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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years

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Garden of Secrets [12] - Hydrangeas

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Planning a wedding can cause tension.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 5400

Series Masterlist

You didn’t even know preparing a wedding could be this troublesome, but for the last couple of days, you’d barely had any time to sit down. There were so many things to do, and for the most part you felt as if you were doing nothing but saying “Yes” to things you weren’t even paying attention to.

But this?

This you paid quite the attention to.

Your uncle had decided to buy you and Benedict a house as a wedding gift. You hadn’t gotten to see it before because it was being made ready but your aunt had assured you that it was to your liking, and to Benedict’s no doubt. Apparently Benedict had a house in the countryside already and he was planning on buying one here as well before the wedding but your uncle had stopped him, stating it would be a present from him for a new beginning.

The carriage stopped and the coachman opened the door for you and helped you out, Teddy, your aunt and your maid following you. After thanking him, you raised your head to look at the house in front of you, an exhale leaving your lips.

It was so beautiful that for a moment you could do nothing but stare at the impressive building, frozen in your spot. It was large, larger than most of the houses in London but knowing your uncle that shouldn’t have been surprising. The huge windows meant inside the house would be well lit all over and the gate opening to the stone road that led to the house looked like it was polished to perfection. A footman rushed to open the gate and your aunt linked her arm through yours while Teddy ran ahead.

“Teddy, not so fast!” you called out but he didn’t even stop.

“I want to see the house!”

“I’ll keep an eye on him my lady,” Paula said and rushed after him to the house while your aunt took an excited breath.

“You will especially like what I’m about to show you,” she said as she pulled you to the step inside the gate but instead of going inside the house, she led you to right past it.

“Auntie, where are we going?”

“You will see!”

“But the entrance is—” you started but stopped talking as soon as you both reached the backyard.

The huge extravagant garden lying in front of you was absolutely breathtaking. The flowerbeds were full of colorful flowers, no doubt kept in pristine condition by the previous owner’s gardener and you turned your gaze to the beautiful greenhouse by the far end of the garden, across from the fountain by the gazebo.

It looked like something out of a fairytale.

“We chose this one not only for the house but for the garden as well!” she said, turning to look at you better. “A garden of your own and a greenhouse! Do you like it?”

You could feel the burning behind your eyes as well as the slight pinch on the bridge of your nose, a sure sign of the tears. In truth, this was beyond everything you had dreamt or hoped for when you imagined your future, that was why it was nearly a torment to see such a beautiful vision and knowing you wouldn’t get to make it yours no matter how much you wanted to.

You couldn’t keep a garden and live in fear that Benedict could take it away from you whenever he saw it fit.

“It’s so beautiful,” you managed to say before you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her into a hug to hide your face. She patted your back gently, holding you tight before pulling back to cup your face.

“I hope your marriage will be filled with nothing but bliss,” she said. “And that you and your husband will be incredibly happy here.”

Your husband.

Right.

You blinked back the tears and smiled at her.

“I’m certain we will,” you lied and she let out a happy laugh.

“Wonderful!” she said and pulled you by the hand. “Let me show you the house!”

The house itself was as gorgeous as the outside. With its high ceilings, spacious hallways and well-lit rooms, it was as if someone wanted to make sure anyone who stepped inside would never feel smothered by the walls, instead would feel as free as one would outside. You could already hear Teddy running wild in the hallway and your aunt talking to Paula while you leaned sideways to the window frame, keeping your eyes on the garden.

It looked like a painting, almost.

The knock on the doorframe made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked over your shoulder.

“Benedict?”

“Good afternoon,” he said, his soft smile making your heart skip a beat. “I hope you do not mind, your aunt invited me.”

“Of course she did,” you said, that familiar tension making its way through your veins again but you managed to ignore it. “Have you had the chance to look around?”

He nodded his head.

“I have,” he said. “Is it to your liking?”

You opened your mouth to say yes, then stopped yourself and shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms.

“To yours?”

“It is actually,” he said. “Did you see the garden yet?”

Your eyes flickered over his handsome face and you shrugged your shoulders again.

“I did,” you said. “Which side do you want by the way?”

He seemed confused at your question. “What?”

You motioned around. “The house,” you said. “Which side would you prefer? I think the east side has better light for your work, but it doesn’t matter to me really.”

A frown pulled at his brows. “We’re—we’re dividing the house?”

“Well not dividing,” you said. “At least not literally but I figured it would be easier for…us both.”

“Easier?” he asked but before you could come up with an answer, you heard Teddy’s footsteps coming closer.

“Y/N I saw a butterfly—” he stopped talking when he saw Benedict, his face pinching in a frown. He made his way to you, shy all of a sudden now that you weren’t surrounded by people like you had been back at dinner. You knew he would be distant with Benedict after learning you would be marrying him, and you squeezed at his shoulder in an assuring way while he half hid behind your skirts.

“Hello Teddy,” Benedict said, kneeling down to get to his level. “You saw a butterfly?”

Teddy nodded quietly, biting on his nail.

“What was it like?”

Teddy paused, then shrugged his shoulders in silence. Benedict looked around the room, then tilted his head.

“What do you think about the house?”

“’s nice.” Teddy mumbled inaudibly, still hesitant to answer and Benedict hummed.

“Have you picked your room yet?”

That managed to get a reaction from Teddy as he gasped, looking up at you. “My room?”

You stared at Benedict, then cleared your throat. “Teddy…”

“I get a room?!” he asked, excitement laced in his voice and he darted before you could even say anything. “Auntie! Auntie I’ll have a room here, did you know that?!”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your lip and turned to Benedict. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why? Surely he will need a room especially if he’s staying with—”

“He’s not staying with us,” you cut him off, making him frown.

“Why not?”

Because you didn’t want to risk it. You had grown up watching your mother and father and you had seen what happened numerous times when there was a fight. Teddy staying with your uncle and aunt was going to be better for him, at least you trusted them.

Not to mention it would be safer for him. If Benedict got angry and wanted to take it out on the nearest person like your father used to—

You couldn’t let that happen, not to Teddy.

“Mr. Bridgerton, welcome!” your aunt’s voice reached you both, making you turn to her and Benedict bowed his head.

“Lady Thorne.”

“Now that both of you are here, I can finally show you the bedchambers!”

You gawked at her. “Pardon?”

“Come come!” she said and you both followed her down the hallway until she turned a corner and opened a door.

“Here are your bedchambers,” she said with a smile while you stared at the huge four-poster bed. “And Y/N, the cojoined lady’s room we can turn into a close for you! Or a studio for Mr. Bridgerton.”

Oh.

Oh you were to—

Right. Of course you were expected to sleep together, or at least spend some nights in the same bed for the… nightly activities of marriage.

You could feel the fear crashing down on you but you managed to swallow the lump growing bigger in your throat, biting on your tongue to focus. If it were any other time you would’ve thought the room looked even lovelier than your current room, but now all it looked like was a threat of the days to come. Benedict’s gaze stopped on you while you clenched and unclenched your hand, twisting your wrist subtly.

“Or a nursery if you wish but the actual nursery is the room over there—”

“I’ll go and check the kitchen,” you cut her off, the panic roaring through your veins like wildfire as you walked past Benedict, and rushed downstairs.

It didn’t take you that long to find it, probably because the layout was a bit similar to your uncle’s house, at least when it came to floor plan. You entered the empty kitchen and went to the table to pull yourself a seat, then slumped down on it, your heart still beating in your ears.

It was going to be unpleasant yes, but it wasn’t as if you didn’t know it before. You knew what was to take place on your wedding night and throughout your marriage but at least Benedict already had mistresses so perhaps it wouldn’t take place very often.

You rubbed at your wrist, thoughts swirling in your mind but then raised your head when you heard Benedict entering the kitchen.

“May I?” he motioned at the chair across from you and scoffed a laugh.

“By all means. It’s your house.”

“Our house.”

You clicked your tongue. “My name isn’t on it,” you stated as he sat down.

“Listen—”

“I was thinking—” you both said at the same time and Benedict motioned at you.

“You first.”

You could feel your heart leaping to your throat in nervousness but you swallowed thickly, then ran your nail over the wooden table.

“I would like to have my own room,” you said after a beat and he nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “However you like.”

“And I want to go back to it or for you to go back to yours if it takes place in my room, after we’re done.”

He frowned slightly like he didn’t understand. “After we’re done?”

You nibbled on your lip, still dragging your nail over the wood.

“I know what’s expected of me,” you managed to say, your voice very clear and not shaky by some miracle. “At night. And I will comply with those expectations but I’d—”

“Y/N,” he stopped you and let out a breath of disbelief, shaking his head. “Nothing is expected of you."

You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. “We’re having a serious conversation here.”

“Do I look to be jesting?” he asked and you paused for a moment, then sat up straighter.

“Assuming you’re going to keep your mistresses after the wedding…”

“I don’t have any mistresses and I will not keep one,” he said. “Do you really think—”

“You can though,” you stated, making him pull back slightly. For some reason, a pang of pain spread through your chest but you paid no mind to it. “Whatever your prior arrangements were, as long as they’re discreet for the sake of appearances I will not mind. Besides I’d—”

You paused for a moment, nervousness getting the words stuck in your throat but you took a deep breath.

“With you and me, I’d like it if it wasn’t very…often. Aside from our duty of course.”

A silence fell upon the kitchen while he stared at you and you waited with bated breath, your face growing hotter every second. The panic was slowly climbing up your chest and before you knew it, you found yourself unnecessarily explaining the situation.

“Because I know it’s usually unpleasant for—you know, I’m aware that it’s just usually unpleasant for women even in the instances both sides try to make it so. No need for us to try when you already have a working arrangement with others.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, making you pull your brows together and he cleared his throat before clasping his hands over the table, the perfect picture of decorum. His hands were so close to yours that if you moved your fingers just a little you would be able to touch his hand and feel if they were as warm as you remembered. The sudden desire twitched your fingers but you curled them and dug your fingernails into your palm, forcing yourself to focus.

“I will not touch you unless you want me to,” he said, his calm voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “I swear on my honor, nothing is expected of you and you have no duty to fulfill.”

Your frown deepened as you tried to wrap your mind around it.

“And,” he said, a cocky smile curling his lips slightly. “If the time ever comes and you decide you do want me to touch you, I can assure you I will do a better job at it than some incompetent prick who convinced you it was supposed to be unpleasant for you.”

That simple promise wasn’t supposed to send tingles right between your legs and your eyes snapped up at his before confusion hit you, making you tilt your head.

“Wait, what?”

“Whoever that clumsy idiot was,” he said. “He clearly lied to you.”

You blinked a couple of times. “You think I’ve been with someone before?”

He shot you a knowing look. “You really don’t need to do that, I would never think any less of you. I’m guessing it was before you came to London? Was he a friend or something?”

You would have laughed if you weren’t so tense.

“He was nonexistent?” you said after a beat. “I’ve never been with anyone.”

That seemed to take him by surprise, and he pulled back a little, his mouth slightly agape.

“You’re…” he trailed off, still staring at you. “Oh.”

You frowned. “Why are you so surprised by that?”

“I’m not!” he said defensively and your jaw dropped.

“Yes you are!”

“No I just thought—” he motioned at you. “You make a lot of jokes about it.”

“So?”

“So I assumed,” he paused. “Well, Charlie doesn’t even know it exists.”

A scoff left your lips. “And whose fault is that?”

“Not mine, clearly!” he insisted. “I just assumed since you kept making innuendos and you obviously know what it is…”

“I also know a lot about cacti Benedict,” you whispered through your teeth, your voice heated. “It doesn’t make me a goddamn cactus!”

“It’s different—”

“Wait a second,” you cut him off and he ran a hand through his hair, making it fluffier.

“Hm?”

“You were going to marry me even if you thought I…” you tried to find the words but failed miserably. “Even if you thought I haven’t remained chaste?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I haven’t remained chaste,” he pointed out with a small grin. “In case it has escaped your notice.”

“It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice,” you deadpanned, trying to hold back the sudden laughter bubbling in your chest and his grin widened.

“So why would it change anything?”

You could feel the warmth filling your chest and you nibbled on your lip, but before you could say anything, you heard footsteps coming closer and your aunt leaned on the doorframe.

“What is it with you two and this unstoppable insistence on being unchaperoned?” she asked as Benedict winked at you, making you roll your eyes while a small smile pulled at your lips. “Come on. We still have much to do.”

As it turned out, your aunt had another surprise for you. After you and Benedict got in the separate carriages to go to your separate ways, you realized it wasn’t the way to your home but your aunt refused to tell you where you were going.

It was only when the carriage stopped in front of a very familiar shop that you realized what it was and your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What on earth?”

“Surprise!” your aunt said and turned to Teddy. “My dear, Paula will take you to that pastry shop over there while you wait for us, alright?”

“Yes!” Teddy grinned while you turned to your aunt.

“Auntie…”

“We’re going to choose designs for your wedding gown, and who is better than Madame Delacroix to give you the perfect wedding gown?”

Anyone.

Anyone at all, you were half tempted to stop a random person on the street if it meant it wouldn’t be Madame Delacroix who would make your wedding gown. She and Benedict had been together up until your very sudden betrothal, and you weren’t even sure if that was still happening.

Even the thought of it made your throat burn for some reason.

It wasn’t within your plans to have your wedding gown made by your future husband’s former -and perhaps current- mistress, but it wasn’t as if you could tell your aunt about it.

“Lady Bridgerton is already there!”

Oh dear God.

You wondered if you could just trip on your way down from carriage to fake a sprained ankle just so that you could avoid this very moment, but before you could even do that, Paula and Teddy had already left the carriage to go to the pastry shop and your aunt pulled you out of the carriage and essentially pushed you into the store before you could protest.

“Y/N!” Lady Bridgerton said, standing up from the sofa to come and hug you. “Ah how beautiful you look!”

“Lady Bridgerton,” you managed to say. “What a lovely surprise. Good afternoon.”

She pulled back to smile at you, clasping your hands in hers.

“I hope you do not mind the intrusion, but your aunt says you were quite hesitant about your wedding gown,” she said. “So she and I will help you.”

“…Wonderful,” you said after a beat and Madame Delacroix came closer to you.

“Miss Y/N,” she said silkily, “Welcome. Congratulations on your engagement.”

You forced yourself to smile and gulped down. “Thank you, Madame Delacroix,” you said. “You’re most kind.”

“Caroline have you seen this silk?” Lady Bridgerton asked, pointing at a fabric before walking to the other side of the shop with your aunt following her, and you shifted your weight from one foot to other.

“If you could come with me,” Madame Delacroix said and led you to the counter where the sketchbook was open, full of different sketches of many wedding gowns. “We can make some arrangements if you’d like, these are just so that you can have some idea.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down at the sketches, silence falling upon you. You could still hear your aunt and Lady Bridgerton chatting happily and you absentmindedly turned a page, trailing your fingertips in a lazy manner until—

Until you saw it.

The gown itself looked like it was ethereal, with light tulle and white silk that almost looked liquid. Even though the design itself didn’t have any flowers, you could almost see how it would look if the skirts were embroidered with tiny blossoms along with small leaves over the bodice.

“That one?”

Madame Delacroix’s soft accent made you snap out of it and you scolded yourself in your head before you nodded, keeping your finger on it so that you wouldn’t miss it.

“Let me show you some options,” she said and walked behind the shop before she came out with three different shades of white silk, then laid them over the counter. You bit inside your cheek, guilt washing over you as you took one of the silks into your hand, then stole a look at her.

“I would like to offer you my apologies, Madame Delacroix.”

She raised her brows. “For what, ma chérie?”

“I think you know.”

A look of realization crossed her face but she managed to cover it quite fast.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“We have a common friend whom you know better than I do,” you said, then shook your head when you saw her expression. “I didn’t tell anyone. I would never, I assure you. I’m quite good with secrets.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever you may have heard…”

“He didn’t tell me,” you added in a haste. “No one did, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter how I know, I just—”

She watched you in a silence and you cleared your throat, then motioned around.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you said. “I recognize this visit may come off as rubbing salt in the wound or tantalizing but I honestly wasn’t aware my aunt and his mother were planning on it until just now.”

She pursed her lips, but stayed quiet.

“I recognize how difficult it might be,” you said. “And if you wish, I can just tell them I want to hire someone else for this.”

She tilted her head. “And why would you do that for me?”

You shrugged your shoulders, then heaved a sigh.

“It wasn’t my intention to—” you paused for a moment, then let out a bitter chuckle. “Despite what Lady Whistledown might suggest, it was never my intention to steal him or get in the way of a certain…arrangement, whatever it may be. So I would like to offer my apologies if I accidentally did such a thing.”

She looked almost taken aback by your words but before she could say anything, Lady Bridgerton came closer.

“Did you find anything you liked, dearest?”

You paused for a second, then cleared your throat. “Actually Lady Bridgerton, I’d rather hire—”

“Miss Y/N liked a very beautiful design,” Madame Delacroix cut you off, making you turn to her. “And I’d love to make it for her.”

You blinked a couple of times, then offered her a smile.

“…Thank you,” you said and she smiled back before you turned to Lady Bridgerton. “And yes. I found a design I love.”

Thankfully most of the ton was convinced of your sudden love story with Benedict, especially after the last ball. Even Lady Whistledown had claimed Benedict’s love must have melted your ice on her last piece and it was obvious while people would be watching you very closely, they believed your ruse.

It was probably more about Benedict and less about you though. He had been so convincing that multiple ladies had come to talk to you and tell you how lucky you were throughout the night.

So you had a feeling this ball wasn’t going to be so different but that did nothing to soothe that nervousness in you.

Benedict was just writing his name on Charlotte’s dance card for a dance when you got to the ballroom with your aunt, and Lottie waved at you before she said something to Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury who were with them.

“I was beginning to wonder where you were,” Benedict said as you reached them and pressed a kiss on your gloved hand, making you smile at him while Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton exchanged glances, grinning. Your aunt pressed a hand over her chest, obviously emotional.

“Last minute gown issue,” you said as you grabbed a lemonade from the tray a footman was carrying. “Good evening Lady Danbury. Lady Bridgerton.”

“Good evening dear.”

“What was wrong with your gown?” Lottie asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Oh, long story.”

“Speaking of gowns...” Lady Bridgerton said and your aunt chuckled.

“I’m so excited about that, you’d think it’s my wedding.”

Charlotte looked from you to your aunt and Lady Danbury snapped her fingers.

“Oh I forgot you were doing that today!” she said. “Violet told me. When do we get to see it?”

“See what?” Charlotte asked and you cleared your throat.

“I would’ve told you beforehand if I knew.”

“Knew what?” Benedict asked, making Lady Bridgerton turn to him.

“Well I kept it a secret from you as well Benedict, because I knew you would tell her,” she said with a smile, “We surprised your betrothed today.”

“With what?”

You looked down at your drink, discomfort hitting you all of a sudden but Lady Bridgerton didn’t notice.

“We took Y/N to the modiste so that she could choose her wedding gown.”

It was apparently a bad idea for Benedict to have been sipping his drink when he heard that, because he choked on his drink and started coughing, making Charlotte slap his back, completely oblivious.

“Oh I would love to come to the next fitting Y/N!”

“You did what?” Benedict asked when he could get enough air and you raised your brows, then nodded your head.

“It surely was a surprise when the carriage stopped there,” you managed to say and Benedict swallowed thickly.

“I can imagine.”

“Perhaps you can join the next time—”

“That’s not a good idea auntie,” you cut her off and Charlotte held her breath.

“Of course, he is not allowed to see it before the wedding!” she said and turned to Benedict. “It’s bad luck, everyone knows.”

You and Benedict exchanged glances and Lady Danbury smiled.

“But we can, right?”

“…Of course,” you said as the music started and Charlotte turned her head.

“It’s our turn, come on,” she said and put her hand on his arm, then pulled him to the dance floor.

“It’ll be so beautiful,” your aunt told Lady Danbury, “She’s having some changes made on the original sketch, I cannot wait to see the final product.”

“Flowers and leaves,” Lady Bridgerton said and you reminded yourself to smile.

“Excuse me for a moment please,” you said and made your way out of the ballroom into the hallway just so that you could get away from the chaos there. You ran your hand over the white hydrangeas in the vase on the small table as you approached the nearest painting, and tilted your head, staring at the brush strokes.

Benedict’s art was better.

You rubbed at your forehead, a sigh leaving your lips as you willed yourself to focus on anything but the storm of thoughts in your head. Today had been extremely tiring for you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Benedict still had feelings for Madame Delacroix or if he and she ever—

“Miss Y/N,” a voice interrupted your thoughts, making you turn your head but as soon as you saw who it was, you rolled your eyes, a small groan leaving your lips.

Exactly what the situation needed.

A conversation with Kitty Morris.

“What?” you asked tersely and she scoffed.

“Oh dear, what they say about you is true. You must’ve been raised by wolves.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yes it’s true. What do you want?”

She took a look at the painting before she stepped closer. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your engagement.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Much appreciated.”

“Quite a hasty engagement though,” she said. “People have all sorts of ideas about the reason.”

“Like what?”

“My friends say that you trapped him,” she said with her nose up in the air. “With what, I do not dare assume.”

You arched a brow. “Do you not?”

“I can assume the reason, not the act,” she said. “Some of us were raised as ladies.”

You clicked your tongue, anger starting to burn at the pit of your stomach.

“And what is the reason, pray tell?”

“You knew he would never think anything serious with you unless you forced him,” she said. “I mean, he didn’t even think anything serious with Charlotte while leading her on for two years let alone someone like you.”

Your eyes sharpened like a cat’s but you forced yourself not to take the bait. Fighting over a man was absolutely beneath you, you weren’t going to do it just because she was trying to start a verbal fight.

You had to draw the line somewhere.

“Go deal with whatever is bothering you on your own, I’m not going to hold your hand through it,” you said as you took a step, but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard her speak again.

“He was never going to marry you,” she called out. “Unless you trapped him. You grew up poor for God’s sake, if it weren’t for your uncle you would be on the streets where you belong. Everyone knows that, they say even your parents didn’t want you. Why would someone like Benedict Bridgerton want to be married to you?”

…Very well.

Fighting over a man was beneath you but you could kneel down a little if she wanted to go there.

You threw your shoulders back and turned around.

“And you think if it weren’t for me, he was going to marry you?”

“Obviously,” she said. “That’s why you sabotaged it the moment he started taking interest in me. It was clear he was going to propose to me, everyone knows that.”

You hummed and pointed at the ballroom with your thumb. “Why don’t you go ahead and ask him then?”

She pulled back slightly. “What?”

“Go ask him if he wants to marry you instead of me,” you said. “He’s in the ballroom, the dance is probably over. He’s not busy.”

She looked at a loss for words and you tilted your head.

“No?” you asked. “Fine, I can go ask him if you’d like.”

You took a couple of steps towards the ballroom but she rushed to get in front of you.

“You will do no such thing!” she demanded and you let out a small laugh.

“Why not?” you asked. “If he wants to marry you, I will not stand in your way. We can break the engagement tonight in front of the whole ton.”

“If you think that’s acceptable—”

“I did ask him about you by the way,” you cut her off “Once. Whether he would propose to you after you and your friends kept whispering about it right behind me. Do you want to hear what he said?”

She glared at you. “You’re lying.”

“Benedict is too polite to break people’s delusions,” you stated. “I don’t have that issue. So I’m not lying, I’ll tell you what he said if you want to hear it.”

A silence fell upon you and you raised your brows.

“I suppose not,” you pointed out. “Alright then. I will go back to my betrothed now if you don’t mind so if you could step aside?”

She raised her chin defiantly, crossing her arms as if she dared you to and you smirked slightly.

“Kitty,” you said. “You will not like it if I make you. Step aside.”

She gritted her teeth and looked you up and down.

“It doesn’t surprise me the whole ton is shocked by your engagement, not just me,” she spat, fury apparent in her tone. “Your less than favorable background is apparent all over you, regardless of what expensive gown they put you in. No wonder we’re all surprised.”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe,” you said airily. “Whether you find it surprising or not doesn’t really change the outcome though.”

“The outcome?”

You smiled, then nodded in the direction of the ballroom.

“That one is mine,” you said, barely aware of the pride laced in your voice. “And he’s in love with me. Go find your own.”

She took a step back, her eyes gleaming with frustrated tears and you sipped your drink.

“And show some composure, will you?” you asked. “People will think you were raised by wolves.”

She paused for only a moment before a sob escaped from her and she rushed past you to go outside, leaving you there. You scoffed a laugh and shook your head.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself and downed your lemonade, then made your way back to the ballroom.

Chapter 13

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

974 notes · View notes

redahlia-writes · 10 months

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x oc #javier peña x original female character #javier peña x reader #javier peña imagine #javier peña fic #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #pedrostories #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x oc #javier pena x original female character #practical magic #redahlia

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dark-elf-writes · 6 months

Note

I have no clue anything about ff but where is the ‘Harry gets adopted by FF7 characters and finds out what a family should be” au

No one is more surprised than me that I haven’t written this yet tbh like who am I????

ANYWAY

Little Harry who has heard a woman’s voice from a young age telling him that he is not alone, that he is not a freak, that he will be loved and cared for more than he could ever know. He always hears her more when he is working in his Aunt Petunia’s garden. Can practically feel her in the way the plants bloom more beautifully than anywhere else on their street. His invisible friend that helps him find what little beauty he can in his world.

And sometimes she talks about her friends. About a woman who is as strong as she is kind, who loves freely but took no shit, who welcomed those with good intentions with open arms and threw anyone without them out on their arse. About a ninja with sticky fingers and the blood of a princess who would give anything for her people and have fun every step of the way. About a father who demanded the world to change for his little girl and decided to be the push that set it all in motion. About an inventor trapped in the place he should have been able to do good but unable to make anyone listen so he sent his inventions out to make change for him. About a pilot who was grounded against his will and decided to make those that would clip his wings choke on that decision. About a man who was only doing his job and was hurt over and over again for doing the right thing and who learned slowly that the things done to him did not make him a monster.

About a hero that led them all, each of them broken and shattered in their own ways, into a better world.

Harry liked the stories of the hero the best.

Then one day things get bad and Uncle Vernon gets far more angry than he normally is. Harry runs to the garden, hoping somehow that his friend, his only friend, could save him, and she does.

In a space that is more light and glowing green energy than any “world” should be, he sees her for the first time, softly smiling and reaching out to rub her fingers through his hair. She is the prettiest lady he has ever seen. Another voice laughs when he tells her so and a big man with kind eyes, a scar on his face, and hair just as wild as Harry’s grins at him as he announces that “this kid knows what he’s talking about.”

She smiles though there is something sad in her eyes when she speaks.“I can send you somewhere that will help for a time, but eventually you will have to come back. This planet is quite certain that it needs you in the future.”

Harry wants to cry, wants to scream. How does he have to go back! He doesn’t want to.

But something else sticks with him, something that makes him hurt before he even realizes what it was.

“Send me somewhere. Not us?” Not his friend who had told him so many stories and helped him grow flowers? Not this pretty lady and the man with such a kind smile? After everything he would still be alone?

It’s the man’s hand that lands in his hair this time, a comforting weight as he ruffles the tangled locks. “Spike and the others will be waiting for you on the other side. They’ll take good care of you. SOLDIER’s honor.”

Harry doesn’t understand, can’t understand really but “You’re my friend,” he tells the woman, frustrated tears gathering in his eyes. He doesn’t have the words to say anything more. To name the swirling mass of hurt and yearning in his stomach.

She seems to understand smiling sadly at him again before she leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll still be able to hear me. More clearly than most I think. I will not leave you Harry Potter.”

Harry Potter is seven years old when he goes missing from the backyard of his Aunt’s house in a swirl of green light. He is seven years old when he wakes up in a shallow pool of water in a church that has seen better days with a man with wild blond hair and shining blue eyes watching him in stunned silence. He is seven years old when his first friend sends him to his hero for safety.

#the elf talks #ff7 #harry potter #help this grew legs and now I have T H O U G H T S

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pelorsdyke · 11 months

Text

ronancetober - day twelve: spell [practical magic au, nancy wheeler as sally owens, robin buckley as state investigator gary hallett]

“Did you or your sister kill Jason Carver?” The state investigator asks Nancy, both hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.

It’s stupid, but Nancy can’t help her instinctual deadpan reply. “Oh, yeah,” she says, leaning back against her kitchen counter. Distantly, she can hear Max and Mike taunting each other, the jingle of her aunt’s wind chimes as the pair race in and out of the porch door. “A couple of times.”

The investigator— Robin, she’d said her name was, insistent when Nancy defaulted to Detective Buckley instead— smirks. Nancy traces the line of her lips with her eyes.

“Nancy,” she begins, the word as hard-fought from the respectful detective as Robin’s own name had been from Nancy, “please. Tell me what you saw.”

“Jason Carver was a no-good shithead of a man, a bully and a bastard, and the worst kind of man, which is to say, one who put his hands on my sister. To be honest, Detective,” Nancy replies, pressing in on the word as she says it, watching Robin roll her eyes with barely constrained pleasure, “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass where he is now.”

It’s true, is the thing. When Nancy had first hit him— and she had been the first, the crunch of her car against his bones somehow a relief even as her mind had started racing through the implications of killing a man— a not exactly small part of her had thought about just leaving him where he was. A hit-and-run, maybe chalked up to his mob connections or violent behavior, letting Jason Carver rot in the woods. Better than he deserved, anyway. But Chrissy had insisted, fearful, that they needed to at least move the body, and once the two of them had hustled him in the car, it had seemed a little stupid to just… what? Bury the body in Joyce’s backyard? Hope no one dug the gardenias up too deeply next year? So they’d done something probably far stupider, if she was honest, and paged carefully through books Nancy had sworn off years ago to find a spell neither of them should’ve even considered casting.

And the second time, to be fair, he’d been a breath away from killing Chrissy. So Nancy had done it, in the end, had killed the man twice, the second time by shattering a pot over his head, and if she was honest, she’d kind of enjoyed it. Nancy didn’t intend to become a murderer, but she did revel some in getting to hand-deliver the comeuppance Carver had deserved, after what he’d put her sister through.

And then, yes, sure, they’d buried him in the garden. Fuck off, okay? Where else were they supposed to do it? Maybe one of their cousins had something resembling a better hiding spot for bodies by their mother’s house, but Nancy wasn’t about to start making calls to ask.

Robin mulls over Nancy’s words for a moment, and Nancy takes the time to observe the woman in front of her. Robin was tall but thin, most of her frame hidden away behind the bulk of her thick jacket and flannel, but where the sleeves were rolled up, Nancy caught a peek of muscled forearms. The detective was no desk jockey, certainly. She’d passed on the coffee Nancy had offered her on coming in, citing that it made her inexplicably sleepy, and had smiled fondly at Max and Mike when they’d scampered by, quietly letting on that they reminded her a bit of herself and her older brother. Nancy isn’t really sure why she’s so determined to hold onto every piece of information about Robin, but the woman is just so intriguing to her. There’s something about her presence at Nancy’s kitchen table, steady even as she thrums with energy, that Nancy can’t stop staring at.

It’s the moment when Robin opens her mouth, actually, that it clicks into place for Nancy. She’s saying something about how she’s certainly not about to deny Nancy’s assessment of the situation, not after chasing Carver across the country following a string of murders, but Nancy is only half-listening. Instead, she’s focused in what might be a semi-intimidating way for Robin on the blue of the woman’s eyes, how they flit between shades as the light changes.

—“And they’re going to have… bright blue eyes! Not like me, but like… like the ocean on a summer day.” Nancy remembers saying, Chrissy listening attentively at her side. “And one of those faces like an old Hollywood movie star, and an older brother who was born into parents who adopted them.”

“Is all of this important?” Chrissy had asked, and Nancy had shrewdly raised an eyebrow, breaking her concentration for only a second.

“Chris, it’s about making somebody impossible. I want to make sure I never fall in love,” Nancy had said, resolute and avoiding the sad curve of Chrissy’s lips in response. “Now shut up! I have to finish. And she’s going to hate coffee because it makes her sleepy instead of waking her up, which makes no sense to her or anyone else—“

“She?” Chrissy had piped in again, and Nancy had felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.

“Maybe,” she’d said, defensive and immediate, and her sister had just laughed and wrapped her in a hug, reminding her that they’d always have each other’s backs, no matter what. It was a promise they’d made with blood before Chrissy had run off, but it had been deep in both girls’ souls since long before that.

Nancy comes back to the moment with Robin with a certainty that grips her all the way to her soul. It’s her, she thinks, eyes locked on the cabinet beside her to avoid staring a hole into Robin’s head. Nancy’s magic impossible woman. And she’s doomed her to die.

#yes Mike is her kid and Chrissy is her sister because this isn’t canon I do what I want!#this is my stupid self indulgent au and I bend the characters to fit the narrative!#I really was excited about this one I hope you like it!#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #stranger things #mine #ronancetober #practical magic #fic tag

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sixty-silver-wishes · 6 months

Text

sometimes I think about the house my grandma raised my mother and uncle in, that my grandfather lived in before he died, that my sister and my parents and I would all come over to for holidays. when my sister and I were little, we loved watching Disney and Nickelodeon on my grandma’s TV because all we could get at home was PBS for the longest time. she had an old antique piano that was out of tune, and when I started learning to play the piano in middle school, I would go plink out “Legend of Zelda” songs on it and think about how I was playing songs much, much younger than that 100-year-old piano. and we tried to plant a garden in her backyard, but it got overgrown with weeds. and one day we found tadpoles in the birdbath, and she let us take some home so we could watch them grow into frogs. my grandfather had an old green easy chair he was always sitting in, and two toes that crossed over each other and wouldn’t sit normally. I liked to watch nature documentaries with him. right before he died, we would talk about world history because he was very interested in it, and I was just beginning to be. there was a painting of my mother when she was a child on the wall of one of the bedrooms, and I would always stare at it because it looked exactly like my older sister. my grandmother had an outdoor swimming pool where we would sit by as we watched my uncle launch Fourth of July fireworks, but when I got older and wasn’t interested in fireworks anymore, or the United States had made me too disillusioned with the Fourth of July for me to watch fireworks, I sat inside with my aunt and the dogs to keep them company. there was a big tree in the yard I loved to climb, and when I was in middle or high school, I would take my instruments up there to play them while sitting in a tree, just because playing instruments in a tree sounded like a magical thing to do. my grandmother had a pantry full of snacks just for my sister and I- Scooby Doo fruit snacks with the light blue one still in there and Saltine crackers, and a fridge full of sodas and sparkling water in the garage. she had a sewing room where she would teach us to make blankets and pillowcases with the fabric we picked out, and when my sister got older, she taught her to make vintage style dresses. she had a bedroom full of antiques belonging to our great-grandmother whom I had never met, and it somehow felt like the most familiar and most distant place in the world to me.

but then her dog died, and her old cockatiel died too, and one of our cats died. and over time we buried all the animals under one of the trees in her backyard- one I used to climb, but not as much as the other tree because it was so skinny. when my grandfather died when I was in high school, he was buried in a military cemetery where all you can leave are cut flowers and US flags, and my grandma got a certificate from the government after he died with Donald Trump’s signature printed on it because he was president then, and she always says it’s the ugliest signature she’s ever seen. his funeral was the very first time I saw a coffin. the old piano was beyond repair, so they took out all the musical bits and turned it into a desk that sits in our living room. the white paint covering the wood, its musical guts removed, the silence of the out-of-tune ancient keys that are no longer there makes it sound more like taxidermy than a piano. it plays john cage’s 4’33 in fortissimo whenever I pass it.

when my grandmother went to live in an assisted living community, she sold the house. she’s doing well now. she likes the place she lives in, she invites us over for holidays, she keeps active. but the house was completely remodeled and painted over. she said the tree I loved to climb in, the one my uncle climbed in when he was a kid, was chopped down. she says the house doesn’t look like it used to anymore. it’s unrecognizable. I could drive past it and never know. I probably have.

I wonder if the people who live there now know that in the big backyard that generations of people loved, no matter how much they’ve altered the house, there are the bones of two dogs and a cat and a cockatiel deep under the ground.

I wonder if they haunt it.

#rambles #this got long #death cw

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joelmillerbabygirl · 1 month

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UNSPEAKABLE

Chapter three.

Summary: it's Sarah's Birthday.

In the late afternoon, she was going to meet up with Iris. They would go out for an aperitif and finally reunite after months apart. She missed Iris, small but tough, the complete opposite of Emma, who knew no shame or embarrassment. They had become friends because they attended the same acting school, and from there, they had never parted.

Since her parents had gone out to visit friends, she had the house to herself, and after wandering through family photos, she had lunch in the garden, in the shade. From there, she could see the Miller house; something must have been going on that day because she saw Joel marching back and forth with various bags and a tired look on his face. Fortunately, he hadn’t noticed her, because she was surprised at how much she found herself looking at the house—and at the man. She had actually been staring at him much more. He was very handsome, which made her uncomfortable.

She went back inside, washed the dishes, and put on a movie. Then, she decided it was time to get ready. She was in the shower when the phone rang, and with her hair in her eyes, she answered her mother.

"Are you at home?"

She asked.

"I was in the shower."

"Ah, good. There’s a package in our room; it’s for Sarah. Today is her birthday, and I forgot to give it to Joel yesterday. Could you take it to him?"

Emma sighed.

"Yes, okay, I’ll take it over."

She hurriedly said goodbye and went back to her shower.

She got ready and then went out to deliver the gift.

Indeed, there was music, and she could hear the voices of kids from the backyard. She rang the doorbell, hoping someone would answer. After a short while, the door opened, and there was Joel.

A white T-shirt, beer in hand, and a confused look seeing her at the door. His salt-and-pepper hair suited him. Why did she think that?

"Hi, what’s up?"

Emma showed him the package.

"It’s from my parents, for Sarah."

Joel looked amused.

"Do you want to come in?"

It was still early, and Iris was usually late.

"Okay, thanks."

The Miller house was beautiful, not overly decorated but lovely, simple, with a lot of wood and pictures of Sarah.

"They don’t want me outside, so I’m hanging out in the living room."

Emma laughed.

"I get it, being thirteen is like that."

"Yeah, I don’t like it."

He said gruffly, then more gently,

"Something to drink? Water, beer..."

"Water is fine."

He gave her a glass of ice-cold water, which was more than welcome in that heat.

They remained silent; Emma didn’t know what to say. He was the one who broke the awkwardness.

"I’ll walk you out to Sarah; maybe they’ll let you join."

"Yes, that way I can give her the gift."

She followed him.

The garden was full of balloons, and in the middle, there was an inflatable pool with many girls playing and swimming.

Joel called out to Sarah, who looked annoyed because she was playing volleyball.

"Hey, Emma brought you a gift from her family."

Sarah took the gift but didn’t open it.

"Thanks a lot. Can I put it with the others? I want to open them all together."

"Of course!"

Emma replied.

Sarah ran off.

Emma realized she didn’t even know what was inside the package but pretended not to care.

"The cake will be out soon. Want to stay for a slice?"

Joel asked her.

Emma noticed how broad his shoulders were and that they were about ten centimeters apart in height.

"Why not?"

She smiled.

About fifteen minutes later, she had a plate with a delicious-looking slice of chocolate cake calling her name. It was good, very good.

She and Joel ate in a corner while the girls had fun.

"Sarah is really sweet. My parents adore her."

Emma said, eating a piece of cake.

He smiled.

"And she adores them; she has a lot of fun, especially with your father. He’ll be a great grandfather."

Emma made a face.

"I don’t think I want kids; I want to be the cool aunt, the one you tell about crushes and your first hangovers."

He looked at her, surprised.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I can see that."

They looked at each other for a moment.

Her phone rang.

It was Iris.

"Where are you? I rang the doorbell, and no one answered."

Emma stood up.

"I’m coming; I was next door."

She turned to Joel.

"It’s my friend; she’s here to pick me up. We’re going out for an aperitif. I have to go, unfortunately."

Joel stood up too.

"You were kind to stay. I’ll walk you to the door."

"The cake was great."

"I’m glad. I made it last night."

They were at the door.

"Thanks again for coming over. I’ll call your parents tomorrow, but thank them for me already."

"Sure, it was a pleasure. Have a good evening."

Joel opened the door for her.

"To you too. Have fun."

Emma went outside and saw Iris waving.

"Is that the neighbor?"

Iris asked, looking at the Miller house.

"Yes, I brought a birthday gift for his daughter."

"Is that the dad?"

"Yes, Joel, a family friend."

"Does this Joel have a wife?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Well, he’s sexy."

Iris said, waving at Joel, while Emma, embarrassed, pulled down Iris’s hand.

"Walk, don’t try anything with my neighbor."

"Why shouldn’t I? Are you jealous?"

"I’d have to deal with you as a neighbor, and I’m not ready for that."

They spent the evening catching up on their lives. Iris had found a job not far from Austin, which allowed her to stay and not have to move.

"Of course, no man in sight, but I’ve resigned myself to that."

"So, we’re in the same boat."

Emma said.

"Well, that neighbor seems like a good starting point."

"Iris, he’s like forty."

"So?"

Iris looked at her, confused.

"So, I’m twenty-five... do the math."

"Well, it doesn’t seem like a big problem to me; he already has a daughter, so you won’t have to have one... seems like a double win."

"Yeah, but I don’t like him anyway."

"Picky... then I’ll be dropping by your place more often."

"You should. Mom and Dad have asked about you; you could come over for lunch one of these days."

"Gladly. Hey, would you come with me to see a couple of houses? I want to leave that madhouse now that I have a job."

"Sure, whenever you want. I start in September, so I still have some free days."

"And your house?"

"It’s coming along; I think it’ll be ready soon. If you want to stay with me until you find your place, no problem."

"Actually, we’ve never been roommates; we could try it."

They laughed. It was nice to be silly again with her best friend. She was definitely back home, and she liked it more than she expected. Perhaps the idea of seeing Joel almost every day contributed to her happiness about being back.

#dbf!joel #joel miller #fanfic #the last of us #pedro pascal #slow burn #future smut

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randomshyperson · 2 years

Text

Yellow Curtains - Chapter Seven - Wanda Maximoff Series

Summary: Wanda Maximoff's senior year at Novi Grad School is duly planned for her. She has good friends, good grades, and a good system to hide who she really is. Or, the one based on Evak from the Norway Skam series, where Wanda is queer and tries to survive the last year without anyone knowing about it.

Warnings: (+18), general warnings about language and violence, legal drug use, mentions of underage drinking, high school, internalized homophobia and discovery of sexuality, explicit mentions of mental disorders (bipolarity and depression), dysfunctional family, making out, and eventual smut.

Skamverse | Series | General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Chapter Seven - The Truth

Četrtek 14:11 (Thursday 2:11 pm)

A beautiful landscape extended in front of Wanda. She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and blew the tea inside the cup she held, staring at the view while she could hear the sounds of her family playing in the house behind her.

She had been miserable for days after the fight, and Natalya had come up with the suggestion that they all go south of Novi Grad, to the part of the country where Django and Marya, Wanda's aunt and uncle, lived. They had two children, Ana and Mateo, who were very naughty children and whom Wanda liked very much.

It was already the last day of Hanukkah, and since the Maximoffs were not Jewish, Wanda left the table and went to a high spot on the hill in the backyard, and took advantage of the privacy to pray in silence.

She was admiring the landscape now; it would be a lie to say she wasn't thinking of you. She has, without exception, been remembering you every day. But Carol's call the day after yours, made her stop phoning.

"She's not feeling very well right now, Wanda. We're still in the hospital. With the holidays, her psychiatrist is on vacation. And she can't use a cell phone here so don't expect her to call. Just, hold tight okay? Know that she is safe. And surrounded by people who love her. She'll talk to you when she can."

Carol didn't answer any of her questions, and in a way, only made new ones come up. But Wanda was trying not to despair over the whole thing, and being around her family again made her breathe easy.

Pietro was still acting strange, but to her surprise, he was the one who took the first act toward reconciliation.

"I wouldn't want to start the year at war with you." He said - The peace offering being fruit he picked from the Maximoff garden in a decorated pot that Mateo probably helped him build. Wanda offered him a small smile, leaving the tea on a makeshift log as a table, and accepted the fruits. Pietro understood that he could approach. "Did I interrupt your prayer?"

"No, I was done." She murmurs, tasting one of the strawberries. "Did you complete yours?"

He nods, looking at the landscape before turning his gaze back to her. "How are you?"

Wanda chuckles weakly, placing the pot of strawberries next to the tea to hug her own body under the blanket.

"I keep wondering if I'm the problem." She confesses sincerely, and he stares at her the same minute, frowning. Wanda swallows dryly. "Maybe Y/N is right, and I am just too much."

"Wanda, you're not too much." He assures. "I'm sure she'll explain this story straight out, you can't jump to conclusions."

Her eyes filled with tears. "But it's like you said isn't it Pietro? What if I'm just playing the innocent, and not seeing what I'm doing? I called her a lot and lied and hurt her and now she hates me-"

"Hey, forget I said that I didn't mean it." He interrupts guiltily, pulling her by the shoulders. "You're amazing. You're my favorite person in the whole world. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, okay?"

She sniffles slightly, running a hand over her face to wipe her tears. "You're nothing like Dad, either. I shouldn't-"

He denies it with his head. "Yes, I am." He interrupts with a sad smile, "And it's okay. I'm more like him, and you're more like Mom. It's just the way things are. The difference is that he hurts us on purpose, and I never intended to do that to you." Pietro says. "Can you forgive me, Wanda?"

She nods, hugging him. Her twin responds at the same time, caressing her back over the blanket.

Pietro sighs a moment later. "I don't know what will happen between you and Y/N, but know that you won't be dealing with this alone. I'm here for whatever you need, sestra."

Wanda sniffles against his chest.

The family on Wanda's mother's side had Romani origins and were at their most devoted to the pagan faith. When Natalya married a Jewish man, it was a shock to both sides. The marriage also ended in scandal - Erik turned up with a mistress and a daughter. The divorce was peaceful after all, but it was safe to say that nobody liked Erik very much at that lunch table.

When Django asked if the twins would like to join them in traditional Wiccan celebrations, Pietro immediately refused. He had always been more connected to his father's Jewish faith than Wanda ever had been, and the girl, although she said she didn't know the customs very well, was more curious and open than her twin.

Yulefest had already started, but it went on until the first day of the new year. There was a big celebration in the nearby village, and Wanda had a good enough time to keep her thoughts away from you for the next few days.

Pietro did not participate in the celebrations but was respectful about everything. When they finally left the house of the days in January, he even surprised Wanda with some items he had asked his aunt and uncle to take home as a present to Wanda - She kept them near her bed.

–//–

Sobota 08:50 (Saturday 08:50 am)

Wanda was checking the New Year's Instagram stories of all her friends when you texted her for the first time in weeks.

"Can we meet? I want to explain everything."

Her heart leaped, and it didn't stop beating hurriedly for many minutes. Her immediate reaction was to type yes, but she hit the brakes before hitting enter.

How dare you disappear and then demand a conversation? She can't remember the last time she slept properly, not since that conversation.

She threw the cell phone on the bed, leaving you with no answer, and went into her brother's room.

Pietro was playing video games in the bedroom, and Wanda had to nudge him to get him to take off his headphones.

"I've already had coffee-"

"Not that." She interrupts gesturing briefly. "Y/N texted me."

He pauses the game on the spot, looking at her in anticipation. "So?"

Wanda crosses her arms. "She wants to meet me."

"Oh, do you need a ride or something?"

"No, I don't know if I want to go."

Pietro makes a confused face. "What, but you've only been talking about her all holiday..."

She grunts impatiently. "Yeah, that's the point!" She retorts. "She's been driving me crazy. And now she can't just text me and expect me to come crawling back. It hardly fair."

Pietro sighs. "I think you're overthinking it." He retorts, turning his attention back to the TV. "You'll keep suffering if you stay here, and you'll never find out what really happened if you don't go to her. Besides this, it's a chance to be honest, no? You can tell her you don't want the relationship to be like this or whatever."

Wanda sighs in defeat, knowing that Pietro is right.

"I'll take the car." She declares, receiving an indignant exclamation in protest.

"No, it was my Christmas present, not yours!" He yelled in protest, but Wanda had already grabbed the keys to the refurbished car gifted by Uncle Django from the door and fled from the twin through the house.

–//–

Sobota 9:15 (Saturday 9:15 am)

She was surprised that you got there first, and thought that maybe you were waiting for her and working up the courage to send her a message.

The place where you asked to meet her was the municipal park, less than a hundred meters from the Novi Grad Cathedral, where all the commotion started. It didn't make Wanda feel easy.

She parked the car and approached unhurriedly, watching from a distance your restless posture as you checked your cell phone for new messages and looked around for her.

When she was close enough, you spotted her. Your face immediately lit up, and Wanda decided to ignore the way her stomach jumped.

"Hi, Wands."

She kept her hands in her pockets. "Hi? Is that all you have to say to me?"

You grimace softly. "Well, that's how you start a conversation."

Wanda tilts her head to the side, a dry laugh escaping her lips. "Do you really want to make jokes now? After the way you treated me?"

You swallow dryly, denying with your head and taking a step forward. "No, I want to apologize."

"Yeah, can you clarify for what? For the way, you spoke to me, or for not returning my calls? Or maybe for sending your sister to be your errand girl or instead of having the balls yourself!" Wanda accused angrily, but you only looked guilty yourself.

"Yeah, all of it." You retorted with a sigh. "I wanted to explain everything, but I just didn't have my cell phone and-"

"What the fuck are you talking about? You called me to say you wanted to take some time away from me! I almost died of worry over the damn church video, and instead of telling me what happened, you told me to mind my own business!" She feels like she is on the verge of tears, but you take another step forward.

"Wanda, I'm sorry!" You suddenly firmly. "I wanted to call you again, and take it all back the moment I turned off my cell phone, but the nurse came into my room and took it away and I there's nothing I could do about it."

Wanda shakes her head in confusion, pushing the emotion away. "What happened to you? Why are you in the hospital?"

You look away from hers, swallowing dryly. "It was a misunderstanding. They thought I was going to jump off the church."

Wanda frowned. "Weren't you?"

You laughed dryly. "I may do some acting but if I was going to kill myself it wouldn't be so dramatic."

Wanda stares at you. "Don't joke about those things." She tells you seriously, and you swallow dryly.

"Sorry."

"What were you doing on top of the church anyway?" She questions, and you sigh in return before pulling your cell phone out of your pocket.

"I wanted to take a picture." You say typing on the device. "I was thinking about our conversation, about faith and all that. I found out that the Cathedral in Novi Grad was built exactly in the center of the city so that everyone would be the same distance from God. And I wanted to take a picture for you from the top. I just thought, even when we are apart, or if we have disagreements, I would always be close to your God, and in this way, to you."

The photo was beautiful, she could see all the architecture of the Cathedral, but Wanda looked at you with concern. "That's almost a hundred meters off the ground. You could have fallen."

You put your cell phone away, shrugging. "I've practice Parkour since I was a kid, it was no big deal."

"No, Y/N, that was very dangerous." Wanda insisted. "It was insanity to take that risk for a photo."

You cleared your throat, taking a step back. "Okay, I understand it wasn't safe, okay, I've already heard that from the police, and the doctors, I don't need to hear it from you." You retort uneasily. "I didn't come here to talk about the church, I need to tell you something."

Wanda sighs faintly, watching you intently. You are acting so strange, and she can't define it.

"What is it?"

You take a deep breath, and then let out a nervous laugh. "Damn, I... I had this whole speech prepared, but this is so hard." You mutter, more to yourself than to her. You clear your throat and take heart. "Well, all this time I've been trying to find the right way to tell you, but I didn't know how, and I never seemed to find the right moment. You know when... I get intense, too impatient, or impulsive?"

Wanda frowns slightly. "Like the church? Or now?"

You chuckle weakly, nodding. "Yeah. Or how suddenly I get kind of gloomy... sad?" You ask, and she confirms with her head. You swallow dryly. "Well, it took a while to get the official diagnosis in my teens, but this doctor in California came to a final opinion. I have an illness. Mental one. It's called BD, which stands for Bipolar Disorder. " You count staring at your feet. "And I don't know, I didn't want to tell you because when I'm feeling good, I believe that there is nothing wrong with my brain. I talk, laugh, and really enjoy the people around me and I can forget that it's temporary while it's happening." You continue with a sad laugh, "I do everything as I should. Exercise, and socialize, and I don't drink or smoke, and I take my meds, but... well, it will never go away. There is no cure, and it's genetic, so I'll have to deal with it for life. Which doesn't mean that people have to, so I didn't want to tell you. I kept imagining your reaction, the face you would make which is very similar to the one you are doing now..."

Wanda looks away, completely in shock. You sigh and wait. She swallows dryly. "I-I don't... I don't know what to say..."

You force a small smile, shaking your head. "You don't have to say anything." You assure her sadly. "I just wanted you to know that it wasn't about you, that you never did anything wrong. I have to go back. I ran away from the hospital to talk to you. See you at school, Wands."

She was too overwhelmed with the revelations to ask you to stay.

–//–

Sobota 15:07 (Saturday 3:07 pm)

Natasha was not surprised, because Carol told her about you as soon as she returned from vacation. Apparently, the Maximoffs were the last to know.

Wanda would have been angry, but she was busy researching what bipolar disorder was with her best friend.

A dozen or so sites opened with descriptions, explanatory videos, and infographics on the computer Natasha held in her hands, and Wanda was upside down, lying on the bed next to her friend.

“Some people with bipolar disorder will have episodes of mania or hypomania many times throughout their life; others may experience them only rarely. Signs and symptoms of a manic episode include excessive happiness, hopefulness, and excitement. Sudden and severe changes in mood, such as going from being joyful to being angry and hostile. Restlessness. Rapid speech and racing thoughts. Increased energy and less need for sleep. Increased impulsivity and poor judgment, such as suddenly quitting your job, ending a relationship…”

“Turn it off.” Wanda asks and Nat pauses the video immediately, watching her friend adjust herself on the bed correctly to bury her face in the pillows.

"Hey, don't be like that. It may look bad now but maybe you just need to look at it another way..."

Wanda chuckles humorlessly, pulling the pillow off her head to look at Nat. "How else would you have done it, Nat? Haven't you heard anything? Impulsiveness, poorly thought out decisions. Like leaving her boyfriend."

"Wanda..."

The brunette sits up. "No, I'm serious!" She insists on the verge of tears. "What if... what if she doesn't even like me? If it all just happened because of one manic episode? I'll end up alone, that's what will happen."

Nat shakes her head. "Wanda, what are you talking about? How would that determine her feelings?"

Wanda sniffles softly. "I don't know, Nat. But just think about it. You've seen the videos. What if she only believes she likes me, but I'm just a fantasy? She may have grown bored of Peter and put it into her head that she could have fun with a girl now. And then she'll get tired of me just like she did of him. And who knows how many people have gone through that."

Nat sighs. "But that's falling in love, isn't it?" She reasons. "You fall in love, and you don't know how long it will last. With or without bipolarity. The insecurity you have now is the same insecurity I have about Carol. We're together today, but I don't know what will happen when we go to college for example." Natasha says, and Wanda falls silent. Her friend smiles, leaving her notebook on the bed. "Think about this, sweetheart. I'll get us something to eat."

–//–

Ponedeljek, 10:20 (Monday, 10:20 am)

"Have you talked to her yet?"

Wanda looked away from the group of people surrounding you, probably peppering you with questions about the church video, to Clint, standing beside her with a soda she asked him to pick up on his way to the cafeteria. The boy had a snack in hand, which Wanda refused a piece.

"What would I say?" She retorts half upset, making room for Clint to sit next to her on the bench in the courtyard. Pietro was a bit back in the surroundings, playing soccer with other classmates, and Natasha was with Carol making out in some bathroom.

"You can start with hello." Clint jokes, but Wanda only returns him a small smile, playing with her straw. She's not very hungry all morning. He clears his throat lightly. "Hey, what's the matter? Is this about her condition?"

Wanda sighs, shrugging. "I've been researching about it, and I think I get more scared every second." She comments sincerely. "Maybe I'm not the best person to deal with it. I don't know if I could."

It's Clint's turn to sigh. "Hey, but it's always like that when you google something, isn't it? Put in a headache and it'll make it sound like you're with terminal cancer."

Wanda gives a weak laugh, muttering a low 'I guess'. She steals glances at you from across the yard again, laughing at something they say to you. You look fine. Normal and healthy.

"I think you could manage, Wanda." Clint says. "In the end, it's just about liking someone, and you wouldn't have any fears if Y/N said they had diabetes or something."

Wanda twitches her nose. "That's hardly the same thing-"

"Isn't it?" Clint interrupts with an arched eyebrow. "If she had a cardiac problem, you'd have to be careful about physical stimulation next to her. No effort. You could say goodbye to outdoor walks with everyone. Any blood disease, and she wouldn't be able to go to some restaurants you like. She is bipolar, which means that sometimes she will be more intense, and sometimes she will need to be alone, or you to keep her company more than you usually do. It is no big deal. Sick people just want to be well, and there are medicines for that. Carol said she's been on treatment since she was fourteen, so I imagine she can help you deal with that too."

Wanda absorbs her friend's words for a long moment, and Clint offers her a small smile before returning to eating. A moment later, Wanda moves closer to rest her head on his shoulder, and hug him from the side, she keeps her gaze on you from across the room.

"When did you get so wise, Barton?" she jokes, making you laugh.

"I'm a smart boy." He retorts, and a moment later, lets out a soft exclamation, causing Wanda to turn away to look at him curiously. The boy pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. "I almost forgot I found something for you. My stepfather needs an office apprentice at the construction company. It's boring but money is money. Would you be interested?"

Wanda's eyes widen. "What, of course, Clint! Thank you!" She hugs him tightly, both of them laughing. He mutters that she would still have to do the interview and that it was nothing guaranteed, but Wanda is too happy to call.

Ponedeljek, 11:00 (Monday, 11:00 am)

"Let's sit in the back." Natasha whispered to her as soon as they entered the history class, and Wanda laughed because she knew her friend was only asking to keep texting with her girlfriend.

Nat took the window seat, and Wanda was taking off her coat to sit beside her when you entered the room. Your gazes met from the doorway, but before she could smile at you, someone was whistling loudly and attracting your attention.

"Romeo's back from the dead everyone." Mocked Ikaris, one of your colleagues. A good portion of the room laughed, and you lowered your face, holding your backpack tighter.

But the boy's teasing didn't go unpunished - The guidance counselor Mrs. Harkness was standing behind you at the door, precisely escorting you into the room, and the boy turned pale when she pointed her finger at him.

"Come into my office, now." She ordered, and he came out clutching his backpack, bumping his shoulders into yours. The room filled with burbling, but Agatha called for silence. "We do not tolerate bullying or harassment of any kind at this institute, am I clear? Any mention of incent before Christmas will be punishable. Good day."

But Agatha's request may have made things worse, because those who were not aware of the video, spent the class searching for the matter and sharing it with their classmates. Wanda noticed how you seemed to cringe with each nasty whisper that circulated.

As soon as the bell rang, you practically jumped out of your seat and some people chuckled from the escape.

"You should talk to her." Natasha told Wanda, but it wasn't even necessary, because the girl was already grabbing the materials and going after you.

As the period ended, the halls filled up quickly, and Wanda had a little trouble getting through the crowd of students and catching up with you in the outer courtyard.

"Y/N, wait." She urged and had to tap your wrist to get you to stop.

You turned to her in irritation. "What do you want?"

Wanda was taken aback by the aggressiveness, but she couldn't blame you. Not after the taunts. "Hey, don't listen to those assholes, okay? They don't know shit."

You laugh dryly, looking away. "Right, because it wasn't the least bit freaky what I did. You said it yourself, it was dangerous and stupid."

Wanda frowns. "Yeah, but I didn't know..."

"That I was crazy? Well, you know now. And it clearly bothers you, because you've been ignoring me all morning!"

"N-no, I just-"

"Look, Wanda, I don't need your coup de grace." You interrupt her. "If you don't want anything to do with me, just say so, stop being a fucking pussy."

Wanda opens her mouth in shock, and you roll your eyes. She grimaces. This attitude makes her blood boil. "Be reasonable, you told me something meaningful, but I still don't know how to give you an answer. I'm still trying to understand what it all means."

You snort angrily. "I told you the truth because I'm in love with you, that's what it means!" You suddenly confess, and Wanda feels her heart stop. "And you're clearly just a fucking coward who can't handle it and doesn't feel the same way. Stop wasting my time."

"I-I didn't... I never said-."

"That's pretty simple, though, Wanda." You cut her off again, adjusting the backpack on your shoulder. "If you felt the same way, my bipolarity wouldn't matter. But you don't. Fuck this, I don't need you. Or anyone."

"Y/N..."

But you practically ran out, and Wanda had no way to call you back.

Ponedeljek, 14:05 (Monday, 02:05 pm)

With no sign that you were back at school, Wanda was leaving the courtyard alone.

Pietro was going to Clint's house to play video games, and although Nat and Carol had invited her to their apartment, Wanda hardly wanted to see her friends making out.

She was finishing putting away her belongings in the locker when Steve Rogers approached her.

"Wanda, glad I caught up with you." He said half uneasily, looking around. "Has your brother gone home already?"

"Yeah, he and Clint went to Barton's together." She replied. Steve sighed.

"Well, I guess by now you must have heard about but Tony managed to get the recording of the market."

Wanda frowned immediately. "What are you talking about?"

Steve makes a confused expression. "The fight, at Nat's birthday?"

Wanda's eyes widen in amazement. "Wait, is it serious? I thought the recording was just a rumor! How did Tony get it, and more importantly, who hit my brother?"

Steve hesitates. "Look, if Pietro didn't tell you, maybe I shouldn't..."

"Spit it out, Rogers." She demands seriously, and Steve swallows dryly before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He searches for a moment for the video in the chat room with Tony Stark and then holds out the device for Wanda to see.

It's a security video from a market parking lot. Wanda recognizes Pietro laughing and talking with Barry Allen outside, imagining that Clint and Bucky were inside buying the beers.

And then Barry is grabbing Pietro by the collar of his shirt and kisses him on the mouth. Pietro is clearly surprised but corresponds before pushing him away with a giggle. It all lasts less than five seconds. There is a car stopped a few feet away from them, and from it, three identical boys that Wanda recognizes from the Synagogue get off.

"Hey, fags!" The audio is precarious but still audible, and it is the tallest boy who steps forward. Wanda thinks his name is Jake, but she's not sure. Of the triplets, Wanda only liked the shy Steven. Jake laughs when the two boys turn around. "Oh my god, is that you Maximoff? Does your daddy know what you're up to?"

Pietro freezes, completely terrified. Jake advances against him, so Barry pushes him away. And at that, the fight escalates.

It's left to Steven to pull the brothers away when Bucky and Clint leave the market and interfere in the fight, the market owner armed with a bat. The action doesn't even last 3 minutes, but Pietro is the one who ends up the most injured.

Steve puts his cell phone away. "Pietro didn't want to press charges, he didn't even want to tell us who the boys were."

"It's because of our father." Wanda explains, pressing her hands to her face for a moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Hey, Tony said he's not going to do anything he doesn't want to." Steve says placing a hand on her shoulder. "But these things shouldn't go unpunished. We have the video, but the complaint has to come from the victim."

"I'll talk to him." Wanda assures. "Thanks, Steve."

"Anytime."

Ponedeljek, 20:31 (Monday, 08:31 pm)

"You took your time."

"Jesus, Wanda!" Pietro gasped in fright, having opened the bedroom door to his sister waiting for him inside.

Wanda rolled her eyes, and got up from the bed, dropping her cell phone and crossing her arms.

"Close the door."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that, are you going to kill me or something?"

She rolls her eyes, and uncrosses her arms, moving him out of the way to close the door herself. Pietro looks at her with confusion.

"You're going to press charges against Jake Lockley."

Pietro turns pale before his face flushes with irritation. "How did you... No, you know what, it doesn't matter. You're a damn meddler, aren't you?"

"Pietro-"

"I'm serious! I told you to forget that story, why do you care anyway?" He retorted angrily, stepping aside to take off his sweater and shoes. Wanda crossed her arms.

"You are my brother! I care about you, and whether you are safe outside our house!"

He rolled his eyes stubbornly, but Wanda stepped forward. "I'm serious. This isn't right, Pietro. He can't get away with it!"

"Daddy would kill me!" Pietro squirms with tears in his eyes. Wanda's eyes widen. "You don't... It's different for you, okay? He may say those horrible things, but you're still his little girl. He wouldn't hurt you. But me-"

"Except it's not like that." Wanda insists seriously. "That's the fear talking. Daddy has already hurt me, you know that. And he would have hit me again in that restaurant if you hadn't said anything." She recalls, and the boy looks away. Wanda sighs, moving closer. "Pietro, is that why you told him I liked girls? To find out how he would react when you told him about yourself?"

He nodded sheepishly. "I like girls too, Wanda. I just...I thought I could pretend I didn't care about boys because I'm into Crystal. But that's not how it works. No matter what I do, this part just won't go away."

"Oh, Pietro, there's nothing wrong with liking both. Come here." She sits down next to him, hugging him. He sniffles, seeming to finally relax after many days. "We'll deal with this together, okay, and with Mom, too."

Pietro sobs softly, but nods in acceptance. Wanda holds him until he stops crying.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #alt er love series #skamverse collection #yellow curtains

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thelastspeecher · 9 months

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Ford's New Home

Surprise! A random Foster Ford AU ficlet! I've been working on it for a bit and finally got it finished up. Enjoy~

——————————————————————————————

Stan opened the back door of the Stanmobile.

“You ready, Stan?” he asked Ford. Sitting in his booster seat, his suitcase and backpack on the seat next to him, Ford nodded. Stan unbuckled Ford and picked him up, setting him on the ground. “You’re gonna love it here, kiddo.” Ford nodded again. Stan handed him his backpack, which Ford shrugged on. Ford reached for his suitcase, only for Stan to grab it instead.

“I can carry it,” Ford protested. Stan ruffled his hair.

“I know. But I’m supposed to carry the bigger stuff for you. What kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t? C’mon, Angie’s waiting for us!” Stan closed the door and headed up the walkway to the modest but well-kept gray house. Ford followed. Multiple emotions warred for dominance. He couldn’t decide whether to be excited, relieved, or, strangely, anxious.

Why am I nervous? This is what I’ve sought since I first crossed paths with Stan! Ford sighed softly. It’s probably just the change in my living situation. At this vulnerable age, large changes cause me undue stress. Ford paused by the massive and thriving flower garden along the front of the house.

“Does Aunt Angie garden?” Ford asked, using the question as an excuse to get used to calling his sister-in-law his aunt. Stan nodded. “Just flowers, or…?”

“Oh, she’s got vegetables and herbs in the backyard,” Stan said. He raised an eyebrow. “You wanna garden with her?” Ford shrugged.

“Sounds nice,” he said noncommittally. It would definitely switch up his routine. There were only so many activities he was allowed to do as a five-year-old.

“It’s a good idea,” Stan said. “Kids need to play in dirt. It’s healthy. Makes ‘em grow up strong.” Ford smiled. A genuine warm smile spread across Stan’s face in return. He pushed the door open. “Welcome home, Stanford.” Ford stepped inside.

The front door opened directly into a living room. It was very tidy, with the exception of the coffee table covered in papers and textbooks. Framed photos hung on the walls, most of various amphibians, but a few of Stan, Angie, or both of them. A television pressed against the wall, across from a recliner, which Ford knew immediately was Stan’s favorite place to sit. Ford could just about see into the adjacent kitchen from where he stood, which looked like it had been cleaned recently.

They clearly wanted to prepare for my arrival. Sitting on the gray couch under the living room’s large front window was Ford’s sister-in-law/new foster mother, Angie. She paged through a guidebook on amphibians, petting a purring calico cat on her lap. Stan cleared his throat. Angie looked up. She quickly set the cat on the couch and stood, smiling sheepishly.

“Lost track of time?” Stan teased. Angie tucked a strand of caramel-colored hair behind one ear, blushing. “I get it. Those lizards are distracting.”

“That book is about amphibians,” Ford corrected. “Lizards are reptiles.” If he wasn’t this young, he wouldn’t be as bold correcting an adult. At his current age, most adults found his lack of social skills to be endearing, rather than problematic. Sure enough, Stan and Angie both chuckled.

“You got me, kid,” Stan said. “I just call ‘em all lizards to tease Angie.”

“I don’t mind none,” Angie drawled in her eerily familiar southern accent. “I actually find it quite amusin’.” She smiled at Ford. “Anyways, enough ‘bout my distractable nature. Do ya want to see yer new room, Stan?” Angie frowned. “Hmm. It’ll be tough, havin’ two folks what go by Stan in the house.”

“Actually,” Ford piped up quickly, “I don’t want to be called Stan.”

I was planning on telling them to call me by my proper nickname at some point. I might as well seize the opportunity. Angie’s eyes widened.

“Oh, don’t do that on my account!” she said. “We can figure it out. Maybe call ya Lil Stan and Big Stan…”

“No, I- I never wanted to be called Stan,” Ford said. He scowled. “The police officers called me that and didn’t listen to me when I corrected them. Then it stuck.”

“Typical pigs,” Stan muttered under his breath. To his surprise, Angie nodded in agreement.

Angie didn’t strike me as an anti-police kind of person. Then again, I’ve only met her a few times. F was very much in that category. They have similar accents. Perhaps they come from the same region, and it is a common sentiment there.

“What do you want to be called, then?” Stan asked, drawing Ford from his musings.

�� “Ford.” A pained expression crossed Stan’s face, so quickly that Ford would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“Are- are you sure?” Stan said. Ford was impressed by Stan’s ability to hide the clearly complicated emotions he was experiencing.

I can’t blame him. The supposed son of his estranged and missing twin, named after that twin and asking to go by that twin’s nickname? I have no idea how I would respond in his shoes, but it certainly wouldn’t be as even keeled.

“Yes,” Ford said firmly. “It’s a better nickname for Stanford than Stan, I think.”

“It’ll make things easier,” Angie commented. Stan nodded.

“Yeah.” He grinned at his wife, all hints of distress gone. “I wasn’t looking forward to being called ‘Big Stan’ anyways.” Stan patted his stomach for emphasis. Angie laughed.

“Oh, please, you know I love yer cushionin’.”

“And it’s good for boxing,” Stan added. He looked at Ford. “I might have to teach you a few moves.” Ford shrugged noncommittally.

“First, we have to show him the room he’ll be stayin’,” Angie said. She began to walk away. Ford and Stan followed her into the hallway behind the living room, still lugging Ford’s things. They walked past a bathroom, then Angie stopped in front of a closed door. She smiled at Ford. “Welcome home, kidlet.” She pushed the door open. Ford stepped inside.

The room wasn’t as nice as Ford’s bedroom at the Youngs’ was. It consisted of a twin bed with a blue bedspread, a dark brown dresser, matching desk, and closet. The cat, which had followed them from the living room, strolled in after Ford and hopped onto the bed.

“It’s…” Ford started.

“…fairly sparse,” Angie interjected. “We know.”

“Shermie – your other uncle – brought over the furniture from when his kid was your age,” Stan said, setting down Ford’s suitcase. Ford shrugged off his backpack. “We decided to hold off on the other stuff until you got here.”

“Why?” Ford asked.

“Madeline and Wyatt told us that we could get stuff with space and aliens, since ya like that. But we thought it would be nice if ya had a chance to choose yer own stuff,” Angie said. “As I understand it, bein’ in foster care means ya don’t always get to do that.” Ford stared at them.

When Ford lived with the Youngs, Wyatt would always bring him along on shopping trips. Even though Ford was relegated to the baby seat of the shopping cart every time, he was still able to see just how expensive children’s things were.

They’re willing to spend that much on me? Stan is willing to spend that much on me?

“Are you sure?” Ford asked tentatively. He stifled a frustrated groan at how timid and small his voice was.

“Of course we are!” Angie said. “We want ya to be comfortable ‘n feel at home!” Stan grunted quietly. Angie elbowed him.

“Uh, yeah- yeah, we’re gonna get you stuff tomorrow,” Stan mumbled. He forced a smile. “But you can’t go crazy, okay? Your Uncle Stan isn’t made of money.” Angie sighed softly.

“We went over this,” she muttered under her breath. Ford winced.

Maybe Stan isn’t that willing to spend so much on me. Angie seems to have twisted his arm in this matter. Ford quickly walked over to his bed and sat on it. He looked at the cat licking itself next to him.

“What is the cat named?” he asked. Both Stan and Angie seemed relieved by the topic change, their shoulders losing some tension.

“Dr. Whiskers,” Angie replied. She smiled at Ford. “He loves pets, by the way.” Picking up on the hint, Ford carefully stroked the cat’s fur. Dr. Whiskers promptly rolled onto his side, purring happily.

“What is his doctorate in?” Ford asked. He didn’t expect an answer; most people didn’t think of a degree to give their pet they named “Doctor”. To his surprise, Angie replied promptly.

“Early 20th century French literature.”

“…What?”

“It was the strangest degree I could think of a cat gettin’,” Angie said with a shrug. Stan put an arm around her shoulders, grinning.

“He’s got enough brains to get the degree, too. I’ve met some of the people at Angie’s school. I know how smart grad students are.”

“Stan,” Angie sighed, rolling her eyes. Stan chortled. Angie looked at her watch. “If we’re goin’ to make dinner, we ought to get started soon. Do ya want us to make dinner, Ford? Or would ya prefer we order somethin’?” Ford shrugged. “We’ll do homemade, then. It’s healthier fer ya.” Angie looked at Stan. “Mind bein’ my sous chef, darlin’?”

“Only if Ford doesn’t need my help unpacking,” Stan replied. He raised an eyebrow at Ford. Ford shook his head.

“I can handle it on my own.”

“Classic independent Pines man,” Stan said with an approving nod. “Join us in the kitchen when you’re done unpacking.” Ford nodded. Stan and Angie left the room. As the two walked away, Ford could hear Angie speaking to Stan.

“We can’t let him unpack all his things without help.”

“We’ll rearrange stuff after dinner,” Stan replied. “Give him some time to settle in. And it won’t hurt for him to get proud of unpacking all on his own, without any help from a grownup.” Angie laughed.

“Fair point.” Their voices faded enough that Ford could no longer make out individual words. He slid off the bed and walked over to his suitcase. He unzipped it and began to take out the clothes inside, putting them away in his new dresser.

They might think that they’ll have to do some rearranging after dinner, but that’s where they’re wrong. Dr. Whiskers jumped off the bed and curled up on the floor next to Ford. Ford petted the cat, smiling when it purred in response. I’m perfectly capable of putting away my meager belongings. He looked over at the closet. Correction. I’m perfectly capable of putting away my meager belongings that don’t need to be hung up.

#Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Gravity Falls #Gravity Falls AU #Foster Ford AU #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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aestheticpearl · 2 years

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— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] david shaw

never thought you’d be the first to get married out of all your friends, they seemed more like marriage material than you did. it’s certainly exciting but getting married still makes you very anxious, you have a lot of planning to do and david look like he’s going to burst a blood vessel with how much stress it’s causing him.

“i think we need a break” you declare while standing from your seat at the table. david glances up from his dinner and gives you concerned look. “we’ve both been working way to hard and we have plenty of time, i mean it’s not next week or anything.”

“…alright, what do you have in mind?”

“nothing”

“what?”

you grin at him and he rolls his eyes as you sit back down and move your chair closer to him.

“i have nothing planned, you can just go with what we feel like doing and i feel like driving around so finish up so we can go” you plant a kiss on his cheek before clearing your plate and going to wash it.

you decide to tell david to drive you to the park even though it is very late at night now, but you want to play on the swing set. he’s hesitant but brings you either way.

“it’s so nice out and the sky is so clear and can see all the stars” you say plopping on the swing and looking up at the sky.

“yeah i guess it’s pretty nice” david adds while sitting on the swing next to you. “we could’ve just seen it from the backyard though”

“it’s all about the journey davey”

“you made you stop at a gas station before coming here”

“and we got candy to share!” you say pulling out two lollipops. “here”

you hand him a butterscotch flavored lollipop and he takes it as you unwrap your cherry flavored one. david can’t help but watch as you look up at the sky while holding the candy in your mouth and with the way you’re watching the sky one would’ve thought there was an alien spaceship in the sky.

“can we hold hands?” he asks quietly, you turn and smile at him.

“of course we can hold hands” you take his hand in yours and resume your star-gazing. “we should go to the beach sometime”

“the beach?” you nod.

“i love the beach, i use to collect shells and different kinds of rocks”

“you look like someone who would collect rocks” you can’t help but smile.

“i had a rock garden at my aunts house, she was a walk away from this really nice beach and i guess instead of paying to put gravel around a tree she just let me put my favorite rocks”

“that’s adorable” david smiles at you.

“it’s still there” you say returning the smile. “we should go visit her sometime and maybe steal some”

“you thief” he shakes his head and you laugh.

“they’ve been there since i was ten so they’re probably all gross now, she can keep them. did you collect anything?”

david pauses to think about it before shaking his head.

“i don’t think anything really peaked my interest enough”

“you look like the kind of guy to collect sticks” you laugh.

“oh really now?” david says questionably.

“mhm, like you found them on a hike and then used it as a hiking stick for a while after you got attached to it you didn’t wanna leave it behind” david stays quiet before responding.

“…i uh actually did do that…” you gasp.

“no way did i just guess that, i’m psychic i swear!”

“yeah yeah sure you are”

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

i am so sorry about taking so long to post this

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

.harry’s house masterlist

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted david shaw #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted david x angel #redacted fanfic #redacted fluff #redacted fic #redacted fandom #redacted headcanons #redacted shifters #redacted shaw pack

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sammy-a-87 · 8 months

Text

Real Family

The train finally came to a halt. Thick smoke engulfed the tiny station and Gellert stumbled onto the cobblestone. He forgot just how small everything was there. Godric’s Hallow, the home of his aunt, was so incredibly tiny, the kind of village where everyone knew each other's business and life like their own.

He made sure to not use magic to carry his bags, no matter how tempting it was- the village was shared by muggles and wizards alike if he remembered right and he wasn't yet old enough physically to use magic outside of school. The weather was torrid, a heat so unbearable he cursed under his breath for wearing all black. Where's that damn house again?!

Trudging through the empty street- no one was as stupid as him to go out in this heat- he racked his brain for any useful memory; red hair and toothy grins were all that filled his vision. Finally, as if sent by the gods themselves, Gellert noticed a young woman walking in his direction. She carried two gigantic baskets filled with what he assumed were groceries.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” He flashed a sweet smile. She stopped in her tracks and smiled in turn.

“Could you perhaps help me find Mrs. Bagshot's house?” His accent scratched his ears- he had lost it sometime in his thirties, but now it was back with full force and he hated it. Not because it reminded him of home, he was proud of German heritage, but it made him sound so out of place….

The woman eyed him curiously for a moment before speaking up, her own English accent flowing as sweetly as a melody.

“Of course, of course. Are you family of her's? Her house is the yellow one right after the graveyard, on the right. You can't miss it.”

Gellert bowed gallantly and thanked her, however, without elaborating on his relationship with Bagshot- news traveled here too fast and he didn't like that. They parted ways and after a hellish half an hour of walking in the blazing sun- how the fuck is this place so small yet has everything so far from each other?!- he arrived in front of the two story cottage of his dear aunt. The flowers in the front were in full bloom and he could only imagine that the backyard was just as vibrant and full of life, the mix of magical and non magical plants creating a colorful little paradise. He had spent quite a few nights there with him, at the tiny garden table under the thin willow, and his heart ached at the memory.

Mustering up his courage, why was he feeling nervous?, he knocked on the door. Loudly. More times than needed.

“Yeah, yeah I'm coming!” ,came a muffled voice from inside, obviously annoyed.

“What do you- Gellert!” The surprise on his aunt's face spoke volumes: his father hadn't owled her regarding his arrival, typical.

The thin, elderly woman opened the door fully, smiling at her nephew after the shock subsided.

“Hallo, Tante. Sorry for dropping by unannounced…” he shuffled quietly in place, for some reason unable to look at her. Seeing her again, after so long, filled him with emotions he couldn't quite explain. His heart was torn between hugging her and begging for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? I haven't done anything at this time….

The woman seemed to take notice of the boy's strange attitude and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't apologize, my dear. It's always good to see you, no matter how scarcely.” With a flick of her wand, how didn't he notice it in her hand? He had lost his touch, she levitated his luggage inside the house. Then she ushered him in as well.

“Have a seat, have a seat! I'll get some tea brewing in no time. Why don't you tell your aunt how you've been in the meantime? What brings you here?” She was as joyous as he remembered her and this only served as more salt on his already bleeding heart.

He sat down on the couch and looked around the room: he didn't remember much from it, he noticed with startling guilt. He had never stopped before to see just who his aunt was, not as a relative, but as a person. Books upon books lined the walls on beautiful, wooden shelves; the fireplace was adorned with portraits of herself and friends, strangely none with a family- he knew she and his father didn't stand each other but didn't she have a family of her own? No one? A quiet gasp escaped him as he noticed a photograph, right in the front and unmissable, a photograph of him as a child, possibly taken the last time he had been there- he must've been 5 or 6 years old…. And she kept it in the very front.

His chain of thought was interrupted by her clearing her throat. Ah, yes, she asked me why I'm here-

“Um…you see…,” he cringed, when did he start stumbling over his words?! “I've been expelled.” He muttered quickly.

She raised a still blonde eyebrow. “Care to repeat? I think my hearing’s failing me.” Her tone, however, suggested she heard it all perfectly.

Gellert took a deep breath. “I…got expelled. My parents sent me.”

“Ah, so I'm a form of punishment now? I see, I see…” her tone was equally bitter and hurt. He wanted to reach out to her, do something, anything, but he couldn't move, guilt paralyzing him.

“N-no!” He hastily said. “I mean, yes, to them- but, um, ah, not to me…. I've missed you, Tante.” It was true, out of anyone in his family, she was the only one he had thought about all those miserable years locked up. Her smiling face and calming voice and wise words, her tooth rotting sweet tea and gentle nature- oh, how many times he had wept at those memories whenever she'd write to him.

But that was adult Gellert, teenage Gellert hated her, saw her as a nuisance just as his father did, and this sudden change of heart took her by surprise.

“You? Missed me? Why, Lerty, are you feeling alright, dear?” She found it within herself to chuckle, chuckle! Bathilda sat down next to him, two cups of tea floating in the air before them and a big tea pot filled them up to the brim. She took his hands into hers, a bit wrinkled with age and garden work, but nonetheless gentle, and she smiled at him.

“I'm glad…. I missed you too, my little boy. How'd you get expelled? I thought Markus was bribing them? Unless you did something so bad not even gold could cover it up?” her voice held no judgment, only a strange tinge of amusement- it helped ease Gellert's nerves.

“Ich- I- kind of, maybe, aus Versehen- accidentally-” he always mixed his languages when nervous. Luckily Bathilda was just as a German as him and understood his botched speech perfectly.

“I killed the headmaster's daughter.” He finally managed to get out in one breath. His eyes fell to the ground, yet he couldn't understand exactly why he felt so ashamed of it- he never felt bad for these things, besides for Ari-

Bathilda laughed, the sweet sound resonating so out of place right after the boy's confession. How can she find this amusing? I killed someone! Gellert watched her bewildered.

“That's it? That's what got the old Narr to give up on you? Not that I don't understand- I can't imagine the loss of one's child…. And Markus decided to send you here because what? He thinks I'd knock some sense into you? Something he clearly didn't manage to?” She laughed again.

“Oh, my sweet boy…no matter what you do in this life I'll never hate you. I will always be here for you.” She squeezed his hands reassuringly. “Ich werde dich nie aufgeben.”

That was it. All it took was a few kind words for Gellert's lip to tremble, then his body to shake, his hands to grasp her tightly and his breath to hitch in his throat. She cared for him, she always did and proved it time and time again- back then, through her heartfelt letters, and now through her words. He couldn't understand where all that love was coming from, how she could accept him despite everything he was and did. Hot, thick tears streamed down his face, salting his trembling lips- slowly at first but quickly they overflooded him, cascading down his chin and neck, wetting the collar of his shirt. He rarely cried in his youth, but when he did it was always dramatically messy without even meaning to. Bathilda held him gingerly as he cried himself dry, one of her hands gently caressing his tearstreaked cheek.

Her gaze was loving and she fished a handkerchief out of her dress pocket. With the gentlest of touches, she wiped him clean before kissing his forehead with motherly kindness.

“Du bist so geliebt, mein kleiner Lerty….”

Tante-aunt

Narr-idiot

Ich werde dich nie aufgeben- i'll never give up on you

Du bist so geliebt- you're so loved

#harry potter #ggad #grindeldore #albus x gellert #gellert grindelwald #albus dumbledore #bathilda bagshot #bsads #ch3

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im-just-a-br0adway-baby · 11 months

Text

Encantober 2023 Day 23: Roots

Isabela has had a passion for gardening since she was very small. Before her gift ceremony, she would watch her mother and aunt spend their summer days in the backyard growing lots of pretty flowers together, and the then-toddler would ask them if she could help them. Julieta and Pepa would always agree and after they were finished, Isabela would alway pick the prettiest flower in the garden and keep it in a little vase in the nursery.

As she got older, and realized she could grow other types of plants, she wanted to turn Casita’s backyard into a spectacle with many different types of plants that the village could see and admire. Since they spent their years admiring her flowers, she wanted them to admire her other plants too.

Isabela was working on her garden when Dolores walked outside and noticed her. Both of their birthdays were coming up soon, so she might have thought Isabela wanted to grow some extra special plants for both of them. Isabela turned around to see her cousin near the back door of Casita.

“Hola, Dolores! How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m doing alright, I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“I’m also doing alright; I was just making a special garden for the two of us since our birthdays were coming up soon. Do you want to see some of the plants I decided to plant this year?”

“Sure, prima; I would love to see them.”

Isabela led Dolores over to what she was working on when she came outside. She showed her a small cactus that she just put in the ground. Dolores kneeled down to look at the cactus she was about to grow. It was still small, but Isabela just made it and put it in the ground.

“I just made this one this morning. I loved it so much that I wanted it to grow naturally, so I decided to keep it in the backyard for it to grow for our birthdays.”

Dolores sat down to examine the cactus. “Did you take the cactus from its roots to plant it here?”

“Not exactly; while I created the plant, I wanted to create its roots too, so that way, it will grow naturally in time for our birthdays.”

Isabela sat next to Dolores to admire the cactus she created. While it was still small since she just created it, she wanted to see how much it was going to change once Dolores’s birthday came around. She planned on showing the rest of the family in the middle of the month when they celebrate both of their birthdays together.

“Do you want to come inside? I think mami’s almost finished with dinner,” Isabela said.

“Sure, I can’t wait to see how the cactus will grow.”

Several weeks have past, and once the day the family celebrated Isabela’s and Dolores’s birthdays came, Isabela looked out the window near Casita’s backyard to see that her cactus grew much more than it did when she first planted it. She did everything she could to make sure her cactus grew naturally throughout the weeks. It looked like it was finally paying off! She could not wait to show it to the rest of the family.

That afternoon, after the family had lunch together, Isabela and Dolores led the family to the backyard. They wanted to make the cactus as much of a surprise as possible, so they made sure none of the family went into the backyard except for the two of them to water the cactus regularly and check up on it.

“Does this have something to do with why you never let us in the backyard for the last few weeks?” Mirabel asked.

“It is, and it’s very special; it’s something that Dolores and I’ve been working on for those few weeks.”

The entire Madrigal family walked into the backyard to see that the tiny little cactus grew into a bigger cactus with beautiful flowers all over it. The rest of the family opened their mouths in awe to notice how much the cactus grew.

“Isabela, did you make this?” Luisa asked.

“I did, but only when it was small a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to show you all that I could grow plants naturally without using my gift, so I decided to create a little cactus and grow it myself. Do you like it?”

“Mi vida, this is one of the best plants I’ve ever seen you grow, and you only used your gift by just creating the small cactus,” Alma explained.

“I also created the roots too. I’ve noticed that none of my plants I ever created had roots because they didn’t have to grow naturally. But since I wanted this one to grow naturally for my and Dolores’s birthday, I decided to do so.”

The family crowded around the cactus in a circle and sat down to admire its growth throughout the weeks. They could not believe that Isabela grew that from scratch. Although Julieta and Pepa expected it, since they used to let Isabela help them with gardening when she was little, the rest of the family was shocked.

“I knew you would one day grow a plant naturally. Even before your gift ceremony, you were such an amazing help to us with our garden,” Julieta explained.

“And we knew you would be able to grow an amazing plant of your own naturally one day,” Pepa added.

“Gracias, Mami, Tia, I worked so hard on this cactus and Dolores got to see it since it was for her birthday too, so I let her help me.”

“Did you think I did a good job too?” Dolores asked.

“You did an amazing job,” Alma replied.

Isabela and Dolores hugged each other, and then their mothers and grandmother for the compliments they got from them. They knew they would have the best birthday ever together this year because they made something they were very proud of.

#encanto #disney #disney encanto #encnatober #disney's encanto #encantober 2023 #isabela madrigal #dolores madrigal #day 23 #roots #encanto fanfic #encanto fic #encanto fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #la familia madrigal

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teaandfiction-28 · 2 years

Note

Smut #6 please?

Ok Anon...you asked for smut and I’m giving you utter filth!

Hope you enjoy! 💛

—————————

Prompt: "What, here?"

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Language, Smut [18+ Only], Mirror Sex, Semi-Public Sex.

Timeline: Set between C9 and C10 of ��Brand New Day’.

Two hours.

For two whole hours, Kate’s mother had chirruped non-stop in her ear about wedding dresses and venues and flowers and colour schemes and Kate was a half-second away from frog-marching Hank down to the nearest courthouse just so she wouldn’t have to listen to one more comment about ‘how beautiful white roses are for table centrepieces.”

When her mother hurried off to discuss the pros and cons of a fall wedding with Kate’s aunt and a few harridans from her social club, Kate immediately went of search of her husband-to-be, eventually spotting him sitting alone in a quiet part of the garden, slowly rocking backwards and forwards on a swinging garden bench.

“Just shoot me now...put me out of my damn misery.” Kate grumbled, dropping down onto the bench next to him with an exhausted sigh.

“Not funny.” Hank chastised in response, peering down at her disapprovingly while simultaneously sliding an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to his chest, tugging her denim-clad legs into his lap and resting a warm palm on her shin.

Darkness had long fallen over the beautiful backyard of Kate’s childhood home but friends and family were still milling around the deck under the glow of fireworks and fairy lights, the sound of Sinatra crooning softly from the bluetooth speakers filling the warm open air around them. Alexis was in a milk-induced coma in Kate’s old bedroom and, for a few blissful moments, it was just the two of them.

“Too soon?” She tilted her head back against the soft cushions of the bench, gazing up at him with a wry smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Now do you understand why I waited as long as I did to tell her?”

Hank had proposed to her four months ago and Kate had purposely held off on telling her mom because she knew she would behave like this. If she had her way, her mother would turn their beautiful, rustic wedding into a fucking circus. At least this way, she didn’t have much time to wreak her usual amount of havoc! And Kate had meant every word when she had told him that she didn't care where or how they got married; either way she got to call him her husband and that was all that mattered to her.

As much as she loved her family, spending an extended amount of time with them was often as comfortable as pulling teeth sans analgesia and yet he had taken everything in his stride, charming everyone from her cousin’s gregarious toddler to her offensive grandmother with a handsome smile and warm, twinkling eyes. Just when she thought she couldn’t love him anymore, he continued to surprise her with his seemingly never-ending capacity for patience; both with her and her crazy relatives.

She was pulled from her thoughts by his palm sliding up and over her shins, fingertips tracing the seam of her jeans along the inside of her knee until his hand was wedged between her thighs, a sexy smirk sliding onto his face.

“Perhaps I can take your mind off our upcoming nuptials, hmm?” He hummed, leaning in to push a featherlight kiss to the soft patch of skin behind her ear, his lips tugging into a smile when she visibly trembled.

“I shouldn’t have to have my mind taken off our upcom-wait, where’re we going?”

Hank had eased her legs back to the floor and pushed to his feet, pulling a confused Kate along behind him as he headed towards the house. As they passed her mother and her harem of friends, Hank graced them all with a handsome smile, winking at the middle-aged woman closest to him who’s cheeks instantly flamed an unsightly shade of salmon.

“You realise you’re basically like catnip for those women, right?” Kate snorted when they were finally in the house and out of earshot, still following Hank blindly from room to room until he ducked into the small downstairs bathroom on the other side of the expansive property, pulling her in behind him and closing the door with a sharp snap.

The second the door was shut he was on her, his hands sliding over the gentle curve of her waist as he crowded her against the marble vanity, his lips seizing hers in a bruising kiss.

“What’re you doing?” She breathed in between trading passionate kisses, her eyes fluttering closed as Hank’s palms burrowed beneath the hem of her shirt, hands gliding over the warm skin of her back as he pulled her flush against his chest.

“Taking your mind off it.”

He was taking her mind off it alright. He had wedged a thigh between her parted legs and her hips instinctively began to rock against the firm muscle in search of glorious friction.

“What, here?” She whispered, her breath hitching as she tipped her head backwards to give him the space he needed to litter her throat with a myriad of soft kisses and sharp nips.

“Mmm-hmm...right here.”

All rational thought and common sense disappeared at the sound of his deep, gritty voice rasping in her ear, her core throbbing in arousal with each touch of his lips against her feverish skin.

“Hank, we can’t...what if someone hears us?” She tried but, as much as her mouth said ‘this probably isn’t a smart decision’, her body seemed to be more than happy to throw all caution to the wind if it meant easing the flaming inferno burning low in her belly.

“Then you better stay quiet.” He hummed mischievously against her throat as his hands dropped to the waistband of her jeans, swiftly unbuttoning and unzipping the well-fitting denim and tugging them down over the swell of her ass. Sealing his lips over hers, Hank slipped his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth, the two muscles languidly rolling against one another, a deep, pulsing current of electric arousal surging between them.

It didn’t matter if it was a soft and chaste or frantic and tongue-filled, Kate loved kissing Hank Voight. The way he would suck her lower lip into his mouth, humming softly as he laved at the plump flesh with his tongue. The way he would draw in a sharp breath through his nose only to release a tight groan of pleasure when she sucked a bruise into the sensitive skin of his throat. She loved the way he touched her, the way he reverently tasted her while mapping out every ridge and valley her mouth had to offer. But the thing she loved the most was that she was going to spend the rest of her life kissing him as frequently and as deeply as possible.

Breaking away from her lips to trace his hot mouth along the line of her jaw, he paused briefly to quietly growl his next command directly into her ear.

“Turn around.”

With her jeans bunched around her knees, Kate allowed herself to be turned towards the vanity, her eyes locking with his in the mirror as he pushed his torso flush against her back, palms resting on her waist as he pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the nape of her neck.

The jangle of his belt buckle echoed around the small space, her eyes fluttering closed at the telltale metallic clink signalling that he was in the process of releasing himself from his jeans.

“Eyes open honey.” He murmured, one hand returning to her hip once he had shoved his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his stiff length. “You’re gonna watch me while I fuck you.”

She could only whimper in response to his heated words, all thoughts of the wedding long forgotten as he urged her down towards the white porcelain with a firm palm between her shoulder blades, dipping the fingers of his free hand between her thighs to pull her lace panties to the side.

"So wet for me.” He cooed, stepping up close behind her to guide his flushed tip between her sopping folds.

And with one smooth, deep, thrust, he was inside her; pelvis pressed tight to the firm globes of her ass as he took a brief second to enjoy the way her body clutched him in a perfect, velvet grip. Releasing a slow breath, he slipped both palms beneath the hem of her shirt to settle on her hips, easing back until only the wide crest remained nestled inside of her before pushing firmly back in until he was buried to the hilt.

“Fuck yes!”

Kate’s terse groan filled the little bathroom, her forearms braced on the cool surface as she pushed back against him, groaning at the delicious stretch, desperate to have every hot, hard inch of him deep inside her.

“Shhh, you want your mother to hear how you moan for me?”

Hank braced his palms on the smooth marble surface, caging her body against the vanity as he bottomed out, grinding against her with a purposeful, slow roll of his hips.

“Christ, can you not talk about my mother while you’re doin’...that.” She breathed, her spine dipping into a perfect arch when the tip of his cock brushed against the sweet spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

“What? This?”

He repeated the movement again, his lips quirking into a smug, satisfied smirk when Kate’s head fell forwards, her chin dropping to her chest as she frantically tried to stifle her whine of pleasure.

Sliding his hands under her shirt, he skated his palms over her taut stomach to squeeze her lace-clad breasts, tugging the cups down to tweak her already-stiff nipples into tight peaks as he pulled her flush against his chest, her head lolling backwards onto his shoulder.

“Uhhh yes...yes...right there.”

Their jagged breathing and the sound of colliding flesh echoed around them like an erotic symphony, Hank’s warm breath ghosting over the damp skin of her neck, his hips pumping rhythmically against her.

“C’mon Kate, open your eyes...watch us.”

Her eyes fluttered open, immediately finding his in the reflection, taking in their sweaty, flushed complexions and undulating bodies. She tracked the movement of his right hand as it skated down the soft skin of her belly, slipping beneath the lace of her underwear to settle at the apex of her thighs, fingertips instantly seeking her slick, swollen bud.

“Mmm…you wanna come baby?”

Her thighs trembled, fingers clawing at his bare forearms as she nodded frantically, tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. Through the thick haze of lust, Kate idly wondered how it was possible for such a sweet, endearing nickname to sound so utterly filthy from his lips.

“Please…”

Kate balanced on the edge of bliss for a few long moments, her entire world narrowing down to where his flesh touched hers; his teeth nipping at her shoulder, the pads of his fingers gliding over her aching clit, his thick cock surging so deep she knew she'd still be feeling him tomorrow.

“Come for me, need to feel you.”

At his whispered command, Kate dutifully complied, her inner walls clamping down with such a force that he was almost completely expelled from her body. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, the sheer power of her climax triggering Hank’s as he thrust against her one final time, filling her with thick ribbons of white hot release. For a few long beats they simply stood joined together, both of them breathing heavy, Hank’s heart thrumming frantically against Kate’s back as he continued to throb and twitch inside of her.

“You alright?” He breathed after a moment, sliding his hand out of her underwear to rest against her hip, his mouth grazing gently along her shoulder.

Kate hummed in response, shifting slightly in his arms until he slipped from her body, giving her just enough space to turn and peer up at him with flushed cheeks and an almost shy expression on her face.

“Full marks for distraction techniques, Sarg.” She chuckled, leaning in to brush her lips against his in a soft, gentle kiss.

“Glad I could be of service.” He responded wryly, plucking a tissue from the ornate box on the counter to clean up before tucking himself back into his boxers and refastening his jeans.

“Just gimme a minute to cl-”

“Oh no.” He interrupted with a deep chuckle, reaching out to carefully adjust the black lace back onto her hips. “You’re gonna spend the rest of the night with me inside you...one way or another.”

“God, you’re so fucking filthy.” She groaned, immediately fusing her mouth to his in a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss, the fading embers of lust surging back to life at the thought of holding a conversation with her mother’s prissy, straight-laced friends with his release saturating her panties.

“You love it.” He growled in response, gripping the hem of her jeans and tugging the denim back up over her thighs, nimble fingers re-buttoning her jeans before dropping a chaste peck to the tip of her nose. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before they send a search party.”

With a parting wink, Hank slipped out into the hallway, leaving Kate to count to a slow twenty in her head before she followed suit but, the second she swung the door open, she walked head-long into her brother, her forehead bouncing off of his chest with a quiet ‘oomph’ of surprise.

“Matt…hi.”

Kate was a fantastic undercover detective having spent months on end infiltrating some of the world’s most prevalent gangs and organised crime syndicates but, if there was one person on this earth she couldn’t lie to, it was her big brother. And she could tell with one glance at his amused, albeit slightly surprised expression, that he knew exactly what she had been up to in that bathroom.

“Baby sister.” He greeted wryly, folding his arms across his chest as he casually leaned against a nearby doorframe, his crystal blue eyes appraising her carefully. The painful silence stretched on and Kate vaguely wondered if Hank had managed to escape undetected but she was pulled from her thoughts when Matthew eventually spoke.

“We, uh, gonna talk about-”

“Nope.” Kate interjected with a shake of her head.

“So you weren’t just-”

He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the bathroom, lifting a disbelieving eyebrow but, despite the steady blush that continued to creep over her flaming cheeks, Kate lifted her chin to meet his gaze steadily.

“Nope.”

“Alright, glad we cleared that up.” He snorted, flatting his back to the doorframe, allowing Kate to pass and she was so close to successfully avoiding what would probably have been one of the most embarrassing conversations of her life when he called her name, immediately halting her hasty exit.

“You, uh, might wanna go back in there and do somethin’ about your hair...you look like you just got railed in the bathroom by your fiancé.”

She was going to fucking kill him.

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