort, that helps focus a specific constellation to our world. But it also says here it… ‘Puts wishes in the hands of the patron star’.”

◆ “What does that mean?”

✦ “Can’t see what this stars name is, gives me a headache trying but… Apparently they act as some kind of. Controlling force? They sort of manage the wishes, make sure they go right.”

Wait, something catches your eye.

✦ “Apparently this involves fixing contradictions, increasing efficiency, and… even merging similar wishes together?”

▲ “Huh. That makes sense. If a bunch of people want the same thing, it makes sense to just bundle it into one.”

… That might be it. Your wish wouldn’t have done this, but if it got mixed into another, bigger wish, then maybe THAT is what’s causing this? But what wish could be doing that… What wish could have enough power to repeatedly turn back time?

◆ “Interesting. Still, if this Arcanum is important to the efficiency, then disrupting it would weaken the king, yes?”

✦ “Maybe? But unless he made it himself, it’s probably back on the island. Still, wish this intense typically comes with a caveat or two.”

◉ “… Is there a way to check that?”

Hm. That would be useful. You skim through the pages a bit.

✦ “Apparently if we can find an Orrery, they come with ways to trace wishcraft to their constellations. I’ll take the book with us in case we find one, and can cross reference.”

▲ “Sounds like a plan!”

✿ “...Okay, that’s cool and all, but can we get another cool ritual?”

Oh yeah, fair, that would be nice! You flip through the pages, seeing if you can find anything interesting...

✦ “Let’s see… Oh, here’s an interesting one. Who here knows how to make a paper crane?”

Nobody except Odile raises their hand.

✿ “...You better teach me, Dile.”

◆ “Sure. Now then, what do you do with them?”

✦ “Apparently, if you successfully fold one thousand paper cranes consecutively, without tearing or damaging a single one, and whisper your wish into each one as you do, on the final one, your wish will be granted.”

◉ “That sounds… Difficult.”

✦ “Maybe, but this is a strong wish! It can do some crazy things. Stuff normally impossible. Like learning a complex skill instantly, Create things from nothing, Gain the power to control the elements, and so on.”

✿ “… I am SO gonna do this one.”

✦ “Interested to see you try! Let me see if I can find another… Oh hey, here’s the favor tree one! Discovered by-”

You freeze in place. That. That can’t be right. You can barely stand straight.

◉ “Siffrin! A-Are you alright?!?”

As you stumble, Isa grabs you. Holds you upright.

That...That was Siffrin?!? You… You killed… You pretended to be… You can’t breathe…

▲ “Sif! Take deep breathes, buddy, in and out, like you always do, come on.”

You-! You-! You…. In and Out. In. And out. In. and. Out.

You're still shaking. You can’t… You absolute monster. You can’t believe….

✿ “What’s wrong Frin? What scared you like that!”

✦ “It-It’s nothing! Just… M-Might have been some backlash from… memory stuff! It’s fine! It’s fine.”

Odile looks at you suspiciously.

✦ “…Just... shouldn't have read about myself... I’ll hold onto the book for now, but I think we’ll save reading until relevant.”

Your family reluctantly accepts, and you start to put yourself together. Those words burning in your mind.

You’d known Siffrin was important, but you never had any idea it was anything more then maybe some notoriety in a field.

If you had known, you’d never have pretended to be him. Masqueraded as him. Dragged his corpse around as a common traveler. Let the scant few survivors you’ve met, even if only in the depths of their subconscious, think that he was still alive...

Discovered by Crown Prince, Siffrin Polaris.

… You really are an absolute monster.

>>>

You are on the third floor. Your family is a little nervous, since you’ve been a little tense since the secret library. And have been taking that tension out on the sadnesses. You’ve started getting a little creative with how you make them kill each other or themselves, and aren’t exactly letting them run away. Or at least, if they do, you make sure they're dead within seconds of leaving line of sight. You don’t let it get in the way though, your family is as safe as always.

Oh. This door.

You’ve seen this odd, star shaped door before, but never gone in. Couldn’t read the text. But. You can now.

The name of the Star Blessed kings shall always be welcome.

… You don’t deserve to say it. To stain that name any more then you already have, by letting this twisted mimicry of it’s last member speak it.

But… There might be something important in there. It feels horrible but...You speak it, barely above your breath.

✦ “Polaris.”

The door opens.

▲ “Huh? Did you say something Sif?”

✦ “Don’t worry about it. Let’s head in.”

You walk in and. Oh! Guess you were right.

✦ “Well that’s lucky. Found our Orrery.”

▲ “Oh, okay! So that’s what that is.”

◉ “Hehe, it’s fun seeing Siffrin be the expert for once!”

✿ “It looks kinda weird. I don’t get it.”

◆ “Agreed. Care to show us how it works?”

You nod, and take a closer look. Even if you didn’t have Siffrin’s memories, mechanical stuff like this is your forte!

✦ “So, it can be used in two ways. The first is to map out how our world looks from the outside in, which is used for a lot of star based things. For reference, this ball here in the center is the sun, and this tiny ball here is where we live.”

✿ “WHAT!! That’s so small!! Why is the sun so big!”

✦ “It's actually scaled down quite a bit. It's much bigger, We’re just really far away from it. If it was accurate, with the sun at that size, the earth would be a pebble, and the distances would make this thing bigger then the entire house!"

▲ “That… Wow. That’s... Way bigger then I thought. I can't even picture that in my head.”

✦ “It puts things into perspective doesn’t it? We’re really just a tiny speck in the scale of everything.”

◉ “It’s a little overwhelming…”

✦ “Really? I find it comforting... Anyways! Let’s move on to the reason we need this… Hm…”

You look around a little bit, find a loose rock frozen in time, and place it against a scanner at the base.

The machine whirrs to life, spinning into the right position, matching when the constellation would be most visible. Then the room grows dark, as a misty circle of shadows forms around you all. You watch as you all go slightly transparent within the crafted illusion, and a series of lights is highlighted against the edge, lines connecting the phantom stars like dots.

▲ “CRAB!!!”

◉ “WHAT?!?”

◆ “GEMS!!!”

✿ “WOAH!!!”

You give them a second to adjust before explaining.

✦ “Look like this ones pretty fancy. Normally it’d just be a projection around it, but this is much cooler!”

You point to the highlighted stars. The whole is overall shaped like a heart shape with a dagger. There’s a lot of stars in it too!

✦ “There’s the constellation! Let’s see if it matches up to anything in here…”

▲ “This is actually really crabbing cool….”

◉ “It’s really beautiful!”

✿ “I can see through my hands!!”

You search through the book, going through the high power constellations first.

✦ “Oh, yeah, here it is, let’s see if there’s a caveat or something… Oh… That’s…”

◆ “Hm? What is it?”

This… Dear goodness. You knew the king was insane but this is just…

✦ “I’m going to give a warning ahead of time and say this ritual is… Gruesome. The king is clearly messed up to even attempt this.”

The others take a pause, look at the constellation, and nod. You take a deep breath in, and out.

✦ “Take a piece of iron. Mix your own blood, freshly spilled, into it’s metal every day for one hundred days. Then, on the one hundredth day, forge it into a dagger, and then pierce your own heart. Should you survive unaided for one day, without removing the blade, it will fuse into your heart, and so long as the blade remains and your heart still beats, you will be given the power to see your wish granted.”

…

Your family is left speechless.

◆ “...Gems alive…”

◉ “That’s horrible!”

▲ “How desperate was he?”

None of you know what to say to that.

✦ “… Guess that means killing him really is the only option.”

◉ “I… I guess.”

✿ “… But we know it’ll work, right?”

!?!?

✿ “I-If the magic stuff only works while his hearts beating, then when he’s dead, it’s gonna stop, right? Everything will go back to normal, right?!”

Bonnie is on the edge of tears.

◆ “I… Yes, Boniface.”

✦ “Yeah. It will. And… If they're willing to go that far, then we don’t need to feel bad about it. Someone like that… Would kill to get his way.”

You know that from experience…. Can still remember how they…. You look at the constellation on the wall. Such a twisted ritual. But…

✦ “It says here… that this ritual was once used by the most loyal knights, dedicated to protecting the world itself. Only those willing to risk everything for the people. To bleed and risk death for them…"

A faint memory scratches the back of your mind. Someone you looked up to?

✦ "It’s sick, seeing him twist something like that into this.”

Mirabelle looks at you, determined.

◉ “… We’ll put and end to it.”

...Monsters, twisting what few bits remain of your home into nightmares. The King. And You…

You’d best check your own wish, while you’re here. You place your hand against the monitor. And the device shifts and spins, highlighting the favor tree constellation. You suppose your wish is involved then. But…

◆ “Checking your own wish, hm?… Why does it look… Cracked, I guess?”

It does. The stars and it’s patterns are leaving cracks on the display. They're also far brighter then it should be. That means it’s likely under considerable strain. Could be a result of the wish going wrong.

But more notably, the stars at the center seem the most strained, and no other stars are highlighted at all... Which means...

The wishes bundled into yours were also done at favor trees. Otherwise, other stars would have been at least somewhat highlighted. And the favor tree isn’t a strong constellation. To pull this kind of power from it, so focused, it would take an absurd amount of will. Which means it was done by many people. But what wish...

✦ “No idea. Still, that’s enough for now.”

That’s a lead to look into. You turn the device off, and the illusion fades.

▲ “Guess we learned a lot, huh?”

◉ “… We did, Didn’t we? Thank you Siffrin.”

You nod. You’re glad they were here to help with this…

But what now? You guess you need to figure out what people wished for at the favor trees. See if you can find a consistent theme, something that would work.

You guess it’s time to head to Dormont… You lead your family out of the room first though. You don’t want to die in a room like that.

◆ “...Before we go any further, Siffrin... Is there something you aren’t telling us?”

Huh?

▲ “Madame?”

◆ “You’ve been acting off since yesterday, have known how to navigate the house nearly on instinct, and clearly have far more understanding of the king and his methods then beforehand. I doubt you learned this Sadness control craft overnight, but it’s not the only thing that’s off. So. Mind telling us what’s happening?”

✦ “… Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

◆ “… Oh really. So, you’re not dealing with any timecraft yourself, HM?”

Oh. Oh no.

◆ “I had my suspicions for a while, but the way your wish looked back there practically confirms it. You’ve established that Wishcraft can alter time, and you’re practically an expert on that field. If anyone could craft a wish that could turn it back, it would be you.”

◉ “H-Huh?!?”

◆ “Which would explain a lot of things. Your sense of calm, even to traps, your knowledge of where each key in the entire house is, and several other things. How else would you know all this, unless you’ve done it before?”

▲ “That… would explain some things.”

◆ “I don’t mind secrets, but this is VERY important to us. And the fact it looks damaged means that something is wrong right? You even admitted a favor tree wish couldn’t do that. But Clearly yours wasn’t normal. So tell me. What. Is Happening?”

… Blind it. She’s angry again. Of course she is. You’ve kept them all trapped here for so long. You greedy monster. This is all your fault. It’s YOUR wish that went wrong.

✦ “… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to trap you all here….”

The others react in surprise, as you confirm her suspicions. And you turn towards a nearby tear.

✦ “...But it’s alright. I’ll fix it soon. And you won’t have to remember any of this.”

◆ “What?!?”

You unfurl your body, grabbing the tear before they can react.

《《《

…Blind it all. You HATE them being upset with you. You KNOW you messed up, seeing them also be upset at you is horrible. You’ve turned this final adventure into a horror story for them.

But it’s fine, right? You’re a very gentle monster. You won’t hurt them. You just need to help them out before you can’t keep up the lie. Then their story won’t be tainted. Then they can have their happy ending, never fearing the monster they escaped.

You just need to fix this, and it will be alright. You just need to fix this, and then they’ll be safe.

✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸

Oh, dear researcher, too clever for your own good~ But it doesn’t matter! This whole terrible affair will be over soon.

… Royalty, then? You guess that make sense. Where else would you have gotten the ability to summon something like yourself? Probably stole that power from his corpse in your gullet, back when you were Stardust. A power like that could only be used by those blessed by the red star.

… Hm. A little input from your patron. How interesting~ Guess that confirms it!…

You wonder what kind of nation it was, for their kings to have craft as bloody as that. Combined with that ritual Stardust found, and you’re getting the impression your former home had a turbulent history.

You guess it makes sense if you and Stardust came from there! Where else could such abominations be born?~

...Not that it matters in the end. You both are getting close. Close to finding the answer to this issue. Close to the ending. You can feel it.

#in stars and time #isat #isat au #carrion!sif au #SymphonyInCrimson!au #The threads start to unravel #revealing the truth #A very informative chapter! :3

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chapel-of-rizztual · 1 year ago

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I was wondering if you would possibly do a regressed ghoul with mama Aurora, please? Maybe some reassuring snuggles after a difficult ritual?

❤️

The show was cut short. It was no one’s fault, the storm had just gotten too dangerous for them to carry on. They were all devastated, obviously, but it was the best decision to keep everyone safe.

They all kind of awkwardly stood backstage, not fully knowing what to do. The usual post show adrenaline wasn’t there, with them not being on stage for long enough.

Aurora watched as Mountain stormed off the stage, the scowl on his face was evident even Through the mask. He didn’t say a word to anyone, just grabbed Swiss by the hand and dragged him into his dressing room, slamming the door behind him.

Dew had laughed at him, saying something about ‘it should have been me’ and ‘pray for Swiss’ ass because he’s gunna need it.’ Rain had slapped his hand over Dew’s mouth before he could say anything else.

Aurora wasn’t really paying attention, she was too busy looking for the one ghoul missing. Phantom. He was her summoning brother, her twin flame, she felt the connection of his presence more then the others. Which meant she felt his absence more.

“Hey, has anyone seen Phantom? She asked, looking nervously around the ghouls.

They all shook their heads at her, looking around between them like they’d only just realised he wasn’t there.

“I haven’t seen him since he scampered off stage.” Rain replied to her, his hand still covering Dew’s mouth. “He ran off so fast.”

“Check in my dressing room for him.” Cumulus smiles sweetly at her as she speaks. “He likes to hide in there sometimes.”

Aurora takes off in the direction of Cumulus’ dressing room before anyone can say anything else.

Just like Cumulus had said, Phantom was on her dressing room, sat cross legged on the floor, picking fluff off the carpet. His helmet was still on but he’s pulled his balaclava down to his chin. He looked up hearing the door open.

“Mama.”

Aurora looked behind her to make sure Cumulus hadn’t followed her.

“Mama? You want Cumulus? I can go get her she’s just down the hall.”

Phantom pouts at her, shaking his head, making grabby hands towards her. “Mama.”

Aurora shuts the door carefully behind her. “Me? I’m mama today?”

Phantom nods, still making grabby hands towards her. She picks him up off the floor easily, she might be small but she’s strong. He wraps his legs around her hips, trying to bury his face into her neck but is stopped by his mask. He lets out a whine, pulling away from her neck with a sad pout on his face.

Aurora laughs lightly at him, swaying them slightly where she stands. “Why didn’t you take your mask off when you got off stage, bug?”

Phantom points to the buckle under his chin. “Tricky.”

“Ah, I see. Couldn’t manage it on your own?” She undoes the buckle easily with one hand, pulling his helmet off, throwing it onto the sofa that’s pushed to the side of the room.

Phantom shakes his head, fluffing his hair up and unglamouring his horns. He buries his head into her neck with a small sigh.

Aurora sits down on the small sofa, moving Phantom so he’s sat more on her lap, keeping his head buried in her neck. He lets out a contented sigh, nuzzling deeper into her, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder.

“What’s made you go so little, bug?” She runs her fingers through his hair, rubbing at his horns. “You don’t normally drop this fast.” Phantom whimpers into her neck, fidgeting a little. “Changed.”

Aurora hums in realisation. “Ah, the schedule changed.”

Phantom nods, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder harder. “I know, it’s hard when things change, huh?”

Phantom wiggles down a little so his head is resting on her chest. “Don’t like it, mama.” “Oh I know.” Aurora coos at him. “But you’re being so brave, are you? You didn’t even cry about it.”

Phantom gives a little chuff. “Wanted to be brave for you, mama.”

Aurora feels her heart melting out of her chest. “My brave boy, aren’t you?” She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, there’s one good thing about the show being over early.”

Phantom looks up at her with wide eyes, his pupils blown.“What?” Aurora squeezes him close to her, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “It means we can cuddle more.”

Phantom let’s put a chuff that turns into a purr, snuggling deeper into Aurora's chest, rubbing his cheek against her.

“Oh, I knew you’d like that.” Phantom thrills, his ears flicking. “Want all the cuddles please, mama.”

Aurora rubs a hand down his back, rubbing small circles at the bottom of his back. “You can have all the cuddles you want, baby.” The two stay cuddled up on the sofa for a long time. So long that they both end up falling asleep, tangled up together on the lumpy backstage sofa. That’s how Cumulus finds them later and she can’t help pulling her phone out to take a picture of the cute sight.

#Regressed ghouls #thank you for the ask!! 💕#the band ghost #ficlet #ghost headcanons #nameless ghouls #aurora ghoulette #phantom ghoul #anonymous #my writing

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jakelinestradlin · 2 months ago

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Tag yourseld where your Mars take place in your birth chart ♥ Mine is on Scorpio ♥

Aries Mars

Rawness. A strong grip. Tugging a lock of hair when it gets too much. A thin line between pain and pleasure. Nails scratching down a back because of frustration. A build up. Taunts. Deliberately causing arguments because make-up sex with you feels so good. Will you take the bait? Sex feeling new each time. A fast rhythm. Confidence. Advancing towards you. Feeling protective over you. An urge to KO anyone who looks at you for more than 2 seconds. Warrior urges instigated. Persistence got me this far in life, let me show you how it works for me.

Taurus Mars

Pressure. A slow burning warmth that licks up the body. We have all the time in the world. Every part of the body exposed to a kiss, a touch, a breath of air. Flickering of orange flames in a fireplace. A feeling of pure, unabashed sensuality when naked. Coolness of air which brushes the hairs on the back of the neck. Rooted in sexual energy. Slow and steady wins the race. Scented massages. Starting at the base of the neck. Feeling strength. Resilience. Flavored condoms. Drunk on your love. How is it possible you taste sweeter every time? The smooth column of the throat. The shadows a sunset causes dancing. Seduction is like art to me, let me paint you a masterpiece.

Gemini Mars

Curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat had nine lives. Opening up to try different things. Trying to do too many things at once. Falling on the floor so we stay there. A combination of arms and legs. Head cocked to one side. Observing you from a different angle. Slanted eyes. A feeling of pressure that’s quick but growing in acuteness. Busy hands. Roaming fingers. Lights on or off it doesn’t matter. I can still picture you. In my mind. With my eyes closed. You’re a permanent imprint on my psyche. My desire resides on the mental plane. Whispering all the things I want to do to you. Biting an ear lobe. Wanting to learn about every inch of your body. Tell me your fantasies and watch how fast I bring it to you in real time.

Cancer Mars

Baby. But I can take control. It depends how I feel. An emotionally charged touch. Hearts in sync. A vivid imagination. Role-playing. Wearing that outfit, I know has that effect on you. Playing coy. If I’m feeling sad, I might insist we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, just for a while. Is that OK? A stormy kind of desire. Waking up to kisses. Not wanting to sleep because this moment is all I ever dreamed of. This feels like home. Checking in with you. A sensitive kind of love. Hold me tight. So tight I can’t breathe. Only then will it feel right. TLC. Crying before, during and after sex. I can’t help it. A sudden wave of desire, greedy in nature. Strong feelings of lust. My fervor for you is bottomless, this is but a small representation of its total expression.

Leo Mars

Doing it in the mirror so I can show you how beautiful you look. Don’t be shy. Rose petals on the bed. Even more rose petals on the floor. I Wanna perform for you. An effortless performance, start to finish. This is what you signed up for. Let me deliver my end of the deal. Pride in the bedroom. Forgetting about past lovers. At the moment of release, saying my name soothes the lion inside that bares it’s teeth when you’re underneath me. Aggression. Feeling royal together. Round one barely took the edge off. Leaving my mark on you. The bedroom feels like a hunting ground. Running isn’t an option. Pleasure in all its forms. Can you tame the beast?

Virgo Mars

Acting reserved in public but it’s a different story behind closed doors. Who knew? Not afraid to get dirty with you. Voyeurism. Less stress. Surrendering to pleasure and not feeling guilty for it. Peace with the imperfection of this ritual. Perfection out of the window. Lust making a direct entrance, front and center. Tasting you. And then kissing you. Tasting us. Fresh sheets. Getting equally turned on watching you get dressed vs watching you get undressed. When we’re done, cleaning you as an act of service. Submission. A routine that brings order to a chaotic life. If I tell you how crucial this is to my well-being, will you look down on me?

Libra Mars

Fluid. Fluidity in our movements. You first, then me. Close your eyes if you like. There’s no rush. I like being here with you. Who said romance was dead? Wants and desires expressed with you in mind. Sleepy sex. In the throes of passion, you still look like a masterpiece. Can’t get enough. Delicate petals of a rose. Instinctively knowing how to get you off. Licking my lips. And then licking you down there. Playing with you with finesse. How does this feel? Dressing up, just for you. A breathy sigh released in the crook of the neck. Scented candles. Not knowing where each other begins and ends. Not caring. A true union of souls. Sharing this helps me to forget about inner turmoil, if only for a little while.

Scorpio Mars

Enticement. Pupils full and unblinking. Space between us lasts for a second. Who are we kidding? Sharing oxygen. Sucking on your bottom lip. Eyes on me. That’s not a request. Wanting to watch you fall apart. A wet trail left by a tongue. Those kinds of toys. Do you trust me? Show me how much. Fingers pressed into the skin, hard. A ghostly handprint on the skin flashes on the surface of the skin for a heartbeat. Teeth tease the throb of a pulse point. Blood rushing. Be brave enough to discover the intensity of my feelings and be sucked under. Only to rise up in levels in consciousness of a spiritual plane. Love is transformational. I’m willing to show you what you do to me. Don’t run.

Sagittarius Mars

Free rein. Sex with the possibility of being exposed. Down for whatever. Bluntness. Desires expressed with no shame. A finger over the lips. Playing to win. Feeling energized when rolling around the sheets. Nothing is off limits. Fantasies coming true. No strings attached. Watch me do you. Laughter as foreplay. Relax with me. You may have tried this position before but with me it’s different. Let’s get physical. A work out. Kissing you to muffle your screams. Messy hair. Messy sheets. How did this end up in the bed? Mundane details of life losing their importance when we’re together. Feeling the strength coursing through the thighs. I would risk getting caught with you.

Capricorn Mars

A hand on your waist in public, a hand on your throat in secret. Trust me, it feels better when you wait. Limits pushed. Burning up. Debauchery. I won’t tell. It’s our little secret. Experience is a turn on. Standards are a turn on. A sense of control. Mastery. I know this game in and out. Sex is all about power at the end of the day. Soft bristles of a whip, barely brushing the spine. I know how to do this with my eyes closed. How do you feel about blindfolds? Vulnerability. Replaying these moments, we share in inappropriate places. Seductive e-mails. Legs pressed tightly together. Having power over you is an accolade I hold close to my heart, not something I take for granted.

Aquarius Mars

Electric. Electricity when our fingers touch. Permission to be one’s free, authentic self. A non-judgement zones. Non-physical forms of affection. I’m open to trying something new with you. Inviting other people into the picture but only you can make me feel this way. Incorporating technology to add a new flavor. Feeling closer to you in group sex. Conversations intermingling within the very act of sex. Noses brushing against each other faintly. Deep eye-contact feels orgasmic. Hearing soft vibrations in the air before you feel it. Swirling galaxies. My thoughts are consumed by you nowadays, but I’m OK with that.

Pisces Mars

Altered states of consciousness. The bliss that comes when feeling wholly accepted. Complete adoration. Eyes locked. A desire to merge together. Skinny-dipping under the cloak of the night. Who cares if we get caught. No restrictions. A transcendent experience. Artistic nudes. A photo album on my phone. Dedicated to you. Boundaries teased. Biting my lip to control myself but failing. Kisses on the forehead. Reverence. I can morph into whoever you want me to. Kissing you, but my eyes are open. Moments of silence. Desires expressed without words. The sweetest dreams. Every time feels like a little death, only to be reborn again.

#zodic signs #mars rules energy = sex

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magical-glimpse · 1 year ago

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Hey! Just wanted to ask, what would you do spiritually to protect your peace? I’m dealing with some… hexes/evil eyes/attacks from a shit ton of family members, like my mom, as well as people close to my family and it’s gotten to the point in which I’m barely getting through the day (not trying to trauma dump, and I’m very much aware that you are not a therapist lol).

So buckle up bc this is going to be long lol

I reblogged a post recently about the four different types of protection, you can look it up for further info.

THIS IS PROTECTION 102

THE DAILIES

I mentioned them previously to another anon, but i recommend doing some small rituals daily. This helps for 1. stopping the negative energy from building up and 2. Builds your magical stamina for bigger spells.

What you can do :

-visualizing : visualize yourself surrounding by a white or pink light, and visualize it removing all of the negative energy from you, and protecting you from outside negative energy. You can do it once or multiple times a day, when you are in public, before going to sleep, when you wake up etc.

-daily hygiene: while you are taking a bath or a shower, visualize the water cleansing you and watch as the negative energy goes down the drain. This works especially well if you are washing your hair.

Food and drinks: throw salt over your left shoulder while you cook, stir your tea/ coffee clockwise to add protection into the drink, or anticlockwise to remove negative energy. Drink water with the intention of it cleansing the negative energy.

Clothes : the color black, as well as iron, are both associated with protection. You can wear one or both with intention as an extra layer of protection.

You can add affirmations to any of these in order to strengthen them.

NOW ONTO LEVEL 2

We are now going into more long term rituals and spells.

In order to do these, you will need to learn two skills first: how to direct your focus and energy and how to ground.

Direct your focus and energy: The previous exercises can serve as a training. You can also try to do yoga and focus on your body sensations, do meditation, sit under the sun,watch a candle flame, feel water on your hands etc. The goal is to try to avoid your mind from wandering in the middle of your spell, rendering them less effective.

How to ground: the goal is to get you to be connected to your body and to earth. The exercises from the “direct your focus and energy” category can work as well. You can also sit and visualize your core energy center (it can feel different for everyone) being connected to the Earth. A good thing about grounding is that it allows you to borrow from Earth infinite energy, so you don’t have to use your own for your spells.

In order to know what works best for you, you have to tap into your sensitivity. If you are very affected by the moon, then do a ritual linked to the moon. If you are more seasonal like me, do something yearly or linked to the seasons.If you have deities, do something linked to them or ask them to help you protect you.

I personally have a very layered protection, with a mix of deity help, runes, sigils ( i love sigils), enchanted objects and a few spell bottles or jars.

Let’s go with the different types of protection:

Defensive : These act as a shield or a fence. When you build one, make sure you do it in a way that it keeps you away from energies you don’t want, but let in other things. For example, if you use a good luck spell later, it would be sad if it was stopped by your own defensive spell. You can use affirmations such as “I am protected from energies which are not in my highest good”.

Illusory: you can lead the negative energy towards something that is not actually you. For example, you can make a spell jar containing a hair, and fill it with vinegar and nails, with the intention that negative energy that seeks you ends up stuck in the jar. You can then hide this jar in your bathroom, or in a plant etc.You can also learn to shield your energy in a way that you become invisible to people who seek you (I am such champion at that that i once wasted a paid reading bc the reader did not have the best intentions apparently and could not find me lol).The same way as before, add an an affirmation which make sure it wouldnt block you from receiving good things.

Aggressive: I put it last because usually people don't recommend beginners to start off with these. Basically, aggressive spells can require more energy, and it is with experience that you learn when they are necessary, or when they are going bad and you need to do something. The usual protective aggressive spells are “return to sender” types. But you can also find spells that are meant to scare the attacker into retreating.

CORRESPONDENCES:

Salt is commonly used as protection and purification, so is rosemary.

You can mix salt with ashes and it becomes black salt, which will absorb and transform negative energy.

Black crystals, such as black quartz, obsidian, tourmaline, have protection properties.

The color black and the element of iron have protective properties.

Runes:

The rune Algiz is considered a defensive rune.

Sigils : sigils are symbols that belong in chaos magic. They take effect when they become invisible or are destroyed. I personally prefer to create my own and i'm not willing to share them, but many people created some and shared some around witchblr. You can put a sigil on a paper and burn it, write it on toilet paper then put the paper down the toilet, write it with holy water around your windows and doors, hide it in or under your shoes etc

Ward :a ward is a visible symbol of protection. It can for example be a witch ladder, a dream catcher, a horseshoe, or any symbol you put over your door or around your entrance. My mom has a protective psalm in malagasy above a door which all guests face when they enter, for example.

Spells jars, bottles, powders, candles etc : I can't remember which ones I did off the top of my head, but many. A lot exists online as well. As I said previously, do what draws you in the most.

Electronic spells: Tech witches are a thing. The tech witch tag will probably be more helpful than my small category here, but there are many spells you can do without actually having to gather ingredients, especially if any form of witchcraft will be frowned upon in your household. You can do your spell on Minecraft, use a candle app, use a website etc. This is a great way to stay discrete as well.

WARNING: Every spell has a cost. I don't say this to scare you, but every spell you do has consequences. The first and most common one being energy. You can feel tired, drained, sleepy, have a headache, or have sore muscles after a spell. You should not do a spell if you are not in the right space to do so. It is normal if it is tiring. In order to help, you can borrow energy from other places. For example, ground and borrow energy from the Earth. Ask to borrow energy from the elements or your deities. Borrow it from running water or from sunlight or a candle or your phone (charge your phone if you are doing a spell using your phone). Especially dont forget to “close” the spell after you are done building it. Don't let it run on its own forever, you will be drained. I say this with experience lol, i am the type to forget i got a spell started and let my phone candle run and wonder why i got a headache. After you have done a spell, focus on self care. Hydrate, have a snack, go to sleep, rest. Enjoy feeling safe and protected lol.

Some people are massive energy powerhouses and can handle doing spells from their own energy. I am very not like this, i have little stamina so i instead guide existing energies towards where i want them to go.

I hope it was helpful !

#baby witch #tech witch #christian witch #protection #cleansing #spell #protection spells #spellcraft #witchcraft #witchblr #witch talks

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alkhale · 1 year ago

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paper heart (1/3) Portgas D. Ace/Oc - Memos AU

im finally working my way back through the ko-fi requests again, i promise i didn't forget about a single one, ill die before i let any of them not get written

the request was for really sad ace/hoku angst, so i took some liberties and ran with an idea i've had for awhile. the inspo for this one was a question i was asked once about whether Hoku could make a human from her drawings and the Black Mirror episode "Be Right Back"

i hope this works for you! thank you for reading and hope you enjoy!

Note: This an AU to the Memos Timeline, taking place sometime after the time-skip, in the midst of maybe post Punk Hazard.

-------

Hoku leaned back against the cushioned bench, tracing her fingers over the lip of the bottle beside her.

The crow’s nest was empty tonight since she was taking the first watch. Zoro’s absurd weights were piled in the corner, boxes of everyone’s different training gear or stretching mats pressed against the wall. Hoku kept one of the windows cracked open, letting the salty breeze filter through.

The dimmed lamp on the small table cast little shadows against the wood paneled walls. A bit of moonlight shone still through the windows, the entire sky clear as a mirror tonight. Hoku could see stars scattered as far as she was willing to look. Down below, the lulling, sweet sound of Brook’s strings made its way up to her ears. She could hear Nami and Robin chatting something soft by the tangerine grove.

She couldn’t hear Luffy, which meant he was either lounged across the top of the Sunny’s mast or busied in some way below deck. In a little bit everyone would start to trickle back inside and head to bed. Hoku wouldn’t have to expect anyone till morning.

It was the perfect kind of night to mourn.

Hoku quietly pressed her head against the cool pane of glass. One of her sketchbooks laid spread out across her lap, loose papers crinkling at the corners. The occasional breeze ruffled the pages, revealing the previous sketches beneath.

A curling smirk revealed itself for a breath. Inked black hair and scattered freckles. Another image of a bright, boyish laugh. A sketch of a broad back, one hand waving lazily in the air. The drawing of a young man over the crest of a hill, holding his hat so it wouldn’t be snatched by the wind.

The pages fluttered back into place as Hoku smoothed her palm over the top, hiding them between the folds of each other. She stared down at her fresh page, expression void of emotion while she brought her bottle to her lips with her free hand. The familiar, sweet sigh of kiionohi berries slid with a smooth burn down her throat.

“You’re such a lightweight! Don’t ever go drinking alone, you got that?”

“Who’re you to tell me what to do, brat?”

“I’m older than you!”

It was good that she was a lightweight. It meant it wouldn’t take long to forget.

Hoku had found it easier to do this pitiful ritual days away from the true date. Any closer and the crew would notice in a glance. They never spoke of it aloud, they never pressed, but they all knew. If she were to go sneaking off to the crow’s nest on a day like that, someone would come following after her—they’d never let any of them be alone. Sanji would pile Luffy’s plate extra high. Zoro would train a little harder. Brook would play something beautiful while Usopp and Chopper took turns trying not to work each other up into a fit. Franky would tinker a little more. Nami would speak a bit softer. Robin would sit a little closer.

Hoku loved them for it.

For Luffy, a day like that was passed as a day like any other, only a soft brush of wind against his hair, pulling the light curl of his hat, and a single glance out against the sea as the sun bore down on the x-shaped scar across his chest. A day like that was only completed with Hoku finding him in the dark, quietly curling against his side and shutting her eyes as she laid her head over his chest, listening to the rhythmic drum of his heartbeat—her fingers splayed across his chest.

For Hoku, a day like that needed to be mourned days earlier. A single night to herself. A bottle of alcohol she’d never finish by the end of the night. Scattered drawings she could either burn to the wind or tuck somewhere far away.

Hoku took another long sip, swallowing mouthfuls as she set her bottle down. A bit of it trailed down the side of her mouth and she wiped it away, already feeling a hot flush down her neck. It spread thickly across her cheeks and Hoku took up her pencil again, pressing it to a fresh page.

“Can’t you draw me doing something cool for once? You always like drawing me like this!”

Hoku’s stomach lurched, threatening to be nauseous. She shut her eyes, shaking her head. Don’t think about it. Just draw. Just draw. You don’t need to think.

It was easier to draw. Drawing was like pushing all the memories that threatened to flood her eyes with tears out into the pages. She could leave them there and let them go before it hurt a little too much, before she cried a little too hard.

She didn’t know why tonight was a little harder than most.

The pages against the side of her hand sliced sharply against her sliding palm. Hoku pulled away, dully looking down now at her bleeding palm. She dropped her pencil, using that hand to grab her bottle and take another long drink.

“Shooting Star.”

Hoku choked back a sob. She shut her eyes now, pressing her palm to her paper as she leaned forward, trying not to think.

But even her eyes betrayed her.

In her mind she saw the memory of that broad back. Of scuffed boots and sculpted calves, of ink black hair and curling wisps of flame at the corner of his boyish grin—

Hoku pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, shaking her head. Stop. Her mind was already starting to feel thick and foggy as a result of too much alcohol too fast. Hoku let out a shaky breath, reaching out for the bottle again to try and finish the deed. Tonight was just too hard to draw. She could live with that. It was a different kind of night where she needed to shut her eyes and let the morning take it all away.

Hoku paused just before taking another drink, looking down at her paper.

She froze.

A perfect rendition of him was laid out beneath her palm, hidden beneath the cage of her fingers. Her blood continued to pulse across the page, swirling and curling as it took shape against her will. Her sluggish thoughts did nothing to hinder the perfect clarity of his image, his entire likeness the most lifelike she’d ever drawn it.

He laughed, his smile hidden beneath her index finger. Hoku hesitantly lifted it up.

The drawing peeled at her touch, pulling outwards with a soft pop!

Hoku instantly recoiled, curling her hand away as though she’d been burned. The now dimensional drawing laid over the top of Hoku’s paper, casting his own shadow. It laid there, unmoving, no bigger than the length of her hand. Almost like a sick, perfect rendition of his own doll.

Her head was starting to spin. Hoku continued to stare at the now dimensional drawing, unknowing when her hand had reached out once more for it. She wrapped her bloody fingers around it, cradling it softly as she laid down against the cushions, holding the drawing before her eyes.

He laughed back at her.

Tears began to spill from the corner of Hoku’s eyes. She choked another sob, laid sideways agains the cushioned bench while she brought the drawing to her chest with both hands. She cradled it gently against her heart, tears sliding sideways down her face in a steady stream. Hoku shut her eyes, head spinning with alcohol and tragedy.

I’m sorry.

Hoku squeezed her eyes shut, crying softly as she held the drawing to her.

I’m so sorry.

The drawing warmed beneath her fingertips and Hoku held it reverently between her palms, protecting it the way she had originally failed before.

Brook’s soft melody went silent. Hoku let her mind slip into the dense fog of alcohol, falling asleep to the world.

In the morning, her tears would be gone.

I’m just so sorry.

-- --- --- ---

In her dreams though, she couldn’t escape.

Hoku stared, almost confused against the long stretch of coastline. It was a sight she couldn’t quite understand, a dreamscape drafted up by some inexplicable imagination. Not Artopoki’s shores, which she’d become almost sadly fond of dreaming. Not any other island she’d known. Dozens of different flowers lapped overthemsleves like a thick canopy of leaves to her right while the water lapped at her left. Beneath her a long path of sand stretched onwards.

She froze at the sight that awaited her.

He stood just shy of the coastline. The wind tousled lovingly at his hair. He slowly turned, as if sensing her stare.

Hoku found she could not move. Her voice caught in her throat.

His smile tugged at his lips. That cocky little curve, an almost soft whisper of a laugh ready to leave him.

“You know,” Hoku froze at the sound of his voice. Her eyes flooded with fresh tears. “There was something I wish I told you.”

Hoku choked. He grinned.

“Shooting Star—”

-- --- --- ---

“Shooting Star?”

Hoku’s head hurt. She kept her eyes welded shut, refusing to open them as she curled in on herself. The slow steps to waking up were bringing with it all the consequences of her actions the night before. A steady throb pressed against the side of her temple. Her mouth felt dry, lingering with the faded sweet tang of her kiionohi brew.

I think this is my worst hangover yet. She felt as though she’d almost lost something. Like all her energy had been seeped out of her and then some, barely leaving her with enough vitality to complain. Her body ached, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she groaned. Outside she could hear the annoying cry of gulls, their chatter ringing back and forth.

“Stupid woman has done stupid thing!”

“World will be upset.”

When am I not doing something to upset the world? Hoku sighed defeatedly. She laid limply against the cushions, trying to figure out what time it was. It couldn’t have been too late in the day. On of the earlier risers would’ve slipped up here to wake her up and tease her for falling asleep on watch. Just before dawn then.

Sightly calloused fingers pushed a chunk of her sweat slicked hair out of her face. Hoku’s brows creased, mouth twisting a bit.

“Ugh… I didn’t even hear you come in…” Zoro? It was a weirdly tender gesture—he normally would’ve let her fall off the cushions—but Sanji wouldn’t go this long without saying something sweet.

It didn’t smell like Zoro either. It smelled only like her blood and kiionohi. Hoku rubbed at her puffy eyelids, trying to ignore the throb in her head. Maybe he saw… “Just give me… a second…”

“C’mon Shooting Star, what’d I say about drinking alone?”

Hoku stilled.

The cool, crisp breeze of dawn blew in from the window. Hoku could feel its chill against her skin. The pain in her head was real. The dull ache of her body. The familiar sound of someone below on deck waking up—a sweet whistle telling her it was Sanji, making his way to the base of the crow’s nest.

Hoku was awake.

“You gonna ignore me? Don’t pretend to be asleep! I need your help figuring out what the heck happened… I think I was visiting… did we party so hard I blacked out?”

Hoku slowly opened her eyes, pulling her hands away from her face.

Her heart began to pound. Something frantic started up inside of her.

He sat on his haunches only inches away from her face. Messy, thick black hair tousled freely around the sharp cut of his jaw. His tanned skin rose and fell with each breath of his chest. His broad shoulders blocked part of her view before her.

Freckles dusted his face, a little constellation across his cheeks.

He turned from rubbing his chin in thought to bring his bright black gaze to her.

No. Hoku thought brokenly. I’m still asleep.

It was a moment where her dreams still clung to her just waking mind.

Because a moment like this couldn’t exist otherwise.

Hoku hesitated, her heart loud against her chest, threatening to crack under the pressure of her ribcage. She reached out then with both her hands, past the soft tickle of his hair and cupped the warm touch of his cheeks on either side. He blinked, looking curious as he leaned into her touch to one side, lips twisting up into that easy grin.

The realest dreams only hurt the most, Hoku realized.

Tears streaked down Hoku’s face. She gazed quietly at him, unable to speak. She held that face in her hands, his expression going blurry as her eyes filled with tears.

“Aw, come on, what’s this?” his laugh was a little breathless, gaze teasing as he rose from his crouch and hovered now a bit over her. Hoku followed him, unable to pull her hands away. She could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “You cryin’? Always crying in your sleep—Luffy won’t ever let you live it down. You want to be the new crybaby?”

Even now she still couldn’t find the words to speak. Hoku could only shake her head. He looked a bit surprised at her subdued display, blinking once before he coughed into his free hand, using the other to brace himself over her and the bench.

“Alright, fine,” he said, sighing as though it were troublesome to him. Hoku almost laughed, her heart twisting with pain. It was the kind of thing he would’ve said back on Dawn Island, amidst the cover of trees while Luffy cried. “Move over.”

Hoku pressed her back flush against the bench. His brows creased, examining what little space still remained. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting once to the side before skittering back to her—it was a guilty sort of tell of his. “Well, since the space is tight…”

Hoku didn’t even have the heart to bully him then or shove him to the floor. He grinned a little, a bit impish, the top of his ears dusting red—they would’ve caught like an ember by now, she thought absently— “It’ll make more sense, you know. I’ll lay down first and you can lay down on top—”

His fingers lightly brushed against her hip, as though to reach around Hoku and lift her up. His lids lowered as he gazed down at her. It was a gaze Hoku had never looked at properly. She tried to understand it now, since there was no too late in her dreams.

His fingers touched a bruise Hoku had gotten just the morning before from smacking into the corner of the table by Nami’s tangerines, earning a laugh from the navigator.

Hoku felt pain shoot up her spine like lightning.

She froze.

Pain.

That’s right… she felt… pain.

She’d been trying to ignore it, but not once had the throbbing in her head receded. The dull ache a distant thought in the back of her mind when sadness had been the forefront.

“Hoku Honey!” Sanji called sweetly. “Shall I get your breakfast ready?”

Hoku looked up at the man hovering above her, still grinning.

Cold washed over Hoku. It conflicted with the warmth of the body before her.

What?

Hoku’s throat went tight. Her mouth dry. Her pulse picked up in speed. The throbbing against the side of her head was almost murderous. She felt sick.

This isn’t right.

“C’mon,” he laughed, a bit coaxing. “Help me out—”

His touch seared against the bare skin of her back. The bruise throbbed.

Hoku’s palms shot out, shoving hard. His eyes widened, startled as he let out a squawk and fell back onto the floor. He looked up at her, affronted and a little betrayed, but Hoku wasn’t thinking about his expressions or his face—she was sitting up, scrambling onto her knees and bringing her shaking palms up to her face.

Dried blood lined the long cut along her palm.

Wait.

Hoku’s head started to spin. She felt sick. Ice cold water rushed down her spine, dousing over her head while her temple felt like someone was drilling a rusted nail into it. Her entire body was beginning to shake now, disbelief and fear and—

Hoku looked at him, eyes wide, frantic. His body. His face. His size.

He looked back at her, miffed betrayal becoming slow, curious confusion. Concern laced his features.

“Shooting Star?”

“Hoku Honey?” she heard Sanji call again. “Is there someone else up there? No, wait… there is? Hoku Honey—”

Hoku almost felt a whimper leave her lips. Confusion pounded against her head. Fear began to color her face. She shakily looked down at the bench and the floor, eyes darting from paper to scattered paper until she landed on one in particular.

An emptiness was left where she had pulled a drawing free.

No, this can’t be right.

(This isn’t possible.)

Paper. It had been paper—

(Paper made by your hair. Mixed with your blood. Your special blend.)

Hoku’s breaths began to come staggered, sharp and uneven. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes filled with tears while her face twisted into one of insidious horror as she looked back down at the man before her.

(Something she had never thought was possible. Something she’d only thought in passing, when she’d been asked. A thought she was never supposed to entertain. A thought Hoku had never once had, because even she knew playing with such an idea was wrong. Wrong and forbidden. Wrong and—)

Hoku slowly looked back at her hands. She flexed her fingers, carefully until her nails bit into her palm. Blood dripped down the side of her hands. Pain pricked her mind.

She was awake.

This was real.

Oh, oh goddess. Oh, goddess, what have I done?

“Hey!” he looked shocked. “What are you doing—”

Hoku tore herself away from the bench, away from him. He looked at her with wide eyes, confused and a little hurt but Hoku didn’t care. She staggered back a few steps until her knees gave out on her and she collapsed, falling back onto her palms.

“Hoku?”

Ace reached a hesitant hand out for her.

Not a drawing, but flesh.

Hoku screamed.

-- --- --- ---

Hoku had done a lot of stupid things since she’d been brought into this world.

She was sure there would never be anything beyond this.

-- --- ---- ----

Portgas D. Ace was dead.

“Fire Fist” Ace had died on the battlefield in his beloved brother’s arms, with an eternal smile across his bloodied lips. A smile that belonged to a man who had died knowing he had lived a life where he was loved and was able to love in turn.

And Hoku had watched, bleeding blood that would stain the ice forever until it was melted away. And a part of her had died that day too.

Portgas D. Ace was dead.

He had been so for over two years now.

This was an indisputable, undeniable fact.

Hoku sat now in the far corner of the galley, unable to bring herself any closer as she held her throbbing head in her hands and glared across the room. Robin sat quietly beside her, a soothing hand splayed over her lower back, fingers occasionally rubbing soft circles, lightly against her side.

That thing sat at the table, looking only a bit miffed, widely curious, and perhaps rather excited.

It grinned and Hoku felt sick to her stomach.

-continued in (2/3)

#memos au #kofi request #portgas d. ace #hoku #memos #ace/oc #portgas d. ace/oc #StarFire #i think we had another ship name for them too but i forgot

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the-insomniac-emporium · 11 months ago

Text

Broken Things (Resident Lover)

Pairing: Very much platonic Mia and Miranda (I am rotating them and their dynamic in my head) Rating: G for General Audiences Warning: HEAVY SPOILERS for Miranda's route, mostly implied but this won't make much sense if you haven't finished it. I recommend also getting the cult ending for maximum clarity. Summary: For two people that hate each other, Mia and Miranda have more in common than either of them want to admit. The night before an important (but heartbreaking) ritual, they share a few moments together. Alternatively: do you think they ever talk about being the only two to really know the MC? I think it hangs over them, equal parts comforting blanket and burial shroud. Exploring their dynamic a lil bit. Also, this is probably the longest thing I've written in one sitting in ages, so... cool. Noice. Just over 1.2k words.

------ ------

If she had bothered to knock, there would have been no answer at best, and a flurry of feathered rage at worst. No point in entertaining that formality; not tonight, the eve of another undoing. Few things had any point tonight. But Mia had never been one to overthink things, never one to bother drawing up reasons for her behavior. That was what made her so charmingly irritating. Or just plain irritating, if you asked the headmistress whose office is now being invaded.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” Miranda warns from where she sits at her desk, the barest hints of exhaustion bleeding into her normally veiled expression. Even Goddesses get tired, it seems. Cruelties stir in the back of her throat, vile words and heavy hexes, but she doesn’t waste any energy on letting them spill out. Simply swallows, hard, and crosses one leg over the other. A stiffness occupies her bones this evening.

“I know,” Mia answers, without any snark, carefully setting down a couple glasses where there’s room. The bottle in her other hand has already been opened, the contents mixed with other things, and hastily sealed again. For once, Mia bothers to wipe the condensation off the bottom before setting it down. “Neither am I.”

This time, her lips curl up at the edges, but the downturn of her eyebrows betrays the bitterness she feels. Another thought dances on her mind, and her mouth makes it halfway open before she discards it, playing the movement off as an exaggerated sigh. Pushing Miranda’s buttons is easy… achieving anything else is Herculean. Part of Mia wonders how far she’s already pushing things, not because she cares about the consequences, simply because she can’t tell.

Leaning her weight against the desk (avoiding the side table like a single touch would kill her), Mia grabs the bottle again, popping the cap off with a flick of her thumb. Almost immediately the smell of strong whiskey drifts around the room. Miranda’s nostrils flare, briefly, the purse of her lips growing tighter. But she says nothing as Mia pours drinks for the both of them, eying them closely to make sure they’re filled evenly. A moment passes, then two, before Mia nudges one of the glasses closer to Miranda.

“I don’t know why I keep you around,” the headmistress says, bringing a little bite to her words to show dominance, her posturing a sad show of deflecting vulnerability. They both know exactly why Mia is still alive, why she’s here, in this town, in this day, in this life. Why she doesn’t slip out the door without a word and disappear forever. All the same reasons keep Miranda here, urging her hands to continue pulling strings, weaving and undoing and weaving and weaving and unmaking with the same heart that compelled Penelope to do the same.

Mia chooses not to point it out. Bites her tongue, nurses the mixed whiskey like it was her last. Lets the burn linger on her tastebuds. Breathes in deep, turning her gaze to the dark sky beyond the office window. A few tiny figures move across the campus grounds, returning from parties or maybe more clandestine affairs, utterly unaware that everything was going to be reset tonight. None of them have even an ounce of worth in her eyes, nor in Miranda’s.

“Nobody else has a clue, do they?” Mia muses, somewhere between a sneer and a giggle. Both halves sound forced. For a moment, she basks in the silence, only to remember she wasn’t one to find comfort in such things after all. A glance towards her companion reveals a raised eyebrow, Miranda not yet parsing her words. The details of the reset were a closely guarded secret, to prevent dissent, but most of her flock understood that something important lay past the dusk. What they didn’t understand is all the more fundamental, built into the very cause they pursued. “They all think they know what we’re missing.” More bitterness in her voice this time, acidity on a slow-drip to her veins, a scoff kicking out some of the weight from her chest.

Something clicks, then, an idea alongside Miranda’s tongue. Dimitrescu imagines her daughters. Beneviento’s grief haunts everything she makes, but the feelings fold into different shapes. Followers flood their senses with Mother’s goals, with her purpose, but they are driven by their devotion to her. Not to her. All the lives in the world, vast and uniquely faceted, and only the two in this room have a clue.

“You don’t love her the way I do,” Miranda whispers, nail guards finding places to pinch her own flesh. Slowly, she uncrosses her legs, and finally reaches for her glass. If there’s any fragility to the way she holds herself now, Mia is kind enough to ignore it, and uncaring enough to leave the pain without relief.

“Mmm, and you don’t love her the way I do,” she breathes. Neither of them are lying. Oddly enough, nor are they challenging each other. Just declaring their surviving differences in this moment of alikeness. “Salut,” Mia adds, ignoring the huff (of irritation or amusement, she cares not to differentiate) from Miranda, but cracks a smile when their glasses raise in sync. A toast to the heart of their shared world, to the central victim of the reset.

There’s no hiding the way Miranda recoils at the concoction, almost a snarl with glinting teeth, the strength of the cheap whiskey hardly diluted by whatever was added to it. Hardly her drink of choice. Yet she runs her finger around the rim of the glass, mirroring the way her tongue flickers across her teeth, savoring the misery of it all. Hauntingly familiar, the closest Mia had ever come to recreating a cursed relic from their past. At least it will get us drunk fast, she had once said, with this same grimace, the icon of their love cheering on the words. Teasing gently about her obsessions with efficiency.

By the time the memory moves beyond her eyelids, the glass in her hands is almost empty. Mia hums a halfhearted tune, pouring another round for Miranda, before pushing herself up from her perch. A few wrinkled papers get left behind, without anyone batting an eye. Everything was pointless tonight, remember? Beautiful nothingness, even stale blood gushing like ichor, almost all things rendered equal.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some poor decisions to make,” Mia suddenly chimes, face twisting up into a visage of mischief, brushing the last of the dust off of her mask. One hand snatches up the bottle, the other smoothes over her leather jacket, subtly ensuring she could still feel the presence of her switchblade in one of the pockets. WIth unabashed glee, she waltzes through the doorway, off to draw blood and make merry with the worst of what the university has to offer.

She only hesitates for a microsecond, as she goes to close the door behind her. Glances back to meet Miranda’s gaze, all-knowing and piercing as ever, the two of them exchanging silent assurances. Their beloved would be remade, eventually, no matter how long it takes. No matter how many times they have to start over. A determination only matched in each other, as universally true as it is unspoken.

#the conversations the two of them could have oh my gooooood #resident lover #mother miranda #mia winters #thinking about them all the time #this is basically a character study for the two of them #i want to (and this is going to sound weird) lick their brains. just a lil bit.#metaphorically.#also in my head mia is about to go be a lil shit and torment Caldwell #but it's a mutually cherished activity soooooo

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ifancyharry · 2 years ago

Note

exes to lovers based on hits different by taylor swift 🤔🤔 like i’m thinking lots of groveling from the reader

Hiii anon!!! i'm so sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, i got a little bit carried away with it i think 😭

anyway, let me know if you liked it i love feedbacks!!!!

Word count: 5.5k+

Warnigs: little bit of smut, angst

(Also, petition to make blondie release this on spotify??)

Harry didn’t know he’d be leaving her place heart broken that cold January morning when she asked him to come over because they needed to talk.

He could usually read people quite well, but not her: her tired eyes and glacier expression could mean everything and nothing all at once. It wasn’t the first time he saw her like this, so exhausted she looked energy drained, so he didn’t question her when she let him in with a mumbled hello and no greeting kiss.

Despite her bubbly personality, she was one to get sad many days at a time, and Harry found her never easy to understand. He always felt as if something was missing from their relationship; sometimes she would ignore his texts for a couple of days only to call him days later in the middle of the night and ask him to come over, beg, really, as if nothing ever happened.

Other times she would just ask him to hold her tight, and even though he knew she was upset, he’d never gotten the courage to question it. He doesn’t know why. He has to admit he sometimes gets a little scared he’s losing her.

They hadn’t been dating for long, a little over seven months; she was a friend of Sarah’s and tagged along on one of their usuals pub-hangouts. Harry noticed her right away because she carried herself around with a sort of melancholy that she masked with the most joyous exterior, and he thought she was kind of pretty. Too pretty to be drunk dialing her ex boyfriend for a hookup instead of enjoying a night out with her friend. So he decided to talk to her as a way to distract her from her phone, but he actually wanted to get to know her and he felt like it was easier that way since she was a little tipsy.

Their relationship had always been kind of off, to Harry; he would get sad when he saw his friends being affectionate with their partners and he couldn’t even hold her hand in public, because YN never really wanted to be introduced to people as his girlfriend.

When his close friends would ask about that, he always had defended her: she’s not like that when we’re alone; she’s just shy; she’s private with this stuff. (He wouldn’t miss the pitied looks they gave him) But it had come to a point where Harry couldn’t even believe his own words when he’d say that.

He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong: he always respected her spaces, never pressured her into doing something she didn’t want, he thought he was a good listener and an okay lover, so all he was left with was wondering if she somehow felt ashamed of him. Maybe she was embarrassed to be his girlfriend? The mere thought hurt his heart so much he felt it was hard to breathe. But really that was the only explanation that came to mind.

Despite their troubled relationship, he never, not once, thought about breaking up with her, because he liked being a they with her. He liked their little rituals; rubbing her feet while she searched for rom-coms to watch on Netflix, smelling her perfume on himself after she’d spent the night, he liked — loved — her strangled moans in his ear when he’d push himself into her.

Maybe that’s why she did it first, Harry thinks, because he was so weak he couldn’t even break up with her when something was clearly wrong in their relationship.

Harry had been shattered when she told him. She said: I don’t think this is working anymore, and he felt the floor vanishing from under his feet.

He’d cried and begged, all he wanted was a valid reason, but she wouldn’t tell him. She was so quiet he wanted to shake the words off of her, but he wasn’t one that fought. He always went with people’s decisions, so he went with it. He nodded his head, said he understood in a way, and left her house with a heavy heart, closing the door behind him and leaving her behind too.

He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d gotten the courage to get back inside. To knock on the door so hard he’d smash his knuckles. He doesn’t know he probably would’ve found her a crying mess on the floor, her hands buried in her hair as she tugged harshly on them. He would’ve told her they’d be fine and she’d hold him tight and never let go, but he didn’t go back. He didn’t go back. That’s the whole point, to her. He unlocked his car and drove away as fast as he could.

He felt like throwing up the entire drive home, and even many days later when Mitch’d ask him how she was, he wanted to shut himself in his dressing room, grab a pillow and scream into it. He did that a couple of times, actually, despite how pitiful it felt.

(…)

“Tell me he’s not going to be there.” YN looked deeply in Sarah’s eyes, as if to find out in any way a telltale that her friend was lying to her.

“He’s not, he has a charity dinner.”

Sarah couldn’t possibly know Harry’d come to the pub after said dinner. She felt so bad when she saw YN’s face once she came back to their table holding her drink and found him sitting in what used to be her place, probably thinking it was an empty seat.

YN swore she could’ve heard the sound her heart made as it fell in her stomach. She believes everyone in the pub heard it. She could feel herself starting to sweat cold as she plopped down on the wooden chair at the head of the table.

He didn’t even spare her a glance. She wanted to be honest with herself and admit that seeing him changed everything, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Because things hadn’t changed. She was still her. She was still that messed up version of herself that didn’t deserve him, that hadn’t changed, so she forced herself to laugh at Jeff’s not-so-funny jokes and pretend everything was okay.

Harry felt himself suffocating. She was sitting next to him and he could feel her knee brushing against his, his skin burning behind the fabric of his jeans. He hadn’t seen her in three weeks, that was the longest they’d ever been apart, and he was a mess. He knew everyone could tell.

He had gained a couple of pounds because he’d spent his weekends stuffing himself with Nutella and ice cream to the point where he felt like he could throw up (he fucked up his three years streak of being pescatarian but he feels like he should be justified).

When he felt like throwing up, he sat on the cold bathroom tiles and waited. He hoped he’d throw up all his feeling for her, flush them down the toilet and feel clean. But somehow he felt even worse when he realized it hadn’t worked.

So it wasn’t really his fault when he, as he tried to get rid of his suffocating hoodie he’d changed into after the dinner, hit her nowhere near empty glass by accident, the alcoholic liquid splashing all across her shirt and jeans. He hadn’t realized what he’d done until he finally tossed the hoodie aside and everyone was looking at him.

“Fuck,” he muttered “i’m so sorry”.

He managed to hurriedly grab a couple of napkins from the center of the table and handed them to her. She stretched her hand timidly to take the napkins, and as she did that their fingers brushed softly.

She tried not to put too much thought into that as she dabbed the now wet napkins onto her shirt and jeans. “I’ll try to wash this off in the bathroom.” She mumbled, averting her chair that moved with a loud sound.

She walked hurriedly to the bathroom, feeling Harry’s eyes bore in the back of her head.

She locked the door behind her and leaned her back against it for a moment. She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Once she gathered the courage and the strength in her legs to move, she walked towards the sink and opened the faucet, letting the water run.

She glanced towards the door for a moment and then after remembering she locked it prior, she removed her t-shirt and tossed the stained part under the water.

She rubbed the fabric together as a way to get rid of the stain faster and she could feel herself getting flustered as the stain only seemed to grow more. YN could feel her eyes sting as she grabbed the soap dispenser with trembling hands and unscrewed the cap. She poured some on the stain and kept rubbing, her shirt completely soaked by now.

She let out a sob as she realized the state of her t-shirt. She let go of the shirt and looked at her reflection in the mirror. What’s wrong with me?, she thought, it’s just a stupid Primark shirt, I have plenty of these.

But obviously she knew this wasn’t about the shirt.

She took her image in as she stood there before the mirror only in her plain white bra and wet stained jeans. She looked pathetic. She could feel the sticky drink on her belly and she splattered some water on it, trying to get rid of the alcohol still lingering on her skin.

She felt gross and tipsy as she grabbed her phone from her back pocket and sent a text to Sarah to ask her if she could meet her in the bathroom with her coat.

When Sarah knocked on the door, she unlocked the door but didn’t open it. Sarah entered anyway, finding her sitting on the sticky bathroom floor, all eyes closed and cheeks stained by dark tears.

“C’mon, babe,” Sarah walked towards her, crunching down to be at level with her and grabbing her by the arm “up you get.”

They both stood up and YN stumbled a little on her feet. She was glad for Sarah, even though she’d never told her in their five years of friendship.

“I… I can’t, he’s-“ YN wanted to tell Sarah how much it hurt her heart to see him, but she couldn’t find her words to.

You see, the thing with YN is that she never had a good example of a lasting relationship. Her parents divorced when she was six; she doesn’t remember anything about her childhood if not the excruciating pain that overcame her the second her father closed the door behind him. She felt as if she had grown all at once standing before the front door, and she wasn’t six anymore; she was a big girl that didn’t need her daddy to tuck her under the covers to sleep. She slept just fine without his goodnight kiss. Except she didn’t, because despite feeling like a grown up, she was still six.

That’s why she’d never had a serious relationship in her 26 years of life. Lots of hookups and sleep overs since she was 16 with boys that reminded her of her father, because her mum worked night shifts at the nursing home and she didn’t feel like being home alone, and because she felt that relationships where a minefield she didn’t want to step in.

With Harry, it was different. He wasn’t like her father. He was soft. He was patient. He listened to her, he saw her, he took his time with her. She could tell he’s been hurt in the past too, and she admired him for staying tender hearted despite everything. She never told him, but she felt as if he knew, by the way he kissed her forehead before bed and by the way he’d ask her if she’d eaten.

With Harry, it was different, until it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t. She was her dad in their relationship. Passive aggressive and scared of commitment. So she knew it never could’ve worked. She had been selfish when she allowed herself to date him. She thought he’d eventually get tired of her, or that she’d leave him when she felt suffocated by him, and yes, it’s true, she did break up with him, but not because he was overwhelming.

She simply felt in her heart she couldn’t do to Harry what his father had done to her mother, she couldn’t hurt him in that way. So she broke up with him, and what if she cried silently in her room for days? What if she felt sick at the thought of what her life had gotten to? She was at peace knowing Harry wouldn’t be hurt.

“I know.” Sarah only said, wrapping the coat around her shoulders. “Let’s get you home”.

(…)

It had been a couple of weeks since she saw Harry at the pub, and she couldn’t seem to get their last encounter off her mind. She thought drinking her problems away every weekend would eventually mean she’d forget about him, his sparkly green eyes and woodsy scent. But it still hadn’t happened.

Drinking seemed to be the only thing she could do while she waited for the pain in her chest to ease, that’s why she accepted her friend’s from university invite to go out with some of her friends that night. She really didn’t feel like going out, but she didn’t want to stay home either, so she figured she’d go, get drunk, and then uber home. Maybe she’d even find a cute guy to bring home. She kind of cringes at the thought.

“God, I love pubs” her friend, Olly, screamed, as they entered the pub. YN scrunched her nose, how could someone in their right mind like pubs? She only went because of the cheap drinks and low music.

Once they reached her friends’s table, Olly introduced YN, who smiled awkwardly and waved with her hand.

After three drinks and a cigarette, YN was far more chatty than she’d been at the start of the night. She wouldn’t dare to say she liked Olly’s friends, but she was enjoying their company, until one of them pointed out to the song playing from the speakers. YN hadn’t even heard it over the sound of her voice and the alcohol making her feel dizzy.

“I love this song. Harry Styles is so hot!” One of them said, smirking at the others and taking a gulp of her drink.

“Yeah” another one responded, “I’d totally fuck him if I’d got the chance”.

“I’m seeing him at Wembley this weekend, I hope he spots me in the crowd, I’m going to wear the sluttiest outfit just for him.” They all laughed at that, and the proceeded to go on with their conversation as if nothing happened.

YN felt sick. She felt sick at the thought of other girls thinking about Harry that way. Her Harry. Which she had seen many times like that. She suddenly felt like her sweater was too tight around her neck.

“I’m going for a smoke” she blurted out, getting up from the chair and walking towards the front door through a bunch of people that were standing in the middle of the pub chattering.

Once she stepped outside, she lit her cigarette and took a big inhale. Her head felt dizzy and her ears rang with the same words all over again: Harry, hot, slutty outfit. Harry with a girl who wasn’t her.

She brought a hand to her forehead to try and cool her burning skin off a bit, but nothing worked. The cigarette had made her even more dizzy than she was before and she stumbled on her feet as she tried to take big breaths of air. She shook her head as she felt the bitter taste of puke in her mouth.

She crunched on the ground and throw up everything she’d drank.

After she felt like she was done, she called for an uber and texted Olly she wasn’t feeling okay and was going home.

When she got in bed that night, the sickening feeling burning at the pit of her stomach hadn’t subdued, and she feared it had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the realization that Harry was now free to see other people, and she’d made it that way.

(…)

It had been more than six months since she’d broken up with Harry, and they’d been apart more than they were together.

Christmas was approaching and YN felt more miserable than ever.

After what she pulled both nights at the pubs, neither Sarah or Olly called her again to hang out, and she was left all alone mending for her broken heart. She bought a lot of self help books but still couldn’t get herself to schedule a therapy appointment.

She often wondered how he was doing. She thought about him at Tesco’s when she spotted his favorite — overpriced — salmon fillet he’d cook for both of them in her oven. She felt like crying and had to leave her cart right there and get out without buying anything feeling like a criminal as she passed before the cashier empty handed.

She’s thinking about him now as she’s shopping for Christmas decorations. She was thinking about him so hard she probably manifested him, because she sees him standing in line before her. He was wearing his bright pink beanie and a dark green coat, probably to not be recognized. But she could recognize that hideous beanie even in the dark.

“Hi” she said, her voice so tender she doesn’t even recognize it herself.

She watched as he turned around with his brows furrowed, a pout on his lips as he recognized her. “Hey”. He said.

“You alway forget to take a cart” she chuckled as she gestured to his hands full of stuff. She eyed what he was holding: it seemed everything you may need for a Christmas party. She felt her heart clench as she wondered if he was alone or maybe found someone to spend his Christmas with.

He gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and she feared he might turn around and end their conversation like that.

“Christmas party?”

“Do you need something? Because I don’t really feel like talking.”

She looked at him buffered. She didn’t remember him this way. He was always so sweet and soft, he never sounded so harsh, not even when they fought or she disappeared for days.

“Umh I… I was wondering if you’d like to grab a cup of tea?” She really wasn’t sure what she was doing. She was nowhere near ready to face him, let alone talk to him.

“I can’t right now.”

She nodded, even though her smile fell. Okay, she thought, it’s fine. You’ll cry about it tonight.

“But I can tomorrow, if you want?”

“Okay. Do you want to come over?”

Harry nodded swiftly and proceeded to step ahead, tossing his stuff for the cashier to scan.

When he was done, he muttered a small ‘see you tomorrow’ at her and hurried out of the store.

She was frozen in place when the customer behind her in line tapped on her shoulders lightly to signal her it was her turn. She nodded her head and went ahead. All she could think about was what the hell had gotten into her.

(…)

YN and Harry were sitting on opposite sides of her couch the following afternoon, a cup of tea in both their hands. She took small sips of her drink every now and then, and she noticed Harry still hadn’t taken a single sip, the tea getting cold in the mug

“You don’t like earl grey anymore? It used to be your favorite” she muttered, looking at him.

Harry glanced down at his mug and then he looked to the side, avoiding her face. “No, I don’t anymore.”

That wasn’t true. It was still his favorite, he just didn’t want her to feel like he hadn’t changed a single bit. He didn’t want her to think he was still the guy he were when they were dating, because he hadn’t felt like that in a long time.

“Oh, you could’ve told me. I have lots of flavors, would you like -“

“YN” he cut her off, looking at her sternly “cut the bullshit. Why am I here?”

She took a big breath and pointed her socked heels on the couch, shifting her bum closer to him and tucking her feet under his legs. She knew she was testing her luck, but she hadn’t been touched in so long. She was starving for him.

“I missed you.” She muttered, leaning her chin on her knees to look at him better, even if he kept his gaze fixed on the window behind them.

“That’s not enough” he said, but he knew it was taking everything in him to not look inside her doe eyes, his hands holding the mug so tightly he feared he may break it.

The six months ago Harry would’ve been fine with an ‘i miss you’, but she left him. For six months. She managed to stay away, not checking on him once, while he was so hurt some days he couldn’t get out of bed.

“Harry” she exhaled. Harry knew what she was doing. She was trying to get him to look at her, and it was almost working.

“No, don’t. Just-“ he shook his head, closing his eyes. He sighed and leaned forward to place his mug on the coffee table before the couch.

“I want to make things better between us” she whispered, suddenly feeling exposed when he looked at her with a questioning gaze.

“We’re not an us anymore.”

“Harry, — she breathed out — please”

He shook his head again, but she leaned forward and took his face in her hands, turning him towards her.

Harry looked from one of her eyes to the other as he tried to read her as he’d done in the past. But he couldn’t. She seemed honest, she did. But what did she want? What did this mean? He didn’t have time to think about it, though, because despite the pain in his heart and the clenching of his stomach, she was before him, begging him. He’d imagined this sight so many times, and somehow the reality was even better than the fantasy.

“Please” she repeated. She was so close Harry could feel her soft breaths fanning over his lips.

He brushed his nose against hers as he closed his eyes. Fuck it. He tried, he really did. He even lied about his tea preferences to make her mad, but that’s about how far he could seem to go.

He wanted her so bad he could feel the blood boil in his veins. He placed his hands on her waist and squeezed at the plushy skin there. Go on, he thought, ruin me all over again.

And she did.

She leaned over and pressed her lips onto his. Her kiss wasn’t timid nor tender, it had a kind of bestiality to it that made Harry go feral.

It was all clashing teeth and lip bites, and Harry took his time exploring her mouth with his tongue. She tasted like honey and chamomile tea, and Harry felt her sweetness go right through his body up until his brain, clouding it with her taste.

She moved her hands from his cheeks down to his shoulders, caressing his neck in her way, her fingers digging into his skin, exploring him. She wanted to take his shirt off and count every mole and freckle on his skin to see if they changed in those six months they’d been apart.

Harry hooked his hand on the back of her knee and placed her leg across his body, so that she was straddling his lap.

He moved from her mouth to her neck, pressing her harder onto him, his fingers digging in the flesh of her tights.

She let out a strangled sigh when he sucked on the spot behind her ear and she could feel her heart beat in her ears, thumping loudly against her rib cage. She wondered if he could feel it too.

She moaned once she felt his cock grow harder beneath her, tossing her head back, which gave Harry more access to the skin of her neck. He kissed all over her while she ground her hips harder against him.

“Just like that baby” Harry breathed out against her skin, kissing over her naked shoulder. The oversized shirt she was wearing and fallen a little, exposing more of her tender skin to him.

“Harry, please” she fastened her pace once she felt herself get closer, her clothed clit brushing against his cock and sending a shock through her body every time she pressed on it.

Her panties were wet with her arousal and she felt them sticking against her pussy, adding even more pressure to her clit. She couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. His kisses were overwhelming, his lips leaving wet kisses on her skin as his hands guided her hips.

She felt lightheaded once she reached her orgasm, coming with a moan she muffled against his shoulder. She let herself fall over his body as Harry guided her through her orgasms.

When the pressure became too much and she was too sensitive to keep going, she opened her mouth: “Harry, too much”.

He nodded, squeezing her hips once again as he stopped moving her, he then placed a kiss on her hair line as she stabilized her breath.

“You owe me an explanation.” He said after a while.

“Don’t ruin this.”

“Fuck, you still haven’t changed, have you? All that time and you’re still-“ Harry shook his head as he pulled her off of her lap, getting up and grabbing his coat from the lounge chair across the couch she was sitting on.

She felt dizzy as she watched him get ready to leave once again.

“You don’t understand. I-“

“No! You don’t understand! How could you do this to me? I loved you.”

“I know, Harry, I just-“ she shook her head, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes.

“What? You what? Did you even love me?”

She wanted to tell him that she did, she still does, but what good could it do? She’d hurt him so much already, she didn’t want to ruin him any more than she already did.

But she was hurting too. She had been miserable all those months without him.

“You’re unbelievable.” Harry shook his head and walked towards her door, shutting it behind him with a sound that sounded very much like the one she’d heard when she was six.

She took a big sigh and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She had to remind herself she wasn’t six years old anymore. She had finally found a guy that made her comfortable and safe, and she let him go. Because she didn’t feel enough for him. But all she was left with was thinking what is enough? And what defines it?

(…)

“YN, are you sure about this?” Sarah looked at her skeptically, sighing to herself. Sarah thought this was a bad idea; she was only going to make a fool out of herself. She still decided to help her, though. Because despite the embarrassment, it was romantic, and Sarah loved romantic gestures.

“Yes, yes! I’m sure.” She smiles, a little too confidently for Sarah’s liking, “I’m positive Love Actually is still his favorite movie.”

Sarah nodded okay with her head and YN rang the doorbell. She knew Harry was home, because he was supposed to have that dinner party with his friends (Sarah told her), and she waited for him to open the door with a bunch of white signs tucked under her arm.

Mitch opened the door instead, and looked at the both of them funnily, “What’s going on?”

“Mitch” Sarah rolled her eyes, “could you just get Harry?”

They watched as he nodded and walked back inside, leaving the door open after him. YN could see from her place that Harry had decorated for Christmas and he even hung up the decorations they crafted together the prior year. She felt her insides warm.

“Okay” she said after a while, when no one was coming back and she started to feel stupid, “maybe I’m not so sure. Abort missi-“

“What the hell is going on?” She heard Harry’s voice as she was turning back on her steps, and she feels Sarah nudging her shoulder with her hand.

She nodded to herself and told Sarah to press play, ‘Jingle bells’ blasting through the phone her friend hold in her hands, cupping one of them over the speakers so the sound could be amplified.

“Harry” Harry read in his head the signs she held before him, “i’m sorry.”

“I think you’re pretty amazing.”

“And kind”

“And gorgeous” YN stopped herself for a moment and Harry nodded, signaling her that he was reading and she could keep going.

“I was scared”

“Of the love I felt for you” Harry frowned at that.

“I’m not good at relationships.”

“But I promise I’ll love you”

“Even when you’ll look like this”

Harry laughed out loud when she showed him the next sign and it was a photoshopped picture of him bald.

“Forgive me?”

YN felt proud of herself for going through with that, and she looked over at Sarah, that gave her a thumbs up before excusing herself and going inside to leave them space to figure things out.

She felt like she needed a big glass of wine now, though, because she really couldn't understand what Harry was thinking and she feared her little plan hadn’t worked and she’d have to ride the metro back to her flat holding a bunch of signs while she cried her eyes out.

“Let’s talk, yes? You’ll be honest with me?”

She nodded.

(…)

YN looks outside the window as she hums to the notes of Last Christmas by wham! playing from Harry’s Christmas playlist. She can feel his hand on her thigh, and he’s stroking her skin with his pinky finger.

“Don’t be nervous.” He says once they reach a red light, he shifts in his seat to look at her and she does the same, “they’ll love you.”

She nods at his words. She’s trying to be better. A better girlfriend, a better friend, a better everything. That’s why she agreed to meet Harry’s family, despite him asking scared the shit out of her.

Her worries didn’t leave overnight, she was still scared he’d leave like her father did, but Harry helped her book a therapy appointment and they talked through everything, and she found out six years old Harry lived a similar situation to six years old her, and that seemed to put her at ease a bit. Because she guesses he’d know how that felt and he wouldn’t dare do it to someone he loves. Harry, too, had waited for his father at the door to come back, he waited years for him to acknowledge him, to see him. But, contrary to her, when he realized he wasn’t coming back, he moved from the door and never looked back.

She was so self centered on her pain she hadn’t realized Harry was hurting in his own way, and him being tender hearted wasn’t despite, but was because everything he went through.

And she had cried as he told her the full story. Harry felt like he could finally understand her, because he too understood what looking for softness and never finding it meant. But he told her she was looking in all the wrong places and that made her laugh a little.

When she told him she felt like she wasn’t enough for him, they were on his couch and they’d just eaten the salmon Harry liked so much. He held her so tight she stopped shaking, and she grasped his shoulders to feel him even closer.

“You deserve to feel loved, okay?” And he had such a way of talking she believed him. Just like that. All it took was that and she felt so stupid for not telling him sooner.

It used to feel so embarrassing to her the way she’d want him. They way she longed for his lips, the way she knew the moles on his face by heart. She felt embarrassed. She hated calling him at night and begging him to come over and just hold her. She hated how soft he made her. How vulnerable he could get her; she felt like a raw wound that never healed, that he’d scratch every now and then with his nails. But she found in feeling vulnerable and invincible strength.

She felt so embarrassed those two times she cried at the pub, she couldn’t get herself to walk past them for weeks. And for what? She was embarrassed because she was vulnerable? So what? She was human. And she was being brave. By loving Harry she was being brave, and that wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about.

She really can’t remember what she was so worried about, because with Harry everything hit different and everything was worth it.

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