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f1letters · 1 year

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mastermind | cs55

"what if I told you none of it was accidental?"

summary: it all started when she saw him across the room and she knew right away she wouldn't give up until he was hers

warning: overall fluff, lying reader (with the dumbest but funniest plan too lol), daddy issues, slut-shaming, mentions of alcohol, swearing, suggestive language, the beginning of the story takes place in 2021 when Carlos joined Ferrari (so it's all flashback for much of the story, including the 2021 Monaco GP)

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

word count: 3.8k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

spanish words used: corazón = heart; bebé = baby; ay Dios mío = oh my God; mi amor = my love; te quiero mucho = I love you so much

so I guess this week's theme is Scuderia Ferrari! haha, I hope all of you enjoy this one as always! I can't believe we are already on the 6TH STORY of the midnights series! thank you for all the love you have been giving me in the past weeks since I started, it means the world to me

masterlist

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates

And all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room

At the same time

Once upon a time, in the beautiful city of Milan, dozens of people gathered at a gala dinner to celebrate the anniversary of the iconic racing team that was Scuderia Ferrari.

Like everything associated with the luxury Italian car manufacturer, the dinner was going to be a monumental and remarkable celebration. The red team never did anything less than big, so clearly, no costs had been spared to make the party the best it could be.

It had vintage cars on display, red carpets throughout the corridors, and walls covered in gold frames with images of the team's history over the decades. The ostentation was notable, from the table decorations in the characteristic Ferrari colours to the incredible reception and service of all employees of the gala.

Y/N couldn't believe all the beauty her eyes saw. The young woman almost felt dizzy trying to capture all the details that surrounded her.

Being the daughter of a very busy businessman, it wasn't the first time that the girl ended up having to represent him in business commitments due to his inability to attend. However, as someone who only played a small role in the company's finances, she still felt lost and out of place, especially at a dinner party the size of this one.

The weight on her shoulders of representing her father, one of the team's biggest investors and sponsors, was something that still scared her, no matter how many times she did it.

Y / N walked elegantly across the room, with the sound of her high heels clicking on the floor following her until she reached her table. Her name written on a glass plate indicated where she should sit and she did so, adjusting her long black silk dress so that it wouldn't get crumpled on the chair.

As time progressed, her table was filled with old and arrogant businessmen, more interested in talking about money and showing off their luxury. Y/N made small talk occasionally, but she obviously felt like an outsider.

My father would fit perfectly in here, she couldn't help but think. Critical of her as always, even without being in Italy, he managed to complain about her look for the evening, criticizing her choice of dress for not being red or yellow like the symbol of the Prancing Horse.

The young woman ended up giving in partially, painting her lips with a red lipstick that she had forgotten in her suitcase, seeking his approval, just like she had done all her life.

Her eyes roamed along the room in search of entertainment, so bored that watching others would be a far more interesting escape than listening to the men talk.

And that's when she saw him, in the same room, at the same time.

In all his splendour, Carlos Sainz, the promising Spanish driver who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari, immediately captured her attention. He was sitting at the bar, in a black suit that fit his muscular frame perfectly, fiddling with his phone, probably just as pleased to be there as she was.

All the stars aligned to bring them there at that moment, and Y/N was determined to take advantage of the chance of a lifetime given to her.

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

Checkmate, I couldn't lose

She sat there for a few minutes while she listed several potential ways to approach the driver.

Could she be straightforward and sit next to him at the bar and try to strike up a conversation? No, that wasn't a good idea. He wouldn't want some random girl bothering him at his first Ferrari show.

What if she waited for him to look her way and smile at him, or wave at him, something like that? Okay, that was ridiculous. If Carlos didn't look at her all night, Y/N was going to stay there forever staring at him like a stalker, only to go home disappointed.

The young woman needed an excuse to talk to him, something that would allow her to build a master plan that could not fail.

She couldn't lose. She couldn't let this chance pass.

Nothing was going to stop her.

He had to be hers.

And then it hit her, her 'a-ha!' moment. With a completely out-of-the-box idea, the girl got up from her chair, apologised to the people at the table for leaving, and confidently started her mission.

Carlos was sitting at the bar all alone, holding a whiskey in one hand while the other was scrolling through his Instagram feed, until out of nowhere he felt the touch of a small, soft hand on his big, rough one, catching him off guard.

"Sorry about that, but there's this weird guy who keeps bugging me. When I saw you alone, I told him my boyfriend was waiting for me as an excuse for him to leave me alone, I'm sorry." Y/N lied through her teeth and let out a nervous giggle as soon as she saw the Spaniard's shocked face.

Carlos couldn't help but notice the girl's charming figure and the way the dress fit her amazing body in all the right places, still in shock mode not knowing what to say.

Y/N noticed and released a smile. Her plan was kicking off and starting in full force. "I hope you don't have a girlfriend who is going to show up at any moment and pull my hair out for hitting on her man?" She said, laughing more confidently now.

"Don't worry. There is no girlfriend." He smiled at him, allowing their eyes to meet for the first time and squeezing her hand more securely. "So who's the creepy guy?"

"Oh." Oh fuck. Y/N did not expect this question at all. Panicking already about her lie being revealed, the woman impulsively looked over her shoulder and pointed at a random skinny man who had his back to them. "That guy over there, but I think I've already lost him."

Carlos looked in the direction she pointed and a discreet smirk formed on his face. He looked back at the girl and without releasing her hand from his hold, he spoke. "So, what's your name, corazón?"

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

Though the beginning of the couple's story had been anything but accidental, for the rest of that night, they were all about each other. Attached at the hip, they eventually moved to the driver's table, cocktails in their hands, and just talked for hours on end about everything and anything: from how nervous he was about joining a racing team with a history like Ferrari's, to why she was at that gala, even if she didn't look like one of the normal guests at these celebrations.

The fiery chemistry between them was noticeable to anyone who laid eyes on them, and with him being the hot new addition to the team, countless people were curious about the pair.

The two felt like children again, so much was the joyful enthusiasm that grew inside them. They didn't know if it was something physical or psychological that was happening to them but one thing they both believed: it was something magical.

But love at first sight has these foolish things: for those lucky enough to experience it, it only happens once in a lifetime and it's something that stays with them until the end of time.

After a while, Carlos excused himself to go to the bathroom and Y/N knew it was time to get the second phase of her master plan in order.

When the driver came back, the woman was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if she were a mirage, a figment of his imagination that simply vanished into thin air.

He looked for her, looking all around the splendorous dining room, but there was no sign of her. What do you mean she left him alone after all the chemistry that was created between the two throughout that night?

It was as he turned back to the table that Carlos noticed the red napkin folded over his plate. Carefully, he picked it up and unfolded it, finding a phone number and the girl's name written in black ink, along with a clumsy heart at the bottom of the note.

If she had planned to have him completely fascinated by her and wanting to see her again more than anything else, she had succeeded.

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all by dеsign

'Cause I'm a mastermind

The very next day Carlos gained the courage to text her and make his move since the pawns were now on his side.

From: Unknown

I have a paddock pass with your name on it as my guest waiting for you. Monaco, next Sunday. Hope to see you there, bebé - CS

Her heartbeat immediately sped up as she read that message. However, there was no time to waste.

The show must go on. She had a man to win. Putting her brave face back on, the young woman took a deep breath and decided to send a text playing hard to get, trying to entertain the curiosity he had in getting to know her better.

To: Carlos Sainz

I guess you'll have to wait and see if I show up...

You see, all the wisеst women

Had to do it this way

'Cause we were born to be the pawn

In every lover's game

Sunday morning came in the blink of an eye.

Y/N woke up with the sunlight hitting the window of her hotel room. She got up right away, put on a robe and went to the entrance to the balcony to observe the breathtaking view of Monte Carlo.

The girl could barely contain the butterflies of anticipation that she had in her stomach, anxious to see again the Spaniard who controlled all her thoughts since the gala where they met.

During the days until the race weekend arrived, the couple exchanged messages all the time. Not only did it allow them to get to know each other better, but it also took their relationship to a new level, with the two of them now openly flirting, not afraid to reveal their mutual interest in each other.

Y/N went to her wardrobe and carefully chose her outfit for the day, selecting a simple white jumpsuit and silver open heels.

She knew that her presence would be noticed, thanks to the importance of her last name, something that worried her a lot. Not because of Carlos, but because of what her father would say.

The businessman had heard from some of his associates about his daughter's interaction with the driver during the Italian team's anniversary, which led to a huge argument between them. Y/N's father expressed his disappointment in (what he thought was) his daughter's lack of professionalism, going so far as to accuse her of being a disgrace to the family name for acting like a 'slut'.

Nothing out of the ordinary for him. The young woman could no longer take the things he said to heart, with so many criticisms and low expectations her dad had of her.

She wasn't going to stop living because of him, especially when it put at risk her relationship with a man as spectacular as Carlos.

Going against her father's orders, Y/N got on their private plane and flew towards Monaco without giving him any explanation of where she was going.

After she finished getting ready, the woman looked at her reflection in the mirror and one of Carlos' many texts echoed in her thoughts: your red lipstick drove me completely crazy to kiss you in Milan. And with that came the next step in her master plan. She took the same lipstick and applied it over her lips.

Carlos wouldn't be able to resist.

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail

Strategy sets the scene for the tale

I'm the wind in our free-flowing sails

And the liquor in our cocktails

Y/N got into her rented black Ferrari parked outside the hotel and drove the short distance to the circuit. Did she need to have such an ostentatious car with her? No, she didn't. But why not take advantage of her connections with the team to entice the man who was waiting for her?

Arriving at the parking lot, the engine of her car caught the attention of the people who were there. Photographers began to direct their cameras in her direction, flashes going off, waiting to know who was behind the smoked windows driving.

As soon as she got out of the vehicle, she could hear whispers: who was she, where was her father, was she a guest of Scuderia Ferrari, did she have an affair with one of the drivers.

Putting on her sunglasses to protect herself from the sun as well as the flashes, Y/N lifted her head and started to walk confidently towards the entrance where she knew her pass had been left by Sainz and was waiting for her.

On the other side of the paddock, Carlos became aware of the commotion that was settling in at the entrance, wondering which celebrity had arrived this time. Although he was still hopeful, the driver didn't know yet if his dream girl was going to show up.

Seconds later, his colleague Charles approached him and the two sat on two piles of tires, talking about the race that was going to start in half an hour until Monaco's home hero interrupted the conversation.

"Mate, isn't that your girl?" Leclerc, now in on the subject after Carlos told him everything about that night, asked when he saw a figure in white approach their motorhome, with a sea of photographers following close behind her.

"Ay Dios mío, she came." Carlos spoke aloud, blurting out his thoughts as his brain seemed to shut down with the image of her.

Y/N was now mere steps away from the boy and looked directly into his eyes, giving him a sly smile, almost like a scheming criminal plotting something.

With his eyes still locked on her, as if she were the only person in the world at that moment, Carlos watched as she walked right past him into the motorhome, not saying a word to him.

Just a gentle touch on his hand, like she did at the bar on that memorable night.

"Good luck with her, mate." Charles' laughter echoed in the Spaniard's ears as the Monegasque left, leaving Sainz standing there, speechless, all alone.

Carlos woke up from his trance when he felt the flashes on him. The photographers. They sure took pictures of their little moment there.

Oh, she was trouble.

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

I knew I wanted your body

I laid the groundwork, and then

Just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

The man followed her path and entered Ferrari's home, immediately seeing her alone, leaning against one of the walls and concentrating on her phone.

Quickly, the driver reached near her and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him into his driver's room.

On the other hand, the girl hadn't even realized what was happening to her when her back made contact with a wall inside a small room and she heard the door close in a hurry.

The image in front of her left her feeling equally shy and wanting more. Carlos placed both hands on the wall next to her head, making it impossible for her to break free from his hold.

"You're playing with fire, corazón." Carlos moved dangerously close to her, allowing her to feel his warm breath on her neck. "Coming in here teasing me like that."

"Me? Teasing? Never." Y/N replied, running her hand over the fireproof garment that covered the man's toned chest.

"You're lucky I spent all this time waiting for you to come." He lifted his head, making eye contact with the girl. "You make me lose all control, bebé, I swear. Since the first night I saw you, I've wanted your body."

One of the driver's hands left the wall and he brought it to the young woman's cheek, letting his thumb run gently across her lower lip.

"That red lipstick again." Sainz reduced the distance between them even further, letting his own mouth graze over hers. "You're doing it on purpose."

"What if I am?" She spoke, giving him a look that was a perfect mixture of innocent and provocative.

Carlos glanced at the watch on his wrist for just a second, turning his attention back to her right away. "Then I guess I still have time to show you what happens when I lose control."

Although he ended up in second place in that race, almost reaching the top of the podium, Carlos left Monaco feeling like a winner after that half hour between those four walls.

Nothing would ever make him feel on top of the world like her on top of him.

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

And now you're mine

It was all my design

'Cause I'm a mastermind

More than a year and a half later, and with the 2022 Formula 1 season now over, Y/N and Carlos were still together and happier than ever.

They overtook everything that came their way, only to get back stronger.

Her father obviously hadn't taken their relationship well from the start, leading the girl to quit the company and cut off contact with him for months on end. only now trying to make amends. Only now, more than a year later, the two were trying to make amends and reconnect, since the businessman contacted her to apologize for everything he had put her through during her life.

The media was also a difficult step to overcome. For a long time, they insisted on invading their privacy due to the business connections between both sides. It was tricky to strike a balance between not being a secret and keeping their relationship to themselves at the same time. But eventually, the two of them managed to get there with the experience that time brought.

Now, the couple was lying in their bed, in the house they had recently bought together in Milan, a city so special to them and that symbolized the beginning of their story.

Being there, in silence, holding each other, with the room lit only by the light coming from the fireplace. That meant the world to them. Those were the kind of moments they cherished the most, especially in such a relationship that required a lot of work with how much he travelled during most of the year.

The young woman was lost in the memories of the past, daydreaming about the beginning of their history, when Carlos intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

He was hers.

Just like she designed it like the mastermind she was.

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian

'Cause I care

Perhaps moved by her trip down memory lane, for the first time in their relationship, Y/N felt the sudden need to confess.

Her palms got sweaty as soon as she started to think of all the scenarios that could result from her confession. What if he didn't want her anymore? Would it be worth it to risk an argument over a detail about the day they met?

"Mi amor, what's wrong?" Carlos asked as he felt the heat and sweat between their clasped hands, sitting down on the bed with his body lightly over hers.

"What if I told you none of this was accidental?" She asked nervously, earning back a laugh from her boyfriend's mouth.

"Sorry bebé, but you've lost me now." He confessed.

"The first night that you saw me. I planned the whole thing. There wasn't a creepy guy trying to hit on me. I lied to get you to talk to me." Wasting no time, Y/N let the words out of her mouth before the courage to speak again disappeared.

So I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then

Saw a wide smirk on your face

You knew the entire time

Y/N put both hands over her face to hide and avoid seeing the driver's reaction to her admission.

Carlos, on the other hand, could only chuckle as he brought his hands to his partner's wrists in order to expose her face again.

The young woman opened her eyes slowly in fear, only to be faced with a wide smirk on his face as he looked at her as if she had told the greatest joke in the world.

"I'm being serious, babe. I swear it's the truth." She stressed, remaining with her back flat on the mattress and with her boyfriend's body now fully against hers.

"Ay mi corazón, te quiero mucho." Carlos let out a loud laugh and held her face, placing a quick kiss on her lips to calm her down. "I knew the entire time."

"What?" She asked in shock, sitting on the bed and forcing the boy to sit with her.

"You know the random man you said was the perv?" Y/N nodded in response to Sainz's question. "It was my cousin Carlos. He had been with me all night until I went to the bar to get a drink."

Oh. My. God.

Y/N was never going to show up at the next Sainz family gathering.

You knew that I'm a mastermind

And now you're mine

Yeah, all you did was smile

'Cause I'm a mastermind

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thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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dw-writes · 7 months

Text

The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: I am.... SO SORRY. this chapter really shouldn't have taken me [checks calendar] LOL ALMOST A YEAR TO WRITE HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think!!! And i'm sorry ahead of time for the pain :3 (not really yall were expecting it) also enjoy the latest crossover to happen in this series. i hope you enjoy!!! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Big Easy

Beautiful Aphrodite had only ever felt rage twice in her long life - once, thousands of years prior, as she watched the carnage that unfolded to retrieve the prize that she had given young Paris, and second, when she saw you.

You, sitting in an empty room, eyes glassy from too much alcohol and manufactured self-doubt. She knew what it was from, had felt your heart chip throughout the night from across the country while you fitfully slept under the concerned gaze of a new friend. Whispers of a voice filled the corners of the quiet room.

She turned to them, her incorporeal form non-existent to your unfocused gaze and the man who sat on the floor near you. The face of a young woman filled the unplugged television. Rose didn’t recognize her – it was some different form of Media, a newer one, a viral one. The young woman stopped whispering and met the goddess’s furious gaze.

The television cracked, the image disappeared, and the room fell silent. She turned back to you and watched your exhausted eyes close. The man mumbled, lifting his head to check you, then settled back against the wall with a sigh.

She made a note to learn his name and remembered how love existed in so many forms.

Elsewhere, Rose slumped into the arms of her two loves. They exchanged worried glances above her head as she mumbled to herself, “My poor messenger.” She sighed. Her concerns traced the cracks in your heart through your long day to the point she remembered last speaking to you, when you were happy, and the events of your day played out against her eyelids.

You stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a large and bustling Athens of a different age. Your bare feet were cradled by plush, green grass while a cream-colored toga fluttered around your legs.

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” said fair Aphrodite as she stepped up next to you. You tried to look at her, but her face kept changing, as did the rest of her. She cycled through so many features like an ever-changing portrait, each paint stroke melting into the next, all trapped beneath a pale pink robe that brushed the ground.

“Have we ever really sat and talked?” you asked.

She smiled. It lit up the world. “You know what I mean.” She nodded at you. “Nice toga.”

“I’m liking the breeze,” you replied with a smile of your own.

“Yeah? It’s nice, isn’t it?” she teased. You laughed, and she watched you, her features melting and solidifying into a face that was familiar to you. You cleared your throat and looked up at her.

“Sweeney?” you asked.

She shrugged broad shoulders. “Yes and no,” Rose answered with a voice that wasn’t hers. “I’m the goddess of love, remember?” She lifted a hand into the air. “Funny, I never would have guessed this, though. Not in a million years.”

“Which part?” you whispered.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “All of it,” she replied, “None of it. You know, I thought I had a grip on these things, but you keep surprising me.” She smiled. You longed to see that smile on his real face. “Tell him soon, okay?”

“I will,” you promised.

You opened your eyes as easy as a blink, staring ahead into the purple black haze of the dark room. Sweeney snored behind you; a hot arm thrown over your shoulders. You gingerly wrapped both hands around his wrist and frowned.

Was it a warning? A piece of advice? It could’ve been anything – your friends weren’t always so forth-coming in their intentions.

You stared at the room, thinking over everything that had recently happened, watching the darkness become blue, then gray, and a watery white as the sun started to rise. Your phone buzzes with the alarm for your meds, and you squirmed out of Sweeney’s grasp to take them.

You washed your face in the attached bathroom, brushed your teeth, changed into different, cleaner clothes. You woke Sweeney and insisted he stay quiet to not wake anyone else in the house. As you two left, you wrote a thank you note for the parents, and folded up Mitchel’s number for the sisters.

“I hope they get in contact with each other,” you sighed as you followed Sweeney across the large yard. He grunted, yawning, and continued towards the water’s edge. His lit cigarette brunt orange in the faint morning daylight, glinting off a key in his hand. “Sweeney?”

His boots clomped over a rickety pier just out of sight of the house. A boat swayed at the end of it.

“You’re joking,” you called after him. He waved you off without a word. You groaned, looking back up at the house behind you, and followed him. “You’re stealing their boat.”

“Borrowing,” he grunted, placing the cigarette between his lips, “’m borrowing – we’re—” he corrected, looking up at you as he crouched, “We are borrowin’ their boat.”

You crossed your arms. “Do you intend to mosey on back up the river with it when we’re done in New Orleans?” you asked. He climbed into the boat. You looked back at the house again and scrambled after him, pinwheeling your arms to keep your balance in the small craft. “Put out your cigarette,” you wheezed, “Before you blow us up.”

“’m not gonna blow us up!” he argued.

“You have the shittiest luck on either side of the Mississippi, Sweeney, so I’m sorry if I don’t trust you saying that,” you snapped. He sat back, glaring at you, which you returned. When you didn’t budge, he slowly pulled the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it out into the water. You took a deep breath and sat down. “Someone’s gonna get back at you for that,” you mumbled.

“You were so nice yesterday,” Sweeney mused as he sat back, “What happened? Hm?”

“You decided to steal the boat of a family that wanted to help us,” you shot back with a shrug, “And it’s not even theirs! This isn’t even their house!”

Sweeney groaned loud enough to drown out your complaints, twisting around to start the motor. You braced against the sides of the boat as it started down the river, glaring all the while at his smug smirk. You settled in after a while, watching the trees pass along the riverside. “What was that about my luck?” he said as he carefully steered the craft.

“You have shit luck,” you repeated, “The only reason you’re not dying some wildly fiery death is because I’m here and I don’t have shit luck.”

He snorted, shifting on the seat, and absently twisted his warped coin charm around his neck. “Ya know, maybe you made me another lucky coin,” he muttered absently, “Ever think of that?”

You watched him before you spoke. His eyes were trained on the river behind you and he carefully steered down the gentle curves, keeping away from other boats and suspicious shallows. You didn’t answer him for a long time. You balled the sleeves of your denim shirt in your palms and pulled it closer to you, wishing it was just a bit thicker to keep out the cold air coming off the water.

“Maybe I did,” you finally said as the river became more crowded with boats. He hummed as he looked up at you, slowing the boat down and threading it through the crowd to the dock. “Maybe I did make you a lucky coin,” you repeated.

He snorted as he climbed out of the coat. He held out his hand to you. “Bein’ facetious, luv,” he grumbled.

You took it, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you climbed out. “Big word,” you teased. He tugged you hard against his side. “But really,” you said with a small smile, “Always told you that it was about belief. And I really think those coins were pretty lucky if they stopped a bullet and saved your life.”

“We’ll see,” he mumbled. He squeezed your hand, then led the way out of the marina and into the crowded streets, keeping you close so that the two of you wouldn’t be separated. You eventually found your way to a less crowded area of shops. Sweeney slowed down. “Ya hungry?”

“A bit,” you sighed, “We didn’t really eat anything at the house since someone stole their boat.” You looked up at him.

He rolled his eyes and looked around, tugging you behind him to a food truck on the corner. He huffed, lip curling in a teasing sneer as you pulled out your wallet and paid. He took the food he’d ordered, and yours, and tucked a bottle of beer in the crook of his elbow as he started to walk. You followed him, taking your food with a sigh as you kept pace with him. He stopped at a statue of the Virgin Mary, then smacked the top of his beer against its stone pedestal to pop the metal top off, and chugged half of it.

You watched him, slowly eating your food, leaning against the pillar across from him. “Sweeney?” you asked once he finished his beer.

He buried his face in his elbow as he released an ugly burp. You whistled slowly. “Whut?” he grumbled, taking a large bite of his meal.

“Are you okay?” you asked. You set your food down, worry twisting at your gut, and moved closer to him. “You’ve been a little weird since we got here.”

“Just got here,” he grunted.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” you shot back. You crossed your arms, staring up into his face. He scratched his chin, then down his neck as he watched you in return. “I’ve known you too long for you to pull this shit and not expect me to ask you about it,” you gently said.

He continued to stare, his blunt fingernail scratching at the label on the bottle until it started to peel. He didn’t say anything, though. His eyes grew dark the longer they traced over your face, until, finally, they fell away. He sniffed and looked at the crowd shuffling past you, scratching the growing stubble on his chin again. “Just don’t wanna see ‘em,” he grumbled.

“Hey strangers,” came the call of a familiar voice. Sweeney groaned, dropping his head back with the sound, and turned away while you smiled and spun around.

“What a sight for—” the words shifted in your mouth as you took in Laura Moon’s new, fresh face and glowing skin, “Sore eyes, holy shit Laura.”

She smirked and twirled, holding out her arms. “Guess that old man doesn’t lie, huh?” she said.

Sweeney rolled a hand in the air, tossing the empty bottle behind him. “Then what, pray tell, are ya doin’ here, huh?” he sniped, “What, you figure that the quick ‘n easy don’t last?”

You looked up at him, struggling not to roll your eyes. “Really?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Just pointin’ out the obvious,” he muttered.

“In a really asshole-ish way,” you replied.

He lowered himself against the pillar, leaning into your space. “Never heard ya complain before,” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes, arms crossing over your stomach. “I call you an asshole a lot, actually. Pretty sure I use it more than your name,” you argued.

“It ain’t bad enough that it kept ya from kissin’ me though, ain’t it?” he asked with a smirk.

You snapped your mouth shut.

Laura’s voice was far too loud in the crowded street when she shouted, “You what?!” followed quickly by, “Holy fucking shit,” and, “It’s about time!”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, turning to her. “No?”

“Yes!” she countered.

“That’s not the argument here, the argument is how he’s an asshole for getting on your case,” you tried. Behind you, Sweeney started to snicker.

“Uh, no, fuck that, I’m over it,” Laura said with a wave of her hand. She closed the gap between you. “You kissed this sasquatch? Seriously? What, was it against your will, or did you actually want it?” She gasped, her face alight with joy at the first taste of gossip she’d had since she died. It really gave you a glimpse of who she had been before. “Did he tell you that he—”

“Ya here for the Loa, yeah?” Sweeney cut in, coughing on ill swallowed spit.

“That’s not important right now, is it?” she countered, glaring, “Is it really?”

“Course it is,” he replied, pushing away from the pillar. It was your turn to stare at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes as he walked past. “Second longer without my coin is a second too long, Dead Wife. Let’s get this over with.” You followed after him. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trash.

“What crawled up his ass?” Laura grumbled as she walked next to you.

You shrugged. “He’s been like this since we got here. I don’t think he wants to deal with the Loa at all.” You tilted your head, then leaned towards her. “Do you know anything about the Loa? I haven’t read anything, just know what he’s told me.”

“Not a fucking clue except that they can bring me back,” she said.

“Huh,” you sighed.

Sweeney led you both around a corner and stopped in front of a small building. Above the door was a sign that swung in the humid breeze, displaying the black rooster that had started to fade in the sun. He paused at the door, rubbing his neck, then he turned to you both. “Ain’t no backin’ out of this once we start,” he said. He stared at Laura, his face the epitome of sobriety. “You wanna do this?”

She rolled her eyes and yanked the door open. “Let’s just fucking hurry up, I don’t have all day,” she griped.

Sweeney held the door open for you, his arm brushing your shoulder as he leaned down to whisper, “Stay close.”

You nodded and stepped inside.

(Rose frowned as the scene against her eyes shifted, showing you through the eyes of a goddess she’d never met.)

Bridget – lovely and strong – felt her heart lodge in her throat the moment you walked into the Black Cock. She knew the man you walked in with, knew the emotion that made him hold open the door for you, dip his head towards yours, brush your back as you passed him.

Mad Sweeney was in love with you, and you him, if your subtle lean into him was a clue, and he didn’t explain a damn thing about the Baron’s specialty if you have followed him and the woman there.

He was about to break your heart.

She knew all too well that not everyone enjoyed their partner stepping out, but even the ones that didn’t mind it never came with them to ask the favor.

He hadn’t fucking told you.

In the ten seconds it took for your trio to enter the bar, Maman Bridget’s opinion of Sweeney soured. Something must have shifted in her, too, as her husband’s fingers lightly prodded her back in question. She smiled, mirthless, and stepped out from behind the bar.

What a fucking coward.

(And then, there you were)

You watched the red-haired woman move around the end of the bar. She passed Sweeney, sharing a look with him, before she moved through a door you hadn’t noticed before.

(Imaged passed through your mind – piles of stones upon marked graves of women, women standing beneath weeping willows that shielded them from mist and shadow, drums beating against ears; but also, there were doctors in damp fields and poets writing by candlelight and rough handed blacksmiths and farms all framed by an ever-burning flame.)

You sat heavily at the bar. The weight of recognizing a two-faced goddess rested heavily on your shoulders and the back of your neck. You stared absently at a bottle in front of you, barely listening to the sound of Sweeney’s voice as he traded barbs with the man behind the bar. Your vision swam when you finally looked at him.

The man himself was tall, even lounging back against the back bar, with a top hat that made him even taller. He had deep, dark skin with the cool undertone of a clear night radiating from beneath. His bright eyes, while filled with humor, were scanning over your trio with a knowledge you couldn’t place.

The wall behind him melted away when he met your gaze. There was a history behind him, spanning centuries and countries, filled with celebrations and swearing and death and spirits and all framed by a heady smoke that filled your lungs and spilled over your lips on a shaky exhale. When you breathed in, there was life and sex and booze, singing and loud music and a sharp tang of spiced rum on your tongue.

You couched and squeezed your eyes shut to the man’s grin, bracing against the bar as you struggled to regain your composure. Beneath it all, you recognized a gap in your knowledge that ached in your chest and made your heart race. The lack of information made you anxious and it hurt. You refocused on the bar, scooping up a bottle near your fingers, and struggled to listen to the conversation.

“And when she is not around,” purred the Baron, his voice floating through the air, “I fuck a lot of other women.”

You were joining an already complicated conversation, you knew it, and maybe it was nerves clawing at your throat that forced your mouth open to say, “Doesn’t Maman Bridget help women with unfaithful lovers?” The air chilled for a moment, but nothing rang untrue in your skull. You glanced up from the bottle of pepper-infused rum in your hand. “What?” you asked, “I’m not wrong.” You were defensive, yes, your voice sharper than you intended.

The woman, who you knew had left through a door before, was standing next to the Baron behind the bar. She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I like this one,” she murmured. She released the man and rounded the bar again, almost materializing by your side with her smooth movements. No wonder you hadn’t noticed her return. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around,” she said, leaning against the bar, “The Baron might even warm up to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” you replied, “No offense.”

The Baron laughed – loud and full, a sound that echoed a little harshly in your ears – and leaned towards you. “She’s right,” he murmured, “I like you.”

You smiled. There was an air to him that was familiar, and you voice as much when you said, “You remind me of another friend who owns a bar a lot like this. I think you two would get along.”

He snorted as he leaned back, eyeing Bridget over your shoulder as she slipped behind you. “Maybe you could introduce us,” he replied.

Sweeney sat heavily on the stool next to you, grunting and leaning into your warmth. “How’s about we stop makin’ nice,” he grumbled, “I gotta favor.”

Bridget smiled. “From what I hear, it’s not like you to do favors, Sweeney,” she sighed and your smile grew tighter, “Hasn’t that been your friend’s job?”

You frowned at the way she said ‘friend’. Sweeney huffed, shifting in his seat and leaning away from you.

“The Dead Wife,” he sighed, waving a hand towards Laura on his other side, “Is dead.”

The Baron flicked the rim of his hat up and leaned close, spreading his hands along the bar. “Don’t look dead,” he said. He sniffed, long and loud. “Don’t smell dead, neither.”

“Smells Norse,” Bridget commented with a sigh. She leaned towards Laura and picked up her hair, sniffing it. “A bit Greek? A bit…” Her hand snapped out and slapped the side of Sweeney’s head. He started to protest when Bridget opened her mouth and let loose a violent rant of Gaeilge so fast it didn’t sound like words.

Laura leaned back to share a wide-eyed look with you.

The Baron laughed.

Sweeney hunched his shoulders around his ears as Bridget swore. Her voice dropped as she switched to English, “You lost the Sun’s treasure?!”

Your leprechaun swung a hand towards Laura. “It ain’t lost, it’s in there!”

“It’s not yours anymore, is it?!” Bridget snapped, “Not the Sun’s but some dead woman’s!”

“And she’ll only give it up if she ain’t dead!” Sweeney shouted.

The Baron stood straighter. Bridget’s mouth clicked shut and her eyes glanced past him to you.

“Why we’re here,” Sweeney finished.

“That’s powerful magic,” the Baron murmured, “With a steep cost.”

“We’ll pay,” Laura replied, unknowing.

Sweeney shoved his hands through his hair and leaned on the bar, ducking his head low.

It was quiet for a moment. The Baron and Bridget exchanged looks. Then, Bridget cleared her throat. “Come back at closing,” she answered, “We need time to prepare.”

Sweeney was up and out the door before she finished. You stood to follow, stopped only by the woman’s hand on your arm. Laura lingered at the door.

“You shouldn’t come back,” she said, “It’s not magic involving you.”

You frowned, feeling a calm warmth seep into your skin, but pulled away. “We’ll see,” you replied.

You left.

Laura waited outside, talking about places to stay, and started towards the main road like she knew the area. Sweeney shuffled behind her, and you after him. He didn’t look at you, didn’t slow to walk next to you. He just walked, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

The three of you eventually made your way to a small hotel not far from the French Quarter. They had one room left, and the cost left you lightheaded, but you dug the cash out of your bag and paid regardless. Once you were given the keys, you turned to see what Laura and Sweeney wanted to do until it was time to go back, but found Sweeney gone.

Laura shrugged when you asked her where he’d gone. “Dunno,” she said, “Didn’t even see him leave.”

You frowned. “Okay,” you sighed, leaning to see if you spotted him anywhere. “What do you wanna do until he gets back?”

A smile lit up Laura’s face. She led you back outside, and down the street, stopping at every shop between the hotel and the bar. You found ink for Mr. Ibis, an antique set of mortician’s tools for Mr. Jacquel, and a new toy in the shape of a bat for Bas. Laura found a cute dress, which she showed you only after you had left the store, and she changed in an alley. There were other stores, other things purchased or stolen, other smiles shared and memories made.

It was dark soon enough, and the two of you stumbled back to the bar in each other’s arms, laughing like schoolgirls.

Sweeney was already there, waiting, face drawn as he pushed the door open. He didn’t say anything as you walked past him, didn’t even look at you.

Bridget looked away from the Baron with a smile that fell the moment she saw you.

(Coward. What a fucking coward.)

“I told you not to come,” she said, leaning on the bar, “This doesn’t involve you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked, confused, a bit incredulous, “They’re my friends.”

Even the Baron looked a bit lost as he watched Sweeney. “Sex magic only calls for two people,” he explained slowly, “That who requested, and that who benefits.” He tilted his head. “And those who cast it.”

“What?” His words rang in your ears. Laura’s hands disappeared from your arm as she said something, then the Baron, then silence. Three sets of eyes burned into your face as a fourth actively avoided looking at you. “What?” you asked again.

“It’s magic,” Bridget said at the confused look in your eye, “Just magic.” It was like she was trying to soothe a burn, but instead of aloe, it was lemon juice.

“Potent magic,” the Baron added. He slid his hand up over her ass. “Only kind that’ll work for this, too.”

Laura whispered your name.

You smiled. You had to – for her, who you’d come all that way for, and for Sweeney, who…

The smile hurt. You’d rather the platitudes from Bridget.

You nodded, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I know,” you said, voice cracking, “Why we’re here.” You cleared your throat. It burned. “I’ll be at the hotel then.” The door thumped against your back as you reached it. Laura had the grace to look away as you fumbled it open and left.

Once outside, the door slipped from your fingers and shut with a heavy thunk. The hot night warmed your clammy skin and sunk into your clothes until you started to sweat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just don’t wanna see ‘em.”

“You’re a liar!”

He knew.

(He really was a coward.)

You walked, shouldering through the thick evening crowd as your thoughts wandered away.

Why were you upset? He wasn’t yours, despite all your wants, and thoughts, and wishes. He never was, and, if you were honest, he never would be. You weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, weren’t supposed to be trailing after a man who worked for a god you shouldn’t have met. You were supposed to be home in Cairo. In your bed. Alone.

Fading.

Dying.

Dead.

Your feet shuffled to a stop. People milled past you, unseeing, like you were just something in their way and not a person on the brink of an abyss. You couldn’t tell what you were staring at – a swirl of blurring colors that spanned what must have been the road or the crowd or the buildings, it was all bright and it hurt. Heat spilled down your cheeks and your vision cleared.

A shoulder clipped yours. You stumbled, the rest of the tears rolling down your face, jolting back into your body when you weren’t even aware you’d left it.

“I’m sorry—oh,” a voice thick with a deep southern twang danced in your ears. Warm hands brushed your shoulders. “You alright, darlin’?” Your tears continued. They wouldn’t stop, even as you lifted your eyes from the ground, up past a white collar framed by metal filigree points, and met a warm, brown gaze set into a tanned and tired face. The Preacher’s brow furrowed as he muttered a soft, “Shit.”

You shrugged a shoulder away from him, mumbling something you knew was a lie, but that might’ve also been an apology.

He followed, standing close, staring past you, then turned you around towards a door. You barely heard his voice. You tried to take in more of his features, wondering why he bothered when no one else did – his hair was messy but stood in soft peaks around his head, while the sides were shaved close, and a splatter of dark freckles covered the bridge of his nose. He spoke again, meeting your gaze when he did.

The air trembled around you. Something traced his words out onto the air. You could’ve mistaken the anomaly for a heat wave if it hadn’t been at the end of your nose.

He guided you through the crowd and into a cold bar. You shivered at the sudden change, you sweat suddenly ice on your skin. His hands left you to remove his coat and drape it around you. You watched him roll up his sleeves. Hs pressed a hand between your shoulders and led you to a booth. Two other people were already sitting there, arm against arm.

“Padre?”

“Jesse?”

“Now,” the Preacher – Jesse – motioned you further into the booth, taking up the edge seat when you complied. “This here is Tulip, and Cassidy,” he quietly introduced.

You were pretty sure you gave them your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“We ain’t here for—” Cassidy’s voice cut off with a yelp.

Tulip adjusted in her seat, shooting the man, Cassidy, next to her a glare. She smiled at you. She was lovely. “You alright, hun? You look down,” she asked. Jesse next to you suddenly jumped, swearing under his breath. “Why don’t you and Cass get us all some beers, yeah?” she politely demanded. She even moved for Cassidy to scramble out of the booth.

You took her in as she shuffled back across the booth seat – her tight brown coils kept the sunglasses sin her hair in place, and her brown eyes were bright as she stared at the men at the bar. She wore lip gloss, and her freckles were just a shade darker than her soft brown skin.

She flashed you another smile, this one not as awkward. “You okay?” she asked again. Her eyes darted over your face. “I mean, you don’t really look okay, but do you wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. You mulled over her words, adjusting yourself in Jesse’s coat as you struggled to settle back into your skin, forcing yourself into the situation. Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done, you were led into a bar by a stranger, and stuck in the corner seat of a booth.

Though, there were worse things you’d done, too.

And it was a Priest that led you into the bar. Out of all the strangers, that was one that you could, maybe, trust more. And given the weird thing that happened when he spoke, it really reminded you of Anders, and you scrubbed your face with your hands with a groan. Fully covering your face, you dropped your elbows on the table and rambled out everything that had ever happened – from meeting Sweeny in Cairo, to sitting in the bar with her at that moment. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you barely registered Cassidy or Jesse returning sometime towards the early middle of your tale.

Tulip took your hand and wrapped it around a beer, the polite look on her face replaced with a familiar frustration.

“Now, I ain’t one for religion,” she started, quickly rolling her eyes as Jesse cleared his throat. “Wasn’t,” she corrected, “But someone wanted us to meet because I think we are uniquely qualified to help you out right now.”

Cassidy slapped his bottle on the table, leaning in curiously. “Yer man really a leprechaun?” he asked, “Flighty fuckers, ain’t they?”

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, clearing your throat.

“Nah, I’m old, yeah, been everywhere in my hundred years, and I ain’t ever come across a shrewder or fucked fae than a fuckin’ leprechaun,” he answered.

You properly grabbed the beer and had a long drink. “And how—”

“Oh.” Tulip slapped his arm. “Cassidy here is a vampire,” she said casually, then waved a hand at Jesse next to you, “And Jesse has the literal word of God in his chest.”

“Tulip,” he sighed, as though it was a long-worn topic of contention.

The edges of your world became a little more defined the longer you sat with them. “A vampire, a priest, and a woman,” you mumbled, “I’ve been in weirder situations.”

“Yeah, alright,” Cassidy said, waving his hand in a circle over the table as he adjusted in his seat, “Circle back – how the fuck did ya land an invitation to the Oester party?”

“Oester?” Jesse whispered to you.

“Easter,” you clarified.

He nodded slowly and sat back, draining his beer in one long gulp.

“Everyone’s always clamberin’ for that, fuck, even the Oester in fuckin’ Qatar has a hard time gettin’ invited some years!” Cassidy continued.

“There’s more than one?” asked Tulip.

“You also said there were multiple Jessues?” butt in Jesse over her.

“Jesi,” Tulip corrected.

“I think it’s just Jesus, ya know, both plural and singular,” Cassidy mumbled.

“We’re lookin’ for God,” Jesse continued, sighing, “Big G, God. Was he—”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Father. Just Jesus.”

“Jesse,” he insisted.

The conversation continued in a similar vein, you giving them more details, them sharing their story. The table collected a large amount of beer bottles as the hours passed.

Sweeney drank just as much as Bridget danced. It was a dance she’d done numerous times, one that he partook in at least once, one she’d done in front of others who owed favors, who needed magic so desperately that they’d toe the line between death and sex just to taste it. She twisted in time to music that formed on the air. Sweeney’s eyes slipped past her, past the figures that appeared around her, to someone she had yet to see. She threw her head back as old words slipped past her lips, and spotted the figure, the one who clouded the Irishman’s mind as the world grew hazy and the magic grew hot. Bridget was grinning when she turned to him, traced her slim fingers up his thighs, which parted for her.

“And, for a moment, I thought you were hung up on the dead girl,” she crooned against his clothed stomach.

Sweeney snorted.

“But it’s someone else,” she teased. Her lips grazed the skin of his neck. He twisted his head away from her. His knee started to bounce. “Bet you’d be more into it if the Informant were here, kneeling between your knees.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his ear. “Just as eager to take your cock as you are to give it.”

He shrugged her off with a growled, “Shut up.”

She arched an eyebrow as she stood, though that Cheshire stretched further across her face. “C’mon, let’s play pretend, hm?” The room filled with an eerie glow. Sweeney rose from his eat. “You be the burly Irishman.”

“Shuddup.”

“I’ll grant your favor,” she purred, voice lilting as Sweeney stepped closer.

“Shut. Up.”

It wasn’t her voice that said, “Make me,” but she squealed when Sweeney scooped her up and pinned her to the wall, anger and frustration brewing hot in his veins. It wasn’t her he saw when he hiked her skirt up and pulled her legs high around his waist, nor when he tilted her hips up and pushed his cock into her with no preamble.

In the haze, he heard the Baron and Maman Bridget laugh.

As the red settled over his eyes, he slid a hand up the back of the figure on his hips, swinging them around, pinning them to the column behind him. They were tighter than hell on his cock and warmer than the sun against his chest and he felt himself swallow his own name as he kissed a mouth he’d become familiar with.

The fingers in his hair were yours.

The thighs he gripped tight were yours.

The voice that mewled and moaned in his ear as he touched and bit groped the right places was yours.

And while part of him knew it wasn’t you – wasn’t really you taking his cock like you were built for it – the rest of him desperately wished it was, and convinced him to enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

(Laura knew that Sweeney only touched her the way he did was because he imagined it was you, and she desperately wished her imagination was powerful enough to picture the man she kept telling herself she loved, rather than seeing the one she really did.)

Jesse fumbled with the lock to your hotel room for the third time, swearing beneath the din of a party going on down the hall. Cassidy stated that he was sober, that he could open the door, but Tulip hushed him and pointed out that he was carrying you on his back, so he was too occupied to do so. He didn’t argue with her, nor point out that she, too, was drunk.

You cheered when Jesse finally opened the door.

“’ey, I got it,” Cassidy said as he shuffled inside. You were vaguely aware of him ushering Tulip and Jesse away, of him telling them that they needed to get home, and to call a taxi or an Uber.

“You text me!” Tulip halfway shouted around him, waving at you as you were deposited onto the bed.

You flashed her a thumbs up before Jesse pulled the door shut.

Cassidy turned to you, rubbing his neck, and dug through the only bag in the room, mumbling something about getting you a change of clothes.

It gave you a chance to really look at him, really take in his features. He was tall, with hair long enough to stick out in difference directions, and soft brown eyes, and was freckled from his previous days in the sun. His voice was soft as he handed you the clothes and advised you to change. He steadied you, helped you tug off your stubborn shirt and put on your clean one, then sat you on the toilet and grabbed a washcloth.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, surprisingly sober, given how much you drank.

He knelt and started to wipe your face; his brow knitted together at your question. Then, he sat back on his heels, his arms draped on his knees.

“I’m a real right bastard, love—”

You swiftly corrected him with your name.

He lifted his hands, apologized, and continued, “But I ain’t gonna leave someone alone when they’re hurtin’.” He paused, then sighed. “Specially with somethin’ like this.” He gave you a small smile.

“I don’t deserve it,” you whispered, sniffling. You wiped your nose with your hand. Cassidy held out the damp cloth. You took it, chin trembling, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You don’t,” Cassidy agreed. “Fact, from what y’ said, that Sweeney’s a fuckin’ arsehole and deserves an asskickin’, but that’s from the outside.”

You waved your hands, rolling your eyes. “No, I—” You sniffled against and dabbed your nose with the cloth. “No, I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve your company, I don’t…” Your voice cracked and dropped to a whisper as you continued, “I don’t deserve to be here. Someone else does. Someone stronger, someone kinder, someone smarter.” You hiccupped and covered your face with the cloth, leaning over your knees.

Cassidy sat on the floor at your feet, folding himself around your legs and the toilet as much as his long limbs would let him. He looped his arms around your back. “That’s the shitty booze talkin’, y’know…” he murmured, sighing gently, “An’ I dunno who you think is better. Yer plenty strong, from the sounds of yer story. Kind, too. Smart as a fuckin’ whip.” He frowned. “You deserve what ya put into the world, and y’ve put a lot of good out there.”

Your sob tore through his chest like a stake.

(Cassidy’s heart broke a bit and stitched back together with a bit of love he carried for you until the day he died.)

“Then why…” you trailed off.

He sighed. “Others just put shit out there, too, and that’s a bit bigger than the good sometimes.”

You scrubbed your eyes with the cloth until they burned, then sat up, wiping your cheeks. He took the washcloth, carefully wiping your nose with the corner.

“Know it ain’t much,” he whispered, “But ‘m glad someone like you’s here.”

“I wanna go home,” you whispered, and he felt it in his gut that you didn’t mean a place.

He sighed. “Me, too,” he said, and in that moment, you knew he didn’t mean a place either, and wondered if Tulip was right about the serendipitous meeting.

Your chin trembled. He helped you up, guided you to the bed, tucked you in, then sat next to you. He flipped the television on. You reached over and flipped it off.

“You’re a vampire,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder, “Tell me a story. Tell me your story. I’ll commit it to memory.”

He snorted. “Why you wanna do somethin’ so silly like that, huh?” he asked.

“Everyone deserves to be remembered,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “And everyone’s important enough to be remembered.”

Your phone buzzed on the blankets. Cassidy scooped it up. He tilted the screen towards you.

“He’s really enjoying fucking that dead flesh,” read a text from your sister, sent over one of the social media apps on your phone.

“That somethin’ she’d say?” Cassidy asked, glancing at the phone, “You said somethin’ about gods and the like, too, when y’ were tellin’ yer shit.”

“Never,” you whispered.

He turned the phone off. “None a that, then,” he mumbled, tossing it somewhere on the bed. He threw an arm around your back. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

“Those are the best,” you yawned.

He spun you a tale of two kids playing at being Freedom Fighters in a land you’d grown familiar with, about how one died in battle, another in the streets.

You drifted off sometime during his re-telling of the 70’s.

Old stone homes crowded the darkness of your sleep, looming over you like specters of a past you didn’t know well. You padded barefoot down cobblestone roads and turned a corner to find your familiar library at the end of one.

“Hello, you,” you whispered as you made your way over, pulling open the clean doors. They creaked and slammed shut behind you. It was dark inside. Not dark enough that you couldn’t see, but the once warm candles were no longer lit, instead being scattered, and broken across the floor. You stepped over them with a frown as you walked in.

Thrown across the main room were books – the floor was covered in pages that were ripped and stained, and shelves were knocked against each other. You knelt to pick up a book and sighed. An ache bloomed behind your eye as sobriety quickly approached.

“Leave.” A voice in the sudden silence made you jump. You dropped the book, rising to your feet. A figure stood beside a tipped over shelf. Its eyes reflected what little light filled the room. You gulped, shifting back as it inched towards you. You scrambled for the door and the bright light beyond it, panic clawing at your throat as the thing ran after you. You pulled the door open.

Its hand smashed the door shut. “You don’t get to run away from this!” it snarled over your startled screech, “You don’t get to just decide it’s over!”

“Stop it!” you screamed. It roared against your back, then fell silent. Its heat surrounded you. You swallowed, turning to see whatever it was that haunted your library.

You stood toe to toe, its bright, knowing eyes watched you. Its chest heaved and its arms trembled. You shivered, backing up against the door. It stepped back.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

It opened its mouth and hundreds of names poured out. You covered your ears as the sound of them echoed in your head, pounding against your skull, everything building until it was undecipherable noise.

Fingers wrapped around yours, cold against your hot skin.

Rose opened her eyes, leaning away from her two lovers to pick up her phone. She’d sent a message hours ago, calling on an acquaintance she hadn’t met in decades, cashing in her one and only favor to him.

Her message was the address of the hotel and your room number, attached to the request, “Take them home. Cairo.”

He’d replied, “Done,” and dropped a pin showing that his phone was at the same location.

She sagged with relief and sat back against the couch.

The man saw the read notification beneath his pin, then slid his phone into his pocket. It was easy for him to pick the lock of your room – old doors, old locks, they were nothing for his deft fingers. Though, he swore when he dropped the lock pick, scooping it up into a wide palm as he checked the door. Satisfied, he swung the door open.

Cassidy looked up from gently prying your hands from your head.

The strange man looked around the room. The television had been unplugged at one point, as had the small clock radio. A cell phone sat on the blankets, turned off. And a vampire was tending to the one Rose had sent him for.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Cassidy grunted, standing tall, making sure he was between you and the stranger. The man laughed harder.

The sound was finally enough to wake you. You pushed yourself up, rubbing your sore eyes, and squinted at the man standing in your room. He tilted his head back, somehow larger than Cassidy was before you. “Rose sent me,” he said, waving a hand, “Here to take you home. To Cairo. Let’s go.”

Cassidy glanced over his shoulder at you. You swung your feet off the bed, shrugging, still half asleep and not quite sober as you groggily responded, “Take me home.”

“Y’sure?” whispered Cassidy.

You looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. “I’m sure.” Then, you pointed at your bag. “Give me your number. I’ll update you. And stay here, at least until nighttime. The room’s paid for.”

He hesitated, and gave the man another wary look, but did as he was told with a shrug. He eventually turned back to the man again. “Wait, who’re you?”

The strange man grinned, his laughter finally subsiding. “Call me Iartaithe,” he answered with a wink, “It’s a name.”

“Okay, but why’re you laughin’?” Cassidy asked as he grabbed your bag. He fished for the pen you pointed towards, glancing over when you saw you rubbing your eyes again.

“Just absurd,” Iartaithe replied, “Whole thing. Absolutely fucking absurd.”

“Yeah,” you muttered as you stretched your arms above your head, “Tell me about it.” You waited as Cassidy scribbled down his number, then stretched to grab your phone and turn it back on. You looked up at him. “Can you tell Sweeney where I’m going?”

“I can tell ‘im to fuck right off,” Cassidy replied. You smiled. “Guess I can,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” you said, “He’ll worry.” Then, you frowned, wondering if he’d show back up at all, and remembered that, despite what you wanted from him, he really was still your friend. He’d show up. And he’d worry. But you also knew that you couldn’t stay there anymore, especially alone. You appreciated Cassidy’s company, but you knew he couldn’t stay. You needed to go home. You needed to see Bast again. “Thank you,” you repeated, looking up at Cassidy, “Really.”

He flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh, tapping your phone with his finger. “You better fuckin’ message, or I’m comin’ to find you instead,” he threatened, “Fuck God. He can wait another fuckin’ day.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, yawning, and stood, scooping your bag off the floor. “Promise,” you swore.

Iarlaithe leaned back against the door, and stepped out into the hall when you followed. You gave Cassidy one last glance, waved when he did, and shut the door on him and everything that New Orleans had brought you.

~*~Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

@hannon-say || @divadinag || @superflannel || @jinxy-toast || @the-bluest-hour || @karmabites2313 || @siedrkona1991 || @hstott || @lakeli || @massivecolorspygiant || @leximus98 || @weirdo125 || @fleeingdawn-blog1 || @madamecoyote || @postgradandstupid || @hopplessdreamer || @ceyruh || @animatenebrae || @ultrablackwidower || @callmemaeverick || @loisbaggings || @fictional-hooman || @babypink224221 || @quietwitchworld || @mags-writes || @sunshine-gumdrop || @theonlylolland

#the invasion series #american gods #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #pablo schreiber

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