#this art was one of those pieces where every step of the way feels really wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonchildstyles · 1 year ago

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lily of the valley

oleander final part: y/n never pictured that her night would end like this.

wordcount: 16.2k+

cw: lots of talk ab blood and the consumption of blood! some descriptions of people who have passed away, but thats really it!

—————

(Y/N) stood behind the apothecary counter, chin resting in her palm with her eyes gazing out the window. The rain had returned last night, bringing with it a lingering fog and cloudy sky. Barely anyone was out and about, leaving (Y/N) feeling as if she were the only soul left in the village. The same way she had felt since leaving the castle and ghosting through the world without anyone the wiser to what she had learned that night.

The last week had been one of wandering thoughts and conflicting dreams. More than once, she had woken in a cold sweat, a flashing nightmare of Harry hovering over her, his mouth full of sharp teeth and blood. She would wake with her heart in her throat and lungs tight, but the only thing that could calm her was the thought of Harry himself comforting her. She would replay a fantasy of him coaxing her down from her fright, those concerned eyes and gentle touch helping draw her in.

Soon enough, as the days packed on, those nightmares were few and far between, leaving (Y/N) with only questions and intrigue replacing her initial fear. Distance and time from him allowed the memories of his care to rise to the surface; his promise of never bringing her any harm and the actions to back it up were at the forefront of her mind.

He had said they would see one another soon, after enough time had passed to allow her to wrap her head around it all. (Y/N) was beginning to itch for that time to come sooner rather than later.

As if someone had been listening into her thoughts, a familiar bone white horse emerged through the fog, looking more phantom than animal. The rider had long dark hair and pale features. It was Harry's footman—Mitchell.

He was the one that hadn't learned his self-control yet. (Y/N) stiffened at the thought.

The horse was guided right to the apothecary where Mitchell hopped off the stead and tied the reins to the latch outside of the shop. (Y/N) didn't know how to keep her eyes away now that she knew what he was.

The similarities to Harry only increased as she looked at him through a different lens. They were both impossibly graceful, lacking any flaw. Mitchell moved with a restrained strength, as if he were holding back with every movement causing him to look almost mechanical. She wondered if Harry was always holding back in the same way, but had mastered the art of blending in.

There was no hesitancy this time when he came in. Stepping over the floorboards, he still lacked any real show of presence as nothing creaked under him or rattled around his weight. His sharp eyes landed on her immediately.

"Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted with a nod, his voice low and clipped. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a familiar, opulent envelope. The last time she had seen one of these was when her father had thrown the piece into the furnace, effectively banning her from going to Harry's home. "From Harry," he murmured, passing off the piece. He took great care in ensuring their skin didn't brush.

"Thank you," she answered, a small smile on her lips, "Mitchell."

This time, she didn't wait for the footman to leave before she was breaking the wax seal and opening the flap to the letter. Inside was a simple letter, written out in curling letters on elaborate stationary.

My dearest, (Y/N),

I hope I am not asking for too much to see you again so soon. I know we had agreed on coming together so I may offer answers to any and all questions you have, but if you would prefer to no longer see one another, I understand. If that is the case, tell Mitchell as much and I will no longer contact you if that will make you the most comfortable.

If you are still open to seeing me again, I would like to invite you back to my home. I will arrange for the carriage to ferry you up here, and we will spend the evening discussing whatever you please. If you'll have me.

I hope to hear from you again soon.

Yours,

Harry xx

Just as she finished skimming her eyes over the text, she saw Mitchell out of the corner of her eye attempting to flee just as silently as he had before.

"Wait," she said, stopping him in his tracks before he could push open the door.

He moved stiffly to face her, his dark eyes clear. "Yes?"

"Hold on," she floundered, searching the counter for the steel pen and inkwell she had stored under the podium. "If I put my response on here, could you take it back to him, please?"

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement.

This letter had been exactly what she was hoping she would see today. The small correspondence sparked those dimming memories of Harry she had been treasuring every night before bed. She could hear the words in his voice, see his pinched features and worried brow.

The only problem she found within the lines was his choice of location. She didn't have the confidence to stage another sneak out in the middle of the night, not trusting herself to keep silent and away from prying eyes so soon after the last time. While she had done a well enough job, no one having approached her about anything they could have seen that night, she didn't trust that she could do it as well this next time when she had more nerves working against her.

He would have to come to her.

With her writing nowhere near as glamorous as his, she wrote out:

I would love to see you again. I can't go back to your home so soon, I'm sorry. Come to me this time.

I will leave my window open tonight and tomorrow. I will be on the lookout for you, and I will let you in through the shop door when I see you're here.

Her letters looked like sloppy black slashes against his own curling script, but (Y/N) couldn't think much about her handwriting before she was folding up the page and replacing it in the gilded envelope.

"Thank you," she said, handing the correspondence back to Mitchell.

She expected him to stay in line with his persona, silently taking the page before he would ghost through the shop and disappear in the night. However, when he lingered after removing the letter from her grasp, she flicked her gaze up to find him looking at her with intensity in his earnest eyes.

"Thank you," he insisted, unwavering in his eye contact.

(Y/N) didn't have to ask where his gratitude was coming from. He knew that she was now aware of his condition, but there hadn't been even a single whisper of such through the village.

"Of course," she offered, a quiet smile on her lips. "Hopefully, I will see you again sometime soon."

For the first time she had seen, the stoic mask Harry's footman always seemed to carry showed its first crack. The very corner of his lips turned upwards in a smile.

"I am sure we will."

With that, he took the now altered letter and placed it for safekeeping in his jacket pocket. He left the apothecary as if he were but a phantom passing through. The only trace of his presence was the bone white horse (Y/N) could barely spot disappearing through the fog.

—————

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) pulled in a resigning sigh.

Harry wasn't coming.

The sun had gone down hours ago, inducing both her father's bedtime and the rest of the village's. Even the pub wasn't garnering the kind of crowd that usually haunted those halls. This was the perfect night for him to visit. No one would even notice him and she could easily sneak him upstairs with the cover of the night and her father's heavy sleeping.

She had diligently waited just as her response said, with her window cracked open to allow any noise to filter through and her eyes periodically scanning the space. Nothing more than a few bugs fluttering through her herb garden and the bright eyes of a familiar cat could be seen in the dark.

If he was coming tonight, he would have already been here. (Y/N) sunk heavier into her thin mattress at the thought.

Another hour—that's what he had left. Then, she would close her window and go to bed. She will try again tomorrow.

Just as her plan came together, she could hear her name being whispered in the night. Much closer than that of a bug skittering through her garden and too vivid to be a dream.

Her eyes shot open only to see her window shadowed by Harry's broad form. He was lacking a jacket and waistcoat, only clad in fitted black trousers and a billowing top in a matching hue. This late at night, his eyes and hair seemed to be of a coordinating shade, leaving his skin especially pale in comparison.

"Harry?!" she gasped, startling on her bed, "Wh—How did you—"

He looked over his shoulder in a quick whip of his head before he turned to her once more.

"I will explain in a moment, but I think I see one of your neighbours," he murmured, gesturing to her window with a nod of his chin. "May I please come in?"

(Y/N) scrambled at the thought of one of her neighbours catching Harry perched on the sloping roof of her home, right where her window was open. "Yes, yes," she rushed out, keeping her voice low as she moved towards her window, "Just—Come in before anyone sees you."

Curling her fingers under the pane, (Y/N) slid it open just enough for him to slip through. Taking a step back, she watched as he fluidly climbed through her window, not even a hair out of place. He landed on her floor without a single sound, turning back to shut the window after him.

She hadn't realized just how heavy her heart was beating until the vacuum of her bedroom was restored. She settled some though she kept her eyes fixed on the broad of Harry's shoulders.

"How did you get up there?" she breathed out, trying to picture how he would have made it to the ledge so soundlessly despite her open window.

Harry's answer came in the form of a sly look shot over his shoulder.

Oh.

"Right," she sounded. Another part of his whole existence that she had no idea about. More questions were added to her ongoing mental list.

Harry looked out of place in her tiny bedroom. He was broad and space-filling. He had a presence here among the mishmash of stuff that made up her home, though it was far from suffocating. Standing with his back to her window, his form appearing that much longer with the help of the single flame of candle light casting shadows around him. He looked around her room, a tiny smile sitting on his lips.

"Do you mind if I look around?" His voice was so pleasant and unrushed, it almost made (Y/N) forget the gravity of their meetup.

Nonetheless, confined to her spot before the end of her bed, she nodded her head.

She watched as Harry took in her space the same way she had taken in his: with curious awe. All of her small trinkets, childhood journals, gardening momentos, and memories of her mother were plotted about her room for him to graze his eyes over. His hands were twined behind his back as he wordlessly stepped through the space, eyes lighting up as he looked over the small shelf her father had nailed into the wall when she had finally received her own bedroom. There was a twitch to Harry's lips when he saw the various lengths of twine she had laying over her rickety bedside table; she always forgot she had one waiting before she had pulled another to tie her hair back.

Her room was nothing at all like his castle. While he lived in rich color, exquisite luxury, and vast amounts of space, she had the opposite. Everything was muted in her room, leave for the dried flowers and tiny splashes here and there amongst her things. Harry could cross the width of her room in three strides with the length being met within four. It was far from the standards he likely had. Despite the obvious differences, (Y/N) could see the shatters of green appearing in his eyes the longer he made himself at home in her room, his features softening and bones relaxing.

She hoped that meant he liked what he found.

Just when she thought he was planning on spending all night dissecting any and everything he could find in her bedroom, Harry finally turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back, to face her with a gentle smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," he told her, voice a low rumble, "Have you had time to think?"

Sitting on the end of her bed, she gave him a small nod. Her bottom lip fit between the blunt ends of her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "I have a lot of questions."

"I figured you would. I am an open book, (Y/N)," he affirmed, coming to stand just before her, "Anything you want to know, I will answer to the best of my ability."

(Y/N) could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled back on her bed, folding her legs underneath her with her nightgown falling around her form. "You can sit with me if you'd like" she offered, eyeing the empty space on her mattress for him.

Her heart bubbled in her chest at the realization that she was asking a man to her bed. She had been so occupied on learning her answers and ensuring no one saw them together in the dead of night, that she had completely forgotten the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with Harry. When she had come up with this plan, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that she was supposed to be worried about her reputation (or her safety, if she was considering the non-human aspects of him). The racing of her heartbeat increased that much more when he cautiously took up her offer and crawled onto the bed in front of her. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how terribly her bed stacked up against the velvet covered monstrosities he had in his own home.

"Thank you," he said, settling himself amongst the folds of her quilt. His observing gaze settled on her with rounded corners to his eyes. "How are you?" he asked, sincerity in his voice, "Have you been well since the last time we met?"

"I am well, yes," she answered, dropping her eyes to her lap where her hands fumbled with one another, "Just thinking and trying to figure everything out. And yourself?"

"I've been okay," he answered earnestly, "But, much better now. I'm glad to hear you've been alright; I have been worried I frightened you or been too much that last night."

(Y/N) canted her head. "I wouldn't say frightened, no, but I've been overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Confused."

"I understand; I felt the same way once, too," he sympathized, his tone tender, "What has troubled you the most?"

Peeking at him through her lashes, she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat.

"The—um—the bodies," she whispered, a pinch appearing by her brows, "You said that you haven't been the one doing... that recently, but you had in the past. What did you mean?"

Just as troubling as it was for her to ask that question, it appeared Harry had the same issue answering it.

"I..." he started, cutting himself off before he could get very far with his mouth settling into a grim line. "There was a time right after I had... become what I am now, that I was not myself. I was confused, scared, and unable to think rationally. All I knew was that I was hungry. The food I could find made me terribly ill, and no amount of water, or wine, or anything could quench my thirst. I could only have that."

While (Y/N) felt as if she already had the answer she was asking for, she couldn't help but to pose her question anyway.

"What do you mean, that?"

Harry dropped his gaze from hers when he answered. "Blood."

Her fingers were a nervous bundle in her lap before her body stilled like the dead at his answer. The memory of the corpse she had found, bloodless and pale like snow, reentered her mind.

"Y-You drink it?"

"Yes."

Her heart hammered against her ribs, though the feeling made her think only of the blood rushing through her veins.

She must have sat there silent for too long, she realized when Harry piped up, feeling the need to mend the shock he had given her.

"It's not something I want to do, (Y/N)," he started, choosing his words carefully, "It is the only way I can continue living, but please believe me when I say that I have not committed those kinds of atrocities in almost one hundred years. The second I learned that I could survive off of animals, that's what I started doing. I haven't done anything like what has been happening since."

As uncomfortable as she felt, thinking about Harry drinking any kind of blood or taking any kind of life, she could live with the fact that he was choosing animals over those of her village. She had to eat too, and while she would have loved to keep every animal alive and frolicking around, she had to do what she had to do as well. She couldn't judge him too harshly.

"But, Mitchell. He doesn't know yet?" she asked, thinking back to the man with the long hair and ghostly demeanor.

Harry sighed, the same kind of sigh her father used to give when her sister was too stubborn for her own good. "He does know, but it is a hard transition. He wants to change, but he cannot always contain himself should an easy opportunity present itself. I am trying to teach him how to work past those urges, but it is taking longer than either of us would like." He dropped his head then. "I am sorry for what you have seen and what he has done when he is not able to think. I live with the guilt just as much as he does, but we are getting better everyday. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive both him and I."

(Y/N) pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but I can understand," she offered on a delicate breath. Truthfully, Mitchell sounded like a child: impulsive and taking steps forward before taking just the same amount back. "We all do things we are not proud of. I hope he can learn from this soon, and give these families peace."

"He will," Harry cemented, "I am going to make sure of it."

A beat of silence sat between them as she rifled through her head to decide on her next question. "Pardon me if this is inconsiderate to ask," she prefaced, "But, is your... condition the reason both you and Mitchell are so... pale?"

A genuine grin stretched across Harry's lips at her words. His laughter was a quiet huff from between his lips. "I would think so, yes," he told her, likely grateful for the easier line of questioning, "Every other vampyr I have met, we all tend to be on the paler side, lacking that life in our skin."

It was an odd thing, hearing him talk about all of the others he had met. She couldn't help but to wonder if Harry really was the first she had ever encountered without even realizing. "Is that why you are cold, as well?"

"Am I?" he asked, tipping his head to the side with a crease between his brows, "I suppose I've never really noticed. Though, the few times you have allowed me to touch you, you are so pleasantly warm I should have figured as much."

"You think I'm warm?" she asked, feeling a small sense of pride hit her chest. It was entirely silly to feel flattered over a comment about the temperature of her skin, but she couldn't help herself. She was a simple girl, at the end of the day.

"Very much so," Harry affirmed, dimples pressing into his cheeks as she smiled at her, "You are like the sun to me."

Now she definitely couldn't bite back her smile, dropping her head to watch her fumbling hands pluck at the seams of her nightgown. "The sun?"

"The very one," Harry teased, "Though I haven't felt the sun since I changed, I imagine the rays feeling like your touch."

"You haven't felt the sun?" (Y/N) blanched, a set of questions hitting her that she hadn't even considered, "But I've seen you outside?"

Harry gave her a pointed look, "Only on cloudy days. I learned the hard way a long time ago, but I now burn under the sunlight. It's a rather frightening experience, if I'm honest."

"You burn?" (Y/N) pressed, suddenly scanning her eyes down his form as if she could pick out any marks or scars upon his skin.

"As if I have touched fire," Harry grimly detailed, "But, I am lucky enough that because of what I am, my skin mends itself. I can't remember the last time I have had any kind of injury without an instant recovery or even fallen ill."

A new lens fell over (Y/N)'s gaze as she looked at him. Harry was always strong in her eyes, both physically and in the way carried himself so regally despite the swirling rumor mill. Now, though, the descriptor had an entirely new meaning. No wonder he was so flawless—there was nothing in this world that could even blemish him.

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

"You don't remember anything about the night you changed?" (Y/N) asked, mimicking the language he had been using himself.

He didn't even blink at her shift in conversation, instead furrowing his brow and canting his head as he threw his memory back.

"Not really," he mused, pursing his lips, "There are fuzzy bits and pieces I can recall, but nothing I can be sure of. Most of my life before is just as muddy, but I can remember a few things."

"So you don't know how you became this?" She couldn't imagine going to bed one way and waking up another, not a single idea as to what happened only knowing that she was not the same. No wonder Mitchell was struggling; how do you cope with something so overwhelmingly monumental?

"I don't know my story, but I do know how vampyrs can be made." He flicked his gaze to her as if to gauge her reaction, scanning for any minute change in expression. When he didn't see anything more than a curious blink, he cautiously continued. "There are three different things that can happen when we bite"—(Y/N) tried her best not to blanch at the blunt word—"someone. One is the kind that we use solely when we are eating, of course. That kind usually includes the end of a life." His own tone grew solemn at this example, that guilt he spoke of resurfacing, though (Y/N) appreciated his honesty. "We can make another vampyr in a similar way, though before the end, we have to have the control to stop. I do not know how it happens exactly, but there is something that changes humans and makes them like me. It can take time, but it can happen."

"Have you ever... made someone?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never considered making someone like that—it's too risky in my eyes."

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head, taking in all of the information she was learning. It was hard to think she was only in her bedroom, and not in some fantasy world that had violently merged with her own. "You said there's a third kind of... bite?"

"There is one more," he told her, sounding somewhat hesitant as he started, "It is called a Blood Bond. It is usually something that is shared between people that are intending to devote themselves to one another."

"How do they do that?" (Y/N) was intrigued now. This whole thing—being a vampyr—sounded so solitary, she didn't even think that there could be something like this within their culture. A union.

"They have to bite one another," Harry answered vaguely, "and share blood. Usually at the neck."

"And, it's like a marriage?" she pressed, trying to merge the concept with something familiar. Nonetheless, it was hard to picture her sister's wedding ending with she and her husband snapping at each other's throats.

"Something like that," Harry shrugged, "A bit more binding, though."

A troubling thought struck (Y/N) then. "Have you ever...?"

Harry all but blanched at her words. He shook his head immediately. "No, never. Mitchell is the only person I've ever kept in my life for longer than a month."

While she hated the thought of Harry being alone, solitary in his castle overlooking the village, there was a selfish part of her that keened at the thought that he had never devoted himself to anyone.

"How long have you known Mitchell?" (Y/N) rolled on. She wanted to get a picture of Harry's existence, even if she didn't completely understand the details yet.

A small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth then. "You really are quite curious, aren't you?"

Sheepishly dropping her gaze from his, she lifted her own shoulders in a small shrug. "It is alright if you'd rather not answer anymore, I know I can ask a lot at times. I do not wish to bother you or anything."

"No, no," Harry rushed, impulsively dropping his hand to land on her nightgown-covered knee, "Please, you are not bothering me. I love your curiosity. I told you: I am happy to answer anything you have for me. I want you to know me."

Matching her gaze to his, (Y/N) couldn't deny the genuine sincerity she found swimming in his irises. Refractions of crystal green had appeared in the pitch black, giving the look of a moonlit forest. There was a warmth to his expression, giving him the illusion of life with the dimples in his cheeks and the dazzling smile on his lips.

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?"

Harry directed his gaze towards the ceiling, searching the air for the rest of the story that lay in his head.

"Nothing too eventful, really," he mused, "I suppose that was when I started focusing on blending back in with the world. I felt comfortable in my control and wanted to stop hiding away so profusely—plus, I was beyond bored with my own company. Brooding can only fill so much time."

(Y/N) let out a tittering laugh at his words, leaning that much closer to Harry.

As he spoke about his life, telling her of all of the things he had seen, people he had met, and the details that made him up, the space between them had slowly dissipated until Harry was laying at her side. The longer they talked, the easier it was to grow closer and more comfortable sharing space. (Y/N) had even twisted until she was laying beside him, flat on her stomach with him on his back, hands folded over his stomach.

This close, she could practically count the lashes lining his eyes, the faint set of freckles that dusted his skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he had looked like when he was human. Did he have perpetually flushed cheeks? Were his eyes always green, or just as dark as they were now? When he was cold, did the chill show on the tip of his nose?

She didn't allow herself long to wonder over those questions. Harry as it he was in front of her was enough—more than enough, really.

"Was that hard?" she asked, her voice a low whisper as if she was conspiring with him in the dead of night, "Trying to be human again?"

"At times, yes," he mused, his eyes on the ceiling as he found his thoughts, "Humans, without realizing it, will pick up on the things that make me different and avoid me out of survival—even when I mean no harm. It is hard to feel normal when that happens."

Laying her cheek down on her pillow, admiring him as her head sunk into the down, a frown plucked at her lips. She could imagine him after trips down to the village, shopping and trying to socialize, though it was no secret the townspeople would rather him stay away. More and more she learned, the less Harry was a creature of the night with blood-stained teeth, and more a lonely soul adjusting to something he never asked for.

"I don't avoid you," she said, a quiet attempt to make him feel less alone.

She had the perfect view of the smile that stretched over his lips at her words, dimples and all. The bed dipped as he manueavered on her small bed, laying on his side to face her with his own cheek pressed to the same pillow. Her breath caught in her lungs. She'd only been this close to him once before, when he had traced his nose over the column of her throat just when she had seen his lack of reflection.

This time, she had nothing else to focus on. He was her everything right then, everything around him blurring out of focus.

"I know you don't," he responded to something she barely remembered saying, "And I feel so lucky every time I remember that. You are one of the few, (Y/N), that hasn't run the other way. But those other times were never like this."

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. She loved the sound of her name in his voice. "Like us?"

"Yes, like us," he said, a rewarding smile on his lips for her, "While it concerns me that you seem to lack any real survival instincts, I am grateful that you are not scared of me." His eyes glazed over her features, taking everything about her in as she held onto each word. "I have been drawn to you for longer than I have been able to admit to myself. Every minute we spend together means something that I cannot fully express."

"Drawn to me?" she peeped, her blood bubbling under her skin.

Harry looked sheepish now, the way he flicked his eyes to her before letting them fall. She wondered, if he was the same as her, if there would be a flush to his cheeks, and a pounding in his chest. "You've intrigued me for a very long time, before we even started speaking in passing. I have made excuses to come down to the village, shopping with you when I didn't really need anything. Even though you didn't mean it, you made me feel less alone."

Tentatively, (Y/N) reached out a hand, her fingers holding a small tremor before she placed her palm on his chest. The chill of his skin could be felt through his shirt, leaving goosebumps on her arm. The slight cold was worth it when she saw Harry all but melt at her touch. She really must feel that warm to him.

"I have always been very interested in you, too," she murmured, unable to meet his gaze should that give away the exact feelings she was trying to say, "I never understood why anyone would try to gossip or say anything about you. I guess they aren't too far off, though—those rumors."

Peeking through her lashes, (Y/N) held a smile on her lips as she hoped her tease would land. When Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his hand landing on her own on his chest, holding her fingers snug, her own grin grew three sizes.

"I suppose not," he smiled, pulsing his hand around hers.

Gazing at him, (Y/N) could nearly count the amount of green shatters floating to the surface of the pools of black. Everything about him was clear and steady, unwavering. "Thank you for coming tonight," she started, "My initial reaction was overwhelming, and I apologize for that. I would never want you to think that I felt the same way as the others or that you frightened me enough to never see you again."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, ducking his head until he was directly before her, the tip of his nose just barely missing her own, "I am sorry that I didn't assure you enough that you were safe with me and had nothing to worry about. I was planning on telling you myself, I was only waiting until I knew how to say it without using the wrong words."

"I think you've done alright," she smiled. If she blinked, would their lashes tangle together, or would she need to be just a bit closer for that?

"You have such a power over me, (Y/N)," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes swimming in devotion with his tone tinted in worship.

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) wondered if anyone had ever felt like she did in her bed right then. Did her mother ever feel this way for her father? Did her blood ever burn for him the way (Y/N)'s seemingly did for Harry? Did her sister ever feel her lungs squeeze and heart batter her ribs when looking at her husband? Did Mr. and Mrs. Wayfield feel their skin crawl with the need to join one another?

Or was (Y/N) the first?

Had everyone felt this way before, or had she invented the idea of falling in love right then?

It was impulsive, reputation-ruining, and entirely unladylike the way she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. If Harry had any inhibitions, he didn't show them with the way he reciprocated the contact in a heartbeat. Molding his lips to hers, he led her through the kiss. It was far from refined, (Y/N)'s lips clumsy and off centered but Harry didn't mind correcting her until his hand was holding her cheek steady and he was pushing and pulling with her moving in tandem.

Drawing away, (Y/N) pulled in a gasp. Her hand on his chest clenched the shirt covering his chest, nails raking along the planes of his muscles. Harry didn't offer her much of a reprieve before he was diving back in, the chill of his mouth feeling nonexistent with the heat that began coursing through her veins.

While she hadn't noticed it, Harry must have with the way he pulled away, allowing her suddenly aching lungs to take something in. He offered a smattering of kisses along her cheeks instead, affection pouring over every inch he could reach.

"I adore you, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping like the nectar from a flower deep into the marrow of her bones. "I will never get enough of you."

(Y/N) could only smile, a dreamy expression as she dipped her head back. A pleasant chill crept up her spine when Harry distributed his kisses down the column and over her thrumming pulse.

She could stay here forever. Never moving, never changing. Right here with Harry was her home.

"I wish I could stay," Harry murmured, responding to words she hadn't realized she said aloud, "But the sun will rise soon, and I believe you still need to sleep."

Drawing away, Harry righted her head with his hand on her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it was just her eyes or if it was truly there, but she swore there was color to his cheeks, a flush to his lips.

"I don't need to sleep," she countered, ready to dive back in.

Harry barely sated her with a single kiss pressed to her pout. "Yes you do," he insisted, "You are caring for your garden tomorrow, right? You need rest for that or you will be exhausted before you can finish."

For a moment, she hated that he knew anything about her and her routine. She didn't care for the sage or the rosemary or whatever she was meant to be pruning in the morning. She cared for who was in her bed.

"Don't look like that," he said, unable to keep himself from laying another kiss on her lips, "We will see each other again soon, I promise. I don't think I can wait very long, either."

"You can't stay any longer?" she asked, slowly releasing her hold on his shirt. From where she could see out her window, the sun was still down with the sky dark, but she figured Harry would know his limits and timings much better than she.

Glancing out the glass himself, she could see the gears turning in his head. "I can stay a little while longer. Until you fall asleep, yes?"

That was more than she could have wished for, truly. To fall asleep in his arms was the stuff of dreams.

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you."

Harry responded only by bundling her to his chest. While there was no heartbeat to compare to her own, nothing to beat in rhythm against her ribs, (Y/N) had never felt more comforted.

Sleep didn't take long, even when she had fought her tired eyes.

—————

(Y/N) shyly peeked through her lashes as she descended the narrow aisle between the church pews. For the third service in a row, her eyes met that of a dark figure seated in the last row. Harry flicked his gaze to hers for a heartbeat before he looked away, a conspiratorial smile on his mouth. She felt her skin warm as she followed her father out the church doors, rolling her lips between her teeth.

Ever since he had climbed through her window the first time weeks prior, Harry had been more involved in the village than ever. He had told her between breathless kisses in the quiet of her bedroom that he wanted to see more, that he could barely keep himself away—she was on his mind constantly. With going to his estate in the night wasn't always a smart option for her and her bedroom wasn't exactly easy to hide away in, he was going to find another way to see her. Since then, whenever the sun was shaded enough, he was ghosting among the village with a tendency to haunt the apothecary or anywhere else (Y/N) might have been. (She could only imagine the stack of lavender and tobacco bundles he had laying around his home with the amount of times he came in to shop with her). He had even started showing up for Sunday morning service for another chance to see her, despite neither of them particularly caring for the sermons.

Their moments were made up of subtlety with stolen glances and conspiratorial smiles, near silent conversations when no one was listening or the quiet confirmation that they were thinking of one another. They shared more secrets than she was sure anyone would even know what to do with.

She was the only one who knew the real him amongst the chatter, and she was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to kiss her. And, no one had any idea.

No one had seen the way he slipped scraps of notes into her hand when she passed off his herbs. No one else noticed the way they gravitated towards one another during the after church gathering at the pub. No one knew that he slipped in through her window most nights or how a letter on exquisite stationery would appear when he couldn't.

No one knew (Y/N) was in love.

So caught up in her head, she didn't even register the chilly air filtering around her as she descended the church steps being her father. She had followed mindlessly even when he stopped to make conversation with another parishioner, not noticing his pause until she tripped right into his back.

Turning around, her father steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking over the bridge of her nose that had smacked right into his spine.

"Yes, sorry," she rushed out with a shake of her head, "I wasn't paying attention."

His worry seemingly settled in permanent lines across his face. "Are you sure? You're not growing ill, are you? You've been off in your head these last few days."

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed over his shoulder and towards the fringes of the group where Harry stood by himself. She could just barely see the amused curl to his lips. He had definitely seen her misstep.

"No, " she answered, blinking back into the conversation though now she had her own efforts focussing on keeping her features in line. "I'm just tired."

—————

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured against his mouth, "My father..."

Drawing away from her kiss-puffed mouth, Harry sighed. "I know. I am trying, but you have to understand my struggle, darling."

She couldn't help the plume of laughter that fanned from her lips at his words. He practically beamed at the sound, his deep green eyes glimmering in the low light of a single lamp.

(Y/N) loved the way he smiled when they were alone. It was a wonder thinking that there was time before she had even known he had dimples.

"I'm sorry," she told him, settling into the down pillow under her head. Harry hovered above her with a delicate hand roaming over her cheek, his other propping him up from where he laid at her side. She barely noticed the chill when they were like this, huddled under her quilt with the heat of their breath and curious hands. "I wish we didn't have to worry."

"Come to me tomorrow," he offered in an instant, a bit breathless as he dropped his hand to boldly skate down her side, "We can be alone then."

His palm settled over her waist with a pulse, fingers tightening just when he mentioned alone. Shifting in her bedding, he didn't hesitate to pull her closer to him.

From the heat in his refracted gaze and the exceptional curiosity of his hands tonight, (Y/N) had a blushing idea of what he wanted to be alone for. While it wasn't the first time in the last weeks that there had been the passing possibility of allowing him to push her nightgown up or pull apart her corset, this was the first time Harry had given such a hint to his own intentions.

For fear of assuming too much, (Y/N) slid her eyes down the slope of his neck. "I don't know."

Creases appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. "What are you unsure about, darling?"

Avoiding his eyes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. "I—We—" she stumbled, tongue lazing around her mouth while she searched for the right words, "I want to be alone with you too, but... We're not married."

She didn't match his eyes for fear that she had misread the situations and every other before this that she had sworn Harry was worked up on her account. For all she knew, he wanted nothing more than to speak at full volume and have more than a squeaky bed to sit upon.

Ducking his head into her line of sight, he forced her to meet his gaze. "I would never want to do something that you do not want as well, (Y/N). If you would prefer we do nothing more until we begin publicly courting and doing things in order, then that is what we will do." His hand on her side softened. "This is already more than enough for me—I can wait."

Despite his kind words, (Y/N) didn't feel any of her stress alleviate. She had already known Harry would never rush her into anything thatch was not ready for, just as much as she knew that she did not feel any real inclination to wait until they were betrothed. But, neither of those truths made her decision any easier, not when there was more than just her own wants and desires to take into account.

"I know, and I want to, really," she said, reaching out to play with the loose fabric of his top, "I just—It's... I don't want you to see or think of me any differently afterwards. I know it is not proper to want anything outside of marriage—I do not want anything to change if I were to... indulge."

She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him, specifically the kind of pressures that were placed on her for the simple fact that she was a woman in society. There were enough stories she had heard of women who had taken what they wanted, or fell in love with another and expressed that love, and were later shamed for doing exactly that—oftentimes by their own partners or people she trusted in her life. She didn't want to be cast aside in case he found that he no longer wanted her afterwards, after seeing how willing she was to be with someone that wasn't her husband.

Harry's features twisted with a frown touching his lips and his eyes saddening. "Have I ever made you feel as if my feelings would change should you spend the night with me? If I have, I want you to know—"

"No, it's not that," (Y/N) rushed out, already feeling guilty, "You've never made me feel anything like that. It's just that... I suppose I've made myself feel this way. I just don't want you to change your mind about me."

For all she knew, Harry would have sex with her and learn that he was only attracted to her for the fact that he wanted to be with someone after such a long time. It was not his fault she had these doubts, but they were ones that lived in her head.

Harry didn't shy away from her as she spoke. He only listened, patiently waiting for her to finish her thoughts.

"I will just have to prove it to you then, that I have no doubts about you or anything I feel for you." His words were solid, unyielding. There was no room for argument. "In the meantime," he contented, his tone decidedly softer as he shuffled closer to her, "Would it be enough to tell you that I adore you? That I care for you more than I have for anyone or anything before?"

(Y/N) suddenly felt shy under his attention. He had murmured as much to her in the heat of the moment before, but never so clearly and earnestly before.

"Harry," she started, settling her palm against his chest as if to contain him.

"It is true," he smiled, unwavering in the way he spoke ,"You are like no one I have ever known before, and I could spend my entire existence only wishing to learn you. I know we are not married, or even engaged, but I hope it is enough to know that I do love you."

Refractions of green sparkled in his eyes, brightening his gaze in a way she swore only happened when they were alone. Her heart bubbled and beat heavily in her chest. She could n longer contain the budding grin fighting to pluck at her lips.

"You truly mean that?" she whispered, selfishly asking if only to hear it again.

Dimples were thumbed into his cheeks. "Of course, I do. I've come to believe that the reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I might get to meet you."

Looking up at him with his words ringing in her ears, Harry was like the moon to her. Never had she heard devotion like that. Even in her most romantic of daydreams, she never could have imagined that harry would say something like that to her, his eyes fixed to hers and his touch an anchor. Her chest practically ached as she processed.

Her hand on his chest curled until she was fisting his top between her fingers. "I love you, too," she peeped out, the sound of her heartbeat sticking in her ears.

Harry didn't hesitate before he was sealing his lips to hers once more. It was a hurried, excited kiss, leaving their mouths just a bit off center and his nose mushed against her cheek, but (Y/N) couldn't help but to smile into the contact.

When he pulled away, (Y/N) could have sworn there was a flush of color to his skin. "If not for how badly I want to do this the right way, I would be proposing right now, (Y/N)."

"You don't have to," she murmured, surging forward and pressing another kiss to his lips, "This is enough for me." While there was still undue shame she was going to undoubtedly feel tied to any decision she made, she didn't want that to come before what she wanted when it came to Harry. "If you were still offering," she started, dropping her eyes to follow the line of his nose and the pillow of his lips, "I would like to see you tomorrow. At your home."

"Really?" he asked, his voice an octave deeper than she remembered.

She nodded, a soft smile on her features.

"Only if you are sure, my love," he murmured, "The door is always open for you."

(Y/N) could only answer him with a kiss.

—————

Pacing around her bedroom, (Y/N) counted, the numbers climbing in her head. Her simple white dress flourished around her ankles with every step, though she took care to avoid the creaky floorboards.

When she reached two hundred, she took in a deep breath and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the house. All she heard was the sound of her father's snoring, just as she had when she had started readying herself.

Releasing that breath, she took quiet steps to her slightly ajar window. She had run over this plan enough times in her head for her brain to go quiet as she finally put it all in place. Repeating her steps from the first time she had snuck out, (Y/N) made it out of her home in one piece before starting towards the long winding route leading to Harry's home.

It wasn't long before a familiar black carriage and bone white horses hit her line of sight. A broad grin took over her features as she pace doubled to reach the coach.

"Hello, Mitchell," she chirped, catching the familiar head of dark hair and pale features sitting in the coach box.

"Hello, Ms. (Y/N)," he smiled at her, formality still hitting his tone despite (Y/N) assuring him more than once that he didn't need to offer her any, "He's been eagerly waiting for you."

"I have been, too," she confessed through her grin, rounding the carriage with less grace than she figured she ought to have. Before she even had a chance to knock on the door or surprise him, Harry was practically jumping out of the box.

"(Y/N)," he practically sighed, wrapping her in his arms the second his feet landed on the solid ground.

Her own arms around his neck, she all but melted into his hold. Harry held her snug to his chest, his face buried in her hair. "I've missed you so, darling. I feel as if it has been years since I've held you."

"You were in my room just last night, Harry," (Y/N) laughed. As if she hadn't been feeling the same way today, though it was much more fun to tease him.

"Exactly," he countered, stiffening his hold on her to lift her feet from the ground. (Y/N) squealed a laugh in his ear as she clung to him. "It has been much too long since I've held you."

She could offer no argument to him as she wrapped her limbs around Harry, allowing him to carry her into the carriage effortlessly. (Y/N) felt breathless by the time he had her settled on the bench beside him, wrapped in velvet and warmth despite his chilled skin.

As she caught her breath, the horses started off in the direction of the castle, a rhythmic thumping starting with their hooves against the path. Harry looked down at her with amusement on his features.

"Have you truly not missed me, darling?" he asked, his voice a soft song filling the space between them. His hand was just as gentle as he removed hair from her face, giving him a full view of her eyes.

"I have," she smiled, shaking her head, "But, Mitchell..."

Harry waved her off. "He doesn't listen, believe me. He only wishes to see me happy."

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

Dipping his head down until he could press his lips to hers, (Y/N) received her answer in a murmur: "Undoubtedly, so."

—————

"If you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to show you."

Looking at Harry from over the rim of her wine glass, (Y/N) brightened. "What is it?" she asked after swallowing her gulp, the center of her lips tinted a berry red.

"Let me show you," Harry countered, standing from his place at the dining table before offering her a hand.

(Y/N) placed her palm in his without a second thought, fluidly following after him.

Her new gown flourished with every step she took with her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the white ensemble having been waiting for her when they arrived at the estate. Though it wasn't as grand as the red one that now hung delicately in the wardrobe, it was no less luxurious.

The fabric was a satiny cream, gliding over her fingertips when she first touched it. The neckline cut straight across her décolletage with the sleeves being nothing more than swathes of material that draped over her arms, leaving the boned corset to keep the bodice upright. The skirt wasn't full like her last garment, leaving the shape slim and sleek around her form. Harry had practically mooned at her when she descended the stairs after dressing, his eyes never leaving her for long.

With the way the fabric gleamed and shimmered, (Y/N) felt as if she fit in with the moonlight when Harry led her outside. At her side, he blended in with the dark night aside from his pale features, acting as the heavens around the bright moon.

The ground under their steps was dewy, appearing as if drops of starlight had landed on earth with the reflection of the sky on the droplets. Looking ahead, through the draping wisteria and dark purple blooms, was the greenhouse. The building was in much better shape than the last she had seen, now with a complete roof and frosted glass on every wall.

"You finished it!" she bubbled, eager to see if he'd had the chance to fill it with any exotic blooms just yet.

"I did," he smiled, his profile illuminated by the full moon, "I wanted to make sure I could take you here the next time you came."

Approaching the door, Harry pushed it open for her to enter first.

Inside, (Y/N) felt that same wondrous glee she did when he had shown her the ballroom for the first time. This small space put her entire apothecary to shame.

The space was warm and humid, condensation trapped along the windows. Strung along the roof were familiar bundles of all of the herbs Harry had come by to pick up over the last month or so whenever he wanted an excuse to see her, the air tinted with the matching lavender and tobacco fragrances. The greenhouse itself had shelf after shelf, stretching tables, and hanging pots full of different plants. There were still plenty of places to grow, more room to put more and more flowers and herbs, but there was already enough filling that space that (Y/N) couldn't help the joyous gasp she let out.

Harry allowed her to wander through, looking over every leaf and every shrub, fawning over the blooms, and finding things she had no name for. When she wasn't so lost in her daydreams, romanticizing everything, (Y/N)'s hobby was her plants. She doted on them like pets, and took care of them every chance she could. Being in a place like this, with Harry, in a gorgeous dress, was exactly what her dreams were made of.

Coming up to an unfamiliar plant, (Y/N) gazed at it with wide eyes. The open leaves resembled that of an open jaw, with spines on the very edge of the leaves acting as teeth. It was colored a bright, smooth green, not a single blemish altering the perfection. Curiosity took over as she reached out, attempting to touch the spines to see if they were as sharp as they looked. She jumped back with a yelp when the leaves snapped together upon contact, acting just like the gnashing jaw she had compared them to.

In an instant, Harry was at her side, cradling her back to him with her hand clasped in his.

"It didn't get you, did it?" he asked with a concerned furrow to his brow. He cradled her hand in his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing over her fingertips as if he could heal any wound with a touch.

"No, I am alright," she answered, canting her head as her eyes stayed locked on the biting plant, watching as it reopened its jaws for the next victim, "Does it always do that?"

Bundling her hand in his own, Harry followed her this time as she approached the trap once more. "Only when it is trying to eat," he shared, watching her with the same fascination she offered to the plant.

"It eats? What do you mean?"

"It is called a Venus Fly Trap," Harry explained, "Unlike the others, it eats meat—bugs and the like. When it thinks it's caught any prey, it'll snap closed and take its meal."

(Y/N) had never heard of a predator plant—had never even imagined something like this could exist. "You feed it?"

"It does rather well for itself, I choose not to interfere too much."

She tried to picture something that looked so flimsy, a pair of leaves that mechanically moved together, could trap a living being. "Has it ever bitten you before?"

"Once," Harry admitted, "It was more startling than anything. That is when Mitchell shared that we would most likely benefit from leaving it alone."

Without much thought, she reached out once more as if to test the theory that the trap was nothing more than a scare. Harry quickly had her hands bundled in his own, twirling her away from the exotic bloom. He shook his head when his eyes met hers, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"I have said it before, but it always surprises me how much you lack any sense of survival," he laughed, pulling her hands to his chilled chest, "Though I said it did not hurt, does not mean you should try it out yourself."

"Sorry," she answered, a sheepish smile on her lips, "I just wanted to try for myself."

"Don't," he teased, bringing her hands to his lips where he gave her a soft smattering of kisses along the fingertips.

A soft laugh plumed from (Y/N)'s lips as she watched him, wiggling her hands out of his to cradle his cheeks in her palms. "This place is wonderful, Harry. I had no idea you wanted to make something like this."

He leaned into the warmth of her touch. "I made it for you."

(Y/N) felt her features soften; her eyes rounded out, cheeks softened around the width of her smile, every muscle she hadn't even realized she was tensing now going lax. "Did you really?" she crooned, following the refractions of light that danced over his features from the moonlight streaming through.

"Of course, I did," he smiled, "I'd do anything for you."

It was a moment like this that she wondered if she could really handle being engaged for a whole two years the way her sister was. She had spent so many years dreaming up someone like Harry, she wasn't sure if she could wait that much longer to have him be hers in every real way. All she could do was hold him tighter.

Harry's smile widened as he gazed down at her. "I wish I knew what was going on in your head."

"Just you," (Y/N) answered, "Always you."

Turning his head in between her hands, Harry pressed his lips not puckered kisses against the palms of her hands. She could feel him smiling against her skin.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love, but I am forever grateful." He pulled her hands from his cheeks only to hold them against his chest once more. His features, though still swimming in adoration, settled into something more somber then. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something out here."

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded.

For the first time since they met, (Y/N) saw a small amount of uncertainty leak into his gaze. "I know we have talked some about our future," he started, gaze traveling over her features to capture any and every reaction, "And, I have been thinking about something that I wanted to share with you."

"Okay," she nodded, trying not to betray her own nerves on her face, "Something good, I hope."

A faint dimple was pushed into Harry's cheek as he stretched his smile that much more. "I hope so, as well." Within a breath, he was entirely serious once more. "You know that I wish to marry you, right? Outside of just our talks in your bedroom, I have meant every word I have said about sharing my life with you."

"I do," she smiled, hoping to lessen his worry, "And I feel the same. I wish we could be married tomorrow, even."

Small traces of relief had his features loosening up, the cut of his jaw rounding and his brows relaxing. "I do as well, but I want to do that the right way, with a real wedding and everything else you could want. Though, I feel that the both of us are rather impatient." (Y/N) let out a small fan of laughter at his truth. "Because of that, I have been thinking and found some old correspondence with a friend that gave me an idea." He paused before continued, as if gathering his words. "Do you remember the Blood Bond I told you about?"

(Y/N) gave a silent nod. She could recall the short details he had shared with her and the way her mind had traced back to the binding more than once in her daydreams.

"I know it is a lot to ask of you, as neither of us really understand what a Blood Bond truly entails outside of theory, but I have wondered if... If you might be willing to complete a Blood Bond with me." He rolled his lips between his teeth wrestling with both his nervousness at presenting the idea as well as his hope for her answer. "I found letters from an old friend, someone who knew someone else who had completed the bond with another, and it sounded promising. There weren't many details, but they sounded happy."

"Were they—" (Y/N) floundered over her question, unable to find the right terms, "Were they both like you? Or was one of them like me?"

His mouth formed a grim line. "Both were like me. I can't find anything on any couple like us, unfortunately. I suppose we might be the first," Harry posited, the very corner of his mouth turning upwards.

While (Y/N) was more than warm to the idea of bonding with Harry—marrying him in the way they could without having the follow the steps of courting and engagement while also easing her father into the idea—she was unsure. The lack of details that even Harry knew tickled a part of her mind she had trouble ignoring.

"Would it...If we did, would it make me like you?" While she loved Harry for who he was, and understood his story, there was little desire in her to completely forgo her own life in favor of a still heart (and the blood thing was still very much not something she had interest in).

"I do not think so, but, again, I can't be sure." It appeared as if it pained him to give her so little detail. "But, I would never offer this if I did not think it would be a good option for us, darling. Selfishly, even if we can't share this with anyone, I don't know if I can wait much longer before I know I am yours and you are mine."

He peeked at her through his lashes, reflections of green glimmering in the pale moonlight. (Y/N) understood what he meant. While this would be another secret between them, something she couldn't even share with her father, it was enough to look at him and know that Harry was hers and she was his. It was enough to know that there was a place they belonged: at each other's sides.

Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore than I can imagine a regular bite does," he offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders, "But, I can't be sure. I would do everything I could to make it as painless as possible, darling."

There was a part of (Y/N) that stayed wary, and urged her to do the same. It poked holes in the logic and filled everything with doubt. There was no easy way to be the first, there was no safe way. There was so much unknown about what could happen should she bare her neck for him and allow Harry to bind them together in whatever way the Blood Bond would do. There was even a chance that she could drop dead immediately after, leaving the rest of her life—including Harry—behind.

There was no way to be sure that nothing terrible would happen, but the rest of her wasn't certain if that really mattered. She had no way of knowing that Harry was telling the truth when he revealed his nature to her, or if she could be sure that she was truly safe around him. She had no way of knowing that she was doing the right thing by continuing to invite him to her and to fall in love with him on the way. But she did each of those things anyway, because she had felt in her bones that it was right. She had felt that she could trust Harry with everything—every fall down the rabbit hole of love, every time they were alone with her neck at his teeth, everything that her instincts told her was okay because she trusted him.

That trust in him piped up, flicking (Y/N)'s gaze to match his as he patiently waited for her answer. "Okay."

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?"

The beginnings of an ecstatic grin bubbled over her features. "I want to bond with you. We'll learn all of this together. I don't want to go another day without being yours."

In the middle of the greenhouse, Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest before lifting her off of her feet. (Y/N) giggled, looping her own arms around his neck and clinging to him as he spun her around. Her dress twirled around them, enclosing Harry in lily white fabric as if he were the center of a moonlit bloom.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over, his face burrowed in her neck with his nose skimming the column.

(Y/N) could only smile, her eyes shuttering closed. She buried her hands in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. This is the kind of joy she pictured when she finally found her one and she agreed to spend her life with him—another assurance that she was doing the right thing. Something so wrong or hasty wouldn't feel so good.

Positing her down on the edge of a sparsely populated table, Harry stood between her legs as he settled his hands on her thighs over her silken dress. He had a bubbling smile on his face as he looked up at her, his eyes almost entirely green with only his pupil and a few slivers of the familiar coal remaining.

"I will write to my friend, and see if he has any more answers. Then, when you're ready, we can—"

A furrow pinched (Y/N) brow as she spoke, "We're not doing it tonight?"

Harry paused to consider her question. "I thought... I don't want to push you or make you feel as if we have to do this tonight. I figured you would like more time."

While Harry was erring on the side of caution—once again being the more responsible of the two compared to her impulsiveness—she didn't want to do the same. She had no fear of the Venus Fly Trap despite almost being caught in its clutches, and she had no fear of Harry and the unknown.

"I don't need any more time," (Y/N) cemented, reaching to settle her hands on his shoulders with her fingertips digging into the luxe velvet, "I trust you, and I don't want to wait anymore. I waited my whole life to find someone like you—I practically dreamt you up. I don't need time to be sure."

As she spoke, Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching her mouth wrap around every word and the devotion of which she hoped he felt. His own lips had fallen open in a small gape, eyes glimmering as if he were looking at the sun. HIs hands on her thighs pulsed, tightening his grip as if he could drift away at any moment.

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he loved her. That he knew what it was like to wait and hope there was someone there at the end who understood.

Reaching to cradle her cheeks in his palms, he brought her in for a slow kiss, his lips slotted between hers with his nose brushing against her own. There was an urgency behind it that she had never felt from him before.

"I love you," he murmured.

The delicate curl of her lips had him pulling away just enough to drag his kisses over her cheek. "I love you, too."

"I'm not certain in what I'm doing, (Y/N), so I need you to tell me if I am hurting you. I do not want this to be ruined because of me, so please stop me if you feel the need." His lips never lifted from her skin as he spoke, his words being painted across in sweeps of his breath and skims of his nose.

"I trust you," she reiterated, dipping her head back as he descended lower towards her throat, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responded simply, before pulling away, "But you must promise me. If there's even a moment where you are no longer sure, do whatever you need to do to make me stop."

His jaw was set and eyes hard as he spoke, determination settling on his features. "I promise," she said, her hands still firm on his shoulders, "If anything changes, I will tell you."

A small curl lifted his lips as he took her vow, features softening. "I will tell you before I bite, is that okay?"

"Please," she responded, relaxing into his arms as he wrapped them around her middle with his hands spanning the planes of her back. As much as she did trust him, the fact that his teeth would be biting into her neck in a few moments was most likely going to be her least favorite part of their bonding.

When Harry dipped his head down, the chill of his touch grazing her throat, (Y/N) expected to feel the scrape of his teeth, the point of something predatory catching on her skin. Instead, she felt the soft press of his lips and the drag of his nose over the column. He worked slowly, familiarly, kissing his way along until he stopped. He paused on the side of her throat, just under where her pulse thrummed.

"I'm going to bite here, alright?" he murmured, "Just long enough to forge the bond, darling."

She clenched her hands on his shoulders. "Okay."

Against her throat, she could feel his lips moving though there was no sound. She wanted to ask what he was saying, but before she had a chance that searing slice she had been waiting for finally struck.

The feeling took her breath away, her hands tightening on his shoulders. It didn't hurt like a cut from a knife or a stab from a needle, no—Harry's bite burned. It was a bubbling burn, as if something inside her was melting all within the span of a second. The searing brought tears to her eyes, stealing her breath before she had a chance to understand.

Just as quickly as the burning started, it was gone. In its place was something pleasantly cool, like a breeze on a warm day. Her vision cleared with her breath restored. She was hyper aware of Harry's shoulders under her hands, the warmth of his velvet jacket and the welcome chill from his skin. She clung to him, conscious of every stretch of fabric on her skin and every anchoring touch he gave her. It was overwhelming, verging on euphoric, urging her to shutter her eyes and absorb every second.

The moment could have lasted anywhere from two hours long to two seconds, (Y/N) had no way of telling by the time Harry pulled away. He kept his grip on her firm, his arms barred around her back as she came back down to the greenhouse.

With a fluttering blink of her lashes, (Y/N) saw Harry for what he was, for the very first time.

He looked at her with eyes darker than she had ever seen before, no semblance of any green she was accustomed to. She could clearly see a flush on his cheeks, appearing more human than she had ever realized he wasn't. The most jarring part: the blood dripping down his chin. It was a stark rub against his skin, staining his lips and coating his teeth.

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

For the first time since meeting him, she felt that fear she had lacked. It was nothing more than a zip up her spine, but it was there. If he were any other person, any other version of him in the years past, this would be the last thing she saw before she would be laid to rest on the forest floor with her throat ripped out.

As much as she was startled at the sight, the feel of her blood dripping down her neck, she also saw the way he was looking at her. Within the depths of his dark eyes, he was seeing her and tasting her and knowing her for the first time. There was no way that she had been the only one to feel that overwhelming euphoria, not when he looked at her like that.

In a distracted movement, he wiped his sleeve over his chin, intending to clear some of the crimson though most of it only smeared over his skin.

He was breathless as he spoke, "Ar—You're... (Y/N)."

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her.

Though her hand shook, (Y/N) still reached to place her palm on his cheek. She couldn't avoid the blood on his skin, but she didn't have the mind to care as she attempted to comfort him.

"I'm here," she whispered, hooking her ankle around the back of his leg, "You did it."

His hands on her back curled until his fingertips were denting her shoulder blades by how tightly he held her. He shook his head as if to clear whatever was going on inside. "We—It's—Your turn."

In that second, she remembered the small detail she had willfully forgotten. For the Bond to go both ways, she would have to also take his own blood. The prospect of him biting into her didn't seem so bad anymore compared to this.

Her eyes dropped to his neck, floundering suddenly. "I—But, I can't... I'm not like you, I can't... bite."

The fact seemed to hit Harry as well, though his brain was still clearly flooded with whatever it was he was experiencing with his end of the bond forged. He blinked to clear his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her neck.

"I think—I can take care of it," he offered on a stilted tongue.

(Y/N) didn't have any time to question before he was bringing his arm around to his lips, pushing his sleeve out of the way until his pale wrist was on display. The same way he had sunk his teeth into her neck, he now did to his own arm, opening up a gash with decidedly darker and thicker blood than she had ever seen before.

She understood what he was doing for her—taking out the work so she could close her end of the bond by taking in his blood—but she still felt repulsed at the prospect of tasting any of the ichor oozing from his arm. She wasn't like him. She couldn't see any way she could enjoy the taste or the feeling of drinking his blood.

All it took was one glance into his shimmering eyes, the same ones that had pleaded to her to not be scared of him, that prosed over his devotion to her, that had her shakily taking his arm in her grasp.

"Wh-What do I do?"

"Jus' drink, darling," he swallowed, "Quickly. Before it heals."

For the sole fact that she wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Harry bite into himself once more, she closed her eyes and brought his wrist to her lips. The second the blood filled her mouth, she wanted nothing more than to retch over and spit it out. It was metallic and heavy, coating her mouth in a way she couldn't compare anything to.

The first gulp was the hardest—the most troubling. Just as soon as she swore her throat was closing, urging her to gag and be rid of everything she was taking down, something changed.

Similar in the way that there was an overwhelming stillness when Harry had bitten her, she was now left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. Before she had been contently in her skin, aware of every motion and touch. This time, she was conscious of everything that wasn't entirely her.

She swore she could feel her own wrist warming, her own thoughts picturing her bent over Harry's arm, the feel of her dress under her palm.

These were Harry's thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She was no longer just her in that moment.

The Bond was there, allowing her a peek into who it was that was at her side.

Including the immense amount of love he was feeling just then.

She had never been aware of a missing piece in her, never been aware that there could be more of her somewhere, until then. This is what Harry had been feeling when he bit her, when he looked at her with tears in his eyes and clung to her as if she were the only one to give him breath, to make him whole.

Pulling his arm from her mouth, she didn't think twice of the blood staining her lips or coating her chin before she was throwing herself at him. Looping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with tears leaking down her eyes.

That was the Bond she could feel pulsing through her system. Harry was now a part of her just as much as she was his.

There was no doubt their clothing was ruined, blood staining the material that they had no chance of removing, with the ends of (Y/N)'s hair caught in the crossfire, but she couldn't find it in herself to care for more than anything but Harry.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice brittle under the lump in her throat and the tears glazing her eyes. "We did it."

"We did," Harry sighed, the smile on his face apparent in his tone, "I love you so much, darling."

(Y/N) could only close her eyes, melting into his hold with the greenhouse falling away around them. She clung to him tighter.

"I've got you, darling," he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm to her wired nerve endings.

Relaxing into the moment, a quiet smile etched its way onto her lips.

This was going to be the rest of her life.

—————

"Harry, be quiet," (Y/N) giggled into his mouth.

"Why?" he countered, only pulling away just far enough to speak, "It's just us here, remember?"

Drawing him back to her lips with her hands on his cheeks, (Y/N) could barely keep the smile off of her face long enough to kiss him back. She sunk further into the luxe mattress under her back with every earnest press of his lips to hers, the first swipe of his tongue darting out to run along the seam of her lips.

After stumbling their way out of the greenhouse and through the gardens, Harry had led her to his bedroom with a kind of giddiness she had never seen in him before. Despite the blood on his face, he was almost child-like in his wonder with the way he looked at her.

His bedroom was just as laden in luxury as the rest of the castle, though it was clear that there was someone actually inhabiting the space. She could see stamps of his presence everywhere; in the stationery on his desk to the unkempt bedding as if he couldn't be bothered to remake his bed everyday despite having nothing but time to fill. A pile of lavender bundles and chamomile blooms were stacked on his bedside, familiar twine holding the herbs together.

When he offered her the bathroom to clean off, (Y/N) didn't hesitate, wanting to clean herself from the crust that was forming on her chin and the bits of blood that had dried in her hair. By the time she finished, there was a nightgown waiting for her and an invitation on familiar stationery to join Harry in his room when she was ready.

Under different circumstances, she would have taken her time, luxuriated in the thick towels and scented lotion. There were different creams and oils that she didn't recognize, the kind she would have loved to take her time and learn. But there was someone waiting for her—someone that was as close to her husband as he could be without sending her down the aisle in a white dress.

She didn't want to leave him waiting.

(Though, she did notice that the bite he had given to her neck was healed almost completely. The wound that had bled enough to fill his mouth was now reduced to a pair of pin pricks on the side of her neck, just barely visible if someone was looking. She was going to have to ask at some point if that was the effect of the bond mending her skin).

That was how she found herself with Harry hovering above her, damp hair tossed across his pillow and her hands cradling his cheeks.

"I can feel you right here," he murmured to her in wonder, his hand on his chest where his unbeating heart sat.

Sprinkling her own kisses along his cheek, she smiled against his skin. "I can feel you in my heart, too," she whispered against his skin.

Drawing away, (Y/N) tried to chase him for another kiss before failing and sinking back into her pillow with a breathy laugh. Harry's smile widened at the sound. His gaze slipped over her with enough depth that she could have sworn his hands followed the trail, goosebumps erupting on her skin.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," (Y/N) said, stealing the same line he said to her more than once.

Matching her gaze once more, he looked at her with gleaming green shards in his eyes. "Just you. Always you."

Creases appeared by her eyes from just how far her smile stretched. She knew that line just as well. "Of course it is," she teased, petting the pad of her thumb along the height of his cheek bone,

"I mean it, my love" he smiled, sweeping a hand across her forehead to pull any stray hairs out of the way, "I have never felt before the way I do right now. Because of you."

(Y/N)'s heart surged at his words. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Through something she was beginning to understand as their bond, she felt the ardent truth in Harry's words as much as she could hear it. There wasn't enough vocabulary available to tell him what it meant to her to feel and hear his love.

Selfishly, she resorted to tugging him down for a kiss instead, hoping he understood just as well.

He smiled into the kiss, a good sign, just before he settled in with her.

With her legs spread wide for his hips to sit between, she couldn't help but to cling to him. There was no other way she could tell him how much she loved him, how deeply excited she was to spend the rest of the unknown with him. The feeling brought her back to the night before, when he had invited her here in the first place—when he had told her he loved her.

Despite the chill of his touch, she had never felt so warm when recalling the memory.

Her hands on his cheeks slid down from his face, following the line of his neck to his shoulders. The neck of his loosely buttoned shirt gave way under her touch, allowing more of his cold skin to sit on display for her to graze her fingers over.

With their mouths slotted together, (Y/N) grazed one hand up the column of his throat unsure of if it was her own warmth being reflected back or if he was feeling the same way as she and something had awoken in his body. Without thinking, she dragged her nails lightly down his skin, entranced by the new skin she had never touched and barely seen before.

Harry let out a low moan into her mouth, the sound rumbling against her own chest. Through the bond, she felt that touch of euphoria she was only familiar with through the bite in the greenhouse. Her stomach tightened at the thought.

Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his kisses down the line of her jaw. "What was that for, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble compared to the dulcet tones he typically served her.

"Did you like it?" she countered, a sheepish tone to her voice. She hadn't meant anything by it, really.

It was the smile she felt against her skin that had her relaxing. "I did," he answered, dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, "Is that what you wanted?"

"I always want to make you happy," she simply chirped back.

Drawing away, Harry hovered over her with a slight curl to his lips and only a sliver of green showing around his dark pupils. "Your job is terribly easy then," he smiled, "As I can't help but feel anything but completely ecstatic around you."

(Y/N) could only shake her head, suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her with her face buried in his neck. She could feel the plume of laughter he let out as much as she could hear it.

Pressing his weight into her as he reciprocated her hold, he wrapped his arms around her middle in a snug hug. The length of his body was pressed against hers, including the hard to ignore ridge nudging between her legs. While it wasn't the first time she had felt as much between the sheets in her bedroom, it still took her breath away.

Harry undoubtedly felt her reaction, causing him to pull away just enough to look down at her. "What's wrong, love?"

She floundered over her words, unsure of how exactly to phrase what she had caused her gasp and the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You—I mean... You're—"

Pursing his lips, Harry held back his smile. "I know, darling," he smiled, "Don't worry, alright? We've done enough tonight, I don't think we need to add anymore new experiences like we had planned."

"But—" She unceremoniously dropped her gaze between them as if she could get a peek at what was prodding at her core. "I don't want to... You're not hurting, are you?"

He couldn't help the laugh that fell from his mouth then. "No, I am not hurting," he smiled, squeezing her to him one last time before relinquishing his hold.

Meandering out from between her legs, he moved to lay beside her. (Y/N) rolled with him, unwilling to let him go very far before he settled at her side, sharing the same pillow despite the vast amount of negative space available.

"You don't want me to...?" (Y/N) trailed off, unsure of what exactly she was asking. She knew Harry had asked her over, hoping to take advantage of the time alone without having to worry about the creaks of her own home. Despite the turns that night had taken, she didn't want him to believe she was no longer willing, even if she was a bit exhausted.

Harry's smile was tender on his lips, adoring just as his eyes were. He took one of her hands that had been clasped behind his neck and brought her palm to his mouth. Pressing his lips to the back in a smattering of kisses, he trailed that line up to her wrist and along her arm until she could no longer contain her giggling. The bright smile he gave in response had to match that of her own.

"Not tonight, my love," he crooned, "I know we had talked about how we wanted to spend this night by ourselves, but I know my outlook on the night has changed some." His gaze dropped to the pinprick marks on her neck, his features brightening that much more at the sight. "I don't feel any rush to do more. We have all the time in the world to learn each other in that way. I'd rather tonight be about you and I and learning the bond we now have."

Through that bond, she could feel his sincerity. There was no rush in him, nothing clamoring to take her virginity just to have it. It was more important to him to know his wife—his beloved, his bonded. Through his eyes, she saw the stretch of time they had together and the many nights they could fill between the sheets. There was no rush to be had when he had her for the rest of their lives.

"You're sure?" she asked, shuffling closer to him over the velvet duvet, "I don't want to disappoint you."

"How could you disappoint me, my love?" he asked through a dazzling smile, dimples denting his cheeks and perfect teeth on display. He brushed his hand over her cheek, fingertips grazing the fan of her lashes and the height of her cheekbone as if she were the most delicate of flowers in his garden. "You're here," he said in awe, "In my bed, brave enough to bond with me, and looking at me with stars in your eyes. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"

Heart thumping in her chest, (Y/N) looked at him and saw the life he had envisioned.

There were so many nights they were going to spend just like this, laden in velvet and kisses, chilling touches and warm gazes. They had all the time in the world, there was no reason not to savor these quiet moments with him.

All she could do was pull him in for a kiss.

—————

The following morning, (Y/N) was exhausted as she traipsed around the apothecary, though she felt as if she were floating off her feet. She took care to restock each and every cubby, straightening the displays and ensuring only the best of the best were placed out for customers. Her father was manning the register as she did so, leaving her to sit in her rose petal thoughts and appreciate the stiff muscles of her neck and bruises from her early morning climb back into her bedroom.

It was all reminders of the best night of her life, she decided. Her wedding night—even if it wasn't in the traditional sense.

There was a new piece that now lived inside her, a remnant of Harry's soul that now replaced the piece she had given him last night. It felt easier to breathe, now knowing that he was on the other side.

More than once since starting her day, her father had asked what had made her so chipper. She had only replied that she had slept well, or simply woke up in a good mood. She couldn't wait for the day that she could tell him that it was Harry that had her heart so full and eyes so bright.

The bell above the door jingled, alerting that a customer was coming in, though that wasn't what had (Y/N) perking up in her spot. There was a fumbling in her chest, as if her heart knew something she didn't.

Looking over her shoulder, her lungs squeezed when she saw who had walked through the door.

Armed with a draping bouquet of wisteria and the tiny bell-shaped blooms of lily of the valley, was Harry. He was dressed immaculately as ever, though she could see a color in his cheeks and his eyes almost glimmering with the amount of green shards that had surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stiffen at his presence, though Harry gave her a passing glance with a lopsided smile before even acknowledging his presence.

"Mr. Styles," her father gruffly greeted him, "How can we help you today?"

"Actually, sir," Harry started, a pleasant voice to match his expression though (Y/N) could see amusement swimming in the depths, "I was hoping I could have a chance to speak with your daughter."

"She's busy at the moment, but I can help you with anything you need." Her father's voice now held an edge to it.

"Unfortunately," Harry said, skipping his gaze back to her where she stood with her hands knotted behind her back, "I don't think you can help me with this, sir. I was looking to ask for her permission to officially begin courting her—if she is interested, anyway"

(Y/N) had no hope of wiping the smile from her face, but she did everything she could to keep herself from launching into her husband. Instead, before her father could make any objection of any kind, she piped up with, "I am definitely interested, Mr. Styles. You have all the permission in the world."

Though she was sure that if she spared her father a glance he would be just as angry as the night he had thrown her invitation into the furnace, but she couldn't draw her eyes from Harry.

She couldn't wait to marry him. For the second time, technically.

—————

lily of the valley, though delicate, can stop the heart when consumed

ahhhhh that is the end of my little Halloween/fall story! now my break will be starting and ill be back with more writing after the new year!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas for anythign at all!

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moossings · 1 year ago

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drawn in

the f1 mafia au that no one asked for and won't leave my brain at all. mainly charlos, but featuring most of the grid and ex drivers. i've been worldbuilding with @5ainz (bless for bearing with me) and in between drawings and character sheets, i ventured to write this tiny snippet to hype myself (and be less scared of writing). if you read this, thank you and enjoy! ✨

“You shouldn't be here.”

Carlos’ eyes don’t move from the painting. The Death of the Virgin, by Caravaggio. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. He wouldn’t expect less from the Rosso Corsa, always proud and ready to show off their legacy. Come to think about it, everything in his life was linked to red somehow. And at the same time, inevitably, to the wounds it left.

“Are you going to kick me out, altezza reale? Like a bad behaved dog?” He does turn his head then. His tone is supposed to be mocking, but the moment brown eyes meet green, his resolution falters.

Charles Leclerc, composed as ever, stands on the door, as if he had just closed it. Carlos swears he hears the lock turn as well, but his mind is rather busy tracking every single hair out of place, from the top of his head to the strands scattering on his forehead. His gun feels heavy where it rests in its holster under his jacket.

“And aren’t you the most loyal one? Fernando must be proud.” Charles leaves the door to stand next to Carlos, shoulders almost brushing but not close enough. It’s their thing, throw knives and dodge, push and pull. The Inspector’s little prince and the right hand of the Spanish Samurai.

The silence between them is not awkward, but it feels tense in the same way the air is charged right before a storm. They look at the painting, but the details they recollect are not the brushstrokes or perspective of the piece. It’s the subtle hints of cologne coming off Charles’ skin when he tilts his head, following the lines of the old wood on the frame instead of the ones of Carlos’ perfectly tailored suit. It’s the flex on Carlos’ clenched fists as his mind repeats over and over how very not good it would be to reach and find out how Charles’ hands feel with their fingers laced.

“Did you know,” Carlos says, his voice almost a whisper. “This painting was rejected by the patron who commissioned it. No one had ever painted the actual death of the Virgin, it was a dogma, and Caravaggio depicted her as mortal: pale, bloated and devoid of spirit.” He sighs and looks sideways at Charles, from under his lashes. “It is also said that Caravggio painted her after a prostitute, so maybe that was the real reason.”

Charles tries to school his features, to stop the smile from being evident, but those sweet dimples betray him. Time to stop pretending, it seems. “I didn’t know you were interested in art.” He turns to face Carlos fully, carefully studying the strong features he usually only catches in glimpses. He is setting the ground for truce, building the bridge.

Carlos chuckles, and it sounds tired. “Really? Don’t tell me Sebastian didn’t include it in my file. He used to be more thorough with his research, he is starting to slip.” But he still faces Charles, willing to meet him halfway. “There is a lot more that you couldn’t possibly know.”

“What if I wanted to find out? What would it take?” Charles takes a step forward. Carlos lets him.

“Stupidity. Recklessness. Naivety.” He counts with his fingers, brows furrowed but playful smirk. Charles can’t really tell which one he actually means. “Trust.”

“That sounds like a challenge, Sainz.” And Charles has never backed up from one. Today is not the day he’ll start.

He extends his hand and, in seconds, a warm bigger one takes it in a firm but soft grip.

“It’s Carlos.” A smirk draws up the corners of his full lips. “You are in for a ride, cariño.”

#mm: writing adventures #mm: mafia au #charlos #1655 #charlos au #f1 rpf #ficlet #i'm scared af to post this but oh well #i'm going to keep worldbuilding and drawing my babies in this #hopefully i will get the courage to write a full fic about it eventually #please be kind i'm actually terrified

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legionofshaza · 1 month ago

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◇Safe in your arms◇

Day 7 @officialfeysandweek

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

Feyre Archeron had never thought her art would become the focus of such dangerous attention. But as she sat in her sprawling, modern studio—light streaming in from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling city of Velaris—her hands trembled over the canvas, her focus fractured by the latest death threat sitting crumpled on the table nearby.

The threats had started out vaguely disconcerting—anonymous messages about her controversial work, some hate-filled rants on social media—but over the past few weeks, they’d become much more personal, more violent. Her name was on every gallery-goer's lips, the art world mesmerized by her paintings, each one steeped in raw emotion, but this was not the kind of attention she had expected. Her pieces had always been provocative, challenging norms, but now... it seemed they had provoked something far darker.

It wasn’t until her agent, Mor, had demanded she get protection that she realized the situation had spiraled beyond her control.

“Feyre, I’m serious,” Mor had insisted over the phone that morning. “This isn’t just about your art anymore. You’re in real danger.”

Which was why Rhysand was there now—leaning against the doorframe of her studio with an air of cool confidence, as if he owned the space. His dark eyes, almost indigo in the shifting light, watched her carefully, assessing her like she was one of his assignments—because she was.

"You’re nervous," Rhysand said, his voice smooth but edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” Feyre lied, dipping her brush into a vibrant shade of crimson, dragging it across the canvas in sharp, agitated strokes.

He stepped closer, his presence magnetic, though Feyre pretended not to notice. Rhysand was unlike any bodyguard she had expected—he was far too good-looking, his broad shoulders clad in a sleek black suit that did nothing to hide his athletic build. She’d imagined someone more inconspicuous, not a man who could easily stop traffic.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, his tone playful but his gaze serious. “I’ve seen your hands shake three times since I walked in.”

Feyre sighed, setting the brush down with more force than necessary. “It’s just… everything. I’m not used to being caged in my own home. I can’t even go to a gallery opening without looking over my shoulder now.” She paused, catching his eyes. “I don’t know how to feel safe anymore.”

Rhysand's expression softened, though there was still a hint of steel beneath his calm demeanor. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to worry about your safety. I’ll handle that. You just focus on your art.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but Feyre could hear the weight of responsibility in his voice. This was his job, and he took it seriously, but something about the way he looked at her—like she was more than just another assignment—made her pulse quicken.

“I’m not used to someone hovering over me while I paint,” she muttered, crossing her arms as she turned back to her half-finished work. Her latest piece was chaotic, a swirl of colors that screamed her frustration with her situation.

“I don’t hover,” Rhysand corrected with a smirk. “I observe.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, though she found herself smiling despite the tension curling in her chest.

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “I’ll try to be less conspicuous then. But I’m not going far.” His eyes flicked toward the windows, where the city stretched out below them, unaware of the storm brewing in the artist’s world. “Whoever’s sending those threats isn’t going to stop just because we pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “Do you think they’ll really... try something?”

“I don’t know,” Rhysand admitted, moving to stand beside her, his gaze trailing over the painting. “But I’ve seen enough to know we can’t underestimate them.” His eyes slid back to hers, sharp but kind. “That’s why I need you to trust me.”

Feyre studied him for a long moment. He was far too collected for someone who might have to throw himself into the path of danger at a moment’s notice. It should have made her uneasy, but instead, she found herself relaxing slightly in his presence. There was something in those eyes—something that made her feel like maybe she could breathe a little easier with him around.

“I’m not good at trusting people,” Feyre admitted, her voice quieter now.

“I’ve noticed,” Rhysand replied, his lips curving in that infuriatingly knowing smile. But then his expression grew more serious. “But if it makes a difference, Feyre, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t have to fear anyone.”

Her heart stuttered at the sincerity in his voice. The room felt smaller, the air between them charged with something unspoken, something that had been simmering since the moment he’d walked into her life.

Forcing herself to look away, Feyre picked up her brush again, trying to focus on the painting in front of her. But she could feel his gaze lingering, could feel the strange heat building between them, even as she tried to pretend it was just nerves.

“I’ll do my part,” she said quietly, as if the promise was more to herself than to him. “But... thank you. For being here. Even if I don’t act like I appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Rhysand murmured, his voice low and soft as he turned to leave the room. “Just keep painting. And leave the rest to me.”

As he left, Feyre found herself exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The weight of the threats, the fear that had clung to her for weeks, was still there—but it felt a little less suffocating now.

She dipped her brush into the paint again, her strokes more measured, more deliberate this time. And as she worked, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, her protector would end up saving more than just her life.

○End○

#acotar #feysandweek2024 #romance

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yourmomxx · 2 years ago

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[the art of making a house a home]

JJ Maybank x male!reader (no pronouns)

or: most people in jj’s life tend to leave him behind in some way - not you though. never you.

warnings: (mentions of) child abuse, wounds, angst, jj doesn’t know what home is, smoking, weed, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.4k

a/n: I really like writing those kind of imagines, so I’ll probably do more of them in the future! but for now, have this angsty piece of literature

request

JJ took a big step out of the shower. He grabbed one of the towels hanging on the heater and wrapped it around his hips, the fabric feeling comfortably warm against his bare skin.

Opposite him hung a huge mirrored cabinet. The hot water had formed droplets of condensation on the surface, now hiding them behind a thin layer of bright mist.

In fact, this mist actually lingered throughout the bathroom.

Your bathroom, JJ suddenly thought. Your bathroom, your towel, your mirror. Your shower, your heater, your sink.

But somehow it might as well be his, or both of yours, as often as he found shelter and sanctuary with you, when he couldn't bear to be at home again.

Home. JJ involuntarily grimaced. Was that what it was? Were his father – Luke? - and the shabby house where they lived and where so many terrible things had happened to him, his home?

Not really.

He found the idea of the small apartment with the bright seat cushions on the couch and the light-colored curtains, an apartment where you would wait for him, where he could wake up next to you every morning, much more inviting. Much more homely.

He wiped the mirror once with the palm of his hand, clearing a condensation-free spot on the smooth surface.

Sometimes he wished it would be just as easy in his head.

Simply raise his hand and wipe away the wafts of fog with one movement, being finally able to see clearly again. Or at least a little clearer, when he took a closer look at the blurred area.

He supported himself with the heels of his hands on the bathroom sink that was fixed under the mirrored cabinet and looked at himself in the free surface with watchful eyes.

Thin strands of blond hair stood up from his head and hung over his face. The otherwise light-blonde surfer mane had taken on a dark color from the shower water. A few small drops of water still fell from some ends, landed cold on his bare upper body and left an irregular trail of water there.

Despite the blurred water vapor, JJ could clearly make out his figure and the individual moves.

Involuntarily his gaze wandered over his upper body. There was a yellowish discoloration where the towel ended and his defined abs began.

He gently ran his finger over it. Unlike a few days ago, that slight contact with the bruise no longer hurt. The swelling had gone down too, he noted with satisfaction.

Irregular, he could see circular, white scars that split on his forearms. Remnants of burns from cigarette butts to be extinguished.

He caught his gaze in the mirror. Blue-grey eyes stared back at him. They seemed lifeless to him, with the dark circles underneath and the heavy lids that suggested he hadn't had a comfortable night's sleep in days.

Which wasn't even necessarily wrong.

He rubbed his eyes with one hand. Now, when the adrenaline subsided, he felt exhaustion settling in his limbs.

As if automatically, his fingers wandered a little higher on his forehead, just below the hairline. He felt a slight bump in the tanned skin under his fingertips. He lifted his hair out of his face.

The scar wasn't big, probably less than an inch. It was almost directly parallel to his hairline and was therefore mostly hidden by the blond mane that fell over his forehead.

And yet sometimes he felt like it was yelling at him when he looked in the mirror.

The thin white line seemed to mock him. Again and again he found himself struggling to fix his hair at all times so that no one could see it, and only take off his caps with his head bowed when he did so.

It was a too constant reminder of the night his father - Luke? – came home drunk once again and hadn’t been satisfied with the meal his (eleven-year-old) son had cooked.

He had pushed him against the edge of a table that evening.

JJ told the doctors at the hospital that he had tripped over a fold in the carpet and injured himself on the table that way. The doctors bought it from him.

It would have been so easy for JJ to just tell them the truth. Screaming at the nurse, begging on his knees, how awful his father was to him, for someone to set him free.

But he hadn't. Luke hadn't even been to the hospital at the time.

Anger overwhelmed him. He banged his fist on the edge of the sink impulsively. Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

Shit Luke Maybank, shit American health care, shit doctors who should have checked further, and shit little eleven-year-old-JJ who didn't have the guts even then to stand up to his shit father.

He clenched his jaw as he felt a sting behind his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry, not now, not at all anymore. He had brought this on himself, he, and his damned cowardice.

JJ pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. Something to counteract the headache that was coming.

He flinched when the bathroom door opened and caught his breath when he saw you standing there.

"Is everything okay? I heard-" You cut yourself off mid-sentence. JJ tensed when he saw where your eyes were going.

"Shit, JJ," you managed to ground out. He avoided looking at you.

He hated it - when you saw him like that, so wounded and vulnerable, and when your voice took on a pained tone and your sentences started with Shit, JJ.

JJ didn't look up. Skillfully, he just pretended that there was nothing there that seemed worth your attention and kept his gaze fixed on his arm. Just his skin, and the muscles beneath it.

He efficiently ignored how your gaze roamed his back, which had probably already formed red welts and bruises - consequences of the anger of Luke Maybank - his father? - and the one reason why he was standing in your bathroom right now and not lying somewhere in his bed.

There was a thump as you put the first aid kit down next to him.

He frowned at himself as he realized he hadn't even noticed you left the bathroom. Had he been too caught up in his head, had the mist blocked his view too much for him to notice?

You gestured for him to sit down and he complied. He was too tired to argue anyway.

JJ vaguely noticed you take a seat behind him on the bathroom floor and moments later he felt your fingers gently trace his back. He could only imagine what he looked like. Swollen welts and probably even little wounds, maybe crusted blood? He felt sick.

JJ fell into his thoughts. Into the deep nothing. From time to time he almost shied away from your fingers and the cold ointment, but caught himself again immediately.

You sat in silence. You hadn't said anything since discovering his wounds, and JJ himself found the thought of straining his vocal cords far too tedious.

The blond boy caught a glimpse of the mirror out of the corner of his eye, recognizing you.

Your facial features were concentrated on working on his wounds, but your eyes reflected the deep concern in them. JJ loathed that. Hated that you cared for him, cared for him when he didn't deserve it.

For a brief moment, nothing happened, then JJ felt your upper body cautiously leaning closer to his, and you placed a feather-light but honest kiss on his shoulder from behind.

JJ almost winced at the touch, tensing at the softness that lay within it. So gentle, in a way he wasn't used to even after a few months in a relationship with you.

You didn't blame him, you never had. You knew what was going on at JJ's house and why he showed up at your door pretty much every day, head hanging, muscles hurting and mind aching.

There were better days too, when he was almost glued to you, taking your hand, snuggling up to you every moment he could get his hands on.

But of course there were worse ones, like today, for example. Then he didn't talk much if at all, carrying on conversations more in his head than out loud.

But then you always gave him his space without ever leaving him completely lonely. And he was grateful to you for that.

“Come on, big guy. ‘S time we get you in bed." Your voice was hoarse next to his ear, yet so soft and warm he wanted to sink into it. He stood up slowly and you lifted your chin from his shoulder.

Obediently he trotted - or rather dragged himself - towards your bedroom (both of yours?). You just followed him without a word.

JJ liked your bedroom. The king size bed was placed in the middle of a medium sized room. A tall wardrobe stood against one wall and a door led to another room, the bathroom.

On the opposite wall, two curtained windows offered an almost perfect view of the open sea.

Over the months, JJ had found that knowing the ocean so close to him whenever he stayed at your place was immensely comforting, and how the sound of the crashing waves breaking on the beach lulled him to sleep.

You never told him how you didn't really like the salty cold of the sea air and only ever left the window open for your boyfriend.

Without a word, you handed JJ a hoodie – burgundy, no print. With slow movements he slipped the garment over himself, the soft fabric nestled comfortably against his tingling skin. He took fresh boxershorts from a drawer.

JJ took a deep breath. Your scent enveloped him. Coconut palms, perfume and cedar wood.

No cigarettes.

This had to be the sweater you never allowed yourself to smoke in, then. It was a - for him strange - habit of yours. You smoked regularly, and yet there were some areas, or items of clothing, where you absolutely forbade yourself and others to smoke.

How many times had you sent him into the kitchen so the stench of smoke wouldn't eat into your bedroom walls? Or on the terrace so that the kitchen would be able to "breathe" again?

JJ grinned to himself.

He glanced out the window where he could vaguely make out the light sand of the beach and the blue-pink sky as the sun slowly set behind.

He shuffled his way to your bed, where you were already waiting for him, lying on your back and one arm stretched out for him. JJ dropped ungracefully next to you.

He rested the back of his head on your shoulder, felt your body beneath him and stared at the white ceiling, lost in thought.

JJ also liked your bed.

He found it comfortable, with the wide mattress, which even springs back a little when you adjust to it, and that wasn’t saggy, as if Charlemagne had slept in it himself.

A not sagging mattress, JJ thought. Not worn out like at his place... at home? Inwardly he shook his head. Somehow, it still didn't feel right.

“Hey, JJ?” He suddenly heard you say. Your voice was quiet, maybe to not startle him.

“Mmm?” JJ hummed.

“Say something next time.”

JJ felt his stomach drop. He had known. He had known you were angry with him. That you were fed up with how he always came to you to cry to you about his tearful stories, how you always had to take care of him. JJ tensed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

This would be it. You would tell him to stop being whiny and dramatic, to suck it up and behave like a man.

His hand cranked into the fabric of your shirt.

“Hey,” you softly said. “Hey, JJ!” Abruptly, you sat up and took his head into your hands. JJ hadn’t even realized that he was shaking up until now.

He avoided your gaze.

“Hey JJ, look at me.” Your tone was commanding yet gentle and JJ found himself doing exactly what you asked of him. Stupid welling tears that made his vision blurry.

“JJ, it’s alright,” you calmed him down. Your thumb was softly stroking his cheek. You noticed his breathing even out.

“JJ, I’m here for you,” you said, “But you’ve gotta talk to me. I want to help you but I can’t do that if you keep this from me. Do you hear me?”

For a second, JJ was confused. So you weren’t angry with him, or yelling, you were actually just … worried. Really simply only worried, for him.

He felt his head grow dizzy at the thought.

“J,” you repeated. “I want you to tell me you understand.” A bit of the fog in JJ’s mind cleared, as he looked into your eyes. Then, he slowly nodded.

A small smile started tugging at the corners of your lips. “Good. Now, come on.”

You used your thumb to wipe a loose tear off of JJ’s cheek, and laid down onto the bed again. JJ went back to his former position with his back laid on your side and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He was still processing this entire situation.

Well, of course, rationally speaking, there was no chance you would’ve gotten mad at him over this. After all, the bruises weren’t his fault, he had learned that by now.

But a single drop of doubt always managed to mix into his already uneasy mind, and had the habit of turning soft waves into torrential floods over just the right amount of time.

The hiss of a lighter snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his neck towards you and could see you holding the orange flame to the end of a hand-rolled blunt.

JJ watched as your cheeks drew in with the hit and you took the joint back from your lips. The smoke that followed didn't bother him the slightest.

Then you held the smoldering joint in front of him. JJ frowned and looked up at you.

"The hoodie?" he asked confused. You just shrugged.

"Can be washed," was your short answer. A faint smile formed on JJ's lips and he snuggled a little closer to you, if that was even possible.

The tips of his hair tickled the base of your throat as you watched him take a deep drag on the joint. His cheeks hollowed out, and after a brief moment, holding the smoke in his lungs, he puffed it out in the air toward the window. Like that would make a difference, but you appreciated the thought.

You took the blunt out of his hand and, with some difficulty, stretched to put it out in the ashtray. You would check later whether it could still be used afterwards.

You turned your full attention back to JJ, who by now had rolled onto his side and was snuggled into your side like a little boy, his arm wrapped around your waist.

He buried his face in your tank top and relaxedly closed his eyes.

The sounds of the rushing sea came through the half-open window, the wind seemed to be stronger out on the sea. Here and there a few squabbling seagulls could be heard screeching to each other.

You carefully lifted the arm JJ was draped on and slowly brought it near the back of his head. Carefully and slowly you tangled your fingers in his blond locks and began massaging his scalp.

JJ made a sound, that could be close described to a purr and you dared to apply a little more pressure.

At your feet lay the duvet, crumpled at the end of the bed.

The summer night wasn't necessarily hot, but after all, JJ was wearing your hoodie and you had your boyfriend's body heat to keep you warm.

The blond boy moved his hand, which was on your hip, and slipped it under a fold of your tank top. He placed his hand at your side, just above the waistband of your pants. Automatically his thumb began to draw gentle circles on your skin.

He felt you breathe beneath him. His ear could dully hear the slow beating of your heart.

JJ's breathing also became shallower and more regular. He felt exhaustion catch up with him and sleep drew him to it with open arms.

On the edge of his consciousness he noticed how you pressed a gentle kiss on his hairline.

JJ sighed in content. And this, JJ thought, just before he finally fell asleep, is what home feels like.

@miofrommars

#gif by antoxx on weheartit #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x male!reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x male reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks imagine #outer banks #requested #yourmomxx #the art of making a house a home

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slaymitchabernathy · 2 months ago

Text

The Nanny

꧁ Two Months Later ꧂

The next few weeks flew by for Soarynn.

As she spent more and more time with the Snow children, her fear of messing up grew less and less. Her respect for President Snow borderlined on being downright fearful, but she preferred it that way and she was pretty sure he preferred it that way too.

She interacted with him twice a day. Once at breakfast where he now acknowledged her by saying: “Good morning Ms. Nightingale.” And at night when he’d come home from dinner and inquire about the children.

Most of what she learned about him was from either Eudora or the children. Eudora actually let her know about more important things like his daily routine, habits, and whatnot. The children would drop little notes of information unknowingly, telling her about the shampoo he used or how he didn’t like cabbage.

Either way, she was glad for the bits and pieces to help her further understand her employer.

He certainly paid her well. The first paycheck she was given nearly blew her away. Still residing in her childhood home left to her by her father, Soarynn didn’t have to worry about rent or a mortgage. She paid for other things like the utilities and vet bills for Petunia.

She was also given one day off a month.

She hadn’t really known what to do with herself the first two times she had the day off. She had grown so used to spending every waking moment with the children that to have free time was foreign to her.

So she ended up working on those days as well, popping in after breakfast since she truly had nothing better to do. Eudora had scolded her about it both times, claiming that everyone needed a break but if President Snow didn’t take any breaks, then she wouldn’t either.

Besides, the children needed her.

She was the longest-standing nanny hired by the Snow family and she was proud to say that she and the children had developed a perfect routine.

She’d wake them up around seven since none of the children ever got up the first time she’d knock. They’d have breakfast at eight and then she’d get them dressed for their daily outing.

After asking Eudora who asked President Snow, Soarynn was given permission to take the children out into the Capitol. They went to galleries, parks, the zoo, museums, and many other places that would entertain their young minds.

All three children were partial to different places. Caspian loved going to art museums, all the bright colors fascinated him. He loved it so much that they would often partake in finger painting back home, many pieces of his artwork now hung on the playroom wall.

Celeste preferred going to parks because it meant getting to play with other children. It had taken her a few visits to gain the courage to actually leave her big sister’s side, but once she did she was better off for it. Soarynn loved to watch her play with other children her age.

Celeste was fascinated by the planetarium. She loved getting to learn about the stars and other planets. She always asked for them to go to the shows where they’d sit in a dome-shaped auditorium that spun them around, making them feel as if they were truly in space.

Of course, certain precautions were taken to ensure the children’s safety. If they were to go to any public building then it was almost always cleared out aside from the staff working there. Parks were tricky, but at least ten Peacekeepers patrolled the premises at all times, one assigned to each child always steps behind them as they ran around.

Sometimes Soarynn wished there could be less security. She wanted the children to feel as normal as possible, not like they were trapped inside a glass display box. She had brought it up to Eudora who simply said that things would forever be this way.

After the death of his wife, President Snow was terrified of losing the remaining members of his very small family.

Soarynn couldn't really blame him for that, not when she saw how sweet he was with the children, how patient and kind, always answering their questions at breakfast. Eudora had told Soarynn that President Snow was very pleased with how she had been taking care of the children. In fact, he was so pleased that tonight for the first time in a very long time, the Snows were throwing a party.

Soarynn hadn't believed Eudora when she heard the news that President Snow was finally opening the doors to the Presidential Mansion but Eudora claimed that it had been long enough and the children were well adapted to their new life without a mother.

While climbing the steps to the second floor, Soarynn can't help but wonder what tonight will entail. The children are allowed to come but only for a little while, mostly for dinner and a bit of dancing in the ballroom before they're put to bed. Ceraphina and Celeste had whined about it for a good week, saying it wasn't fair that they couldn't stay the entire time.

When their father offered to cancel the party altogether, they quickly changed their minds.

Soarynn herself was quite nervous for many reasons. One was that she'd be chasing around three children by herself in front of very important people. Two, because she was required to wear an outfit that matched the occasion and she worried that the dress she chose might not be enough. And finally, because something was bound to go wrong.

But now isn't the time for those negative thoughts. Soarynn quietly pads down the hall towards Ceraphina's room, slightly cracking open the door to see both girls sound asleep under the covers. She smiles when she sees how many stuffed animals are surrounding them this morning.

Soarynn slips into the bedroom, closing the door behind her before she makes her way over to the windows, opening the curtains one by one. "Wake up girls," she says softly, "today's the big day." Both girls have been talking nonstop about this party, even though Eudora claims it won't be half the size their usual parties are.

It's a party nonetheless.

Soarynn is only met with tiny groans and mumbles. She glances over her shoulder to see both girls pulling the covers over their faces, trying to block out the sun. "Don't try and fight it," she tells them opening the last of the curtains and beaming in the fresh morning sunlight, "we've got a very busy day ahead of us remember?"

Neither of them makes any moves to get up and start their day.

Soarynn sighs, walking over to the large canopy bed where the only thing visible is their blond hair sticking out from under the covers, "If you're not feeling well, I can tell your father to cancel the par-"

"No!" They both shout, throwing the covers off of them, "We're awake!" Ceraphina says, widening her eyes for emphasis, "We're awake we promise." Soarynn raises an eyebrow because she's heard that before.

"Help me make the bed then."

She's only met with more grumbles and yawns but after another five minutes of convincing, she gets the girls out of the bed so they can put it together before starting the day. Over the past three months, Soarynn has tried to instill a set of habits within the children such as making their beds, picking out their outfits the night before, and cleaning the playroom on a daily basis. all things they'd learn from their mother if she was still alive.

"Are we gonna go get our dresses today Soarynn?" Celeste asks, tugging on Soarynn's hand. Soarynn nods, squeezing her small hand, "We sure are. And we'll pick up Caspian's suit as well."

Eudora had insisted on all three children getting new outfits tailored for such an event and none of them declined such an exciting offer. The girls have been asking about their dresses all week and they're finally ready to be picked up today.

"Oh, I'm so excited! Did you bring a dress Soarynn?" She nods at Ceraphina's question although it sparks up her nerves about tonight. The dress she brought is very simple, something that'll help her keep up with the children should they choose to run rampant tonight.

"What color is it?"

"Pink."

She's met with gasps from both girls who absolutely adore the color pink and looks down into two pairs of blue eyes filled with excitement, "We can match!" Celeste says, bouncing up and down on her toes. Soarynn chuckles and runs a loving hand over Celeste's head where a few curls have come undone while she was sleeping, "We most certainly can. Now, let's go wake up Caspian so we don't miss breakfast."

Both girls run ahead of her, pushing open the doors to Caspian's nursery, quietly arguing about who gets to wake him up this time. "It's my turn," Ceraphina whispers, putting her hands on her hips. Celeste sticks out her tongue and shakes her head, "Nuh-uh, it's my turn. You're not the boss of me."

Soarynn manages to suppress a smile and crouches down in front of both the girls, "I do believe that it's actually my turn to wake up Caspian," Soarynn says softly, "but you two can be my helpers and open up the curtains. How does that sound?"

A morning crisis is averted it seems when both girls nod and go to pull open the dark blue curtains, letting the light flood into the nursery. Saorynn walks up to the crib to find Caspian passed out, Lenny clutched in his hold with a little drool on his cheek.

Soarynn gently reaches into the crib, scooping him up and groaning when she bears his full weight, "Good morning my sweet boy," she says, placing a hand on the back of his head, "it's time to wake up Caspian."

Normally Caspian gives her the least amount of trouble when it comes to waking up and going to sleep, but every once in a while, he gives Soarynn a run for her money. This morning isn't one of those mornings though and she looks into the eyes that are identical to his fathers, piercing blue.

"Momma," he mumbles, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Soarynn sighs, brushing his hair from his face, some things have stayed the same since she started working here, such as Caspian asking for his mother. "She's not here darling," she tells him, her heart breaking a bit when she sees his crestfallen face, "but look who is here, your sisters!"

Caspian's eyes widen and he looks around to find his two sisters who've made themselves busy opening all the curtains in his room, "Lenny." Soarynn reaches into the crib to grab Lenny who looks like he's seen better days. Eudora says Caspian will pick a new stuffed animal to obsess over, but Soarynn's not so sure.

"Can we have breakfast now?" Ceraphina asks, opening the last of the curtains, the room now bright as can be.

Soarynn nods, "We sure can."

꧁ ꧂

Breakfast goes by rather quickly, and President Snow shows up a bit later than usual. He looks good though, he always looks good. His suit today is navy blue which brings out his eyes.

"Daddy tonight is the party!" Ceraphina tells him, jumping up and down while he walks towards the table. The smile on Celete's face drops and she grabs her father's hand, "We're still allowed to come, right Daddy?"

President Snow stops in his tracks when hearing his youngest daughter's question, filled with dread and anxiety. Celeste knows what it's like to be let down. Her mother passed away and every nanny she's ever grown attached to has left. It's only natural for her to expect the worst outcome which is unfair in Soarynn's opinion. This sweet little girl shouldn't have a single worry in her head.

President Snow kneels down and holds her small face in his large hands, "Of course you're still allowed to come darling. Everyone is so excited to see you." Her face brightens up once receiving the confirmation she so desperately wished to hear and she giggles, "Are the Plinths coming?" He nods, "They are, and the Creeds, and the Dovecotes. All our friends are coming to the party."

Ceraphina twirls around in her pajama dress, her curls flying everywhere since she took out her braid, "And we can dance!" President Snow grunts, rising back to his full height, "There will be dancing," he confirms.

He makes sure both girls are sitting back down before he comes over to bid Caspian a good morning. Caspian has insisted on sitting in Soarynn's lap every morning since she first started, not that she's complaining considering how easy he is to feed.

"Good morning Caspian," President Snow says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. Caspian looks up at his father and a small smile creeps across his face, "Party!" Soarynn smiles and President Snow chuckles, "Yes, it seems that everyone is looking forward to tonight. But we'll have to be on our best behavior," he says as he sits down, giving Ceraphina a pointed look.

She gives him a sly smile, poking at her eggs, "I'm always behaved Daddy." President Snow shakes his head, "Well tonight will be no exception. If I hear word of my children acting out, then you'll be taken upstairs and sent to bed." The girls gasp at the threat, a justified one in Soarynn's opinion but she keeps quiet.

"We will be perfectly behaved Capitol children," Celeste promises, reciting the words Eudora has drilled into their heads. She earns an approving nod from Eudora and a questionable look from President Snow who eyes her warily, "I'll believe it when I see it," he replies.

Soarynn smiles to herself and finishes her own breakfast before helping Caspian with the rest of his. The girls ask their father about a million questions about tonight, who's going to be there, what everyone's wearing, how late they can stay up.

"Is Soarynn invited?"

Ceraphina's question causes Soarynn to almost drop the fork she's using to feed Caspian. She had assumed she was invited since she'd be looking after the children but perhaps she won't be allowed to attend.

"Of course she is dear," Eudora answers, flipping through her binder, "she's going to make sure none of you run off where you're not supposed to. And she'll make sure you behave during dinner." Eudora gives Celeste and Ceraphina pointed looks but they only giggle in return, "We'll be good at dinner Soarynn," Celeste says sweetly.

Soarynn raises her eyebrows, "Well I've never known you not to be."

The children are more behaved than they're given credit for but every once in a while they have a bad day and those are the days that are remembered in fear of them happening again but in front of the wrong people.

Eudora starts rambling off President Snow's schedule for the day so Soarynn tunes her out, focusing on making sure all the children are properly fed. Dinner will be later than it usually is for them and she doesn't want them to get cranky. Caspian fusses for a moment, pushing away at Soarynn's hand when she tries to feed him little pieces of strawberries, "No, Momma."

Soarynn sighs and glances over at President Snow who's watching his son with a distant look in his eyes. She wonders if he misses his wife or simply misses when he didn't have to deal with all of this by himself.

"Eat your food Cas," he tells his son, "your mother would want you to eat your breakfast." Caspian pouts but he seems more open to eating the strawberries the next time Soarynn offers them.

Once Eudora finishes rattling off the schedule, President Snow is off to his first meeting, bidding everyone goodbye and promising to see them later tonight. "When can we go pick up our dresses?" Ceraphina asks while eyeing her sister's leftover muffin. "After we get dressed we can go," Soarynn answers, dabbing Caspian's mouth with a napkin, "we'll have to make the trip to the park short so we have enough time to come back and clean up," she reminds them.

The girls had requested to go to the park today which should be fine as long as they get back in time to bathe and get ready for tonight.

"Yes, remember to stay on schedule," Eudora agrees, sipping her tea, "failing to plan is planning to fail."

She's not wrong about that.

꧁ ꧂

"I can do it, let me push it!"

Soarynn takes a step back from the boutique door so that Celeste can push it open. It's a rather heavy door but she manages to get it open, sounding a bit breathless once they're all inside, "I'm a big helper," she tells Soarynn who nods, giving her a smile, "You most certainly are. Thank you, Celeste."

The boutique is empty but that's no surprise, everywhere they go is cleared for their safety. But the woman who runs this boutique, Miss Tigris is here and she rounds the counter with a big Capitol smile on her face, "Welcome, welcome! Oh, don't you girls look so precious today?"

The girls beam at her compliments, giggling when she insists they've grown since she last saw them. "Are our dresses ready?" Ceraphina asks Tigris, clasping her hands behind her back like a proper little lady. Tigris nods and waves to the back of the store, "I just put the finishing touches on them last night."

She waves them all to the back of the shop where rolls and rolls of fabric can be seen, along with mannequins sporting beautiful designs. "These are gorgeous," Soarynn tells her, her fingertips grazing a particular mannequin sporting a two-piece set with feathers and sequins intricately sewn into the fabric.

Tigris waves her off, "You're too kind. I only wish you would've let me make you something as well."

Soarynn has brought the children to see Tigris three times since the party was announced. The first time was to simply get an idea of what they wanted, namely the girls who had a million different ideas. The second visit was to get their proper measurements and to pick out the fabric swatches. The last time they visited, Tigris had the bones of their dresses stitched together and had them tell her if anything fit too tight or too loose.

Caspian's suit was much easier since he didn't really have any preferences but Soarynn knew he'd look dashing in his tailored suit no matter what it looked like.

"Don't worry about me," Soarynn insists, setting Caspian down so he can go explore with his sisters, "I'm the nanny, not a model." Caspian toddles over to his sisters who're fawning over a large ballgown with layers and layers of ruffles, "You're still allowed to feel confident," Tigris counters, disappearing into the storage room, "you've got to look presentable!"

Soarynn rolls her eyes, Tigris and her go all the way back to their Academy days. Tigris always dreamed of becoming a fashion designer and Soarynn always dreamed of becoming a mother and starting a family.

At least one of their dreams came true.

"Here they are!" Tigris announces, wheeling out a clothing rack with two pink dresses and a tiny black suit. The girls gasp, immediately trying to grab at their dresses to feel the fabric. There had been much discussion over what fabrics to use for their dresses. Soarynn felt they should have something breathable and comfortable. The girls wanted the fanciest silk money could buy. They settled on the bodices being made of velvet and the skirts being made of tulle to give the illusion of a ballgown, something the girls desperately wanted.

"They look like princess dresses!"

"So pretty!"

"Can we try them on please?"

Tigris nods and points at the pedestal she's had the girls stand on the last few times they've been here, "Of course. The fitting rooms are over there."

Soarynn helps both girls get undressed and slips on their new outfits for tonight, cherishing every excited gasp that leaves their mouths. "You two look so beautiful," she tells them once the dresses are fully zipped, "your father will be so impressed."

"Do you think Daddy will dance with us?" Ceraphina asks once they've stepped outside to properly see in the large mirrors. Soarynn helps her onto the pedestal, admiring how wonderfully Tirgis made the dress, "If you ask him nicely he might," Soarynn replies, not wanting to promise her something that might not happen, "he's going to be very busy tonight entertaining the guests."

When they left the house was busier than Soarynn has ever seen it, Eudora was barking out orders left and right. Safe to say, tonight will be perfectly planned down to the last minute. The girls take turns standing on the pedestal, twirling around in their pretty dresses. The dresses are identical for the simple reason of not wanting to spark an argument about whose dress is better than the others.

"Here's the suit for little Mr. Snow," Tigris says, handing over the cutest suit Soarynn has ever seen. It's black with a little rose embroidered onto the lapel, "Oh it's perfect. Look at your suit Caspian." He only gives it a glance before running over to touch more rolls of fabric but Soarynn appreciates the craftsmanship, "Thank you," she says to Tigris, "President Snow inquired about who was making their dresses for tonight so I let it slip that it was the one and only Tigris."

Her friend gives her a sheepish look, despite wanting her name and brand to be well known, Tigris is rather shy and reserved, almost like a cat. "You really didn't have to," she mumbles, "your business is more than enough."

Soarynn shakes her head, "Nonsense. People should know who you are and how incredible your work is! If anyone asks about the children's outfits tonight, I'll be sure to send them your way."

She means it too, a small kindness can go a long, long way.

꧁ ꧂

"Why couldn't we play at the park for longer?" Celeste whines, looking out the car windows longingly as they pull away from the park entrance.

Soarynn sighs, readjusting Caspian on her lap. He always falls asleep after playing, even if most of his playing just entails being pushed on the swings and climbing up three steps before climbing down them. "We have to go home to start getting ready," Soarynn gently reminds her, "and your brother needs a nap before tonight or he'll be cranky during dinner and we don't want that do we?"

Both sisters shudder at the thought of their little brother screaming and crying during dinner. It would not be a pretty sight and their father would not be pleased.

"Besides, when we get back you two can have a snack and play with your dolls. Your father got you new ones remember?"

Ceraphina nods but a frown sits upon her face, "Mommy used to play dolls with us, remember?" She looks at Celeste who nods, "Mhm. She didn't want to play anymore when she got sick though. Does being sick make dolls not fun anymore Soarynn?"

Soarynn swallows at the loaded question, it seems that every time she tries to steer away from bringing up the sore subject of their dead mother, they ask more and more questions about her. "Sometimes when people get sick," she says slowly, "they don't have a lot of energy to do the things they normally do. Like playing dolls with their daughters."

Celeste tilts her head, "Is Daddy sick too then? 'Cause he never plays dolls with us anymore."

Soarynn shakes her head, "No darling, your father isn't sick, he's just very, very busy working to keep the country running."

Celeste slouches in the seat, crossing her arms over her chest, "Well maybe he should quit." Soarynn chuckles at her naive way of thinking, if only it was that easy to resign as President of Panem. Soarynn doubts President Snow would ever just give up his title willingly. If the death of his wife didn't cause him to quit, she doesn't know what will.

꧁ ꧂

The President's Mansion is in full swing for tonight's preparations.

Soarynn and the children walk into what could pass as an active warzone, people running everywhere carrying various objects all while being yelled at by Eudora. Soarynn grabs Ceraphina's hand who grabs Celeste's hand, "Duck and cover," Soarynn says, leading them toward the back staircase.

"How big is this party?" Ceraphina asks when a giant ice sculpture gets wheeled by. Soarynn's eyes widen when ten couches get wheeled by next, "Very big apparently." She's heard about the parties that President Snow throws, but she's never been to one herself before. Tonight is sure to be full of surprises.

"Big," Caspian repeats, his tiny fist grabbing onto her dress. Soarynn smiles down at him, "That's right, it's going to be a big party so you need to take a big nap, mister."

Soarynn leads the children upstairs where it's much calmer and has the girls go to the playroom to get out some more energy while she puts Caspian down for a nap.

She passes by Ceraphina's bedroom, then Celeste's then President Snow's, and the doors are slightly ajar, his commanding voice slipping out into the hallway. Soarynn only catches a few words as she passes by, "...exclusive guest list..."

Caspian perks up at the sound of his father's voice, a voice he's associated with breakfast time no doubt since it's the only time he truly gets any attention from the man. Not that it's President Snow's fault, Soarynn reminds herself.

The past few weeks have been a true battle between her thoughts and her actions and trying to discern the President's thoughts and actions. He loves his children, she can see that clear as day, but she sometimes wishes he'd show it more. Not that she expects him to stop working to spend every waking minute with them, but she's seen how much he means to them.

He's all they have for a parent.

"Look Caspian, it's Lenny," Soarynn says once they're in his nursery. They had left Lenny behind for their daily outing since she knew they'd be going to the park. Lenny has taken quite a few tumbles at the park so now he gets to stay home where he won't be run over by toddlers.

Caspian reaches out for his beloved lion, mumbling a few incoherent words, "This won't be as long as your other naps," she whispers, carefully setting him down on the dresser to change him into his pajamas, "but you'll appreciate it later tonight at the party."

Caspian watches her with wide eyes, letting her maneuver his arms and legs into his little onesie, "There we go, much comfier."

Once she puts him down in his crib, she draws all the curtains shut, making the room as dark as possible. "Meadow," Caspian says, his fingers curling around one of the crib railings. Soarynn smiles, Caspian loves it when she sings the meadow song.

"Alright, I'll sing your favorite song."

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. Lay down your head, and close your eyes, and when they open, the sun will rise. Here it's safe, here it's warm, here the daisies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you."

Caspian eyes grow heavy and she watches him slowly drift off to sleep, Lenny held tightly against his chest. Eudora says Lenny was the first stuffed animal Caspian ever got, so it only makes sense for it to be from his mother.

Which means Soarynn will do everything she can to keep both of them safe and sound.

꧁ ꧂

All Soarynn can hear is the sound of the girls giggling while she attempts to do their hair.

They normally sit very still but tonight’s excitement has made it hard for them to contain their emotions which has led to brushing out their hair to be much more difficult than usual.

“If you don’t hold still then I can’t do your hair,” Soarynn gently reminds Ceraphina who keeps twisting every which way on the stool in front of the bathroom counter.

Ceraphina lets out a loud and exaggerated sigh, “But I can’t sit still, not with the party being so soon!” Soarynn shakes her head and continues brushing through Ceraphina’s hair which is less curly than Celeste’s, it’s more wavy if anything.

Celeste runs back into the bathroom, twirling around in the dress she picked out this morning for their daily outing, “I can hear Eudora yelling at more people!” Soarynn chuckles knowing that Eudora is probably the most stressed she’s been in a long time.

One evening, she had confessed to Soarynn that the hardest thing for her to plan was Livia’s funeral.

Soarynn hadn’t quite known how to respond to that.

“Now you girls don’t need to be reminded again, but, we must make sure to be on our best behavior tonight okay? That means eating our dinner, all of our dinners,” she gives Celeste a knowing look, “and staying in our seats the entire time. We can’t run over to your father or Eudora.”

Eudora had shown Soarynn the seating chart for tonight’s party and there were several long tables that all the guests would be eating at. She had been given the honor—and the responsibility—of sitting at the President's table to ensure that his children were well-behaved.

“I can’t believe we get to have dinner with Daddy,” Celeste gushes, all of Soarynn’s words going right into one ear and out the other. Soarynn sighs, finishing up Ceraphina’s hair with an elastic, “There, all done.”

Ceraphina had requested for some of her hair to be pulled back from her face and then braided, giving her an adorable half-up and half-down look, with a bow to top it all off.

“Can I wear makeup?”

Soarynn shakes her head, setting down the brush, “You don’t need makeup darling, you’re already so beautiful.” Not to mention how livid her father would probably be if he saw his oldest daughter running around with a painted face.

“I want my hair done too!”

Ceraphina slips off the stool and skips into her closet, “When we can put on our dresses Soarynn?”

“You can put them on after I finish doing Celeste’s hair.”

Celeste hops onto the stool, her legs dangling off the edge, “Can I have a bow in my hair please?”

Soarynn smiles, gathering her blonde curls into a ponytail, “You certainly may. Is there a specific way you want me to do your hair for tonight?”

Most of the time, the girls don’t really care what she does with their hair. Soarynn does her best to keep it out of their faces and always makes sure to take care of their curls but every once in a while they have a request. Caspian would care less what she does with his hair so long as it takes less than five minutes.

“I want it to be like Ceraphina’s.”

Soarynn has noticed more and more that Celeste wants to be just like her big sister. If Ceraphina is eating ice cream, Celeste wants to be eating ice cream. If Ceraphina is wearing a pink dress, Celeste wants to wear a pink dress. One cannot be complete without the other it seems.

Eudora assured Soarynn that Celeste would grow out of it just in time for Caspian to start wanting to be just like Celeste. So the vicious cycle would continue till all the children were ten years old.

But Soarynn doesn’t mind it for the most part. She thinks it’s sweet that Celeste wants to be just like her big sister. It’s her big sister who thinks it’s a problem.

Ceraphina has complained many times about her little sister “copying her” and Soarynn has reminded Ceraphina that wearing a certain hairstyle or outfit doesn’t always make one “original.”

“Alright, we can do that.”

Celeste’s hair is much shorter than her sisters so it takes less time for Soarynn to pull some of it back. She makes sure to apply product to the curls, not wanting the child of President Snow to be seen with dry hair.

“Soarynn?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you a part of our family?”

Soarynn almost drops the hairbow in her hand. What a loaded question to ask someone who doesn’t know the answer. Well, she knows the answer. But she also knows what Celeste wants to hear.

Soarynn clips in the hairbow, making sure there are no bumps on her hair, “I work for your family darling. But I’m not really a part of your family. I have my own family.” She doesn’t really have any family anymore, but that’s not important.

Celeste looks up at her, those piercing blue eyes holding so much love and adoration in them, “Sometimes I like to pretend you’re my sister.”

Soarynn grins, running a loving hand over Celeste’s hair, “But you already have a sister silly, and a brother!”

Celeste giggles and shakes her head, her curls bouncing up and down, “It doesn’t matter! You look just like us and you spend every day with us, just like a sister!”

How did Soarynn get so lucky with these sweet children?

“Well it can be our little secret then,” Soarynn decides, “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

Celeste raises up her little hand, her pinky finger extended, “Promise?”

Soarynn locks her pinky around Celeste’s, something she taught the girls a month ago when it comes to making and honoring a promise.

“I promise.”

She means it too. She's not going anywhere.

| Part 3. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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couldsewyouastitchandsavenine · 9 months ago

Text

Dancing In The Dark [Javi Peña] 02

summary: Javier Peña knows all the answers to all questions but one... what if? pairing: javier peña x fem!reader word count: way too many... 8K, I'd say.

warnings: language

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

For Javier Peña, keeping others at an arm’s length wasn’t anything more than a personal, deliberate choice.

A tactic of self-preservation, if you will; the kind of thing that made him seem unapproachable, perhaps even intolerable, in the eyes of those around him.

Not that Javier cared about any of that.

Still, from time to time, Javier would catch himself staring blankly at the bottom of his glass, trying to convince himself that it was the bleak and unpredictable nature of his profession that had somehow dulled his senses to emotions and feelings, leaving him in a perpetual state of detachment.

Even though, deep down he knew better.

He knew that was just a convenient lie—a perfectly fine excuse he clung to, rather than facing the harsher truth he’d rather not acknowledge: Javier Peña had lost the ability to connect with other human beings.

Or perhaps, he never really had it.

In his humble opinion, making sense of it all was akin to attempting to piece together a puzzle in pitch darkness: a task both frustrating and inherently messy, and frankly, one he had little interest in tackling.

Thus, he let it be. Let those pieces sit there, untouched and unbothered, like old relics in some museum he had no intention of visiting, existing somewhere in the back of his mind.

Acknowledged, yes, but never fully explored.

Life, of course, hadn’t been stingy with opportunities for Javier to change; chances were there, plenty and ripe for taking. Yet, the mere thought of peeling back layers of himself, or revealing more than what was on the surface, was as daunting and alien to him as the concept of surrendering to sleep at night. So, Javier chose the path of least resistance, choosing to witness it all from a safe distance, hiding behind the emotional barricades he had constructed around himself.

And he was okay with that—or so he told himself.

Erecting these barriers was much simpler and less daunting than the Herculean effort it would take to tear them down.

And perhaps that was precisely the reason why he approached interactions with others much like he approached his profession: detached and with calculated precision. Javier knew it was overkill, this meticulous weighing of every word and every gesture, yet he couldn’t seem to shake it off as he navigated through life as if it was a minefield of syllables; a chess game where he was forced to always think several steps ahead if he wanted to keep the upper hand.

Even at his apartment, with his badge and holster cast aside on the scratched kitchen counter, his detachment lingered. Javier saw relationships of any kind as scars, much like those covering the counter’s surface—better left alone and not bothered with. They were just reminders of the chaos he preferred to avoid and silent echoes of past mistakes he’d rather not repeat.

And then you came along.

Just when Javier had seemingly turned solitude into an art form, you had breezed into his life as if it were an open book—one he didn’t even realize he’d left on the table, pages spread wide for anyone curious enough to peek. And you were so quick and swift, and so reckless in your determination to weave yourself through his barriers that he didn’t even have the opportunity nor time to fortify them or add another lock to the myriad of others already in place.

He still gave his best efforts to evade you, push you away. Tried to employ every tactic at his disposal in the hope that you would tire out and retreat like all those who had come before you, seeking—but never finding—that part of him they thought could be fixed or understood. He hoped, vainly, that with careful planning, he could keep you at arm's length. Keep the unsettling precision with which you saw through him just far enough away that he could still catch his breath.

But you had remained, armed with a patience and an understanding so deep it bordered on the absurd, quietly waiting for him to give in.

And give in he did, laying all his arms down with a quiet acceptance, watching with a mix of awe and disbelief as you settled in his life—something so out of character that not only bewildered him, but also those watching from the sidelines of Javier’s pathetic excuse for life.

Steve Murphy, in particular.

And that confusion only grew as Javier made his way inside their shared office with a sort of silent stoicism that adorned his expression like a second skin — plastic container clutched in his unyielding grip. Without any grand gesture, and ignoring Steve's puzzled expression, he then set the lunchbox on the desk before taking a seat and drawing out his Marlboros from the pocket of his shirt.

Lighting up a cigarette — the flame from the match he withdrew from the box, briefly illuminating his face, Javier simply gave Steve a go-ahead nod.

Without hesitation, Steve did as told, a silent muttered profanity leaving his mouth—more out of awe than any contempt, eyeing the line of empanadas laid out before him.

“These look fresh.” he commented, briefly lifting his gaze to look at Javier.

Javier, a thin stream of smoke trailing from his mouth, hesitated for a beat before replying, "Yeah, she stopped by... late last night—or this morning—depending on how you look at it."

A shadow of concern flitted across his face, swiftly concealed by a veil of smoke and apparent disinterest as he squeezed his left shoulder trying to ease a phantom pain that had been clutching him since this morning.

“Oh, you guys into late-night meetings now?” Steve teased, arching his eyebrow — mustache quivering slightly with a suppressed chuckle as he proceeded to take a hearty bite of the pastry, exaggerating his enjoyment with a loud moan of approval. The sound was so fake and obscene that made some of the heads, mingling outside their office, turn in their direction.

Javier’s response was as nonchalant as it was customary: a lazy flick of his middle finger towards his partner, accompanied by a brief, sarcastic smirk. Placing his cigarette in an ashtray, he then turned his attention to the overwhelming sprawl of bureaucracy shit across their desk, daunted by the task of where to start. Papers, photographs, tapes he yet had to listen to, manilla folders, and everything in between.

“It’s all on you, you know?” Javier started, still grimacing at the mess in front of him, “making her think that biking everywhere is a good idea.”

“So, you’re not even going to try and deny it? I’ll take that as a good sign,” Steve countered, ignoring Javier — his tone light, teasing, “was about time.”

“Did you not catch a word I just said?” Javier grumbled, snagging a folder from the heap and snapping it open with a flick of his finger, only half inclined to actually sift through it. “Giving her that bike was as dumb as her agreeing to take it.”

“Ease up, Peña,” Steve responded, his voice slightly muffled by another bite of empanada. “She needed a way to get around. It’s not like I handed her a grenade launcher.”

“Might as well have,” Javier muttered, barely concealing his irritation as he tossed the folder back onto the heap, unbothered. “Three in the morning, Steve,” he reiterated, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of frustration and fatigue. “She’s got a wild streak, and you're well aware of that. It’s downright reckless the way she doesn’t take things seriously.”

“Are you now angry with me or with her?” Steve chuckled, and when Javier responded with silence, he continued, “—gotta have a bit of faith in her, y'know? She’s clearly got guts. Cares about you, too.”

“Having guts in this city can get you a bullet, Murphy,” Javier muttered as he straightened up in his seat, cracking his fingers and squaring off with the typewriter as though preparing for a marathon session with all the reports he had been ignoring for way too long.

“Oh come on, Javi, it’s just a bike. She’ll be fine,” Steve remarked with a casual shrug, licking the grease from his fingers with a smirk on his face. “I do wonder, though, she knows you don’t eat these? Not that I'm complaining.”

Javier's motions stalled for a heartbeat, the mention of your futile attempts to make him eat, drawing his attention away from the paperwork battle.

Looking up, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s starting to, I reckon," he replied with a hint of resignation in his voice before turning his attention back to the typewriter.

Steve’s nod was noncommittal, but Javier didn’t need his DEA training to be able to tell that his partner was only gearing up for another jab in his direction — the words almost spilling out of blond’s mouth, only if it weren’t for the shrill of the phone on their desk.

The sound was sharp, urgent, and impossible to ignore. And yet, Javier gave it nothing more than a fleeting glance, silently declaring that the incoming call was Steve’s problem, not his. However, when Steve made no effort to answer it either, Javier looked up and tilted his head — mustache twitching ever so slightly in a silent dare.

Seconds later, Steve sighed a breath of resigned acceptance as he reached out, flipping Javier off casually with his other hand.

"Better be worth our time," Steve grumbled, more to the void than expecting an honest answer.

Javier, unfazed, lazily picked up his cigarette from the ashtray, taking a slow, deliberate drag. "Is it ever?" His voice was cool, detached, as he returned his attention to the rebellious typewriter before him, battling with the paper jammed within.

Like a bad habit, Murphy’s voice dropped its usual tone as he switched to the one Connie mockingly dubbed his 'agent mode' — each word laced with a sarcasm so thick, Javier half-expected it to physically spill out onto the floor.

Curious at what made his partner sound as if he was seconds away from jumping off the first bridge, Javier paused his struggle with the stubborn paper and looked up just as Steve slammed the receiver back in its cradle.

“And?”

Murphy only let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head with a mix of weariness and disdain. “Bullshit,” he spat out. “Another merry-go-round, courtesy of the clowns upstairs.”

With a shrug, Javier’s focus shifted back to the obstinate typewriter in front of him, his determination to win the war against the machine evident in the set of his jaw. Finally, with a triumphant click, the stubborn and now, somewhat wrinkled, sheet of paper clicked into place.

“Might be time to hire a secretary,” he muttered, the suggestion casual but his attention still partially on the keys before him, fingers nimbly correcting the machine's alignment without looking up.

“And give you another skirt to chase?” Steve shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as he leaned against the desk.

Javier couldn’t help but raise his head at that, meeting Steve’s gaze with a smirk that was both a forfeit and a challenge.

“If the skirt fits…” he trailed off to which Steve chuckled. After a second of silent contemplation, Javier sighed, dismissively waving his hand towards the chaotic spread of documents in front of them. "At this rate, we'll be buried under this bureaucratic bullshit before we even sniff out another rat in this city.”

Steve however, didn’t comment — giving Javier a wide smirk as he kicked back, propping his boots on the desk and clasping his hands behind his head as if settling in for a prime-time show.

"Really, Peña? Hiding from the heat behind a stack of reports?" he teased. "Spill it, amigo. She's out there, braving the night to drop off empanadas you pretend to eat? There's gotta be more. Give me something to work with here."

Caught off guard by Steve’s sudden comment, Javier felt a spark of irritation ignite inside of him, and just for a split of a second, he toyed with the idea of revealing the real reason behind your visit, but quickly shelved it as not relevant.

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” was Javier’s answer — the tone of his voice edged with dismissal. Something that Steve noticed straight away. “It's really not the way you're making it sound.”

“Oh, it sounds exactly like it to me,” Steve pushed back, his tone laced with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “So, what’s really going on, Peña?” he paused for a dramatic effect before continuing, “this… friendship of yours is slowly turning into one of Connie’s telenovelas. Except, y’know, with less kissing and more guns, I suppose.”

Rolling his eyes, Javier shuffled papers laid out in front of him.

Unnecessarily.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he insisted, voice laden with frustration as he looked for an escape in the clutter of their desk.

But, if anything, Steve was as relentless and stubborn as Javier, and when he leaned forward, Javier knew that the subject was far from over. “Come on, you’re telling me nothing’s going on. Not even a little fooling around?”

Javier’s expression was hard and he felt his patience wearing thin. “Believe it or not, some things are just as they seem. No, nothing’s gone down,” he responded with a mix of finality and a hint of warning.

Despite Javier’s tone and obvious irritation, Steve’s grin widened. “But, you wouldn’t say no if she offered, though, huh?”

At his words, Javier stopped his half-assed attempt at typing, straightening up to squarely face his partner. “We’re really doing this, Murphy? Keep at it, and I might just ram that damn lunchbox down your throat.”

Steve’s hands went up in a mock surrender, his attempts to stifle a laugh cut short by a familiar figure that passed by their office, followed by the unmistakable bark of Carillo’s voice, demanding his presence.

With a fluid motion, Steve’s boots hit the floor as he rose, slipping into his jacket, and then, with a contemplative nod, he reached for another empanada from the lunchbox while simultaneously gathering his cigarettes and securing his firearm within its holster.

Making his way out, Steve paused and then, turning back to Javier, he flashed him a self-satisfied grin.

“You know, for what it's worth, I think she's doing you some good. Might even smooth out some of those rough edges—Lord knows you've got plenty of 'em."

Resisting the urge to throw something at Steve, Javier twisted in his seat to give his partner a death stare. “Want me to shove that empanada up your ass, gringo? How about the goddamn lunchbox, too?” he warned, but Steve simply laughed with a shake of his head before swinging the doors shut behind himself — a single word leaving Javier’s mouth as the blinds clattered against the window pane in the empty silence. “¡Pendejo!”

Left alone, Javier expelled a weary breath, his gaze shifting back to the typewriter and the mountain of paperwork that, no matter how much he chipped away at it, seemed to only grow taller. And while writing reports was simply a chore, a necessary evil, it was one of the few things that could put his focus in place and stop his thoughts from wandering where he didn’t want them to.

But wander, however, they did.

With a blend of surrender and irritation, Javier abandoned his feigned attempt at the started report and leaned back, the chair emitting a crack of protest under his weight. He lit another cigarette, the matchstick's flame dying with a swift motion as he casually crossed his leg over.

The fucking gringo had somehow hit the nail on the head.

Navigating friendships, particularly those with women, was a terrain Javier Peña approached with extreme caution, if he bothered to tread it at all, and usually only if there was something in it for him.

This wasn't to say he had never tried, though. He did, but whenever he allowed himself to dive deeper, the situation ended up being more trouble than it was worth, outweighing any of the benefits. A stark reminder of why he had erected emotional walls around himself in the first place.

Thus, he´d resolved to simply stick to encounters that would set his heart racing without demanding a piece of his soul; escapades that were like stars, streaking across his sky—each one bright, breathtaking, and inevitably, just passing through.

But you—you were a different story altogether.

You were unlike anyone he’d met before, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that you weren’t after his protection or dying for his approval; you simply existed, side by side with him, in a way that allowed him to drop the act he fought hard to keep running.

You didn’t flinch at his emotional scars, nor did you throw a pity party for them. Instead, you simply accepted them as a part of him without questions asked, not more or less significant than the rest of him.

On one occasion, you had told him that he reminded you of an old bench in an abandoned park, weathered down by countless storms—a comparison that had left him unsure whether to thank you or take offense.

But then, you had met his confused expression with a grin and a slightly raised eyebrow as you wiped the counter with your torn rag in front of him.

“But there is something about finding those benches when you grow tired from walking, and sitting on them. The way the wood has been smoothed down by time and countless stories,” you’d said, going once again all philosophical on him as he instinctively lifted the ashtray so you could wipe the spot underneath. “They ain't the comfiest, but they feel… right. Like they’re molded to fit all the curves and edges of life itself. Do you get it?”

He had only stared at you for a heartbeat or two before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the bar, not allowing you to see that you, yet again, had hit the spot inside of him that he wasn’t sure was still functioning.

“What, is this your way of coming onto me? If you want to sit on me, all you have to do is ask, nena.”

You had laughed then, a sound so honest and unguarded that made Javier respond with a grin of his own—his right dimple making a rare appearance.

In the beginning, the way of dealing, or rather not dealing with his usual ways caught him off guard, leaving him puzzled rather than intrigued. You made him miss the thrill of the chase, the game of words and looks that usually served him well with women. Yet, in your presence, he found himself at a loss, realizing that beyond the flirtation, he hardly knew how to communicate with women at all.

You weren’t there to play his games or to be yet another stripe to his sleeve. You were there as you were, and in doing so, you invited him to be just as he was, perhaps for the first time.

But Javier Peña would be damned if he said that the notion of making you just another notch on his worn-out belt hadn’t ever crossed his mind; that he had never toyed with the thought about making just just another nameless face in the long line of quick forgets.

It was far from his proudest moments, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t turn back time, now could he?

So, he stuck to the small comfort of the fact that back then, whatever twisted bond you had now, hadn’t even begun to form. You were just someone in the crowd; a face he’d nod at on his way in, remembered only because he was bothered enough to leave a tip. And while you had occasionally sent a drink his way, particularly when he found himself drowning in his solitude at the bar, he had never seen you as more than just a pawn on the vast chessboard of his mind.

Insignificant and easily overlooked.

The latter, having nothing to do with how tall you were, but everything to do with how blind he had been to the depth and potential of the people around him.

Dragging his hand down his face in exhaustion, Javier tried to scrub away the memory of that night as though it were just grime, hoping to avoid going places where he definitely didn’t want to go. But it was in vain as memories, especially the ones he wished most to forget, somehow always made a way to cling with ruthless determination.

Put a gun to his head, and Javier wouldn’t be able to tell what had driven his madness that particular night.

Granted, it could have been the crushing guilt and sheer exhaustion from the botched operation—the haunting image of Helena, lifeless and shattered on the cold, unforgiving ground, clinging to his brain like a stubborn stain; a macabre film for which he held a front-row ticket.

Or perhaps, it had been the aftermath of whatever Steve had thrust into his hands back at the offices, swearing it would help settle his mind after the chaos had subsided. A dubious solution, yes, but in his desperation, Javier had grasped at it like a drowning man would a lifeline, hoping it would somehow fix it all.

Javier couldn’t tell, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter, anyway.

What mattered was what had followed after he’d stumbled out of the DEA building long after everyone else had left, contemplating his next move. Sure, going home, had seemed like the logical thing to do, but the city that sprawled out before him was offering a million ways to disappear if only for a moment.

And he had been more than ready to fork over double, triple if necessary, for a few hours of numb escape.

Desperation had clawed at him; the need for something—or rather someone—who could stitch him back together and keep his conscience from bleeding out all over the place. If only for a while, he had wanted to escape with someone who didn’t know or care a damn thing about what his badge meant, or the heavy crap that it dragged along.

Javier had craved a distraction, potent enough to silence the loop of his thoughts until it was time for yet another handful of hours where he’d stay awake in his bed, hoping that maybe this time, the morning would somehow scrub his soul clean.

It was a shot in the dark, but damn, it was the only shot he had.

But as he had stood in front of his vehicle, embraced by the humid air, Javier had hesitated in his intent. Had figured out that he wanted one more drink. Merely a detour, he had rationalized; a moment to gather himself before he ventured out into the night, seeking what he laughably considered some form of comfort.

—

One step inside the bar and Javier was struck by its unusual silence. No chatter. No clinking of glasses. Just an unexpected emptiness that seemed to grow with the slight chime of the dreamcatcher hanging above the doors.

Chema, the owner and the man with sweaty shirts clinging to his back, paused in his battle with a jacket clearly not meant for him—his eyes briefly flaring with the surprise of seeing Javier framed in the doorway.

"We're closing," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of countless nights like this one.

Javier nodded deftly, feeling his fingers twitch by his side and was about to turn around and leave, but then he saw you behind the bar — your hand poised mid-polishing the glass you were holding, watching him.

Pausing mid-step, Javier spared you a second, waiting for you to echo Chema’s words, to send him to hell, destination he was convinced was his eventual due, considering the sins that clung to his soul. But with a small smile, and a grace that defied the grimy and quiet atmosphere of the bar, you placed the glass down and slung the cleaning towel over your shoulder and gave him a nod.

It was a gesture so faint and so subtle, that if Jaiver hadn’t been a trained DEA agent, he might have missed it.

“Está bien, Chema. I’ve got this one,” you addressed Chema, and Javier was surprised by the authority in your voice. “Go on home, I’ll finish locking up.”

Chema, for a moment, looked torn—his weary eyes darting between you and Javier, assessing. Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the day's burdens, he conceded, "Nos vemos mañana, sol," before retreating through the back, leaving behind the silence that had momentarily filled the space.

Now, with the room emptied to just the two of you, you looked away from where Chema stood only moments ago before nodding towards the entrance — the words trailing off before they fully formed.

“Would you do the honors…”

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished but understood — Javier´s movements almost reflexive as he turned around, flipping the sign on the door to ‘closed‘ before sauntering towards the bar.

Easing himself up on the stool across from you, the leather beneath him creaked, echoing the weight that sat on his shoulders. “Gracias,” he breathed out. “Hope it’s no trouble for you.”

You dismissed the concern with a casual flick of your wrist. “Chema’s got bigger fish to fry than me serving a guy with a gun and a badge after hours.” With an ease, you retrieved a tumbler and the bottle of his favorite, quickly filling the silence with the sound of whiskey sliding inside a glass. “Rough day? Seen you guys running around the entire day?”

Your question, seemingly casual, carried a weight of genuine interest as your eyes lingered on him. Yet, Javier only exhaled a deep, weary sigh as he fumbled with his cigarettes before slotting one between his lips. “Believe me,” he started — words laced in the wisps of smoke, “you don't want to dive into that rabbit hole tonight.”

You offered no reply, just a fleeting shadow of a smile as you pushed an ashtray towards him, then turned back to your previous task, humming a tune under your breath. It was a melody that tugged at the edges of Javier's memory, familiar yet distant, a stark contrast to the wiretapped conversations that had filled his recent days.

Looking away from you, Javier took a deliberate sip of his drink—its warmth tracing a path down his throat, a stark contrast to the chill that settled in his stomach with every covert glance you dared in his direction, each one a silent plea to fill the space between you with more than just silence.

But Javier had long forsaken the art of small talk, finding little value in the exchange of pleasantries that often amounted to nothing more than noise. Besides, he reasoned, any breath wasted on forced pleasantries tonight would be better saved for when his fingers—and his dick, most importantly—were inside someone.

But then again, the fact that you probably were lingering behind your usual closing time in order to serve him one last drink, made him pause.

Perhaps, you did deserve a sliver of decency from a man who had none.

Javier grimaced. Looked down at his cigarette as he rolled it around the ashtray, as if by focusing on it hard enough, he could fish out the right words from the depths of his mind. It was only then that he had noticed the faint traces of dried blood in the splintered skin of his cuticles, and he flinched, the day's images flashing vividly before him.

“You’re itching to say something, aren’t you?”

Your voice wasn’t sharp, and yet it sliced through the silence, jolting him from his brooding reverie. Lifting his gaze, Javier found you there, a silhouette framed by the dim light, head slightly tilted as if you were trying to read his thoughts.

Yet, Javier was not one to yield the upper hand so easily, especially not under the weight of your openly worn curiosity. "There's no itch, as you so eloquently put it," he retorted, the words edged with an unintended sharpness. "I'm here for a drink, not to bare my soul."

"But the wheels are turning, aren't they?" you countered, your lips curving into a smile as you whirled your fingers, emphasizing your point. It was a provocation wrapped in the guise of innocence.

Javier couldn't help the reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, amused despite the situation. “Is it a habit, being this noisy?” he asked, taking another sip of his whiskey and chasing it with a long drag of his cigarette.

Your smile widened, unfazed by his barb. “Yes.”

"Figures," he muttered, almost inaudibly, his confession seemingly meant for the cracked pavement under his feet rather than for you. As he did so, his fingers instinctively curled into a fist, as if to shield the tales of his skin—those visible marks of his profession and the truths he wasn't prepared to lay bare, not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.

And for a moment, it felt as if you might leave the conversation attempts as you turned your attention to the bottles on the shelf behind you.

But, alas, the quiet didn’t last.

“Look, if you want to unburden…,” you started, momentarily abandoning your meticulous alignment of a gin bottle on the shelf. Your voice carried a sincerity that seemed to fill the spaces between the words. “Consider me a willing ear. Rabbit holes are sort of my specialty.”

He responded with more silence, focusing on extinguishing his cigarette, watching the ember fade into ash. And then, almost in spite of himself, he answered, "I don’t think you could handle the kind of stories I’ve got.”

“Try me,” you countered, glancing over your shoulder with a grin that seemed to challenge him. "I might look a bit naive to you, but I'd been crossing through Colombia for years before I ended up here. I might understand more than you think."

Caught off guard while reaching for another cigarette, Javier’s eyes found yours with an intensity sharpened by years of reading people for a living. "Years, huh? That's quite the narrative for someone who seems, what, barely twenty-five?"

Your laughter, light and unburdened, sliced through the dense silence, an unexpected melody that seemed out of place against the backdrop of the room's stagnant air and the soft buzz of the cooler. "I gladly accept that as a compliment, agente."

"It's Javier," he interjected, the words slipping out more as a plea than a correction. It wasn't about setting the record straight; it was about shedding a layer of identity that had become a burden rather than a badge of honor.

"Well, Javier," you retorted, your words tinged with a playful undertone, effortlessly weaving through the newfound gap in his armor. "It seems my height is more deceiving than I thought,” you spoke, bending easily to lift a crate with dusty beer bottles. “But in case you’re wondering, my back has already started to ache for no reason and the left knee works up every time it’s going to storm,” you then added, giving him a wink over your shoulder.

Smirking, Javier took a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before releasing it in a steady stream through his nostrils, his gaze lingering on you longer than he’d intended. And strangely enough, his fingers twitched around the tumbler he was cradling whenever you’d push yourself on your tiptoes, filling up the higher shelf of the cooler — the oversized shirt you wore, an eyesore by any fashion standard, lifting slightly, offering him a glimpse of everything he'd somehow missed until now.

You weren’t his usual type; that much was clear. Yet, he wondered how it would feel to lose himself in you, to dip his toes—and his dick, most importantly—in the waters he hadn’t even acknowledged that he was thirsting to dive into until now.

Like scenes of a film he hadn’t realized he’d been collecting, Javier’s thoughts unspooled.

The effortless way you'd send a drink his way, the doe-eyed looks you offered as you navigated the space around his table, to clear away the remnants of his solitude. Your smile, subtle yet unmistakable, as you wove yourself into his exchanges with Steve, carried a blend of reserve and innocence—a paradox that both intrigued and unsettled him.

He wondered what traces of that would linger if he had you to himself. Would you still look at him with those doe eyes, or would the night reveal a different side of you—one that knew how to say his name in a whisper or a scream, far removed from the innocence you displayed in the light of day? Would you take God’s name in vain when he’d lower himself into you? Would you surrender to control, allow him to explore the uncharted territories of your consent and curiosity?

"Playing it close to the chest, huh?" you threw out suddenly, snapping Javier back from his not-so-innocent reverie of you beneath him, your voice laced with desire, calling his name, pleading for more. The thought was so intense, he shifted uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the unexpected tightness of his denim.

“Can’t be too careful,” he answered, leaning slightly forward and giving you a smile that he hoped would do the work for him, as it had many times before with others. And the way you mirrored his posture, elbows resting on the counter, sparked a flicker of anticipation in him.

Javier was a man led by gut feelings, his life a series of snap decisions, for better or worse. And right now, every instinct was screaming at him that perhaps he was closer to taking you home than he'd thought.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly a closed book as you think you are, Javier," you noted, and fuck, the way his name rolled off of your lips...

"Really now?"

Instead of an immediate reply, you slowly straightened, smoothing down your shirt in a gesture that hinted at a way of trying to find composure before reaching for his now-empty glass in front of him.

And suddenly, Javier couldn't help but feel like he was being thrown for a loop with you. Your behavior was both frustrating and alluring; a dance he wasn’t accustomed to, but the fog of desire clouding his judgment made him more than willing to learn the steps.

"You pick up a few things working a place like this," you finally answered, washing the glass with a practiced ease. "Faces, stories, the things people try to hide—it all comes out eventually."

Javier couldn't help but let a genuine smile break through. "Thought I was better than that."

"Maybe to those not paying attention.”

"Have you been watching me?" he teased lightly, yet with a hint of genuine curiosity.

You shot him a look that could only be described as a mix of exasperation and amusement, murmuring something under your breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

A breath of a pause hung in the air, thick with anticipation, and for a moment Javier was almost convinced that he had you.

But then he saw it—the furrow between your brows, the nervous bite of your lips, as if you were trying hard to remind yourself of something. With a finality, you then snapped the cash-register shut, your gaze lifting to meet his for a second before you reached for the keys tucked away beneath the bar.

Reluctantly accepting the night's end but still hoping for the beginning of something new, Javier stood up too, smoothly sliding his wallet from his pocket, but you interrupted him before he could snap it open.

"—Oh, that one’s on the house!" you declared, the dim lights of the bar flicking off one by one in the background.

“Come on, you have to let me settle the bill?”

“You’ve seen me close the cash register, no?” you threw back before grabbing your belongings from the hook near the backdoor, slipping into a jacket that looked several sizes bigger. Come to think of it, you always dressed as if you had raided Chucho's wardrobe on your way out rather than dressing your own size.

“And what’s in it for you?” Javier found himself asking, echoing the very same questions he had for you when you first waived his bill, now, a long time ago.

You stopped at his question, taking deliberate pause in your step as you moved to turn off the last remaining light near the entrance, casting the two of you in the soft glow from the street outside.

"Do you always assume people want something in return?" you questioned, holding the door open for him, urging him to move past you and into the warm embrace of the night air, yet the conversation was far from over. "Or, is it just that you're so used to transactions that the idea of simple kindness feels foreign?"

"Kindness?" he repeated, skepticism coloring his tone.

"Yes," you affirmed, turning to face him directly, your stance resolute as if preparing to defend the concept. "Some people do kind things just because they can. No expectations, no strings attached."

Javier halted, his gaze fixed on you as you secured the door, the sound of the locks clicking into place echoing in the quiet street.

"You're kidding, right? Seriously, what’s your deal?”

"I don't have one," you replied with a casual shrug. "Sometimes, what you see is what you get."

He let out a low chuckle. "And if I wanted to repay the favor?" he asked, the suggestion catching itself in the air.

You hesitated for a moment, twisting the strap of your backpack as you looked up at him — your eyes honest.

"Y'know Javier," you began, your voice a mix of firmness and gentleness, "when I tried to talk to you, I wasn't trying to—I just…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Look, I might be completely wrong here, feel like you always try to pretend not to know who you are when you’re not playing the role of a hero. And being hero comes hand when you want something or someone who won't ask too many questions when the weight of the badge gets too heavy?"

"Fantastic," Javier muttered—his jaw tensing as he rested his hands on his hips looking at you, “You’re what? A bartender, a shrink, and a philosopher all rolled into one?"

"No, Javier," you corrected, slinging your backpack over your shoulder higher. "I'm the kind of person who does and would ask questions."

He tried to speak, but your intense gaze made it damn near impossible to hold eye contact. Your words, although not direct but honest, hit him hard, like a punch to the gut, anchoring him to the spot, and he suddenly felt like he had been chased into a corner.

There was no point in denying. Javier still wanted to take you home, that was clear. Wanted to show you exactly what kind of hero he could be while building you up and tearing you apart with everything he had, until you begged him to stop.

Yet, the words that would convey such desires simply wouldn’t come. They sat there, lingering on his tongue, suddenly feeling out of line. Inappropriate.

So, he ditched the complex thoughts for something straightforward. "Didn't peg you for this. You’re not what I expected."

You paused, a silence stretching between you as your eyes held his—searching, weighing. Then, as if his honesty had bridged a gap, your lips curved into a smile, warm and sincere, lighting up your features in a way that caught him off guard.

“People rarely are,” you responded. “And you know, despite your beliefs, you’re a good man, Javier.”

“You don't know me," he retorted with a scoff, half-defensive, half-defeated. It was a shield, that much was true—a way to keep the world at arm's length, and now, it seemed, to keep you there too.

"And you forgot that I've got a pretty good view from behind the bar. Don't need a step stool to see what's going on," you said, your voice cutting through the tension with a hint of lightness. "But, i think I should really head home now.”

Javier's response was a noncommittal grunt, his eyes drifting towards where his truck sat on the other side of the forgotten and empty road.

"Let me at least drive you home?" The offer tumbled out before he could weigh it, surprising both him and, by the looks of it, you as well. You halted mid-step, looking up to face him with a mix of surprise and contemplation in your eyes.

"Appreciate it, but I think you had other plans for the night," you responded after a brief pause, your voice soft yet firm. "And I don't want to get in the way of those."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," you affirmed, your decision clear, though your voice carried a softness that Javier knew he didn't deserve. "Goodnight, Javier," you then called over your shoulder, stepping into the balmy embrace of the night.

Javier stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions churning within as you moved further away, your figure gradually swallowed by the darkness. And then, with a weave of his fingers through his hair, he uttered the words that felt both right and wrong at the same time. Words which, in his darkness, danced the right moves:

“Goodnight, nena.”

#javi peña x you #javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #javi peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javi peña x f!reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña fanfiction #javi peña x female!reader #javi pena x reader #javi pena x you #narcos fanfiction

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charleslee-valentine · 11 months ago

Text

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks Event Day 4- Hobbies

Ship(s): None

Word Count: ~1,000

Warnings: Character death, mourning, implied abuse.

note: Bubba uses he/they/she pronouns.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

_______

No responsibilities or chores all day.

Bubba gets to stay in his corner of Texas Battle Land and do what makes him happy, which currently, is to draw.

A long time ago, an art set with some markers and crayons got left behind at the gas station. It was no use there, so it was brought home, where after some arguing, it was decided Bubba could keep it. The twins were being too mean about it, so they weren’t allowed to have it.

Not that it was anything fancy. The set is mostly basic colors and a couple of the markers were dry when they got them, but the beauty isn’t the part that Bubba likes the most.

Even now that it’s been years and the supplies have been worn down to colorful stubs, the part Bubba really likes is the process.

Something about the wispy sound the paper makes on the table, and the hollow scritchy-scratches of the crayons leaving their marks behind, really helps to calm Bubba.

That’s more important now than ever before, having something to do when things get tense. Really it’s that way more often than not, now that they moved away from their old house.

Coloring reminds Bubba a little of putting on makeup.

As in, it’s not really being pretty that makes them like makeup, as much as it is taking care of themself and expressing the bright colors they feel on the inside. The pretty result is just a bonus.

The precision of holding coloring supplies or makeup brushes is a little hard to master, but that makes it fun and rewarding every single time. Even if his lipstick gets a little crooked, or the lines of his drawing go a bit wobbly.

There are lots of pictures that have been crumpled up and hidden away over the years. Pictures of Bubba with tears on her face with fire and blood and monsters in the background. Monsters that looked a lot more like Drayton than they did the kind of monsters that break into their house.

But that’s not really the fun part. Those are the ones Bubba has to draw because of not being able to speak those feelings out loud. Like a filter for all the yucky emotions he has.

The part Bubba prefers though is drawing flowers and animals and pretty clothes. Anything with lots of bright color, to bring something other than deep coppery red into this life.

Bubba’s most favorite part though is when the finished products get displayed somewhere in the house, be that pinned above the stove or placed into a frame and hung up on a rafter.

There’s an extra special picture that lives right above the supper table on the big stone pillar just to the side.

It wasn’t the first piece of art Bubba drew with the art set, and it wasn’t the best either, but it was the most meaningful.

See, with the family split apart and fighting, it was often that Bubba’s pictures would be one or two of the Sawyer siblings at a time. Whoever was getting along. Maybe whoever had been nice to him that day.

This one though, was of all the Sawyers, including their grandpa and gramma, out in the yard, posed on the front steps of their old house like it was a photo. They’d never gotten a photo like that before Nubbins had to leave forever.

That’s something Bubba is sure of, because the family kept all of Nubbins’ pictures. They’d helped Chop Top look through them one at a time, and found most of them being of random adventures, things they couldn’t piece together without him there.

Bubba knew her brother wasn’t coming back, so she wanted to make a special picture. One where everyone got along again.

There’s tear stains in the corner. Bubba turned them into flowers and hoped nobody noticed.

If they did, they didn’t say anything. Chop Top told him he’d done a good job with the colors. Grandpa didn’t say anything, but Bubba knew that if he could, he would’ve said something nice.

The really funny thing is, Drayton didn’t say anything either. That’s rare.

His eyes got a little red, and his lips curled into a weird shaky frown, but he didn’t say a word. Bubba was scared he didn’t like it and tried to take it back, so he could keep it.

That earned him a smack.

Chop Top patted Bubba’s shoulder and told them they’d draw a new picture together. A better one.

Except they didn’t need to. Because at supper that night, there it was, hanging right above the empty chair, and the lonely table setting that was always provided with a red soda pop.

They were more quiet than usual. Even Chop Top, who hadn’t really been quiet ever since Bubba was allowed to call him by his real name. Not that he could help it, with the head wound and all.

Inside though, Bubba was smiling. Sure, he didn’t have a perfect dark brown crayon to get everyone’s hair the right color, and he didn’t have the exact shade of tan that matched those pants Nubbins always liked to wear, but he felt proud of the picture anyways in the end.

Sometimes special is enough.

At least for the Sawyer boys- who aren’t very good with words, and who don’t always get along, and who definitely mess up a lot- special is the best they’re gonna get.

It’s the heart that counts, and heart is something Bubba Sawyer is just overflowing with.

Today, they’re drawing a picture of Nubbins and them holding hands and skipping down the long driveway they raced as kids. The same one that was stained with Nubbins’ blood after the accident.

Bubba is older now and knows what really happened. That Nubbins didn’t actually just leave. Maybe that’s why she likes to draw him so much.

This specific drawing is for their collection though. Their brothers will understand that.

#tcmfanevent #bubba sawyer #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #drayton sawyer #tcm 2 #my writing #my moodboards

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carcarcraziiv2 · 11 months ago

Text

The Woman with the Pink Hair (P. 4, 5, 6)

Here is a continuation of the Woman with the Pink Hair!

This is a Vi x Fem! Reader fanfiction.

I will post this gradually, maybe once or twice a week until it is fully out! (If you are impatient, you can view it on my Wattpad-> @DatBishCar)

Please note that this is the first piece I wrote after a HEFTY (I mean years long) hiatus from writing.

P.S. Lowkey I KNOW there's a bunch of shit I could fix in here to make it better due to my practice over the past year or so, but I just... I'm so lazy rn LOL. Anyhoooooo....

ALSO- here are the TW for you lovelies! (This is for the WHOLE SERIES)-

Violence, mental illness, oral sex, dominant tendencies, torture, kidnapping, plotting?... lowkey there's probably more but you should get the gist here, AS ALWAYS ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK ILY<3

READ PART ONE, TWO, AND THREE HERE-> https://www.tumblr.com/carcarcraziiv2/737189248110821376/the-woman-with-the-pink-hair-p-1-2-3?source=share

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PART FOUR: An Artist's Eye

The next day has arrived. You shoot up from bed in the morning, as you hadn't set an alarm and you were worried you may have missed Vi coming over. You looked at your clock and it read 10:30. The streetlight was shining through the window of your room, as there was no sunlight down in the under city, and you could see the dust floating about from you jerking out of bed. You rubbed your head slightly, feeling a little hungover from the previous night's expenditures, but not too bad.

Letting your hand caress from your hair down to your lips, you brushed over them. Remember the sweet kisses that lingered there. TWICE. Two times Vi had kissed you. You swooned and fell backward into your previous position, moving your hand from your lips, down your chest and stomach. You reached your waistline, feeling heat in your cheeks as you thought about Vi, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

You jerked out of your moment, flustered. "One second!" You called out, hopping off the bed and stumbling as you grabbed your pants off of the floor and threw them on. You ran to the door, peaking out of the peephole to see dark pink hair and those blue eyes looking right back at you. Unlocking the door and opening it quickly, the girl stepped back for a moment before smiling.

"Well, good morning sweet stuff." Vi giggled. "Did I wake you?"

"Good morning! No actually I just woke up before you knocked... why?" You smiled back, moving out of the way and motioning for her to come in. As she walked in, she looked over at you and made a signal about her hair. It took you a moment, and you realized what she meant. You probably had a rat's nest on top of your head. Blushing, you rushed over to the mirror by your vanity and grabbed your hair tools. "Well, I mean I really just woke up before you knocked" you laughed shyly. You tossed your hair into your signature style, an easy go to do that you rocked nearly every day. Turning back around, you find the woman sitting on a chair that sat next to your art easel. You snagged a small stool you had under your vanity and pulled it over near her and sat as well.

"So," you started "Do you want to see my stuff?" pointing at your boxes near the easel.

Vi smirked. "Do I want to see your stuff? I guess you could say that." Her eyes drifted from your toes up to your eyes, caressing your body with their movement. "You could say that."

You rolled your eyes, understanding her innuendo and shook your head slightly. "Idiot, you know what I meant." You slapped her shoulder. Getting up, you waltzed over to where the box sat on the floor beside it. Opening the box, you pulled out a large black sketchbook, as well as some canvases. You had just placed the black sketchbook in the box after finishing the last piece a few days prior.

You turned the canvases over and showed her them one by one. She oo'd and ahh'd at them as you went through. You painted many different things, such as landscapes, mystical creatures, and people. A lot of times, your art revolved around the places that you had been to in the past. About finished showing the canvases, Vi pointed down to the black sketchbook on the floor beside you.

"What's in there?" She questioned, leaning over and grabbing it for herself. You almost instinctively snagged it out of her hands but decided that you didn't mind if she looked. To your horror, she turned to the back page almost immediately, rather than starting from the front.

"Whoa..." Vi stated, tilting her head slightly as if to get a better look. You knew exactly the page she had turned to. It was a scene you did the day after the first time you "met" her, A.K.A the time you saw her beat up 3 grown men.

You had used pastels and recreated the scene as you remembered it, from your perspective. You made the men look weak and made Vi look strong. Light shown down directly onto her from a streetlamp above and made her look like an angel, almost. Vi looked from the paper, and up at you. Your eyes were wide.

"Uhh," You muttered, "I drew that before we met properly..."

"This is...." She paused, and your heart stopped. "Amazing!" You instantly sighed with relief, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"I'm glad you like it," You smiled victoriously, placing your fists at your waist.

You got up and walked over to the small shelf near your bed. Living in a studio apartment, all of your things were kind of everywhere, but you did not mind. "This," you said picking up a clean looking book, "Is my new sketchbook. would you like to see what I drew last night?"

Vi looked shocked, admittedly probably due to the fact that you were quite inebriated last night, and she didn't think you would have drawn anything other than a bath after getting home. Regardless, she nodded. You walked over to her and opened the very first page of the sketchbook.

"It's not quite done, but here it is," handing the book over to here, you smiled slightly while blushing. The picture below was of Vi, from your point of view sitting at the bar you had gone to the night prior. You had paid close attention to all of the details of her appearance, already planning on drawing her while you were there. It was mainly her side profile but caught certain parts that you found wonderful and interesting like her VI tattoo and the gear on the side of her neck. You even remembered the hoop earrings that sat on her ears.

"You drew this last night?" she said, her mouth agape. "That is amazing!". Without warning, she set the book down and quickly leapt off the chair, engulfing you in a quick hug where you stood. You staggered back a step before steadying yourself and returning the embrace. Vi broke away and you replied.

"Thank you."

The rest of the afternoon, the two of you discussed different things such as your hobbies and passing time. You and Vi decided that you would meet again the next week when you had a day off and parted ways.

This time, she didn't kiss you. You were disappointed, but none the less felt wonderful about the day you had had.

PART FIVE: Passing Time

Over the next week, you spent a lot of time doing the things you normally do. Drawing, going on walks, but one thing on your mind was a new addition to the constants- Vi. She was so wonderful, you didn't understand it, but you felt like you had a connection with her that you had never had with anyone else. You weren't obsessed or anything like that, but you were definitely struck with what felt like a heart wrenching teenage crush.

You had been stewing in your thoughts the last few days. Although it wasn't your intention and you were sure you were still going to see her later that week, you were worried that perhaps she didn't actually like you like that. You were concerned because each time you spent time together, she appeared to be thinking of something, or someone, else. It's not like you own her, though, so you didn't think much of it as it was happening. Now however, you can't help your thoughts straying to those scenarios.

What if she has a girlfriend?

What if she doesn't even want to be like that with anyone?

You shrugged off those thoughts for the time being. It was Monday and you had already gone to work, drudging through old boxes that had new loot in them for the shelves of the shop. Your boss, Eddie, always got his stuff in mysterious ways but you were not too clueless as to how he may obtain them. Simple, he hired people to steal from topsiders and bring their little trinkets and nick-knacks down here. Something that normally people wouldn't find down here. One may be surprised how well simple things like gadgets and figurines sell in a place like this. Likely, people are just looking for a lick of simplicity in such a seemingly sour place.

Nothing out of the ordinary or exciting happened at work that day, so the day dredged on and on until finally you were able to go home. You waved goodbye to Eddie and his stubbly face gave a grunt and a little nod in response.

"See you tomorrow," you muttered. You weren't really in the mood to sound happy and nice today. Different than your usual, you just wanted to go home and take a bath in the old grungy bathtub in your studio. You grabbed your brown saggy backpack from behind the front counter and threw it over your shoulder leaving one strap hanging behind your back. Your hand pushed open the front door and you let it close naturally behind you as you walked through. Turning to your right, you started your journey under the small bridge that went over head a few feet forward. Reaching the other side of the underside of the bridge, you suddenly felt a presence beside you.

You turned your head quickly to your left and see a young woman. She had blue hair that was very very long and braided into two braids that nearly reached her knees. She was a pretty girl, but she looked very tired, and you couldn't help but feel the strange aura wafting off of her.

"Hey there, toots," she smiled over to you, tilting her head ever so slightly to the right. Her smile didn't reach her eyes and you felt a ping of panic in your chest, although you couldn't pinpoint why.

"Uh, hi?" You responded cautiously. She looked familiar, but you weren't exactly sure why. "Do you need something?" The words came out of your mouth a little more harshly than you intended, and the girl next to you shot her hands up in defense.

"Whoa, I'm just looking to make a new friend. Something wrong with that?" Her hands lowered and crossed over her chest. All the while, the two of you were still walking. You stopped abruptly, and she stopped a few steps ahead and looked back at you.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry," you muttered, feeling a bit ashamed that you had reacted so harshly. You felt a blush creep up into your cheeks and you continued. "Um, I'm (Y/N), what's your name?". Slowly, your feet started to continue their trek but silently you decided that you weren't going to go home with this girl on your heels. You didn't know why, but that didn't feel like a very smart idea.

Unbeknownst to you, she already knew where you lived, where you worked, and who your recent company was. In fact, she knew very well.

"Y/N... I like that name!" She smiled and clapped her hands together quickly. "My names Jinx. I'm usually a loner, but I saw you walking by and thought 'gee, she looks like she needs a friend!'" You grimaced at her words; did you really look that lonely?

You nod solemnly, and then sigh. Deciding to ignore the internal battle of instinct within you, you turned your lips into a grin and reached a hand over to her. You both stopped and she grabbed it in hers and shook it vigorously for a few seconds.

"Good to meet you, Jinx. Do you want to grab something to eat?"

-- VI's POV --

Vi had been working on some things throughout the day, mainly mending relationships she had had down here before everything happened. She wanted to try and produce a sense of normalcy for herself, even though it didn't seem like that was possible. Today she had been gathering the gumption to return to the places her, Jinx, Ekko, Claggor and Mylo used to play and hangout as children. She missed the ways things were but understood even if the events that pursued hadn't happened, things would still have been different than they were when they were children. That's what happens, people grow up.

Vi roughly passed her hand through her greasy hair. She hadn't showered in a few days. Hell, she didn't really even have a home down here anymore. Mostly she spent her time awake and about, finding "safe" places to sleep when she felt she needed rest. Vi was on the way to a small tavern style restaurant that had recently opened near where she met y/n. She wasn't trying to be creepy but couldn't help but feel a ping of excitement in her stomach when she thought of the possibility of seeing her before their next planned date.

Was it a date, though? Vi thought. Maybe she isn't even interested in me like that. She thought back on the few experiences she had with y/n. Ha, ya right. I saw the way she squirmed when I kissed her. The way her eyes became hooded when we were close. Her little breaths were so fucking cute when she was flustered.

Vi giggled to herself, reaching the front of the new restaurant. She opened the glass door, a little bell ringing to signify a new customer entering the establishment. A little woman rushed over to her, grabbing a menu from a makeshift host table near the door.

"How many?" the woman says breathily. She was very short, her red curly hair caressing her face. The hair failed to hide the slight fear that appeared on her face. Vi did that to people, made them scared. Must be her aura, or the fact that she just looks like a certified badass one hundred percent of the time.

"Just me," Vi shrugged slightly, her hands were in her pockets which caused them to raise slightly. The hostess turned around and signaled with her hand at Vi to follow. She led her to the bar and sat the menu on the counter. Smart girl, Vi thought. She can tell I need a drink.

The server left, and Vi took the opportunity to check out the menu and order a drink. After ordering from the bartender, she looked around the establishment. She took in the decor trying to figure out what kind of place this will be. It felt very... safe somehow. She liked it. As she scanned the area, she stopped dead in her tracks about three quarters of the way to a full three sixty.

At a table on the other side of the room y/n was smiling at a server who was presumably asking her how things were and all that classic server shit. Vi got excited, about to get up and walk right over there. Just as she was begging to stand, the server walked away and Vi's eyes rounded into discs.

She was sitting at the table with someone who made Vi's heart shoot into her throat. It was Jinx. They were laughing together over some bowls of what Vi assumed to be soup. Giggling at things here and there and looked like they were having a genuinely good time. Vi quickly turned back to the counter and put her hood on. Luckily today she was wearing a new jacket she had gotten, a nice black pleather item.

"What the fuck?" was all she could say as her thoughts raced at a thousand miles per minute.

PART SIX: Confrontation

"Wow, this is so cool!", you say in awe. The small grenade shaped item in your hand clacked around slightly as you rolled in from side to side.

"I KNOW, right?", Jinx snickered. She and you had been hanging out a lot the last few days, and although it felt strange at first you were starting to really enjoy her company. It felt good to have a friend. "It's just a lil' thing I do". The blue haired girl giggled slightly, shrugging while taking the item from your hands.

You are sitting on a stool and take a moment to look around you, taking in the grungy surroundings. Jinx had drawn little faces and words all over the walls in vibrant spray paints, most glowing in the dimmer parts of the room. You didn't find it weird, however. You thought it was awesome and a killer way to express oneself. Hell, you paint and draw and obsess over things. What's the difference?

Jinx had turned around, rummaging through some drawers beneath the desk she had. She was haphazardly slinging tools here and there as she rummaged through the drawer, some of which you had to dodge to narrowly avoid getting smacked in the face. You hear her make a 'aha!' type sound and turn back to face you. In her hands was a small tan notebook. The binding was barely holding together, and a leather cord wrapped around the item to hold it shut. She walked over beside you and leaned against the wall facing you. You noticed her eyes glass over slightly as her scrawny fingers grazed the top of the book. Just as quickly as you noticed, she snapped out of it and yanked the cord off of the book.

"This," she started, pausing momentarily, "is my sister's diary. From way back in the day. I found it in her prison belongings after she was released." Her head tilted slightly, and a grin started forming at the corner of her lips. "And you... get to read it!"

You raised a brow, intrigued but confused. "I don't even know your sister, Jinx. Although I'm flattered, I guess, wouldn't that be an invasion of privacy?" Your heart started beating a little faster as the look on her face contorted slightly. She seemed like she was becoming upset but again, her attitude quickly snapped back.

"Toots... Oh Toots... So naive", she smiled. She grabbed your hand and turned it so your palm was facing up. Her hands were cold against your own, and you shuttered slightly. She looked at you dead in the eyes as yours widened, and you felt her place the book into your palm. She gave a little nod, and you tore your eyes from her big blue ones and gazed down. On the front of the brown leather, a small engraving enchanted the lower right corner.

You took a moment, a little bit confused. Then in shock, you looked up at her with your mouth agape. She was sitting there nodding and wiggling her eyebrows, a faint smile on her face. You looked back down at the book, then back up at her. Does she know that you and Vi had been hanging out, too? That you felt some sort of way about her? Of course she does, dumby, why else would she look so excited about you finding who this diary belongs to.

"I can't read this..." you started. "It is not rig-", Jinx cut you off, her foot slamming into the ground causing you to flinch back slightly.

"You WILL read this diary, (y/n). No questions asked. I didn't mean to, but my stupid heart has decided it likes you and you have actually become a friend of mine. That means that now I have to protect you as well as Vi." She shook her heads slightly towards you. "Why do you think a random girl ran into you wanting to be your friend? Is that like, a common thing for you?" She laughs like a spazz, and you see a little craziness flash behind her eyes. You suddenly feel really small.

"Uh... okay I guess... but how did you know that I knew Vi?" You started reluctantly, staring at her as you questioned.

Jinx threw her head back and laughed. "(y/n), I always know where my sister is. After our last," she paused contemplating what to say, "falling out... I have kept close tabs on her because, well, she is my sister. I love her and even if she hates me I don't want to lose her again. Make sense?"

You nodded slightly. You scanned your memory, trying to remember seeing Jinx around before you met her formally. Always keeping a keen eye on your surroundings, it was rare for you to miss new faces. Then, it hit you. That first night you went out for drinks with Vi, there had been a girl lingering in the corner of the old bar. She was wearing a hood which engulfed her face in shadow. She flicked a straw around in her drink with her head resting in her hand. You remembered her solely because of the long blue braids you saw hanging down through the hood and touching the floor.

"Oh my God! You have been stalking us!" you barked at her, quickly covering your mouth and then repeating yourself a little quieter. "Stalking us? Jinx, what the hell man? You know you could just like, apologize or whatever and make up. I don't know what you guys went through but..." You stopped, noticing Jinx's pale blue eyes lower, tears pooling at the brims of her eyelids and slowly dripping down her cheeks.

"No, Toots, unfortunately I can't just apologize," Jinx sneered. She reached her hands up and brushed the tears off her face, and you couldn't help but feel guilty for what you had said. "And you are not going to get away from reading this. Open it up, little lady. Read it! Don't worry, the only important parts are the very last few pages." She reached over and yanked the book open, turning it to the third to last page and jamming her finger into the smudgy ink on the paper.

You sighed. Knowing Jinx pretty well at this point, or at least thinking you did, you knew it wouldn't be a great idea to tell her no again. You turned your attention to the paper in your hand and began reading.

-- VI'S POV --

Pacing outside of the dingy apartment, Vi ran her hand through her hair and lit another cigarette. She stopped, staring at the door. She knew (y/n) and Jinx were in there, doing God knows what, and she wanted to barge in there so bad and confront the both of them. Jesus, what am I, the fun police? She thought. No, Jinx is dangerous and (y/n) deserves to know. Even if she decides to keep... hanging out with her, it's none of my business. I'll give it one hour. One damn hour, and then I'm busting down that damn door.

-- YOUR POV --

Dear stupid diary,

After Caitlyn had me released, I had fully intended on leaving her goody two shoes ass and finding my sister. But the woman has me enthralled. She is so beautiful, and even though she is a snooty brat I can't help but start feeling things for her. What the fuck is that? The very breed of people killed my parents and threw me into the hell hole prison. Now I am falling for one of them? Fuck that.

Love, Vi

You shook your head, and asked Jinx, "How long ago was this written?" You nervously fidgeted with the corner of the pages.

"About a year ago, I guess." She answered. You did not reply, instead your turned to the next entry.

Dear diary, or whatever,

The only reason I got you is so that I can put my thoughts in here and god damn it, have the last few days given me a lot to write about. First of all, we found Powder. In fact, Silco and his damn goons have her as their pet. Everyone who hears her name shakes their head like they have heard the name of someone who died or something.

I met Caitlyn's parents today. She brought me into her room through her window and her mom nearly shot both of us with a rifle. She looked like an old version of Caitlyn, but she was very harsh and did not like me at all. Makes sense, I am just a gross bottom sider. Caitlyn and I, we got cleaned up and sat in her room. It felt so good to be alone with her. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

Anyway, Caitlyn and I finally found Powder and she kind of like... freaked on us. I am not sure what that was all about but all I know is she seems so broken. I want to help her. I want to fix whatever pain she has gone through, even if it seems impossible right now. Well, it's only impossible because Ekko (can you believe it, Diary? Ekko!) freaking KIDNAPPED me and Caitlyn! He took us to this awesome sanctuary he built. It's actually really really cool... I can't tell him that though, or else it will get to his head and I can't have that.

So today we are going to do some more searching, again.

Until next time,

"So, are you Powder?" You asked innocently. Jinx, or Powder? lifted her hand and shook it slightly giving a 'kind of' type of signal. You eyed her, and nodded slightly, returning to the next and final installment of the diary.

Oh my fucking god. I don't even know what to write, or how to write it right now. But long story short, Powder kidnapped me and Cait.

Cait? She gave her a nickname. You rolled your eyes slightly but kept reading.

She killed Silco. She lost her shit and killed Silco. I really thought she was going to end us too... She made it very clear that "Powder's dead," and "I'm Jinx now" but it's such bullshit. She will always be Powder... She will always be my sister. Needless to say, she actually let us go.

Unfortunately, I can't help what it going to be coming for her now, though. She built a rocket. A Huge missile launcher with one of the crystals she had stolen... She shot it right into the counselor building... she... she really did it.

Your jaw dropped, and you looked up at Jinx. She was still standing there, looking at her nails and you could tell she was feeling proud of herself. Closing the diary, you grabbed Jinx's write and slammed it back into her hands.

"That was YOU?", you yelled. You couldn't help but feel fear and also an odd sense of excitement brimming your very being. Jinx had been the one to blow up the councilor building, but the Undercity wasn't given much else besides that as Topside closed all communication with us.

"The one and only!", she started circling you, and you just followed her movements as she stopped in front of you, and put her hands on the arms of the stool in which you sat.

"That," you started, pausing for dramatic effect, "is awesome! Jinx, you single handedly got those cunts off of our backs! Even if it is only for a little while..." unable to contain your excitement, you jumped which caused Jinx to bounce back slightly, and you wrapped your arms around her. "You are now the coolest person I have ever met!"

Jinx looks taken aback, and she looks around as if someone is pranking her. Right before you release her, you both jump and turn towards the door. A loud bang reverberated around the room.

Jinx pushes you hard, and you land on the stool which in turn falls and you both tumble backwards. She pulls a pistol out of a drawer quicker than you can even see, and points it towards the woman in the doorway.

"Vi?" You say in shock.

"Get off the floor, sweet stuff. We've got some talking to do." She waltzes in and slams the door shut behind her as best as she can with it now being broken. Jinx keeps her gun trained on her the entire time, but Vi simply walks by and plops down on the couch that populates the area against one of the particularly graffiti filled walls. She takes a moment, running her hand through her hair.

"So," Vi starts, leaning forward and putting her elbows on her knees. She raises her hands while her elbows still rest. "What the fuck, guys?"

You look over at Jinx, who drops her arm holding the weapon, and rolls her eyes.

This is going to be a long night.

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