Poisoned Promise

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DISCLAIMER:

- I’m either fixated on something and have patience for hours or I have the attention span of Xander when it comes to scones -

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Fandoms: The Inheritance Games + The Naturals, Marvel, Stardew Valley (new to the game but I love it ✿), Lord of the Rings, OBX (I’m a huge fan of a lot of things, frankly too many to name, but feel free to yap to me about anything. Chances are I’m prob a fan <3)

Music: Lana Del Ray, Taylor Swift, Cigarettes After Sex, The Neighborhood, Arctic Monkeys, Tv Girl

Fav Books: Good Girls Guide to Murder, Five Survive, The Brother’s Hawthorne

I haven’t read a book in months help-

Random Stuff: I’m creative but I really just dabble in everything. I’m not exceptionally talented in any field; I can draw, edit, craft, and write. So expect a lot of different things for my blog!

If you read this far, thank you!

~ The power goes out at the estate during a violent Texas thunderstorm.

~ For some reason all the generators are out as well (Xander messed with them on purpose but that isn’t found out until later or at least implied). -> Xan, being the matchmaker he is, sends the unlikely pair to a room where there is believed to be batteries for the flashlights they need.

~ Consequently, they end up getting stuck in there, maybe it’s a maintenance room or something but a part of the massive house they haven’t been in besides the workers. -> Maybe it’s an older part of the house and the humid weather makes the door swell shut leaving them inside. (Should be a unfamiliar part of the house)

~ Xan doesn’t plan for the door to get stuck however he just assumes his plan went well, which it unexpectedly does.

~ The pair kisses at least once, they won’t go further for both my sanity and because I refuse to accept that “rivals” make out the first time they show feelings

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

The storm rolled in fast. Texas thunderstorms often did. 

You were sitting in the library pretending to read, but really you were just eyeing Grayson’s slender body across from you. The way he leaned into the pale green wingback chair with his legs in an open stance could make your mind wander. Luckily he seemed too invested in his work to notice your traitorous gaze. 

Damn him, you thought to yourself. Why’d he have to be such an arrogant prick? A hot arrogant prick.

Grayson always knew what he was doing, and it drove you nuts. He drove you nuts. You found him both frustratingly annoying yet insanely attractive at the same time, and he always used that to his advantage. 

What you didn’t know was that his grey eyes flickered up to your figure when you weren’t looking. Perhaps roaming your body a little longer than he should, before looking away.

Meanwhile, Xander insisted he could fix an ancient fuse box which was located in the corner of the library. He kept rambling on how it was important for the fuse box to function during a storm every time you questioned him. As your friend, he had tried multiple times to set you up with Gray, all of which had failed miserably. You could only hope this wasn’t yet another attempt.

Then came the darkness. Total, suffocating, pitch black darkness. Somewhere in the distance, thunder cracked so loud the walls of Hawthorne House shuddered, and you swore you heard Nash curse for the first time in your life. 

“I got it!” Xander’s voice called in unison to the crackling thunder. Yet the lights still weren’t functioning. “But, uh…it seems the generators have stopped working.”

Jameson glanced over at Xander with a seemingly knowing glint in his eye, but he remained unusually silent. 

“We have ten generators,” Grayson stated dryly, as he finally looked up from his work for the first time in hours. 

Xan gave a small smile as he looked to his older brother before he gave a simple. “I know.” 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The plan should’ve been obvious right then. How convenient that you and Grayson were the ones sent to the maintenance wing to retrieve batteries for some flashlights. The maintenance wing itself was a rarely used part of the estate that smelled like dust, damp wood, and a box of tools.

Neither of you spoke much as you searched through cabinets in one of its many rooms. You had never been down here yourself, only seeing staff occasionally head down the wing every so often. 

Then, by some miracle, Grayson found some batteries in a worn-down tool chest. You watched intently as his nimble fingers slowly undid the back of the flashlight to place the batteries inside. Everything he did was slow and careful, and you tried not to think too much of it. With a click it turned on and created a soft beam of light in the darkness of the room. 

Still it was eerily silent, and without any words said you both nodded in agreement to go back to the library. Your hand reached for the door knob and twisted it without a problem. But to your horror when you went to push it open the door didn’t so much as budge. You turned again, pushing it harder this time. It didn’t open. 

“Let me,” Grayson’s voice said from behind you with a tired sigh. 

You stepped aside, shooting him an annoyed glare that you could only hope he saw in the darkness. 

“It’s stuck,” Grayson muttered after his try, shouldering it once, twice. “Swollen shut.”

You turned the knob again, and kicked the base of the door. Nothing. It seemed the humidity had caused the old wooden door to swell.

Another flash of lightning lit the small, cluttered room through the dusty window, followed by a deafening boom. Accidentally, your hand brushed Grayson’s arm as you pulled away from the door knob. 

He didn’t move away.

“Well,” you exhaled, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at the unexpected situation. “I guess we’re stuck.”

A moment of silence passed. Then Grayson’s voice, low and warm in the dark:

“Could be worse.”

“Could it?” you echoed with slight sarcasm, raising a brow he probably couldn’t see in the low light.

“You could be in here with Jameson so,” He drawled slowly. “…yeah it could.”

You could barely see the smug expression on his face. Yet you knew it was there, and that thought alone was so infuriatingly attractive.

“Touché, Davenport.”

There was a slight tilt to his lips it wasn’t quite a smile, but close enough to make your heart flutter. Grayson Hawthorne smiling at you. Hell must’ve been freezing over. 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the cold wall. “If you say something smug, I swear to God, Davenport…”

“I wasn’t going to,” he replied, still in that maddeningly calm voice that made you want to simultaneously strangle him and kiss him. “But now that you’ve said it, it’s tempting.”

You let out a laugh that was more of a scoff if anything, shaking your head. “Of course it is.”

The flashlight beam danced across the cluttered room as Grayson adjusted it in his hand. He didn’t look at you when he spoke next.

“You always do that,” he said quietly into the darkness.

Your brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Assume the worst of me.”

You scoffed, partly frustrated that he was right. “Maybe because you’re usually acting like a cocky bastard.”

That finally earned a real smile, a crooked smile with dimples that was entirely unfair to your heart rate.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “Or maybe you just like having an excuse to be mad at me.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the sudden, warmth that threatened to spread in your chest. “Not everything’s about you, Hawthorne.”

A crack of thunder shook the walls again, and without thinking, you flinched. It wasn’t much just a tiny little movement but he caught it. 

Of course he did. Grayson saw everything.

“Scared of storms?” he asked, and this time his voice was softer. Not teasing. Just surprisingly genuine.

You exhaled, irritated more with yourself than him at this point. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like them.”

“There’s a difference,” you added on a moment later, not wanting to seem vulnerable. You refused to.

“Fair,” he murmured. “I used to hate them too when we were kids. This house was always worse in the storms. Too big and too quiet.”

You looked at him then, really looked, and for once, the perfect, untouchable Grayson Hawthorne looked human. Vulnerable. And maybe, just maybe, a little lonely.

It did dangerous things to your resolve.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the sharp edge slipping back into your voice like armor. “You don’t have to play hero.”

He huffed a breath of laughter, and for a second, you thought that was the end of it. Expecting to fall back into an awkward silence.

Then he took a step closer.

Not in some grand, dramatic way that you expected from a Hawthorne. Just one small step. Into your space. Into the dim glow of the flashlight between you. Close enough that you could smell the cedar and soft mint tones of his cologne.

“I’m not playing anything,” he said, voice low. “And for the record…” 

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up. “You’re insufferable.”

Your pulse jumped, suddenly hyper aware to his closeness and the way his eyes flickered downward. “So are you.”

A beat passed, a heavy, charged, inevitable beat. Like the final tick of a clock before it stuck midnight on a new day once again.

And then with the look in his eyes, like some unspoken dare, you closed the space between you.

It wasn’t a soft, tentative kiss. It was all teeth and tension, months of bickering and stolen glances and unsaid things colliding in a single, breathless second. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and you fisted the front of his suit jacket. Like you were still half pissed at him for making you feel this way in the first place.

When you finally pulled back, both of you a little breathless, neither spoke.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Hello? Lovebirds?” Xander’s voice, sing-song and way too smug for your liking. You cursed silently to the youngest Hawthorne in your mind knowing full well this was his doing. “Should I leave you two in there, or—”

Grayson didn’t even hesitate. He turned, shouldered the door again, and this time it gave. 

The humid air of the hallway rushed in, as you both rushed out. Escaping the room and the kiss like it was a moment you both never wanted to admit to. 

You shot Grayson a glaring look as he passed you, back to his usual infuriating self.

“Not a word,” you warned, your eyes narrowed like you could strangle him right there. 

He smirked, running his hands over his suit to smooth out the crinkles you had caused before adjusting his flashlight.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But as he walked ahead, you could’ve sworn you heard him quietly say, “Could be worse.”

“Asshole,” you muttered underneath your breath as you watched him walk away. 

Maybe storms weren’t so bad after all.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯