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moonchildstyles · 6 months

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lily of the valley

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

wordcount: 16.2k+

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dearest, (Y/N),

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

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

I hope to hear from you again soon.

Yours,

Harry xx

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

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

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

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

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement.

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

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

He would have to come to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am sure we will."

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

—————

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

Harry wasn't coming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hoped that meant he liked what he found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean, that?"

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

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

"Y-You drink it?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you ever... made someone?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or was (Y/N) the first?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, a soft smile on her features.

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It eats? What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

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

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

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

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

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wh-What do I do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was going to be the rest of her life.

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't want to leave him waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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collecting-stories · 7 months

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Sweet Nothing - Carmen Berzatto

Request: I love Taylor inspired fics!! And I adore your writing style!! Maybe The Last Time or Sweet nothings for Carmy X reader?

Summary: No plot really, just Carmy and reader hanging out.

A/N: This is really more of a drabble style without much depth outside of just fluff. I tried to make it longer there's just not much of a plot to work with to do that I feel like. Also I made a delicious vegan clam chowder the other night for dinner, on a side note.

TS Anthology Series | The Bear Masterlist

...you're in the kitchen humming...

The worst part of dating a chef was the one thing that everyone always assumed would be the best part. He could cook, naturally, and Carmy could cook better than a whole lot of other really talented chefs but that didn't mean he cooked at home. Running a restaurant meant being at work more than he was home and usually, by the time he got back at night, neither of you were particularly interested in cooking anything that required greater skill than boiling water. Sometimes even that was too much. Your family, and your friends too, always commented on how lucky you were to have a 'personal chef' as if Carmy was just in the kitchen 24/7, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted to eat. You always laughed and agreed but what you wanted to say was that sometimes he didn't even want to look at a pan or a knife when he was home.

This week, especially, felt like hell. You'd seen him for thirty minutes two days ago when you stopped in for lunch but otherwise you were what your grandmother described as 'two ships passing in the night'. You didn't think you could really count passing out next to his already asleep body on the queen mattress you kept meaning to replace an actual relationship. It wasn't always so bad, sometimes it was better, most of the time it felt worse. The Bear was getting ready to launch and Carmy's attention was hyperfocused on not failing before he started and you were busy with your own work load and neither of you had ever been willing to cave on work, even if it meant actually spending time with each other. Which was maybe why your relationship worked...or maybe it was some sort of 'once in a blue moon' that your relationship worked because at this point you were shocked that neither of you had called it off. Of course, that would require seeing each other...probably.

"You know my first thought was that someone broke into our apartment and was cooking dinner," you announced, stopping in the kitchen entryway. Carmy turned to look over his shoulder at you, blue eyes a little glazed over (either from lack of sleep or that happy sort of numbness that came from being home and not having to see anyone, Richie, for the rest of the day).

"Was this person like, a robber...like a robber just cooking you dinner?" He asked, a rare smile appearing. God, he couldn't remember the last time he smiled this week. Or last week.

"They weren't making me dinner, just in general, making dinner. They broke in, got hungry, made a sandwich or something, and then...like they'd steal my laptop or something." You replied, pulling your sweater over your head before crossing the small space the apartment provided to kiss your boyfriend, "granted I'm glad it's you and not a robber."

"You said you were home early today," he replied, turning back to the food he was cooking as you walked into the bedroom to change.

"I know, but that was like, one in the morning and you literally gave me a thumbs up without even lifting your hand off the bed in response so...wasn't exactly counting on you coming home," you explained, changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt, anything to get out of the clothes you'd been wearing all day, "besides I didn't mean it in a like, you have to come home because I'm home, just like a 'hey I'm actually going to be home today' kind a thing."

"Richie's training this week and everything else is pretty much getting there."

"Oh well, pretty much getting there? Call Cicero, you can open tomorrow," you teased, "since you're not a robber and you are making me dinner, what are you making?"

"Clam chowder," he said, sounding almost like he didn't believe it himself. He wasn't exactly a big fan of soups, mostly because he found them boring and limited, but you loved them. Especially when cold weather hit and then all you wanted was some soup and grilled cheese and extra bread. When he'd made fun of you for your tastes once you had shrugged and told him you couldn't help it if your tastes were basic ("I didn't go to the CIA or NOMA or whatever. I like what I like").

"Clam chowder? Are you shitting me?" You asked, peering over his shoulder into the pot he had on the stove.

"I am not, in fact, shitting you." He replied.

"Insane," you hooked your arms around his stomach and leaned against his back, not at all concerned about the fact that he was still technically cooking, "you're like the best boyfriend ever, have I ever told you that?"

"You tell me that every time I cook for you which seems like maybe you're only using me..." He joked. You kissed the back of his neck and then his cheek when he turned his head to the side, forcing another smile from him.

It was hard to comprehend sometimes, to the point that Carmy literally had to remind himself, that the home the two of you had created (though hectic and sometimes not occupied) was genuinely the most calming place he'd ever been. Growing up with his mom and dad, and even Mikey and Sugar, had been like living on a landmine, waiting for it to explode on him if he made a wrong move. It never felt like that here, even when the outside world started to feel like that.

"Do you need help?" You asked, letting him go and moving to the bar cart you had in the living room, in search of a good wine.

"Nah, I'm almost done," he replied, "did I tell you about the gas line?"

You held a glass out to him, taking a long sip of your own, "no, what happened with the gas line?"

Carmy started to retell the story, moving around the kitchen easily while you took a seat and listened to him, allowing him to capture your entire attention. The busy schedules and the barely seeing each other and the stress felt like it would crush you sometimes but it was entirely worth it to be able to come home early, at least every once in a while, and just sit there, listening to Carmy.

#carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x y/n #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy fic #carmy fluff #carmy imagine #the bear imagine #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fluff

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walesfootball · 2 years

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Ignorance - Alexia Putellas x Reader

Thank you for being so patient. This was requested by @onedirection66865 who wanted Reader to play a game of ignoring/avoiding Alexia. It's short, but I hope it's okay for you and I hope you enjoy it!

You had been staring at Alexia for a while. Alexia was talking to Jonatan and Irene in the far corner of the room, unbeknownst to the dreamy stares sent her way. Caught up in your daydreams, you didn’t notice Patri sitting down next to you and looking between you and Alexia with a smirk on her face.

“I don’t know how she doesn’t know.” Patri interrupted your thoughts. You jumped slightly as you turned your head to the right to see her big grin.

“Who? What?” You had no idea what she was talking about, it could be anything knowing Patri.

“Alexia. You’re very obvious.”

“Shut up, Pats.” There’s no point arguing with Patri. She always knew when it came to you. Any secrets, any thoughts, and even any movement on the pitch, Patri knew you all too well.

“I’m serious! You two live together, and you do almost everything together… yet she still doesn’t realise.” You chanced a look back at Alexia to see that Jonatan had left and that she was only talking to Irene. A deep sigh left your body.

“Well, she’s always busy. I think that a relationship is the last thing on her mind.” Alexia’s year had been non-stop. From winning trophies with Barcelona, and individual trophies, to her ever-growing presence in the media that she had to keep up with. Her life was constantly moving, so you were certain she didn’t have any time to stop for others.

“This is why I think you should just tell her. Just get it over with, you know?” You snapped your head back at Patri with your eyes widened.

“Your confidence astounds me sometimes. I’m not just going over there and telling her how I feel. She probably doesn’t feel the same way, and then she’ll embarrass me in front of everyone, and then I’ll be forced to move to a different club, and then you and I will never see each other again. Is that what you want, Pats?”

It was Patri’s turn to look at you with wide eyes, “You could’ve gone up and told her already instead of telling me that sad story that won’t even happen!”

“No. No thank you.” You crossed your arms. Patri made it seem so easy.

“Okay. We need a plan. We need to help Alexia realise that she likes you, so then she will make the first move so you don’t have to.”

You stared at her, unconvinced. Patri’s ideas always had your head spinning, and this one was no exception.

“Don’t look at me like I’m insane. I have actually done this before and it has worked.” Patri sits back in her chair, smiling cheekily at you.

“Fine. What do I do?”

“Ignore her. She doesn’t exist anymore.”

“But that’s, like, the opposite of what I want to do.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you leaned into Patri, not wanting anyone else to hear about this.

“Tough. Do it. This is the hard way. Remember that the easy way is just telling her.”

You groaned as Patri kept smiling at you with that stupid grin of hers. You felt as if you had no choice but to go along with her plan. This was the only thing that could possibly work, and you weren’t feeling confident enough to just go up to her and admit these deep-rooted feelings.

Walking out of the meeting room with Patri and onto the training pitch, you couldn’t help but panic. You always partnered with Alexia. The both of you played in midfield, meaning whatever the drill the both of you could and would partner up. You grabbed Patri’s arm harshly and pulled her towards the further side of the pitch. Patri didn’t ask, as she knew you always partnered up with Alexia. The both of you saw Alexia look around for you. You felt awful already, and you hadn’t even properly started this plan. Patri took a step closer to you, hopefully giving off the fact that you already had a partner. But Alexia walked up to the both of you anyway.

“Have you replaced me or something?” Alexia joked.

“She’s my partner today. I want to learn from the best passer on the team.” Patri came up with that lie too well, you thought. You smiled at Alexia as she nodded her head and walked back towards the big group of players to find another partner. You looked at Patri with a look of disgust on your face, as she smiled widely and offered two thumbs up.

——

You couldn’t do this. The more the days went by, the less confident you were. And it had only been three days! This wasn’t a good idea anymore, that you were sure of.

The team had a day off today, which meant that Alexia probably had some media duties or a photo shoot to do so she would be out for the day. You slowly got ready and made your way out to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

“Y/N?”

Shit. Alexia is here.

“Y/N. I haven’t seen you or spoken to you in a while. You okay?” Alexia looked at you with a sweet smile adorning her face. Carrying on with this facade was going to be harder than you ever thought.

“I'm good. But I have to go.”

“Already? Aren’t you having breakfast? I could make you your favourite?” Alexia moved next to you to get a pan out of the cupboard.

“No!” You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Alexia looked at you with her furrowed brows, completely confused at your current state.

“I’m going to have breakfast with Patri. I just remembered. Bye.” You grabbed your bag and flew out of the door.

Alexia stayed in the same spot until you closed the door, the saucepan still in her hand and a sad look on her face. She felt as if she’d upset you somehow, but couldn’t think of a time when she had. Of course, she was away a lot, but it never bothered you before. You two saw each other every day at training and at home. Why would it bother you now? Alexia’s mind was reeling as she placed the pan back where it was, and went back to sit on the sofa. She stared at the blank screen of the television, contemplating what could have happened for you to be like that, especially with her.

——

You knocked on Patri’s door furiously. Patri opened the door still in her pyjamas, her night shorts, and a small vest.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“You woke me up just to tell me this?!”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had!” You pushed passed her to reach her living room where you threw your bag and yourself on the sofa.

“She’ll get there. Don’t worry about it. Just a few more days, and I know she’ll realise.” Patri grabbed your bag and placed it down on the floor, gently sitting next to you.

“How do you know?”

“Because Alexia is very impatient.”

“She’s impatient now. Not because she likes me, but because I’m not talking to her.” You turned to face Patri, as she offered you a smile.

“Why don’t you just tell her then? If it’s so unbearable, why don’t you just say it?”

“Because I’m scared.” Patri understood the rejection. She had been through it before and it was horrible pain. Patri didn’t want her best friend to go through the same thing.

“I get it. That’s why this plan is perfect for you. Just keep at it for a bit longer. Okay?”

You nodded your head as Patri left you to your thoughts. She walked over to the kitchen and you could hear her scrambling for pans. The noise made you think back on Alexia. She looked desperate for you to stay, or at least have breakfast in her presence. She was even going to make you an omelette that only she could make perfect. You felt a tear strolling down your cheek, which you brushed away furiously. It shouldn’t get to you, but you loved being around Alexia. Knowing she was in the same room as you made you feel safe and comfortable.

——

As the days went on, you carried on ignoring her. Patri always saw the sad faces you and Alexia would give to the other when the others back’s were turned. It made her want to push you to say something, or to admit to Alexia what was happening. But she could never betray you like that. But she wanted to see her two friends happy.

You started sitting in any free seat during a meeting and at lunch, even when there was always a spare seat next to Alexia. That was your seat, and everyone knew not to sit there. It was a seat close to Alexia’s as Alexia liked feeling your leg close to hers. She always said she liked the warmth you put on her. The seat remained vacant during your and Patri’s plan.

You partnered up with Patri for every partner's drill. Alexia would look down at the floor, shaking her head or blinking the tears away from her eyes trying to figure out why you were acting this way.

The team started picking up on all of this. You never sat in your usual seat at dinner or on the bus, the both of you were never partners, and you never went home together anymore. It was weird to them. The both of you were always together, and now you weren’t.

Five days after the plan had been hatched was Alexia’s undoing. You left for training an hour early to go to the gym. As Alexia walked into the gym, you walked out. You partnered up with Claudia for the partner drills, and you sat next to Patri again at lunch. Alexia’s bad mood affected the entire team, as she took it out on everyone who got in her way or made a small mistake. You looked over at Patri who looked back at you with worry. Patri got the brunt of the shouting and jibes from Alexia.

——

You got home before Alexia and decided to go back to your room, your bed. The comfort enveloped you straight away. Your eyes grew heavier as you sank deeper into your tiredness. Training had hit you hard, probably after Alexia didn’t like the certain way the team was doing things and would tell Jonatan they should do them again.

Alexia gets home two hours later. She stayed to work on her shooting against an empty goal. Usually, you would stay behind with her when she wanted to work on things, and if you couldn’t then someone else would. But after the way Alexia acted today, nobody offered to stay. She wasn’t surprised. She got into her car to go home, and before she could turn the car on the dam broke. Her eyes stream with tears, and her body shakes. She needed you, more than she ever needed anyone. She hated not speaking to you, even about the small things like her day and what she felt like eating. She hated not spending time with you, even just sitting down on the sofa and not speaking a word to each other. You would be sat with a book while Alexia was on her phone. Or you listening to music through your headphones, while Alexia would watch TV. She missed cooking for you, while you sat on the kitchen counter watching her cook. She missed hugging you every day. She missed watching you play video games as she’d try to distract you. She missed your laugh. She missed you sneaking into her bed if you couldn’t sleep. She missed you. It hadn’t even been a week, but Alexia couldn’t handle it anymore. She needed you close. Realising this, she wiped her eyes with her training top sleeve and turned the car on.

Alexia walked into the house, ready to confront you. She found the house empty and dark as if you weren’t home. She looked towards your bedroom door and noticed it was closed. A sign you were home. She knocked lightly on the door, never one to just walk in on you.

“Y/N. Can I come in? I just want to talk. I hate what’s happening between us and I need to talk about it with you. Please amor.”

No answer. Little did she know you were fast asleep. Alexia gave up and started walking away to her room until it hit her that she couldn’t lose you. She thought back on her thoughts on the car and walked back to your door. Alexia opens the door ready to talk until she sees you on top of the bed covers, you had changed into sleep shorts and one of Alexia’s old t-shirts. Alexia managed to pull down the duvet, covering your body. Alexia slipped into the bed next to you, pulling you closer to her, and rests her head on the pillow next to yours. You took a deep breath in and moved your body back into Alexia’s, almost as if you knew she was there. Alexia smiled and felt sleep take over her.

The next morning, you woke up after having the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You felt a weight around your waist, looking down to see an arm. You noticed the number 11 tattoo on the wrist, not that you’d think anyone else would be in the bed with you. You turned around to see Alexia sleeping peacefully next to you. You didn’t even realise she’d joined you in bed. As you were about to turn around to cuddle into her and fall asleep again, you remembered the plan. You turned back around to leave the bed, only to feel a strong arm pulling you back.

“Please don’t leave.” The voice behind you was full of emotion as if she’d been awake already.

“I have to-"

“What? Have breakfast with Patri? Do some extra training with the coaches? Spend time with one of the other girls?” The fury leaked out of Alexia’s voice.

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. You do. With me. You haven’t spoken to me for almost a week. You don’t want to be around me anymore. It hurts. One day we’re good, and the next you’re cold with me. What’s wrong? Please tell me so I can fix this because I can’t go another day like this.” Alexia never moved her arm from your waist, keeping you still in the bed. Alexia was on her side, her elbow keeping her up to look at you. You had now moved to lay on your back, staring up at her cloudy eyes. You never meant to hurt Alexia like this, but you had. That’s when you knew you had to stop with this game.

“It was Patri’s idea. And I stupidly thought it was a good one and went along with it.”

“What idea?” Alexia’s eyebrows furrowed, but her eyes gave away the worry she felt.

It’s now or never.

“I really like you, Ale. And I thought that if I ignored you then maybe you’d realise it and then maybe like me back.” You admitted, with so much guilt and shame in your tone.

Alexia let out a small incredulous laugh. You knew this would happen. She would embarrass you, tell the whole team, and then you’d move to another club. You’d have to remind Patri that you were right. You tried getting up out of the bed again, only for Alecia to pull you back again.

“No. You are not leaving this bed.” The seriousness was back in her voice and eyes. You kinda liked it.

“But you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you. It’s just funny because it kinda worked.” Alexia had a small smile on her face as her eyes never left you.

“What?” You were so confused. Did she just admit that she kinda liked you? How is this even possible?!

“I’ve always liked you. I didn’t think you liked me back, so I tried ignoring how I felt. And I also didn’t want to make it awkward because we live together. Imagine if I told you and you didn’t feel the same. What would we do?” Alexia had a soft look on her face. One that had you biting your lower lip as you continued looking up at her in wonder. Alexia’s hand had traveled down to your thigh, tracing large circles on your skin.

“What do we do now?” You smiled.

“Well, I haven’t spoken to you for a week, amor. I’d like to know what you’ve been doing.” Alexia laughed a little as she moved into a more comfortable position.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” she kissed your cheek, “I’m happy you did in a way. It gave me some confidence to tell you that I like you.”

“It’s weird that Patri was right about that.”

“Just please don’t do it again.”

“I promise.” You looked at Alexia under your eyelashes. Her bottom lip disappeared under her teeth. Her hand that was drawing circles gripping onto your thigh instead now.

“Can I kiss you?” She whispered.

“I don’t kiss before the first date, Ale.” You whispered back, smiling cheekily at her.

“You sure? Not even a little one?” Alexia leans in, rubbing her nose against yours. You grab her neck and pull her into you, gently pressing your lips on hers. It felt right. For the first time in a long time, it felt right.

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni #espwnt x reader

1K notes · View notes

petermorwood · 28 days

Text

This Reply by @neil-gaiman reminded me of two things:

(1) How much I despised doing, and avoiding, compulsory Games / Sports / Gym / PE / PT / Whatever.

(2) That I never, ever have to do, or avoid, compulsory Whatever again in my life.

*****

I spent my whole school career avoiding them, and forged sick notes which helped that avoidance were the first really successful fiction-writing of my life.

I also learned that when acting the part of someone with a sprained ankle, a tiny stone in the appropriate shoe was a good reminder of which ankle to limp on, while an air of suffering bravely borne was always more convincing if that air was scented with a faint hint of the embrocation rubbed into one sock.

*****

Neil didn't mention the effects of time of year or weather, but both were frequent entries in My List Of Unpleasing Things About Games.

Leaving out PT / Gym / PE or whatever, which was indoors and - thanks to the solidity of the equipment - a weekly source of sprains, strains, bruises, mild concussion and deep loathing, my old school used to observe Ye Olde Academic terms and their associated sporting pleasures.

This says something about which I'm not quite sure, and I see it's replaced them with plain old Autumn-Spring-Summer Term, which says something else about which I'm even less sure.

*****

So there was Michaelmas Term (August to Christmas), and rugby.

A soggy school rugby pitch in Northern Ireland in November, halfway through the game with the pitch well churned up, the daylight fading, the rain turning to sleet and every other member of both teams still (a) Too Large and (b) Too Keen, was a reluctant 12-year-old's equivalent of Flanders Fields on the Western Front ca. 1916.

(No artillery or machine-guns, but (a) and (b) were quite enough.)

I was also a skinny reluctant 12-year-old - those who know me now can believe that or not as you please - and the icy breezes which whistled unimpeded up, across and down the legs of my too-baggy-now-but-he'll-grow-into-them shorts were at least one cause of a lifelong fondness for saunas, hot tubs and steam baths.

*****

Then there was Hilary Term (January to Easter) and field hockey.

That was when the School Armoury issued hockey sticks and sent us forth onto the Artificial Pitch, which wasn't as muddy as the grass-covered rugby one but could produce amazing scabby knees and elbows after a tumble at speed, either after the ball or more often away from the opposition's bloody-minded front row.

Being artificial, rainwater didn't soak in but just sat there in puddles, and sometimes in early term they froze hard enough that field hockey could become ice hockey in the space of a couple of strides, cue another tumble and more scabs. Oh yes, and my shorts were still too baggy, so icy breezes in unwanted places continued to be an ongoing delight.

*****

And then there was Trinity Term (post-Easter to July) and field athletics then cricket, AKA liveliness meets somnolence.

That was when the sky became increasingly blue, the birdies sang tweet-tweet, the sun shone more often, the air became noticeably warmer and anyone with sense enjoyed as much of the soon-to-be-summer days as worries about impending End-Of-Term exams allowed.

It was also a time for field athletics until Half-Term, featuring long-jumps, high-jumps and runs of various speed and duration.

We re-learned every year that it was possible to get a nasty sunburn even in a Northern Ireland May, that unless the groundskeeper raked the sand in the long-jump pit properly there would be at least one souvenir from a local cat, that sweat could break out with the least exertion because sunny and humid were frequently simultaneous, and that horseflies were always ready to sample new blood and the way they got that blood was a painful process.

It still is.

Bastards.

*****

After Half-Term it was cricket, which combined disinterested boredom and pointless intermittent activity at a nearly Zen level with me being very, very bad at it.

I was no good as a bowler, I could throw straight or I could throw hard, but throwing hard and straight at the same time was something I never seemed to master.

Oh dear.

I was no good as a batsman, I tended to step out and slosh so the ball went in all directions, including on a couple of occasions straight up and straight down again, though not high enough or for long enough to get any runs.

What a shame.

I was no good as a wicketkeeper because I was more butterfingered than a clumsy dairymaid, and what I didn't drop I would handle wrongly, like that time I made what would have been a perfect catch except I fumbled it and knocked the stumps down before, not after.

Oops.

My incompetence at everything up close was Really Quite Remarkable, so I was invariably sent out to one of the deep field positions where, unless something Silly happened, I could be safely ignored and - if the grass was long enough - I would be ignored whatever happened.

I read a lot of good books that way.

Not a single one was about sport.

#school sports #the delights of organised games #mud blood and Form II-B #rugby up the wrong way #he's dead gym #cricket done right is mostly chirping

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bloodandthestars · 10 months

Note

request please for ex!miguel o’hara x spiderwoman reader, they have lots of romantic history from a long time ago but never told anyone (secret relationship rahhh) and Miguel ended up ending things because he has too much trauma baggage even though they have so much love for one another… but forward to current day (like when miles arrives), they always argue mainly in spanish and seem to be sworn enemies but still f buddies .. they jus so complicated 😭 love ur work sm btw <3

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄

tags: angst. angst as hell. no spoilers! spanish speaking gn!reader

hello all! sorry, i had to deal w the brainrot that is making a spidersona. time to get back to writing miguel! i orginally saw this style of hcs and fic from @loganlermanstanaccount and wanted to try my hand at it. i did take most parts of this request and ran with it so whoops. a part two is possible however. thank you for your request, and i hope you enjoy, darling. AND TY FOR LOVING MY WORK <3

wc: 3k masterlist. credits to the artist, tbd.

You tap away at a few screens on your multi-dimensional device, walking with a crowd through the Spider Society. Another day through the labyrinth, another day to deal with a whirlwind of anomalies. Not to mention the unlimited number of Spider-Men who all need direction, and who better to carry that on his shoulders than your ex, Miguel O'Hara?

You were there since the beginning of the Spider Society through an ill-fated glitch. How Ironic, hm?

Miguel was in the middle of putting together his control center. His platform was being installed, all by his working hands.

Your arrival almost took his heart out of his chest— a whirl of colors splashing behind him not getting his attention until there was a loud *CRASH!*

He turns around, approaching the scattered heaps of documents and boxes of materials like a wary animal. White papers fell around your arching figure when he finally sees you.

You catch his eyes and he catches yours, causing him to lower the wrench that was tight in his grasp.

Jessica comes into the space, as do a few others that were starting recruits. “What the hell-? What happened, Miguel?”

“Miguel!” The second calling of his name catches his attention to Jessica. He looks to her then down to you.

You run your fingers through your hair, eyes unfocused to be swallowed in your thoughts. You continue on your way through the amalgamation of paths, twists and turns past many who do the same as you: stop the anomalies, putting the universe first. Those ideals were drilled in from the very beginning. Since you saw the effects of it firsthand, you were all for the cause.

Safe to say you were an easy addition to the team.

At first, you wanted to just find a way home. That’s what would come first. Miguel didn’t mind that. If you weren’t here to stay, then why bother with the insignificant?

That was until an emergency hit the infant spider society on all sides

Your ears were pierced with screams of fear as soon as you pushed through the portal. You looked around frantically at what you could through the rushing crowd. It was another version of Paris, with the Eiffel Tower replaced with a large monument made of stone. Not many places to attach webs in an open area. Shit.

Miguel barks out orders to the other two Spider-people on the scene. When his eyes look at you, they narrow. You immediately tense. Was it a fight you were preparing for? You didn’t have time to think about it when a device was thrown your way. You catch it with ease— an item to wear around your wrist.

And before he thwiped away you hear: “If you’re going to be here, you might as well be useful.”

You weren’t sure whether to take that as a vote of confidence or not— you go with not.

A version of the Goblin, made of some kind of glass crystal material. His hoverboard emitted light on himself that he uses to his advantage to blind others when they get close.

The searing white obstructed the vision of one Spider-person, causing them to misplace a step on the monument. Webs snap under the concrete they were trying to keep from falling. Your stomach turned— it was time for action.

Using your webs on the crumbling monument, you catapulted yourself to the solid rock. Webs sprouted from your capsules and slid under the concrete. Before the rock’s weight can take you down entirely, you shot out a web to the top of the monument and pulled as much as your strength could muster.

You could your veins pulse as you held on. People scattered as much as they can before the webs bounce under the heavyweight. A man tried to help his wife up from a broken ankle. If they didn’t move from the area, an ankle wouldn’t be the only thing that was broken. Or worse, and you couldn’t have that.

The tendrils of your webbing began to snap, maybe you could try to web more before it—

Red lining shoots out, going under the rock to give support. Miguel skid to a stop next to you, ordering through gritted teeth. “Go!”

You dove down from above, bouncing off the piece and webbing the couple’s backs. You gave a sharp pull. They whisk by and into your arms as you slide to a stop. Miguel can see there are no civilians in the way and let's go with a gasp of air.

Your eyes snapped to the piece of concrete as it falls. When it gets closer to the ground, you webbed over to it to break it to pieces— lessening its impact when it falls.

Within a second of catching your breath, Your gaze went back up to Miguel’s. He gave you a short nod. You returned it, pulling a web out to join the fight at the top of the monument.

From there, you’ve been a part of the team. Starting on small missions and quickly going from there.

Your wrist device lights up and captures your attention. Miguel’s unmasked face looks at you with a hardened look. “I’ll need your assistance with an anomaly case. You know where to go.”

And that’s exactly how he speaks to you now. Straight to the point, no time for idle chit-chat. You exhale through your nose. “Alright.”

Returning from the attack for the Goblin, You and Miguel caught your breath once the portal closed.

You glanced over to Noir and Jessica, who had the said anomaly tied and ready to be contained.

“You sure disco ball over there is secure?” You asked dusting off your suit. “Yes.” Miguel responded. “Good enough excuse to see how our holding pods will work.”

You gave a nod, looking off to see them take the Goblin away. You caught “Now as for adjustments…” from the voice next y to you and turn. You thought he was talking to you, but instead, he had a hand over his mouth. It took you a moment to realize what he was muttering to himself.

“¿Te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?”

Miguel’s head snaps over to you with wide eyes. They turn slender in slight curiosity. “¿Hablas español?”

You gave him a light shrug, but the smirk on your face was evidence enough for him. You were close to tensing under his gaze— until he let out an amusement huff.

“¿Qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?”

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” You gave him a small smile.

He returned it.

Now, Miguel looks at you sternly before his image flickers out. You click your tongue, beginning to make your way to his control center.

You had dated for two years— entirely in secret, mind you.

There was the important cause for safety, but another excuse was simply because the seclusion suited you both.

As the day went by, you were two colleagues. Side by side on a mission, working with each other going off of a few glances.

If you desired to speak to only each other, you'd speak in Spanish. A passing compliment, a question on anomaly details, what to have for dinner that night. The world didn't exist then.

By night, a gentle hand would rest on Miguel’s shoulder, causing it to lose its built tension. In the quiet of the space, you’d whisper. “Let’s get some rest.”

At first, it would take some coaxing but as time went on, he would be by your side before you could get the words out.

Your place or his, it was a switch between the two. Either way, you’d feel the weight of his body sink into yours. All his exhaustion comes to fruition behind closed blinds.

Sometimes if it weighed too much, you’d fall onto the couch with your suits still on. If he had a bit of energy, you’d get out of them and then take loaded steps towards the bedroom.

Your favorite nights were when he fell asleep before you. A chuckle escapes your lips when you turn back, only to see him sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Gently, you’d brush his strands from his face, bathing in the rare sight that was a calm expression. The tips of your fingers graze the strong height of his cheek, lingering there as if to savor the moment a bit longer.

It was in these secluded moments that you’d pull the cover over his scarred back. Where you’d lay next to his larger figure, close but barely touching. Fingers grazing each other at best.

His struggles with opening up weren’t anything new to you. It took a lot of power to be vulnerable, to take that chance. So you took it one step at a time.

Those days weren’t long gone, however, you both made progress as time went by.

Fingers grazing each other became hand-holding. Hand holding then turned into him capturing your body in one swoop of his arm and securing you to his form.

And it was here you felt the most secluded. Because only you could see that neutral expression of sleep turn into a relaxed one. Where you could feel his need through the grip of his arm in the depths of the night, and not tell a soul.

He could have called anyone else. It's a proposition that only occurs to him after he makes communications with you. By the time you show up in his space, the idea is long forgotten.

Miguel turns around just in time to see you arrive. You lean your weight on your foot, hip out with a hand resting on it. “What’s the situation, O’Hara?”

O’Hara. He would have thought that sting would numb away by now.

You swing up to his platform, catching your landing out of the corner of his eye. With a few buttons pressed on the hologram, he swipes it in your direction without looking at you. “We got an anomaly on the move. Lyla’s attempting to track it now using the intel gathered.”

Your hand stops the hologram, opening it with your palm. In a gold hue, an image of a Mysterio lights up. A model of him spin for your view, some kind of blue flame for a head. Details of his face were in the fire, filled with an ego that seemed to span many universes.

“I remember this one.” You say, fingers swiping through logs. You stop at one, then push it in his direction. “Android from Earth 1610. Not his first time trying his hand at this.”

“You’ve been dealing with him before?” Miguel asks with sternness in his voice. He knew it was there and ever evident.

From your tone, it seems you caught it too. “From his glitch into a different universe. We returned him back to his own but it looks like he’s trying his hand at multiverse travel.”

The taller man scoffs, muttering under his breath. “Great.”

To no one’s surprise, you picked that up. Your voice grew in intensity. "What?”

Miguel finally turns around. With stern eyes, he looks at you and his stomach feels like it’s gotten hit with a ton of bricks. It’s exactly what he was afraid of, hence him never sparing you a glance when called to his station. It didn’t show on his face however, he wouldn’t allow it to.

“That means it could have gotten handled ages ago by simply sticking him somewhere he couldn’t get out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That was the beginning, we didn’t know any better. Now we do. It’s called growth, Miguel.”

He held the audacity to roll his eyes. You’re quick to speak. “We don’t expect them to become nuisances.”

“But it could’ve been avoided.”

“Of course, it could have. Emphasis on could. It’s just something we couldn’t predict.”

“Oh? Really?” A bit of edge appears in his voice again. “He’s a villain! It’s second nature!”

You take a step up to him, finger pointed in his direction. “We followed your protocol! You can’t predict everything, Miguel!”

You were there for the best parts

And you were there for…for the worst parts

The parts where in the thresholds of sleep, you swore you could hear him mutter her name, and his arm clutch around you even tighter.

The parts that were once fruitful moments of communication, ended in distance due to his growing anger.

The parts that held you both up at night, Miguel finding another thing to pick apart, to worry about, to enclose you from.

A picture of two you couldn't see. A toy box collecting dust in his apartment closet.

You were there…till the very end.

“Miguel, I just don’t understand why this is an issue.” You hold the bridge of your nose before letting go and addressing him with unwavering eyes. “Noir says you’ve been at this for months, we have a lead-”

“Into a universe that is on the brink of collapsing!” “That’s why the anomaly would go! To hide in plain sight of a possible disaster!”

“No, absolutely not.” Miguel shook his head, already final in his mind. “One wrong move and you’ll end up like-” It was like all the color drained from his face.

“Like who, Miguel?”

Your question stopped him cold, hard eyes glancing at you. “You know who.”

He pushed away the thought of you hearing him in his sleep when the sun comes up. But deep down he always knew. He always knew that you knew something was going on with him. And he could see that you were trying so *hard* to be patient with him.

With every frustrated huff to end the conversation, every turn away from you, you were unmoving. Waiting. Giving him all the time in the world that deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve.

This conversation ends like the others, with a clenched jaw wanting to spill out everything he can but never finding the words to do so. Leaving you there in the dead silence where you feel the most alone.

You shut your eyes, trying not to waste any more tears on another fruitless conversation. A sigh slips past your lips. “I can’t keep doing this, Miguel.”

His head looks back to you with wide eyes. Those eyes slowly narrow, with words coming out like the very venom he creates. “Then leave.”

Those words still pierce your heart as if it was yesterday. You shut your eyes, shaking your head to push the familiar feelings from bubbling in your chest. Even with the attempt of calm, he persisted.

“No. I can’t.” He sounded like he was just saying it just to say it. “But I sure as hell can prevent potentially dangerous messes from coming back— like this one!”

Emotion erupts inside you all over again, breaking what little restraint you put together. Like a twig snapped under the slightest edge of pressure. You fell into that same routine all over again. “You’re being completely unreasonable to the people who-"

He held the bridge of his nose, voice not losing its hard edge. “Do you remotely have an idea of how many anomalies have to be taken care of in a week? In a day? When I want something taken care of, I expect it to be.”

“You’re always expecting perfection, some kind of straight path you can control. Is that why you got rid of me-?”

Your gasp quickly stops you from speaking further— but it was already too late. Miguel’s eyes snap up to you, wide at your exclamation. You place a hand over your mouth with panicked eyes. The silence was what made it worse, feel it wrap around your neck and cause a hard, painful lump in your throat. You know he watches as you turn away from him.

“Then leave.” Those words still plague his mind as if it was yesterday. As if he didn’t have enough piling onto his shoulders, he had to go and lose you too. The one thing that—some days—was keeping that very mind together.

Something aches within him. His heart grows heavy in its weight. He turns his head, closing his eyes to take a breath. Many things haunted him, whether it be his own failings or the atrocities he’s seen throughout dimensions. He didn’t expect to, nor never wanted to add you to the list. You became another person that slipped from his fingertips.

You take a deep breath, wiping your face with a shaky hand. When you turn back, he’s collected himself. His gaze was now devoid of frustration as it was set upon you. Instead, it was filled with something else, something different. You exhale to make your brain know to say something. Miguel parts his lips. In a soft mutter you begin to recognize, he says. “I didn’t get-"

Your senses go off, turning your body away from his to see Peter B. and one of Jessica’s come around the corner. Your eyes remain on them, forcing themselves onto them. You calm your breathing with a hard swallow. Miguel felt something twist in his stomach once you turn away. A heaviness weighed at his tongue, lips still parted for what he wanted to tell you. But you had eyes on you now, curious looks that could grow into something more if he didn’t follow your lead.

He blinks a few times, turning to face the other two Spider-people with a locked jaws. How’d he’d be able to speak with his throat feeling non-existent was a feat in itself. Your eyes are kept to the ground until you take a deep breath. They raise, your feelings being pushed down once again. And you stand next to each other, with what felt like a world’s distance between you, miraged by only a couple feet.

taglist: @manchuria @kokomaii @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @miguelsfangs @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up

“¿te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?” — you mumble to yourself like that all the time?

“¿hablas español?” — you speak spanish?

“¿qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?” — just what else do you have up your sleeve?

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” — I can’t just reveal all my tricks to you, now can I?

#writing #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara #atsv #astv x reader #across the spiderverse #i feel like this could be soo much better sorry #part two can absolutely happen #drabble

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 7 months

Text

Nevermore

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 11. Fainting, 19. Left Behind, 23. Forced to Watch, 28. Oxygen Deprivation Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader (Raven) Summary: When there is a malfunction during training, Rooster is forced to watch as his world comes crashing down. Word Count: 1153 TW: Character Death, Oxygen Deprivation, Passing Out, Panic

Notes: Thank you to @topguncortez for looking this over for me! 💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Bradley groaned as he sunk down deeper into the rec room couch. He absolutely hated these training days. Most of the time he was stuck in this tiny room for hours just waiting for his turn to get into his plane and then he would maybe get an hour up in the sky—if he was lucky. And there was very little to pass the time in here besides one uneven foosball table, a handful of magazines from the mid-2000’s, and a radio connected to the planes currently in the air.

It wasn’t so bad depending on who he was waiting with. But since they had downsized the Dagger squad, he was currently alone with Hangman as his only company. While the two of them had cleared the air and moved past most of their past grievances, it was still awkward hanging out one-on-one like this so they usually just kept to themselves. If only Bradley had been able to switch places with Coyote today. Then he and Hangman could have kept each other occupied while Bradley could have spent this waiting time with you.

It had been bittersweet when Phoenix was promoted out of the Dagger Squad. She more than deserved it but everyone knew the squad just wouldn’t be the same without her. However, Bradley had been overjoyed when he learned you were selected as her replacement to fly with Bob.

He had first met you a few years ago when you were both stationed at the same base. It was instantly clear there was a connection between you and things had gotten pretty serious pretty quickly. However, when you found out you were being transferred a few months later, the two of you mutually agreed long distance wasn’t for you and you parted on great terms. But ever since you joined the Dagger Squad, it was as if no time had passed and you both had picked things up where you had left off.

Neither one of you wanted to put much pressure on the relationship by talking about the future, but Bradley already knew that now that he had you back in his life, he never wanted to let you go again. He just hoped you felt the same way.

Ten minutes later, Bradley had just begun to doze off, lulled to sleep by the constant chatter over the radio, when suddenly Bob’s tone shifted, his words sharp with an edge of concern and nervousness. “Hey, Raven, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Somethin’s wrong…”

Bradley bolted upright on the couch at the labored sound of your voice. Jumping to his feet, he tore across the room and snatched the radio receiver before anyone else could. It was highly frowned upon for those waiting in the rec room to use the radio, but Bradley didn’t give it a second thought as he called out to you, “Rae? Raven, what’s happening?”

“Roo...Oxygen’s not working…Ca-can’t breathe…

No. That can’t be right. The oxygen systems are always inspected before every flight to ensure something like this doesn’t happen. You had been given the all-clear this morning along with everyone else. Yet as he continued to listen to the radio, it was abundantly clear that you were struggling for every breath.

“Lt. Floyd.” Oh shit. Cyclone was monitoring training today. “Is your oxygen compromised?”

“N-no, sir. It’s just Raven’s.”

This was both good and bad news. On one hand, at least Bob wasn’t also being affected and he would be able to stay alert and focused on the situation. But on the other hand, if something happened to you, there was little he could do to help. He didn’t have any steering or altitude controls in the back seat and all emergency overrides were out of his reach.

Grabbing the radio, Bradley carried it over to the window so he could try and see what was happening. Luckily, there were a few clouds covering the worst of the sun’s glare and he could just make out the planes far off in the distance. Two were circling at a normal altitude, but the third seemed to be steadily climbing.

Cyclone must have noticed this too because his voice crackled out of the radio, “Lt., drop altitude to below 10,000 feet immediately and return to base…..Raven? Do you copy?”

“....can’t….breathe….”

“Why is she still going higher?” Hangman murmured as he approached the window to stand next to Bradley.

It seemed counterintuitive but Bradley thought he understood what was happening. Right now you wouldn’t be thinking logically about how to fix the problem, you’d just be straining to get air into your lungs. He could almost see you with your arched back, wide eyes, heaving chest….and fist clenched tightly around the stick as you unwittingly climbed higher and higher.

But then your plane seemed to level out for just a moment—before it began to plummet towards the ground.

Hangman inhaled sharply, “Oh my God…”

“Raven! Raven, wake up!” Bob’s voice was frantic as he cried out, “We’re going in! She’s unconscious and there’s no one on the stick!”

“No, no, no, no!” Bradley screamed, his fist slamming into the window over and over. This can’t be happening. This can’t be…

“Altitude dropping rapidly! Raven, please! Wake up! What do I do?”

“Lt. Floyd…eject.”

“What?” Bob sounded horrified at Cyclone’s command. “No. I can’t. I have to do something! I have to help her! Just tell me what to do!”

“There’s nothing you can do but save yourself. Now eject. That’s an order.”

“But–”

Hangman snatched the radio receiver out of Bradly’s hands and yelled, “Bob, you have to punch out right now! Your chute won’t save you if you go much lower.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave her.”

Hangman turned to Bradley, his face a mix of pain and sorrow as he held out the receiver. They both knew what needed to be done.

Squeezing his eyes tight to keep his tears from falling, Bradley grabbed the receiver and whispered, “Do it, Bob. She’d want you to.”

There was a momentary pause. Then, “I’m sorry.”

A loud bang blasted through the radio as the canopy was torn open and Bob’s seat jettisoned from the plane. Bradley looked out the window, his eyes scanning the sky until he just barely made out the tiny plume of color that had appeared as Bob’s cute deployed. It would be a rough landing, but he had ejected just high enough that he should be alright.

The same couldn’t be said about you.

Bradley sank to the floor as your plane spiraled closer and closer to the ground, bile rising in his throat at the knowledge there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to save you now. All he could do was watch it happen.

Then, just before your plane slammed into the ground in a fiery explosion, he heard one final word whispered through the radio.

“...R-Rooster?”

Taglist:@loverhymeswith, @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @tavners, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @topguncortez @footprintsinthesxnd, @airhogger, @notroosterbradshaw, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @fangirlinc, @sparrows-corner, @ryebecca, @mads-weasley, @trencher4lyfe, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @imjess-themess, @callsign-phoenix, @maggie8002sq, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @tellrock35, @shanimallina87, @mak-32, @ohtobeleah, @blue-aconite, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @wkndwlff, @writercole

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marinaiguess · 1 year

Text

Frontiers but Sonic can’t find Tails....

-------------------------------

If he is in pain, he doesn’t tell.

Besides, there’s no time for that. He needs to be quick and he knows he has to find all the Chaos Emeralds again but that’s the least of his worries. All of the mechs that have infested this island as well do not pose a threat to his ultimate goal.

He has to find his little brother.

This is the third island he’s visiting, this one way up in the sky. Anyone could have missed it but not him. Not when he is in such a hurry. As comforting as the feeling of the Chaos Emeralds encircling him was, them giving him all the strength he needed to pull through and fight the last titans, he unfortunately couldn’t hold on to them. Yet, he has to save his friends, no matter what happens. And he will save them. He will allow himself to slow down - just a tiny bit - only the moment he finds Tails. He is sure Amy and Knuckles are safe for the time being because he saw them, he talked to them. He wouldn’t stop worrying until he makes sure Tails is there too.

In order to free him from his prison cell, he needs those “memory tokens”, as Amy called them. And so, he runs. He runs around the island, on top of the volcano, down to the very edge of the island, even in the underground tunnels and the cyber spaces. He visits all the small separate floating rocks, even the most inaccessible ones, but there’s nothing to be found. Well, nothing except for the emeralds that he wouldn’t have normally noticed, hadn’t it been for their almost calling out to him. Days have passed, he’s sure, despite him not being able to quite grasp the concept of time anymore.

Is he on the wrong island? It can’t be, the emeralds brought him here for a reason.

He reaches the center of it all. And he finds the next titan bearing a sword as long as its entire body. This is gonna be tough. Especially at his state. He’s feeling numb, weaker by the second, the weird energy soaring through his veins and messing with his head. He can barely hear the voice that tells him to destroy the titan as his own voice inside his head gets stronger, louder and more corrupted. As if he’s losing the signal.

As if he’s losing control.

He doesn’t know who to blame. This weird floating girl, Eggman, the voice in the sky or the titans? But no matter which one has caused this, he’s the one who failed to find his little brother.

His little brother. His best buddy.

“Come on buddy. I found our friends. Where are you?”

There’s no answer. Not that he was expecting one. But he was hoping that somehow, somewhere, his little brother was just around the corner, ready to attack him to try and scare him just like they did way too long ago. He is still hoping that he heard his words. But nothing happens.

He jumps at the titan, not sure of what to do next. He doesn’t need to know where to go, he just has to keep going forward. That’s how it has always been, right?

The last emerald is retrieved and the corrupted energy is soon replaced by chaos energy that somehow makes him feel warm and safe, somehow it gives him the hope he lost, the energy he needs to put this titan six feet under. He inhales deeply, feeling like it’s the first time he can actually breathe since the moment he stepped foot on this island.

And then he soars like the wind, not wasting any time, he shoots like a shooting star, aiming for his target.

There’s no voice inside his head. Nothing can stop him now.

“Sonic!”

Except for that voice.

He stops for a moment and looks around. The name barely rings a bell but mentally slaps himself when he realizes that’s his own name. He hasn’t heard it in some time, that’s probably the reason it somehow slipped away from his memories. But most importantly, he hasn’t heard that voice in ages, at least that’s how it feels to him.

“Buddy?”

A forceful hit sends him flying backwards, until his back meets the cliffside. It takes him a moment to recover but determination takes over and he’s flying once again. Sonic hearing his friends calling out his name, even if it was just his fantasy, was all the strength he was missing to finish this enemy off.

He hears it once again as he catches the sword just in time before it slices him in half. He smiles. He takes the sword in his own hands and does what he is supposed to do.

Sonic looks at the sky, waiting for answers, desperately. This was the last titan and it’s gone. What else does he have to do to find his little buddy? He exhales sharply, as impatience takes the best of him and starts boosting towards the horizon. In just a second he’s gone.

“Sonic...” Tails whispers, clearly worried as he uses cyberspace to travel to the next island alongside his big brother. A serious face replaces his concerned one.

“I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. All of it. You can do this, Sonic. I’ll be by your side.” In a couple seconds he’s in Rhea island, floating in the sky just like he was in all of the previous islands. He spots the familiar blue just below him and quickly flies to his side. He witnesses Sonic struggling to keep standing, slouching into his hand. This is so much worse than when they first got here. He seems so close to collapsing and Tails doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen him so broken, so lost.

“Be careful.” Tails whispers, though Sonic still can’t see him.

“Careful? Where’s the fun in that?”

#idk how good this idea is but it IS an idea lol #sonic frontiers #sonic and tails #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #they're brothers your honor #sth #fanfic #wip #sonic fanfic #sth fanfiction #it's not even wholesome wednesday yet ololo #my drabbles

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 7 months

Text

Nevermore

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 11. Fainting, 19. Left Behind, 23. Forced to Watch, 28. Oxygen Deprivation Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader Summary: When there is a malfunction during training, Rooster is forced to watch as his world comes crashing down. Word Count: 1153 TW: Character Death, Oxygen Deprivation, Passing Out, Panic Notes: Thank you to @topguncortez for looking this over for me! 💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

“Somethin’s wrong…”

“Roo...Oxygen’s not working…Ca-can’t breathe…

“Lt. Floyd.” Oh shit. Cyclone was monitoring training today. “Is your oxygen compromised?”

“N-no, sir. It’s just Raven’s.”

Cyclone must have noticed this too because his voice crackled out of the radio, “Lt., drop altitude to below 10,000 feet immediately and return to base…..Raven? Do you copy?”

“....can’t….breathe….”

“Why is she still going higher?” Hangman murmured as he approached the window to stand next to Bradley.

But then your plane seemed to level out for just a moment—before it began to plummet towards the ground.

Hangman inhaled sharply, “Oh my God…”

“Raven! Raven, wake up!” Bob’s voice was frantic as he cried out, “We’re going in! She’s unconscious and there’s no one on the stick!”

“No, no, no, no!” Bradley screamed, his fist slamming into the window over and over. This can’t be happening. This can’t be…

“Altitude dropping rapidly! Raven, please! Wake up! What do I do?”

“Lt. Floyd…eject.”

“What?” Bob sounded horrified at Cyclone’s command. “No. I can’t. I have to do something! I have to help her! Just tell me what to do!”

“There’s nothing you can do but save yourself. Now eject. That’s an order.”

“But–”

Hangman snatched the radio receiver out of Bradly’s hands and yelled, “Bob, you have to punch out right now! Your chute won’t save you if you go much lower.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave her.”

Hangman turned to Bradley, his face a mix of pain and sorrow as he held out the receiver. They both knew what needed to be done.

Squeezing his eyes tight to keep his tears from falling, Bradley grabbed the receiver and whispered, “Do it, Bob. She’d want you to.”

There was a momentary pause. Then, “I’m sorry.”

The same couldn’t be said about you.

Then, just before your plane slammed into the ground in a fiery explosion, he heard one final word whispered through the radio.

“...R-Rooster?”

Taglist:@valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @sugarcoated-lame, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @chouricojr, @king-of-milf-lovers, @high-fidelities, @shaded-echoes-recs, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @thescarletknight2014

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the-yoru-whoru · 7 months

Text

Everyday felt like a dream.

Yoru was a fantastic cook; most days you woke up to the sounds of him in the kitchen, making food you knew would taste amazing, like savoury omurice and warm rice balls.

You liked how he would decorate your plates nicely, sometimes adding a delicate garnish or a smiley face.

He would place the dishes in front of you with a gruff face, mouth permanently folded into a frown you could only assume was his resting expression.

You always gave him a shy thanks before digging in, melting at the flavours exploding in your mouth.

Sometimes you would see the corner of his mouth tick up, expression turning into an intriguing mixture of smug and satisfied.

That is, until Pheonix usually barged in, Yoru's frown turning into a downright scowl as he shoved some food onto Pheonix's plate messily, a harsh contrast to how he treated yours.

Still, the two got along surprisingly well despite their bickering, and if there was one thing they always seemed to agree on, it was that your well-being was their priority; and in a way, you felt almost spoiled by them.

Especially since you don't go to school anymore.

Sometimes you felt guilty for dropping out, but honestly, it was hard to miss the stress of classes, the anxiety of being near strangers, and the strain of having to raise your voice to talk to anyone.

With Pheonix and Yoru, they always seemed to listen, leaning over to hear your hushed words intently, never making any sudden moves while near you.

It was comforting. Everything nowadays was.

Except on nights when you would wake up sweating, chest heavy and heart racing with fear, flashes of unwanted memories still running through your mind.

It was easy to go to one of the two boys for comfort, to stand beside their bed trembling, arms shaking as you wrapped them around yourself and sobbed quietly.

How they reacted depended on who you came to.

When Yoru wakes up and notices, he quickly jolts out of bed to put his hands on your shoulders, face immediately setting into a firm line, eyes flashing with concern.

He voice is low and steady as he guides you through breathing exercises with that rough voice, rubbing your shoulders up and down comfortingly with his warm hands until your sobs subside.

Only then does Yoru pull you into bed against himself, body firm and steady under your weak hands.

Phoenix on the other hand will immediately jump out of bed and embrace you, holding you tightly as you grip onto his warm figure.

His overwhelming warmth engulfs you until your fear is replaced by drowsiness, and it always isn’t long before you’re melting into his arms and falling fast asleep.

You’ll wake up in bed next to him, his arms still protectively wrapped around you.

It was difficult not to notice how much they touched you now.

It was as if they were making up for the past years of not being able to see you with how much they initiated physical contact.

Goodbyes always came with a hug if it was Phoenix, and you’ve lost count of how many times Yoru had ruffled your hair when going out the door.

They liked to guide you to certain places, if there was a movie Phoenix was linking arms with you all the way to the couch, and sometimes Yoru would be the one to carry you back to be when you fell asleep during said movie.

Even sitting next to each other, thighs or arms would always be touching slightly, the lingering warmth making you feel at home.

But sometimes it was hard not to grow flustered.

It didn’t help that both men were hardcore gym bros and went together everyday of the week, and it definitely didn’t help that they were both extremely handsome.

But you shoved those thoughts down for another time.

Finally the day comes when you decide to join discord again, and you’re shocked by the sheer amount of messages you had received but never replied to while in your depressed hiatus.

Thousands of concerned calls, messages, and tags begging for you to say something, anything, and you can feel your eyes tear up at how much your friends had missed and worried for you.

Omen, the usual stoic recluse, had spammed you non-stop with despairing text messages eventually reducing to garbled self-degrading texts about everything he could have done better, eventually turning into a vent of private things you didn’t feel comfortable reading without his permission.

Chamber had done the opposite. Although he had also texted a fair amount, his were short and cold, demanding rather than begging. Some of his threats sent a shiver through your body, but there was always an underlying desperation in his tone.

Unlike the other two, Sova was none of that. The gentle sweetheart was neither cold nor despaired, he had only sent long, heartfelt paragraphs, full of bittersweet recounts of things you used to play and do together, and how much he missed you.

Meanwhile, Yoru’s messages were full of unfiltered, blunt anger. Nothing but pure rage directed towards anyone and anything. You can’t make it through the stream of intense text before you’re clicking out, hands shaking. It was so different from the way he acted towards you in real life, and so different from how he acted towards you in your first meeting.

Phoenix’s were of genuine concern; the man had always been the honest type, he never hid what he was feeling and it was clear in the way he frantically texted you over and over about how much he missed you and how much everyone was worrying.

Surprisingly, Cypher hadn’t said a word.

After you had finished catching up to all the unread messages, you hands hovered over the keyboard, uncertain of what to do next.

You knew you had to confront the others a some point, and maybe you would even get to meet them the same way you did Phoenix and Yoru.

There was only one way to find out.

—

Sorry for the rather short and dry part three, the next part will have actual n*fw and some more interesting stuff haha, for now I thought it would be cool to do a poll for which valorant guy reader should be introduced to first in the next part!

#imagine #reader #writing #valorant #reader insert #yoru x reader #phoenix x reader #reverse harem #discord au #school au #protective

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icycoldninja · 1 month

Note

Hey, love your DMC fanfics, can I request DMC5 Dante with sweet and kind s/o in her twenties, meeting fem reader parents who are really strict, conservative and lil abusive especially the reader's mother. They have weird ideas of purity for women and are very patriarchal.

Hello, hope you're well. Thank you very much, I am more than honored that you enjoy my writing. I am afraid to say that I have chosen to omit several aspects of your request as I wish for this blog and all material posted on it to remain free from political and social reform-related biases. In order to preserve the intended mood of the piece, I have replaced the aforementioned omitted material with synonymous themes, as needed. I understand that this may be disappointing to you, and for that, I apologize. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction and that you have a fruitful and productive day. Thank you for your patience and leniency.

Terrible idea (DMC5! Dante x Fem!Abused!Reader)

TW: Controlling parents, violence, and implications of physical abuse incoming; if you are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI.

-‐---------------------------------------------------‐-------------------------

You sighed, resting your cheek on your palm as you stared out the car window, absently watching the blurred scenery rush by. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands felt clammy; you couldn't believe this was actually happening.

For context, today was the day Dante had agreed to meet your your parents. Normally, this would be a joyous occasion, but in this case, it was terrifying because your parents were less than pleasant, to say the least. They hated the idea of you leaving their (abusive) household so much, they did everything they could to make your relationships--be they friendships or otherwise--crumble. At first, they'd attempted to keep you isolated, but now you had a job, and therefore, your own house, which was conveniently far, far away from theirs, so there was nothing they could do. Their only remaining tactic was to embarrass you and insult anyone you brought to see them until your guest left, either in disgust or awkwardness. The only reason Dante lasted as long as he did was because he'd never met them--you'd kept their existence a secret from him and his existence from them up until this point.

You hadn't wanted to bring Dante to meet them, but he'd insisted. Because his parents weren't alive anymore, he was unable to introduce you to them; to make up for it, he'd meet your parents instead. You never told him how horrible your folks were, however, and were seriously regretting it now, but he was so excited--you just couldn't burst his bubble like that. Maybe, hopefully, things would go well today.

"Hey, babe, you OK?" Dante asked, briefly glancing in your direction.

"Yeah," You sighed, turning and smiling at him.

"You sure? You don't sound ok."

"I...I'm fine, don't worry."

"Ok...well...we're almost there, according to the GPS."

You nodded, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, not really sure what to say. You honestly didnt want to be going to your parents' house; Dante didn't need to get involved in your family issues any more than he needed to.

"Come on, I see that frown. You can tell me if something's wrong, y'know," Dante encouraged, patting your shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong," You responded, forcing another smile. "I'm fine." Dante would have pursued the conversation, but there was a sharp turn coming up that he needed to focus on. Once he rounded the curve, you spotted the a building in the distance; a familiar building that you recognized as your parents house; the building that had never been your home.

"This your folks' place?" Dante asked, and when you nodded, a big grin broke out on his face. It was clear he was excited to meet those who had "raised" you. It was a shame he had no idea how awful they truly were. "Alright," He exclaimed, grinning, "Let's go meet the people that raised my angel!" He flung the car door open and bounded out out it, with you slowly following suit. Poor Dante. He had no idea what waited for him there, and it was all because of your weakness. Now that you were literally on the threshold of hell itself, you felt so upset with yourself for not warning him earlier; for being so selfish and keeping the truth a secret from him. You were sure that after today, he wouldn't want to be with you anymore, and so, you decided to simply accept your fate and get on with it; maybe the day would pass by quicker if you pretended to enjoy it.

Your anxiety and fear reaching its peak, you rung the doorbell and waited for the door to swing open; waited to be greeted with the frowning faces of those horrible monsters you couldn't believe you called your parents.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, and you were met with your mother, a scowl plastered across her wrinkling face.

"Y/N," She greeted, stiffly, prompting you to force a smile.

"Good afternoon, mother." Your mother then turned her attention to Dante and narrowed her eyes at him.

"And who's this?"

"My...umm....my..." You words died in your throat; your mother's scrutinizing gaze silencing you. You sighed, folding your arms and averting your gaze. Thinking you were just too excited to function properly, Dante eagerly piped up and finished your sentence.

"I'm her man, name's Dante, nice to meet ya!" He stuck his hand out, expecting your mother to shake it, but she did no such thing.

"What? A boyfriend? Are you crazy? We told you never to get a boyfriend--you don't deserve one! " She yelled, her piercing, fiery gaze directed on you. "Answer me, girl, what were you thinking?!" You couldn't. You felt like there was a burning lump in your throat, preventing you from speaking. If you did, you were sure you would cry. You knew this was a bad idea. What were you thinking indeed, coming here and bringing Dante with you? Clearly angry at your lack of a response, your mother crossed over to you and slapped you across the face. "What has gotten into you, child? How dare you disobey us and bring this filthy troll to our doorstep?! How dare you?!" Suddenly, your mother seized you by the arm and began beating you with her bony, yet painful fists; his vise-like grip keeping you in place even though you screamed in pain and tried to get away.

"Stop it, let go of her!" Shouted Dante, forcing your mother away and standing between the two of you. You sobbed, clinging onto his arm as you desperately tried to wipe away your tears.

"Get out of my way, you have no right to stand between me and my daughter!"

"She ain't your daughter if you hit her like that--the hell you thinking?! What was that even for?!"

"Shut the fuck up, you worthless loser," Retorted your mother, spitefully. "You have no right telling me how to parent my child.

"She's not your child if you treat her like this," Dante said, coldly. "Come on, babe, let's get outta here." He wrapped his arm around you and tried to guide you away, but you remained still.

"I'm sorry, Dante," You said, still crying. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm so, so sorry--I should have told you about them sooner."

"And what's that supposed to mean, young lady?!" Demanded your father, striding into view in his usual stained shirt. "And who the fuck is this?"

"Her boyfriend," Growled your mother, turning her nose up in disgust. "A bad influence, too." Your father grunted, roughly grabbing your wrist and jerking you towards the house.

"That's easily taken care of. Get outta here, loser, you'll never see my daughter again." You turned and looked at the angry expression on Dante's face, wishing you had the strength to stand up for yourself and break free. Unfortunately, you didn't; you were too afraid to do anything. You could only watch as your horrible parents dragged you inside their house of horrors and slammed the doors in your boyfriend's face.

Once again, you found yourself questioning your thought processes that led you to set foot within a 40 mile radius of your parents' lair.

You knew it; you felt it in your bones and your gut, but you did it anyway.

You were such an idiot.

This really was a terrible idea.

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30-3am · 9 months

Text

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃

⋆ ★ 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍

" 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚢'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚒 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 " ⋆ ★

part two of multiple

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃 • 𝙲.𝙾.𝙽.𝚃.𝙴.𝙽.𝚃.𝚂

⋆ ★ warnings: drug abuse, allusions to abuse and mental health disorders

⋆ ★ word count: 5.7k

the contents of this story will not be for everyone. if you aren't comfortable with unethical and/or age-gap relationships, then do not read.

»»———-　story by 30-3am　———-««

Chapter Two - In And Out

22:32, June 17th

Downey, CA

James thought that, perhaps, it was wrong to entertain a man who was everything he had tried, for years, not to be.

As soon as he had sat on Rob’s couch and surveyed the environment he was in with its discarded beer bottles and a full ashtray that had been there the last time he arrived, he knew that nothing had changed. The living room alone was like history embalmed. Six years ago, he had briefly passed through Downey and sat in that very living room. In those years, he also observed that nothing had changed.

Nothing, that was, except her. Heather. Rob’s daughter.

She hadn’t been anything except that when he’d last seen her.

When he’d turned into their drive, he’d seen her, her eyes concentrated on the roll of his truck, the guitar in her lap and looking like it belonged there. He hadn’t recognised her at all, had not even registered that this was the same Heather who’d darted out of her room and not made eye contact with him when he came last.

Truthfully, he was struck by her. He saw that guitar and had been surprised, had listened when she told him what she played and was surprised. Then, pity had roiled in his gut, and the unmistakable urge to help built until it was towering tall and strong above him.

Palmer had always been an asshole when they were younger, but they were kids, and kids usually were assholes. And James would, willingly, admit that he had not been a saint. But, he had tried to wipe the name of sinner from his forehead and replace it with decent and, even though his impression of himself wavered, he knew he had somewhat succeeded in doing so.

His old friend hadn’t even attempted such a feat. And, in turn, had left his daughter with such an overwhelming sadness swirling in the light of her eyes that he feels nothing but a desire to better what he cannot control.

James had to admit that the mask was skin-tight, foolproof to anyone who had not been as selfish and deceitful. But he knew what it was like to lie, to cheat, to hurt, and he saw right through the ruse. Robert and Heather were not comfortable with each other as a father and daughter should be.

When Rob had been babbling about something James suspected was not true, he’d seen the tops of her bare feet padding gently in a line to the kitchen door. His eyes had unwillingly migrated to her thighs, soft skin on display until it disappeared underneath the denim of her shorts and then, with one big gulp, he finished his drink and took the opportunity to talk to her without arousing suspicion.

He’d excused himself with a slap to his knee as he stood and headed for her.

She looked like she needed saving; he knew what it felt like to think that no one was willing to help.

“What’s stopping you?”“Things…”

There was a newfound resentment for a man he had felt generally indifferent to his whole life. There was an urge, zealous and intense, to give her opportunities he knew she didn’t think she had.

Because, undoubtedly, “things” alluded to her father. James did not have children, but if he did, he would have given them every chance to pursue what would make them happy.

She had said that she wanted to do music, and he had rejoiced because he knew he could ameliorate her situation. He knew he could get her out.

“It’s a left here, right?”

She’d been mostly quiet throughout the journey, tugging at the hem of her skirt and looking small and slightly nervous given the unfamiliar environment. He felt so sickly sorry for her because he knows. He knows so fucking much about what it’s like to be around bad people and bad parents and how, when you’re young, it’s too hard to handle - how you curl and twist so tightly in on yourself that you feel as if you cannot breathe.

He could see it in her: a smile that never reached her eyes, eyes that never dared give away anything except a desperate need for assistance. Everything, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, screamed out to anyone who bothered to look close enough: “Help me.”

“Yeah, then take a right and it’s just straight on from there.” She had such a sweet voice, so naturally quiet and diminished. A voice that had practised the art of compliance - keep quiet or face the consequences.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter at the injustice.

Such strong feelings were mixing in his stomach, bubbling and amalgamating, creating an unharmonious concoction of desire that he wondered if he’d have to stay in Downey longer than he’d planned. It wasn’t as if he had anyone to go back to in Vail. That union was done. It had been for a long time.

James will admit, he had never been the best husband. He hadn’t been cut out for marriage when he proposed, had not been ready when he stood at the altar and watched her walk down the aisle. He thought he had known from the beginning that it would end in divorce. He had cheated, lied and then got himself out of trouble by begging for forgiveness and preying on any love for him she had left.

Then, he got better - he became someone better. But with the peace he had acquired came clarity, and he hadn’t wanted to ask for divorce but there was no denying that it just wasn’t working anymore. So, in an attempt to heal the aching in his heart and the pit digging deeper in his stomach, he’d crawled back to his roots. To friends who hide and to family who had been lost long ago.

To Heather Palmer who seemed to be his vocation. He did not believe in God, but he believed in something. And that something had given him an opportunity in the form of this nearly twenty-three-year-old girl, sitting, tucked in on herself, in the same truck he’d brought back in 1991. Again, going back to who he was and where he had come from.

“You finish at 6?” He reached over to toy with the radio. It was an old thing, no Bluetooth, no CD player. Only a cassette player that sometimes ate his tapes. He didn’t really know why he’d picked the truck for his journey, but he’d ventured into his collection, needing something easy and not a bother to drive and it had called to him. So he’d grabbed some tapes he’d found in an old box, Priest, Sabbath, Skynard, Motörhead, Maiden and a few mixes he’d made in his twenties that he thought he’d have a listen to and set up shop.

He’d already managed to get the floor of it dirty with mud and the ashtray for his cigars was filling quickly.

“Yeah,” she replied simply, and he wondered if she was uncomfortable. Her fingers were curling into her skirt, her eyes darting to him and then away.

“D’you want me to pick you up?” He knew she’d say no, too modest and unwilling to take from others.

“No.” See. “It’s okay. I usually walk anyway.”

James took a right as she had instructed, the steering wheel gliding beneath his right palm, the left grabbing the stick and pushing it into gear. “It’s no trouble, kid.”

He felt her eyes boring into the side of his head, her mouth parting to begin speaking.

“It’s too early, I can’t let you do that.”

He took his eyes off the road to raise his eyebrows at her, a laugh passing his lips as he returned his attention to the roll of the car.“I’m an old man. Six isn’t early.”

She laughed half-heartedly, that obligatory smile stretching her lips and trying desperately to get to her eyes. “Still…” She gazed out the window, her knees knocking and her hands going from her lap to her sides, unsure of where to put them. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

He made a noise of disapproval, turning up the radio slightly as the host announced the familiar Zeppelin tune and then placed both hands back on the wheel. His boot was light on the gas, the windows rolled down so the breeze could glide in. He had forgotten how goddamn hot California was, even at night.

“It’s no problem.” James was being honest; it wasn’t a problem. He always got up at five anyway, with or without an alarm. It was his natural reaction now, to wake up before the sun was fully resting at its peak height in the sky, before the dew dried up and left blistering heat in its wake.

“Are you sure?” He could see the flickering neon sign ahead of him, big loopy letters spelling “Michelle’s” in a dulled pink.

“I told you.” The truck turned right into the parking lot, the lights inside Michelle’s the only thing alive. “It’s no problem.” He pulled into a space, keeping the engine running as he took his hand off the wheel and turned slightly in his seat to face her. She was messing with her bag, pulling it by the straps and hauling it into her lap. Then, the dark brown of her eyes was on him, brimming with gratitude, and the smile she adorned was clawing so close to the corners of her eyes it almost looked genuine. Progress, he thought as he smiled back and turned the radio back down just a touch, the song over and another one he did not care for fading in.

“Thank you.” She looked entirely unsure of what to do with herself, one hand on the door handle, ready to escape, the other grabbing the curve of the leather seat and looking as if she wanted to say more.

When he determined she was not going to say anything else, he finished the conversation for her, his head cocking as he sent her a friendly wink.

“You’re welcome, kid.” She nodded her head and smiled quickly, lips flicking up and then back down as the car door popped open and she slid from her seat, landing softly on the tarmac. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?” James asked, holding onto the steering wheel with one hand and watching as she brushed down her uniform that didn’t look like it had changed since 1983. The whole of Downey seemed to be stuck in the past and he shifted uncomfortably at the conclusion.

“Yeah.” She said sweetly, the yellow haze from a nearby streetlamp basking her in a glowing spotlight, parts of her face shadowed and others strikingly illuminated. “See you then.”

She held onto the corner of the door, again looking as if she wanted to say something. This time, however, she continued.

“Thank you again, James.” She sent him a courtesy nod, swinging her backpack over her right shoulder and letting it dangle down and to the left. Then, with a quick bye, she went on her way, sneakers soft on the grey tarmac and legs taking long strides towards the nauseatingly bright lights of the diner.

Michelles had - just like everything else he remembered - not changed. It had grown with the time but it still had that cheap sign and advertisements in the windows that taunted anyone looking for a bargain. He could see the same red leather seats aligning the bar and the opening into the kitchen where cheap food made with nothing but mediocrity and resentment was pushed through and into the hands of the servers.

He focused on the diner for a moment, soaking in the scenery and processing how quickly he had been pushed back into his past. James felt twenty and stupid again, and, quite frankly, he didn’t enjoy it. When he was in Colorado, there was nothing for him except vast open plains, fresh air that he would taint with cigar smoke, and a quiet that settled his old bones and made him feel real.

Downey was suffocating. But he didn’t want to be alone. Being alone scared him because it meant there was nothing between him and the drink, nothing to stop the urge from consuming him and drowning him in his own blood. So he’d clawed his way across the country, back to his hometown so he didn’t have to endure stifling seclusion.

He stayed in the parking lot for another minute and watched her as she walked behind the counter, smiling as she passed another employee who had just clocked out. Then, with a yawn, he decided he would very much like to go to bed.

James turned the key in the ignition, not bothering to look behind him as he reversed and rolled out of the parking lot.

03:05

The night had been slow. Not that it was ever particularly quick at Michelle’s. Time stood still under the fluorescents, the clock refusing to tick forward, always twitching in place. It didn’t help when the bell above the door didn’t ring, when the coffee sat motionless in the pot, and Heather had already braided and re-braided her hair more times than she cared to count.

However, Brittany had stopped by for an hour, perched on her barstool and mixing far too much sugar and cream into her coffee; the clock began moving again when she was there.

“You doin’ alright, Feather?” When Heather first met Brittany, the woman had been so drunk that she couldn’t say her H’s properly. So, when she tried to read the white stitching sewn into the pink of Heather’s uniform, she had called her Feather instead. The nickname had stuck.

“I’m alright, Britt.” Brittany called Heather her best friend and Heather had to agree with her, even if they were the oddest pair in perhaps all of Cali. Besides, Britt was good company. She was a forty-something-year-old woman with a knack for making even the longest of shifts bearable. Heather found herself looking forward to the times when she came, guaranteed to order a coffee that she would not pay for (Heather had to make up the difference) and completely obliterate the bitterness with four packets of sugar and almost half a mug full of creamer.

“You ain’t looking so good, girl,” she’d said, a rasp indented into her voice box from years of smoking Parliaments, weed, and smack. Heather never asked about the drugs but it worried her a lot. When Brittany didn’t turn up to her shifts at least two nights in a row, Heather walked the full ten-mile journey from Michelle’s to the bungalow that was across the street from the laundromat and went to check on her.

She’d push the door open - it was always unlocked - and would call out into the dark. She would never be granted a reply, so Heather would follow the smell of heroin, trace the trail of needles and find Brittany passed out on the floor, whatever would do the job tied around her arm.

“I’m sorry, Feather.” The woman would apologise whilst Heather helped clean her up. “I was just gonna stick to the blow…” “It’s okay, Britt.” She’d reassure her. “Let’s just get you sorted.”

Heather was grateful for every time she walked through the door, her brown hair (that was admittedly greying) tangled around her shoulders and matted haphazardly to her scalp, eyes red and nose twitching. Because the blow was better than the smack, and Heather couldn’t get her friend clean but she would at least help moderate. Heather refused to lose her.

“Thanks.” Heather rolled her eyes, pretending to clean a glass so as to not incite suspicion. Her manager, Hal, already didn’t like Brittany. She, apparently, preoccupied too much of his employee's time, which was ridiculous to said employee because there was nothing better to do from the hours of eleven p.m. till six a.m. than talk to her junkie friend. At least when Brittany was around, there was a customer to serve.

“You know I don’t mean it like that, you’re too pretty for your own good sometimes.” She took a sip of her coffee, hissing in disapproval and plucking another white sugar packet from the dispenser. “You just look…” She trailed off as she poured the granules into the brown, absent-mindedly stirring it in with one of their wooden stirrers and then licking it clean once she was satisfied. “Not yourself, you know?”

Heather had narrowed her eyes, smirking a little as she toyed with the glass in her hands, the material warming under her grasp.

“I’m fine.”

Brittany took another sip of her coffee, this time pleased with the flavour and taking a long gulp in acceptance.

She placed the mug back down on the counter, skinny fingers curled around the handle. Her nails were green this week, already chipped and uneven. Heather decided she would ask if she wanted them redone at some point.

“We can all say that we’re fine, Feather.” Her counterpart sniffed indiscreetly, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. “Doesn’t actually mean jack shit.” Heather laughed at that, throwing her hair over her shoulder and hunching over to put the glass behind the bar with the other cups.

“Well…” She stood up straight again, tilting her head affectionately as she gazed at her friend. “I’m being honest, Britt.”

There was a questioning look as she pushed the left sleeve of her flannel up to her elbow, the right gaining the same treatment.

“It’s not your daddy, is it?” Heather had briefly mentioned her home life one November night when even their chef had gone home early, leaving the two friends to share whatever they liked without fear of being overheard. Only God could listen in on their sins now.

Brittany had been moved to tears when Heather had told her everything, pushing off the stool to shuffle around the bar and embrace a very uncomfortable Heather.

She’d placed two kisses on the apples of her cheeks, then held her face in her hands, eyes brimming with salty liquid that fell down her skin and dropped off her jaw.

“I’ll kill him,” Brittany had promised. “You listenin’, girl? I’ll kill the bastard.” She had said it with such conviction that Heather was surprised to find out the next day that she had been sober throughout the whole ordeal.

“Britt,” Heather said simply, looking into blue eyes, red-raw and laced with kindness and misdeed. “I mean it. I’m fine.”

The woman still remained unconvinced and sipped her coffee with a shake of her head and a drumming of nails on top of stainless steel.

“Whatever you say…” There was a minute of silence before Brittany transformed into storyteller, rehashing things she had forgotten Heather had heard and animatedly recalling a run-in she’d had the other day.

Heather was content to listen - she always was. She often thought that’s why they fit together so well; Britt spoke, and Feather listened. It had been that way since the older woman had walked through the door, stumbling and mumbling, smelling of cigarettes and Jim Beam.

After a long hour of talking, the final dregs of coffee swimming in the bottom of her mug, Brittany announced her leave.

“Well…” She pushed off the counter, the barstool scratching against the linoleum. “I best be goin’, girl.” She smiled, all teeth and gums. She was missing a few but that was part of the charm, and they were yellow but not in the way her dad’s were yellow. Britt was loveably trashed whereas Robert Palmer was loathsomely so.

“Okay.” She smiled right back, taking away her near-empty mug and pushing it through the kitchen hatch.

Britt was rifling through her jean pockets when Heather turned back around, looking in her right and then her left. “Got 'em.” She muttered to herself as she pulled the cardboard from her back pocket and slung them on the countertop. Heather's eyes followed the object, blue and crumpled font meeting her eye.

“You take those.” She pointed a bony finger at the packet, her tone playful but demanding. “You look like ya need them.”

“I don’t like Parliaments.” Heather pushed the cigarettes back, crossing her arms and refusing to take them.

“I don’t care.” She pushed them right back, annoyingly determined. “There’s three left in there and they better all be gone by tomorrow. I expect proof.”

She was like a mother commanding her child to do chores, knowing that they didn’t want to do it but forcing them for their own good. Heather supposed in that sense, Brittany was a bit like a mother.

Though, she didn’t like comparing her real mother. Her mom was her mom - a separate entity, better than anyone she had ever met, and she loved Britt but she did not even come close to Andrea Palmer. Andrea lit the sky with her beauty, struck hearts with her love, and spoke to Heather every time it rained.

“Yeah, yeah.” Heather grabbed the packet and shoved it into her breast pocket, next to the ballpoint pen she used to take orders. “Just get outta here, I got work to do.”

Brittany looked around dramatically, pointing to empty booths and then the empty stools lined up perfectly and tucked in tight to the counter.

“You sure?”

“Shut up.”

05:35

Heather was sufficiently bored.

It felt like she had twenty-five minutes left ten minutes ago and the repetitive tick of the clock, which seemed to be moving slower than a car without wheels, was making her irritable. Her uniform was tight around her neck, and the A/C was stuttering and struggling to breathe; at one point she had considered bashing it with a bat until it was debris on the floor but instead, took a deep breath in and out and reminded herself that she needed this job.

It did have its perks, after all. Working at night created the illusion she had more time in the day to herself and the coffee was, majority of the time, hot and free. If she was lucky, she could also swipe a slice of pie and a Coke from the back.

Also, mostly no one entered the diner, and she had all the time in the world to think and plan what she would do the rest of the day.

However, on this particular night, her mind was hazy. It was blocked by blue eyes and a loving smile - a voice that whispered “kid” right in her ear.

She physically cringed every time she reminded herself of her behaviour in his truck, how nervous and dismissive she had been. She wouldn’t be all too surprised if James had already deemed her rude and banished any kind of sympathy he held for Heather.

It wasn’t her fault. Not particularly.

Heather liked to plan. She liked to know where she would be within the hour - what she would be doing as far as next week. So, when James had so abruptly offered her a ride, the timetable in her head fell to her feet and was lost; she had no clue what to do with herself after that. If it wasn’t lined up for her, as neat as a military bed, every semblance of stability was gone.

After the initial pride of disobeying her father faded, crippling anxiety had overtaken her body, and the tremor she’d had since she was seven set in. Her hands had shook, her legs had wobbled as she’d walked and she had to remind herself of her breathing as she closed the passenger door and locked herself in with him.

She was heavily prepared to change his impression of her with the next journey. Her whole shift (excluding Britt’s visit) she had planned and prepared her dialogue, her mannerisms and her demeanour. She was excessive with it, spending every moment she had alone arranging and organising.

He’s an opportunity, she had to remind herself. You can get out of here.

Heather didn’t particularly agree with nepotism but she had not had an easy run. Surely she deserved this. God had sent him; she believed that. And God always had a plan for his sons and daughters. It would be blasphemous to let James slip.

She was cleaning the tables for the second time that night when the now familiar vehicle rolled into the parking lot, the rising sun behind it.

She had thanked God for his arrival and decided that 05:47 was an acceptable time to get ready to go and shuffled to the back.

After she’d pulled on her backpack, secured the parliaments in the front pocket and made sure that the diner was presentable, she made her way out of there. Stepping out of the door, the bell ringing in her ears, was like stepping out of hell itself - like defeating the Devil’s harsh grasp and running into the omnibenevolence of the Father.

In the distance, Maya biked her way towards Heather, sending her a wave and a smile. Maya did the morning shift and was Heather’s sort-of friend. They didn’t talk much and Heather didn’t really want to anyway. She had Brittany…and besides, Maya had gone to Heather’s school and, although she was in the year above, had a reputation for being the most stereotypical rich bitch with bleach blonde hair and a desperation for any attractive boy she could get her hands on, that Heather knew they would never get on.

Truthfully, she had been surprised when she found out that the infamous Maya was working at a dive like Michelle’s and had rejoiced when she found out that her Daddy had cut her allowance. Then, she apologised to God for being spiteful and kept her triumph to herself.

Maya’s bike, white with a basket on the front, was rolling closer and Heather was already tired, irritated and entirely too focused on the next conversation she was going to have, that she dodged her entirely and followed the glint of the sun against black.

James was toying with the radio as she approached, the sun visor down and the white of his hat covering his eyes. Her stomach flipped when she saw him, her gut churning nervously as she advanced. She brushed the sweat on her palms onto her uniform and took a deep breath. In and out.

She was grateful he was here. Some part of her mind had convinced herself that he didn’t mean what he had said, and she would’ve waited hours for him on the sidewalk in vain.

But, alas, he was there. Waiting for her.

The warmth seeped in again like light pushing through the cracks in the curtains and she had to wonder if it was pathetic to be affected so deeply by someone who had not been a significant figure in her life for more than a day. She cut herself some slack when she reminded herself that no one had ever given her the time of the day in the way James had, and that it was natural to be drawn to someone who offered her so much unwavering attention.

Feeling just about okay with herself, she tugged on the door handle, pulling it open and struggling a little with the weight of it.

“Hey.” The deep baritone of his voice travelled through, electrifying her nerves with anxiety that refused to settle as she sat in the passenger seat, set her bag on the floor in front of her, and closed the door.

“Hi.” She placed her hands in her lap, sure this time where to put them.

“Good shift?”

She had anticipated the small talk - had prepared herself for it when she was changing the filter in the coffee machine.

“Yeah. Bit slow, but it wasn’t bad.” He hummed in reply as he turned the key in the ignition, feet working on the clutch as he pushed the car into gear and began reversing out of the parking space. It was then that she took note of the tune wandering from the speakers, the familiar harmonica and guitar.

“Bob Dylan?” she questioned, looking over at him as he swung the car around and began heading for the exit.

He drove with assuredness, one hand on the wheel while he leant back in his seat. He drove how he walked: confident and assertive. She wished to get to that level of faith in herself. Every step Heather took was always laced with uncertainty, every action she executed taking her more effort than she cared to admit. Jealousy suddenly oozed in, hot and slow like treacle in her veins, and she forced it out of herself with a simple reminder that he had had longer on this godforsaken earth to learn how to be brave.

“Yeah.” He pushed his hat up a little, eyes focused on the road. “I found ‘Nashville Skyline’ on tape in the back of the truck.” There was blue on her for a second, staring at the side of her face and then they were back on the tarmac. “You said you liked Dylan, so I thought I’d put it on. Didn’t know I had it to be honest.” He laughs softly, the sound of “Nashville Skyline Rag” under it.

“Well, thanks.” She smiled softly, basking in the song and settling down against her seat. She was visibly more comfortable, glancing out the window and watching the familiar route fly past.

“No problem, kid.” She watched from the corner of her eye as he changed hands on the wheel, right to left, and then reached down to grab something from the door.

Curiously, and perhaps a little invasively, she gives her full attention to him, eyes on the ink of his arms and hands as he lifts the cassette case and places it near her.

“You can have that.” It takes a brief moment for Heather to understand what he’s doing, her eyes fixated on Bob Dylan’s face, Nashville Skyline in white font printed underneath him. Then, for reasons unknown to her, a lump forms in her throat, tears stinging in her eyes that she blinks back with a powerful force, intent on not letting him see her cry.

“You sure?” It wasn’t as if what he’d done was a big grand gesture, it was a goddamn Bob Dylan tape, but it was overwhelming her. His kindness was confusing her; kindness being a pleasure many had seldom shown towards her. He was making her feel important, lifting her up to the highest heavens and giving her reasons.

She decided to forget that the last time that occurred, it ended pathetically and destructively.

“‘Course I’m sure. It’s no big deal.” He sent her a smile, blinding her with the genuinity and benignity behind it. His eyes were back on the road far quicker than she liked.

“Thank you.” His hand hung loosely by his side, his other light on the wheel - a picture of calm. She found herself mollifying in his presence, a strange sense of easement travelling through her blood as opposed to the usual pressure pushing her down until she couldn’t breathe.

She was grateful for it. Grateful for him.

In a short space of time, he had managed to defy her father for her, had managed to appease her apprehension and had, perhaps most importantly, given her a ride to and from work.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

The nickname rolled through her like a wave, crashing at her stomach and spreading to the tips of her toes. She felt her face flush and she kept her hair covering his view of her, just in case he decided to look over and see what he had reduced her to.

Silence befell them, the hum of the engine and the slow lull of ‘I Threw It All Away’ from the speakers making it comfortable.

She stared absent-mindedly out the window, wondering what type of situation would present itself when she got home. Dad either would not be there, passed out on the couch or if he’d managed to get himself as far as the bedroom, on his bed. Or, worst of all, he would be awake. She wished he could see her now, in his friend's car, a friend who he had explicitly told her to stay away from. It excited her - the forbidden nature of it all. In all her twenty-two years, she had not defied her father so heavily, and it caused adrenaline to run through her in volumes she hadn’t felt before.

“Got something else for you, as well.” She looked over at him at the abrupt announcement, his hand reaching down the side of the door again.

He pulled out a pack of Camel Reds, hand outstretched to her and offering them.

“Your dad ran out last night.” She took them from him, the warmth of his fingers making her shiver as they brushed with her own. “Thought I’d save you the trip.”

The lights ahead turned red and he pressed the brake as they approached, his full attention on her as they finally stopped.

“Thank you, James,” she said, gratitude evident in her tone, and she knew he noticed her fight with her emotions this time. His eyes softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing once and burning himself into her skin.

His hand was heavy on her as she replied, a warmth grounding her in her place and preventing the onslaught of tears intimidating her.

“You don’t have to thank me, kid.” Orange blared ahead, switching to green, and she missed the heat of him on her shoulder as he moved the car from stationary and continued driving.

Heather didn’t know what to say. No words formed in her mind and slipped from her tongue and he was sitting so comfortably it looked like he didn’t expect any. So, she just stared at the packet of Camels, reading the blue font over and over until it blended into one before her eyes.

Bob Dylan muffled in her ears, the cassette case heavy in her lap, cigarettes rough under her fingers and he - growing in favour under her first impressions.

⋆ ★

A/N: just so you know, this fic is gonna be super slowburn. there will also be some very heavy themes throughout which have already been displayed through brittany's character and briefly with rob. if anybody is uncomfortable with some of the subjects spoken about, feel free to dm me.

there's also going to be a lot of religious imagery throughout which is just a way for me to cope with my own religious trauma 🤗

however, that being said, i hope you've enjoyed this part.

see ya next time!!

alana.

#james hetfield #metallica #barefoot #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #james hetfield x oc

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