#fictober day 3

[scullysexual]

fictober day 3 | m | this list | ao3 | @today-in-fic | @xffictober2023

But sometimes that caring and that gentleness could be stifling, sometimes she just wanted him to let go. [Scully wants to get tied up]

Day 3: Tied Up.

She doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t gentle with her. Always caring, always looking out for her, putting her pleasure before his own. Even when he briefly lost control (if you could even call it that) he never did anything to hurt her and she loved him for it.

But sometimes that caring and that gentleness could be stifling, sometimes she just wanted him to let go.

And he did.

Her wrists are in agony. Her hands are pulled above her head, Mulder’s tight grasp wrapped around them, nails digging in. It hurt but in a good way. A very good way.

Scully liked the restraint, she liked the lack of control. When she tried to free her hands Mulder would only push on them harder, his hips slamming into her. It felt so good that even her orgasm is different- stronger, longer. She wanted that again. She wanted more.

He never did quite take her like that again. It was almost as if he’d realised just how harsh he’d been, they’re next sexual encounters were much more gentle in comparison. Scully knew that if she wanted to feel like that again, experience that again and more, she would have to be the one to bring it up.

“Mulder…?” she drawls, speaking slowly. They lay in the dark, spooned, happy and sated. “Are you still awake?”

“Hmm…”

It wasn’t much of an answer but at least it was a response.

“I wondered if I could ask you something?”

“Hmm…anything.” She feels a kiss against her shoulder, his breath shifting her hair.

“That other night…when you held my hands above my head…?”

She feels him tense behind her.

“Scully, I’m—” he starts to say, no hint of sleepiness in his voice now.

“No,” Scully cuts him off, reassuring him. “You didn’t…offend me. I suppose that’s the point.”

There’s a moments pause before he speaks again.

“What’s that point?” he asks.

She takes a deep breath then lets it out slowly. This is Mulder, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

“I liked it.” Despite herself she still speaks quietly. “I want that again,” she adds feeling brave. His hand clenches around her hip. “But I want you to use rope.”

Her heart beats a little faster as Mulder gives the ropes one last pull tight.

Being tied up in her bedroom on a Sunday night was never a place Dana Scully thought she’d find herself but here she was, exactly there. She feels herself flush.

“You definitely sure about this?” Mulder asks. He still leans over her.

“Yes Mulder,” Scully reassures him for the third time that night. “This was my idea. You don’t need to keep asking.”

He moves away from her but there’s still the look of unease in his eyes.

“What is it?” she asks, trying not to sound annoyed.

“It’s just…” He sighs then starts over. “I feel like you need a safe word.”

She looks at him confused. “What would I need a safe word for?”

“Sculleee,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re all tied up. You can’t go anywhere.”

“Good. That’s the point. Mulder, if I want you to stop I’ll just say stop.”

“You want stop to be your safe word?”

There was only one way out of this conversation.

“Sure.”

“If you say stop I’ll untie you as quick as I can.” He leans back over her, presses his lips to hers, and silences any argument that could come out of her which was fine by Scully. It was all perfunctory; she had no intention of stopping him.

His mouth makes its usual downwards path along her body, gently tickling her skin, taking some time to suck a nipple into his mouth and mull it over with his tongue. Scully wraps her fingers around the binds, using the rope as leverage to hold onto something, her hips moving to seek relief.

“You look really hot all tied up Scully,” he says, his head resting against her stomach, so close to where she wanted him.

Scully moans at his words, feeling herself become wetter. Mulder continues on right until his mouth is at her centre. Usually she’d hold onto him, let her fingers roam his hair while he ate her out. She was unable to do that and the thought makes her delirious.

His tongue touches her and there’s a sudden hot flash that explodes through her body. She tugs on the binds only resulting in them tightening even more. She moans louder.

“You’re so wet Scully,” Mulder says, pulling his mouth away and replacing his tongue with two fingers., spreading her open and pumping in and out of her hard.

The act has her seeing stars behind her eyes.

“If I’d known you’d get this wet, I’d have tied you up months ago,” Mulder is saying but she can’t be quite sure, the ringing in her ears getting louder and louder. She can feel herself approaching that peak, feels Mulder’s thumb rubbing back and forth across her clit, his encouraging words.

She explodes. And she forgets about the ropes.

She goes to reach forward, to grab hold of him and pull him to her but the ropes hold her back, snapping her arms back down. Her comes a second time immediately.

“Whoa, Scully!” Mulder yells. He’s pulled away from her now, is rooting somewhere away. Scully’s eyes remain closed, tongue running across her dry lips as she breathes heavily in and out, fingers flexing and unflexing around the binds.

The bed dips, Mulder has returned. There’s the sound of a faint buzz and then it is pressed against her centre.

Scully springs to life at the vibrations. They’re only on low, nothing that would overwhelm her or push her over the edge. She supposes it could be quite nice if her body wasn’t already overstimulated from two back to back orgasms in less than a second.

He pushes the vibrator inside her where the feeling intensifies. Scully moans.

“How’s that?” Mulder asks in a quiet voice.

“Good…” Scully half moans.

Mulder chuckles slightly then makes his way to the top of the bed. He brushes the hair from the side of her face, sticky with perspiration and runs his finger lightly across her cheek. Scully opens her eyes and sees Mulder’s hard cock. Her hands ache to touch it.

“Not too intense?” he asks, still talking about the vibrations.

She shakes her head.

“Good.”

He grabs hold of his cock and places it against her lips as an invitation. Scully opens her mouth, running her lips down the side of it before turning her head and taking him into her mouth.

“Fuck, Scully…” he breaths, his eyes closing.

The angle doesn’t give her much room to suck. The angle doesn’t give her much room for anything.

Mulder braces himself on her headboard, thrusting his hips back and forward as the head of his cock hits the inside of her cheek. The vibrations are still rippling through her body and Scully sees the remote that sits clutched in Mulder’s hand, his thumb over the button.

The vibrations increase. She moans around his dick. The vibrations increase some more. She tries to get the vibrator to go in deeper.

She wants him to move, to straddle her so she can take his dick properly but before she gets her chance to signal her desire he takes his cock out of her mouth, shuts the vibrator off, and moves it from her. He chucks it and the remote somewhere to the side and climbs over her. He lines himself up then pushes all the way in with one thrust.

Scully moans once more. Mulder grips her hips, pulls all the way out, waits a second, then pushes all the way in again. It’s slow and hard, he keeps this up a few more times before switching to a quicker pumps.

Her wrists and arms were starting to ache from being tied up for so long but she wasn’t ready for this to stop just yet.

“You think you can come again?” Mulder asks through gritted teeth.

“Touch my clit and we’ll find out.”

Mulder doesn’t wait, his fingers find her clit instantly and begins worrying the bud in little clockwise circles. Scully feels herself clenching hard around him before her orgasm explodes. Mulder follows her soon after.

They lie there for a while, breathing heavily. Scully notices the ache again.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop.”

He looks at her for a few seconds before immediately springing into action. He pulls at the ropes, untying them, and throwing them off to the side. He gently takes her arms, inspects her wrists. A little red but nothing too severe. He kisses the red marks, soothing it.

“Thank you for that,” Scully says, feeling full of love.

“Don’t mention it,” he says back. “That was fun.”

“Really, really fun.”

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #mulder and scully #msr #fictober day 3 #fictober2023 #kinktober23 #iwritesmut #scullysexualwrites

[dxrlingdaydreams]

Fictober #3 | "That Was Not My Intention"

Original Fiction Word Count: 672 Contains: WLW Sapphic Fluff

The two sat cross-legged in front of her bedroom mirror, a smile plastered across her best friend’s face. It wasn’t the first time the teens spent the night getting plastered in Mars’s apartment- college will do that to you. Regardless, she savored every minute of it. 

“Stop squirming!” Her friend demanded, her laugh sharp enough to shatter glass but just as beautiful. Before Pluto could listen, eyeliner had smeared down the side of her face. A gasp escaped the two of them immediately but the shock of the mess erupted into drunken giggles. 

“I told you to hold still-” The sass rang through Mars’s voice and she shook her head in faux-dismay. “Hold on a second.” 

Pluto used the opportunity to take another sip of her wine as Mars reached for the makeup wipes. Quality time between the two of them was something she never took for granted. It wasn’t rare, per se, that they got time alone; however it was the parts of her week that she cherished the most. 

As she set her glass down, her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Mars taking a firm hold of her jaw- forcing her to meet her gaze. Not even at her most stoic, let alone drunk, could Pluto keep her face from flushing. 

“What are you-” She didn’t have time to finish her question before the cold, harsh sting of the makeup remover brazed her cheek. Pluto winced and tried to pull from her friend’s grasp, but her grasp held strong. 

“Hold. Still.” Mars’s nagging was insistent as she pulled her in closer. “You’re going to make me ruin it.”

There, of course, wasn’t much to ruin; the application was sloppy at best. While she forced Pluto’s hair from her face with her palm, Pluto did her best to avoid her gaze. That was too intimate, especially for her. For a moment it seemed like the harsh wiping was only making the smearing worse but eventually the smudge disappeared. The same radiant smile returned to Mars’s face in satisfaction. 

“There!” She announced with pride, releasing her friend’s face. “Crisis averted.” 

With a fumbling flick of her wrist, the eyeliner took a semi-adequate wing shape and they both settled on calling it good enough. Mars sat back and looked over her work in admiration. 

“Beautiful-” she sighed. “Let’s take a picture!” 

“B-Beautif-” Pluto faltered as Mars wrapped her arm around her shoulder and pulled her in once more. The fog in her brain returned to what Mars was asking of her. “Mars, you know I don’t do pictures.” 

Despite Pluto’s protests, the girl hushed her and withdrew her cell phone from her pocket with her opposite hand. Mars planted a kiss fresh on Pluto’s cheek, taking the photo just as her gap-toothed grin spread from ear to ear. 

She began to draw back from her friend but Pluto took the initiative to lean in further, gently pressing her lips against hers. Mars disentangled from her grasp as her eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Pluto..” she murmured, averting her eyes to the bedroom surrounding them. 

“I love you,” The words escaped Pluto’s mouth frantically. She hadn’t even realized she said them until it was too late. 

“I’m so sorry. That wasn’t my intention..” Mars frowned. “You’re my best friend, but..” 

All of a sudden, the room began to spin around the poor girl as her closest acquaintance dismissed her love for her. Pluto retracted into herself, knocking over the glass haphazardly. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” she tried to assure both Mars and herself while she got to her feet. “It’s fine.” 

“Wait! You don’t have to go,” Mars reached for her hand but Pluto was already reaching for her bag, halfway out of the door. 

“I really do.” When she took this tone, this.. attitude, Mars knew it was best to leave her alone. “Thanks for the wine.” 

With those few words, Pluto had disappeared into the darkness and left Mars to drink by herself, contemplating what this meant for the future of their friendship. 

#fictober22 #fictober event #original fiction #creative writing #my writing #dxrlingdaydreams #pluto oc #mars oc #wlw #sapphic #writing community #writeblr #writing #writeblr community #writers community #fictober day 3 #fluff #wlw fluff #sapphic fluff #writing prompt #writing prompts #prompts #one shot

[scully-loves-ruthie]

Fictober Day 3

Prompt: That was not my intention

Fandom: The X-Files

          Scully say on the porch of their makeshift home. A small camper rented from a middle-aged woman who wanted no explanations for their use of cash or their need to provide no identification.  “No meth cooking, that’s my only rule, anything else ya’ll two get up to is your own business.  I’ll see ya in three months when the money runs out.”  With that she left.  Were they slightly concerned with the very specific proclamation of no meth cooking, yes.  Was it enough for them to turn away from what could very well be a little home for the pair, absolutely not. 

          Scully pulled Mulder’s knicks sweatshirt tighter around her body as she looked up at the stars.  It was best not to recall all the times she’s stood beneath the stars having life altering conversations.  The words were always those of change shifting into the darkness making haste toward the morning.  She knew even sitting here now that she had one more starry night destiny strangling conversation in her future.  The sound of the thin screen door slamming pulled her from her thoughts as Mulder wrapped his arms around her shoulder dropping a long gently kiss on the top of her head.

          “Can’t sleep huh?”  He asked settling into the chair next to her.

          “No, not really.”  She whispered into the night.

          You scared me earlier at the diner Scully.  After you called your mother, you were crying.”  He reached out and lifted her chin so he could see her eyes.  “You didn’t want me know but I could tell.”

          She rose from her chair settling with ease and consistency into Mulder’s lap.  “I’m sorry I scared you Mulder, that wasn’t my intention… I just.”  Her voice breaks as tears once again began to run down her cheeks.  “It’s just this is so hard being away.  And not just running,” She took a round shaky breath.  “Everything that happened before we ran.  Your absence, your death, William.”  She laid her hands atop his cheeks looking into him the way only she could.  “William.  I can’t, I can’t let him go Mulder.  I don’t think I ever can.”  With those words she broke.  Years of tragedy and devastation crested together in a wave swirling with his name.

          Mulder wrapped his body around hers forging a barrier between her and the world.  A world in which Mulder had spent the better part of a decade devastating her in one form or another.  He stroked her back and kissed her neck before murmuring into her hair, “That wasn’t your mother on the phone this morning, was it?”

          “No.”  Scully replied, her voice stronger almost stern.  She pulled herself from Mulder’s embrace facing him, “No it wasn’t.”

@fictober-event @xffictober2022 @today-in-fic

#Fictober day 3 #fictober 2022 #xfiles fanfic #my fic #we got a lil multi parter happening here

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 3 - Day Like Any Other

Today feels different somehow. Or maybe it's Cas who feels different.

Suptober prompt: Inspired Fictober prompt: “Okay, show me.” Flufftober prompt: “Wait, you love me?” - “I always have” Inktober prompt: Path

(Read on AO3)

He begins the day watching the sun rise from the Bunker's roof, a habit he's recently acquired as the weather turns crisp and autumnal. Afterwards, he sets the big industrial coffeepot brewing in the kitchen, another of his habitual behaviors. As the contraption starts to steam and hiss, Sam walks through and tosses a “morning, Cas” over his shoulder on his way out for his daily run.

Generally, at this point in the day, he would retire to the library to read for a few hours, or go outside to work in his garden. But today feels different somehow. There's a yearning itch under his skin, an inspired desire to act, to do. He's not quite sure yet how he wants to act, what he wants to do, but he heeds the metaphorical tickle in his brain. He grabs Dean's favorite mug (the oversized one shaped like a cowboy boot, “Saddle up!” written across it in letters made of twisting rope), fills it with fresh coffee, stirs in a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cream, and carries it down the hall.

He taps on Dean's door, waiting for a quiet “hmm? 'Sup?” from inside before entering.

“There's no case or anything. I've just brought you some coffee,” Cas says. He keeps his voice soft, unwilling to further disturb the dim quiet of the room. Thanks to a small nightlight in the corner and the light from the hallway that filters in through the vents of the door, he can see well enough to avoid tripping on a pair of discarded jeans on the floor as he brings the cup over to the bed.

Dean, heavy-lidded and tousle-haired, sits up and accepts the offering, patting the covers next to him in invitation for Cas to sit. He takes a deep inhale of the fragrant, rising steam and sighs in sleepy contentment. “How come I rate such a special delivery today?” he asks hoarsely. He harrumphs to clear his throat a bit, then takes a sip.

Cas shrugs, helpless to explain why he's there, helpless to put into words the feeling he's had since he watched dawn break across the meadow behind the Bunker this morning. “I felt like company,” is the best he can do.

“'M not usually the best company in the mornings, dude,” Dean remarks dryly. He's drained half the mug by now, and his bleary gaze is beginning to clear. “Aren't you and Sam still working on that lore project on our off days?”

And there's that itch again, urging him on. It pushes him to say something that, on any other day, he'd swallow. “I don't love Sam the same way I love you,” he says. The words are raw, deeply felt, searingly true, but he does his best to deliver them in an offhanded manner, as if he's doing nothing more exciting than remarking on the weather.

Despite his feigned nonchalance, he watches Dean startle when those ten little words land. The hunter reels for a moment, seems almost dizzy, and it takes him three tries to place his now-empty mug on his nightstand. He turns wide green eyes towards him, face beseeching and open, and asks, “Wait, you love me?” His voice is little more than a wheeze, as if he's had the wind knocked clear out of him.

Cas marvels. I did that, he thinks. His words have discombobulated his friend as thoroughly as a bat to the head. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. There's no going back from this now.

“I do. I always have,” he replies, and then he waits. He waits for Dean to yell, to laugh, to walk away, to proffer a distraction, to punch him.

Dean does none of these. He smiles. It's a shy, uncertain smile, but his eyes shine in the low light of the room. He clears his throat, quirks his mouth like he's fighting a sob, then huffs a soft laugh and asks, “Why, Cas? How??”

Emboldened, Cas lays himself emotionally bare. “Beloved,” he begins, and what ecstasy he feels when that word leaves his lips! “Beloved,” he says again, “I could trace the winding path of my ever-growing devotion, recite back every precious moment between us, talk about how wonderful you are until the sun sets tonight and rises again tomorrow morning. Or I could show you everything you need to know.”

Dean, ever a man of action, leans forward. “Okay, show me.”

Their first kiss tastes of coffee, with a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cream.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #suptober23 #day 3 #fictober 23 #fictober23 #flufftober2023

[marvelslut16]

Oh baby

Prompt number: 18 "I don't think this is your problem."

Fandom: IT

Pairing: Richie Tozier x reader (aged up to 17 or 18)

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing. Teen pregnancy. Mentions of attempted forced abortions. Some angst. Abusive parents. Fluffy in the end.

A/N: This has literally been in my drafts since 2020, and I finally finished it for fictober this year. It is my baby, please be kind to it, I love it so much. The main reason I haven't finished it till now was I was scared people would hate it. The only adulty looking gifs I could find of Finn were from season 4 of ST, whoops. Also, Richie would totally have that hair.

Richie Tozier was undoubtedly the love of your life, the problem being that you two are only in a friends with benefits relationship. It all started one night when the losers were getting drunk in the barrens in celebration of all of you passing your junior year finals, Richie and you snuck out to see the stars and one thing led to another. And the next thing you knew you were pressed up against a tree, denim shorts and cotton undies discarded a foot away, and Richie was thrusting into you. Your drunk inhibitions had been so addicting that you’ve fucked multiple times a week almost every week for the past year. You’ve kept it a secret from you friends, but the looks Bev gives you two makes it fairly obvious that she’s caught on. 

Your friends with benefits relationship had been going great up until recently, when you made the worst mistake of your life. In the heat of the moment you told him those three words you had kept bottled up since that summer with Pennywise, I love you. If Richie understood what you said right away, he didn’t show it. It took him until after he was done for your words to register in his brain, and he immediately got dressed and left in an awkward huff. There was the occasional cuddle afterwards, but usually you’d just go to the living room and play your Atari, or go play street fighters at the arcade. But this time he left with a non comitial ‘see you later,’ and you immediately knew you fucked up. 

The next day at school Richie pretty much ignored you, unless he had to make conversation with you to hide that anything was out of the ordinary to the losers; gone were the flirty comments he would send your way during lunch, and the arm wrapped around your shoulder as you walked from class to class. When Richie went as far as to flirt with a girl in history class you felt a sickness wash over you, it was so intense that you had to rush out of the class and through the halls to make it to the girls bathroom before your lunch came rushing out of you. Your teacher had sent Bev to come collect you, since you had left without a pass, but instead she took you to the nurse and you had to go home early. 

You and your parents had brushed it off as some bad cafeteria food, nothing to worry about. But when you woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon and your stomach started to churn, you knew something more serious was wrong. You spent that day and the rest of the weekend barely leaving your bed, and getting fairly used to the churning in your gut from certain smells. All of a sudden your favorite foods smelled down right nauseating, but you chalked it up to a change in your tastes. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. And when you missed your period two weeks later you told yourself it was just stress from your upcoming graduation and the fall out with Richie.

Your mother figured out your missing periods after your second month. She had come into your bathroom to check your pad supply while making a list of things the maid needed to pick up at the store, at first she was confused that the package of pads was still unopened; but your peckish eating, on and off nausea, and being in a constant state of irritation started to click into place as she realized you were pregnant. You weren’t expecting her to be understanding when she learned the news, but you didn’t expect her to rip you a new asshole. 

“What were you thinking?” your mom storms into your room, unopened box of pads in hand. 

“What are you talking about?” you feign ignorance, subconsciously moving a pillow to rest on your lap to hide your still unshowing belly. 

“You’re irritated, you don’t want to eat what’s for dinner, instead wanting weird concoctions of food, and your pads from two months ago are still unopened!” she throws the box to her right, it smashes into your wall, box opening and pads come tumbling out. “You got yourself knocked up! God, (Y/N), I didn’t think you were this fucking stupid!” 

“I’m just stressed!” you feel anxious tears start to pool in your eyes, you just need to get through the next month and you can leave Derry. Then you can have the kid in New York and your parents would be none the wiser. 

“Bullshit! You stopped drinking coffee,” your mom laughs humorlessly. “I should have known then. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” you cry out, letting the tears you had been holding in for the past two months finally spill. 

“You’re right, you weren’t thinking! Just wait till your father hears about this-” your heart rate spikes at the mention of your father. 

“We don’t have to tell him,” you scramble off the bed and rush to your mother's side, grabbing her hand to try and get her to empathize with you. 

“Don’t tell him?” she lets out a manic laugh, ripping her hand from yours like you’ll taint her somehow. “He’s the goddamn mayor, this will kill his reelection campaign. You’re so fucking niave and self centered (Y/N).”

“I’ll be in New York soon, no one has to know!” your voice goes up an octave, voice rising higher as your desperation grows. 

“You really think I trust you enough to go to New York? Now?” she cocks her head to the side, giving you a calculating look. “You’re not leaving this house until we get this taken care of, and after graduation you’ll be staying in Derry so I can keep my eye on my perfect, innocent, daughter.”

“You can’t do that!” you cry out, taking steps away from your mother. “I’m an adult, I can decide what I do!”

“And look where that got you, knocked up by some deadbeat at eighteen,” your mom gestures to the empty space beside you. “He’s not here right now, he won’t help you take care of a baby. You’ll thank me one day.”

She slams the door to your room behind her as she leaves, you can hear the lock sliding into place. Your parents hadn’t used the lock since you were a child. They used to lock you in your room if the Governor was visiting, or if you got in trouble and your mother had to keep you contained until your father returned home. Walking to the window you assess the distance between your second floor window and the ground below. Coming to the conclusion that it is, in fact, not worth possibly hurting your baby in order to get away from your parents. 

The polaroids of you and Richie tacked to the wall above your desk seem to mock you. Your mom's right, no matter how many plans you made of leaving Derry together, he doesn’t want you. And he sure as hell won’t want the responsibility of the baby growing inside of you. Your eyes land on a picture you took of Richie right after you had made some joke about Eddie’s mom; Richie’s head is thrown back, mouth wide open in laughter, and curls blowing in the wind. Richie may not want you nor your baby, but you aren’t going to deprive the world of another Tozier, a tiny little Richie.

You're so engrossed in studying the picture of Richie that you don’t hear your door being thrown open until it’s too late to block it. There in your doorway is your father; panting, red faced, and steam practically coming out of his ears. If only the people of Derry could see their precious Mayor now, ready to attack his pregnant daughter because it’s bad for his image. He storms up to you, grabbing your arm gruffly, and pushing you into the wall behind you.

“Who’s the fucker that got my idiot daughter knocked up?” he screams, his face so close to yours that his spit is landing on yours. When you don’t respond to his question, he moves his hand from your wrist and grabs both of your shoulders, pulling you forward just to slam you back into the wall. “Answer me you ungrateful bitch!”

“No!” you scream back, kicking your father in the shin as hard as you can. 

“You’re going to fucking regret that,” he shoves you one last time before slightly limping out of the room. 

As soon as he’s gone, you slide down the wall and curl into a fetal position on the ground. Laying in front of you is a polaroid that Bev took of you and Richie one day at the quarry last summer; it was shortly after the two of you had stared hooking up, Richie’s standing behind you, arms wrapped around you, he’s sopping wet from just getting out of the water and you’re almost completely dry, having arrived late from some political lunchin, your white sundress turning transparent from his wet body. Life was a hell of a lot simpler then, and then you had Richie to talk to when your parents were being grade A assholes. 

You spent hours curled up on the floor, or at least that’s what you think because the sun had gone from shining into your room to below the horizon. Your parents never came and got you for dinner, leaving you locked up in your room as they ate the food the chef had prepared. You wait until you hear your father leave his study and head to your parents room before you move from your spot. Immediately moving to your red landline sitting atop your desk, sighing in relief when you hear the dial tone. You start to dial Richie’s number out of habit, before catching yourself and switching to Bev’s. You mutter pleas for her to answer the phone as you type in the extension to the phone in her room. 

“Hello?” Bev sounds half asleep, you probably woke her after she fell asleep doing her homework again. 

“Bev,” your voice cracks as a sob starts to bubble in your chest. 

“(Y/N),” you can hear her shuffling to a seated position, adjusting upon hearing the desperation and fear in your voice. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I'm pregnant, Bev” you rush out, glad that you’re finally getting it off your chest to someone you trust. 

“Oh my God,” she murmurs. “Is the father who I think it is?”

“Yes,” you sigh, knowing she means Richie. “My parents found out today, they’re trying to force me to get rid of the baby as soon as possible.” 

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you,” she promises, and you wish you could believe her. 

“I have to go,” you whisper, footsteps getting close to your door. You quickly and quietly hang up the phone, hiding it beneath your desk, hopefully your parents forgot you have your own line. You quickly hop in bed, covering your body to your chin and pretending to be asleep. Light from the hall floods in as your father opens the door, but you make an effort to keep up your sleeping ruse. 

“Don’t worry, everything will be fixed tomorrow morning,” he quietly shuts the door behind him. Tears start to fall as soon as he shuts the door, how can he force you to do this when it isn’t what you want?  

You don’t remember falling asleep, you must have cried yourself to the brink of exhaustion. So you’re more than startled to wake up to yelling downstairs, the voices are muffled but you can clearly make out your father’s voice yelling at someone to get out of his house. You jump out of bed and immediately run to the window to see if there’s a car on the driveway, and there is. You know it’s Richie’s with one glance, the 1975 Mustang Cobra that you helped him rebuild a few summers ago, and leaning against his car is Bev who is looking straight up at your window. 

You run for the door the moment you hear a crash downstairs, hoping that your father forgot to lock the door the last time he checked on you. Luckily he didn’t, so you pull the door open and run down the stairs two at a time. At the bottom of the stairs are shards of what used to be the priceless glass vase that was atop the hutch next to where your father is standing.

“Let me see (Y/N),” Richie’s voice is far more demanding and forceful than he’s ever used with your father, knowing he was the one adult that could really get him in trouble. 

“She’s not here, she was throwing up all yesterday so we took her to the hospital last night,” your father lies effortlessly, using the same inflection that he does when he promises the people of Derry changes he can never provide. “She was dehydrated so they kept her overnight, she should be back in a day or two.” 

“I don’t believe a god damn word that comes out of your mouth,” Richie seethes, his anger only continuing to grow when he catches sight of you on the stairs. “(Y/N), go pack a bag, we’re getting out of here.” 

“I don’t think this is your problem, kid,” your fathers voice is cold and calculating, and you're frozen on the bottom step. you want to listen to Richie and follow him like you’ve always dreamed of, the future could be your oyster, but you also know that your dad has the sheriff in his pocket and could make sure Richie is arrested and sent away for a long time. “Leave while you still can.”

“Like hell it isn’t my problem!” Richie shouts, his Chuck’s crushing the glass into a fine powder as he walks over to you.  “She’s pregnant with my child!”

“You fucker!” spit flies out of your fathers mouth as he screams at Richie, he’s taking large menacing steps towards your lover, so you do the only logical thing, grab Richie’s arm and yank him up onto the stairs, standing in front of him so he doesn’t get punched. “You did this to her?”

“Stop it!” you scream, as your father tries to reach around you to grab Richie. 

Egged on by your father, Richie tries to step around you to throw a punch, turning him around, you push him up the stairs and towards your room. You slam the door behind you, pulling your gaudy pink suitcase- which is covered in stickers from all the places you’ve visited with your parents- out of your closet and start stuffing it with clothes, knick knacks from your dead grandmother, and the polaroids of your friends that adorn your wall. You're closing the suitcase and Richie is shoving more shit in your backpack when your father throws your bedroom door open, his face scrunched up in anger and you can practically see steam billowing out of his ears. 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he grabs your wrist, nails digging sharply into your skin and creating crescent shaped indents. 

“I’ll tell everyone,” you level with him, it’s a low blow but you know it’ll work. “My indiscretion will hinder your chances of winning reelection, why would people vote for a Mayor who can’t even control his own kid? It’s blasphemous.”

“What do you want?” he asks through gritted teeth, it’s his way of giving into your demands without openly admitting it. 

“Let us go. I’ll stay with Bev or Richie until we graduate, you’ll show up to graduation like the good father you pretend to be. And then I’ll be out of Derry, out of Maine, by the end of summer, long before anyone could notice my pregnancy.”   

He doesn’t respond, not with words at least, instead he steps out of my doorway and lets Richie and I walk past and down the stairs. Neither he nor your mother say anything as you open the front door, not that you’re all that surprised because you're a disgrace in their eyes. They just let the door shut behind you and Richie, and you damn well that you’ll never see them again after graduation. Your heart hurts that they’ll never meet their grandchild, but you're also thankful that your child will never know the conniving abusive ways of your parents.  

Bev runs up to you as you walk down the stone steps of the Mayor’s house, the only home you’ve ever known, and immediately pulls you into a gentle hug. The moment her arms wrap around you you break down, your parents really let you leave, they really don’t care about you, and you have nowhere to go. She keeps her arms wrapped around you as she directs you towards Richie’s stang, she notices your parents matching glares from the living room window. Richie takes your bags and shoves them into the trunk, while Bev climbs into the back of the car, and you begrudgingly take the seat next to Richie. 

The drive to Bev’s is awkwardly silent, except for your occasional sniffles. None of you knows what to say, the last thing any of you ever thought would happen just did; the Mayor’s perfect little Angel got knocked up by the town’s trashmouth, and consequently kicked out. Or as close to being kicked out as one can get. Upon arriving at Bev’s apartment, Richie gets out and lets her climb out that way, with one last encouraging smile she leaves you alone with the father to your child- you’re former friend and fuck buddy. 

“Where am I supposed to go?” you finally ask after fifteen minutes of him driving around in circles. 

“Back home with me,” you can practically hear the duh he added in his head. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you sigh, imagining what his parents' reaction would be to your current situation. “Could you just drive me to Augusta? I’ll find a woman’s shelter there or something.” 

“No!” Richie slams on the breaks, pulling onto the shoulder. Dirt flying everywhere at the force of his abrupt break. “Like I’m gonna fuking let you go anywhere without me toots.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” you bite back, months of anger finally being able to be taken out on the one who’s been causing you all of your hurt. “You don’t give a shit about me, you made that very clear.”

“OH for fuck’s sak, of course I give a shit about you,” he grabs your face with both of his hands, turning it to look at him. “I got scared, so damn scared. I didn’t want to fuck it up with you and lose you. Then you told me you loved me and I got scared, cause I’m a fuck up and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You aren’t a fuck up, Richie,” you sigh, your anger dissapating at the genuine emotion swimming in his eyes. “But what you did hurt me. You left me high and dry, and pregnant. I didn’t know what to do, I was so scared and the only person I wanted to talk to was ignoring me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he leans forward, resting his forehead on yours. “I wish I had worked up the nerve to tell you I love you that day, instead of running away like some damn pansy. ‘Cause I fuckin’ love you toots.”

“You do?” your hormones forcing a sob out of you at his confession.  

“I do, and I can’t wait to have this baby with you,” his right hand lets go of your face, moving to gently touch your belly. “I just hope they have your eyesight.” 

“I hope they have your gorgeous brown eyes and your big ol’ lips,” you giggle, and Richie can’t help but bark out a laugh. “I love you Richie, with all my heart.”

“Not half as much as I love you,” his left hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. When his lips slot perfectly with yours, you really feel like the two of you can make this work.

#Fictober #day 3 #fictober22 #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier #richie tozier x you #richie tozier fic #IT #it imagine #it fanfiction #richie tozier imagine

[randomfoggytiger]

"As Agent Mulder Says, There Are Many Different Kinds of Vampires"

(Fictober, Day 3)

(@wexleresque's Fictober prompt: Mulder and Scully as vampires)

He was a random man-- that was all Scully could think as she rounded the motel bed and found a jean jacketed redhead bent above her partner, mouth attached to Mulder's neck. For a split second her mind played games, reintroduced the gasping phone call to make this a less horrifying reality; but that ended when her partner's assailant raised his head and snarled at her, eyes glowing outlandishly green as blood poured over the enhanced incisors in his mouth. As a doctor, she knew that quantity of blood likely came from the two strategic punctures on her partner's neck. As a woman, she couldn't believe in that scientific possibility for a split second.

In that moment, smalltown attacker charged.

*****

To her horror, scientific probability truly betrayed her then. Though Scully was shooting before she hit the ground, John Doe effortlessly took each bullet to the chest, jerking left and right, left and right with every hit. Finally, spitting blood all over her face, he dug his fingers into her shoulders and slammed her hard against the ground, purposefully knocking the back of her skull over and over into the carpet. Dazed, a fuzzy wave of disassociation washed over her even as Scully felt two (oddly unstable) incisors sink into her neck.

There was a wail of pain-- she thought it was her own-- before everything became a blur of motion: thuds and thrashings, a violent crack of ripping wood, and an anguished gasp for mercy before it crescendoed into a shriek of agony.

Then Mulder appeared in front of her calling "Scully, Scully" as his hands fluttered to her face before sliding down, back and forth in the blood across her neck. Scully's vision cleared enough to see Mulder's eyes glow an unnatural green.

*****

Scully listened to her partner call in the incident while trying not to think of the facts: that an impaled body was sprawled out on the motel floor, that her eyes looked sick and traumatized, and that her partner's carotid artery stopped bleeding sometime between Ronnie's second attack and his death.

A sharp, burning pain wrapped around her throat; and she dropped the wet washcloth to shakily slap around, find the source. Her necklace sizzled, twisting and crackling across her traumatized skin. Scully scrambled to unclasp it as the agony heightened-- and pulled away, horrified, when her fingertips scorched on the cross pendant.

Mulder ran in immediately to help and made flinching noises as he feverishly finished the job. With a final tormented yelp, he dropped it into the sink, both of them looking from the tiny chain halfway down the drain to the red mark blooming into a cross below her clavicles.

*****

Her tears hadn't stopped since she'd sobbed, "Am I denied my faith because of what I am?" Hours and hours later they stood in her motel room after Mulder wrapped up the witness statements with Sheriff Hartwell, Scully's necklace between layers of cheap tissue, and Scully herself in a firming embrace.

*****

Both of them rushed out before dawn when a herd of wild Texan RVs squealed out of the lot, effectively emptying the entire town in under ten minutes. With two hours to spare before the sun rose, Mulder retrieved his phone from the pocket at her side and yelled "Call Skinner!" before running out to investigate whatever was left.

Scully was thankful for the fifteen spare minutes he gave to collect herself. Five of those fifteen were spent breathing her professionalism back to life.

*****

Agent Scully could neither confirm nor deny Agent Mulder's claims that Ronnie Strickland's abhorrent actions were tied to the alleged nature of his vampirism. However, she could state for the record that perhaps his collaborators-- or Mr. Strickland himself-- would be able to explain his actions more thoroughly, as any evidence had disappeared along with his body and the vanished residents of Chaney, Texas.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Fictober #2023 #Day 3 #As Agent Mulder Says There Are Many Different Kinds of Vampires" #mine #Bad Blood #S5 #xf fanfic #xf fic #x-files #the x files #xfiles #Mulder #Scully #Sheriff Harwell #Ronnie Strickland #AU for wexleresque

[acciokaidanalenko]

Fictober 2023: Day 4

Prompt: "Do you even know what this means?" Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Relationship: Commander Natasha Shepard/Kaidan Alenko, Commander Natasha Shepard & James Vega Rating: Teen & Up Warnings: Head Injury Summary: The Normandy escaped Mars as the Reapers descended, despite Cerberus' best efforts, and now Shepard is left with the guilt of what happened.

AO3 link: here. Preview below the cut.

Guilt. Dread. Fear.

Each emotion fought for dominance, threatening to overwhelm her as she cautiously carried Kaidan into the medbay of the Normandy.

Guilt because this was what she’d sought to prevent from the first moment she’d walked into her cabin and found his picture staring up at her from the desk. The Illusive Man’s silent threat. He knew what Kaidan meant to her. Her words of defiance on Mars had been the final straw, apparently.

Dread because the bruises around his eyes meant this injury was serious. He’d be lucky to survive this. And it was her fault The Illusive Man had ordered his robot to attack Kaidan. She should’ve protected him better. Somehow.

Fear because she didn’t want to lose him. The galaxy was falling apart as the Reapers descended on them, and her biggest fear was losing this one Human. The only person in the entire galaxy she’d do truly anything to save.

She gently placed Kaidan on the closest bed and stared down at him, still in shock. She peeked through the glass of his helmet. Her heart sank as she noticed the bruises had darkened.

#fictober23 #fictober event #day 4 #writing prompts #mass effect #commander shepard #commander natasha shepard #kaidan alenko #shenko #f!shenko #james vega #me3 #mass effect 3 #post-mars #angst #tw head injury #mass effect fanfic #it's late but idc lmaooo

[elvendara]

MYSME FICTOBER DAY 7/ JUMIN WEEK DAY 3

@mysme-fictober & @juminweek2019

Michael's Edition

7 October 2023—VAMPIRE Jumin Week—Quality Time

Centuries passed in the blink of an eye. He lifted his hand to watch the reflection off the ruby on his ring. How long ago had he acquired this item? Too long ago for sure. With a sigh he stood and made his way to the window. Hiding in the shadows was easy, second nature. Pulling the curtain aside he narrowed his eyes at the intrusive light of the sun. It wouldn’t kill him, not now, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Even after all this time, he still remembered the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Turning away in a huff he marched towards the bedroom. This damned house felt like a prison, a self-imposed one, but still. Perhaps he should simply sleep and be done with it. But oh there was so much life out there! He grit his teeth, clenching his jaw. As a vampire he had lived many lifetimes, loved many, become richer than the gods, but now, now…he was exhausted.

He had sired no children when alive so there was no lineage he could care for. Those he’d loved had all grown old and died, some had abhorred him, calling him evil and cursing him, some had embraced him, begging to join him in undeath. All had torn his heart, what was left of it, in pieces. He wondered why he still had some shred of humanity when most of his kind had sloughed it off almost immediately. They laughed at him, at his continued need to act human.

He had left them long ago, to live fully among humans, but now, now that his latest love lay in the ground, rotting, for nearly a decade…he couldn’t muster the strength to care. The self-imposed isolation had come about from a desire to reset. He had begun to be lethargic, burdened by the constant loss. Sleep, it’s what a vampire did when becoming overwhelmed. He did not want to, but he knew enough to know that he needed to step back. To leave humanity and be on his own. To reevaluate what he wanted out of this continued existence.

And what did he want? An eternity of drinking wine and blood, of loving and losing? They all ended up in the grave as he watched them wither away. Tears sprang from his eyes as the faces of those he’d loved filled his head. All of them vibrant and vital, becoming slower and slower with age. Age that came all to quickly, in the blink of an eye. Why did he do that to himself? Why not turn one of them and have a companion forever?

He knew why, this existence was not one he would willingly foist on another, no matter how much he desired it. The one who had made him had done so for selfish reasons, and when even his presence no longer was enough, he’d left. Left Jumin alone to navigate his new existence. Those years, those decades had been devastating. He’d been no more than a hungry animal, running on instinct alone, surviving against his own will.

Once he’d mastered himself, he vowed to never take another life. And he’d held to that promise. Sustaining himself with animals might not be the most satisfying, but it was what he needed to do for himself.

Sitting once more he poured more wine into his cup and sipped it. Solitude is what he needed now. To think. To contemplate eternity and his place in it. A small smile played around his lips, time, he had plenty of that didn’t he?

#mysme fictober #mysmefictober2023 #day 7 #Vampire #Jumin Week 2023 #Day 3 #Quality Time #Jumin Han #mystic messenger #mysme #juminweek2023

[kaatiba]

Fictober 2022 | Day 3 | Deep Water Prompt #2604

Photo by Eric Prouzet on Unsplash

❝Everyone warns me the Bone Beach is not what it sounds like. They say there’s no point in visiting, that no one understands its strange name.❞

↳ (prompt via @/deepwaterwritingprompts)

It looks like a regular beach—pale water under the persistently cloudy skies lapping at the slightly pebbly sand at a regular rhythm, washing up the occasional piece of driftwood. It’s utterly empty, and remains so the whole time I’m there, even though the town’s just beyond the ridge leading to this beach. My only company is the v-formations of birds heading to warmer climes that pass overhead, calling mournfully to each other. I set up camp out of reach of high tide, and I only leave to get necessities, like food that I don’t have to cook on my campfire or camping stove, or a hot shower at the community centre. On one such excursion, a few days after I arrived, I asked some of the locals why the beach was empty. Sure it was the tail-end of fall, so I wasn’t expecting swimmers, but I hadn’t even seen anyone out walking their dogs or enjoying a stroll.

[read more]

#fictober #fictober 2022 #snippet #drabble #short story #prompt fill #october prompts #kaatibawrites #i hand wrote this one! #then typed it up last night #day 3 bc im still hoping to catch up lol

[lady-ashfade]

Day 3 Of Fictober 2023

Bimbo: Earth-42!Miles Morales

Prowler!Miles Morales x Bimbo!Chubby!Reader. Hcs

Just had a small idea, reader is kinda just like “Whatever” in this and is mostly blind to people being rude. Also I don’t know Spanish and I can barely speak English

Warnings: Body shaming, naming calling, bullying, slight sexual themes., bad Spanish.

Miles could believe his eyes the first time you walked into the class room. He was off in his own world, ignoring the teacher and playing with his pencil when the most prettiest girl walked into the class room, in pink and tighter clothes. Your chubby tummy poked out, your hips and waist making his mouth water, the breast on your chest almost falling out your shirt. Then your pretty thighs showing through the shirt your wear, your lower legs cover up by thigh highs.

He was captured by you.

Miles didn’t take his eyes off of you for the rest of the class. You giggled when you spoke and had a smile on your face throughout the day.

Luckily to say he introduced himself, though he wasn’t the nicest. Telling you to watch out because this was his halls and he didn’t need another idiot crowding his space.

“No worries, handsome. I wouldn’t get in your way,” you popped the gum in your mouth and didn’t even flinch at his words or tone. “Thanks, for the heads up.”

He watched you walk away with the same slip in your step, you didn’t even now he was being rude.

So he tried to test how much you could take. Like commenting on your outfit, saying rude things. “You got a stain right there.” But you just smiled and thanked him. Then he tripped you in the hallway, but you caught yourself before actually falling. “Pay more attention, Bombón.” You turned around and did the same thing you always did.

“Thanks, I need to pay more attention.”

Months went by of bullying you and it got worse over time, tugging at your clothes and hair. Calling you a idiot, or stupid because you got bad grades, or how you didn’t seem to notice things around you. He’d call you names for your weight, but he didn’t actually mean it because he loved that about you. He just wanted to get something out of you.

Until one day he pushed it to far. You had a rough day on the wak to school of girls making fun of you. Of course, they were jealous about their man’s and all the boys couldn’t look away from you. But when miles decide to bully you, it was over.

Miles frozen when he saw the tears pick up in your eyes and your lips quiver. Oh,he hated it. “Woah- Don’t cry.” His tone was confused. Then you walked away from him and out the lunch room in a hurry.

The rest of the day the look on your face haunts him. He didn’t even see you in the halls and it worried him, even if he hated to admit it. Miles searched and searched for you.

At the end of the day he waited for you out of the school and waited until you started to walk home.

Miles apologized for making you upset and offered to get you ice cream. “Didn’t mean it, such a pretty girl.” His hand pulled your cheeks close and ran his thumps over it. You blushed so cute in his hands.

“I want sprinkles.” He chuckled at your demanding voice.

“Anything you want, Mami.”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales 42 #prowler x reader #prowler miles x reader #prowler!miles x reader #prowler!miles morales x reader #prowler!miles #across the spiderverse x reader #fictober23 #fictober event

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

A Love Beyond Time.

fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!

word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)

in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.

trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.

trope: vampire!harry

The year was 1864.

You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.

The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.

With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.

Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.

The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.

The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.

Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.

The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.

Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.

In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.

Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.

The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.

Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.

A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.

Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.

He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.

Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.

Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.

As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.

Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.

Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.

You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.

Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.

The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.

You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.

"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.

His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.

"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.

Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.

Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.

"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.

Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.

The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.

Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.

You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.

With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.

His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.

The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.

Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.

Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.

You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.

As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.

But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.

In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.

You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.

As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.

The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.

you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.

The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,

𝐻.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉���𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 ��𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.

𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.

𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,

𝐻.

With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.

𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,

𝐻.

The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.

His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.

Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.

Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.

He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.

You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.

The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.

He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.

You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.

Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.

As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.

The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.

Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.

He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.

"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.

You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."

Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"

He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.

Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"

Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.

"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.

In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."

His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.

You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.

Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.

Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.

As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.

The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.

In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.

You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.

As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.

Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.

He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.

The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.

The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.

In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.

It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.

Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.

The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.

Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.

As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.

When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.

You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.

Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.

The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.

The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.

The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.

You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.

Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.

His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.

He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.

The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.

Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.

Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.

"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."

Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.

In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.

Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.

Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.

It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.

At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.

The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.

The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.

Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.

The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.

Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.

The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.

The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.

In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.

Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.

A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.

His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.

His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.

The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.

Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.

Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.

They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.

Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.

"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"

The Chapel Grove.

A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.

Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."

Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."

His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.

Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.

It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.

Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.

It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.

The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.

Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.

He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.

He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.

As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.

As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.

In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.

He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.

With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.

You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.

It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.

The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.

Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.

Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.

Rookie mistake on your part.

And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.

The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.

In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.

The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.

The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.

You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.

And so, you continue your journey.

The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.

Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.

The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.

As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.

The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.

Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.

It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.

For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.

The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.

The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.

The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.

As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.

The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.

You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.

You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.

The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.

The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.

Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.

On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.

The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.

Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.

The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.

The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.

The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.

It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.

The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.

The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.

You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.

It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.

The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.

Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.

You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.

The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.

The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.

The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.

As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.

The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.

The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.

You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.

"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.

She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.

Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"

He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”

You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.

With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.

“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.

There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.

Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.

"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.

You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.

A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.

"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.

With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.

You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.

After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.

It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.

The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.

He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.

Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.

As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.

It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.

He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.

His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.

They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.

Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.

And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.

Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.

As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them

You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.

Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.

It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.

The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.

The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.

The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.

The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.

It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.

As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.

As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.

You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.

You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.

Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.

A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.

He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.

You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.

"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.

Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.

"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."

You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.

As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.

You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.

The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.

You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.

He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.

Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.

His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.

As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.

The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.

His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.

The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.

It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.

February 1, 2023.

The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.

The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.

His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.

For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.

Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.

As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.

They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.

Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.

As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.

Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.

His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.

Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.

"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.

He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.

Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.

"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.

Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.

Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"

Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.

"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.

After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.

He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.

Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.

With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.

The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.

As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.

Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.

The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.

Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.

The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.

He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.

In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.

Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."

Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.

Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."

The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.

"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."

With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.

"The signing of the Magna Carta?"

"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.

"The American Declaration of Independence?"

"1776."

The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.

Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.

As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.

Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.

Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.

He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.

You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.

The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.

You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.

It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.

Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.

"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."

He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.

Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.

"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."

You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."

He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."

You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.

You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.

Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.

Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.

The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.

Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.

The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.

The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.

Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.

As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.

The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.

Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.

The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.

You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.

The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.

Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.

She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."

Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.

You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.

You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.

That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.

A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.

Her ancestor was someone you once knew.

Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.

A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.

As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.

Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.

The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.

You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.

As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.

Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.

"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.

You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."

Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."

A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.

You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.

Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.

For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.

Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.

With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.

You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.

As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.

Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.

The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.

Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.

With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.

As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.

As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.

All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.

The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.

Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"

Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."

Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."

Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."

Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."

Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."

With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."

As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.

The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.

Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."

Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.

He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."

Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."

Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."

Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."

Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."

As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.

Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.

The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.

Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.

His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.

He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.

A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.

Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.

Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.

He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.

A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.

The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.

Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.

With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.

He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.

Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.

The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.

Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.

He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.

You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.

Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.

The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.

The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.

As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.

The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.

As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.

But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.

Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.

"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.

Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."

Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.

"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.

You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.

It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."

You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.

He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.

As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.

The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.

Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.

Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.

You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.

The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.

You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.

You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."

He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."

As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.

The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.

But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.

The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.

You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.

Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.

Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.

"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."

He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"

The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.

Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.

His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."

But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.

His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.

As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.

You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.

"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.

As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.

Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.

The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.

The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.

Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.

Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.

But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.

As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,

"He'll come back, he has to."

It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.

In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.

Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.

"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.

You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."

His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."

But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.

"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."

His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.

As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.

"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."

With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.

Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."

As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.

Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.

In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.

You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.

Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.

It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.

You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.

It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.

As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.

The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.

You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.

With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,

"I'm going outside for a smoke."

It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.

Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.

He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.

As you turned to leave, he called after you,

"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.

You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.

"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.

You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.

The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.

With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.

Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.

In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."

The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."

In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.

With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."

As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.

It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.

The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."

But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.

Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.

The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."

As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.

The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.

You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.

Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.

"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.

"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.

As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"

You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.

"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."

Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"

You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."

Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."

You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."

Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."

As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.

Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.

"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."

Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."

Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."

You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."

Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.

Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."

He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.

You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."

As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.

As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.

Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.

The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.

They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.

Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.

You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.

As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.

Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"

For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.

A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.

They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.

You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.

With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.

You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.

Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.

Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.

On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.

Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.

If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.

Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.

He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.

As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.

Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.

Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.

But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.

Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.

Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.

He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.

His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"

A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.

Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.

He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."

The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.

The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.

She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."

Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.

She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."

Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."

Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."

The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.

Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."

The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"

Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "

Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.

Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."

Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.

The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.

With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.

In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.

"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."

He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."

He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."

The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."

He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."

Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."

Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."

With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.

Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"

Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."

He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.

Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."

Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.

Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.

As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.

His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.

Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.

Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"

You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.

In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.

These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.

The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.

They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.

And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.

The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.

Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.

The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.

The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.

𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈

𝙾𝙵

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.

𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳

𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,

𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).

Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.

The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.

The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.

The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.

His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.

The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.

You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."

Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.

He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.

The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."

The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.

"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."

As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.

It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.

With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.

The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.

With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.

It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.

The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.

The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.

Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.

His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.

He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.

His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

He had fantasised this moment countless times.

As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.

What if you were really there?

His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.

He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.

The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.

With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.

Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.

He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.

Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.

His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.

“(Y/N)?”

Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.

But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.

Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.

At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.

And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.

The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.

You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.

The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.

He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.

Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.

As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.

The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.

You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.

Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.

You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.

You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.

You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.

Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.

Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.

Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.

The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.

Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.

You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.

Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.

"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."

Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."

You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."

He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."

Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.

Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.

With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"

You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.

Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.

You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.

The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.

Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,

"Can I kiss ‘ye?"

You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.

With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.

The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.

Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.

Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.

The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.

“M’love you, m’sun.”

That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.

You were his sun, and he was your light.

You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.

And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.

“I love you, my light, always and forever.”

Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.

#musicforastylesrestaurant #fictober23 #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fake ig #harry styles headcanon #harry styles x oc #vampire!harry #harrystylesdrabble #harry styles fake social media #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harrystylesxreader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x yn #harry’s house #harrystylesxyn

[lizzie-boo]

Autumn Leaves

Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

A/N: Fictober Day 3!!! Don't know how many more days I'm gonna do lol. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

You sat under a tree near the black lake watching as the leaves drifted to the ground. The slight chill in the air nipped at your skin as you pulled your jumper tighter. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Mattheo asked. 

“I’m just watching the leaves, it’s peaceful.” You smiled up at him and patted the ground next to you. 

Taking the hint he sat next to you as he pulled out a cigarette. Leaning back against the tree he let his arm wrap around your shoulders. The smoke circled you as you sat in silence, letting the sounds of nature fill your ears. You enjoyed the quiet moments like this, especially when Mattheo was involved.

#harry potter imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #fictober23 #harry potter #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober: Day 3 Poly Ghostface Part 1 (Billy and Stu) (Apple Cider)

Day 4! If it isn't obvious by now I wrote like most of these in September so I could post them way easier when October is here so shout out to past me for planning ahead.

Part 2 to this fic here

Notes: Minors DNI, Suggestive themes, Gender neutral reader, no specific pronouns. This is a poly relationship fic so if you aren't into it then this is not the fic for you.

"Stu that's insane" You said as he leaned against the locker next to yours, He laughed.

"Oh come on babe, Billy doesn't have to know anything"

"And you'd really think we'd be able to get away with it?" You asked incredulously, To try and do something behind Billy's back was a risk.

"Yeah babe totally. Me and you, in and out, and good ole Billy would be none the wiser" You closed your locker and leaned against it looking at him.

"Fine, If you really think we'll get away with this, But I swear Stu if Billy finds out-" Stu grabbed your shoulders.

"He won't babe, Stu's got you"

Before third period Stu had approached you with an idea, Billy had some things to take care of and wouldn't be able to do the boys usual Ghostface schtick that him and Stu usually manned. So Stu had come to you, their precious significant other, to help stalk out the next victim.

Billy had always been very much so against you EVER joining them on their excursions ever since they had come clean that they were the Ghostface. Stu had always agreed to keep Billy quiet but he had teased and propositioned you in what you thought was a joking way before until this time around.

The two of you knew that if Billy found out Stu had even so much as thought to invite you to join him while Billy was off doing other things that there would be hell to pay. But it was just a stake out to choose the next victim they wanted to go after, Stu figured it wouldn't be that bad.

"I'll do it then, If you promise Billy won't find out then fine let's do it" You told him, A wicked grin spread across his face.

"Oh babe! I knew you'd say yes!" Stu brought you into a hug and kissed the side of your head "I'll pick you up later tonight and you can even pick who it is!". If Stu Macher was anything, it was enthusiastic.

================================================

Later that night Stu arrived at your house as promised. You left your house through your window as usual and got in the passenger seat of Stu's parents car.

"It's time baby! You're gonna love it I promise" Stu said as you opened the door to get in.

"Sure Stu, I'm more so just interested to see what my boys do when I'm not around" Which was the truth, You'd always wanted to see just how the Ghostface attacks went down and how they singled out who they went after.

"One day maybe it'll be me, you and Billy, Like one big happy family, You pick the victims, me and Billy go after them. It'll be great!" Stu said as he pulled away from your house and heading towards the destination to stake out.

"You know that would take a lot of convincing on Billy's part though"

"That's why we start here, and one day we tell Billy about this and show him how good you did! Then he won't be able to deny how much of a natural you are"

"Stu it's just a stakeout I thought? Like all we're doing is picking one of these sorry pieces of shit to go after" Stu nodded.

"It is, but this is a gateway into your life of the Ghostface, and here we are!"

You looked at the window and noticed you and Stu were pulled off into a shadowy part of the backroad down the road from a house you recognized from a few parties you had went to with the boys.

It was about ten at night at this point and you knew the black car would be almost impossible to see behind the trees you were covered by so you and Stu would be impossible to see.

"Now I do have to warn you this is the boring part, We need to make sure we know when their gonna be home and when they aren't so we know when to strike" Stu told you.

You and Stu then sat in silence for about an hour just watching the house and the people who lives there coming home for the night. You were startled out of the silence by your cellphone ringing.

"It's Billy" You told Stu starting to get nervous, Stu sighed

"Just tell him your sick at home doing homework or something" Stu told you, you shakily answered.

"Hello?" You answered the phone softly.

"Hey baby" Billy's voice poured down the phone like honey.

"What's up?" You asked him "Did you get your shit done?"

"Yeah baby I did, What are you up too?" You froze then remembered what Stu told you to say.

"Oh I'm just laying down and all, I didn't feel so hot after school"

"Really?" Billy asked

"Yeah my stomach started feeling upset" You heard Billy sigh then pause for a second through the phone.

"Well see baby that actually funny, you know why?" Shit.

"Why Billy?" You asked, still hoping to play innocent.

"Well it's funny cause I'm standing in your room right now and you aren't fucking here" You turned your head and frantically tapped Stu on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Billy" You said at a loss for what else to say.

"Don't give me that shit, where the fuck are you?" Billy was angry, You could almost feel the anger through the phone.

Stu now obviously listening in to the call started the car and then grabbed the phone from you.

"Hey Billy man why don't you meet us at my house, We'll see you then, bye!" and then he hung up.

"STU! why would you hang up !?" You knew that would've pushed Billy passed the point of being furious.

"Relax babe just let Stu handle this"

A few minutes late the two of you had pulled into Stu's driveway, his parents way on another trip to some other country. Stu brought you to his room to sit on his bed and wait for Billy to arrive.

A little while later after many hushed words trying to calm you down from Stu, The two of you heard the front door slam open then shut once again, and angry hurried footsteps run up the stairs.

As soon as Stu's bedroom door opened Billy started yelling.

'What in the fuck do you two think your doing?"

"Billy It's not-" Billy didn't stop.

"No, you're gonna wait a second, I fucking told the two of you I didn't want you to be involved in mine and Stu's shit"

"Billy it wasn't all that, It was just a stakeout" Stu piped up. Billy's head snapped to look at Stu.

"Billy c'mon, don't be mad, like Stu said it wasn't all that. I was never in any danger or anything. We kept it from you cause we knew you were gonna be mad" You explained trying to diffuse any confrontation between your two boys before it started.

'That's not the point and you know it, the three of us agreed that you would never be involved at all. The two of you went behind my fucking back and violated something I only put in place to fucking protect you" Billy's anger wasn't dissipating but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.

Billy exhaled and sat next to you on the bed, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders in an attempt to start calming him down.

"Billy we're sorry, we knew you were gonna be mad and still did it, but do you really think Stu would've let me go along if I was actually going to be in any real danger"

Stu appeared on the opposite side of you as you spoke.

"Yeah man, you know I love Y/n as much as you do, If I thought things were gonna get hairy I wouldn't of even thought about the two of us going, especially not without you"

Billy sighed once again but you felt some of the tension leaving his body. You rubbed his shoulder willing him to speak what was on his mind.

"It's not just about dangerous shit like that though, It's also about if for some fucking reason we ever get caught. I want you to have no ties to it at all. You aren't apart of it and you don't know anything"

You nodded in understanding, that anger wasn't cause Billy was actually mad he was just scared. Billy continued.

"When I got to your house and went through your window expecting you to be there only to see that you weren't, I got I don't know, I got really fucking scared. Even though my brain knew you were probably with Stu knowing what we do and what danger you could really be in scared the shit out of me."

Stu scooted closer and wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you brought Billy closer to lean against you as you leaned back into Stu.

"We're sorry we scared you Honey, we honestly just thought it would be a help for me to fill in since you had shit to do tonight and couldn't. Sure we thought you were gonna be mad if you found out but we didn't mean to scare you"

"Yeah man, the last thing we wanted to do was that. I wasn't thinking shit through and thought it would be fun if maybe one day it was the three of us together instead of just me and you"

"I guess it would be nice but I still stand by what I said, for now at least please, I don't want you apart of it" Bill said looking at you, you smiled and nodded before leaning over and placing your lips on his frown.

You felt Stu's hands run up your sides, and tug at your shirt, You playfully rolled your eyes before letting him take your shirt off. Billy let out a laugh before connecting your lips once more.

Stu's lips attached themselves to your neck and Billy's hands made their way down to your pants to unbutton them and move them down your legs. Billy tossed your pants to the floor as you got up onto your knees on the bed in front of him.

Stu wrapped his arms around your middle and placed his chin on your shoulder with a smirk.

"Maybe if I dressed like this you'd let me come with you guys?" You teased.

"Certainly babe" Stu said, Billy shook his head.

"You two spend too much time around each other" he said, placing his hands underneath Stu's on your hips.

"Maybe you should spend some time with us and show us what we're missing" You smirked at him.

"Maybe I will"

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #stu macher #billy loomis #scream #scream movie #poly ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #poly ghostface x reader #Fictober #halloween

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 3- Don't You Trust Me?

If you guys like this we can do another part for this.. hehe

FICTOBER Promts and masterlist

Patreon

1.2k

warnings- mention of abuse, werewolves, asshole!harry, mention of blood and injury, mention of death/killing

-----

Y/N was silent as she looked up at the man who had the power to ruin her life standing over her. Her arms were crossed, body sat in the corner as his wolfish smile sent a shudder through her body. 

God, he was scary. The alpha of a rival pack greeting you personally in a holding cell was absolutely not what the ideal scenario would be for anyone, but especially not when it was this alpha. He wasn’t known for his kindness, his pack staying to themselves and remaining self sufficient. When her own pack had tried to come in and take over years ago when she herself was just a pup, they’d lost hundreds. The true scale and viciousness of the pack had been extremely underestimated by an arrogant alpha with no sense of fear. Surely he died with one though, at the hands of the one in front of her.

“There, there, pet. Why are you trembling?” The croon was sickening, the eyes dark as he slowly approached her cowering body. “Hm? You’ve got to understand why we had to take you in. Sniffing around our land is… unfavorable. Not a wise move.” His shoes clicked on the cement of the holding cell, the cold floor itself freezing her core. He was pawing at her, playing with his food. “Do you know who I am?” 

Y/N didn’t find her voice yet, nodding as an answer. That wasn’t good enough for him, though, and she felt it when his voice dropped and he stopped right in front of her. “You’re a big girl. Use your words. Do you know who I am.. Where you are?” 

“Yes.” She squeaked, swallowing thickly as she kept her eyes averted. “I know who you are and I know where I am.” 

“So tell me why you thought it was a good idea to turn up here?” He asked, the toe of his brown leather boot nudging her knee. “Hm? Give me your eyes when you’re speaking.” His voice tensed. “Don’t be disrespectful.” 

Y/N was terrified. This was a man who was known for devious things when provoked and the last thing she wanted to do was provoke her, but her body was frozen. “I’m s-sorry, I’m just afraid. I didn’t mean to come on to your land. I got lost.” The excuse was laughed off, the bark of laughter making her clench her fists. Why would he laugh at that? 

“Lost? You avoided all the signs?” His arms crossed over his broad chest making her sink deeper into the wall. His gaze cut like a knife into her own. “I find it hard to believe that. But let’s say I do. Why should I let you go? I see… quite an interesting pack mark on your arm.” His smile was rueful, eyes narrowed as he stared at the mark with clear detestment. “How do I know you aren’t a spy, hm?” He growled. “How do I know that the weak land you come from hasn’t gained another delusional leader, since it seems to run in your stream water, thinking they can overtake my own land?”

“I swear, that isn’t it, I don’t agree with what they’ve done in the past and I-” The interruption was another growl that made her cower back, internally hating herself for it. If she had proper food and water in her, perhaps the snark could come back where it usually sat at the tip of her tongue, but she was too tired and frightened to argue. “I was trying to escape them. I was, I was trying to throw them off my trail and making different lines for them to follow. I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t even know until I was tackled and brought up here.” Rudely, she may add. Tossed into the cell with no answer of why and no chance to explain herself. Until now. 

“Escaping?” Harry quirked a brow, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as he observed her. There was no telling if he believed her or not, but she was wishing on every star she had that he could spare her. “Why would you try and escape them? They try to advertise being a luxurious and exclusive pack…” His eyes ran over her. “It would make sense for them to think little of me. Send their prettiest pack member over with a sob story, try and break into my strategies and secrets. There are always whispers.” 

“I-I swear to the moon, that isn’t the case. I’m leaving because- because my father promised me to the alpha’s son. He’s dangerous. I’ve been hurt so many times before just in the courting process and they won’t let me back out of this deal.” She swallowed her sob that had been crawling up her throat, terrified of her fate. “I know it sounds fake but I swear it, Alpha. I promise. They’ll put out a howl for me soon, report me missing and stolen but If I was to return, they’d kill me.” She stressed, eyes widening up at the bigger man. “Oh god, I’m going to die either way. You’re going to kill me too.”   

“Perhaps.” The werewolf Alpha replied. “If you’re lying, I’ll cut your throat myself. I’ll make an example out of you and send your arm back to your pack, with that disgusting mark branded over with our own.” It was terrifying, the way he spoke with such little care for her life- as if it would please him to make a point to the pack she was running from. “But, if you aren’t lying.. I think it would be such a beautiful turn of events if I take you in. Rub some salt in the wounds I know are still gaping open back in those artificial crystal encrusted gates.” He sneered in obvious distaste, the true hatred of her birth pack showing with his eyes. Y/N couldn’t help that tiny sliver of hope at his words, though. If he took her in?

“I promise, I swear it, I’m not lying. If you- if you can promise me safety from them, I’ll stay and work for you, I’ll do anything... You won’t regret it.” She pleaded, giving him her most honest look. She was exhausted, filthy, her ankle throbbed and her head was still bleeding from where the guard had wacked it on the tree when she flailed. All she wanted was a warm bed, a wash, some food and safety from the people she knew were hunting her. 

The strong creature gazed down at her with a silent promise. If she messed this up, she was dead. If she was out in the forest, she probably would suffer the same fate. 

“Anything?” That wolfish smirk rose on his lips, a sparkle like glint in his eyes. Y/N knew that wasn’t a good thing, but she had no choice but to nod. “Unwise to promise that, little pet. But i suppose I can let you stay.” Harry couldn’t resist the temptation to win yet another battle from her pathetic excuse of a pack. Having their most attractive member run to him for shelter? That would be the icing on the bloody cake.  “You’ll be put on probation. I need you to be watched and I will be listening in to every rumor and whisper in the wind to assure you aren’t leaking anything back.” Taking a step forward, he extended his large hand, Y/N’s swallow audible as she  was slow to place her smaller, dirt and blood stained palm into his own. 

“Lets move a bit faster, pet. Don’t you trust me?” 

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry fic #werewolf harry styles #alpha harry #alpha Harry styles #harry styles halloween #jarofstyles fictober 2023 #jarofstyles fictober

[captainsophiestark]

Dogfight Football

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Top Gun

Day 3 Prompt: "Okay, show me."

Summary: Hangman gets hurt during Dogfight Football. Lucky for him, he's dating a navy doctor.

Word Count: 1,715

Category: Fluff, humor, little bit of angst

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I scowled as I scribbled in my notebook, trying to prepare for an upcoming test by making flash cards. All my friends and my boyfriend were outside on the beach playing something called 'Dogfight Football', but I was holed up here, at a table in the back of the Hard Deck, trying to memorize medical terms and procedures.

Stupid fighter pilots.

Being on temporary assignment at Top Gun at the same time as my boyfriend, Jake Seresin, was supposed to mean we got to spend more time together. And I guess we'd gotten to spend a little more time together, but I'd built it up in my mind as something much more romantic and exciting than navy training. I really should've known better, but I'd been on a ship in the middle of the ocean treating various illnesses for everyone on board for months. The romantic fantasy had been one of the only things getting me through.

At least I had tonight to look forward to. Jake and I were going to a fancy restaurant off base for dinner, then out somewhere to dance the night away. Neither of us had to report for duty until the afternoon tomorrow, so we could ditch some of our usual healthy habits.

I'd finally managed to finish my flash cards and block out most of the noise from outside when someone came bursting through the back door of the Hard Deck. I looked up to find the cause of the disturbance and found Coyote, one of Jake's best friends, staring at me.

"What happened?" I asked, shooting out of my seat immediately. Coyote looked stressed, which never happened unless something was actually wrong.

"Hangman got hurt," he said. I rushed to the bar and grabbed my med kit without hesitating, even as Coyote continued. "He was trying to pull a stunt on a touchdown in the game, and there was some pit or something hidden by the sand. I'm not totally sure what happened, but he went down hard. I think it's something with his leg."

I shook my head, cursing every last reckless aviator on that beach as I followed Coyote out the door.

"He wouldn't be the first one to fall into a literal sand trap and hurt himself. Let's just be glad he didn't break his neck showing off."

Once we got outside, I could see Jake clearly, laying in the sand not too far from the surf. The rest of the Top Gun fliers were gathered around him, and the fact that he hadn't forced himself to his feet to play it cool around them told me he was really, really hurt.

I started running as soon as Jake was in sight, cutting through the aviators and dropping to my knees as soon as I was in range of Jake. He looked up when he saw me and tried to smile, but it ended up being more of a grimace than anything else.

"Hey, Baywatch. Come to check on me?"

I snorted. "What did you do?"

"I was trying to do a flip."

"Oh my God."

"I've done one before! But when I landed, the sand just gave way, and my leg..."

He trailed off, wincing, one hand holding his leg and the other clenched in a tight fist in the sand. Nothing looked broken from here, but with his hand in the way, I couldn't be sure.

"It hurts," he said, voice a strangled whisper so that only I could hear. Jake looked at me, face tight with pain, and my heart squeezed seeing him like that. "It hurts a lot."

"Okay, show me," I said, falling into the cool calm that overtook me in emergency situations. "I need you to move your hand and show me where it hurts, alright?"

Jake nodded, then gingerly removed his hand to rest it with the other one in the sand. Coyote and Maverick had moved the others a little further away after I'd arrived, so we had some privacy. Jake groaned and barely stifled a scream as I reached out to gently touch his ankle, shin, and knee to asses. To his credit, his leg didn't move an inch.

After a few more painful minutes of assessment, I sat back on my heels and looked at my boyfriend. He looked back, body slightly less tensed but his teeth still clenched.

"So? What's the verdict, doc?"

"The verdict is you're insanely lucky," I said, turning to dig in my medical bag. I pulled out what I'd need to splint Jake's ankle, then got to work as I continued. "It's not uncommon for people to break their legs, bad, from falling into pits hidden by the sand. You, fortunately, didn't fall hard enough or twist enough or find a deep enough pit to quite break your leg. Instead, you've got a bad sprain. It's definitely not good, but based on what I'm seeing now, I think you'll have an easier time with this level of sprain than if you'd broken something."

Jake nodded, then winced again as I tightened the brace on his ankle. It wasn't good enough to last for long, but it would keep his ankle immobilized while I found a way to get him to my office where I had supplies to actually treat him more long-term.

"You're gonna be okay," I said, leaning over once I'd finished working and kissing Jake on the forehead. "I'm sorry you got hurt. Stop doing dangerous things to showboat with your friends."

Jake huffed a laugh and gave me the same overconfident, cocky smile that I'd seen a thousand times and slowly fallen in love with, albeit slightly more strained than normal.

"I can't make any promises about the last one. Thank you for taking care of me."

"Always. And you're going to hate what comes next, so... I guess just remember that it's part of what happens when you insist on doing beach-flips in a game."

"What do you-"

"Rooster!" I turned to call to the tall aviator, who'd wandered a little ways away with everyone else. He turned and started walking back as soon as he heard me.

"What's up?"

"I need your help getting Jake to my truck," I replied. Rooster grinned, and I heard Jake groan from behind me. This time, I didn't think it was from the pain.

"Sure thing. Happy to help."

"Can't you get anyone else," whined Jake as Rooster made it to us. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down.

"Rooster's the person on this beach who'll have the easiest time lifting you and carrying you out to the car. I love Coyote and everyone else, and I'm sure they'd figure it out if they needed to, but Roos is gonna be able to just do it."

Jake grumbled, and I caught Rooster with a shit-eating grin as he leaned down and picked Jake up. I just sighed and shook my head at both of them as we headed back up the beach.

"This is ridiculous," said Jake, renewing his protest as we neared the rest of the Top Gun class. "Just put an arm around me and help me up, I don't need to be carried-"

I whirled around, hands on my hips and a scowl on my face. I'd heard Jake twisting around like he was trying to get Rooster to put him down, and if he wasn't careful, he'd get dropped and hurt even worse than before. Both men froze on the spot as soon as I glared at them.

"Jake, grow up," I said, no more room for argument in my voice. "You can't walk. If you move your ankle around or put too much weight on it, you could make it much, much worse. Which is obviously bad for a lot of reasons, but would ground you from flying for who knows how long."

Jake huffed and crossed his arms, but he didn't have any comeback to that. I stared him down for another few moments, until Rooster shifted and cleared his throat.

"Hey, he's not as light as he looks, so-"

"Shut up, Chicken."

I just sighed and continued leading the both of them up the beach. I shot a few glares at Jake's peers as we went, reminding them with just a look that if they started messing with Jake, I had more than enough dirt on all of them to bury them in return. Phoenix was the only one to smile back at me in response.

By some miracle, we made it up the beach and through the Hard Deck without Rooster dropping Jake or Jake punching Rooster. Roos helped me get Jake into the passenger seat of my car, then I chased him off with a quick 'thank you' before he could give Jake any more shit. Once he was gone, I paused a second to sigh and catch my breath, then climbed into the driver's seat.

"So... what now?" asked Jake.

"Now, we go back to base so I can treat you properly and get you a real ankle brace. Maybe some X-Rays, we'll have to see. Painkillers, though, for sure."

Jake nodded, uncharacteristically quiet as I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Then, after a second, he spoke, more quiet and serious than usual.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me. Seriously. And I'm sorry I messed up our date night, after we'd both been waiting for it for so long."

I sighed, then turned to Jake with a lopsided smile.

"I've always got your back, Jake. I'm your wingman in life, remember? And don't worry about date night. If you're feeling up to it, we can still go to dinner. If you're not, we've still got the evening to ourselves. I'm sure we can find something fun to do, just the two of us."

Jake chuckled. "I like the sound of that."

"Hm. Just hang in there, flyboy. We're almost back to base, and then we can get you feeling better."

"I almost hate to ask, but... what's your plan for getting me out of the car and into the doctor's office?"

I hesitated, chewing my lip before turning to Jake. He winced at just the expression on my face, because he knew me well enough to know he would need to.

"...How would you feel if I recruited a certain Vice Admiral to carry you?"

"Fuck."

****************

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[allzelemonz]

Annoying: John Marston X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 3, Hate Sex Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Hate sex, anal fingering, anal sex, prostate massage, dirty talk, teasing, mentions of John’s situation with Abigail and Jack, Reader is an asshole, pre-Blackwater, violence, punching Summary: You’ve been sent on a scouting excursion with John to find a good spot closer to Blackwater, John is annoying through the whole ride.

It has been two hours. Walking along a barren trail with your tired horse and listening to the endless and constant complaining of John Marston. The man is undoubtedly irritating, wholly annoying. But Dutch picked you for scouting, so you to try to tune out that stupid scratch in his voice and focus on looking for a new spot closer to Blackwater.

“I just don’t get what her deal is.” John continues.

You feel the distinct desire to bash your head against your saddle horn. Maybe that would end this insufferable ride. Why couldn’t Dutch have picked Javier or Charles or someone quiet? At least Micah talks about interesting things on occasion. Bill can crack a joke. None of them have this apparent need to vent whilst riding.

“She just doesn’t-”

“Marston.” You groan. “Shut up, for the love of life itself. Just be quiet for once.”

“Oh, are my problems annoying you?”

“Yes, jeez, just shut it.”

He huffs, looking away to pout like a child.

“No one wants to hear about you and Abigail, the whole camp already has to listen to you go on and on about how the kid isn’t yours. No one cares.”

“Fuck off.” He mutters.

“I wish I could.”

There is a blissful minute of silence before he opens his mouth again. “You think he’s mine?”

“Fuck, Marston.” You sigh. “I have no clue, just shut the hell up.”

“He ain’t.” He mumbles. “Can’t be.”

“You won’t have to worry about it if you keep talking, because I’ll shoot you.”

“Why’re you always so damn irritable?”

“Because you annoy me to no end, Marston.”

You pull on your reins to move towards a clearing that looks promising, only slightly visible from the narrow path between trees. Finally sliding off your horse, you stretch your legs a little and look over the spot.

“How do I annoy you exactly?”

You rub at your eyes, feeling the ache forming behind them from having to listen to his voice. “In every possible way you could ever imagine.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m not the one bothering other people with my problems.”

“At least I find the time to bring money in instead of lounging around camp all damn day!”

That, now that, brings a twinge of much more than annoyance to buzz around in your head. Not only have you been bringing in consistent money since you joined, you just pulled a job with Mac and Davey that scored the camp funds upwards of eight-hundred dollars. So, naturally, you punch John in the face for suggesting otherwise.

“Shit.” He mutters, recoiling and tackling you to the ground.

You roll for a while, exchanging punches and losing your hats along the way until you find yourself atop John. You sit across his thin torso, your fist curled into his shirt as the other stands ready to lay another blow. But, John, he goes still, as if he’s afraid to move. For all the scrapping and talk, you know you’re not scary enough to make him freeze like this so you lower your raised fist and look over your shoulder. You half expect to see lawmen or O’Driscolls or something, but it’s just the forest and the horses grazing by the trees.

“What’s your problem, Marston?” You ask, shifting slightly on him.

Then you feel it, barely brushing against the back of your thigh as you move. John Marston is hard in his pants from being beaten up by a man that hates him. His face flushes and he claws at your arm, but you just push him down harder into the grass. Your mind races for a moment, thinking of the roads you could take. You hate the man quite a bit, but you’d be a fool to deny he’s attractive and something in the back of your mind is begging you to find out what that raspy voice sounds like when it’s full of want.

“We tell no one.” You mutter, giving John a threatening look.

John’s chest moves slow as he processes, then he nods quickly. You lean down and connect your lips, catching the taste of tobacco and the scruff of his stubble. John’s hands find your hips, urging you down to grind against you but you resist.

“You’re not in charge here, Marston.” You murmur against his lips. “You just lay still and let me use you, understand?”

His eyes dart around yours quickly as his face gets redder by the second. “Y-Yeah.”

You move down to unfasten his pants and as he kicks them off, you fish a tube of gun oil from your pocket. It has always been a suspicion of yours that John gets around more than he lets on, and it is all but confirmed by the way he stuffs his pants under his hips and spreads his legs.

“You some kind of whore on the side, Marston?” You ask, fixing yourself between his open legs. “That why you got on with Abigail, a shared profession?”

“Shut up.” He mutters.

He intends to say more but you cut him off easily by inserting your slicked fingers without warning. His back arches, pressing into the feeling as he chokes on a bit of air that turns into a whimper. You’re not going to give him the time to rest or adjust, he doesn’t deserve it after talking all day. So you crook your fingers, running them along until his hips jolt from the contact. Then you focus and focus hard, pressing into that nice sensitive spot inside of him until he can’t even speak to warn you. He releases across his stomach, his softening dick untouched.

His head lulls to the side as he catches his breath and you slip your fingers out. You move as fast as you can, not wanting to hear any of his protests about being sensitive. He’d whine about it, you know he would, so you grip his hips and press inside in the midst of his recovery. John chokes on air again, muttering as he covers his red face with his arm. Only one eye peaks out at you as you start your pace and you ignore it, focusing on the act rather than the who. If you don’t think about it being John, the image of your dick disappearing inside such a nice ass and the feeling of gripping such a slim waist make you groan to yourself. If it were any other man, you’d praise him for feeling so good.

John, however, does not have that control. “God, you’re… fuck you’re good.”

It’s the moan that gets you, raspy just like you imagined, and completely wanton. You double your effort because that sound was so good for something that came from John of all people. And, to your delight, it happens again. As you slam into him, your balls bouncing enough to truly earn the nickname, John begins to pant. Your eyes are drawn to his dick as he reaches for it and stops it from slapping against his stomach. His hand wraps around and pumps in time with you.

You lean down a bit, enough to speak over John’s lewd noises. “You better get yourself off before me, Marston. I’m not helping you otherwise.”

He groans, seemingly all too happy to be treated like nothing but something to fuck in the grass of the gang’s next camp spot. You watch his hand, your eyes flicking down to watch your own fucking on occasion. Both are such a sight. John cums again, spilling a little on his hand this time. The sound he makes, such a shaky and raspy guttural moan, hits the right things for you and sends you right over. You slow your thrusts, milking yourself before burying deep inside of him.

It takes a few minutes before your muscles respond and you can pull out to rest back on your knees. John still has a haze in his eyes, his arms splayed out as his chest heaves. You let yourself relish the sight, forgetting only for a moment that you hate him, then you pick up the tube of gun oil from the grass and pull on your pants. A one time thing, albeit a great one, with such an annoying man.

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