#is everyone Above dead? you don’t know. you can’t know.

[the-faultofdaedalus]

once again thinking of the alt-history/sci-fi/dystopic universe in my head where the whole concept is “the surface of the sea just stops existing”

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

No more posts about appreciating modern art. Society has progressed past the need to have viral posts about how to appreciate modern art

[aerynwrites]

Longing

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: I have been burning with an intense CRAVING for Halsin and there is such little fic about him (although there are some good ones out there 👀) so I had to do my part and add to the pool 😏 hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her virginity, talks of inexperience, love confessions, Halsin is a sweetheart, references to NSFW content. Very very minor spoilers for act 2.

Part 2

The fur of the rabbit is soft between your fingers as you prepare it. Yet, despite having a knife in your other hand and your task being a delicate one, you can’t seem to focus.

Your eyes keep drifting back to the druid across camp chopping wood for the fire. The axe is a large one, heavy - heavier than you’d be able to lift. Yet the large elf manages to bring it up above his head and swing it back down with a grace you never understood how he possessed.

The muscles in his shoulders ripple with each movement, accompanying the rythmic thump of the axe through wood. His soft grunts as he pulls it from the stump he’s using before placing the next log onto the surface and starting the process all over again.

“The rabbit is already dead, darling.”

The familiar voice rips you from your staring as your head whips around to see none other than your vampiric companion standing over you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You huff at him before looking down to the rabbit by your knees and heat rushes to your cheeks. What should have been a simple skinning job to get the meat ready for dinner has turned into a mess. Cuts in the wrong places, the hide nowhere near usable anymore.

You look back up just in time to see Astarions red eyes go from you, to Halsin, then back again. His smile grows. He shifts his feet, one arm resting across his chest as he gestures with his other to Halsin.

“You know, you could paint a portrait. It would last longer.”

Your cheeks somehow get even hotter, as you turn back to the rabbit in front of you, doing a much better job than earlier.

“Leave me alone, Astarion,” you mumble, cursing internally when the elf lowers himself to the ground beside you, arms resting on his knees.

“And why would I do that, when teasing you gives me so much joy?”

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Okay, well you got me all flustered. So now that’s out of the way, did you need something or did you really interrupt your reading to bother me?”

The vampire sighs, leaning back on his hands as he looks over to you. “What I need is for you to finally jump that druids bones.”

You nearly choke as the words leave his lips, looking around to see if anyone heard and feeling heat creep up your neck once more as you see Shadowheart failing to hide a chuckle.

You turn to face your friend, eyes narrowed. “Could you be a little more quiet? I don’t need the whole camp hearing you.”

Astarion laughs this time, loudly, and it draws more glances than you’d like. You roughly shove the man next to you before he can speak.

“Your next words better be a whisper or I’m going to stab you ” you threaten, poking the knife in his direction.

Astarion places a hand over his heart, faux hurt in his eyes. “You wound me, darling. I’m just trying to help you. Plus,” he gestures to the camp, “it’s not like your attraction is a secret, nor Halsin’s.”

You shake your head turning back to grab another rabbit, embarrassment welling up in your chest. “He doesn’t…” you trail off, getting defensive. “Nothing’s there, Astarion. So can we please just drop it?”

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Look,” he starts, “all I’m trying to say is that neither of you are benefiting from holding back so…indulge, for once. Gods know we all deserve it.”

You ignore him. Curling in on yourself at the mention of…indulging. There nothing wrong with it of course. Everyone at camp has blown off steam along this adventure. Just…not you.

And the vampire must be able to tell too, because at your silence he straightens up, brows pinching in the rare way that shows he’s concerned.

“Wait, have you never…?” he gestures vaguely in the air.

His words, despite their genuine curiosity, strike a chord in you. You stand abruptly, tossing your work to the ground and stabbing your knife in the dirt.

“No I haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business.” Your words are louder than you intended and draw the eyes and ears of your other companions.

Astarion softens, obviously not expecting this reaction. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

You clench your fists at your sides, interrupting him. “You never mean to Astarion but -“ You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

You turn on your heel and storm from camp before anyone can stop you, ignoring the concerned gaze of a certain druid.

———

The water is cool against your skin as you squat by the stream’s edge, rubbing at your hands as you try to get the blood off of them.

You feel foolish now, storming off like that. But Astarion pointing out your inexperience just struck you. It’s not something that’s ever bothered you before. Especially not in recent months since dealing with the tadpole. You all have more important things to worry about.

But the moment you rescued Halsin…it’s like something changed. You were instantly drawn to him. His kind smile and thoughtful words. His care for everyone and everything in nature.

And he flirted with you.

The memory is still fresh in your mind. The night of the tiefling party after you had stopped the ritual at the druid camp and saved Halsin. You were worried you were talking his ear off, but he was attentive the whole conversation. Answering your questions and asking some about you.

Then he said those honeyed words. Suggested celebrating by spending the night with someone special. Implied he would spend it with you if his mind wasn’t elsewhere.

You withdraw your hands from the water to drag them down your face as more memories surface.

More flirtatious banter and kind words. Thoughtful conversations and fighting side by side. The night sat by your bedside nursing you back to health after a particularly nasty fight. After Ketheric Thorm almost took you out.

Your side still aches with the memory. But the thought of his hands with their soothing healing glow, makes the ache subside.

You sigh, sitting back into the grass as your eyes lock onto the slowly gurgling stream, Astarion words playing over and over in your head.

Indulge, for once.

You want to. Gods do you want that.

You’ve spent many sleepless nights thinking about it. About his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, the sweet words he’d no doubt whisper against your ear.

You shudder at the thought before shoving it away. Because any time he hinted at that - showed any interest in you - you would be so elated before insecurity took over.

Halsin’s views on love and intimacy are no secret. You’d asked him once about current lovers and while he did confide no one currently held his affections back home he also expressed that there were others in the past.

Others. Plural.

And you’ve never been with anyone. Not physically or emotionally, you’ve never trusted anyone enough.

Not until now.

You sigh, frustration creeping back in as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes before quickly standing up. You need to apologize to Astarion and finally, maybe, talk to Halsin.

You turn on your heel to do just that when you run straight into a solid mass. You gasp, stumbling backwards just as two strong hands reach out to steady you, gripping your wrists firmly.

Once steady, you look up to see none other than the man haunting your thoughts smiling down at you.

“You must have been very deep in thought for someone like me to sneak up on you, little one.”

You have to suppress a shiver at the nickname. A moniker he’d given you since you teased him about his size at the beginning of your friendship.

You shake your head, moving to step away and only stopping when his hands let go only to slip down and take your own gently.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I was just…thinking.”

Halsin stares at you for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face before he steps away, gesturing down the first path, one hand still in your own.

“Walk with me?” he asks. “I know being in nature helps me clear my head of even the darkest thoughts.”

You give a hesitant nod and follow him as he turns towards the path, not able to stop the smile when he doesn’t drop your hand.

———

The walk is mostly silent, a comfortable silence, but silent nonetheless. And you are grateful for it, not sure what you would say if Halsin were to ask what has you so upset.

But, silence can’t last forever it seems, because eventually the large Druid breaks through the sounds of nature surrounding you to speak.

“I overheard your conversation with Astarion,” he says, voice gentle. Probing, but not not forcing you to talk if you do not wish.

You stiffen, your pace slowing slightly, wanting to pull away from the man at your side. But his sure grip on your hand keeps you in place. The warmth of his skin on yours puts you slightly at ease.

“You…you heard that?” you ask, cringing internally. “You were across camp.”

The druid chuckles, gesturing to his ears with his free hand. “One of the curses of us elves. Impeccable hearing. Even when we don’t wish for it.”

You can feel your shoulders creeping up to your ears. Embarrassment settling in once more. “You were listening to us? To me?”

Halsin shrugs. “Not intentionally,” he admits, slowing his steps until you’re both stopped and he’s facing you. “But I find my attention turning towards you more often than not these days.”

His words tie your tongue and before you can gather enough sense to respond he continues.

“Nature works in mysterious ways, little one,” he tells you, eyes never leaving your face. “There is no one way to traverse it, and others journey do not define your own. Each one is unique, as it is intended.”

His words are beautifully woven, as always. And despite his cryptic deliverance, you know the meaning behind his words.

He’s comforting you. And once again, he speaks before you can detangle the jumble of thoughts in your head.

“And,” he reaches out, placing a curled finger beneath your chin to urge you to look up at him, “if it’s any encouragement, I seek you out as much as you do me. Possibly more so.”

Your eyes widen, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. He…does he feel the same way? Rationally you know he does. But that ever familiar self doubt, the tiny voice in your mind has always brushed away the flirting - the kind words and gentle touches as just part of his nature. None of it is reserved just for you.

Right?

Halsin smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners gently as he looks down at you. “Is that really such an outlandish thought? That I return your affections?” He pauses, “unless my heart has run ahead of itself and I have misread-“

You stop him then, reaching up to place a staying hand on his own beneath your chin.

“No! You haven’t…you haven’t misread,” you assure him, trying to still your racing heart.

His smile never falters, his other hand finally coming up to cradle the back of your head, teasing soft strands of hair between his fingers.

“That is good to hear,” he says, pulling you ever closer, his nose almost brushing yours, “it puts this old druid's mind at rest.”

Gods, you can’t breathe. The air in your lungs refusing to expel as he lean even closer, lips a hairbreadth away from your own. Your body sings with anticipation, your skin hot despite the cool air ushered in by the sun sinking below the horizon, the days last rays barely filtering through the trees.

“Can I kiss you, my heart?”

Halsins words are soft, barley a whisper and nearly drowned out by the sounds of nature around you and the roaring of blood in your ears.

You nod. “Please-“

The word barely passes your lips before he descends upon you, sealing his mouth with your own.

It’s both everything you expected and completely surprising at the same time. His hands are sure as he pulls you into him, one hand still cradling your head as the other slips down to your hip before wrapping around your waist. Yet his lips, the kiss itself is…soft. Gentle. Loving. The action speaks louder than any words either of you have said to one another. Louder than the words you never worked up the courage to speak.

Finally, your mind catches up with you, and your hands slide up his chest to clutch tentatively at his shoulders.

Halsins still hasn’t broken away from you, and when his tongue brushes against your lips you let him in. You tug him closer then, one of your hands sliding up to rest at the back of his neck eliminating any empty space between you as his tongue slides against your own.

He only pulls away when he must sense your need for air, but he doesn’t go far, lips pressing gently to the corner of your own, and then another to your jaw.

You’re breathless.

Chest heaving against him, as he pulls away just enough to look at you once more.

“As much as I’d love to continue…” his hand squeezes your hip gently, “we should make our way back to camp. I can imagine our absence as stirred gossip with our vampiric companion and..” he sighs, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

You can’t surprise the shiver that runs down your spine, or the smile that tugs at your lips.

“I’m…I’m okay being overwhelmed if it’s like that,” you tell him breathlessly.

Halsin laughs, a deep down genuine laugh that makes your heart sing even as he steps away from you.

“Then I will overwhelm you in all the ways I know how.” He promises, eyes trailing over you heatedly.

Your stomach does a flip at his words, and the effect they have on you must show on your face because Halsin chuckles again, leaning in to press one last kiss to your cheek before tugging you back in the direction towards camp.

“Another night, my heart,” he says, thumb brushing over your knuckles from where your hand remains in his own.

You let out a shaky breath, and nod, smiling as you walk closer to him. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I hope you would, though I doubt I will forget such a promise,” he assures before letting silence blanket you both one more.

You can’t stop the thrill that runs through you at his words.

Yes, I’ll hold you to that promise indeed.

[pucksandpower]

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.

[desideriumwriter]

Metamorphosis | F.W. x Reader

Summary: Fred has been acting differently since he got hurt during the War. You're not sure how many more of his outbursts you can handle.

CW: established relationship, mentions of a head injury, TBIs, migraines, blood, being cut from broken glass, yelling, arguing, crying, not proofread

WC: 4.3k

A/N: now this one is a rollercoaster

based off this request! | f.w. masterlist | navi

Things had been difficult since May.

Voldemort was dead and the war was over. But everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

Things were quiet for a while, people were quiet. Distant but united at the same time. It took a few months for everyone to try and go back to normal.

Now it was November, and Fred was still dealing with the aftermath.

Of course, a head injury from being hit with a spell and a literal stone wall falling on him would have its long-term effects. You’d already read the list over who knows how many times.

Memory loss, light sensitivity, aggression, problems with multitasking, communication issues, irritability, mood swings, forgetfulness, etc. The list went on and on, you hated how long it was. 

You did research on it, listening to his doctors and picking up as many books you could find on head injuries or TBIs.

You even got your hands on some textbooks that muggle medical students used.

George and you took care of Fred after he came back to your shared space above the shop. He spent his first week after being discharged from the hospital at his mums, due to Mollys demands.

Things slowly went back to normal after a few months. Most things.

Shops reopened all along Diagon Alley, including the twins, people felt safe to go out and chat with each other again. 

Life went back to how it was before the war began.

The cold weather was getting harsher and so was Fred. 

You knew that the irritability and mood swings would come along with the injury. You just weren’t expecting it to be so constant.

Fred had his bad days and he had his better days. Today was one of those bad days.

You could tell he was really struggling remembering what was in stock and what needed to be made more of. You sat with him at the counter as he wrote down on a notepad what was needed. Taking notes was one of the things that helped him nowadays.

You saw him look up, the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder.” You said softly, it was the next thing that needed to be restocked.

“Right. That. Thanks.” He muttered out, crouching over to write it down, his hand shaky and handwriting a bit wobbled.

Frustrated with his shaky hands, he threw the pen down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard. I feel like I can’t properly do anything.” He groaned, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Fred, it's what the symptoms of a-”

“I know it’s a fucking brain injury. I’ve heard it enough goddamn times. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Fred spat out, ripping his hand from yours and walking past you. That was the fourth time he snapped at you today.

After closing that night, you sat on the bench right outside the shop. Elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands.

You were really trying here. Trying your best not to get mad at him, to yell and spit at him as he did you.

He was still your Fred that you loved. He was just a bit different now, and that was okay, he was still your Fred.

The door to the shop opened, the silly tune of the charmed bell playing as a tall figure stepped out. Fred stood to the side of you now, his frame blocked out the light shining on you from the street lamps. The only light now being from the inside of the shop, illuminating his and your face once you looked up.

You breathed in deep, closing your eyes for a second, trying to keep any tears from falling. The cold wind wasn’t helping.

“Hi.” He gave you a shamefaced smile.

George had definitely scolded him and told him to apologize once you went outside. It’s not the first time he’s made him do it in recent times.

“Hi.” You sighed.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to snap at you when you were trying to help me with what needed to be restocked, or when you offered to sort the mail.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling small. The feeling had become constant for him now.

“And before both of those, when you snapped at me in your office. Then in front of one of the cashiers.”

“I did?” He said softly, genuinely shocked. You nodded, brows knit together.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize. I don’t even remember that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so harsh.” Fred looked down, having the same expression as a kicked puppy.

“It’s okay, Fred. I know you don’t mean to.” You slowly nodded.

“I’m trying to not be so rude. I’m trying to be better, I promise.”

“I know, Fred. I know.” You sniffled.

The doctors said practicing patterns would help with cognitive ability. Patterning. So stocking the purple and orange mystery boxes in a pattern would be Fred’s practice.

He began to practice different patterns:

Purple. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

Then moved onto a bit more strange ones:

Purple. Purple. Orange. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat. 

He was struggling a bit more than usual today, you watched as he did, and it broke your heart.

You sighed as you put your notepad away, pausing writing down the grocery list for now and making your way over to Fred.

You reached out, putting the next correctly colored box on the shelf for him. He grumbled out a ‘thanks’.

“I can do the rest for you. Go give your brain a break.” You breathed out a laugh, trying to be lighthearted as you picked up the large box filled with the remaining mystery boxes to be put away.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”  Fred mumbled out, paying you barely any mind.

“Fred, I can tell your stressed enough just let me-“

“Will you piss off? I said I've got it!” Fred didn’t mean to yell, especially in the middle of a busy store, he was just frustrated. 

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and anger due to all the staring eyes of confused customers looking at the both of you.

“Fine, fucking do it yourself then.” You shoved the box into his hands. Walking off, pissed off as you threw off your hat onto the counter.

George murmured your name as you walked by, trying to put a hand on your shoulder, you shoved out his grasp.

You hid away in the back stockroom. George followed, entering a tiny bit after you.

You sat on a wooden box, leaned over with your head in your hands. 

“You know he doesn’t mean it. He got blasted pretty hard, it’s just one of the side effects.” George sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You were so tired of those two words. Side effects. Yes, of course you knew what the side effects and symptoms were, that they wouldn’t be pretty or easy. But you were just so sick of hearing it.

You shrugged, lifting your head up.

“He's frustrated. With himself.” George sat down next to you, intertwining his hands into a ball. “He always feels bad after he gets angry.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to help him out but it’s like he never fucking wants it. He refuses.”

“He’s never liked help, always wanting to be so damn independent and stubborn.” George let out a weak chuckle and shook his head. “It took him five minutes to accept the money Harry gave us. Even after that he tried to tell Harry he’d give it back if he changed his mind.”

“I remember, I was there.” You smiled a bit to yourself at the memory, Fred was so adamant about Harry keeping the money, or at least most of it.

“Chocolate?” He pulled a small bar off one of the shelves, you shook your head. “It’ll make you feel better.” You persuaded, you let out an amused sigh and took it.

“You stole that line from Lupin.” Unwrapping it and biting off a small chunk.

“Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?” You let out a defeated nod and smile in response, taking another bite.

“He’s not gonna be like this forever. You know that. He’s gotten a lot better since May. Just, his moodiness will stick around for a little bit.”

“I know. I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

George was at Angelinas for the night. It took him ten minutes to stop worrying and finally go, constantly reminding you if you needed his help with Fred, if Fred starts getting mean, to send him an owl and he’d come back immediately. You shooed him off and assured him Fred and you would be fine, that he should go have a worry-free night with Angelina.

It was going well, you watched a short movie and shared some snacks and cuddles on the couch. It was all going so nicely until you both decided to get changed and go to bed.

You slipped on a night shirt talking to Fred about the movie as he opened the top drawer on the wooden dresser. The one that creaked and occasionally jammed from time to time. 

Tonight was one of those times.

He pulled out a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, his eyebrows knitting together when he pushed the drawer and it barely moved. You looked over and frowned disappointedly.

“It’s stuck again.” You sighed, thinking out loud. 

“I know.” Fred muttered out under his breath, you didn’t catch it.

You watched as he repeatedly tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just old, maybe tomorrow we could go window shopping for a new one?” You suggested sweetly as he didn’t respond, he just clenched his jaw as he continued trying to close it.

He used a terrifying amount of force as he slammed the drawer shut with one last push, causing the whole thing to ratter. The sudden movement and sound made you jump. You took a step back, Fred noticed. His expression faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned your body language.

“What, are you scared of me or something now?” He muttered, an attitude in his voice.

“No, I never said I was scared of you. You just…”

 “What? I’ve just what?” 

You were so sick of his attitude. You took in a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ve been acting up, you’ve been slamming doors, throwing things down when you’re frustrated, you yell more. At George and I especially. You’re unpredictable.” You let out quickly.

“Unpredictable? I have not been that bad. You’re dramatic.” Fred shot back, he was a bit hurt by your words, yet deep down he knew you were right. His actions had become surprising. But he was too damn stubborn and he was in the middle of a beginning argument, so he wouldn’t admit to it now.

“I’m not, you’re proving your point with how you’re being now. You’re being stubborn and defensive. You get angry and you yell at me. When I’m just trying to help! The doctors said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctors told you! Or those stupid books you’ve been wasting your time on!” All this yelling hurt his head. But the words were spilling out his mouth like a waterfall of poison. 

“Have you considered your not being any help? If you really wanted to help you’d let me do shit myself instead of acting like I’m fucking stupid! You wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around me! You’d let me be instead of being a pounding in my head!” His chest heaved, his face slowly being filled with regret as he saw you. Taking a step back with the most painful stare at him, astonishment and hurt written all over your face.

He watched as you brought your arms up around you, holding yourself as if it was a way of shielding yourself from his words.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Your voice went soft. A small crack in your delivery of words as you rubbed your upper arm.

“No! Absolutely not! I just- I’m-” Here comes the sputtered out apologies, the regret filling him up immediately, you just shook your head.

“Forget it, I’m done with this conversation.” You barged out the room. That look never leaving your face, it will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed?” He called out as you went down the hallway.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” You shouted back, more of a loud mutter really. Fred said your name disappointedly, leaning against the bedroom door frame. You didn’t respond, you didn’t turn around, you made your way to the couch.

He didn’t run after and stop you. Knowing you’d give him the silent treatment and refuse to get in the same bed as him. For tonight only. Hopefully.

Though you tried to muffle and hide your sobs behind your hands, Fred could still hear it all the way from the bedroom. Those pained sharp breaths in that turned into wheezes, the little hiccups and whimpers of sadness you made when you breathed out were far too loud to be hidden.

You cried for two hours until you finally got a grip of yourself. Getting up and going down the hallway, not to get back in bed, but to see if Fred was.

You peeked your head in just enough to see his side of the bed, he was laying on his back peacefully, his eyes puffy. Had he been crying also?

He was relaxed now though, resting. At least he was getting some sleep. You quietly sneaked back to the living room. Lying back down on the couch and using a throw pillow for your head. 

You couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t keep your eyes shut, couldn’t stop thinking, you couldn’t sleep. You missed him, you really just wanted to be next to him.

By the time the clock ticked to 2AM, you got up, tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Sneaking to your side of the bed, so carefully pulling back the sheets. You moved so carefully, so lightly, so gently as if everything was made of fine china. 

You debated if you should snuggle up to Fred, not wanting to wake him. What if he got annoyed again? You really didn’t want to deal with another conflict.

You carefully scooted over to him anyways, testing your luck. You slowly wrapped your arm around his torso, ever so lightly laying your head on his chest. He began to move and your body immediately tensed up.

His arm hooked around you, circling your waist, the other arm reaching over, his hand softly placed on the side of your head. Your body went limp in happiness. You could start crying again from all the joy you felt in this moment.

This is how you knew Fred hadn’t become a whole other person than the one you knew before the accident. His hands on you, holding onto you so sweetly, just like he used to. There were still those little remnants of his true self hanging around. He was still Fred. He was still your Fred.

You woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight shining down on Freds side of the mattress.

You changed into more presentable clothes, hearing the chatter from downstairs and knowing the shop was open. 

Going downstairs, Fred was nowhere to be seen while George was moving around helping customers and constantly casting spells to organize things.

Owning a joke shop was absolutely not a one man job.

“Where’s Fred?” You asked, looking around as you approached the counter. George was stacking cards. 

“In his office. Another migraine.” He tucked in his lips, seemingly annoyed.

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna go out, probably window shop. Do you need anything?”

“Could you get some cabbage? And a few more quills and ink? We’re running low.” He said, swiveling his way out from behind the counter.

You may have stayed out longer than you meant to.

Thinking you’d be back before five, you got home at nearly eight instead.

You did some looking around in local furniture shops, and you picked up what George asked for. You mostly just walked around the quieter streets, needing to get away from all the noise.

By the time you got back it was a bit dark outside and there was a closed sign on the shop door. You unlocked and locked it quickly, moving upstairs tiredly.

The living room light was turned off, the moonlight from outside being the only thing that made the room somewhat visible. Fred was sitting on the couch.

“Hey.” You spoke softly. 

“Hi.”

“Where’d George go?”

“He stopped by Angelina’s for dinner.” He said blankly. Everything felt so awkward.

“Oh. Have you eaten?” You asked as you set down the bags of supplies.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what’re you doing in the dark? Get some light in here.” You giggled as you flipped up the light switch, overhead light brightening up the room.

Fred quickly scrunched his eyes closed with a pained expression, he put a hand up to shadow his face.

Fuck. Light sensitivity. He was already dealing with a migraine, that’s why he was in the dark, and you turning on the light made it much more intense.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You blurted out as you hit the switch down, the room going darker again.

“Here, I’ll- I’ll get you a glass of water.” You sputtered out, running over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a glass, filling it up with cold water from the tap.

“No, you don’t have to.” Fred muttered out.

“Please, it’ll help. Just let me help.” You pleaded as you ran back over to the couch, sitting down and holding the glass towards him. He denied it again.

“Fred, just drink-“

“I told you! No!” He shouted, pushing your hand away.

The glass slipped out of your grasp. Hitting the floor and cracked into pieces, somewhere in the impact a small shard hit your lower leg. Nothing serious, it could be quickly closed up with a spell, but it was bleeding heavily already.

Fred realized what had happened once you felt the stung and winced, holding a hand over your small injury, crimson staining your hand and dripping onto your sock.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He panicked as he straightened up, patting his sides for his wand, he had left it in his office. He saw yours on the coffee table.

“Here, let me fix-” He reached one hand towards your wand, the other laying on your shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You said as you reached across, grabbing your wand and leaned your shoulder away from his touch.

His stomach twisted, the guilt was eating him up. He fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing what to do with his hands now that you refused his touch and his help.

You said a quick spell, the cut swiftly closing, skin looking unharmed and the only evidence of what happened being the remnants of drying blood on your leg and hand.

“I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” You said so quietly, almost a whisper. Fred stayed silent as he watched you get up and walk away, he wanted to cry.

You returned to the living room with a packed suitcase, quickly walking past Fred on the couch and to the chimney. His eyes stayed glued on you the entire time. You didn’t look at him.

“You’re leaving?” Freds brows knit together in a sad way, he sat up straight from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Not for long. I’ll be back.” You spoke, back facing him as you put down your small suitcase.

“Where?”

“A friends place. For a few days.” You didn’t tell him who, he would most likely send letters apologizing.

George was the one who suggested it surprisingly. Once he came home as you were washing off the blood, he told you to go take a few days to yourself.

“No offense to you, you’ve been doing great. But I’ve lived with him for nearly twenty-six years. I know how to deal with him when he’s mad.” He held your shoulders.

“I know how to deal with him too, you know.” 

“Of course I do. But I know you’re worn out as well. You need to take some care of yourself. Focus on you for a few days.” You really didn’t want to agree with George on that, it felt rude to do it. There was really no good way of saying he was wearing you down.

“I’m sorry.” Fred spoke out.

“I know, Fred.” You let out a heavy breath. “I’m not mad at you. I think we should take a break from each other.” You tried not to let your voice wobble.

“You don’t mean a break up, right?” He stood up from the couch.

“No. Of course not.” You finally turned around, looking at his gloomy face. “We just need to spend some time apart, just for a day or so. Okay?” You kept your voice soft and nurturing, hoping it would hide the way your own words were breaking your heart.

"Can I just get a hug before you leave? Please?" Fred took a few steps closer, his steps cautious. You closed your eyes and nodded.

You didn’t want to look at him for too long, both of your faces were threatening to deteriorate into tears, and you couldn’t stand to see it.

He pulled you into him nicely, hands slowly and carefully wrapping around you like you would crack if he moved the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you.” He said softly, sounding like it was a plea for you to stay.

“I know.” You mumbled into his chest.

Fred’s injury didn’t bother you. The forgetfulness of struggles with certain things didn’t bother you, you didn’t care if he struggled to keep track with things. 

It was just his anger. His outbursts. His shouting. That’s what bothered you, it was nothing like him. Sure, he’s definitely gotten moody or stubborn or annoyed before like during Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts or when a much needed shipment arrived late at the shop.

But you’ve rarely seen him truly mad, yell like he does now, the only time you can remember him like that is when he had to be held back from helping George and Harry beat up Malfoy after a match in his seventh year.

“I still love him, of fucking course I do. But he’s changed so much. it’s like,” You stopped, clenching your jaw and trying your best trying to keep tears from returning. “It’s like sometimes I look at him, and he’s a ghost, he’s a completely different man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“You’ve changed too.” Alicia commented, “You’re not as much of a hermit as you used to be.” She joked, poking you.

“Oh piss off.” You let out a breathy chuckle, face falling soon after. “I’m scared. What if he stays like this forever?” You whispered out, a small crack in your voice.

“He won’t. You told me already, there’s still that cheeky little Fred that you’ve always know still in him. He’s getting better day by day.” She tilted her head. “And fuck it. Even if he doesn’t, even if it takes a while, you gotta grow with him.” You looked at her, puzzled expression on your face.

“If you don’t grow with him, if you aren’t willing to go through that, then what in the hell are you doing?” She shrugged, laying back in her chair. “You’ve gone through these shitty times with him before, right? And you both made it through. What makes you worried you won’t be able to do it again?” 

Alicia was right. You’ve gone through rough patches with him and made it out just fine. Casual disagreements, arguments and fights, yet you always made up. Leaving those arguments in the past and loving each other in the present.

“You staying another night?” Alicia asked you, taking a sip from her glass.

“No, I think I’ll go back. I’ll send an owl and tell them before I go.”

Once the green flames subsided and you stepped out of the chimney, dusting off your clothes. Fred came running into the room, a bouquet of all the flowers in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling alright today?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

God, you hated the awkward tension in the air. It felt like this every time you had a conversation.

“That’s good. Uh, these are for you.” He stuck out the bouquet nervously, hand trembling. You put down your suitcase and stepped closer. A small noise of adoration left as you looked at the flowers, it was all your favorites.

“I may not be able to remember much. But I remembered these were always your favorite.” He let out an awkward laugh.

The last time you told him what flowers you liked was in year five. You took the bouquet from him with hesitant hands, surprised by the gift. Fred swallowed his anxiety before he began to speak again.

“I didn’t mean to be so rude. I just get so frustrated with myself, I don’t want to act like that anymore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you, you didn’t deserve it.” He moved to cup his hands around your face, bringing your teary eyes to meet his.

“I promise you I’m going to be better. I swear on everything. I will be better.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead, then pulled you into a hug. 

You held on tightly to his torso, turning the flowers away to keep them from being crushed.

“I love you.” You said into his sweater, tears beginning to fall.

“I love you too. So much.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[benevolentbones]

jealous much? | spencer reid x reader

warnings: !! violent behaviour towards someone, bar fight, alcohol consumption and attempted drink spiking, swearing !! 15+ gender neutral reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: the team goes out to bar, and you bring a date with you..

to say spencer was mad was an understatement. his blood was practically boiling. his jaw tightened as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. his sights were set dead ahead, on your form.

after a long case the team had decided the best way to celebrate would be going out to the bar for a few drinks, garcia’s suggestion of course.

this wasn’t an unusual occurrence, the team would often go out together whether it was for dinner or just drinks, but what shocked everyone was when you showed up with a date.

“this is simon, hope you don’t mind that i brought him along” you had mused, when you had arrived to meet the team at the local bar they frequented.

the taller man was probably ten years older than you, his hair was blond and slicked back, and he had an arm slinked around your waist.

the team stood around the bar, some sets of eyes flickering from you to spencer, who stood glaring at the man beside you.

it wasn’t much of a secret that spencer reid had feelings for you, he’s had a thing for you ever since you joined the team over a year ago, and as profilers it wasn’t hard for the rest of the team to pick up on his crush.

what shocked everyone was the fact that they thought you also had feelings for spencer.

“yeah- no problem, im emily nice to meet you.” the dark haired woman smiled.

“i need a drink.” spencer muttered under his breath, turning to the bartender before he said something rude.

and that brings us to right now.

the team had been in the bar for an hour or so, a few rounds of shots had been given out and the majority of the team were on the dance floor. all aside from spencer and derek.

spencer could not take his eyes off of you for the life of him, and he felt physically sick at the sight.

emily, jj and penelope were dancing along side you as they usually did, and then there was your date, simon, who was glued to your form.

spencer hated the sight, every movement and touch threatened to spill up the four beers he had downed in the hour he was there.

“you good man?” derek leant against the bar, his voice laced with concern.

spencer took another swig of his beer, breaking his eye contact on you to look morgan in the face.

“i don’t know what they see in him, he’s fucking pathetic.” he mumbled out before turning back his attention on you.

the music blared over the speakers, the dance floor was covered in a crowd of people as you swayed your hips to the music, arms raised above your head. your date, in close proximity eyeing you up.

“jealous much?” morgan sipped at his glass of whiskey.

“what do you mean.” spencer’s body stiffened, he turned on his bar stool to face derek.

“man, it’s obvious you like them. why don’t you just say something.”

“i can’t just- they don’t like me like that.” spencer was growing increasingly frustrated.

“mm that’s not what they told me..” derek trailed off, downing the rest of his drink and heading off to the dance floor before spencer could get another word in.

this left the genius in a state of confusion, what had you said to derek? spencer turned back to his original position to people watch, scanning the crowd for you. but you were nowhere to be found.

“one coke please.” you shouted over the music to the bartender, now stood right next to spencer. and of course, simon was at your side.

“you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself, spence.” you turned to him.

your hair was unruly, unlike how you usually kept it. there was a small sheen of sweat covering your skin, from your forty five minutes of straight dancing, the flickering lights causing it to glow.

“i’m just tired, that’s all y/n.” he mumbled back, barely audible over justin timblerlakes ‘sexy back’ that had begun playing.

you frowned slightly, your brows creasing as the bartender handed you your drink. you took a small sip, setting it down on the bar counter.

“well i hope you feel better soon.” you gave spencer’s bicep a reassuring squeeze. i’d feel better if you left with me he thought

then you turned to simon, who was standing slightly agitated at your lack of attention.

“would you watch my drink? i’m just going to go to the bathroom.” you smiled as he nodded, running off in the direction of the toilets.

spencer avoided eye contact, staring back into the dance floor to see garcia practically grinding against morgan. what a sight.

from the corner of his vision, spencer could see simon shuffle awkwardly, before dumping a powdery substance into your drink, stirring it with your straw.

immediately he saw red, leaping out of his seat.

“what the fuck did you just do?” he yelled, his voice an octave lower than usual.

simon fidgeted, a shocked expression on his average features, not expecting the sudden outburst.

“n-nothing man- i think you’ve had too much to drink.” he tried to play it off with a nervous chuckle but spencer was having none of it.

he whipped his arm around, picking up your glass of coke in one swooping motion and smashing it against the older males head.

the glass completely shattered, shards of glass and coke spilling all over the floor and the blond man who had now fallen to the floor.

this caught people’s attention, a group of girls to the right of spencer letting out a frightened scream.

“what the fuck?!” simon barked, bringing a hand to the side of his face that was now pouring blood.

spencer had now lunged at simon, grabbing the collar of his shirt with one hand and landing punch after punch to his already bloodied face.

the commotion had caught the rest of the team’s attention, derek had run over and practically yanked the younger man off of simon, who’s face was now bloodied and swollen.

“what the fuck reid?” derek shouted, earning a glare from spencer.

“he fucking tried to spike y/n.”

you had come back from the bathroom, not expecting the sight in front of you. you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand, you eyes darting to spencer.

the brunette pulled away from derek’s hold, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his long hair hung over his face as he used a bloodied hand to push it away. his hard gaze met with yours, his hazel eyes immediately softening.

“get the fuck out.” the bartender yelled out, alerting the bouncers.

derek locked eyes with you, giving you a knowing look and you nodded. you grabbed spencer and ushered him out of the bar leaving derek to clean up the mess that was your date on the ground.

once you left the bar, the cold air hit you like a truck causing a shiver to escape your lips. spencer sat against the curb, resting his hands on his knees, avoiding your gaze.

“spence, what was that?” you questioned, a slight wobble to your voice.

“he’s a piece of shit, y/n.” he mumbled out, anger laced in his tone, his eyes locked on the ground.

you let out a frustrated sigh, noticing spencer’s busted knuckles, blood dripping from his hands. you knelt down in front of him, causing his eyes to dart up and meet yours.

“please, spence.” you reached out to cup his cheek.

“i couldn’t stand to see him with you, holding you- and on top of it all- he tried to spike you- i just couldn’t-“ he breathed out, inhaling through his nose as his face settled into your hand.

you felt both sick and relieved at the same time. you didn’t even like simon, he wasn’t who you wanted at all.

“oh spencer..”

“i couldn’t let him- i just snapped. i’m sorry.” he mumbled out, trying to avert his eyes.

“thank you.” you began, catching him off guard. “for doing all that, for me.”

“i- of course i would, i’d do anything for you.” his eyes flickered over your features, over your soft lips, back to your doe eyes.

you didn’t hesitate to press your lips against his, almost knocking him over. he immediately kissed back, wrapping his bloodied hands around your waist trying his best not to stain your shirt.

you ran your hands through his dark locks, feeling the heat from his cheeks against yours, curling your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck.

you pulled away, a breathy gasp leaving your lips, pressing your forehead against his. he breathed out, resting his hands on your hips.

“y/n…” he spoke softly, swallowing hard.

“let me take you home, let’s clean up your hands okay?” you suggested, he nodded against your forehead before you pulled away, standing back on your feet.

you helped him up, wrapping your arm around his to avoid hurting his hands further.

“i really wanted that coke.” you pouted as you walked the taller man to your car, a chuckle escaping his lips and you shuffled side by side.

[wonysugar]

fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo

synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.

pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader

genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx

tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!

warnings : none!

word count : 1.6k

you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.

you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend. 

you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.

she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you. 

in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.

the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.

“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.

she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“

a black screen.

she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.

nothing.

she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.

after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.

“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??” 

“sorry that i forgot to?” 

oh she had to be joking. 

“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.

her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.

“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly. 

“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”

“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”

“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.

in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??” 

“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”

when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like, 

a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to, 

if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out. 

-

how do best friends make up after a fight?

usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.

this? this was none of that.

since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.

like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.

throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple. 

“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,

until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.

frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-” 

“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.

you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part? 

enjoying it thoroughly.

she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change. 

she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see. 

“you like being fucked stupid hm?”

and that’s what she did,

seconds,

minutes,

what felt likes hours,

you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity. 

you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane. 

“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.

“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?” 

you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.

the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.

“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”

“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”

she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,

the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?

it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?

she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.

and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.

at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.

while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;

never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.

[ohraicodoll]

DESPERATELY NEED FERAL READER WITH EP 8 WITH AN INJURED JOEL AND KIDNAPPED ELLIE…….. I KNOW OUR CRAZY QUEEN WOULD KILL EVERYONE ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Yall asked for it lol

Violent Delights Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 6.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They took her kid and she was getting her back. Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and torture

She woke up with a start, having drifted off unknowingly after trying to keep watch, a sense of disorientation as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening. The basement. They were still in the basement, the cold leeching any warmth from the walls and floors, the haggard breathing of her companion her only company. It’d been over 48 hours since she last slept, since Joel was hurt and they’d had to drag him into the house and patch him up. He wasn’t in good shape. Joel was so close to death’s door, it terrified her. They were so close to losing him and she had never felt more helpless.

She could still hear his pained groans, the glazed and blank look in his eyes, as she put pressure on the bleeding hole in his stomach just a couple days before. “Don’t you dare die, Joel. You still have to make shit up to me and you can’t do that dead. You can’t leave us again.” He’d tried to tell them to leave him. To go back to Tommy’s and leave him behind, the stubborn asshole. But Ellie managed to find the first aid kit and they’d sewn up the hole, wrapping it best they could with the little supplies they had. She knew it wasn’t enough. There could be shards left from the baseball bat, they weren’t the cleanest, nothing was sterile. She didn’t even know if something internal had been damaged. But it was all they could do. They’d been so focused on getting to Colorado they’d been using their food storage rather than hunting over the past week. Now it was biting them in the ass, their supplies dwindled. She’d managed to briefly go out and hunt down a rabbit, but game seemed scarce and leaving meant leaving Ellie and Joel alone. Without Joel, it was hard to sleep, look after Ellie, look after him and keep him stable, look after the fucking horses, and hunt. She was overwhelmed. So sleep went out the window. She took watch when Ellie was asleep, went and tried to hunt and scavenge the nearby houses when she was awake, and kept an eye on Joel in between taking care of the two horses in the garage. But at some point she’d fallen asleep finally, fallen deep and hard enough that she hadn’t noticed Ellie slipping the rifle from her hands and leaving the two adults alone.  A small scribbled note was placed on her lap on a piece of what looked like newspaper, “Be back soon -E.” She scrambled to her feet, looking around and cursed herself. Joel was still breathing steadily but his brow was covered with sweat from the infection he was staving off. Both their packs were against the wall but Ellie’s was gone and the panic that took hold was like a lightning bolt. It stole the breath from her lungs. Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone- it was a racing thought that circulated over and over again. Her main purpose, main job, and she’d fucking fallen asleep.

Her heart jumped further at hearing footsteps above her head, the slight creak and shift in the old wood, a door slamming…then it all came out in deep relief as she recognized the light shuffling.

Ellie raced down the steps, cheeks pink from cold and wind, and breath huffing out in a rush as she entered the basement.

She grabbed the girl immediately, shaking her by the shoulders with the vestiges of panic still in her blood, “Where did you go, Ellie? You weren’t supposed to leave!”

The teenager paused, eyes frantic and a little wild, but a tough set to her lips as she shook her head, “I went hunting and you needed sleep! I had to, but look! I got Joel medicine!” Ellie took the bottles out of their wrap, quickly moving away from her and kneeling down to Joel, beginning to lift up his shirt before she could even get a good look at what she had. The wound was ugly and discolored and she could hear him groan at the small touches. Her mind was still caught up in the panic of discovering the girl was gone and she quickly snatched the bottles away before the syringe was inserted. “Where did you get this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands. Penicillin. Two whole bottles of penicillin, practically liquid gold in their world, and Ellie had managed to get it while she slept. The teen looked nervous and tried to snatch it back, but she was quick even if she was exhausted and pulled her hand away, “Please, can we give it to him first and then I’ll explain?” Her eyes were so big for her face, cheeks pink. Her desperation to help Joel was evident. Ellie knew how bad he was doing and believed she held the cure to it all in her hands. She could only sigh and hand it back over, instructing her to give just a fourth of the bottle and to tap the syringe. Joel would probably have a heart attack if he knew she was letting the kid give it to him, but she knew Ellie had to do this herself. It was her win and she had to feel like she was the one saving him so she let her. But then they both stared, her knowledge only getting them that far. “Where the fuck am I suppose to put this?” Ellie cursed, looking at the wound and Joel’s arm, eyes switching between hers and his closed ones, “Fuck, how are we supposed to do this?” She cursed herself. Her medical knowledge was mediocre. Stitching, cleaning wounds, pulling out bullets, the basics they needed. Infections and medicine she had no clue about, “Just give it to him in his stomach. As long as it enters his blood stream, it should be fine.” At least, that’s what she thought. Ellie winced and inserted the needle, Joel giving out pained groans as it sunk into the sensitive area. They both watched the plunger empty the contents and then she pulled it out, trying to clean the needle the best she could. They only had one syringe and would have to reuse it. “And now we wait,” the teen commented and looked at his face as if at any second he would be magically better. He would wake up and smile and tell her good job. But he didn’t, staying silent on the small makeshift bed. “No, now you tell me where you went and how you got that,” she bit out, sitting on the other side of Joel to face her. Ellie winced and looked down at the small glass bottles in her hand, “You needed to sleep and we needed food. I know you think you can take care of all of us, but you can’t and I wanted to help by trying to hunt.” “That’s not your responsibility-” “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to help,” Ellie cut her off but then sighed, “And I did manage to actually get a deer…but I ran into these guys...” Instantly, she was on high alert, eyes searching everything that was visible and checking her for any wounds, “You ran into people and you’re barely telling me!” “I know!” the young girl argued back, hand resting on top of Joel’s, “They found my deer before me and said they were from a group with starving women and children. They offered to trade for half the deer and said they had medicine. I did everything I was supposed to! Got them to drop their guns, unloaded their rifles, and had them back away. One went to get the medicine and I kept the gun on the other.”

“So you gave them half the deer and they gave you the medicine then just let you go?” she asked and clenched and unclenched her fists. Ellie wouldn’t look so nervous if  that was the whole story and she wasn’t nearly tired enough to have been dragging half a deer carcass back. Shrugging, Ellie grimaced and refused to meet her eyes, “That was the deal…but they knew who we were. The people that attacked us at the university belonged to their group and this guy started talking about how one of theirs had been killed by a crazy man with two girls. He knows that was Joel. I don’t know why he let me go, but I think they’re looking for us.” With a curse, she quickly stood, hands on her hips and pacing in a tight circle, “Fuck. Fuck. And they didn’t come after you?”

“No, I think they let me go because I was a kid.” She doubted that. People rarely were that charitable, even to children in this world. Especially a child with a gun and an attitude like Ellie’s. The unspoken words were there though. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for her and Joel though. Ellie may be deemed innocent but the two of them were problems and only one of them was in commission currently. But what could they do? They couldn’t move Joel in his state. They couldn’t leave him behind either. They were stuck. “Okay. Maybe if they let you go they don’t plan on coming. Maybe they think both of us are injured if you were out on your own and won’t come,” she lied comfortingly and tried to speak the words into existence, knowing the kid was probably feeling guilty and needed some hope. They needed rest, needed to breathe for a second, and panicking now wouldn’t help.  It took a while to relax enough to let the adrenaline fade away.

Ellie laid down, exhausted, tucking into Joel’s side as she had the past couple nights and resting her head on his shoulder. He subconsciously leaned into her, still alive for now. Her heart ached at the sight, the way they held each other in their own ways. She didn’t have the strength to get after the girl more or uproot them out of precaution. They were all exhausted and Ellie had somehow managed to bring hope even if there was a cost.

She sat down by the stairs, flipped her knife between her fingers to keep her awake and focused, and watched the two sleep with her heart in her throat.

The men would come. Now that they knew they were in the area, they would come and they were stuck in this spot until Joel was better. There was no way they could get him on a horse and move him now without undoing all the healing he’d done. A thousand scenarios went through her head, sleep now a distant memory in the face of the panic and anxiety plaguing her. How was she supposed to fight off a group and keep them both safe?

She couldn’t. That was the reality of the situation.

The thought hit her over and over again like a blow to the chest, the knife turning between her fingers. _________________________________________ Morning came and she could see Ellie’s disappointment that the medicine hadn’t instantly woken Joel up and made him all better. To ease her mind, they gave him another dose, trying to make the bottles last before shoving the remainder in their bags. They were out of food, the rabbit she had caught two days ago long gone without a way to store it. Joel still wasn’t eating or drinking and she worried that even if they got the infection under control, his body wouldn’t be strong enough to get better. Things were bad. The possibility of Joel dying was a constant chime in her head. It felt like a mockery that he had left and came back only to be almost taken from them permanently. She was angry. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that took the hit. It had been meant for her but he’d pushed her out the way as the bat swung, breaking on the tree, and then tackled the guy. If it had been her, Joel would know what to do. He could take care of them both or at least would have the strength to leave her behind if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could. She was failing him. Failing them both. The basement was suffocating, pressing in on her, and she took the opportunity to go tend to the horses, leaving the girl and her unconscious companion to the pressing weight of disappointment. Her body was beginning to ache from the lack of sleep and food, joints protesting her movement, but she reached down and scooped snow into the small metal bucket for them to get some water. Soon the horses would starve too or be too weak to carry them. Death was creeping up on them. Looking over the neighborhood they were held up in, she sighed at the obvious foot steps leading up through the streets before beginning to methodically cover what she could. Ellie knew better than to leave a trail but she guessed in her hurry to get the medicine back to Joel and get away from the men she had forgotten. And as birds took off in a rush further down the road towards the wooded outskirts, she froze and her heart thundered in her ears. 

She felt fear run through her as her thoughts from the night resurfaced and became reality, a living nightmare. They were coming. They had waited for daylight to search them out and were coming now. She knew it, could feel it, and they were out of time. Quickly covering what she could and making false tracks from the other houses, she ran back inside and flew down the stairs to the basement taking two at a time. No time, there was no time.  Ellie startled at her rushed appearance and the way she flew across the room to the rifle and her own pack, “What’s happening?”

“Those men you saw are coming,” she huffed out, grabbing the rifle and checking it was loaded before looking around the room as if she could find the answer there.

Turning to Joel, Ellie began to shake his shoulders as if he were merely sleeping and not borderline in a coma, “Fuck. Joel! You have to wake up, Joel. Joel, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Joel!” But he only gasped, pained whimpers leaving his lips, eyelids fluttering.

She bent down and grabbed Ellie by the shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes, “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take the horse and run.”

“What? No, what about-”

“You run and I’ll follow behind and try to pick them off,” she interrupted, voice adamant, “They’re going to search every house and they will find us eventually. I can’t hold them off like this. I need to know you’re good first and if we’re away from here then it will take the focus off Joel.”

“You want me to go without you?” Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear and her heart ached at the sight, but there was no time.

“I’ll find you,” she promised and dug her fingers tightly into her shoulders as if she could sink the words into her skin, “I will. But you have to go now. We’ll block the entrance to down here, give Joel some time.”

Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded, running to grab her backpack and last minute grabbed one of the larger knives they had. Running back over to Joel, the teen knelt down and placed it on his chest, forcing his hand to grab it. She let her while grabbing the rest of her stuff and placed Joel’s pack into a small cubby under the steps to make it less noticeable.

“Okay, look at me,” Ellie whispered to him while he only groaned in reply, “There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, Red is going to help get rid of them. But if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?”

“Ellie, hurry,” she bit out, peeking out the small window along the top of the wall. “Joel, do not fall asleep,” the teenager pleaded desperately, squeezing his hand around the knife. She could see his eyes partially open, see his lips trying to move and his fingers twitching trying to grasp the knife. But Ellie finally got up quickly and rushed up the stairs. She went to follow after her and paused, staring back at the unconscious man on the floor. A part of her whispered that this could be the last time she saw him alive. One or both of them could be dead if this didn’t go right. Heart in her throat, she ran back to him and kneeled, kissing his forehead and grasping his hand. “Stay alive for us, please, Joel,” she whispered, squeezing the hand around the knife, but getting back up and running up the stairs. She tried not to look back. Both of them moved the tall kitchen cabinet over the door entryway to the basement, trying to shuffle things around to not make the spot obvious before heading to the garage. They got both horses out, grabbing what she needed from hers and sending silent apologies to Tommy before forcing it to gallop away in the opposite direction with a sharp smack. The other she saved for Ellie to ride, closing the garage door behind them. They’d figure out transportation later when they were out of this mess, but they needed the guys off their trail and two different horse tracks would help. With quick hands, she helped Ellie climb up onto its back. 

Shakily, she bit out, “You ride hard and fast and loud. They’re going to come after you but if you go fast they won’t catch you and I’ll hit them from behind. They only know for sure about you right now. Do not look back, Ellie. I’ll find you once it’s safe, I promise.” Ellie was shaking but tried to put on a brave face, nodding and holding onto the reins. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her it was going to be okay, but she wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. The men were close, she knew that. She patted the rear of the horse and nodded a final goodbye, beckoning her to go forward. Her heart screamed to not let her go, that it was safer with her than alone, but they were backed into a corner and she had no choice. They wouldn’t win in a shootout and losing meant Ellie would die. So she watched as the girl rode away down the street away from her, turning until she was completely out of sight, and tried not to flinch at the gunshots that came soon after and the yells of men. She tried to shut off the part of her that wanted to panic, to react and worry. That wasn’t the part she needed to listen to at the moment. Running as far as she could, crossing over fences and staying against the walls of the house, she followed the sound of loud hoof beats and chased after them as they chased after Ellie. Her ears caught on one of them screaming that she was to be left alive, but that didn’t ease the worry in her. Being captured alive wasn’t always a good thing. One of the slower men chasing Ellie fell the furthest behind, wheezing in the cold and trying to clamber in the dense snow. Her own knife in hand, she ran and jumped onto his back, using both their weight to send them forward onto his front behind the cover of some of the shrubs. 

He hadn’t been expecting to be attacked from behind and it took him a moment to try and struggle, to lift his face out of the snow to breathe, and she took advantage of that by stabbing deep into the back of his neck. He groaned, the sound muffled, and she pulled the blade out and sunk it in again and again with a growl. The snow was staining red around them. He stopped moving. One down. She stood and took off, the cold biting into her lungs and stealing her breath. The terrain was hard and the one kill had put her farther behind the group, forcing her to cut across more backyards to catch up, but she could only hope Ellie had done what she asked and was out of range. She could catch the rest of them once they scattered. But then a gunshot rang out close by. The sound of a horse’s cry ripped through her, tore her soul to shreds, and she knew if she lived beyond the day she would hear that sound forever in her nightmares.

She ran. She left all care of stealth behind and ran fast and hard, dodging trees and fallen branches and then ran faster when another gun shot rang out. The chest felt like it was being cleaved open by the panic, fear gripping her tightly. They wouldn’t have shot her. They wouldn’t have killed her. She was a kid, they wouldn’t-

And then she watched from the trees as the group surrounded Ellie who was on the ground, her horse unmoving not far away, and a tall skinny man picked her up and began to walk away with her. She raised the rifle, looking down the scope, and cursed as the men separated and began to head back into the neighborhood. No doubt to continue their search for Joel and her.

She could see Ellie’s face through the scope, the loll of her head, but she was gripped too closely to the man’s body. He was walking further and further away. Two sides of her screamed. Leaving to go after them meant abandoning Joel, but staying behind meant leaving Ellie. She wanted to press the trigger, shoot, but knew it was too risky with Ellie in the man’s arms. She could so easily accidentally kill the girl if she was one inch off and her hands were too shaky from exhaustion to be precise. Only some of the group was going back, the others looking like they were continuing to scout the area.

She knew what she had to do, what Joel would tell her to do, but the reality of it felt impossible. If they found Joel, he’d die for sure. But she wasn’t sure she could live with leaving Ellie.

The men with the girl were getting farther away and a choice had to be made.

So she swallowed the sob in her throat and let the rage she felt consume her completely, push her forward, and followed behind the group to where they would take her kid.  __________________________ It was getting harder and harder to follow along as the wind began to kick up a notch. She needed to see where they were taking Ellie, but she was tired and the cold was sinking in, her body struggling to keep going. And as they entered the town, it was getting difficult to avoid being seen. Too many buildings, too many open areas, and she didn’t know who could be watching. She knew they had entered one of the nearby buildings, but wasn’t sure which. The clock was ticking in her mind, Ellie’s life on one hand and Joel’s on the other. What good was she if she couldn’t save her people? Blood crusted on her fingers as she entered the first of the buildings quietly, finding a back entrance. It was dark but she could hear voices nearby as she found herself in some kind of storage room, the cold still reaching her through the walls. She wasn’t used to carrying the rifle. It had always been Joel’s weapon thanks to its weight, her preferring knives or a small pistol or even a bow when she could find one. So when she crouched down to ease her way over to the swinging door leading further inside, she winced when it thudded and scraped against the floor, the sound so loud in her ears. The voices paused and she froze, eyes wide and watching the door. There was shuffling and she quickly backed away into a darkened corner, pulling her knife out. Steps came closer and she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The door swung open and she could see a man enter, beard a little rough and looking a little ragged, cheeks red from the cold. He frowned, looking around, gaze shifting over what he could. He turned to look at the back door, back facing her, and only then did she realize she had tracked snow inside and it hadn’t quite melted. Lunging, she stuck the blade deep into his lower back with all her might and threw her arm around his neck, choking him hard. A cry of pain tried to leave his lips, breath cut off, and he struggled wildly. She twisted the knife, feeling blood coat her hand. “Where is the girl?” she hissed, jerking the blade deeper. He sobbed and made pathetic mewling sounds of pain, voice wispy from lack of air, “Please, I don’t know-” She twisted, hearing the squelch of flesh tearing, “The teenage girl your buddy grabbed, where is she?” The distinct smell of piss lingered in the air and he sobbed out, “I don’t know! Oh god.” Steps were coming close again and she growled, keeping her grip on the knife buried in his body and shifting her arm away from his neck to hold the back of his collar. He wheezed in air, blood starting to bubble from his lips. The door burst open and the distinct sound of a gun rising echoed in the tiny room, only to pause as she held the man in front of her like a shield, mostly hidden by his body. “Howard-” A woman’s voice. All the people who had attacked them had been men. 

She wouldn’t have the information she needed. With a growl of frustration, she shoved the body at her, letting his dead weight hit her and trap the woman against the wall. She let out a startled cry and the delay gave her just enough time to unholster her pistol and shoot her in the head. The numbness that was a twin to her rage had sunk into her skin, blanketing her all over. She’d search the buildings, one by one, and kill whoever she had to to find her kid. She didn’t care. Stepping over the bodies, she moved into the area they had been in before she drew their attention and paused, icy horror filling her. A leg was in the process of being cut apart, small chunks set aside and being wrapped up as if to store for later. It was a kitchen, most likely used to prepare food for stage, large makeshift smokers and pits along the back unused. The ticking clock in her mind sped up as the reality of what she’d uncovered hit her. Cannibals. These people that had taken Ellie were cannibals. A strong hit to her back sent her stumbling forward and clattering to her knees. She grunted and scrambled forward as a stomp missed her, hitting the ground instead. There’d been someone still in the room and she’d been too distracted to notice. 

Rolling onto her back, gun still in her hand, she aimed and managed to shoot the knee out of her assailant as he raised a butcher knife. He crumpled to the ground with a cry and she got to her feet slowly, gun raised and trained on him. 

The guy was younger, but thin and haggard looking. His bravado hadn’t fully left him though as he stared her down, anger in his eyes, “You fucking bitch. You blew out my fucking knee.” He tried to get up but she aimed at his head, making him freeze. “I’ll shoot the other one too if you don’t shut up and tell me where the girl you kidnapped is,” she snarled, adrenaline helping to keep the firearm steady on him. His nose wrinkled and he spit at her, brow furrowed.

Stubborn. Younger guys were so stubborn.

She pulled the trigger and watched his other knee explode as the bullet met his target. The man screamed and she quickly knelt down, shoving her hand over his mouth and placing the still warm barrel against his forehead. Tears leaked out his eyes, making little dirt tracks through the grime on his skin.

“Where the fuck is she?” she screamed into his face and the sound was almost inhuman, gravel and fury warping it almost into a howl.

But he only shook his head, eyes defiant. Frustrated, she stood, looking at the meat cleaver in his hand and the human leg on the table. She didn’t have time for this. Ellie was out there and the situation was worse than she thought. Not even meeting his eyes, she raised the gun and shot him in the head. He wasn’t going to give her any information.

She raced back outside through the back door she had entered, heart in her throat and a panicked scream wanting to leave her lips.

The storm was picking up as an idea hit her. If she searched each building, there was no guarantee she’d find someone with information in time. She had to draw their attention. Maybe lure them out. They had wanted Ellie alive for the moment. If she could distract them, it may buy her time.

Chewing her lip, she kneeled behind the building and swung her pack around to dig through it. Her hand wrapped around a small glass bottle that had been carefully secured in the middle of her clothes and yanked it out along with one of her old shirts. They’d been saving it for emergencies, using it to sterilize what they could, but she needed it for something else now. Her face stung from the cold wind and her hands shook, but she managed to tear cloth and shove it into the liquor bottle, saturating the fabric, before she put her pack back on and stood.

Time to make a big fucking distraction.

Blocking the wind with her hands, she lit a match and watched as the tip of the cloth burned bright with flames.

With a snarl, she tossed the molotov through the window of the next building, ducking down and watching as the flames exploded inside. Screams and shouts followed, telling her there had been people inside, and she waited for more voices to join them. Someone would investigate or come outside.

Like clockwork, a man rushed out into the cold and she gripped her bloody knife at the familiar face. One of the men that had come back with Ellie. He cursed and ran through the snow, yelling that he was going to grab the fire extinguisher next door while the others scrambled to put the flames out. She followed, quiet, lava flowing through her and teeth bared. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. 

The wind blocked any sound she made as she rushed after him into the alley and lunged, shoving him into the cold brick wall with a loud crack. She growled and grabbed his hair, gripping it tightly and smashing it into the bricks once then twice. He tried to push away and turn, but she kneed him hard in the spine, driving him to his knees. “Where is the girl?” she snarled into his ear, knife to his throat. Blood poured down an open wound on his forehead, one eye blinded by red, as he finally took in who had grabbed him, “fuck you,” “Wrong answer,” she yanked his hair and slammed it into the wall again. When he went to raise his hand to fight her, she stabbed the blade through his hand and into the ground. His screams were carried away by the wind and snow, the shouts of his group telling her they were still distracted by the fire. “The girl your group grabbed,” the words were all razors and broken glass, almost the sound of an animal snarl, “Where did you take her?” He sneered at her, trying to put on a strong front through the pain, “That bitch is probably soup by now.” She stepped on the knife, the blade so far in his hand the hilt was pressing against the back, “I can make this last a fucking lifetime. Your choice. Where-” “Please, don’t-” Frustrated, she ripped the knife out and placed the tip just inside his mouth, “Last chance. Where is she?” The tip clinked against his teeth and he hung his mouth open to avoid being cut, his beard a mess of blood and spit and green eyes wide with fear finally. She tried not to feel satisfaction as seeing that, understanding setting in for him. He lifted his bloody hand and tried to point across the street, stuttering out, “Steakhouse. The fucking steakhouse. David has her in there.” She looked at him, eye swollen, and blood coating the front of his face, clearly terrified.

Slowly, she took the blade away, watching his lips wobble with sobs and slight relief. Then she slit his throat, continuing to move behind the buildings even as his blood sprayed out and soaked her clothes and his pleas gurgled and quieted.

The steakhouse was a few more buildings down across the street, “Todd’s Steakhouse” still written on the sign out front. The storm was a blizzard now, sharp stinging snow hitting her skin and turning the blood on her into patches of ice. There were yells, panicked screams, and she wondered if they had found the bodies. If they had found the blood and chaos she had left in her wake.

But with a destination in sight, she had let her guard down and she cursed herself later on for it. Arms wrapped around her torso, crushing the rifle into her back, and she kicked at the air as she was dragged back against a brick wall.

“You fucking bitch!” Screamed into her ear and she was tossed to the ground, teeth clattering from the impact.

A kick landed in her stomach and she grunted, the air leaving her lungs, but she had enough sense to grab onto the leg and cling to it. The move caught the man off balance and he tripped, falling to the ground next to her. Her blade was somewhere in the snow and she struggled to dig around for it, sharp steel nicking her fingers as she found it only to be thrown onto her back.

The man climbed on top of her, straddling her waist, his weight so heavy and her pack on her back making the move crushing. She grit her teeth and bucked, thrashing to try and get him off of her. But he only grinned, pulling back and decking her in the face. Stars lit up behind her eyes, a high pitch ringing all she could hear as pain exploded through her head.

He pulled back to punch again and her fingers found the cold metal in the snow. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the sharp steel cut into her palm as she grabbed it by the blade instead of the hilt, and stabbed it into his lower throat. She didn’t stop, only switching to pull it out by its handle this time, and stabbed again and again, blood reigning down onto her.

With a howl, she shoved him off of her and sent a final stab into his face, snow soaking into her and pain a radiating heat. Everything hurt and it was an effort to get up and roll onto her side, staring at the decimated body next to her. 

She spit blood on him and stood. There was smoke coming from all around her, the fire having caught from the molotov and moving on building to building. Across the way, smoke could be seen from the steakhouse and she swallowed her pain, letting adrenaline carry her to the front doors. Her hands shook as she tried the handles, pulling again and again but they stayed locked and shut. Growling, she threw her shoulder into it. She was so close. She had found the place and was so close and a locked fucking door was all that was keeping her away. Her breathing was quick and frantic as she looked over the front and tried to reason that there had to be a back door or an employee entrance. Her hands skimmed the wall to try and keep upright, knowing soon the exhaustion and pain would take over, but she tried to push it back. Ellie had to be close. She needed to keep going a little bit further and then she’d get her kid and they’d go get Joel. 

Her steps stumbled and she pushed off the wall, screaming at herself to stay steady. There, she could see the back door. Plain and wooden, easy enough to shoot the lock off and get inside. With shaky fingers, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder, the weight of it almost unbearable, and took two shots to get the lock blown off. Her legs were shaky as she climbed the few steps and opened the door, smoke pouring out. She coughed and tried to wave it away, stepping inside and feeling the heat. She had taken only a few steps into the building and stopped, hearing a familiar voice. “Red?” Relief flooded her, eyes instantly filling with tears, as Ellie emerged from the smoke not too far in front of her. Ellie was there, hair a mess and half tumbling out of her ponytail, blood splattered and smeared all over her face and clothes. It took her a while to realize she was standing there, actually standing there, watching as the girl stumbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. 

Smoke and fire was all around them, but she couldn’t care because she had Ellie and they were both alive and safe now. With shaky hands, she managed to direct them back out of the building and into the cold, fresh air. Her promise rang in her ears and she whispered them out loud as she clung to the girl, “I found you. I found you. I’ll always find you.” And she had, but not quick enough. She knew that something awful had happened, that Ellie was now one step closer to being what her and Joel were. The tough exterior had crumbled away and all that was left was a shocked girl who’d had a piece of her soul cleaved away. Her nose was busted and she knew that look in her eyes, the horror and pain at doing something ugly but necessary. Ellie’s lips were shaking as she looked her over and she was so focused on the girl she almost didn’t see Joel coming around the corner. Joel, standing and whole and alive, coming towards them like Ellie was a gravity well pulling both of them towards her. His eyes met hers and the relief was bright, even if she was dripping in blood. But Ellie hadn’t noticed the shift in attention, hadn’t heard his steps, and when he went to grab her she bucked and thrashed in his arms in sheer desperation. So much like her, a wild animal fighting not to be caged. Her heart tore apart, shredded to pieces, at the painful screams then broken sobs as she realized who was holding on to her. 

Joel only kept whispering, “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.” “He- I-” she stuttered, eyes glazed and searching both of theirs. Joel held on with all his might, trying to ease her, gentle words soothing. And the girl crumbled, falling into his arms and clinging to him tightly as much as he was clinging to her. His eyes met hers and she let the exhaustion hit her and carry her towards them, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around them both. All three of them, blood soaked, finally home with each other.

______________ Feral Reader Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111

[littlexdeaths]

stage tech eddie munson x actress reader

warnings: modern!college au, lots of making out

y’all can blame this brain rot i’m currently having on a conversation i had with @rebelfell about techie eddie that ended up spawning all of this… thanks sarah for indulging me xx. 😘

also big kisses to @taintandviolent and @uglypastels for giving this a look over for me <3

“hey— sweetheart. you’re gonna miss your cue.”

eddie all but mumbles against your lips as you pull him in even closer, your bodies wedged between the heavy stage curtains.

“don’t care,” you reply almost breathlessly, allowing your lips to trail over his neck.

you are no longer interested in listening for the inevitable call of ‘veronica?’ to leave barb’s microphone. the music begins to swell just as you are supposed to rush out on stage to finish off the opening number.

while robin was initially supposed to help you with your quick change, when you rushed off stage you were surprised (and delighted) to find eddie in her place instead. the male gave you a cheeky grin as he had your blazer and skirt combo draped over his arm.

but the way his eyes continued to linger a little too long on your half naked figure once you slipped your costume up over your head— would only spell out trouble for both of you.

which was how you ended up half-dressed, blue blazer dangling off your shoulder and your lips smashed against his own. his hands tug you inevitably closer, rings digging into the meat of your hips while he effectively steals the air from your lungs.

your fingers grip tightly onto the cotton of his black t-shirt, feeling the heat radiating from his chest beneath the worn fabric. your lips eagerly drag across the thick skin of his throat, sucking harsh bruises onto the pale skin there.

this had been building for weeks— it had all started when eddie had offered to help you with your scene work. the male almost too eager to have you in his lap, grinding on him while you belted out the lyrics to dead girl walking.

but he’d had his eye on you from the moment you walked into that first rehearsal, all bright eyed and giddy. the more he saw you blossom under the glow of the stage lights, the more he wanted to call you his. little did he know that you felt the same way, despite your initial reservations.

the cast and crew should never mix— that’s what you were always told.

however your eyes would always seek out his lanky figure in the light booth during rehearsals. and you’d ‘accidentally’ leave your prop package of red vines out for him to steal, just to have an excuse to go up to booth to see him. only for him to hold them hostage above your head, dimples on full display as you fought to get them back.

but when you had to kiss your on stage JD— all you could think about how much better his lips would feel slotted against yours. and eddie can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him after you receive some feedback that the passion between you and jonathan was less than stellar.

but that low burning jealousy would rear it’s ugly head when you steadily began to improve.

wanton hands would paw at each other hungrily, those once dull kisses becoming increasingly more passionate with each rehearsal. and that blissful expression that flitted over your features while you gazed into the warmth of jonathan’s eyes has eddie crumbling the pages of his script beneath his fists.

but if this sudden improvement was because you were picturing eddie during your scenes together, no one was the wiser.

the mutual pining between you was palpable and downright maddening, to everyone involved in the production. so if some of them began to scheme a little behind the scenes to bring you two together, neither of you were aware of this recent development.

but everything finally come to a head with the culmination of what your cast mates so lovingly called, hell week. with the stress of opening night looming over your head, and the ever mounting tension between you two— it didn’t take much for your remaining resolve to crumble.

so when he gave you that look, all bets were off.

when eddie desperately tugs your mouth back to his, any worries that you shouldn’t be getting involved with one of your crew members is thrown out the window with each heated press of his lips. you can taste the lingering cigarette on his tongue and you’re engulfed in the musky, spicy scent that is so distinctly eddie when he reaches up to cup your cheek in his palm.

you are so wrapped up in each other that you don’t notice when the music stops abruptly and the burst of confused chatter erupts on the stage. eddie just pulls you in closer, eagerly swallowing the small whine that leaves your lips. the two of you only manage to pull apart when you hear nancy’s annoyed voice ringing out from behind the curtains.

“where the hell is veronica?”

you are a flurry of limbs and fabric as you struggle to pull on the rest of your costume, eddie’s rings accidentally getting caught in your hair during the process. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead in a silent apology before pushing you toward the bright lights of the stage.

you subtly wipe the gloss that was smeared across the corner of your mouth when you rush back out from behind the curtains. unaware that your blazer was buttoned incorrectly in your haste to finish dressing.

“sorry! costume malfunction! can we run it from the bridge?” you ask innocently.

nancy gives you a disapproving look from her stage manager’s seat, flipping the pages of her script back with a raised brow. you’re just thankful the director wasn’t here for this run through— or you’d have your ass chewed out for missing your big entrance.

“alright from the top of the bridge people, places!” she calls.

everyone utters a ‘thank you places’, while you duck back behind the curtain to get into position.

you can feel how flushed you are, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. whether that was from the way his lips were pressed against your own or the melting warmth of the stage lights, was hard to say. but you manage to catch his eye as he makes his way past you and the male can’t help but grin despite himself.

“don’t miss that cue again, sweet thing.” he teases, giving your ass a little pat before continuing on his way back towards the light booth.

[heartfeltcherie]

i had this idea pop into my head a couple nights ago and i finally put it into words! hope u all enjoy <33

wc 662

☾. °.   ࿐  ` , •

yet another meeting.

charlie had gathered everyone in the hotel’s lounge area for a rundown of new team building exercises that she wanted to explain to everyone. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested in helping out, you were.

it was just the fact that the couch cushions you were currently sat on were providing the utmost comfort and it also wasn’t helping that you were trying not to nod off in between sentences — you swear you closed your eyes at “trust fall exercises” and opened them back up at “writing out your feelings is also important”

and then there was the red radio demon you were sat beside.

alastor.

everyone feared his presence, wouldn’t dare to even look in his direction. but the way he was with everyone else, he wasn’t the same way towards you. you didn’t know how to describe it; sitting beside him right now, you felt a sort of… warmth. and of course with that usual smile he has plastered on his face, you don’t know which emotion he’s feeling.

but it doesn’t make you wanna run away and hide. instead, you feel contentment. you feel safe next to him, even though you know that he could have you dead in cold blood within seconds.

and this is perhaps the fifth time he’s watched you, out of the corners of his eyes, nod off for what seems like five seconds, only to almost jolt awake again in what seems like… panic? oh you poor little thing.

“you know, cher” he’s not even focused on charlie’s tangent anymore, instead on you, the tired little doe that can barely keep her eyes open. he still keeps his eyes trained forward. “if you’re feeling so out of sorts, i could provide you with a tad bit more comfort, if you truly desired” his voice is a low whisper, careful not to disturb the other hotel stayers as he’d rather not bring attention to the fact that he maybe cares about someone. how preposterous.

you look up at alastor through your tired eyes. he has one leg crossed over the other, his hands resting on his kneecap — you think he looks so handsome sitting this close to you. he meets your gaze with a turn of his head, careful not to cause such a commotion as he glances between you and his shoulder.

oh?

it’s a very sweet gesture. especially coming from the radio demon himself because you know he hates when people invade his privacy. and even though you’ve always wondered what it’s like to fully be in his touch…

you’re scared, shy, all of the above.

and you think the dust of pink on your cheeks gives it all away.

“no need to get so bashful on me, sweetheart, it’s just a simple gesture. besides i can’t have a belle like you being exhausted all day, now can i, hm?”

alastor trains his focus back towards charlie as you shyly take his offer, slowly laying your head down on his suit-clad shoulder and it’s… very cozy, you decide. the small amount of contact feels very serene as you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. and god forbid anyone looks in your direction, otherwise you probably wouldn’t hear the end of it. especially angel dust who’s been bugging you about your little crush on the radio demon.

you decide to go a bit further and link your arm around his, only for a bit more warmth your mind declares is the perfect excuse while your heart fluttering in your tummy, watching for any disapproval alastor has. but he shows none. it’s the greatest feeling in the world to be this close to him. you shouldn’t get used to this… but god, do you want to, so bad.

“you gonna put me to bed too after this?” you whisper jokingly in alastor’s ear, seeing his ear twitch just the slightest. how can an overlord be this adorable?

“don’t push your luck, cher”

please reblog/comment if you enjoyed my work, it’s greatly appreciated ♡

[carmenberzattosgf]

the long awaited spanking fic

Content warnings: dom/sub dynamics, heavy spanking

I cannot get the brain rot for this out of my head. I was going to write a full fic for it first that includeded subspace but imma just do a spanking blurb for now to free myself from the thoughts… so basically stay tuned for this to be expanded

You did the thing that pisses off Carmy the most. You talked back to him during service in front of everyone. It was over something stupid, really, but your stubbornness got the best of you. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. The look on Carmen’s face was enough to shut you up for the rest of the night.

The car ride home is silent, dead silent. Carmy hasn’t said a word to you at all, and you don’t dare try and talk to him. You’re well aware you screwed up. You just aren’t sure what he’s going to do with you.

Carmy remains wordless as he parks the car in front of his apartment and heads to his door. You follow quickly behind him, watching as he digs in his pocket for his keys. Once he gets the door open, he walks straight to the couch to sit down, expecting you to close the door and lock up for him.

As soon as Carmy hears the lock click, he speaks in a firm, unwavering tone from where he sits on the couch. “Take off your clothes.”

His tone sends chills down your spine. He’s really fucking pissed. You walk towards him, standing right in front of the couch. “Carm, I’m—“ you begin to apologize, but Carmen doesn’t let you finish talking.

“I’m not going to repeat myself. Take them off. Now.”

“Y-yes, sir.” You remove your clothes as fast as you possibly can, not wanting to make him wait. You watch as Carmy sits up straight on the couch, slightly parting his knees.

“Bend over my lap,” he commands. Your legs move quickly as you bend over on his lap with your eyes facing the ground. His left hand hooks around your waist to steady you. His right hand rests right above your ass, lightly soothing the skin. “You were bad today. Talked back to me in front of everyone.”

“I’m sorry, Carmy. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fucking obvious you weren’t thinking. How can I expect those people to listen to me when my own girlfriend won’t do what I ask of her? You know better than that. I’ve taught you better.”

“It’ll never happen again. I promise.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of that. You’re going to learn your lesson. I’m giving you fifteen spanks.”

“Fifteen?” you audibly gasp at the number. He has never punished you with so many spanks. The max before had always been less than ten.

“And you’re going to count every single one of them. If you mess up, I’ll add another one. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Not even wasting a second, Carmy’s hand strikes your ass. He’s not starting off easy. “Shit! O-one.” The next two spanks come one after another, hitting at different spots. Your body jolts in his grasp from the impact of each hit. “Two. Three.”

Carmy doesn’t give you time to think in between the strikes of his hand. Each one comes down harder than the one before it. The only sounds in the room are your strangled whines and the sound of his hand against your ass. You manage to count pretty well at first, but it gets harder as the heat between your legs increases.

“Are you getting wet right now?” He says before spanking you once more.

“t-ten.” It’s all you can say. Stringing together a sentence seems impossible.

“Are you already so stupid you can’t count and answer my question?” Carmy’s hand grips your raw skin as he spreads your legs to see for himself. He scoffs when he sees the wetness pooling between your legs, starting to make a wet spot on his pants. “You’re fucking dripping. You’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you? Even my hands spanking you turns you on.”

He hits your ass twice in quick succession in the exact same spot. You cry out from the impact. Your skin is throbbing. “Eleven— Carm, please.” You beg, not quite sure what you’re asking.

“That was twelve. I guess you can’t even count right anymore. Now, I’m going up to sixteen.”

You tremble in his lap, holding onto his legs with a death grip. At this point, he’s lightened up on the force behind his hand. Carmy also directs some of the strikes on your upper thigh to give your ass a break. It’s completely raw from the spankings, red and pulsing with heat. You’re barely holding on when he delivers the last strike.

“S-s-sixteen—“ you gasp. Tears run down your cheeks as Carmy rubs the skin of your upper back.

“You did good, baby. You took that so well. Such a good girl. You just needed a little punishment to remind you who you listen to, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I’m so s-sorry Carm. I didn’t mean to make you so mad,” you speak through sobs. “I-I shouldn’t have done that I’m so sorry—“

“Shhh—baby. Calm down. I’m not mad at you anymore. You made a mistake and got punished for it. It’s all okay now. You don’t have to apologize again. I know you didn’t mean to upset me. Let me help you sit up, yeah? Need to see your face.”

With Carmy’s help, you sit up in his lap to face him. His hands cup your face, wiping the tears away with this thumbs. You get emotional in times like this, especially when Carmy looks at you with such adoration like he is right now. “I love you, Carm.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Can I take care of you now? I wanna make it all feel better.”

“Please. P-please. Need it,” you beg, feeling the his hard cock underneath you.

“I’ve gotcha. I’ll take care of you.”

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

Yeah im sorry for leaving this here but i gotta have room to expand on this idea later. Hehehe so expect a more full length one shot with all of this once again and more soon!!

[octoberautumnbox]

Orange-Tinted Sunset

Kiss of Life Belle & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of alcohol n bein drunk, technically not cheating but also sorta close enough idk u be the :jujj:

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: another prompt fic! based on kiof's Nothing i swear im on hiatus lmao but here it is! thanks to @mintwithchoco for prompt and hosting! as well as @sinswithpleasure for beta and @0cta9on for saying i was good at everything so i crode strove to prove em wrong lmao

~~~

The nightclub spun around you, the alcohol clouding your thinking and doubling your vision. A strange feeling set in–you really were a guppy in a small pond. Whatever roaring applause you got from the crowd after that impromptu karaoke bout was nothing compared to the girl that came next. You can’t even work up the energy to be mad; her voice is the single most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard, flowing through the air and filling up every silence in the world, and it doesn’t help one bit that everyone else thought so too.

Her name, just her name. You wouldn't mind going home with nothing to show for the whole weekend as long as you knew what she was called–you have to know. Against every single ounce of common sense you have left, you walk up to her, calling in every favor from the universe you’ve saved up until this point. “H-hey,” you stumble, clearly more nervous than you should be. 

She turns around, and as her hair settles onto her back, she replies, “Oh, hi. Can I help you?” Her smile lights up your world, and you gain confidence and lose it again just as quickly. She’s gorgeous too, and how could you live with yourself if you fucked up with a girl like this again? 

And you realize you’re staring. “Hi,” you start again, “sorry, I, uhh, you killed it up there. Best I've heard in a while.” Pardon yourself for the understatement; she was exceptional. Stop yourself from saying more; she’s probably already heard everything you want to tell her. 

All she does is giggle in response, and you swear you’re face-to-face with a goddess. You slip, so just fall deeper and remember to blame the alcohol later on, “I mean it. You’re like nothing I’ve heard before. Can I ask for your name?” 

Her face sours almost imperceptibly, but your nerves don’t let you miss it. She holds back a grimace, but ultimately, she replies, “It’s Belle. Sorry, is that all? I have to go soon.” She shifts in her chair, no doubt trying to escape the situation, and it dawns on you you might look worse than you feel. 

“Y-yeah, that’s all. I actually wanted to buy you a drink, maybe. One musician to another. You were amazing.” Your voice holds together for the most part, but it doesn’t change her demeanor. 

“Thank you, it’s just…” she hesitates, breathing deep, “whatever this is, I don’t want to get involved. You’re nice, but I just… I can’t handle anything else right now.” The discomfort leaves her features as a quiet sadness replaces it. You’re no expert, but even a dunce like you could tell she was tired more than anything else. 

“No worries, I respect it. I’ll leave you alone.” It’s strange how you feel the lightheadedness drifting away and your senses coming back, almost like you’ve saved up quite a bit of good karma to ground yourself like this. Debatable, but you still have enough sense in you to offer, “Here’s my number, no hard feelings if you throw it away. I at least wanna buy you some nachos tonight as thanks for that gorgeous song. Good night, Belle,” before paying for them and ultimately heading for the door, above all trying in vain to forget about her. 

~~~

It’s familiar in two ways, being hungover at noon, sitting in a restaurant too fancy for what you’d ever typically be found dead in. On one hand, it reminds you of one of the best days of your life–your beloved sat across from you in a simple floral sundress while you shared a brunch of French toast and orange juice. 

“Thanks for coming out,” Belle said in a tiny voice, “I'm sorry about last night. I want to get to know you better.” She offers you a pancake, and once you accept she deposits it onto your plate, followed by a just-right helping of maple syrup. 

You try to avoid sounding humble, but there’s no other way to put it. “There's not much to know, really. I just came here on a whim. Needed to get away from it all, broaden my horizons. Us singers just gotta, you know? If I didn't, I'd never have found you.” 

“I hear you. I'm here to take a step back too. Things became too much to handle recently,” she relates as she takes careful bites of her cereal. For the first time since last night, you see each other's eyes, and a kindred spirit in you pulls on your heartstrings. It's an unspoken pain that's anything but obvious, and yet you see it in each other as clear as day. 

“Fucking exes, right?” the pair of you say in unison. A hearty laugh escapes both of you, and afterwards the pancakes slide down a bit easier. 

Belle calms herself first, “So you get how I was last night. I'm sorry, none of it was your fault.” You offer her a napkin and pour her another cup of ginseng tea, which she sips with an ethereal sort of grace once she finishes talking.

“Of course. I'm sorry too,” you sigh, picking at your scrambled eggs, “but at least we're recovering. I'm actually itching to write a new song once my hangover clears.”

“Me too, it’s just so freeing to let my feelings out onto songs. Plus all it costs is a pen and paper–much cheaper than therapy,” she agrees.

On the other hand…

~~~

“Blue palm trees?” she giggles. “What does that mean?”

The waves lap idly at your feet, scattering sand over your toes and hers. The calming ocean breeze washes over the both of you and weakly ruffles the paper she easily holds.

“It's called a hook, Belle. It captures the audience's attention, you should know this shit” you jab, drawing out more of her laughter. “Just let me be, okay? I'm the one with the pencil.”

She settles again, “Okay, okay, fine,” and sits back up straight. Another wave washes the sand away from the tops of your feet, dragging them back to the depths of the sea. In a split-second of feeling the grains slide off your skin and away with the water, you feel deep inside that maybe it'll be easier to walk again. 

“You know,” she starts gently, “this isn't too bad. I came here determined to grow stronger, but I don't feel any different–just more of what I was before. And weirdly…” Belle pauses, taking a short glance at you, meeting your eyes.

You can't help it; she's just that beautiful. The orange-tinted sunset behind her offers her a halo of warmth and sincerity, and it captivates your whole being to be able to spend a moment like this again, when the world is just right, especially with her. The waterline reaches up to your soles once more, tickling the both of you and sprinkling new grains between your toes before drawing back and taking the old away. 

“... Weirdly,” you continue for her, “I'm okay with that.” Your eyes never leave hers, and she stays, too. It takes a moment of serenity for you to finally let yourself think that this might be something more, that maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world to stay with a girl like her. 

It takes a moment of serenity for you, but it seems like forever in an instant. Memories rush back like the ocean soaks the shoreline, swapping old sand with new, but you could never, can never, tell the difference. It's the same grains washing your feet, slipping between your toes, embedding themselves in your life so well that random moments like this bring you to the past when you least expect it. It reminds you of a history you'd give anything to forget: walking on a beach like this with a girl you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with–to an extent, you still do. How could you fuck up with a girl like that?

~~~

It's the worst gamble the both of you could take, and deep inside you knew there was no winning this. You felt it in your bones, from the beach to the elevator up until before you burst through her door with her, but the feeling is gone now, and for sure it’s gone for her too.  

“Mmm, just like that,” she whispers straight into your ear. You swear you’ve never tasted anything as sweet as the sweat on her neck, so much so that you never want your lips to leave her. She pulls you closer as if she could, maybe only decreasingly aware that her back was up against the wall and that even grains of sand couldn’t breathe in the space between you two. 

It takes no time at all, and you find yourself laid back and vulnerable on her mattress. Belle towers over you, straddling to keep you in place, as if you’d go anywhere. In a flash her shirt leaves her, then her shorts, and finally her underwear haphazardly thrown to the floor. Your own clothes follow even less ceremoniously, letting nothing get in the way of the woman of your dreams. 

“Fuck, that’s good…” she says as she lowers herself onto your length. You relish in the feeling of sliding into her, pushing her walls apart all the while lewd confessions spill from her lips. Your hands find her hips and you grip her tight, guiding her up and down as she bounces on your cock, “You’re so fucking tight, Belle…” while she places her hands on your chest to support herself as she takes you inside her over and over again, “I can’t get enough of you… I need you so bad…” losing yourself in her love. 

It’s the simplest thing to grab her wrists like this, to throw her onto the bed and fuck her yourself. She hits the mattress with a quiet thud, and without even a moment of respite you force everything into her again. 

“Gnnhhh, shit, it’s so good, you’re so good…” she gasps and grunts with every thrust like it knocks the air out of her each time. The bed creaks under the two of you: she tries to pull you close again, so you indulge her and meet her where she is to kiss. Amidst your tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, she moans like her life depends on it, “Yes, yes, oh my god, yes–” 

It’s the easiest thing to get lost in a girl like her. She’s perfect in every way you can think of–a smile to die for, a heart to protect, a body to worship. Each moment you bottom out in her, a spark goes off between your lips and hers, and it only pulls you in deeper, pulls you away farther from where you are. There’s nothing else to think about when you’re with a girl like this except her name and the way her body feels on yours. It’s so dreadfully incessant, unceasing in your head, that you thank your lucky stars you’re able to hold back most of your moans: Yuna, Yuna, Yuna, “Yuna…”

~~~

The sun blazes through the window and straight onto your eyelids, jolting you awake. The bed creaks as you bounce slightly on the mattress, your mind rushing to find your bearings, when right beside you, Belle stirs but then promptly falls back asleep. 

A grave sense of guilt overtakes you, clawing from the pit of your stomach all the way up to the back of your throat. There's nothing to say to her, nothing to do, and you know it. How could you fuck up with a girl like this? 

Your phone's alarm rings on a far-off table. Rush over to it, careful but quick so Belle doesn't wake. You knock over an ottoman in the process, but you're able to turn it off in time. Then it hits you: your flight leaves in a couple hours. There's no more time to think–gather your clothes and rush back to your own hotel. 

“Hour and a half,” you think, “more than enough time to repack and go.” Your door crashes open and you heave your suitcase onto the bed, haphazardly throwing everything you own back into it. The zipper disagrees with you for a moment until you finally bend it to your will, albeit threatening its life in the process.

The cabbie drives as fast as he can legally go for you, apparently already knowing the protocol, and people and buildings whizz past in a giant blur. He drops you off soon enough, and with only minutes to spare and the gate calling you over the intercom, you board your plane. The cold of the seat comforts you and calms your nerves, and once the hurried energy leaves your body, all that's left is fatigue that demands to be addressed. 

You scarcely notice the window beside you beyond pulling it shut. The cushions aren't as comfy as your bedding from the night before, but you can't attempt to complain in a state like this. You don't even feel your train of thought slipping away…

~~~

You’ve put it off long enough, the anxiety rending the lining of your stomach. In between your own calls and texts to Yuna you find yourself on the receiving end of the restlessness of your endlessly repeating ringtone and text notifications. You wait another few seconds to make sure she’s done, even tossing your phone onto your old bed to fetch a glass of water, before picking it back up and seeing the same number of messages. It's time. 

hey, where'd you go? Belle, 8:46 AM

it's a nice song, I'll send it over in a bit. call me? Belle, 8:50 AM

I'm at the restaurant again lol come on over Belle, 9:02 AM

you're really gonna make me miss you huh? hahaha Belle, 9:33 AM

*2 missed calls*

this isn't funny. pick up Belle, 10:14 AM

*2 missed calls*

you're serious? so last night was nothing to you? Belle, 11:15 AM

*1 missed call*

wow, what a fucking piece of shit you are Belle, 11:17 AM

*4 missed calls*

is it something i said?  Belle, 2:46 PM

let's just talk Belle, 3:30 PM

*2 missed calls*

just tell me what I did wrong please, I told you I can't handle this Belle, 3:37 PM

*8 missed calls*

don't do this to me Belle, 5:47 PM

*1 missed call*

fine asshole i don’t need you and fuck your song. Belle, 7:15 PM

don’t ever call me. Belle, 8:40 PM

The screen dims under your command. Your phone flies off into the folds of your bed once more, granting you your last moment of control. Belle finally stopped, and Yuna never made herself heard. At least one of you moved on.

You stand in your cold, empty bedroom, in the same dingy apartment you tried leaving behind. The same torn-up pages are scattered across the floor, the same stains on the carpet are there to step around, the same picture framed flipped down to hide the old photograph inside like grains of sand getting swept back up to you no matter how hard you try washing them away.

“It's another bottle tonight,” you decide in no time at all. Pull a cold one from the fridge, ignore the other bottles strewn across the room, take a seat at your desk. The lamp buzzes to life, and another sheet finds itself under your pen. 

They never meet. 

~~~

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 3

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 3.6k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The fight with Number 12 is exhausting, but Hoshina Soshiro emerges victorious. 

Not that he had any doubt (lies, what a fuckin’ lie, cos there was a point where he thought he’d drop dead from exhaustion, because Number 12 really was the new improved Number 10, who’d damn near run him into the ground), but other than the fact that he’d very much like to curl up in his bunk and sleep for the next week, he is pleased with himself. 

He wonders a little about the choice of location of Number 12’s appearance. Chofu airport is outside of central Tokyo, mostly suburban other than the circle of industrial Izumo Tech buildings a few streets down which he’s too familiar with (you come to mind, but he dismisses that thought immediately), but evacuation efforts seemed relatively complete, so he doesn’t pay any of this a second thought.

Because, of course, Number 9 tries to get its dirty paws on Captain Mina Ashiro. And, as everyone knows, if Captain Mina Ashiro is absorbed by Number 9, so too with her would be the rest of Japan’s hopes of withstanding the kaiju threat. 

Hoshina Soshiro therefore has no space in his mind to deal with anything but that.

By the end of the entire ordeal with Number 9, he can barely prop his eyelids up. He has reports to make, the casualties in his division to account for, troops to rally because the kaiju threat is never over, they’ll hit exactly when his back is turned. The Captain deserves a break with all that she’s gone through today, so it’s his time to step up and support her wherever he can. 

Still, he sneaks a look at his phone. 

 <stay safe>  <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>  <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

He’s tempted to respond, but tells himself that he has no time to. It’s not that he’s avoiding you deliberately. Things have been hectic, and you wanted distance, hadn’t you, to give your friendship breathing space, let it recover from any awkwardness that lingers. It feels strange, being bereft of you these past few months. His fingers draft texts to you before his brain catches up to remind him that he needs to stay away from you. He wanders about the base on his days off, tracing an aimless circuit between his room, the gym and his desk, burying himself in paperwork and relentless training.

He tells himself this is how it should be. Duty never stops its call. 

“Okonogi san, report on any casualties in the area.”

“Mostly clear”, she reports. “Most civilians managed to clear out with the help of the Japan Ground Self Defense Force.” 

He closes his eyes in relief, though there’s still a prickling feeling of unease. “What about the Izumo Tech buildings?” 

He recalls blowing right through some of the buildings in the compound, blasting through concrete, leaving nothing but rubble behind. Surely no one remained in those buildings. 

“Mm”, Okonogi hesitates. “We can’t say for certain but rescue workers said they may have had some people trapped in the wreckage.’

It’s not his purview to concern himself with rescue efforts when his speciality is to fight and exterminate monsters. So he returns to base, doles out back slaps and hi fives to his officers, especially his baby ducklings, as he teasingly names his latest batch of recruits, swallows perfectly marbled beef courtesy of Izumo-kun, which reminds him - 

“I may have knocked down some of your family’s buildings in a fight”, he jokes. “Send the bill to Number 12 instead of me though, a vice captain’s paycheck won’t cut it.” 

Instead of laughing at his joke, Haruichi remains pensieve. “Last I heard, a couple of our employees were being dug out of those buildings”, he says somberly. 

Soshiro forgets how to breathe. 

“There were people in those buildings?” he demands. 

“Not everyone left when the evacuation signal went off”, Haruichi replies. “Apparently some people got trapped in the weapon forge -”

His body reacts before Haruichi has a chance to finish. He doesn’t bother if he makes a scene by shooting to his feet, racing outside the mess hall to punch your number into his phone. “Pick up, damnit”, he snarls, pacing outside, pinching his nose bridge because his calls go unanswered, your phone isn’t even connected to the network - 

Perhaps you just dropped your phone in the chaos. There’s no way you’re still stuck there. You should’ve been smart enough to run at the first sign of trouble -

“Vice Captain, do you want me to check -” 

He blurts out your name. Bless Izumo Haruichi who springs into action without asking questions. 

“Hey, nii-san - yeah, look, could you help me look into something?” 

He’s probably overreacting. For all he knows, you’re warm and snug in your bed in your cramped apartment, not buried beneath tons of burnt concrete and twisted pillars. Now, in the valley of despair, he admits what he’s always known - he misses you dearly, has felt the loss of your easy friendship over the last few months, mourned the absence of your laughter and smiles. 

It hurts enough to miss you. It’s unbearable to even consider he might never see you again. 

“Yeah”, Haruichi says, face dropping. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

His blood goes cold. 

“They pulled her out of the wreckage a while ago. She’s undergoing surgery right now.” 

For the first time in his life, he rails against his duty. He can’t leave his post, but the Captain orders him to go when she catches him harassing the hospital staff with endless calls throughout the night, asking only that he return before sunrise. It’s three quarters of an hour, maybe less if he floors the car he borrowed, weaving through kaiju decimated streets. 

He’s listed as one of your emergency contacts, probably because the rest of your family’s hours away in Osaka, so the doctors fill him in on your condition, even though he’s not family. 

Bones broken, by concrete crushing your body. Right side covered in burns, from a fire spread through the wreckage. Internal bleeding, probably a severe concussion, and they’re not sure your body will withstand the combined damage from all your injuries. 

“Too soon to tell”, the doctors shake their heads. “We’ll keep you updated.” 

Soshiro wants to punch the walls. Instead, he clenches his teeth. “Please do”, he replies tightly. 

There is nothing he can do but go back to base and wait. 

The hospital probably would put him on a blacklist if it weren’t the aftermath of a national emergency considering the way he bombards them every morning and night with calls to check on your status. You go through skin grafts for your burns, and he promptly loses his mind with worry when they tell him you’re on severe antibiotics to fight off the infections. Two nights ago, the doctors called him to say that they’re wheeling you back into surgery, having detected the source of bleeding in your stomach, and after another long sleepless night, all they can tell him is that they hope your condition should stabilise eventually. 

He’s on the verge of raising his voice to tell them to shove their half baked updates up their ass, when he remembers it’s not their fault you’re lying unmoving and broken in a narrow hospital bed. 

(it’s his) 

(he did this to you)

When they finally give him the okay to visit, he rushes to your side late at night with leave from the Captain, who merely reminds him not to break the speed limit. It’s past visiting hours but the nurses know better than to get in his way as he throws open the door to your room. 

You’re hooked up to machines which pump your lungs full of air, bruised and puffy and wholly unrecognisable under bone white bandages that wrap around most of your right side. You’re so still and unmoving that - if not for the beep of the machine registering your heart beat - 

He’s not going to finish that train of thought. He’s not. 

“Hey”, he breathes. He doesn’t dare touch you, lest you shatter. 

He stays by your bedside the entire night, slouched in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. “My week’s been awful”, he tells her. “It’s been hell trying to cobble together reports about what happened in the fight with Number 12. Plus, we have to rebuild our division and our base, so everyone’s running on fumes.” 

He talks and talks until the sun rises, and he gets up to go. 

“Don’t sleep for too long”, he says, and adds softly. “Stay safe, please.” 

The next day off he has, he returns, a large bouquet of flowers in tow. Your parents are there, finally able to make the trek from Osaka, almost impossible after the shinkansen schedules were disrupted and the highways unpassable. But they’re here, and though they look at him in askance, they quietly thank him for looking after you.

He wonders what they’ll say if they find out it was him who buried you deep in the ground. He’s too much of a coward to confess this to them when you might not wake up to see them again. 

He can’t quite put his finger on why, but he’s always been sure your mother dislikes him. Her smile, when directed at him, is too tight. She insists on you addressing him as the “young master” instead of his given name, which he prefers, and now, she laments the fact that it’s him who’s come to visit you instead of ‘that lovely Yamamoto-kun who sent those nice flowers’, when the door closes behind him. 

It’s a little petty, but he sends an even bigger bouquet of blooms a few days later, making sure to sign his name on an exceptionally large gift card. 

More information comes in on his fight with Number 12. He flips immediately to the section on civilian casualties, of which there are thankfully fewer than expected, though there’s a brief section on employees trapped in the Izumo Tech compound, of particular note because of its national security significance, though it states that several weapons technicians managed to retrieve a substantial amount of tech (specifically, blades) before the building came down on them. 

His stomach turns. He has to dash to the toilet, the taste of vomit burning acid in his mouth. 

The recruits all mutter why Vice Captain Hoshina’s in such a foul mood, forcing them to run laps for the most minor of infractions during training. He’s rude to the doctors when he calls them at night, claiming they still can’t be certain if you’re going to pull through, and even if you do, they also can’t say for sure that you’ll ever open your eyes again. 

Unable to sleep, he takes his frustration out on the training room. 

“Vice Captain.”

He snaps into a salute. “At ease, it’s after hours”, Mina Ashiro takes a seat beside him. “Staying up late to train?” 

“Yes, ma’am”, he replies. It’s the only thing that keeps his mind clear from worries. His sleep is marred by nightmares, his body unable to relax, anticipating the call from the hospital that he fears will inevitably come. 

“You were just doing your job”, she tells him. 

Despite the dark cloud he’s found himself trapped in this past week, his lips can’t help but quirk up at his Captain knowing exactly what’s on his mind. “I know”, he replies simply. “Still.” 

“Strictly off the record”, Mina says. “I’d behave exactly like you if it were Kafka in that hospital bed.” 

“Pretty sure it’ll take a nuclear bomb to take out Hibino-san but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Hmm”, Mina hums. She’s a woman of few words, so it’s rare that she seeks him out for a conversation on anything that isn’t work related. “Do you ever wonder if we’re too focused on our jobs?”

“With due respect, Captain”, he replies. “That’s probably how we’ve managed to stay alive.” 

“Yes”, she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But sometimes I think we forget what we do this all for.” 

 “And if I may be so bold”, he ventures. “What do you do this all for?” 

“When I was eight, a kaiju attacked my hometown. It wasn’t very large, now in hindsight, but it was large enough to destroy my childhood home, horrible enough to kill my cat.”

“So you resolved to grow up and be the best sniper the Defense Force had ever seen.” 

Mina chuckles. “I don’t think my eight year old self even knew how to be so ambitious.” Her expression sobers. “No, I just never wanted to see my parents cry again.” 

“It seems you’ve achieved your goal.” 

“Have I?” she asks, pulling at her hair absentmindedly. “I haven’t been back to visit my parents in years. I didn’t even keep in touch with Kafka despite us being close friends who grew up together. Yes, maybe in the grand scheme of things, I’ve kept the wider public safe - but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lost years of friendship, I’ve lost time I could’ve spent with the people I love.” 

“And you’re saying I’m the same?” 

Mina’s smile is serene. “It’s for you to decide that.”

She lets him ponder on her words in solitude, closing the door to the training room behind her. 

He still remembers the day he met you. 

You’re hiding behind a pillar, dressed in your kimono the same shade of blue as the hydrangeas that bloom in June. The presence of someone his age watching him spar spurs him on, makes him want to show off everything he’s got and give Sochiro a good fight. He’s convinced that the fight pushed Sochiro hard enough to grab you as a distraction from the fact that he’s actually being challenged by his younger brother. 

He doesn’t care if Sochiro’s bullying ways are directed at him. But when he makes you cry, he intervenes without thinking, even though it results in being beaten black and blue. 

But you look at him with stars in your eyes. “You’re amazing”, you tell him. For the first time in his life, Soshiro Hoshina believes that he is strong. 

It’s a cliche, but it’s easier to bear his older brother’s bullying and teasing if you’re there to spur him on with your cheerful words. You’ve always been in his corner, always happy to make a fuss over him, ooh and aah over every new move he learns, making him feel seen when everyone else’s attention is always focused on Sochiro, his more brilliant, gifted older brother

(to be seen is to be loved) 

You’ve supported him through every rainy day, every snowy day, every day of his life since his childhood, making it your life goal to craft the swords he wields. “I’ll make the sharpest blade so you can go be the best swordsman in the world!” you promised him, and so you have. You took up your family’s craft despite being but a slip of a girl, spending hours in the choking heat to learn a dying craft. You worked with an unerring focus in school, first to get into the country’s top engineering course, then graduating with flying colours to land a job at Izumo Tech, spending years subsisting on cup noodles and energy drinks. 

He’s never once even considered the toll it must’ve taken on you, the sacrifice of any semblance of a social life, the sacrifice of leaving Osaka, the comfortable cocoon of your family and friends to follow him to Tokyo. He’s ashamed to admit that he never gave any of this any thought, never really considered what it was like for you, only taking what you were too happy to give, your attention, your time. Every choice you’ve made, you’ve only made for him.  

And how has he repaid you? 

By running away when you admitted to feeling more than friendship for him. He convinced himself at the time with the excuse that he’s too busy, he really has no space in his life for anything but work and the art of the sword. It is all he’s lived and breathed for his entire life. 

But now - 

Now that he’s on the cusp of losing you, he thinks about the sun in your smile, the steel in your spine. He thinks about how much he admires your work ethic, your talent, your warmth and kindness. He remembers how much your friendship chased away the shadows of his self doubts, how you helped shoulder the burdens of chasing his dreams. 

Every rest day he gets to spend off-base, he chooses to spend it with you. Either at a cafe, which you always let him pick, allowing him to satisfy the cravings of his sweet tooth, or in the cramped apartment you call home, indulging in a fizzy can of beer as he talks your ear off about everything and nothing at once. With you, he can be Soshiro Hoshina without pretence, because there’s nothing about him that you haven’t seen. 

He’d ignored that twinge in his chest when you asked about getting yourself a boyfriend, fighting the urge to blurt out that he doesn’t think there’s a guy out there good enough to deserve you. So much so that he buries his relief when you admit that you’re not actually dating anyone by flippantly downplaying how much you mean to him, giving you instead the impression that you’re only worth as much as your usefulness to him. 

No wonder you’d been avoiding him. He didn’t even give you a chance to lick your wounds in private, cornering you, pressing you until you reveal your feelings for him. He’s so thrown by your confession that he reacts by running and hiding, doesn’t spend the time to unpack how he truly feels, doesn’t spare a thought for how you might feel, having your feelings thrown in your face so cruelly. 

How had he been this stupid? 

Worse yet, it’s his fault you’re fighting for your life in a narrow hospital bed. Collateral damage is unfortunately part and parcel of kaiju extermination, he knows that, but he was having fun swinging his sword, never thinking that he might be the cause of you never opening your eyes again. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve the chance to look you in the eye, never mind stand by your side. 

Your mother makes that clear the next time their paths cross that she’s of the same view. She’s stiffly polite, as if too painfully reminded that she has to be cordial to the second son of her husband’s longtime business associate, but after she pointedly asks him to shift his flowers to the side to make room for Yamamoto-san’s potted monstrosity, he goes in with a direct attack.   

“You don’t seem to like me very much.” 

To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie. “I care for my daughter”, she replies. 

“So do I”, he retorts without pause.  Because he does, even if he’s stupid enough to realise it a decade too late. 

“Hm”, she grunts, her doubt clear. 

“Since I was eight and she was seven”, he says, the words awkward in his mouth because it’s strange to admit how he feels about you to your mother who clearly disapproves of him, but it’s also a relief to put it to words. “I think I’ve always cared.” 

“I don’t think she knows that”, your mother says, the gentlest he’s ever heard her.  

“If she wakes up - ”, he corrects himself immediately, “when she wakes up -”, but even then his voice falters, because it’s been so long that you’ve been still and unmoving in this bed, swaddled in hospital sheets that too closely resemble a shroud. 

By the gods, what if it’s too late -

“When she wakes up”, your mother says without a tremble of uncertainty in her voice, “you should tell her that yourself.” 

He wishes he had an ounce of your mother’s unwavering faith in fate, because weeks later, your room remains colourless, white and sterile. He places yet another bouquet by your bedside, an array of blue and purple hydrangeas, the last of this year’s summer.

“Wake up”, he tells you. “Last chance for us to catch the fireworks festivals and eat shaved ice. I won’t have to steal your ice cream if we go.” 

You don’t move. 

“Your brother’s wedding’s been postponed because everyone’s waiting for you. Better get up soon, cos’ no one wants to get married in the winter.”

The room remains silent. 

The linoleum of the floor is so beige it makes him want to stomp a hole right through it, make it a little less bland and unappealing. He can’t bring himself to nod at the terrified nurse who squeaks at him to leave the room when it’s time to change your dressing. He’s not known to be emotional, but grief claws up his sternum, longing has his throat in a chokehold. 

“When you wake up, I’ve got a question to ask you. Don’t you wanna wake up to find out what it is?” 

He doesn’t know why he expects a response. 

“Stay safe.” A quiet sigh. Seeya soon.” 

It’s almost dawn by the time he pulls into the base.

Rain drums on the roof of the car, the morning a greyish, cloudy blue. He pulls on his combat jacket, the skin at the back of his neck prickling into goosebumps. His phone rings just as he gets out of the seat, thumb swipes right promptly when he sees the hospital’s number light up the screen. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina speaking.” 

“S-sir”, it must be that nervous nurse from earlier in the night. “You asked us to call if there’s any change in the patient’s condition -”

The beat of his heart grows thunderous in his ears. 

“Yes?” 

a/n: *dum dum dummmmm* another cliffhanger!!!

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

too far

pair: Fred Weasley x reader

summery: Fred has always been the king of pranks, but one day he goes a bit too far, and he Fred spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you with adorable gestures until you can’t help but forgive him.

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It had started out like any other day. You’d gone down to breakfast with Fred, laughing at his usual banter with George, and sharing a few secret smiles across the Gryffindor table. Everything was normal—or so you thought.What you hadn’t known was that Fred had been planning a prank for weeks, something he’d been brewing up in his mischievous mind with George, and unfortunately, today was the day it would unfold.

As you wandered into the Great Hall after your last class of the morning, you didn’t notice anything strange at first. That was, until the entire room went dead silent. You blinked in confusion as heads turned toward you. Whispers started to rise like the rustle of leaves in a storm.

You furrowed your brow, glancing around. "What...?"

That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in one of the windows. Your heart dropped.

Your face was entirely green. Not just a faint tint—no, your entire face was an alarming, bright emerald, as if someone had dipped you in paint. And your hair? Oh, your hair. It was floating above your head, static and wild, sticking out in all directions as though you’d been struck by lightning.

"Oh. My. God." Your voice came out in a strangled whisper.

Laughter erupted, and the students around you couldn’t contain themselves. You could even hear some of the professors trying—and failing—to hold back snickers. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, though it probably wasn’t noticeable under the neon green hue.

This had Fred Weasley written all over it.

You stormed out of the Great Hall, not bothering to look back as the giggles followed you. You could feel your pulse quickening, your anger bubbling up. You loved Fred and knew what you signed up for when you started dating him. But this—this was mortifying. Public humiliation in front of the entire school? It wasn’t just a simple prank. It was just too much.

You headed straight for the common room, desperately trying to calm your breathing. When you reached the dormitory, you stopped at a mirror and tried to undo the spell, but nothing worked. The green was still there, and your hair continued to defy gravity.

That’s when Fred found you.

You didn’t hear him at first, too caught up in your fuming frustration. But then his voice came, soft and sheepish.

“Hey… love.”

You spun around, your eyes narrowed at him. Fred was standing in the doorway with a guilty look on his face. He looked like a puppy who had been caught chewing on shoes.

“Don’t ‘love’ me, Fred Weasley,” you snapped. “This—this is too far!”

“I... I may have overdone it a bit,” Fred admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought it would wear off by now, honestly."

“Well, it hasn’t,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And now I’m green and my hair is a mess! Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Fred winced, taking a small step forward. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” you interrupted, giving him your best death glare. “You humiliated me, Fred. In front of everyone.”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it quickly, looking genuinely remorseful. For a moment, you thought he was going to come up with some cheeky remark, some joke to lighten the mood. But he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

You looked at him, still angry, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. It softened your heart just a little, but not enough to let him off the hook.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” he added quickly, noticing the flicker in your expression. “I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And how do you plan to do that?”

Fred’s eyes brightened a bit as if a new idea had sparked in his mind. “Give me a chance. I’ll fix this.”

Without waiting for your response, Fred dashed out of the room, leaving you standing there in confusion. You sighed, still furious, but there was a part of you that was curious—what could Fred possibly do to fix this mess?

Throughout the rest of the day, Fred tried everything.

First, he sent a bouquet of enchanted flowers that followed you around the common room, apologizing on his behalf every few minutes. "Fred is sorry!" they would chime in unison, but that only annoyed you more.

Next, Fred appeared with your favorite sweets, freshly baked chocolate, and your favorite pastries from the kitchens, delivered with a sheepish grin. "I’m still sorry," he said, trying to offer you one. You accepted the pastry, but it didn’t mean you were any less upset.

Later, he charmed your textbooks to dance around you, but you gave him a deadpan look, and he quickly put an end to it.

By dinner, you found yourself back in the Great Hall, still green, still trying to avoid everyone’s gaze. Fred, however, was relentless. He stood by the doorway with a large sign floating above him, reading: Forgive me, Y/N!

As you sat down, your anger had started to melt, but you weren’t quite ready to forgive him yet.

Finally, when you thought the day couldn’t get more exhausting, Fred approached you outside of the common room, where you’d retreated to escape the stares. He wasn’t carrying gifts or pulling any pranks this time. Instead, he held something small in his hand.

“I know I’ve been driving you mad all day,” he said softly, stopping a few feet away from you. "But… I just wanted to give you this."

Curious, you glanced at his hand. It was a small, golden locket in the shape of a star. He opened it to reveal a tiny picture of the two of you together, taken just a few weeks ago. You were both laughing, looking so happy. Your chest tightened.

“I wanted to get you something real. Not to apologize for the prank, but because I care about you, and I never want to hurt you,” he said, his voice sincere. “I’m really sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t like Fred—he was always goofy, always trying to make light of things. But here he was, looking so genuinely sorry that it made your heart swell.

For the first time all day, you smiled. “You really went all out for this apology, huh?”

Fred’s face lit up at your words. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

You sighed, pretending to think about it. “Well… I suppose I can’t stay mad forever.”

Fred grinned and closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight hug. You could feel the tension melt away as his arms wrapped around you, warm and comforting. “Thank Merlin. I don’t think I could’ve come up with any more grand gestures.”

“I think you’re done for the day,” you chuckled, resting your head on his chest. And in that moment, you forgot all about your green face and wild hair. Because Fred’s embrace was more than enough to make up for the prank, and somehow, you knew you’d always fall for this ridiculous prankster.

[ovaryacted]

CANDY HEARTS

PAIRING: RE2!Leon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: It was Valentine's Day at the precinct and everyone was giving out candy grams for their secret admirers. Who knew that one piece of candy would have so much of an impact?

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Mutual pining. Alcohol consumption. One kiss. Flirting and confessions at the end. Canon-adjacent. Modernized era (they have cell phones). The og gang is together and are all above the age of 21. Leon being silly and not knowing about social cues. Chris plays matchmaker & Claire is a jokester. Jill likes margaritas and Rebecca is the mom of the group. They are all friends and live happily ever after cause I said so.

WC: 3.7k

NOTES: I am back from the dead, and I come bearing gifts. This was just something I wanted to write for Valentine's Day, and I don't even know how the idea came along the entire way. Here’s some nice fluffy stuff with a bit of added corniness, something new from me. Hope you all enjoy and like it! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✰ ── 《 Navigation ⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ AO3 》

February, supposedly the month when red and pink mesh together to signify the one thing that couldn’t be explained. Love. Romance. Companionship.

It was a silly thing really, something that Leon didn’t understand, mostly because to him, it couldn’t be real. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, that he always wondered what it would be like to be so attached to another person it felt like being two parts of one whole. 

It was another full week of the month, the days passing by as quickly as they started. Another day, another patrol, that was what he knew as part of his routine. Heading toward his locker to grab his gear, he was surprised to see a small heart-shaped lollipop wrapped in a red bow. He raised a brow at the strange object, curious fingers reaching out to inspect it closer.

“What do you have there?”

His head turned to the side at the sound of your voice, more so feeling your breath on his neck as you peered over his shoulder. Holding up the red lollipop for you to study, you took it from his grasp, the very tips of your fingers barely touching his before you held the wrapped candy.

“Leon, do you even know what this is?”, your eyes held that same mischievous gleam it always did when you were with him, and simply gave you a shrug. “It’s a candy gram silly”

“What? Someone just put a lollipop in my locker?”, Leon didn’t get why someone would even bother putting something like this for him to find.

“It’s for Valentine’s Day, something that the precinct wanted to do to celebrate. If you get one of these, it means someone is your secret admirer”, the way you described the entire ploy was almost comical to him, and he only chuckled.

“So it’s like a crush type of thing?”

“Sort of. Did you even read the note?”, and from the way he looked like a deer in headlights you knew he didn’t. You motioned over to the small red note that was hidden underneath the piece of candy. Carefully, he went to unfold it and read over the words that were written in cursive black ink.

I can’t turn water into wine, but I’m hoping to turn you into mine.

You watched as Leon quickly became flustered at the funny pick-up line, rolling his eyes and trying to hide the subtle blush he got from reading the words over and over again.

“I don’t like this game”, Leon grumbled under his breath, trying to shake off his embarrassment and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh cmon, it’s supposed to be funny. But listen, if you don’t want your lollipop I’ll gladly take it”, you smirked as his eyes met yours, pink lips curling up to match your grin.

“What? You didn’t get any candy grams of your own so you have to steal mine?”, he unwrapped the lollipop, popping it into his mouth and humming as he approved the taste. Cherry, his favorite.

“For your information, I got three. I just munched on all of the candies already I wanted another”, you placed your hands on your hips, the uniform only accentuating the curvature of your figure that Leon tried his hardest not to notice.

“Really? You got notes too or were you too busy eating your lollipops you forgot to notice”, he was teasing you now, going into his locker to put on his tactical belt and wrapping it around his hips. It fit snugly on his body, the leather belt he wore underneath to hold up his cargo pants seemed to add to his slim figure. Not that you were paying attention either. 

“I did, but didn’t pay too much attention. I got a nice one though, said something like My candy heart is all yours. Real cute stuff”, you leaned against the wall as you waited for Leon before going on patrol. He was one of the only good things working at the R.P.D. had to offer, and coincidentally it just helped that he was also your friend. Having known each other for a while now, being like this came naturally, remembering how easy it was to be with him when you two first clicked. 

“Sounds corny”, he said with a shake of his head, closing the metallic door and gesturing the both of you to start walking out of the room and into the main hall.

“Yeah, you’d know everything about being corny wouldn’t you?”, you taunted him back as you walked through the halls of the precinct, keeping track of all the patrols you had on the board today.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Are you coming on this patrol with me or what?”, he already knew the answer, didn’t have to so much as second guess to know that you’d be riding along with him.

“Of course I am. Who else will bother you with their favorite pop songs?”, you walked ahead of him, and his gaze went down your back to look at the handcuffs that jingled every time you took a step.

He definitely wasn’t looking at anything else.

-

It was a long day of work patrolling the city before Leon finally had some time to himself to relax. Thankfully, he didn’t have to work the overnight shift and could lounge at home to watch some shitty reality TV or whatever tickled his fancy. Of course, that was before he got a text message from you, ever the pest constantly wondering what he was up to. Not that he complained.

There’s a whole theme night going on at the local bar. Free shots at 10:30 pm. Bring your ass over here, and wear red!

Drinks? With you? That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary considering how familiar it felt to be around you, but he still couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to do for the night. So, he pretended like he didn’t want to be dragged out of his small apartment as he trudged his feet toward the shower to get dressed. He shouldn’t have cared so much about being presentable, usually, he never did. But for you, he was willing to try new things.

For the first time in probably ever, he’s forgone his usual color palette and took out a red button-down, rolling the sleeves up towards his forearms. Leon was always more fond of shades that reminded him of the sky, blues, greens, and white. Red was out of his comfort zone, but going out on Valentine’s Day night was enough to make that ball of anxiety tighten in his gut. Topping it all off with a bomber jacket, he left the keys to his jeep behind and took a cab instead, playing it safe if he ended up drinking something that would surely knock him off his feet.

He seemed to be counting down the minutes to the moment he walked into the bar. Scanning the area, he looked for any sight of you amongst the crowd, walking past several pairs of people lip-locking and downing shots in groups. The energy was electric, the music was lively, and as he continued to trek further into the bar that’s when he spotted you.

There you were, sporting a red deep-cut blouse and leather pants that were tight along your thighs. He caught the glossy red lipstick you put on for the occasion that only brightened your teeth as you laughed with those around you. And when you turned your head to find him standing there, he gulped down the pang he felt in his chest.

Yeah. He’s screwed.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for you for so damn long. Good to know you listened to me for once”, you walked up to him, grabbed a hold of his wrist, and pulled him toward a corner of the bar where your other friends were sitting. Unless you cared to look for it, his pulse spiked when your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Maybe you felt it, maybe you didn’t, but that brief touch was cut short when Leon was brought to the table.

Most of the newfound gang was there, Chris and his sister Claire were there sharing a beer, while Rebecca was forcing Jill to be a bit more social. It was supposedly a normal night even though you were out of your uniform, forcing Leon to find a point on the wall to avoid peeking over in your direction. Chris kept him occupied, offering him a drink that he sipped to ease the nerves he felt, all while Claire teased him about wearing red instead of his usual navy. This wasn’t so bad, I’ll make it through the night, he thought to himself. 

It only took a few drinks for everything to spiral out of control. The blame is to be put on tequila. It was always tequila, but thank god it was the weekend. 

Just like you warned him, 10:30 pm rolled around and the bar burst into cheers as servers carried shot glasses filled with red liquid. Everyone at the table had one, and Leon watched as you downed the shot with ease, a wild grin on your face as you did. With your encouragement, and Claire’s taunting, he drank the shot and winced at the stinging of the liquid going down his throat. He hated taking shots, that you knew, but he’d do it so long as it made you happy.

This is why you leave the clear liquor to me and you stick to your beer. He remembered hearing you say that to him one night when you made him drink vodka, the raging hangover he got in the morning only further proved your point.

He’s lost count of the number of shots you consumed, splitting them between Jill and Claire, and an extra you forced Chris to take despite him sticking to his beer. Rebecca remained as the group chaperone, making sure nobody did anything too embarrassing tonight. Hearing a particular song that brightened your mood, you brought Claire towards the middle aisle where others seemed to follow you to dance in the small space.

Propping his elbow up against the wooden table, Leon leaned back to simply watch you move to the music. His whole body felt warm at the sight, seeing how you swayed your hips to the beat of the song and Claire did the same. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his eyes ran up the stitching of your leather pants, over the deep v-line cut of your blouse, and again towards your face. Sure, you were attractive, he wasn’t blind. But what he was the most fond of was your smile, all cheery and wide to the point where the corners of your eyes crinkled.

He could see that look all the time and never get sick of it. The only thing he’d change was that he was the reason why you beamed like that.

“You’re doing it again”, Chris said out loud with a smirk, knocking Leon out of his little fantasy before meeting eye to eye again.

“I’m not doing anything”, he challenged in denial, Chris only chortled and shook his head.

“Unless you’re watching Claire dance, you know exactly what you’re doing”, the brunette matched his sister in humor, Leon exasperating in disbelief and took another sip of his beer. “You like her. You should do something about it”

“Chris…”

“C’mon, man. How much longer are you going to stand on the sidelines and just watch? Even I’m getting tired of the tension, it’s killing me”, ever the dramatic man, he wrapped a thick arm around Leon’s shoulder, bringing him in closer as if he were telling him a secret.

“You had a chance with the candy grams you realize that right? Sure, free candy but why not make it special?”

“Who says I didn’t do just that?”, the blonde said before it could be filtered out properly, sighing and downing the rest of his bottle.

“You’re joking. Seriously? She got like three of those things”, Chris’s brown eyes widened the slightest bit, not wanting to believe the truth.

“Does it look like I’m laughing right now?”, Leon chuckled incredulously at the realization that these feelings he’d been harboring for so long were starting to pour out of him the more he drank. “I don’t know how to talk to her. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, she’s not into me”

“Leon, you must be an idiot or something because she is into you. Who do you think gave you the candy gram?”, Chris muttered, probably not meaning to say it the way he did but it sounded like a confession.

Leon didn’t have time to ask for more details when you came back to the table on his side, an energetic Claire going towards Jill who was down three margaritas and growing sleepy. He could practically smell the perfume off of you, jasmine and soft vanilla, things that he found comfort in and sought after through his day-to-day.

“I think that’s enough dancing for me, I got dizzy”, you said, finishing the last bit of your watered-down drink and slamming the glass down on the table. From the way you were standing, your body almost leaned against Leon’s, ever inching closer toward him.

“Do you want to leave?”, Leon asked you, ever the concerned friend and partner despite the fact the alcohol was starting to get to him too.

“Nah, I’ll stay a little bit. Do you want to go?”, the way your eyes were hazy when you spoke to him brought that same twitch in his chest he usually ignored when he was around you.

“If you’re good, then I’m good. I’m not leaving without you”, he didn’t mean to say it in a different context outside of friendly, or maybe he did, but when he avoided a visceral reaction from you he figured he was in the clear.

“You got it boss”, you joked with him, but your hand lightly skimmed against his by accident, a shock running through you from the light touch. You didn’t meet his eye, instead, you felt the way his pinkie came closer to your own, discreetly curling around the digit.

It was a shy touch as if to gently test the boundaries of what was other than a cordial relationship. Leon started to grow anxious, thinking maybe he messed up, his mind beginning to spiral until you squeezed his finger back in silence. He tried not to make it obvious, but he looked over at you to see you smiling, and for that second he thought his small dream had come true.

“Another drink and then we’ll call it quits”, Chris’ voice popped the bubble that you were both in, but your hands didn’t move from where they were.

Yeah, one more drink couldn’t hurt, so long as you two remained like this for the rest of the night. 

-

Leon regrets having that one last drink. The world around him was spinning, and his feet were lugging across the floor as if he was going to sink into the Earth any minute now. He nearly forgot that he wasn’t going home alone, that you were beside him, doing your best to support his body as you brought him over to your place like you had done a few times before.

Unlocking the door to your apartment and walking inside, Leon was hit with the same scent of jasmine and soft vanilla that he recognized as your own, faint layers of cinnamon engulfing him when you brought him over to your couch in a slump.

“I’m never letting you drink that much again”, your voice sounded almost distant, but it was comforting nonetheless. You walked away from him, your footsteps growing faint until you came back with a glass of water he graciously chugged.

“Wasn’t so bad, I can handle my liquor”, he slouched further into your couch, his head beginning to whirl from everything he drank.

“Leon, I had to carry you inside. You’re drunk”, you glanced at him with that same mischievousness you always had reserved just for him. Even if you had a better alcohol tolerance than he did, your pupils being dilated told him that you were in the same predicament

“Not complaining”, he was damn near mumbling now, his head pivoting to look at you fully. You were right there next to him, all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before. In the back of his mind, he imagined you did it just for him.

So pretty.

“You think so?”, your voice brought him out of his current haze, watching as he blinked once or twice before realizing he said his inner thoughts out loud.

“I-I…huh?”, Leon was stuttering now, looking towards the floor and growing embarrassed at the slip-up. You couldn’t help but giggle under your breath, and he prayed to God it wasn’t at him.

“Leon…I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve been trying to send you signals that I like you for months now. You’re a tough nut to crack”, you were speaking, but your words stopped filtering through his brain the moment you said the words ‘I like you’.

You like me?

“Yes, you cornball, I do”, you answered him anyway, catching him off guard at the response. At this rate, he’ll spill his deepest darkest secrets because he can’t tell the difference between what he’s thinking and what he’s saying. “The candy gram, that was me. Thought it might register in your head but it didn’t”

Leon looked like he had uncovered the biggest truth known to man. It was astonishing to witness, how he couldn’t process the thought that you were actually interested in him. You could see the gears starting to turn in his head, and once the revelation settled in his mind his lips were formed in a gentle smile. 

“That was a really bad pick-up line”, Leon said, making you laugh even harder. Your hand made contact with his chest, patting against his body with every sound that slipped past you. 

“And yours was any better?”, your hand didn’t move from where it sat on his chest, mindlessly caressing the material of his red button-down. 

“Yeah, I think ‘my candy heart is all yours’ is one of my best works”, he was almost cocky when he talked, but his facial expression was anything short of dorky. You both looked like a bunch of love-drunk idiots waiting for one to say what the other wanted to hear. 

“Hmm, that sounded like you. Is this you admitting that you gave me that candy gram?”, you were leaning on him, shifting so your body was closer against his. The tequila still running through your system heightened your senses, the natural scent of Leon’s cologne was enough to make your heart flutter. 

“Something like that”, he grinned bashfully, blue eyes looking at you intensely. He took in every detail of your features he could get, moving some of your hair out of your face and curling it behind your ear. His hand didn’t move too far, resting his palm against your cheek and running his thumb against the warmth of your skin.

“Would it be bad to kiss you?”, he whispered his words to you, as if his feelings would only be safe in the four walls of this room. 

“No, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me”, you moved so your chest was pressed against his, hands moving up towards his neck and caressing the hair at his nape. 

Leon didn’t have to wait too long to feel your lips meshing with his, sighing in what he could only describe as pure satisfaction. A shiver rushed down his spine and broke off into the rest of his body, blood pulsing through his veins at rapid speed the more his heart pumped in his chest. He pressed your body against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping his other hand on your cheek.

Leon felt drunk, both literally and figuratively off of you and everything that you were. Things made sense for the first time, having you like this here with him. It was all he wanted, all he needed, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. Against his wishes, he pulled away for air, staying close by to rest his forehead against yours. 

“About damn time Kennedy”, you teased him again, but your expression was tender. You noticed how your red lipstick stained his lips, no doubt leaving barely any left on your mouth. “Red looks good on you”, you put a thumb against his lips, rubbing at the plush skin you just felt for the first time.

“Does this mean I get to ask you to be my Valentine?”, he looked so cute when he asked you, rolling your eyes at his question, but you found it endearing.

“You’re two hours too late, but I’ll happily be your Valentine anyway”, you gave him one more smooch on the lips, and the happiness on his face was damn near palpable. “But you owe me a better one next time, you hear me?”

Next time.

“Loud and clear. I’ll have a better pick-up line to use on you”

“If you start getting corny, I will leave you on the couch”, the playful threat didn’t worry Leon in the slightest, his smile getting wider with every passing second he spent with you.

“Awe come on, I meant what I said. My candy heart is all yours”, his nose nuzzled into your neck, kissing your soft ticklish skin and breathing you in, marking your scent into his memory.

This time around, he thinks he’ll thank the tequila instead. Perhaps Cupid is real, a little overdue, but he still got the job done in the end.

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