#with touches of sage and rosemary…. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

preyingmaneater · 5 months ago

Text

Feast.

summary: Steve had been charming you into his trap, instead, you matched his freak.

a/n: This is my first time writing this character. I had a lot of fun, even if I'm late to the party. I didn't mean for this to get SO LONG. I swear. But I wanted to try to really write this in an interesting way, exploring his character and describing every little thing to set the moods and whatnot. Unedited, I wrote this in three days and didn't want to edit. ;; wc: 8.9k 😭

You met Steve during a late-night grocery run. The fluorescent lights of the store cast a harsh glow on the aisles, emphasizing the lateness of the hour.

Your appearance was casual, befitting the time - just past nine in the evening. You hadn't made any effort to dress up, as impressing anyone was far from your mind at this hour. Your focus was solely on completing your shopping and returning home. As you navigated the produce section, your eyes scanned the shelves of herbs. Your hand reached out, grabbing a handful of fragrant rosemary, then delicate parsley, and finally aromatic bay leaves. You had a specific dish in mind and you looked forward to getting home and making it. Your gaze settled on the sage, and you moved to grasp it.

In that moment another hand appeared, reaching for the same bunch of sage. Your fingers inadvertently touched, and you instinctively jerked your hand back, the contact catching you off guard. "Sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper in the quiet store. Feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you, you took a step back from the herb section. Without making eye contact with the stranger, you turned on your heel, ready to retreat to another aisle.

"Hey, it's okay," the voice called back in response, causing you to pause mid-step, turning back to face the source of the reassurance. Your gaze fell upon the stranger, a man whose handsome features were framed by dark, tousled hair. As you scanned his appearance, taking in every detail from his welcoming expression to his casual attire, your eyes were inevitably drawn to his outstretched hand. In his grasp was the coveted sage, "You can take it," he offered with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a hint of warmth that seemed to ease the tension in the air. "I still have some at home, so this one's yours if you want it."

You hesitated.

Despite your initial uncertainty, you accepted the sage from his hand. It was, after all, the last one on the shelf, and his unexpected kindness had caught you off guard. Your heart was set on the recipe that called for the sage and you didn’t want to abandon it for something else. "Thanks..." you murmured, your voice trailing off as you lifted your gaze to meet his. You allowed yourself to truly observe him, your eyes meticulously cataloging every feature of his face.

He was well groomed, exuding an aura of refined handsomeness that immediately caught your attention, despite feeling some sort of wariness at talking to a complete stranger. His jawline was chiseled to perfection, giving him strong features, while his eyes were a captivating steel blue that seemed to pierce right through you. Those eyes held a depth that hinted at both intelligence and mystery, drawing you in despite yourself.

Your eyes trailed down to his lips, a soft and inviting shade of pink, formed the most enchanting shapes when he smiled, both warm and slightly mischievous. His chocolate-colored hair was expertly styled, swept upwards in a way that not only complemented his face shape but also suggested he had a habit of paying a careful attention to detail.

It was clear that he knew exactly how to present himself to make the best impression, every aspect of his appearance thoughtfully curated. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret about your own casual attire. You found yourself wishing you had put a bit more effort into your appearance before going on what you had assumed would be an uneventful and quick late-night grocery run.

"I'm Steve," he introduced himself, his voice as smooth and appealing as his appearance. He offered you another smile, this one somehow even more charming than the last. "And I have a weird habit of speaking to very...good looking strangers in the middle of aisle two." He delivered the line with a playful tone, his eyes twinkling with humor, clearly aiming to put you at ease while also subtly complimenting you.

You returned his smile with one of your own, your natural wariness slowly dissipating. His effort to put you at ease worked, he was charming enough, and he looked harmless. There was something disarmingly genuine about his demeanor that made you feel unexpectedly comfortable. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to share your name with him, watching as his face lit up with an appreciative smile. He carefully repeated your name, as if savoring each syllable, then looked back at you with a twinkle in his eye. "It's a beautiful name," he said softly, "It suits you perfectly."

A comfortable silence settled between you for a few seconds, during which you both seemed to be contemplating what to say next. Eventually, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a hint of nervousness creeping into his posture. "Well, uh," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of reluctance and politeness, "I should, uh, let you get back to your shopping. Have a good night." With a slightly awkward nod, he hesitantly turned on his heel and began to walk away, his steps slow and measured as if he was fighting an internal battle.

You watched him go for a moment before turning your attention back to the produce display, your mind still lingering on the interaction. However, just as you were about to resume your shopping, you heard familiar footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Steve returning, a determined yet slightly sheepish expression on his face. "You know what?" he said, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice, "I've already crashed and burned, so I might as well go all in."

He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say next. Walking back to you with renewed purpose, he met your gaze and exhaled, "I know this might be a long shot, but... can I have your number?"

You and Steve had gone on several delightful dates over the course of the following month.

His charismatic personality shone through in every interaction, as he consistently displayed politeness, a great sense of humor, and gentlemanly behavior. Steve always made sure you were comfortable and having a good time. He demonstrated his respect for your boundaries each and every time, he didn’t ask for anything or appear to pout in any way when you declined inviting him to your home or even giving him a kiss. But, your bond grew deeper and you found yourself increasingly drawn to his charming demeanor.

After your last date, you decided to take a step forward in your relationship. You felt enough of a strong sense of trust and comfort with Steve, so you invited him inside to stay the night.

"We should go away somewhere together," Steve suggested after quite the…passionate display and rawly fucking you into your bed. You were nestled comfortably against him, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At his words, you stirred slightly, curiosity piqued by the idea of a getaway with him.

Lifting your head a little to meet his gaze, you responded with a mix of intrigue and playful questioning in your voice. "Somewhere?" you echoed, your mind already beginning to conjure up images of potential romantic destinations. "Where?" you asked, eager to hear what kind of escape he had in mind for the two of you.

"I dunno..it might be a surprise," he said, his expression turning serious as he gazed downward. A mischievous smirk spread across his face, and he looked back up at you. "A very special surprise for a very special girl."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring your features. His confidence was almost obnoxious, and that cheeky attitude of his was on full display. "Always so mysterious," you remarked, shaking your head slightly. "You and your cryptic responses... I swear, sometimes it's like trying to decipher a complex puzzle just to get a straight answer out of you."

After you let out your playful complaints, you settled back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you allowed yourself to relax into his warmth. The comfortable moment was short-lived as you became acutely aware of the state you were both in. "You know what? I'm feeling rather sticky and gross right now," you announced, wrinkling your nose slightly. "A nice, hot shower sounds absolutely perfect."

Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest, smirking to himself, "Ah, did I do that?" He feigned innocently, his hand roamed down and squeezed your ass lightly. "I guess we should shower then, baby. But...you sitting here with my cum sitting inside you does turn me on a lot..."

"Oh hush," you smacked his chest and got up, "I'm not getting an infection for your satisfaction," You called over your shoulder as you walked to your bathroom.

You indulged in a much needed, long, hot shower. Steve joined you a few minutes later, gladly stepping under the hot streams of water and pulling you close to him. His hands gracefully glided across your skin, applying and distributing soap suds over every inch of your body. The sensation was invigorating and soothing as he skillfully massaged your tender muscles after having intense sex with him, releasing the tension your muscles held.

Steve held you close, providing you a comforting feeling of security and affection and intensifying your attraction to him. He was such a change of pace compared to your past romantic encounters. The disappointing dates and less-than-ideal partners you had encountered before left you feeling hopeless, then Steve popped into your life at the perfect time. A true gem among the rough of shitty men.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling it soaked under the water, with tiny bubbles and bits of shampoo still clinging to the strands. Gently, you helped rinse out the last remnants of shampoo, your fingers massaging his scalp in slow, circular motions. Steve closed his eyes and surrendered himself to your care, completely relaxed and at ease. There was something incredibly intimate about this moment, different from the hard sex you had moments ago. It felt more affectionate and meaningful, lust gone from the moment and being replaced with care.

The tension melted away from his features, he looked so peaceful as you washed his hair out. Steve’s expression one of utter contentment and trust, his vulnerable state allowed you to see a side of him that intrigued you. Your eyes were drawn to his neck, you eyed his pulse, you could almost see the blood pumping through him.

Not a single concern seemed to cloud his mind, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything but your fingers delicately moving against his scalp.

"You remind me of a statue. So pristine, smooth...it must be your diet." You commented coolly, your voice carrying a hint of playful admiration. The words hung in the air, charged with an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

Steve's gaze slowly drifted downward, meeting your eyes with a sudden shift occurred in his demeanor. The cool blue of his irises now seemed to recede, overwhelmed by the expanding darkness of his pupils. It was as if a storm had suddenly brewed within those oceanic depths, transforming them into something more intense, more dangerous.

His body language changed in tandem with his eyes. His relaxed state became rigid, every muscle taut with an energy that seemed barely contained. You observed the change with wariness, your head tilting to one side in a gesture that was both curious and slightly challenging.

For a moment, the man before you bore little resemblance to the Steve you thought you knew. Gone was the familiar warmth and easy-going nature. In its place stood someone darker, more complex. He exuded an aura that was simultaneously alluring and slightly unsettling, reminiscent of those enigmatic figures often portrayed in noir films - the kind of character whose true nature remains shrouded in mystery, the serial criminal eluding the police and performing dark, gritty murders.

"Steve?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern as your date's demeanor shifted, taking on a more ominous air. His name was spoken with a hint of apprehension, but it pierced through whatever fog had descended upon him. He snapped out of his trance, blinking rapidly, his features softening back into the countenance you recognized.

The unsettling glint that had momentarily clouded his eyes dissipated, replaced by the familiar look you'd grown accustomed.

"Ah, sorry," he apologized, clearing his throat. "I think I'm just a little dazed from the high my orgasm gave me," he muttered softly, his explanation hanging in the air between you. His hands found their way to your hips, fingers gently pressing into your skin.

He always knew how to make you forget those little moments. Where his nature peeked through.

Steve's home was nestled in the forest, a luxurious place you marveled at, far more expansive and opulent than you had initially anticipated. He told you he was a butcher, but his skills were so refined and meticulous that he could become a surgeon. The thought never prompted you to question his claims; after all, Steve had always been honest with you, never once resorting to deception or falsehoods in your interactions.

As you observed him in the kitchen, you found yourself utterly captivated by his culinary prowess. His movements were so fluid and precise that you couldn't help but imagine him as a master chef in a high-end restaurant. Every aspect of his food preparation was pure artistry.

The way he deftly maneuvered the knife through various ingredients, the graceful arc of the blade as it glided through succulent meats and crisp vegetables, and the meticulous attention he paid to the presentation of each element on the plate. It was as if he were composing a gastronomic symphony, with every cut, chop, and arrangement contributing to a masterpiece that was as visually stunning as it was sure to be delicious.

Steve presented you with an exquisite culinary masterpiece. The centerpiece was a succulent cut of red meat, perfectly seared and glistening with moisture. Its exterior was adorned with a generous coating of cracked peppercorns, creating an enticing crust that promised a burst of flavor with every bite. Your eyes traced the contours of the meat, you noticed a tantalizing flow of crimson juice emanating from its center, pooling on the plate and making you drool.

Beside it was an equally delicious looking salad, it was a vibrant cornucopia of fresh vegetables, each meticulously chosen for both its nutritional value and aesthetic appeal. The vegetables were arranged with an artist's touch, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that was as pleasing to the eye as it promised to be to the palate. A light sheen of glazed vinaigrette draped over the greens, adding a subtle luster and hinting at the perfect balance of tangy and sweet flavors that awaited.

"This looks absolutely delicious, Steve," you praised warmly, settling into your seat across from him. As you reached for your fork, your movements were slow and deliberate, as if to savor every moment of anticipation before the first bite.

The meat tasted...familiar, you've savored it countless times before. As you took your first bite, the flavors danced across your tongue, evoking exciting memories of past meals. The red meat possessed a delicate sweetness, akin to the tender flesh of veal, while its consistency bore resemblance to the well-known texture of beef. You chewed slowly, deliberately, allowing your taste buds to fully explore the complex interplay of flavors and textures. The softness of the meat yielded effortlessly beneath your teeth, its juices releasing a burst of rich, savory notes that coated your palate.

You continued to savor the bite, your discerning palate began to recognize the specific cut, as if recalling an old friend. Suddenly, an unexpected sensation stirred in your belly, a curious flip that gave you pause. You raised your eyes to meet Steve's gaze, having just swallowed the bite of meat. "I'm amazed that you haven't pursued a career as a professional chef in a high-end restaurant. This presentation alone is worthy of a Michelin star."

He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing across his lips. "Flatterer," Steve remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a deliberate bite of his food, savoring the flavors while watching you with keen interest as you began to sample the carefully prepared dish he had presented. The anticipation was evident in his gaze, eager to gauge your reaction to his culinary creation.

"Ah, and before I forget," he suddenly exclaimed, his tone brightening with excitement. Steve gracefully rose from his seat and made his way over to an ornate rack along the far wall. He selected a dark, elegant bottle from among the collection and returned to the table, he held it up for you to admire. "This is Imperial Chateau Mouton Rothschild," he announced with a hint of pride in his voice. "It's not just a good wine, it's exceptional. Aged to perfection over many years, and, I have to admit, quite costly. But for an occasion like this, nothing but the best will do."

With the skill of a seasoned sommelier, Steve carefully uncorked the bottle, you could smell the price tag on it. It smelled like riches you'd never be able to achieve.

The soft pop echoed in the room, releasing the wine's complex bouquet. He then reached for a delicate crystal glass, tilting it slightly as he poured a generous measure of the deep ruby liquid. The wine cascaded smoothly, forming a perfect meniscus at the rim of the glass. With a flourish, he presented the glass to you, his eyes meeting yours as he offered this liquid treasure.

You accepted the glass with a nod of appreciation, your fingers curling around the stem. Following proper wine tasting etiquette, you gently swirled the wine, allowing it to breathe and release its full array of aromas. The rich, garnet color caught the light, hinting at the depth of flavors to come. You brought the glass to your lips and you took a small sip, letting the wine linger on your palate.

The initial bitterness gave way to a complex medley of flavors - dark fruits, subtle oak, and a hint of spice. As you swallowed, the wine's warmth spread through your chest, leaving a lingering finish that complemented the rich, savory notes of the red meat perfectly. The pairing was indeed masterful, elevating both the wine and the dish to new heights of culinary pleasure.

"This is absolutely divine," you hummed with delight as you gently placed the crystal wine glass back on the pristine tablecloth. The rich, burgundy liquid swirled gracefully inside, catching the soft candlelight. "It pairs so well with the steak.”

"That's the idea," Steve replied with a satisfied smile, settling back into his chair. He reached for his own glass, filled with an amber liquid - whiskey, or perhaps gin, you weren't entirely certain. The warm glow of the dining room cast a flattering light on his sharp features as he raised the glass to his lips.

He eyed you intently as he took a long, measured sip, savoring the burning sensation of the potent liquor as it slid down his throat. You could see his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed. His gaze never left you as you continued to enjoy your meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him between bites, a mixture of gratitude and playful mischief in your eyes. "I must say, I'm thoroughly impressed," you teased, your voice lilting with amusement.

"Why on earth haven't you been cooking for me like this all along? You've been holding out on me, Steve.” You leaned back in your chair, shooting him a playful smirk, “If I had known you possessed such skills, I would have fucked you much sooner. This meal is nothing short of seduction on a plate."

"Awe, baby...don't tease me like that..." Steve shot you a lustful glare, "But does that mean I'll get to bed you tonight, hm? Is my meal worthy of your pretty, delicate pussy...?"

"Maybe for dessert.." you suggested with a mischievous glint in your eye, your foot deliberately caressing the outer part of his shin. You traced slow, sensuous patterns along his leg, the gentle pressure both tantalizing and promising. The subtle yet unmistakable flirtation sent a shiver of anticipation through him, causing him to stifle a groan of pleasure. Your boldness left little doubt about the direction the evening was taking, and he found himself eagerly anticipating what was to come.

As the tension between you built, his mind began to race, contemplating the myriad possibilities that lay ahead. He knew he'd need to adjust his plans for the night, but the prospect of spontaneity only added to the excitement.

But that was his goal anyway. Get you in the bedroom.

Silly…

Naive…

...stupid girl.

You savored the meal, each bite tantalized your taste buds. As the evening wore on, you found yourselves in the living room, a makeshift dance floor. Your bodies moving in perfect synchronization with the pulsating rhythm of the music. The alcohol coursed through your veins, not enough to make you drunk, but just enough to lower inhibitions and heighten sensations. A pleasant buzz enveloped you, making everything feel slightly dreamlike and intensely vivid at the same time.

Your bodies swayed together, a perfect harmony of movement and touch. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements with gentle pressure. He manipulated your arms, raising them high above your head in a graceful arc as you swayed with him. As the music pulsed around you, your bodies pressed closer, rubbing against each other in a sensual rhythm that matched the beat perfectly and grew increasingly sexual.

Steve pulled away, a laugh escaping his lips as he watched you continue to move. Your body kept swaying sensually, as if unwilling to break the spell of the music. "Another drink?" he called out, his voice barely audible over the upbeat tunes filling the air. He turned towards the bar without waiting for a response, you couldn't help but notice how the dancing had affected him too. His dark hair was now charmingly disheveled, giving him a more relaxed and carefree appearance.

Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the counter, his movements still in tune with the music even as he focused on the task at hand. He began pouring another drink for you, as you watched, a troubling detail caught your eye. He reached into his pocket and produced a small packet containing a light white powder. He emptied the contents into your drink, stirring it gently to ensure it dissolved completely.

He returned to your side, drink in hand, offering it to you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You noticed a slight cloudiness in the liquid, confirming your suspicions. You declined the drink. Did he truly believe you wouldn't notice?

Deciding to play along, you chose a more subtle approach. Rather than confronting him about the tampered drink, you opted for a different strategy. With a coy smile, you slowly ran your hands up his chest, feeling the firmness beneath his shirt. Leaning in close, you whispered in a sultry tone, your breath hot against his ear, "Come on, baby... why don't we skip all this and get right to the good stuff? I've been thinking about this all night..."

Steve succumbed to your act, captivated by the alluring timbre of your voice and the nature of your words. He bent forward, his lips meeting yours in a passionate embrace as the complex flavors of wine and whiskey intermingled on your tongues. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving in perfect synchronization, mirroring the sensual dance your bodies had engaged in earlier.

Caught up in the moment, you both began to sway, your movements slightly unsteady from the alcohol, as you made your way towards his bedroom in a meandering, intoxicated path. You hit the walls, the paintings twisting into crooked positions as you continued on your driven path.

As you approached the edge of the bed, you felt the firm pressure against the back of your legs, causing you to instinctively lower yourself onto the mattress. The momentum of your movement naturally pulled you backwards, leaving you lying supine on the soft bedding. Steve’s eyes were dark with desire, followed your descent, positioning himself above you.

His lips began a teasing journey along the curve of your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. As his mouth explored the sensitive skin of your neck, his hands roamed your body with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling with the fastenings of your clothing in his haste to remove them from you.

He removed your top, revealing your bare skin to the cool air. His eyes roamed appreciatively over your exposed form, lingering on the gentle curves of your breasts. Steve let out a low groan of desire, cupping them in his hands, his fingers expertly kneading the soft flesh. His touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body, your back arched naturally up into his hands.

Steve leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss in response to your body’s eagerness for his touch. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly parted your lips, allowing him to explore every inch of your mouth. The intensity of the kiss left you breathless and yearning for more.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face. "So beautiful..." he repeated, a strange glint appearing in his eyes, "...and so stupid."

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water, abruptly pulling you out of your passion-induced haze. You blinked, confusion replacing the desire in your eyes as you looked up at him. The fog of alcohol that had been clouding your judgment suddenly lifted, leaving you with a startling moment of clarity.

Before you could react, a sudden impact struck your head with a resounding crack. The sharp sting of broken glass and the acrid scent of whiskey filled your senses as an old tumbler shattered against your scalp. Surprisingly, the force of the blow wasn't enough to render you unconscious. Instead, you found yourself plunged into a disorienting haze, your thoughts struggling to coalesce through the fog of alcohol already clouding your system. Even as your mind reeled, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, fighting against the encroaching stupor and sharpening your awareness rapidly.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he realized his initial attack had failed to incapacitate you. Without hesitation, he changed tactics, his hands darting out to encircle your throat. His fingers dug into your flesh as he attempted to cut off your air supply. "Stop fighting, just give in, make it easy on me, baby..." he growled, his voice a menacing rumble that sent chills down your spine.

You could feel the corded muscles in his arms flexing and straining as he redoubled his efforts to render you unconscious, his grip tightening with each passing second. The room began to spin, your vision blurring at the edges as you struggled against his iron hold, desperately fighting to maintain consciousness.

Rage coursed through your veins, overriding the pain from the choking pressure on your neck. You reached up and ignored trying to stop the pressure, your fingers finding purchase in his thick hair instead. You yanked his head violently to the side, eliciting a loud, pained groan from Steve. His iron grip on your neck faltered, giving you the opening you needed.

Summoning all your strength you had, you planted your feet firmly against his torso and kicked, sending him flying off you and crashing onto the floor with a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

You rolled to your feet and pounced on him, reversing your positions. Now it was your turn to straddle him, your fingers wrapping around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tables had turned, and you could see the anger and fear flickering in his eyes as he realized his predicament. Blood trickled down your face from where the glass had shattered against your head, the warm, sticky substance warming your scalp and staining your skin.

Leaning down, you brought your face close to his, your eyes burning with a mixture of anger. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you spoke, your voice a low, menacing growl that sent shivers down Steve's spine. "I know what you are," you snarled.

Steve continued to struggle, he growled back at you, tugging against your surprisingly strong hold. "I recognize human flesh no matter how hard you try to disguise it with fancy seasoning and luxury wine." You spat, your lips curling up into a chuckle as you leaned back down onto his hips. "You thought I'd be easy, did you? An easy bitch to drug and sell to disgusting, perverted men who want to eat my meat?"

"Fuck you!" He shouted, his voice filled with rage as he brought his knee up forcefully into your back. A sharp, searing pain shot up your spine, causing you to falter momentarily. Taking advantage of your looser grip, he swiftly flipped you onto your back again, his eyes scanning the room for a weapon and landing on a jagged piece of broken glass, which he quickly snatched up. He looked at you furiously and thrust the glass shard down, aiming directly for your neck.

You anticipated his move, your survival instincts kicking in the second you saw the glint of the glass. You jerked your head to the side, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. Even with your evasion, the sharp edge of the glass still caught the delicate skin that joined your neck and shoulder, leaving a gash that pooled blood and felt like fire cutting through you.

You hissed in pain, adrenaline continued coursing through your veins as your senses became narrowed on him. You dug your nails deep into his biceps, clawing at him with all your might. The two of you began to struggle against one another, rolling around on the floor as you both fought desperately to pin the other down. As you grappled and thrashed, you both sustained numerous cuts from the broken glass scattered across the floor.

The furniture in the room became obstacles and weapons, as you knocked into the bed frame , dresser, and mirror. The sound of splintering wood and shattering objects filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion and gasps of pain. It was a chaotic, dangerous dance, with neither of you willing to give in to the other.

Eventually, your stamina wore down as his did, and you both grew increasingly sluggish. The intense exertion had taken its toll on both of you, leaving you panting and struggling to maintain your composure. The two of you breathed heavily, your bodies bearing wounds from your scuffle. You had several gashes along your body, varying in depth and severity.

Your lip was busted, swollen and throbbing, and a deep laceration marred your eyebrow, threatening to obscure your vision with trickling blood. Steve, on the other hand, was littered with more cuts, though none were as deep as yours. However the sheer number of impacts he had endured was evident in his battered appearance and labored breathing, he had more bruising and he had taken much heavier hits than you.

As you laid there, limbs entangled in a final deadlock, both of you struggled to catch your breaths. The adrenaline that had fueled your fight was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a raw, pulsating pain from your various wounds. Steve, from his position above you, fixed you with an intense glare. His eyes, though weary, burned with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "You...know?" He managed to ask between ragged breaths, his chest heaving with each intake of air. “How?”

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your own eyes reflecting a hardened resolve despite your exhaustion. "I know the taste of flesh," you grunted back, the words coming out rough and guttural. The statement hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history and grim experience. Your unwavering glare challenged him, daring him to question further, even as you both remained locked in your physical stalemate.

He knew what you meant. You had consumed human flesh before tonight, and while he thought he was being sneaky for his own satisfaction by feeding you a fresh piece of thigh, you weren't as dumb as he suspected. "I was planning on killing you." Your blunt words cut through the air and stung more than the littered lashes the glass made across his skin.

"You did?" His pupils blew once again, like two black holes consuming the icy color around them.

"Yes." Your own eyes traced his face again, his lips barely parted as he remained above you. The tension between you was obvious, electric, as if the very air around you crackled with anticipation. His breath ghosted across your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the circumstances. After seconds of drawn out silence, you both suddenly moved in unison, closing the gap between you.

Your lips crashed together in a fierce, passionate kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a torrent of raw need and unbridled desire. The taste of him, mingled with the metallic tang of blood from your earlier altercation, only served to heighten the intensity of the moment. Your tongues engaged in a sensual dance, exploring, teasing, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

The kiss deepened and your hands began to roam, desperate to touch, to feel, to claim each other. Fingers tangled in hair, gripping tightly as if afraid the other might disappear if you let go. The heat between your bodies grew, threatening to consume you both. You grasped onto him hard and flipped your positions, now straddling him from above.

Pressed against each other, your bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, every curve and plane aligning as if you were made for each other. Your hands continued their frantic exploration, alternating between gentle caresses and urgent grasps. His hair felt silky between your fingers and became delightfully disheveled under your ministrations. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this moment of passionate abandon.

"You dirty bitch," He growled against your lips, his teeth grazing your soft flesh before biting down hard. A guttural groan escaped your throat in response, your body instinctively arching closer to his. His rough hands explored your curves, pawing at your sides and breasts with desire. He shoved you off him, forcing you onto your back. The second you hit the glass covered floor he was on top of you, his lips crashed against yours once more, hungry and demanding.

Your leg hooked over his hips, pulling him closer as your bodies pressed together. His fingers traced a path along your skin, finding the sensitive gash on your neck. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the wound.

Steve's lips locked onto the spot, his tongue darting out to lap at the tender flesh. He sucked gently at first, then with increasing intensity, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl and your fingers dig into his back.

You mewled out and hissed in pain, he pulled back, mouth crimson and blood staining his teeth and gums. Goddamn bastard.

You, in turn, leaned forward and sunk your teeth into the sensitive spot on his neck, easily penetrating his skin and feeling the warm, crimson liquid pool into your mouth. Steve clung to you and let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard from a man, his large hands grasping the meaty flesh of your ass and making your cunt grind against his throbbing cock, still trapped in his pants.

"You like it rough, don't you? Wan' me to throw you down and take you?" Steve murmured in a low, husky voice, his breath hot against your ear. He wielded the same glass shard he had used to cut you earlier, now using it to slice through the fabric of your pants in a messy haste. The sound of tearing cloth filled the air as he held you down onto the floor, his strong hands gripping the material and ripping it away once he had created a large enough opening.

The cold bite of the glass returned as Steve turned his attention to your panties, the sharp edge grazing your skin as he methodically cut through the delicate fabric. The contrast between the chill of the glass and the warmth of his touch sent waves of excitement through you and to your core. You fought to suppress a moan that threatened to escape your lips, your body betraying your attempts at restraint.

Sensing your barely contained desire, Steve's movements became more urgent. His large hands found purchase on your legs, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly yanked you closer to him. The sudden motion caused your breath to catch in your throat, looking up at him as he arched himself over you.

"Stay still." He ordered, shuffling over you and unbuttoning his jeans, hastily pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers. His cock sprung free, swollen and weeping with eager arousal. He groaned, rubbing it against your bare folds and slickening himself up with your own juices. "Fuck...such a little slut. Look at how wet you are for me," Steve leaned down and lapped at the cut on your neck again, you swore you could feel his cock throb between your delicate folds when he tasted your blood.

He pulled back, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your face into his crotch, his nearly trimmed pubic hair weren't a bother for you, besides the gentle scratching against your cheek. He rubbed his cock all over your face, letting his precum coat your cheeks and forehead as he basically thrust himself against you. You could feel it getting in your hair, which was irritating.

You pulled your head away from his shameless rutting, but his hand brought your face right back to his cock. This time, he angled his head against your lips, smearing his arousal on you like salty lip gloss, then pushed himself into your waiting mouth swiftly. Your eyes widened a little as he touched the back of your throat without hesitation, the intrusion making you instinctively pull back.

"Oh fuck...yeah baby, suck my cock," He encouraged lucidly, more as a command than a plead, and he moved your head on him with his fist still locked in your hair so the pace he wanted was clear and set. "Come on, my cock is so full, I got a shit ton of cum for you. I'm gonna fill that belly up with it, go with the fuckin' meal I fed you." Steve all but snarled at you as his hips quickly took over your languid bobs.

He snapped his hips forward with little resistance from you, he held your head in place while he basically used your mouth as if it were a pussy. As annoyed as you were before, you couldn't deny that this was turning you on a lot. You relaxed your throat and it became easier for him to slip in and out of you, the once burning sensation of his cockhead hitting the back of your throat and sliding down a bit faded into a blissful tingling.

You made a series of muffled noises, an intricate symphony of gags and chokes echoing in the room and urging Steve's arousal. Your saliva had gathered around him, creating a cacophony of delightful slurps and squelches that filled his ears with auditory pleasure. He groaned loudly and held you tighter, "C'mon baby, choke on it..."

Glistening threads of saliva swung pendulously from your chin like delicate silk strands, Steve thrusted against your mouth with relentless vigor, his actions merciless as he pursued his own gratification with single-minded intensity. He was truly face fucking you, the slightly salty taste of his precum was coating your tongue and familiarizing you with it.

Just as you thought he was about to reach his climax, he unexpectedly withdrew, allowing you to catch your breath. You found yourself coughing slightly as he leaned back, your chest heaving with each deep inhale. "Y-You... you bastard," you managed to say between gasps, your throat feeling raw as you cleared it forcefully. You swallowed hard, trying to rid your mouth of any lingering saliva and precum.

You pushed against his chest suddenly, causing him to fall backwards. He landed with a sudden grunt at the unexpected push and you swung your leg over his body, straddling him and grinding your cunt against the length of his cock. "Your turn to sit still while I fuck you." You growled out through grit teeth and a knit brow, concentrating on rolling your hips.

His hands came to rest gently on your hips, his thumb swiping the clotted blood on the cut he left on your hip. He spread it around and groaned quietly seeing it stain your skin like brilliant crimson paint. Surprisingly, he made no attempt to alter your pace or grip you with such intensity that his fingertips would leave perfect imprints on your skin. Instead, he allowed you the freedom to grind at your own rhythm, savoring the sensations you were creating.

Steve felt an exhilarating excitement begin to coil in the pit of his stomach, a response to your unexpected change in position. The feeling was difficult to pinpoint, but having you straddling him, taking control, felt utterly invigorating. It reminded him of the heart-pounding anticipation one experiences just before the kill - that perfect mixture of adrenaline fueled energy and pure, unadulterated excitement.

The goddamn rush.

He felt and heard his heartbeat thundering in his ears, the rapid pulsations echoing through his body as his blue eyes snapped open from their previously lidded state. The sudden alertness was triggered by the exquisite sensation of you finally beginning to rub his sensitive tip against your warm, inviting folds. You teased your entrance with tantalizing slowness, savoring the anticipation of how you were going to stretch and accommodate him once you finally sunk down onto his length.

"Fuck..." you breathed, your voice husky with need, "I have to have you inside me again. You stupid, arrogant, egotistical man, thinking you were gonna make a meal of me? Gonna make money off of me?" Your words dripped with a mixture of desire and derision, the damn cannibal seemed to enjoy you degrading him. You hissed softly, the sound a mixture of frustration and anticipation, as you finally allowed gravity to help you sink on him.

You could feel every inch of him stretching and filling you, the delicious friction sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and ecstasy that left you breathless and yearning for more. His cock stretched you and filled your inner walls perfectly, every inch and crevice molding to him.

Steve bit his lip as he watched his cock sheathe inside you, those pretty pink lips swallowing him up and cheekily peeking his cock to him. "Greedy cunt," He growled at you, his hands now moving you to bounce on him, his patience having run out. "Bounce on me like a good girl, make me cum in you, make me fill this needy hole."

"Shut up." You snapped down at him, "You're gonna sit here and be quiet," your hips bounced and rolled, giving his desperate, weeping cock everything he could ever want. Your walls squeezing and eliciting more of that precum to kiss and coat your cervix, already feeling bruised from your hard bounces. The arousal he leaked balming your sore womb as you continued to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Fuck...gonna order me around? Think you can do that?" Steve chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief as his hands found their way to your breasts. They bounced tantalizingly in his face, and he couldn't resist kneading and toying with them, his fingers expertly exploring every curve and contour.

The sensation sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure you were already experiencing. Your hands pressed firmly on his abdomen and chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms as you stabilized yourself further. He may be an arrogant ass, but god, was his dick good.

"Damnit," You hissed, your voice a mix of frustration and ecstasy as you felt your sensitive clit scratch against his pubic hair. The trimmed area provided just the right amount of stimulation and texture, sending jolts of pleasure through that bundle of nerves with every movement. The unexpected sensation was overwhelming, causing your head to fall back as a loud, unrestrained moan escaped your lips. Your body responded instinctively to the extra stimulation, driving you to ride him with increased vigor and abandon. Your hips moved with a newfound urgency, seeking out that perfect angle that would bring you to bliss.

"Oh god, baby, you're gonna make me cum," Steve groaned loudly, his hips thrusting up forcefully to meet your increasingly weakened bounces. Your own orgasm was rapidly approaching, causing your movements to become more erratic and desperate with each passing second. "M'gonna fill you up, get you nice and messy, make that ache go away~"

"Please! Please...Steve...oh my god, I'm close," you warned breathlessly, your voice thick with desire, “D-Don’t stop…” You rode him harder and quicker, rolling your hips and grinding to ensure every part of you was stimulated. The tension built to an almost unbearable level until finally, you reached that blissful peak you so desperately needed. A loud, unrestrained cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you rode through your intense climax, your body shuddering with waves of ecstasy.

Steve's hips stuttered momentarily, overwhelmed by the sensation of your release. Then, with a deep, guttural groan that emanated from the depths of his chest, he reached his own climax. You felt the warmth of his release as he filled you, hot strands of cum filling your womb as his body tensed beneath you before gradually relaxing into a state of blissful satisfaction.

It pooled inside you, filling you to the brim and leaking out over his balls. The tension your rigid muscles held began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of relaxation. Your muscles were taut with exertion, but as the wave washed away they softened, allowing you to gently wilt onto his chest. You found yourself melting into his embrace, your breathing deep and synchronized with his own.

The aftermath of your passionate encounter was evident; a sheen of sweat glistened on your skin, mingled with traces of blood - testament to the fervor of your lovemaking and violent brawling. Your mind was consumed by the euphoria coursing through your body, an addicting cocktail of endorphins and oxytocin flooding your system as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

Several minutes passed in silence, with only the sound of your breathing filling the room. The quiet was broken as the injuries on your body began to make themselves known, a burning sensation spreading across your skin and a throbbing pain pulsing through your muscles. The discomfort forced you to shift away from Steve, your movements stiff and careful. "Ah...damn..." you muttered, your hand instinctively moving to your neck where you felt the sting of a fresh gash.

Steve, noticing your discomfort, sat up alongside you. His eyes first focused on your neck, interest evident in his gaze, before they rose to meet yours. His voice was low and sincere as he spoke, "You're... you're something else, you know that? The best damn lay I've ever had, sure, but more than that. I can tell, I knew you were different baby. Christ, look at me... you've turned me into such a mess. It's like you reached inside and pulled something out of me. All this passion, this energy... I didn't even know it was there. Other women I just...you know, go through the motions."

He paused, his words carrying a weight that hung in the air between you. "You gave yourself to me, and I don't just mean physically. It was more than sex. You gave me your flesh, your blood and body. That... that means something to me. It means we are one together now, you surrendered to me..."

You exhaled deeply and fixed your gaze on him, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief evident in your expression. "You're a goddamn cannibal," you declared, your words tinged with a hint of resignation. Your eyes rolled dramatically when you spoke, which only served to elicit a sudden burst of laughter from Steve, who found your reaction thoroughly amusing.

"Oh, don't be so quick to judge, silly girl," Steve retorted, his voice a blend of amusement and something darker. A dark smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it held an edge of possessiveness. "You're just as guilty as I am in this little dance of ours. Don't pretend you're not." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, his tone growing more intense. "Can't you see the beautiful symmetry of it all? You're inside me, and I'm inside you. We've become intertwined, inseparable. We are ONE, don't you get it?" His eyes gleamed with a fervent light as he spoke.

"We've consumed each other in the most intimate way possible, tasted each other's essence. And now, my dear," Steve concluded, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper, "You belong to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the split lip had other ideas, sending a sharp, stinging sensation through your face that made you wince and grunt in pain. The sudden discomfort caught you off guard, causing you to inhale sharply and blink rapidly. Steve's attentive gaze immediately went to your lip, his eyes narrowing as a mischievous glint appeared. He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to lighten the mood despite your discomfort. "I can fix you up, babe," he offered, his voice a mix of genuine care and playful banter. "I do have experience in the surgical field, after all..." He trailed off, his words laced with a hint of pride and dark humor.

You exhaled annoyingly, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto your face, careful not to aggravate your injured lip further. Goddamnit, his man was equally irritating as he was amusing, a combination that you found both infuriating and endearing. "If it weren't for your charming face," you quipped, your voice a blend of sarcasm and affection, "I'd punch you." The words came out softer than you intended, betraying the fondness you felt despite your attempts to maintain a tough exterior.

Steve helped you stand, your movements were a little shaky from riding him. The glass that was scattered across the floor dug into your feet, glinting dangerously in the light and most of the pieces holding a red hue from both your bodies. "We need to sweep this up..." you muttered, more to yourself than to Steve. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the mess you both made. It had looked like a pair of wild animals fought, or that there was a murder with the amount of blood all over the place.

You paused for a moment, your gaze drawn back to the man standing beside you. As you looked at him, really looked at him, you felt a surge of emotions. This was the man with whom you had formed a strong bond, a connection that had developed seemingly against your will, yet felt undeniably right. The realization hit you again, as it often did in quiet moments like these. You both had a lifestyle that paired with one another just as well as that fancy ass wine and flesh he served you earlier that night.

"Just clean me up, baby." You snapped softly, letting Steve walk you into the bathroom. "Then I want to sleep. The only thing not destroyed in the damn bedroom was the bed."

Steve grinned at your words, his fondness for you evident in the effort he was putting into you. He gently set you down when you reached the bathroom, the soft rug plush against your ass, and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. "I promise you can sleep after this, sweetheart, but first..." he said, his voice a mix of excitement and mischief. He turned away and pulled out a ready kit from seemingly nowhere, as if he had prepared for this exact scenario. The sight of it made you raise an eyebrow in amused surprise. It was clear that Steve had anticipated, or perhaps hoped, for his evening to unfold in this delightful direction. You couldn't help but shake your head and smile at his forethought.

"You cheeky, prepared man," you murmured, a mixture of admiration and affection coloring your tone.

"Now..." Steve held up some wound cleaner and a thick cotton ball soaked in the foul smelling chemical. "Hold still..."

Thank you for reading. - B 🥩

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images from Pinterest

#steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x you #steve kemp x female reader #steve kemp smut #steve kemp x reader smut #steve kemp x you smut #fresh 2022 #blywrites🥩

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 year ago

Text

Wicked Game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.

Eris x CassianSister!Reader

Summary - Eris did everything, everything he could to protect you. He'd never thought that he'd ever have a mate, that he wasn't worthy enough, until he met you, Cassian's sister and everything fell into place.

Warnings - death, blood, mentions of torture, heartbreak, kidnapping, shattered bonds, angst.

I'm so sorry.

Eris would find any reason he could to not leave you. No reason was good enough to pull him from your arms, to disrupt the bubble of serenity he had made with you.

He had been dumbfounded, the shock evident on his face, when he had met you, spied you across the ballroom wedged between Cassian and Azriel, both of whom growled at any lingering eye. It was obvious that you felt uncomfortable as you trailed behind the inner circle, with your shoulders slightly hunched and eyes glued to the floor. You were too beautiful to feel so out of place, forest green fabric clung to your figure with shimmering gold embellishments hanging from your shoulders, and a high slit up your right thigh, exposing golden skin and tight muscle.

It had snapped for him then, the moment your scent soared through the room, fresh rain and rosemary with a hint of oak that he inhaled, gulped in and held onto, allowing it to drown his lungs.

That night was the first night he had spoken to you, the bond hadn't snapped for you yet, and he was rather content in listening to you, learning about you without the pressure of the mating bond in your words. He watched your full lips move as you told him who you were, Y/N, a sister of the inner circle, Cassian's little sister, Rhys' and Azriel's by proxy.

No wonder they were snarling at any male who tried to get close to you.

Eris couldn't keep his eyes off of you, ones that reminded you of aged whisky, swirling pools of amber and speckled gold. You told him about your love of helping others, evident in the school you had opened for orphaned Illyrian children where you taught them how to bake and paint, to sing and dance, you helped them heal from the trauma inflicted upon them in the Illyrian camps.

After that night, Eris had found any reason he could to venture to the Night Court, citing political cooperation as the reason for his visits which wasn't exactly a lie. Mor wasn't happy about it at first, but Rhys had told her they were working on a way to usurp Beron, to change the course of the Autumn Court for the better, that Eris wasn't as bad as he seemed.

Eris had visited you at your school that Rhys funded without question, your wings were cruelly taken from you as a child, no one could stop it, and the crescent moon scars peaked out from the back of any dress you wore. You had assured him it was fine, that they rarely ever caused you pain whilst you rubbed small circles into the skin of the small child wrapped up in your arms, soothing his anguish away with your touch.

He had noticed your gift on his first visit to the school, how the small girls whimpering in pain found immediate peace after your touch, you were able to take the pain away, able to bring peace upon the most tormented of souls. It made him adore you even more, as if those spheres of brown and sage green didn't have him in a chokehold already.

"You're her mate?" Cassian's hazel eyes ignited with rage, his fingers dug into the arms of his seat, threatening to rip the leather apart if he'd apply just a whisp more pressure.

Eris had told Rhys on his fifth visit, he had told the High Lord that the bond had snapped for him at the Autumn Ball six months ago, how he hadn't told you and was happy to wait until it snapped for you too. Then the cavalry had been called in, and he found himself sat in front of the entirety of the inner circle, all of them present but you.

"Yes," Eris couldn't show his nerves, telling your family of the bond was something he foresaw you doing together, as a couple, but you were still none the wiser to his affections. "She doesn't know, and I have no intention of telling her. I would have already."

Azriel thought about it, how much happier you were when Eris was around, which had become often for the heir. The wide smile that showed your gleaming teeth, the twinkle in your eye as you answered his genuine questions, the more often than not moments where you dazed into the sky with that lovestruck vacancy whilst holding one of his letters in your fingers.

No one was particularly thrilled about it, not after what had happened to Mor, but amongst all of the bickering Azriel was the voice of truth, "She loves you, Eris," it pained him to say it, to say that he saw it even if the bond hadn't snapped for you yet. Azriel turned to Nesta, the closest thing you had to a sister, "You know it."

Nesta nodded sadly, you were everything to her, her best friend, a sister by extension, you understood her pain and torment, you had helped her to heal, to put herself back together piece by piece, "Yes," she looked to Cassian, "She does. She told me."

Hope jolted in Eris' chest, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute, the need to reach you almost overwhelming him. Eris didn't see the eldest Archeron sister stand to soothe her mate, he didn't hear her tell him that this was what you wanted, what made you happy, that it was what you longed for.

Cassian looked to the Autumn heir, a softer expression falling over his features, "Y/N deserves the best, she deserves everything good and pure. Can you give that to her? Can you give my sister the life she deserves?"

"I can," Eris showed no doubt, and suffered under the gaze of the inner circle, he'd suffer for however long he needed to if it meant you, gloriously perfect you, were waiting on the other side.

"Not right now you can't," Mor stood at the back of the room, arms folded against her chest as she looked down on Eris with a mixture of disgust and fear, "Not when Beron is still ruling over Autumn, she wouldn't be safe with you, not when Beron suddenly decides he wants to hurt us."

"I can protect her-"

"You couldn't protect me."

Eris had always carried guilt with him for how things had played out with Mor, but this was different, you were his mate, his fated companion.

"I couldn't stop what happened to you, and I'm sorry that I was the cause of so much pain for you, for all of you. I wish I could go back and say no, that I would be brave enough to spit in his face and defy him," Mor knew he was telling the truth, that deep down he did regret everything that had happened, and her gaze softened, "Y/N is my mate, I have spent months getting to know her. Y/N is bold and beautiful, the most caring soul I've ever encountered, parts of all of you live within her. The best parts of you. She has Cassian's humour and Mor's wit, she loves painting and reading and nature, she welcomes the shadows like old friends, and she's consumed by her love for you all. She loves you all so much."

"He's right. I do," gravity fell from beneath Eris as he turned to see you standing in the doorway, no one had noticed you creep in, no one had heard the door open and shut, no one had heard the padding of your feet sound across the floor.

The sun surrounded you, almost illuminating your figure as you leaned against the doorframe, your long pale green dress brushing against the stone floor and eyes flittering across the room before finding Eris. Your mate.

"You stupid male," you told him with a smirk, a curled strand of hair fell over your shoulder, your arms rested at your sides and your eyes held a playfulness to them.

It clicked, that golden thread tying you to him that was once quiet, searching for the other side, now hummed, no, it sang. "You knew?"

"Since your first visit to the school when you scooped Pippa up into your arms and sang that Autumn lullaby to her, she's never let anyone hold her like that. I knew you were meant to be mine from that moment," you tugged on the bond and his hand shot to his chest at the sensation.

"Yours," the word fell from his lips and the room pulsated with that uniquely vibrant power that radiated from the fulfilled mating bond, it was stifling, nothing anyone could move against.

Eris had moved to you then, you pushed yourself from the doorframe as he approached, allowing him to take your face in his hands and run them through your hair whilst you became lost in his whisky amber eyes. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and his breath fanning across your face, "We can wait, I don't want you to feel pressured into accepting this."

"Just kiss me, Eris," your voice was barely a hush above a whisper, you peered up at him with pleading eyes, telling him that you were ready, that you wanted this. Him.

The gap between you closed and his lips met yours in an embrace that could only be described as reality shifting. It was like your soul had ignited, like it was now entwined with a twin flame and they danced together in perfect sync. Eris' lips were soft, and his kiss was so tender and gentle as his tongue swept against your bottom lip, it savoured every piece of you that you offered to him, and he drank you in without doubt, with no care at who was watching.

You were his forever, and he was your eternity.

Eris couldn't breathe as he hurtled through the halls of the Forest House.

You were meant to be in Velaris, you had told him you'd be there waiting for him.

It wasn't safe to leave you in Autumn without him, it had been decided that you'd reside with your family whilst he was away dealing with treaty issues with Spring and Day by order of Beron, which had become easier now that Tamlin and Helion knew of your mating bond.

Eris had entered the House of Wind with only one thing on his mind, you.

The bond between you was muted, he hadn't felt you for a couple of weeks, which was normal. You had decided to mute the bond, turn it off, whilst he was away, he didn't need to be scared and pulled away from another meeting when pain passed down the bond toward him. The pain you took from others seemed to travel to him and he had always thought something had happened to you. So, it was easier to turn it off, to send the odd tidal wave of adoration down it every now and again so he'd know you were waiting for him.

His world tumbled when he entered the house to bewildered expressions once he asked where his mate was, only to be told that you had returned to Autumn two weeks ago, that you had received a letter from him and disappeared with a love sick grin of barely contained excitement on your face.

"I never sent that letter," he told Cassian whose eyes widened with horror and fear, he screamed for Rhys and Azriel, for Mor and Nesta, telling them what had happened and that Eris hadn't felt her in two weeks.

Eris disregarded Rhys' words, to find her together, as a family, he couldn't wait. Eris winnowed right into the main foyer of the Forest House, sniffing like a bloodhound for a speckle of your scent.

It lingered in the air, rosemary and oak, the freshness of last nights rainfall mixed in with something else he couldn't quite decipher, and he sped toward it. Eris ignored all of the guards and servants who looked at him with pity and sadness, he ignored the solemn tinge to the atmosphere, he just needed you. His mate. The love of his life. His everything.

"I love you," the words fell from your lips, you couldn't stop them. The fire roared beside you from the place on the floor, your body entangled with your mates as he traced faint circles around the crescent moon scars on your back and peppered kisses into your hair. "I love you more than the wildflowers crave the autumn breeze. I love you more than the ocean loves her creatures."

Eris rolled you over as tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, he caressed your cheek and ran his thumb over your wobbling bottom lip, "I love you more than you could ever love me, my sweet, perfect mate," he pressed a kiss to your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, "I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you, I never thought I deserved a mate, or anyone for that matter. Then you came, you came and made my life make sense, you gave it a purpose."

You listened intently, you felt his touch rolling down you arms and across your stomach, already so familiar with every scar and perfect imperfection of your body as you told him, "If I ever one day leave this world, I will look ahead to the next adventure and hold its hand, and I will look back with my other entwined in yours. Wherever my soul may wander, I know it will always find you. Our love isn't made to last just one lifetime, it's made to extend across universes and worlds. Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you."

Eris followed your scent, that melody of beauty, all the way down the deepest parts of the Forest House, his stomach twisting in agony as he realised where you were beckoning him.

Turning a corner, all the air in his lungs was ripped from him, he called your name, pleading you to sit up from the stone table where you lay. The room was covered in blood and discarded weapons, iron clung to it. To you.

Eris took a step forward, the only light in the room was on you, the light had always found you. It came from a skylight that displayed the stars above, it illuminated you in their glow, and your head was tilted to it, as if you were idly staring at the sky and dreaming like you usually did.

A sob caught in his throat, "No," his face twisted and he reached for you, taking your cold hand in his own as he forced himself to look at you.

Your eyes were open and staring at the world beyond the skylight, your lips were bloody and chapped, there was no light in you, no golden hue to your skin, no joy in your eyes. There was nothing. Eris wasn't breathing as he looked at your body, as he looked at the fourteen long tally marks that had been carved into your stomach and the purple bruises coating you hips and legs, as he found your still tear stained cheeks and the emerald ring he had proposed to you with still on your finger with a depleted shine.

Eris cried, he roared as he felt that fire consume his body, "I love you. Please, I'll do anything. Please," he begged as he pressed his forehead to yours, stroking your matted hair with his hand, tucking it behind your pointed ears of which the tips of had drooped slightly.

He pressed his lips to yours, that burning fire that caused your own to dance now waltzed alone.

Then he felt it, he felt the bond completely shatter, he felt that tendril of golden thread pang back to him like broken elastic. A once burning love that consumed everything he was, now a broken tether dancing in a storm cloud with nothing to attach to, with no light on the other side.

Eris was broken.

He didn't feel the bodies enter the room behind him, he didn't hear their sobs, he didn't hear Cassian's cries as he collapsed into Nesta. Eris looked at you, he looked at the side of your face and remembered you lying next to him, hands raised to the ceiling as they played with his own, he remembered how your chest vibrated when you laughed, he remembered the love you gave him in your eyes and all of the promises of ruling together and creating your own herd of beautiful red haired children. Promises of changing the world.

With a strangled voice, Eris whispered to you, tears streaming down his face and pattering against the stone where your lifeless body lay, "Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you. It was always you, my sweet, perfect mate."

Authors Note

Ngl, I actually cried writing this. I think I got a bit carried away.

I apologise to myself and to you all profusely.

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breelandwalker · 2 years ago

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Simple Spell - Full Moon Wish Jar

Intent: To harness the power of the lunar cycle for the manifestation and fulfillment of wishes.

Materials:

Small Jar with tight-fitting lid

Chime candle & fire source

Oil for sealing

Herbs and Items representing your wish

Ideal Timing: Waxing or Full Moon

Find a clear space to work. Make sure it’s free of fire hazards. If possible, try to work near a window through which you can see the moon. (If you don’t have one, that’s all right too, since you’ll be setting the jar out for the moonlight when finished.) Light your candle, focus your intentions, and get to work.

Select herbs and trinkets which fit inside the jar to represent your wish. For example, if your wish is for money or prosperity, you might include coins or small craft gems. If your wish is for health, you might include vitamin pills or a charm representing medicine. Check your books for herbs or crystals that correspond to your wish as well. This is your wish - make the spell your own. The contents of the jar can be whatever you want.

Use the materials that resonate best with you, but remember that your focused intention is the most important component of all. If desired, you can write your wish on a dried leaf or a piece of paper to give the spell a clear direction to work in.

Some common plants associated with wish-making include:

Bamboo

Bay Leaf

Blue Violet

Dandelion Seeds

Dogwood Petals

Nutmeg

Peppermint

Sage Leaf (any color)

Sunflower Petals or Seeds

Once your jar is complete, drip three drops of wax from the candle into the jar and circle the mouth of the jar three times with the oil to seal the charm. Then cap the jar and seal it with wax. Leave your thumbprint in wax on top of the lid. Place the jar somewhere that it will be touched by the light of the full moon and leave it overnight.

The jar should work for about a month, or slightly longer if you’re working with a supermoon. When the next full moon rolls around, you can recharge the jar by leaving it out overnight again, or make a new jar with a new wish.

Recipe suggestions under the cut. (And if you like this spell, you'll love my books!)

Happy Witching! 🌕💜

Health, Wealth, & Happiness

Lavender

Rosemary

Rice

Bay Leaf

Juniper Berries

Apple Wood Chip or Apple Seeds

Seal with Breath

Protection

Rosemary

Basil

Sea Salt or Table Salt

Holly Leaf

Juniper Berries

Seal with Sage or Dragon's Blood Oil

Healing

Basil

Echinacea

Horehound

Lavender

Hyssop

Seal with Basil Oil

Luck & Success

Clover Blossom

Galangal Root

Rosemary

Sassafras

Allspice Berries

Seal with Amber Oil

Money-Draw

Rice

Allspice

Orange Peel

Juniper Berries

Rosemary

Seal with Orange Oil

Love

Rose Petals

Apple Wood Chip

Lavender

Basil

Cherry Blossoms or Cherry Stones

Seal with Rose Oil

Jinx Remover

Sea Salt or Table Salt

Coffee Grounds

Rosemary

Sage (any type)

Black Peppercorns

Seal with Vinegar

#witchcraft #witchblr #witch community #witch tips #spells #lunar magic #moon magic #jar spells

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astra-ravana · 5 months ago

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Cat Magick 🐈‍⬛

What is cat magick? Well it's no secret that cats have been beloved by witches for centuries, perhaps longer and it isn't hard to see why. They were worshipped in ancient Egypt, helped fight the plague by killing infected rats, and were even tortured and killed along side us in the witch trials. These powerful, intelligent, little creatures understand magick better than perhaps any other. After all, legend says that cats are really just witches in disguise. As such, they possess their own potent class of magick.

Cat Correspondences

Herbs: Catnip, cat grass, silver vine, thyme, basil, valerian, fern leaf yarrow, cat thyme, rosemary, sage, witch hazel, echinacea, licorice root, cat's claw, dandelion root, calendula, goldenseal, dill (all these herbs are cat safe)

Crystals: Mookaite, amethyst, cat's eye, turquoise, hematite, lepidolite, pink Botswana agate, lapis lazuli, fluorite, tiger's eye, emerald, rutilated quartz, black tourmaline, jade

Planets: The Moon, Saturn, Pluto

Element: Earth/spirit

Deities: Bast, Freyja, Diana, Hekate, Odin, Lilith, Artemis, Sekhmet, Parvati, Juno, Ra, Erishkegal

Abilities

• A cat can purr at a frequency between 25 and 50 hz, which has been show to relieve stress and pain, increase oxytocin production, heal wounds and injuries, and even repair broken bones.

• They can enter a meditative state whenever they like which makes them incredibly perceptive.

• Cats see/sense spirits, the Fae, auras, and all manner of energies.

• Natural generators that can lend their energy to spell work and divination as well as charge crystals/magickal tools just by touch.

• Cats can expand your auric field and increase your magickal output.

• They act as guardians against negative energy and malevolent forces.

• The only beings that can enter or leave a magick circle without breaking the energy field.

• Cats act as guardians of doorways and thresholds and are keepers of many spiritual secrets.

• They have a strong connection to the Moon and the powers of the night.

• Your cat can act as your anchor/tether while hedge-riding/astral projecting.

Cat Colors

Brown: Grounding, love, companionship, peace

Orange: Cheer, leadership, happiness, fun, Sun energy

White: Purity, bliss, peace, good luck, psychic boost

Grey: Hope, support, comfort, healing

Calico: Good fortune, relationships, prosperity, abundance, psychic ability, strengthens family

Two Tone: Friendships, harmony, warding, wisdom

Striped: Good luck, happiness

Siamese: Success, good health, longevity

Note: If using cat hair in a working, consider the color of the animal it came from and apply those properties.

Black Cats

• They represent witches and witchcraft, magick, the Moon, protection, prosperity, the in-between/thresholds, dark goddess energy, the night, mystery, independence, resilience, and cleverness.

• If a black cat crosses your path they're removing danger and blessing your way.

• If you see a black cat on your way to gamble, luck is on your side.

• To catch a thief, write their name on a fish skin and feed it to a black cat.

• If you see a large, black cat for seven days money is on its way to you.

• To get away with something, wrap your name paper around black cat hair and burn it with yellow rose petals on a Friday.

Black Cat Oil

This oil is great for protection, good luck, seduction, breaking curses/hexes, working with the dead, divination and more.

Recipe:

• Sage

• Bay leaves

• Myrrh

• Mugwort

• Dragon's blood

• Steel wool

• Lodestone dust

• Hair (or whisker) from a black cat

• Carrier oil

The Power Of Cat Whiskers

Naturally shed cat whiskers are one of the most potent spell compents you can get. These tiny treasures contain a ton of magickal energy and can be used in the following ways:

• Carrying a cat whisker brings great luck and helps you easily overcome obstacles.

• To see your desires manifest, whisper your wish to a cat whisker and burn it over a yellow, gold, or orange candle.

• Hold a cat whisker in your hand while hedge-riding for a safe journey.

• Boosts the power and potency of any spell.

• Burn with jasmine and mugwort to bring prophetic dreams.

Whisker Appearance:

• The whisker length is said to reflect how long the spell will last.

• A very long whisker will aid in a long term goal and a short whisker; a short term goal.

• White whiskers aid in purification, healing, purity, empowerment, and luck.

• Black whiskers protect from bad energy and can be used for binding magick, spiritual power, and baneful workings.

• A grey/blue whisker represents neutrality, deities, shielding, patience, and resolve.

• Orange/copper whiskers bring success, strength, joy, truth, and encouragement.

• Banded whiskers assist with stability, physicality, love, comfort and peace.

Miscellaneous Cat Magick

There's a lot more magick to cats than I could ever cover here but here are some more examples of cat magick:

• Use cat hair in shape-shifting rituals.

• Burn a cat shaped candle and carve runes/sigils/prayers into it to protect and empower your cat.

• Feeding your cat the last of your meal keeps them from running away/getting lost.

• Bringing your cat/cats to a new home first brings good luck.

• Naturally shed cat claws can be used in spells for getting out of a tight situation. In baneful magick they help your curse "grab on" to the target and brings them sudden agony.

• Stroking a cat's tail nine times brings good luck in love.

• Hang a protective charm such as a bell, pentagram, or cowrie shell from your cat's collar.

• If a cat licks itself against the grain, a storm is coming.

• If the same cat comes to your window, three nights in a row, a witch has cast a spell on you.

• To learn the answer to a question, ask your cat while they sit on one side of a doorway. If the cat walks through the door with their left paw, the answer is no, with their right paw, the answer is yes.

• Incorporate catnip into your workings to draw your cat and borrow their power.

• You can divinate based on cat sightings/behavior, this is called ailuromancy.

• August 17th is 'Cat Night', a sentiment that has its roots in Celtic legend. A witch could turn into a cat eight times, but upon the ninth transformation, they would stay a cat forever. This is the reason we say cats have nine lives. Honor/celebrate your cats on this day and leave food for strays at night.

• A protective blessing for cats: "Bast of beauty and of grace, protector of the feline race, shield [cat's name] from hurt and harm, and keep them always safe and warm, watch over them from day to day, and guide them home if they should stray, grant them love and happiness, and a life free of strife or stress".

#magick #witch #lefthandpath #dark #witchcraft #eclectic witch #eclectic pagan #eclectic #pagan witch #pagan community #witch community #witchblr #spellwork #spells #divination #cat #cats #black cat #witch cat

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magickkate · 7 months ago

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Purpose: Create a protective shield around yourself or your space to ward off negative energies and harmful influences.

Materials:

Black candle (for protection)

Salt (for purification and protection)

Protective herbs (such as rosemary, sage, or basil)

A small bowl of water

Protective crystal (such as black tourmaline, obsidian, or amethyst)

Incense (such as frankincense or sandalwood)

White cloth or altar cloth

Athame or wand (optional)

Instructions:

Preparation:

Cleanse Yourself: Take a cleansing bath or shower, using salt and/or protective herbs. Visualize any negative energy being washed away.

Set Up Your Space: Choose a quiet, undisturbed area for your ritual. Lay out the white cloth or altar cloth on a flat surface.

Create a Sacred Space:

Arrange Your Altar: Place the black candle in the center of the cloth. Arrange the bowl of water, salt, protective herbs, and crystals around the candle.

Light the Incense: Light the incense and let the smoke purify the space.

Cast a Circle:

Use Your Athame or Wand: If you have an athame or wand, use it to trace a circle around your working area. If you don’t have one, you can use your finger.

Visualize: As you draw the circle, visualize a protective barrier of white light forming around you and your space.

Light the Candle:

Invoke Protection: Light the black candle and focus on the flame. Visualize it growing and creating a protective barrier around you.

Salt and Water Blessing:

Bless the Water: Hold the bowl of water and say an incantation and blessing directed for protection.

Bless the Salt: Hold the salt and say a blessing for this specific protection intention.

Mix: Add a pinch of salt to the bowl of water. Stir it clockwise and visualize it becoming charged with protective energy.

Herb and Crystal Empowerment:

Empower the Herbs: Hold the protective herbs in your hands and visualize being protected while focusing on the intent of this work. If you have an internal conversation going on, continue an incantation through thoughts or aloud.

Empower the Crystal: Hold the protective crystal in your hands and focus your intent through the crystal allowing it to hold your energy.

Anoint Yourself and Your Space:

Anoint Yourself: Dip your finger in the salt water and touch it to your forehead, heart, and wrists.

Anoint Your Space: Sprinkle the salt water around your space, especially at doorways and windows.

Close the Circle:

Thank the Spirits: Thank any deities, spirits, or energies you called upon for their protection.

Close the Circle: Use your athame, wand, or finger to trace the circle in reverse. Visualize the protective energy being absorbed back into you.

Ground and Center:

Ground Yourself: Sit quietly for a few moments and visualize any excess energy flowing into the Earth. You can also eat something small to help ground yourself.

Dispose of the Remnants:

Dispose of the Herbs and Water: If you use herbs and salt water, dispose of them outside in a respectful manner, returning them to the Earth.

Additional Tips:

Repeat Regularly: Repeat this protection spell regularly, such as monthly or whenever you feel the need for extra protection.

Customize: Feel free to customize the spell with additional elements that resonate with you, such as using specific deities, chants, or personal symbols of protection.

#queue the magick #witchcraft #witch #magickkate #witchblr #kitchen witch #witchy #reference #spells #rituals #protection magic #protection spell #protection ritual #everyday magic #warding #ritual work

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yourlittlebunnyy · 6 months ago

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a court of shadows and darkness

main masterlist - azriel masterlist - previous

chapter six

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: none

enjoy! 🖤

When the Fae's bare feet touch the ground, when her bare arms come in contact with the frigid winter air, Selaene is not worried.

But when she allows herself to open her eyes again, eager to see that world she has waited so long for, a scream of pain tears through her lungs. She has never experienced anything like it: such pain in her eyes that she thinks they are on fire.

Her fingers apply pressure, desperate to relieve such intense burning, and the passerby who helped her lays his hands on her face in a vain attempt to get her own fingers out of her own eyes. Tears flowed freely down her reddened cheeks from the stinging air.

She has been so stupid, so greedy in wanting to savor light and freedom and colors again, that she has forgotten that her eyes are not used to it. Now she will be lucky if she is not blind.

"Take it easy... take it easy." The male offers her comforting words, but he doesn't know what to do. Maybe he should call his mate and tell her that a little girl has appeared randomly after he winnowed in the border village. But the young fae is screaming and crying and he doesn't know why, and at the moment contacting his beloved on the other side of his Court is out of the question.

He is so focused on removing her hands from her eyes, which press so hard that she seems to want to gouge them out herself, that he doesn't notices she is dressed only in an old nightgown. Bloodstained and torn. The male sighs and takes off his coat, offering it to her.

He helps her up, puts the head around her shoulders and uses the hood to cover her eyes. Selaene on the other hand does nothing to go along with the movements, but she does not object either.

The stabbing pain has reduced to occasional twinges, and she realizes only later that she is now standing and her body no longer shakes from the cold, her teeth having stopped chattering.

Whoever the male is, he is kind, she thinks. He could have left her there, or worse. Instead he is helping her, even giving her his hood to cover her eyes.

Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court lets out a big sigh and defeated, takes the female's arm. Even today he will not be able to visit the village, it is as if fate did it on purpose.

One moment they are at the borders, the next they are in a noisy place, and even though she doesn't see them, she hears a lot of people circling around them offering help.

Selaene wants to yell at whoever he is, to say they had to stay there, in the exact spot he passed and get her sister, but she keeps quiet.

She lets the Fae's arm guide her to a room that smells of rosemary and sage. Only now, little by little, is her body getting used to the world again. Except for her eyes, which she keeps tightly shut in fear of opening them and seeing... nothing. She is afraid that she has gone blind.

"Tyna, can you call Vivi?" The male's voice is authoritative. She wants to explain that there is no need for them to do anything, that she would just like them to call her brother and mate.

A twinge in her heart makes her gasp. Azriel. She searches inside her, retraces that bond that has become dry and dead, and reaches the end of her companion, only to find... a wall. She can't reach out to him, to make that wonderful thing that connects them flourish again, because now... it is Azriel who is not there.The man must have noticed the change in the Fae's mood, because he turns to her.

"Who are you? How did you end up with me?"

"I was-I was stuck in the UnderWorld."Selaene does not even try to put up a fight. All this time she has never thought about the possibility that Azriel was...

"What?" He asks and does not mask surprise, but the female does not answer.

"Are you part of the Night Court?" The fae nods in assent from under her hood. "Are you injured?"

"No."

A female suddenly enters the room. "Kal. What happened?"

"She appeared totally at random when I winnoweed, says she got stuck in the UnderWorld and now--her eyes, I don't know, Viv."

There is a long pause between the two, and Selaene has to suppress the urge to peek. She focuses on how she feels, rather. Besides the smell of spices, she can sense the two Fae and suspects they are companions. "All right. I'll go get Mor, then."

Selaene has no idea who the mentioned female is, but she does not open her mouth. She hears light footsteps moving away until they disappear. The male remains in the room with her. "Okay. I leave you in the hands of Tyna, our healer. And my mate has gone to call for help in your Court. Can you tell me your name?"

Selaene hesitates. "I am Selaene."

The male emits a sound of surprise that leaves the Fae quite puzzled, seeming to hurry away without so much as a word. After a couple of minutes, light pattering can be heard in the room on the floor.

"Hi. I'm Tyna and I'll help you see. How long were you in the absence of light?" A soft, warm voice envelops her, and she feels cuddled by the female who is taking care of her.

"I ... I don't know. More than four centuries."

"And as soon as you came back, did you open your eyes?" Selaene nods. "You stupid, stupid girl. " She says and her face appears under the hood, she feels her warm breath against his.

"Come on, try to open one eye, slowly. Don't hold them tight, or you'll hurt yourself." Selaene follows her instructions, and when she finally opens one eye she meets the face of a female with chubby cheeks and ice-colored eyes.

"There you are." She says softly, "now close it and open the other, ever so slowly."

Once she ascertains that the young girl has not blinded herself, the healer invites her to keep her eyes open under the hood as she fetches her a small piece of black cloth.

"What is it?" asks Selaene passing the small square between her fingertips. Tyna takes her by the arm and helps her up, leading her to the nearest window.

"Put it in front of your eyes and look out, we will use a thinner cloth each time."

The young female positions herself in front of the window and holds the cloth in front of her eyes with one hand, while she removes the hood from her head with the other.

"Does it hurt, honey?" Selaene shakes her head and a smile spreads across her face as she catches a glimpse of snowy mountains outside the window.

They remind her of the Illyrian steppes. Her wings twitch involuntarily. How she has missed flying, how she misses home.

Tyna passes her other types of cloth, all gradually finer and less dark, until finally she declares that her eyes are apposite and she can look out without the help of anything.

"Maybe don't look straight into the sun, but there's not much here anyway." The comment warms her heart, somehow. When was the last time she looked into the face of another person?

"I would like to go back to my home."

"Don't worry, stay here. Our Lady has gone to call the Third-in-Command of the Night Court. She will take you home." The Fae nods and watches the female figure as she leaves the room.

Now that she finds herself alone and can see, she studies her surroundings. Around her are various dried herbs, and she is probably in Tyna's study. There is a mirror near the sink, and she decides to observe herself after almost five hundred years. She approaches slowly keeping her gaze down, and after a long breath and resting her hands on the pottery for support, Selaene looks straight into her eyes. She is smug with her reflection: she is exactly as she was all those years ago. She was never vain, but she knew she was a beautiful female, and Azriel did not fail to repeat this to her every day, making her blush. Her eyes are still bright purple, and her hair is still black and shiny, just as long as it was. The mirror is too small to mirror her wings in full, but it was one of the few things she had bothered to do in the UnderWorld: the exercises Cassian made her do to keep her wing and back muscles in training. The only thing that has changed is her complexion, once honey-colored, now turned a ghostly hue.

Voices in the distance distract her from her thoughts, and she hurries back to sit on the small cot as before. "Oh, there you are." The white-haired female greets her, the same as before. She must be the one who called the blond-haired Fae to her side. Could it be her Mor?

In her scent she recognizes some familiar trace, but she could not trace it back to anything or anyone in particular.

Mor watches her in surprise, a distressed expression aging her face as she seems to be having a silent conversation with the white-haired female. Selaene does not like this. Is she a Daemati too? She tries to check her mental shields, but cannot remember how. The Fae eventually leaves after a brief embrace with the blonde.

"Is your name Selaene?" A question asked in such a hopeful tone, if she is really Mor, then she is the Third in Command of the High Lord of the Night Court. Which is... her brother.

"Are you Mor?" The blonde seems annoyed by her question and the fact that she did not answer, but then she smiles.

"You look just as I imagined you." She says, and her eyes glaze over. Selaene hasn't allowed herself to cry yet, and she won't allow herself to until she knows her family is okay, but Mor is giving her more hope in these minutes than in most of her life.

"Let's go home, Selaene." She tells her after clearing her throat, her voice cracked. She holds out a hand and the young girl studies it before taking it between her own.

"Shall we go to Velaris?" Mor smiles at her, but does not answer. The young woman's heart could burst with joy at any moment. The blonde's grip tightens on her hand, and in the blink of an eye, the two find themselves at the gates of Velaris. "Welcome home, Selaena."

Only now, only after setting foot in her city, in her home, does the fae allow herself to cry. She does not cry as she expected: her tears are silent and of pure wonder. Mor squeezes her hand one more time before bringing it back along her own sides. "Come on, let's walk to the River House."

They walk silently, the blonde not wanting to disturb Selaene. Not when there is such wonder, such happiness in her gaze. She is just as she expected, a copy of her cousin. Gods, she was her cousin.

"Selaene. We haven't introduced ourselves." She tells her after they stopped at a stall and bought her a typical treat-the Fae did not ask for it, but Mor saw how her pupils dilated at such a delicacy, "I am Mor. And I am your cousin. And your brother's cousin."

At her words Selaene's heart gave a little sinking. "Is he-he is here? Is he okay?"

"He doesn't know you're here, we're going to see him." She cannot stop the tears even if she wanted to. Mor hands her food, but she is not hungry. She can't even remember the taste of the food, can't remember the last thing she ate or when.

"I want to go to him right away." Mor chuckles and makes her way through the crowd. "They're all there, honey. We were having dinner."

It takes ten minutes on foot. Ten terrible minutes in which Selaene's heart does nothing but beat, beat, beat. Louder and louder.

"Here we are."

As soon as they enter the front door, the smell of Rhysand, a female and something else fills her nostrils, and she smiles at the familiarity she had forgotten.

She hears his voice, their voices. She hears the clatter of cutlery and the laughter of a family.

Mor enters first, but the room freezes at the new, well, not new, found smell. Rhysand, her brother, oh gods, her brother gets up to see who is hiding behind his cousin.

And when their gazes meet...

next chapter

tags: @helo1281917

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mayplantstarrwaters · 2 years ago

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tysm for the tag bestiee @duluoz0427

Here’s some album i’ve been craving lately

I tag : @meimeimoimoiart @shades-of-tiefes-purpur @burn-on-the-flame @fruskyterceol @classicrockenjoyer @chrysochromulina @my-mind-candy

Tagged by @visible-disappointment to show four albums I‘ve been listening to lately.

Thank you! 🌹

Tagging: @theseedsofviolatorlove @cockychateau @adlamu @depecherose @lady-grinning and anyone who wants to participate

#parsley sage rosemary and thymn just feels like a warm hug for me lately #i been listening to it everytime im bored or studying now #it's such a wonderful album with magical sounds #america also #both are amazing and bring me so much comfort in these tiring times #also shout out to Spotify for recommending me milk time by hiro yanagida #finding that album feels like finding a really rare gem that hasn't been touched for a thousand years #but seriously it's a seriously a good obscured hard rock/fusion rock album #10/10 would recommended #bananamour is nice but it's a good album for me to cry to #+ Kevin is so me #rant #honourable mention but i listened to fun house by the stooges lately too #tag game

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thetarotwitch111 · 6 months ago

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What do I do now?

Pick an orange (pick a card)

✨help me keep doing the free pacs: tip jar🍊

✨ personal readings - [requests open]

🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

1. cute orange

You’re about to step into a major moment of abundance. everything you’ve been working on is finally coming together. But don’t rush! Yes, the good stuff is coming, but before you dive headfirst into all this success, it’s time for a little reflection. You’ve been planting seeds for a while now, and the growth is real, but you need to make sure you’re aligned with what’s next. Take a breather, get clear on your goals, and really think about what you want to manifest from here on out. This is a moment to pause and appreciate where you’ve been, so you can step forward with clarity and purpose.

Witch's advice: To help you balance both the excitement of your harvest and the need for reflection, brew a calming, yet energizing tea blend: chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm. Chamomile will help you relax and ground yourself, lavender brings mental clarity, and lemon balm adds that touch of positivity and focus you need for contemplating the next steps. Sip this while sitting in your favorite quiet spot, maybe with a journal or just in meditation. Let your thoughts settle, and the path forward will reveal itself naturally.

2. fancy orange

Fot you is all about owning your differences. You’re not here to blend in or play it safe. It’s time to fully embrace what makes you unique and celebrate it. Think of all the quirks, traits, and talents that set you apart from others cause those are your strengths. Lean into them and don’t hold back. But you’ve also got a decision to make, and it’s likely one you’ve been avoiding. You’re probably weighing options or maybe waiting for a sign, but now is the time to act. Trust that whatever path you choose is the right one because it’s aligned with your authentic self and stop second guessing cause universe has your back.

Witch's advice: You need a tea blend that boosts your creativity, intuition, and courage to make that decision. Try jasmine, ginger, and hibiscus. Jasmine helps you connect with your inner magic and spiritual side, ginger adds that fiery, confident energy to push through hesitation, and hibiscus is perfect for self-love and celebrating your unique qualities. Drink this when you’re feeling stuck or before you make your decision—it’ll help clear the mental fog and give you that extra push to move forward with confidence.

3. orange juice

it’s time for a deep cleanse (emotionally and energetically). You’re in a phase of expansion, but in order to grow, you need to make room for the new by letting go of what no longer serves you. Whether it’s old habits, negative energy, or even certain people, this is the moment to clear out the clutter. You might have been holding onto certain things out of fear, but trust that releasing them will open up new paths for growth. It’s time to look at what’s blocking your progress and gently let it go. Once you do, you’ll feel lighter, more focused, and ready to step into the new opportunities waiting for you.

Witch's advice: For this deep cleanse and expansion, you’ll need a tea blend that purifies your energy and sharpens your intuition: peppermint, rosemary, and sage. Peppermint brings clarity and refreshes your mind, rosemary enhances your intuition and mental focus, and sage clears out any stagnant or negative energy. Brew this tea as part of a ritual—light a candle, maybe even burn some sage or incense, and as you sip, visualize yourself letting go of anything that’s holding you back. Focus on clearing out the old to welcome in new growth.

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moonchildstyles · 2 years ago

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sage

rosemary part three: harry knew the past would catch up one day. he just hoped it wouldn't be today

wordcount: 11.5k+

—————

Harry forgot his books at home.

He and (Y/N) were set to go to the library today, and he forgot his books under his bed. And, he didn't even realize until he was already parked and waiting for her outside the bakery. Because of course that would happen; of course it took seeing her smiling face coming out of the building and heading towards his car to remember each edition he still had stashed under his bed. He knew he was forgetting something when he left, but he hadn't wanted to be late or wait any longer to see her.

(Y/N) waved at him through the window as she approached, her Flour Pot t-shirt big on her form with the ends of her favorite peach bow fluttering behind her. She rounded the front of his car until she reached the passenger side, Harry already having unlocked the handle to allow her to slip inside.

"Hi, Harry," she chirped, brightening the melancholic space.

"Hi," he greeted her, his disposition decidedly less sunny than hers.

His tone had her brows pinching together in the middle, a frown turning her lips. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Bringing his knuckle up to brush the tip of his nose, he sighed. "I forgot m'books at m'apartment. I didn't even realize until I saw you, 'm so sorry."

"Oh, okay. That's okay," she told him earnestly, brows still cinched, "Why are you upset?"

His own brow furrowed at her question. Why wasn't she upset?

"I feel bad. I ruined our plans."

Canting her head, (Y/N)'s features relaxed even as she kept that frown on her lips. "You didn't ruin anything," she told him, her words a croon in the cab of his car, "We can just go back to your place and grab them, I don't mind. I don't have anywhere else to be, so."

She was being too nice to him. He made these plans and now he was the reason that they would have to wait another half an hour at least before they could actually execute them. He could only shake his head, his protest to her words feeling sticky in his throat.

In a tentative move, (Y/N) reached out, brushing her fingers against his forearm. The skin was bare of tattoos but littered with scars. If not for the warmth of her touch, goosebumps would have erupted on his skin. "I promise everything is okay. Don't be so hard on yourself." He could hear the soft smile on her face in the lilt of her voice. "Do you want to grab your books from your apartment?"

"You're sure?" he croaked, looking at her through the fan of his lashes.

"Of course!" she beamed, "We can head over there super quick then get to the library."

It took an effort to ease the self-made pressure he was feeling off of his shoulders. Years ago he never would have reacted like that; a confidence used to follow him that allowed him to stay guarded and strong, even if only as a facade. (Y/N) was poking holes in that defense more than he even realized.

"Okay," he settled on, "Thank you, (Y/N)."

Once Harry pulled away from the curb and (Y/N) started happily chatting about her day at the bakery, a new thought struck him. He'd never had to bring anyone to his crash pad before. No one had ever seen the kinds of places he made into his temporary homes. Of course the first would be (Y/N).

There wasn't anything inherently bad with it, he knew that. It was within his budget (and allowed a certain lack of paperwork and under the table cash payments), and he had things there that were easy to be packed up or let go of. It was a place that worked for him, even if it wasn't perfect for anyone else. He'd never had the opportunity before to be ashamed or embarrassed of his temporary homes before, but he figured that was the feeling that was brewing in his stomach.

Maybe he could convince her to sit in his car while he popped inside.

It was moments like this, with his mind rushing, that he was more than grateful for the fact that she was of the talkative type. It was a welcome distraction. She didn't make him feel like he needed to do anything more than listen to her. It was an easy job she gave him.

Outside the windows, the town shifted by. The gingerbread neighbourhoods were replaced with buildings that looked like they could have fit in in their prime but were now left to the wayside. The old town square was vacant, crumbling sidewalks and signs about trespassing and no solicitation. It was hard to reconcile the fact that this place was even a part of the same town that had a bakery called The Flour Pot and a quaint library.

That churning in his stomach returned then. Someone like (Y/N) with her gingerbread house and ribboned hair shouldn't be out here. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as the turn to his complex came up.

With a signaled turn, Harry's apartment building came into view. Only two stories with rusted stairs and wobbling hand railing along the outside hallway. The paint was a dirty eggshell, dingy and crumbling in places. Harry's was the one with the broken number plate and burnt out lightbulb above his door.

Parking as close as he could to the stairway, Harry unbuckled his seatbelt with his eyes on his hands. "Y'can stay in here, yeah? I'll be back in a second, but I'll leave m'phone for you to play music or whatever y'want."

It wasn't until he had his hand on the latch that she spoke up: "I can't come with you?"

Turning to look at her, he raised his hand to the back of his neck, nails scratching at the skin in a nervous habit. "I shouldn't take very long, so I figured..."

"Oh, okay," (Y/N) sounded, flicking her gaze out to the apartment building in front of her, "I can stay out here."

Following her gaze, he tried to see what she might. This place wasn't very different from the other buildings he'd lived in before. Honestly, it was on the nicer side, especially with the lack of nosy neighbors. But, to (Y/N), he might see the side of the city she had been warned about. The kind of place a woman like her would need to be extra careful in, for no other reason than the fact she was a woman. A pretty one, too. And he would be leaving her alone.

Those instincts he tried to bury flared to life. "Nevermind," he gruffly said, "Y'can come with me."

She looked to him with wide eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, c'mon," he said just as he pulled the latch on his door.

He waited at the bonnet of his car for her to follow him. No one was out, anyway, but he wasn't going to chance anything now that those worst case scenarios were beginning to reenter his mind. (He hadn't completely abandoned that Dracula theory, it would appear, as his neighbours suddenly had piercing fangs embedded in their gums, awaiting a moment he would look away so they could snatch her up).

They were quiet as they scaled the rusted steps, some of the planks groaning under their feet. Harry only spoke when he warned her to watch her step, his hand instinctively reaching to settle on the small of her back until he stopped himself short. He kept her a step in front of him, his shoulders squared and features hardened as if he could scare off a threat before it even arrived.

Harry stopped her in front of his door, a small touch to her arm getting her to halt her steps by the unnumbered door. He took in a deep breath as he pulled out the key, feeling her eyes on him as he fiddled with the sticky lock.

"'S not anything special," he preambled, feeling restless, "But, I promise I'll grab everything fast, and we can go."

(Y/N) didn't have a chance to respond before Harry had peeled the door open, stepping aside to allow her in first. With her back to him, he couldn't help but the wince that tightened his muscles as she stepped over the stained carpet and creaking floorboards underneath. He rushed in behind her, wanting to get this experience over as fast as he could.

It took a hard shove against the wood for the door to replace itself against the jamb, the lock sliding in with a twist of the deadbolt. Flicking on the lights, the rest of his studio apartment was revealed as (Y/N) lingered close behind him.

"Sorry," he murmured as he maneuvered around her, "They're jus' under m'bed."

"You don't have to apologize, Harry. You're not doing anything wrong." She spoke to him as he dropped to his knees to dig underneath his bed, this week's editions sitting father back than he remembered putting them.

He didn't bother to answer as he pulled one of the books out. Now he only needed the other two.

Behind him, he could hear the floorboards under the carpet creaking as she walked through the space. While there wasn't much for her to see in the first place, the sound made him quicken his search.

Just as his fingers brushed the third and final book he was scrambling for, (Y/N) piped up: "Is this your mom and sister?"

His fingers tensed over the cover of the book, the plastic crackling. He almost forgot about that photo; it was hard for him to look at half the time, anyway. Looking over his shoulder, he found her standing in front of the tiny shelf he had been able to pick up for free at a garage sale when he first moved in. On top was nothing more than his favorite book and a photo of his mother and sister he was able to swipe in the rush to leave all those years ago. It was at his sister's university graduation, the two women with matching smiles and their arms thrown around each other. Harry hadn't been able to make it that day, but he was still so proud of Gemma. She'd come a long way.

He swallowed around his dry throat. "Yeah."

She looked at him with an adoring smile. "They're beautiful," she told him, sincerity painting her tone, "You look just like your mom."

Gathering all of his books, he stood to his full height. His chest felt heavy when he glanced at the photo. "Yeah. Everyone always said me and my sister could have been her siblings."

"All gorgeous, that's for sure," she beamed, looking back at the photo while Harry's eyes stuck to her profile.

It wasn't as if he thought her to be the kind of person to spit on him for where he lived, to run away vomiting once she was welcomed into the pocket of his world, but he can't say he expected this kind of gentle reaction. She didn't stand stiffly in the corner, careful not to touch a single thing or keep her eyes to herself. She moved comfortably, taking in the few parts of him that were on display.

This wasn't like her gingerbread house with a picket fence and a welcome mat, but that difference had no effect on her. It was as if she didn't even know that she was too good for him.

"Thank you," he murmured, allowing a daring glance to he photo of his family.

He wondered what they looked like now. Back then, Gemma was fond of coloring her hair in all different kinds of shades. His mother preferred to keep her hair long, even if every few months she debated cutting her tresses short. He wondered if she'd ever gone through with it in the years since he saw them. He hoped they still smiled like that.

"Got your books?" (Y/N) asked, pulling Harry from that corner of his brain he rarely dared to touch.

"Um, yeah," he said, blinking the film from his eyes, "Sorry. We can go."

(Y/N) followed after him as he stepped back towards his door. "What did you think of this week's batch?"

His heart lightened at the change of subject. There was that grace she gave him—the kind he wasn't even sure she knew she was giving to him. She had no reason to be so good to him.

As he escorted her back down to his car, he gave her mumbled explanations of his latest reads. (Y/N) looked at him with those wide eyes, listening to him just as intently as someone as kind as her would do without thinking.

In that same dark corner of his mind, Harry wondered if she would still act the same if she knew what he'd done.

—————

"Harryyy."

Looking up at the sound of his name, Harry found the owner of that lilting voice coming to him with an artfully plated croissant. This one was tall with its layers arching up high, and a glossy, golden brown shell gleaming in the sunlight. Tiny purple flowers and micro greens were placed around the negative space surrounding the pastry. (Y/N) walked carefully with the plate cradled on her forearms, a bright smile on her face.

She wanted something, that much he knew from the way she sang his name.

The bakery was rather quiet now that the Sunday brunch rush had ended, only a short line two deep was heading to the register with the case properly stocked for the time being. The vacancy allowed Harry to huddle up in the back table that was now beginning to be branded as his with the way he stuck to the spot every chance he could when visiting (Y/N).

"Yes?" he answered her call, bookmarking his page and setting his book off to the side.

She stopped by his table, her croissant plate close to her chest as she looked at him with a pleading grin. "Could you possibly do me a favor?"

Her hair was a mess, pulled back as best she could manage with a crooked bow, flour and sugar almost coating her top with the fragrance of jammed fruits sticking to her. She had a busy morning, he knew that.

"Maybe," he said as if he had any other choice but to help her.

Letting out a sigh, he carefully set the plate on his table, pushing it towards him slowly to ensure not a single petal fell out of place. She pulled out her phone then, her eyes pleading when she flicked them up to match his, "Would you mind possibly modeling for a picture I was wanting to post on the bakery Instagram?"

That had Harry recoiling some, falling silent at her request. Social media was a huge no-go for the life he was leading. Posting anything or having any kind of presence online would be the fastest way to find himself caught. Even before leaving, he refrained from creating any profiles for himself. There was too much pressure in his life already , he didn't want to worry about an electronic one too. Now, though, the lack of records was a survival tactic.

(Y/N) picked up on his hesitancy right away, waving her hands out in surrender as she tried to explain. "It would just be your hands, not your face or anything! I just want it to be like an artsy, Pinterest kind of shot," she rambled out, her brows raised in earnest, "I thought you'd be good for the picture since your hands are..." She trailed off then, her gaze dropping to where his hands were folded on the table in front of them, his fading cross tattoo on display along with the scars on his knuckles and the rough skin on his fingers. Blinking, she took her gaze from his hands and back to his face, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. "They'd just look really nice in the picture, I think."

That kind of praise settled in his chest as something warm. He hadn't thought about his hands being something "nice" ever really, especially not now with the hairline scars and the rough texture on his palms. A handful of years ago, he used to paint his nails even, but he'd stopped doing that a long time ago. It drew too much attention, took too much time he didn't have, and was something that made him feel a lot nicer than he knew he deserved. But, if she thought his hands were nice, was he really going to argue with her over the finer details?

"Not m'face or anything?" he asked, flicking his gaze up from his hands to see her still looking at him with her pleading eyes.

"No, no, not your face! Just your hands. I'm also putting together a few different slides, so I could put yours in the middle or something, if you wanted. I'm trying to make a post about 'customer plates' and all, so I just need some help."

While he didn't really understand what she was talking about given the fact he hadn't used the app since he was a teenager, all Harry knew was that she needed him. It was something small, somewhat insignificant in her life, but she chose him to ask. He hadn't been—or felt—needed in years, especially not for something so innocent.

"Please, Harry?" she tried one more time, her smile brightening with a pleading flutter of her lashes.

His relenting didn't take a second thought before he was nodding his head. "Jus' tell me how to pose."

Bounding in her spot, the flutter of her hair bow being seen from behind her, (Y/N)'s grin widened. "Thank you so much! This is the last picture I need before I can post it and never think about it again," she cheered, tapping away at her phone once more. With the right app up, she angled the camera towards the plate, "Act natural, like keep your hands relaxed but still try to hold the plate, you know?

(Y/N) went on to give him directions on how to pose his fingers, snapping photos as she went. Every minor adjustment had another shot being taken, different angles used and small directions for Harry to follow to ensure she got the right look. Feeling her eyes on him made Harry hyper aware of the way he posed and moved, her eyes trailing the length of his fingers and the stretch of his palm as he adjusted himself to whatever whim she had.

It wasn't until she was reviewing a handful of her previous photos that he flexed out his hands, trying to make himself less stiff and more natural like she was looking for. (Y/N)'s tapping and swiping stopped then, the static of her gaze felt again on his skin. It took a glimpse in her direction to see her phone being ignored in favor of the live specimen in front of her. Flexing his fingers out, he saw the way she watched intently, eyes rounding.

A short twitch had the corner of his lips curling just for a moment at her reaction. Interesting.

Like that, she seemed to break out of whatever train of thought had entered her mind. She was back to flicking through her phone, a heavy hand pushing stray baby hairs out of her face. "Okay, I think I got one," she told him, looking up from her phone with a flutter of her lashes, "Do you want to see?"

Pulling his hands back into his lap, Harry shook his head. "Whatever y'want, 's fine with me."

Harry saw as she swallowed around her words, her smile a bit different this time when it bloomed across her features. "Thank you, again," she told him, voice decidedly more chipper than her demeanor, "You can have that, by the way. Payment for modeling for me."

His eyes stayed stuck on her even when she peeked down at the croissant. He liked seeing her a little flustered; it was different than the bubbly, excitable girl she usually showed him. It was a trip thinking about the fact he could draw that kind of reaction from her.

"Thank you," he told her.

She left with that shy smile on her face, Harry's eyes stuck on the bow in her hair as she went back to her kitchen.

—————

A white nail polished hand was wrapped around Harry's, the pad of a delicate thumb running along the scars on his knuckles. Under the bundle of hands was the grassy knoll he was sat on, wildflowers dotting the green with a pair of legs folded away just out of the corner of his vision. A pastel toned ribbon fluttered into his line of sight. A soft focus filter seemed to be placed on the moment, everything airbrushed as if painted with a cloud and soft like velvet.

Just barely, he could hear a voice. She was speaking to him, Harry knew that, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. The words were too muddled, floating away with the clouds before they could reach his ears. He strained his ears as if that would help him catch what she was saying. Tugging on her hand in his, Harry tried to get closer to her.

He just wanted to know what she was saying.

The second he did just that, more of her body coming into view with her voice muddling through whatever film he was hearing through, everything stopped.

Swimming to the surface of his consciousness, Harry found the grassy knoll under him was now replaced with the thin sheets of his bed. His hand was wrapped in the fabric of his comforter, his fingers tight around the folds as if it were the hand he had been dreaming of.

Harry didn't bother to open his eyes, allowing himself to stay steeped in that inbetween land where he felt the remnants of his dream. He knew that if he unwrapped his hand from the bedding, his fingers would ache from how tightly he was clutching the fabric. It had been (Y/N)'s hand he was dreaming of, he knew that.

And, god, he missed her.

She was all he could think about. How badly he had wanted to be closer to her in his dream, how badly he wished it was her hand he was holding and not his threadbare comforter, how badly he wanted to open his eyes and still see her there in front of him with that ribbon in her hair.

That wasn't ever part of the plan—this infatuation he was beginning to feel for her.

Dreams of her weren't supposed to be the only pleasant dreams he was having of late. Those sleeps with her on his mind shouldn't leave him rested and calm when he woke. It'd been almost a year since he started craving sleep for anything other than to rest his exhausted body. Now, he had those secret hopes that when he let his brain run wild for the night, that he would meet her in that in-between.

This wasn't ever something that was supposed to happen. (Y/N) wasn't supposed to happen.

Even though he knew that, Harry didn't break himself from his sheets. He kept bobbing in between sleep and the rest of the world, right where (Y/N) was with him.

He'd stop thinking about her when he woke up properly, he decided. He'd deal with that problem later.

—————

"You know, you don't have to keep walking me home."

Despite the first hints of the rising sun, the stars were still glimmering in the sky like scattered bits of glitter. The moon had been a waning crescent through the night, but with the help of the oncoming sunshine, was slowly becoming full. These mornings had to be Harry's favorite times. Especially when he spent them with (Y/N).

Between all the jaunts to the library, hours spent lounging at the bakery, and time spent sending texts back and forth over the last month, Harry spent most of his time with her now. He looked forward to these prep shifts she suddenly seemed to be getting scheduled for more often than not. These quiet walks with only the crackling sidewalk and the sound of their footsteps and the sleeping town allowed him to settle into his skin and the space he took up beside her.

She was the only person he wanted to be close to like this anyway.

With that in mind, Harry only shrugged at (Y/N)'s words. "I don't mind."

He didn't have to look at her to know that response made her smile. It was that smile, soft lipped and quiet as if only for him, that starred in his dream more than once over the last handful of weeks. It was that smile that tested his self-control—or lack thereof, as he was learning.

It was a completely self-indulgent move to think about her before he slept. In a twisted turn of events, she was one of the only thoughts that had him calming after a bloody nightmare. He slept better when he had a dream of her, or even a calm, dreamless sleep could be achieved with the thought of her leading him. She was the first and only he'd found that was able to lull him into something that felt... normal.

Harry knew down in his core that it wasn't fair for someone like him to attach to someone like (Y/N), but this was where found he didn't quite have as much self control as he thought. It was easy for him to forget what her reaction would be if she found out what kind of person was walking her home after her overnight shifts or browsing the shelves with her at the library.

Especially in these moments, he could feel normal enough that he even forgot who he was. The way this place—this spot at (Y/N)'s side—had him imagining what it would be like to stay in this town was something he'd never experienced before. He'd never not been thinking about his next move.

With her gingerbread neighbourhood in sight, Harry felt that come down approaching. He would cling to this feeling—the clean, clear, and ordinary feeling—all the way back to his car and through the drive back to his apartment. It was when he was truly alone with the few things he was able to travel with surrounding him, that he would give himself a reality check. Until then, he'd keep indulging.

Stopping in front of the picket fence before her home, Harry turned to (Y/N) the same way he did every time he walked her home after prep. The exhaustion that had settled in his bones after a full shift at the store lessened when he saw her looking at him with eyes that rivaled the stars in the sky.

"Text me if y'need anything, alright?" he told her, the same thing he always said before they shared goodbyes for the night.

(Y/N) lingered as she always did. She hadn't gotten confident enough when asking for hugs, just yet. Harry liked that she still got a bit shy.

Instead of the same question he expected to hear, he saw a pinch of concern appear between her brows. "Do you want to come inside?" she asked, swallowing as she gestured to her house, "You look really tired tonight, Harry."

Lifting his shoulders, Harry shrugged. There was that slowed down, frozen feeling again. Another invitation into her world.

"'S alright. 'M okay, (Y/N)," he told her, "I don't want to keep y'up."

She wasn't convinced as she pressed just a little more, the toe of her scuffed shoes scraping over the concrete sidewalk. "Are you sure? I usually make myself breakfast before I sleep, so you could come in for a little if you want?"

His hands grew clammy where they were stuffed in his pockets. "Y'don't have to do that. I-I don't want to take from you or anything."

It was a defense mechanism the way he began inching back, as if he could pull his presence away from her. As normal as he felt with her, in this moment, he felt as if he were fooling her. She shouldn't be inviting him into her home; he shouldn't be invited into her safe space.

(Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand landing on his forearm, her fingers brushing the inked photos on his skin and the raised scars underneath. "You said you like to cook though, right?"

Harry's throat bobbed as he thickly swallowed. He nodded.

A shy smile perched itself on her features, curling upwards like the ways of the sun on the horizon. "If you want, you could help me cook, maybe? That way it's not like you're 'taking' anything from me, you're just helping me. We'd be even."

How was he supposed to argue with her? Hadn't he learned yet that she was the one that would get him to bend to her will, bash down his own walls, and give her everything he had in his power to give?

Harry could only nod then, hiding the twitch in his lips with a brush of his knuckle against the tip of his nose.

The hand she had laid on his arm squeezed, her smile growing giddy. "C'mon," she said, her hand trailing down his forearm until it was clasped in his.

His lungs stunted at the feel of her soft palm pressed against his own. She didn't twist their fingers together, filling the gaps between his, leaving their hands to cup together like a pair of mittens for the cold. At least this way she couldn't feel how he was beginning to shake.

He followed her like a planet in orbit of a bright star, allowing him to breach the guarding fence line designed to keep people like him out. She only let go of his hand to unlock her front door, but a moment later they were bundled together once more. Her thumb skimmed the side of his own when she pulled him inside.

Guiding him over the threshold of her home, (Y/N) invited Harry inside despite all the red flags; despite the scars laced over his skin and the near permanent frown on his lips.

Stepping into her tiny foyer—it wasn't much more than a small hallway separated from the rest of her home by an extra wall—(Y/N) slipped her hand out of his to double back and close her front door and twist the lock. She used the space to house a long, skinny end table against the wall, the perfect space to hang her bag from and stow her keys atop until next time. A mirror with blushed gold edging was hung from the wall above it, a sparkly pink kiss mark stamped on the bottom corner of the glass.

"You can leave your shoes here," she offered, already shucking off her own sneakers. Her socks were revealed to be a baby blue with embroidered sheep. Of course.

When his own Vans were placed underneath the end table beside (Y/N)'s own pink-laced white ones, she beckoned him to follow after her to the kitchen. He made a point to keep his eyes off of her hands, ensuring he wouldn't do something stupid like try to grab it again. Gaze flitting about the space, he took in the details of her home.

The first thing that caught his attention were the pale curtains that were draped over the front window. The dead giveaway of what kind of person called this unit their home. Her furniture was mismatched, the couch a suede sage green and chair upholstered in a crosshatched fabric dyed pink. The center rug of her living room was a large white daisy, stray strings torn out here and there. Her coffee table had stacks of laundry she still needed to deposit into the correct rooms, a pair of fuzzy socks sat by themselves on the couch. All along her walls in the living room and the halls they passed through had canvas art prints, minimalist shelves stacked with books, candles, and odd items he knew had to have a story behind. Pinned to the drywall, between photos and shelves, were dried flowers. The petals were dull and curled back, frozen in time with the stems tied together with the help of ribbons.

Tiny bits of her personality were stamped on each item. Romance books stood out to him on the shelves. A polaroid camera that had seen better days, though the damage was now covered in stickers. Coiled ribbons that were frayed at the ends. A diffuser that still smelled of a rose garden. In her kitchen, a wipe-off calendar was pinned up, all events color coded and scrawled carefully on the appropriate date. Here and there, butterflies and flowers were drawn in marker on the white board.

(Y/N)'s home was kind. Easy and gentle; finding a version of perfect that was attainable and loving.

Stepping around the peninsula counter of her kitchen, (Y/N) looked at him with raised brows and soft features. "I was kind of in the mood for an omelette and hash browns and all of that. What do you think?"

Harry swallowed, standing on socked feet in the middle of her tiled floor. He was overwhelmed in an odd way.

He was in a home—her home. The last time he'd been in a place that was loved and lived in, had to be back when he was living with his family. And, (Y/N) wanted him here; she was asking what he wanted for breakfast, even. His hands were clammy at the thought even with his frozen veins.

He nodded. "Sounds good."

"Perfect!" she chirped, sounding very excitable for someone who had just worked an overnight shift and wasn't used to the turnaround.

Lingering in his spot, Harry watched as she padded around her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her fridge and tools from cabinets. It wasn't until she was reaching towards the carton of eggs that she slowed in her movements. Looking over her shoulder, she laid her hands on the edge of the counter.

"You know, I think I remember this having been a deal where you're supposed to be helping me," (Y/N) teased, her voice lilting as she canted her head.

While he knew she wasn't being serious, Harry still sprung into action as soon as she finished speaking. "Right, right, sorry," he told her, mumbling with his head down.

"I was just teasing. It's okay," she bubbled, bumping his shoulder with a bright smile on her face. With Harry now sharing the tiled space with her, she lent with her back pressed to the lip of the counter, "I usually like to put basil and tomato and cheese into my omelette, but I can see if I have other stuff if you wanted something else?"

"No, no" Harry shook his head, "That's perfect. Thank you."

"Okay," she sounded, her voice soft like the rays of sunlight beginning to drip through the window. "I can get the eggs ready and start on the hash browns if you want to cut the tomatoes and basil?"

As soon as he agreed, (Y/N) had him stationed in front of her cutting board—a wooden slab sanded down to recreate the shape of a monstera leaf. A pair of tomatoes were placed on the edge of the board, still taut and a vivid red. He thought he remembered her plucking them just the other night from the small produce section at the store. A few leaves of basil were bundled beside it, velveteen and vibrant. Off to the side with its guard concealing the blade was a pastel peach knife. The hardware was a gleaming rose gold—because, of course, it was.

Just like everything else in her kitchen, there were bits of her personality littered about alongside the things she most likely saw on the internet and wanted to give a try. Glass and ceramic canisters were dotting the back of the counter, lined against the wall with small labels, though some of the glass ones were clearly filled with the incorrect item. Pictures were pinned to her fridge, some with friends, others with what he could only assume was her family, and coupons to places in town littered between. Everything had color, a personality—evidence that someone who cared and truly called this place home.

Seeing it all made Harry feel that much more embarrassed knowing that she had seen his own home, even if she hadn't acted any kind of way when inspecting his place.

Working around each other, Harry was well-aware of (Y/N)'s presence as she moved around the kitchen. She had pans occupying the stove, drizzled with oil or a pad of butter. As he chopped the tomato and ribboned out the leaves of basil, the space became fragrant. The sound of the knife slicing the vegetable and thunking against the board meshed with the brittle snaps of the egg shells being cracked.

There was no pressure to fill the silence. He knew (Y/N) wouldn't make him talk either; she knew him enough now.

Harry felt settled.

Once the ingredients were prepped, he took over watching the eggs and creating the folds. WIth his new spot, he was able to catch every time (Y/N) plucked shreds of cheese from the bag as if they weren't going into her omelette anyway. He'd remember to put extra in for her.

Every time she needed around him, or reached to check on one of the heat dials, a small chirp of an excuse me and a bubbly smile had his heart thumping in his chest. An odd reaction to something so small, he thought.

A warmth filled the space with the sound of the bubbling oils popping and the burners growing hot under the pans. The sun had finally broken the horizon and was beaming real light into her kitchen, the tiny curtains above her sink pulled back to allow the rays in. The buttery light poured over everything in her kitchen, including (Y/N).

Everything was so easy, so picturesque, so dreamy. Harry had forgotten what it was like to be in a home, to cook for himself, to not be just getting through it.

He'd had dreams of (Y/N) before, moments like this accessible once he fell asleep, but they had nothing on the real thing.

"All done?" (Y/N) asked as he flipped over the second egg bundle, this one teeming with cheese and ribbons of basil swirled within the eggs.

"I think so," he said, lifting the pan from the heat as she grabbed a plate from her cabinet. Handing it out to him, Harry slid the omelette onto the ceramic—the same embossed pattern of flower petals on the edge that matched his own plate.

(Y/N) did her part of sliding the crispy hash brown patties onto their plates beside the completed omelettes. Nothing was perfect—there were tears in the folds of his omelette, the edges of the potatoes were just a little too browned from when she suddenly became distracted with the dishes, and tiny imperfections in the way they dressed their entrees were apparent, but Harry doesn't think he's ever seen a breakfast so flawless.

Harry could feel her eyes on him as he tried to correct the spillage that occurred on her omelette, using the edge of the spatula to hopefully fork the cubes of tomato that had escaped the fold. He swore her gaze left a physical touch over the bridge of her nose, the bow of his lips, the point of his chin.

"Harry?"

"Hm?" he hummed, pausing his fingers to match her warm gaze.

From where she stood, she was backlit from the sunshine spilling in through the gauzy curtains behind her. The sepia tones bathed her in gold with the creases in her top, lines of fatigue on her face, and the column of her throat turning into filigree. The flyaways of her hair were highlighted, messy baby hairs and all. The strands seemingly created the kind of crown he'd seen in ancient art to depict an angel. A goddess.

His breath caught in his throat. This was going to be the vision he conjured when he needed to evade his nightmares.

The goddess suddenly looked shy, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she hesitantly reached out towards him. For the second time, her skin grazed his with her fingertips touching at his forearm. They made soft dents in the layer of hair that covered his skin.

Harry's heart jumped into his throat at the touch.

Her eyes were on her hand, watching as she curled her fingers around his arm. Flicking her gaze up to match his, he saw that same golden touched goddess. She took in a deep breath, lips pillowed, lashes glittering, and baby hairs a golden cradle around her face. If not for the fact he could feel the scrape of her nails against his skin, he would have convinced himself this was a dream.

"(Y/N)?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper in the middle of her small kitchen.

She blinked, letting out that deep breath before speaking.

"Can I kiss you?"

Though there was that smart part of his brain that knew he should think better of this entire moment, there wasn't even a second of hesitation before Harry dragged his socked feet over the tile and closed that distance between them.

He shuttered his eyes just a moment after her, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks while her own hand still clung to his forearm. He didn't think his hands could ever be so gentle with the way his hands molded to the curve of her cheeks and the soft give of his lips against hers. She lent into his hold, pressing her lips against his just that much harder. On the tip of his thumb, he could feel the brush of her bottom lashes on his skin.

Their lips slotted together as (Y/N) tilted her head, tucking her top lip between his two with a delicate kiss directly on his bottom one. She tasted of sugar and butter, whatever she had concocted at the bakery following her. Her hand on his arm tightened the longer they kissed in her kitchen, Harry's head completely empty.

While he knew he was going to feel guilty later for letting her kiss him when she didn't even know who he truly was and what kind of trouble could follow getting close to someone like him, but that was a problem for a version of him that existed hours later. This Harry was allowed to remember everything, commit every detail to memory, and indulge in the feeling of what something soft and gentle and kind felt like.

The soft sound of their lips parting and coming together against bounced off the tiles. Every kiss was lingering and soft, nothing urgent other than the need to show each other what had been brewing in the months since they'd met. Harry's eyes scrunched closed when he felt the dent of her fingertips into his arm—a grounding feeling as he threatened to float up to the clouds or wherever dreams were made.

It was (Y/N) that drew away first, a large breath being taken in as he pressed her free hand to the center of his chest. Underneath her palm, he was sure she could feel the pounding of his heart. Her smile bloomed across her face, swollen lips unfurling like petals. He felt breathless just looking at her.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

(Y/N)'s smile widened, eyes becoming half-moons with the stretch of her cheeks. "Nothing. I just like saying your name."

Harry couldn't help but to dip down and press his lips against hers once more.

—————

Walking into the bakery, days after the kisses that still seemed to be imprinted on his lips, Harry thought it was funny remembering just how scared he was to walk into this building only a short few months ago.

His life had changed in plenty of ways since then, but they all had a common denominator: (Y/N).

Everything was different now. He had begun uncovering a life here he thought would never be for him. Even if there were still many ghosts haunting him, some strong enough to have made him run in the past, he felt a stronger pull to the positive these days. He could ever thank her enough for that.

Despite that, his hands still felt restless in his pockets. While there was still a level of anxiety that rattled his body, these tremors were the result of those dastardly butterflies that had made a home in Harry's stomach. It was all in reaction to the fact he knew he would be seeing (Y/N).

Outside of a handful of texts, this was the first time he'd be seeing and talking to her since that morning in her kitchen. He couldn't wait to refresh his memory of her—review the form of the goddess he had left.

The bell chimed above his head, signaling to the staff they had a new client in their sparsely populated building. Behind the counter was Sabrina and a perfectly familiar bow, the pair chatting away until the bow turned on her toes with a bright smile.

On instinct, (Y/N) greeted him with the customer service version of herself. She barely got out a single syllable before her smile turned blindingly genuine and she squeaked herself silent.

Looping around the counter, she rushed towards him with that smile on her face and bright eyes that matched the Sunday morning sunshine. "Harry!"

The pat of her shoes over the floor matched the tumbling of his heartbeat. As soon as she was close enough, she folded him into a hug with her arms around his middle. Her cheek pressed against the plane of his chest, heartbeat just under her ear.

"Hi," he murmured to her, burying his nose into her hair. The scent of rosemary from whatever tart she had been working on in the back filtered through his senses.

"I didn't know you were coming in today," she said, keeping her hug on him tight.

Harry grazed his hand over her back, palm pressing against her spine in a slow circuit. "Don't I always?"

That seemed to be the perfect answer as (Y/N) squeezed him that much harder, her hug a sturdy thing. He didn't even have to think before he was reciprocating, the tip of his nose brushing her scalp with every strand of hair tickling his skin.

Keeping her arms around him, (Y/N) pulled back just enough to look up at him. "I have new stuff for you to try!"

"Yeah? What is it?" Harry pressed, his voice quiet just for her as opposed to the bright chatter she was giving him.

(Y/N) dropped her arms from around him only to clasp her hand in his, guiding him to the table that may as well be reserved for just him. "It's a surprise," she said, giddy as ever. Once she had him settled in the tall chair, she had her hands bundled together in front of her. "I'll be right back!"

With that, she bounced back to the kitchen. Harry had his eyes on her and the tendrils of her bow, even when he felt the eyes of Sabrina looking at him with something smug and knowing on her face. He didn't care.

With his eyes following (Y/N) back to the kitchen, Harry didn't bother to hide the smile that crossed his features. Big and bright, he knew this was for her only, even if she couldn't see it.

—————

Harry's bones were exhausted as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment. The steps creaked under his weight, mimicking the scrap he swore he felt in his joints. Even with the fact he'd been cut early for the night, the lack of sleep the day before still clung to his muscles.

All he wanted to do was go home and drop dead in his sheets for as long as he could manage before he woke with a cold sweat.

Despite it all, he stopped in his tracks when he saw his door.

Harry didn't really get mail. It was one of those things that came with being a ghost.

So it was more than a little concerning seeing a manilla folder taped to his door, just where the gold apartment number should be.

His name was printed in big blocky letters across the paper. The strokes of the ink were harsh and glaring, a notice wrapped in the command for him to unfold the paper and check the contents.

With his heart rate spiking in his chest, Harry glanced around him, hoping to see a nosy neighbour peeking on. It wasn't like he was especially friendly with his neighbours (they weren't (Y/N), so he had no interest), but perhaps he had been a little too noisy with his nightmares and someone had had enough, pasting a passive aggressive note to his door telling him to keep it down.

It was a false hope, one Harry didn't believe even for a second, but the reality of the situation was still catching up with him. That was how he was able to snatch the paper from the door without shaky hands, slipping inside without a second glance around him.

He couldn't lock his door fast enough after slamming it shut, the jamb reverberating with a use of strength he hadn't intended to use. He stared for a few lingering seconds, watching as if the lock would flip itself open, all of the threats he'd been running from pouring in after him.

His apartment was silent just as it should be. It made him even more uneasy.

He wasn't supposed to be home now, but still no one was waiting for him. They'd found his apartment but didn't sit and wait for him—ambush him the way he knew they liked to operate. This was the long game they were playing. There were more games they wanted him to participate in before something drastic would happen.

Harry treated the manilla folder as if it were an explosive. Gentle hands gripped the edges with fingertips sliding under the lip to unhook the flap. He worked slowly.

Just inside was the edge of a white piece of paper—no it was thicker than paper, he found when he slipped his hand inside and tugged out a stack of the pages. The pieces were a blank, stark white, thick and heavy.

Flipping them over, that was where all the color was hiding.

Glossy photographs greeted him on the other side.

Glossy photographs of him.

Him at work. Him at his apartment. Him in his car. Every place within this town he had bothered to extend himself was in the background of these photos, while he was the muse in front of the lens. They'd seen him everywhere, for at least the last month.

His paging halted when a new muse made an appearance in the photos.

(Y/N).

Photos of them at the bakery together, the library, the grocery store. A shot had even captured them leaving his apartment the one time he'd brought her over. Thank god he'd taken her inside with him instead.

But that wasn't enough. There were a trio of photos of her all alone. They'd seen her in her home, seen her in her bedroom, seen her living her life without a thought in the world that someone may be documenting every moment from the shadows.

A story began to form the more pages he worked through. A starry sky was the backdrop behind the pair of them, (Y/N) looking up at him as he brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckle.

He'd been walking her home.

In the background of the next image was her gingerbread house. Her picket fence was behind Harry's form, her yellow birdhouse a pseudo-sun in the darkness. The camera followed their steps as she escorted him inside, their hands clasped just barely in view of the lens. With the door shut behind them, the angle shifted, their photographer having found a better vantage point to spot them in the kitchen.

Through new eyes, Harry saw the events he lived through unfold in front of him. He saw he and (Y/N) pattering through the kitchen, getting breakfast ready. He saw the way he was so nervous to be sharing the space with her until he eventually unfurled, his features visibly softening the longer he spent time with her. (Y/N) was there, with those flyaway hairs and gilded lines in her face, giving him space and an encouraging smile. He remembered exactly what it felt like to be standing over those tiles with her starry eyes placed on him.

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to see the next image. He knew how the story went, and he didn't want his recollection to be tainted by seeing it through the eyes of another. He didn't want the single joyous moment he'd had in years to be ruined.

But, this was the life he signed up for when he left that night. A life of goodbyes and nothing that could be truly his. He knew that.

With a steeled resolve, he flipped the page.

On the glossy paper was a photo of Harry and (Y/N)'s first kiss. He saw the crinkles by her eyes as she tried not to smile against his mouth. He saw the gentle way he cradled her cheeks. The smush of their lips together were slitted as if puzzle pieces had found their connecting slate. It was everything he remembered it to be. Buttery sunshine, gentle touches, and a moment no one could take from him.

Only this story was now shrouded in a darkness that came with the edging of leaves vignetting around the photo, the angle fudged to allow the photographer to capture this moment without their knowledge. In these photos, it wasn't a joyous moment to be documented and emulated in movies and novels. This was an exploitation of a weakness. A signal to let Harry know that they knew.

They'd found him.

Dropping the stack to the ground, Harry looked at his feet and saw every nightmare, every worst case scenario, every precaution he took now going down the drain. All of this running, fighting, and erasing just to be found anyway.

It was the photos of (Y/N) by herself that scared him the most. While there was that streak of fear for his own safety striking through his heart, he felt more for her than he could manage for himself. How could he have allowed himself to put his hands on her at all, let his eyes graze her skin, her face enter his dreams when he knew very well that this could happen?

He'd just ruined her life and she had no idea.

Peeking out just between a pair of photos of (Y/N) getting ready to go to bed was a page from a notebook. The blue lines were smeared, water stains on the very edge. Snagging the page, Harry kept his hands from shaking as best he could so he could read the red ink printed across.

It was (Y/N)'s home address. The address of the bakery. Her full name. And her phone number.

Every bit of pertinent information anyone would need to hurt her. It was the kind of information Harry had been given when he was sent out on jobs.

For a split second, Harry swore the earth shattered, but only in his chest. This message was worse than any photo they could have taken of him, any chase they could have given him, anything they could have done to only him. He knew what they were planning with that information if Harry didn't do something before then.

Just like that, everything stopped.

The shattering in Harry's chest ceased. His breathing became centered. His hands didn't shake. Every messy emotion, every wandering thought that didn't pertain to the goal was wiped away and tucked into a box to be shoved into a corner.

The switch had been flipped.

While there was a suddenly dormant part of him that worried over how easy it was to turn this version of himself on again, even after so many years, that couldn't be of a single concern of the moment.

With everything packed away, Harry could focus now. His mind was clear. A plan was forming, a list being written, that would dictate how the next twelve hours were going to go. When the time came, he'd reevaluate and add to his plan. Now was the time for first steps.

He wasn't safe here anymore. He couldn't stay in this apartment and wait for them to come back and either force him into doing things he swore he never would again, or kill him.

(Y/N) wasn't safe here anymore, either. She couldn't stay in her own home. They had enough information on her to make her a sitting duck without her ever being aware until the unthinkable happened.

He needed to leave, and (Y/N) was going with him.

WIth the photos and the page of her information left on the ground, Harry's instincts kicked in. This was just the exact reason he didn't have much of anything to lug around with him. His life needed to be packed up in as little time as possible.

Pulling a too-familiar duffle bag out from under his bed, Harry began the process. First, clothing was to be stuffed into the bag. He'd leave his work clothes for whoever would eventually break into his apartment and find him gone. The one book he'd never leave without was next. Hopefully, Ms. Klarke wouldn't hate him for never returning the books he borrowed this week. Tucked inside the cushion of his clothing was the photo of his mother and sister. Their faces were only blurs with the way he didn't allow a second to focus on them. A stash of cash he had stuffed under his mattress was next. Almost everything he made went to keeping this emergency fund stocked and untouchable. Shoved under his bed, farthest back against the wall, were a duo of guns he quickly plucked up and stuck into his duffle. Extra ammunition was next.

As a passing thought, Harry grabbed the photos strewn across the floor. There couldn't be a trace of him left behind. He was now nothing but a ghost that had haunted this apartment and left in the middle of the night. He was no one.

Everything he owned was stuffed in his duffle bag along with a manila folder of photos that felt as if they could set the whole thing on fire. Dressed in a dark hoodie he'd thrown over his torso and black pants he'd worn to work, Harry stepped out into the open hallway. He didn't bother to look around, trying to find any prying eyes.

His neighbours were of no concern to him now, and if anyone of importance had been watching him, he wouldn't have gotten this far in the first place. Shutting the door behind him, Harry placed his key atop the door frame. His landlord could find that easy enough, he figured.

Harry didn't look back as he left his apartment behind, his duffle bag heavy over his shoulder. He wanted to be sad. If not for the fact he couldn't feel much of anything at the moment, he knew there would have been a sting over the life he was leaving behind. This was the first place he thought he could have been normal; this was the first place he saw himself as more than a simple survivor. He was beginning to be someone here.

But as he jogged down the rusting staircase, Harry remembered he wasn't anyone. And, that was the only way to survive.

—————

Before Harry could even be sure of what he was doing, he was in front of (Y/N)'s house. He couldn't slow down to think this through—or really think at all. Even if he was fairly certain he wasn't being watched, there was no reason to slow down when he had somewhat of a head start.

Slipping out of his car, he worked as quietly as he could. While he didn't care about his neighbours, (Y/N)'s were people who couldn't know about their next moves. He didn't want anyone else to get wrapped up in this.

His duffle bag had been left in the backseat of his car, one of the guns he had now stowed away in the glovebox. The photos still taunted him even if he wasn't looking at them.

Harry tried his best to keep the strength out of his urgency as he knocked on (Y/N)'s front door. It was no surprise when there was no response, not even a stirring inside. It was three a.m.. But he didn't really have time for her to wake up.

He knocked again, a little more force given to the rapping. He barely gave a moment of reprieve before he had reached for his phone in his hoodie pocket and dialed her number. He didn't stop knocking as his phone rang for hers.

It's on the second phone call to her and the fourth minute of knocking on her door that had her opening up. Swinging the door open, she was unveiled to be just as tired as he figured. Her pajamas consisted of a large t-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts. Her socked feet shuffled as she rubbed at her eyes with her free hand.

She looked barely awake, as if she were trying to figure out if she were still dreaming when she squinted at him. "Harry?"

Her voice was hoarse. He wanted to feel guilty for waking her up from such a deep sleep, but he couldn't feel much of anything.

"We need to go," he told her, voice quiet and intense as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He was going to have to do something with that, he figured. They could be tracking him with it for all he knew.

A harsh blink of her eyes did little to wipe the sleep from her gaze. (Y/N) ran a heavy hand through her hair, tugging away stray strands that obscured her view. "Huh?"

Harry could feel her eyes on him as he brushed past her into her home. He stepped over the threshold with the kind of scary confidence he hadn't felt in years. It was a wonder how he was able to hide behind something as fragile for so long.

(Y/N) didn't fight him, only shutting the door and twisting the lock after him. "What do you mean?"

He didn't turn to look at her even when he started giving commands: "We need to leave, (Y/N). Pack some clothes while we have a little bit of time."

Some sense seemed to be making its way into her sleep-addled brain. Her eyes cleared up as he looked at him. She blinked with a flutter of her lashes, a pinch appearing between her brows. "Harry, I don't think I understand what's going on... W-Why do we need to leave?"

Her line of questioning went right over his head, the plan the only thing properly processing in his brain. He ignored her as he maneuvered around her to scale the staircase to the second floor. Her bedroom was down this hall, he knew.

"Jus' pack some clothes, and whatever you think y'need. We need to leave in the next ten minutes."

(Y/N)'s steps were decidedly softer and more cautious as she followed him upstairs. "Harry?" she tried to call for him, tone gentle, "Do you need to sit down for a second? I can get you some water and something to eat, I just need you to tell me what's going on."

The lights were flicked off in her room like the rest of her house. That would make this job that much harder, but Harry didn't feel as if he had even a second to spare to switch on the lights. He needed a bag, that's where he needed to start.

"Harry? Are you listening to me?"

Did she have a duffle bag, or would he have to settle for a tote? It didn't matter much in the grand scheme, but she had too many creature comforts that he knew she wouldn't have the heart to leave behind. A duffle would allow more room. Maybe, in her closet...

Just as he grabbed the knob to invite himself into her closet, he felt her grab his arm. Her grip wasn't anything he couldn't break out of, but the fact she touched him at all had him stopping in his place.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on. You're scaring me, Harry."

His focus shifted at her words. A point of clarity had been made in her touch and the plea in her voice. Turning to face her, Harry loosened his hold on the doorknob though he couldn't find it in himself to completely let go.

Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him. The film of sleep had been wiped away, leaving nothing but the raw fear he'd instilled there. There was a tremor in her touch he hadn't noticed before. And, he knew it was all his fault.

A crack appeared in the steel demeanor he'd wrapped himself in.

He couldn't crack right now, Harry knew that. He needed to be careful.

Cracks had been appearing for months now. He was only fooling himself every time he said he was still being careful while orbiting around her. Now, look at where he was.

They couldn't afford for Harry to crack anymore. One more splinter in the ice beneath his feet and he'd be taking her down with him.

Dropping his hands to settle on her arms, Harry ducked down, crowding around her as he matched her watery gaze tenfold. Even in the dark, he knew he was close enough for her to catch every measured breath he took, every fleck of intensity in his eyes.

"I need you to trust me, (Y/N)," he told her, his voice low just for her to hear. "Do you trust me?"

The way she didn't hesitate to give him a small nod, even in the dark of the night with millions of questions running through her head, would've broken his softened heart if he hadn't caged it away for the time being.

He pulsed his hands around her arms. He didn't break his gaze from hers as he spoke, "I need you to grab enough clothes to last you a week or so, and anything y'can't live without. Okay? We need to leave as soon as possible. We need to get somewhere safe."

(Y/N) broke their eye contact, her own gaze searching his face for something he wasn't sure she'd find. Her chest rose with a lingering breath, her brows downturning just the smallest bit the longer she looked at him. It wasn't until she matched her gaze to his once more that she spoke.

"Okay."

It was barely more than a peep, but it was all he needed to hear.

Harry stepped out of her way as she moved on stunted limbs. She rifled through her closet for a moment only to reappear with the duffel he'd been hoping she had. She shoveled clothes in; soft sweaters, comfortable pants, t-shirts, all the things he'd seen her wear before, but they didn't look quite as sweet under these circumstances. (Y/N) was silent as she moved to the bathroom, the clanging of bottles and drawers sliding open and closed was all heard as she packed whatever she needed.

He wanted to feel anything as he watched her. He wanted anything to take root in his chest as he watched her pack up as much of her life as she could fit in that bag, but he didn't feel anything. There wasn't any guilt, fear, or pressure. He felt numb.

After she had her phone and her charger in her bag, he started her down the stairs. She didn't protest, didn't tell him she needed to grab anything else before they left. (Y/N) only followed.

"Put some shoes on," he told her gruffly, stopping her before she marched on out with only socks covering her toes.

"Right," she mumbled, immediately looking towards her end table with shoes shoved underneath. She picked her white Vans.

Wordlessly, Harry tucked her hand in his. He led her quickly out the door and down the steps of her porch. The click of her putting the lock in place did little to quell the urgency that was filling his chest now that they were out in the open for anyone to see.

It was an odd moment of deja vu, he felt as he guided her down the steps. Her hand was warm in his, the same way it was when she had led him inside for breakfast and a first kiss. That felt like a lifetime away instead of a weekend.

He took her bag and shoved it into the back seat along with his before he offered her the front passenger seat. (Y/N) didn't say anything as she buckled herself in, avoiding his eyes even when he slipped in beside her behind the steering wheel.

Turning the key, the dashboard lit up. He had enough gas in the tank to take them far enough away before they'd have to stop. His chest loosened at the sight of the meter. At least they had that.

Harry lingered in his spot at the curb in front of her house. His hands were heavy on the steering wheel, the car geared into drive, but he left his foot on the brake. The sun was still a couple of hours from breaking the horizon, leaving the only light from the waning moon and the dashboard tinting his car in a ghastly green. It was just enough light to see the tears glimmering in (Y/N)'s eyes and the exhaustion already trying to pull her down.

She had no answers, no idea of what kind of mess he'd brought her into, but she followed him anyway. The ice under Harry's feet cracked at the thought.

All it took was the reminder of the pad of paper with every bit of information a person needed to hurt (Y/N), all printed in slashes of red ink, to have that crack beginning to seal. She didn’t need someone who was cracking and just as scared as she was. She needed someone who would make her safe.

"Ready?" Harry grumbled, looking away before she could catch his eyes.

(Y/N) only nodded.

—————

sage represents wisdom; knowing when to run from the past or fight

now stuff is starting to happen!!! I would love to hear what you all think is going on and everything!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any ideas or requests or anything!

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