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separatist-apologist · 3 months ago

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I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: After a disaster on Earth sends humans to live on colonies on different planets, Feyre Archeron's life has become impossibly difficult. The Federation meant to protect and provide for human refugees has abandoned them on a hostile planet that forbids them from hunting and has segregated them from the rest of the population.

When her older sister starts an accidental fire in an attempt to revitalize the barren land, Feyre comes face to face with one of the infamous, dreaded Horde Kings. They strike a bargain- her servitude for her sisters life. Now, trapped in his horde, Feyre has to acclimate to a new life and the demands of the man who took her- and hope she can survive him.

Based on the book Captive of the Horde King.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

Rhys stepped into the tent, dragging in the cold air with him. Feyre was waiting, standing in the middle of the tent in the nightdress that she hated. She’d had a whole speech planned for this moment (mostly yelling) that immediately evaporated from her mind when he entered their shared tent. She’d forgotten, for one, just how large he was.

He was also covered in an inky black substance that looked suspiciously like congealed blood. Feyre wanted to face him down, but…she turned her head, unable to stomach the sight of it.

Behind her, Rhys barked out an order, causing two males to drag the large bathing tub in a moment later.

Steaming buckets of water filled it nearly to top, the heat warming even Feyre’s bones from where she stood. She didn’t look when he undressed with a grunt, his heavy belt hitting the floor with a loud clank of metal and tinkling of gems. His boots went a moment later before she heard the soft splash of water and a louder groan.

“You left.”

She turned, then, hands on her hips. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes, nostrils flared with what appeared to be indignation. Rhys only jerked his chin upward, his silence frustrating. It was tempting to start yelling again, but Mor’s words filled her head and instead, Feyre marched to the tub despite her roiling stomach, took the clean rag, and poured a small amount of soap into it. It wasn’t lost on her that he tracked her every moment with a wariness that felt, frankly, unwarranted.

Dipping the cloth in the water, Feyre began wiping at the blood on his bare chest. Rhys’s clawed fingers curled around her wrist, highlighting the difference in size between them. “You don’t need to do this,” he murmured, eyes searching her face.

“I want to,” she lied. In truth, Feyre wanted to be nowhere close to all that blood. The color was helping a little, though beneath all the black was his own blood from a deep gouge across his chest.

“What happened?” he asked.

Feyre bristled. That was none of his business and yet when she tried to jerk away, he only tightened his grip. “Tell me.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “There are…other creatures who live on your planet. People, I guess? I don’t know what they are, but we fear them because if they capture us, they…” She didn’t want to say that, either. Their eyes met and Feyre knew Rhys was aware of the kind she spoke of, just as he knew what they did.

“Gerutan,” he murmured. “What did they do?”

“We keep our gate locked but sometimes…anyway three people were outside the gate and dragged away. A woman, her brother and her mother. They…” Feyre swallowed. She didn’t want to remember it, didn’t want to picture the wounds all over their bodies. The rape of the women that had left them wide-eyed and mute.

“I am familiar with their ways, kalles. Were you harmed?”

Feyre hadn’t realized she wasn’t really looking at him anymore, but right then, she saw the promise of violence in his gaze.

“No,” she breathed. “It wasn’t my family. I was just…the only one who was willing to end their suffering.”

His lips formed an oh as he realized what she’d done. “That was brave.”

“It wasn’t,” she disagreed, forgetting he was still holding her wrist. He released her so she could continue wiping away the blood sticking to his chest. “I prolonged their suffering because I didn’t know how to give them a merciful death.”

“It haunts you.”

“Wouldn’t it haunt you?” she snapped. Rhys only watched, nostrils flaring.

“I will teach you, then.”

“You’ll what?”

“Teach you,” he repeated, clearly cemented in his decision. “So next time you hold a knife to my throat, you are not so afraid.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe him for a moment. “You’re going to show me how to kill you?”

A dark laugh rumbled from his chest. “No, kalles. You cannot kill me. I will teach you to kill others.”

“You don’t think I could kill you?”

He reclined back in the tub, inclining his head as he closed his eyes. “I trust if you did manage to kill me, I would have deserved it.”

There would be no prying more out of him, at least on that front. Feyre would believe it when she saw it, though. She expected he’d put some rusty knife in her hand, show her a few maneuvers just to say he’d upheld his end of things and then send her on his way. Feyre dunked the rag back into the dark water to continue washing him.

“Where did you go?”

He peeked open an eye to look at her before closing it again. “Reports of gerutan near the horde,” he murmured, chilling her blood. Here, too? “We hunted them down.”

That explained the gash on his chest. Feyre was careful as she removed his own blood, too, breathing through her nose to keep the revulsion down. Was it his blood that disturbed her, or the fact that he was injured? Feyre didn’t know and didn’t want to examine it too closely

“Are they dead?”

His smile was savage. “They are.”

“Good.”

He peeked open that same eye, watching her as she slid lower. Feyre was intentionally ignoring his cock which was easier in the dirty water. She didn’t have to see it, at least. Rhys, though, wasn’t having it. Dipping his hand in the water, he grabbed her wrist again and cleaned himself using her.

At least he wasn’t erect, she reasoned. Why did it disappoint her?

It didn’t.

“I told you I would not touch you until tomorrow night,” he reminded her, as if that was supposed to make her feel better. Feyre sighed, rising to her feet so she could wash his hair. They both had to wait for the water to be dumped and fresh water brought in. It was never going to stun her how wasteful it all was.

She didn’t make eye contact with the very naked Rhys as they waited, gaze pinned to the fire crackling at the back of the tent. It didn’t seem to bother him. Perhaps because he knew she was about to wash his hair, too. When he got back in the tub, too smug for her liking, Feyre dunked him as he spluttered out a kasikkari why?

Feyre laughed, causing the very wet Vorakkar to turn, face slack. “Again,” he murmured as the smile faded from her face. “I want to hear you laugh again.”

Feyre immediately scowled. “You can’t demand that.”

He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “What about a bargain?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but Feyre was curious what he intended to give up in order to see her smile again. Last time he’d handed over her name in exchange for a bowl of broth, and that was apparently sacred to him.

“What kind of bargain?” she questioned, squirting soap into his thick, dark hair. Rhys groaned softly when her nails scraped over his scalp.��

“I will send three beveri to your village each month. If they skin it well and dry the meat, that’s enough to survive on without having to ration it out.”

Feyre’s heart galloped in her chest. “They won’t know how to skin it.” She’d tried to show her sisters, but Feyre still didn’t know how much they’d absorbed. She could see Elain and Nesta hacking away, frustrated with the gross process of removing skin from meat.

“I’ll send a warrior to teach them,” he murmured, “but you will give me two things.”

“What do you want?”

Craning his neck, Feyre saw exactly what he wanted. “This is your home, now. I would like you to make yourself part of my horde as my Morakkari.”

Feyre almost told him she had no say in the matter, but it was clear that Rhys wanted more than just forcing her into being his wife. He wanted her agreement, her participation.

“And what else?”

“You will eat,” he informed her with a relish, backing her into a corner. “Not just broth, but meat too.”

He had her. If Feyre declined, she was actively participating in the starvation of her sisters. She also proved to him that it was never about her family—it was always about thwarting him. In truth, it had always been about both. He held her gaze without blinking, mouth pinched as if he expected her to decline.

“Deal,” she whispered.

He exhaled softly through his nose, his disbelief plain even as he turned back. “Good.”

Feyre continued washing his hair, and then his body again because she knew he wanted her to, and this time when her fingers dipped beneath the water, she saw his cock was semi-hard, though mostly unthreatening. He’d promised to wait until tomorrow, and in some ways, it felt like the best she could have hoped for. He’d brought her to be his wife, and…

And why?

She could have picked a better moment to ask than when he was drying the water from his naked body, but Feyre simply blurted out her thoughts without thinking that he’d turn that massive, muscular body toward her and she’d look at him.

Really look at him.

“You want to know why you?” he asked, incredulity seeping into his tone.

“Yes,” Feyre replied breathlessly, eyes stuck on his muscular torso. “There were others…right?”

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Lovers, surely,” she prodded. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, lovers,” he agreed. “No one who ever made me want a wife.”

“Until me.”

He nodded his head, sliding his hand down the same torso she was struggling to drag her eyes away from. He’d realized she was staring, which meant Feyre had to physically turn to not look at him, even though she wanted to.

She’d forgotten he didn’t sleep in clothes. Rhys merely walked into her field of vision, flopping himself into the bed so he could lay on his back, one hand behind his head.

“Until you,” he agreed, tail resting against his powerful thigh.

“Why?”

He shrugged powerful shoulders. “You were not afraid of me or my warriors, though you should have been. You were brave—no one else would have faced down a Vorakkar, especially knowing I might have decided to take blood as repayment. And you were loyal, not telling me who started the fire despite your fear.

“I wasn’t afraid of you,” she lied.

He smiled.

“Of course not,” he replied. Feyre remembered that first day, though, and how he’d called her brave. He’d already been decided by then, had known he wanted her simply from all that? Feyre’s heart thudded all over again, her own thoughts betraying her.

No one had ever looked at her and found her special. Strange, perhaps. Slightly off-putting for sure. But special?

“Lay with me,” he murmured, interrupting her thoughts. “I have missed your warmth.”

“Will you tell me about your hunt?” she questioned, curious about this part of his life.

“Are you bargaining with me?” he replied, eyes bright with unmistakable hope.

“No. Just asking,” she replied, laying beside him so their arms touched. She suspected he would have preferred if she laid against him—would have likely given her something for it—but Feyre was content just to talk to him. “I met Morrigan.”

He chuckled. “Tell me everything.”

Feyre did, thinking that just as soon as she finished talking, Rhys would reciprocate. However when Feyre turned, out of breath and things to say, she found his eyes were closed and he’d put himself to sleep. She was tempted to poke him in the ribs and ask why he’d bothered when he wasn’t going to listen anyway.

She had the sneaking suspicion hearing her talk had been the whole point. She’d accidentally lulled him to sleep. Feyre hadn’t realized she was staring at him so intently it pulled him from whatever dreams he’d been happening. Rhys didn’t open an eye as he murmured, “thinking of stabbing me again?”

“No,” she admitted. She’d been thinking about the curve of his mouth and how soft he seemed when he slept.

“Then lay with me,” he grumbled, turning to his side to drape a heavy arm around her. “I’ll find you in my dreams.”

What did that mean? Feyre was antsy, afraid to sleep and wake up for her wedding—the tassimara—that would be happening tomorrow. There were too many unknowns along with too many things she was afraid of.

Like sleeping with him. Reaching between her legs, Feyre was frustrated to find that even without the salve, her skin was mending itself quite nicely. It was still sore, still delicate, but not as bad as it had been that first day.

Wiggling from beneath Rhys’s grasp, Feyre gave up fighting him and slathered in on her thighs. Something told her she was going to need it tomorrow, if only to make fitting him comfortable. She’d seen the size of him, and in her mind Feyre couldn’t help but compare him to Isaac in her mind.

Which was unfair, given the girth and length of the Drakkari male sleeping soundly in the bed that belonged to them both. Still, she did, because she’d enjoyed her time with Isaac and it was the only frame of reference she had. He’d been…well at the time he’d seemed quite prominent to her. Now, though…

“Why must you torment me,” Rhys grumbled as she stood there, mind consumed with what it would be like to lay beneath him. “Get in bed, kalles.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she retorted. One of his eyes opened, narrowed to a slit as he watched her march back to the bed like it had been her idea anyway. He grabbed her around the waist, dragging her against him.

“I am,” he replied, burying his face in the nape of her neck.

“If you’re hoping for obedience, you’re going to be disappointed,” Feyre informed him, her words interrupted by a yawn.

“Sleep,” he mumbled. Feyre wanted to argue, but since he’d been gone she’d barely slept at all. Every noise woke her up if the cold didn’t pull her from her dreams. Even with the heavy furs, there was something about having his solid form beside her.

Feyre slipped into dreams easily, tumbling deeply and when she woke, it was to bright sunlight and her piki quietly trying to rouse her. It might have been pleasant had Mor not sauntered in, eyes painted gold and her lovely body on display, to announce, “WAKE UP MORAKKARI!”

“I hate you,” Feyre grumbled, tossing a pillow in Mor’s direction. In response, Mor gripped her by the ankle and pulled her out of bed.

“You don’t,” Mor replied cheerfully. “The Vorakkar has informed us that you agreed to eat everything he sent over. How did he convince you?”

Feyre pushed herself up only to plop back down on the cushions at the table. “We made a bargain.”

“What did he give up this time?” Mor asked, glancing at the piki with a knowing smile. Were they conspiring? All three watched, prepared to tell Rhys if she didn’t uphold her end of things. Her defiance was at an end—Feyre knew if he said he’d send food to her village, he’d do it. She wondered if he’d ever let them join the horde, too.

It was worth asking once they were married, she decided. Nesta would hate it, but Elain…Feyre thought Elain would love how open everything was. She’d be able to plant things, could possibly work in the kitchen if she wanted. Elain would like the simplicity of horde life, Feyre thought. And Nesta would get used to it.

She took at first bite of fresh meat and had to bite back a moan with the flavor burst against her tongue. She’d never had fresh meat like this—dried meat, yes, but actual fresh meat? Sometimes she’d gobble down half raw, unseasoned meat simply because she was starving and food was food.

This was something else.

Mor looked immensely smug, crossing her arms over her chest. “Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Feyre admitted, deciding she would never tell them what Rhys had given in return. She didn’t know if they’d approve, besides. She often felt the expectation was that she assimilated completely while Rhys simply continued on as he was.

If he wanted to be her husband, then Feyre wanted to see him adhere to some of the human customs and ways, few as they were. Wasn’t that fair? Why did she have to do all the giving while no one else did? It was just another thing to talk to Rhys about when everything was said and done.

Feyre ate until Mor physically made her stop, brown eyes wary. “I don’t want you to throw up.”

Feyre didn’t think that was the worst prospect. If she threw up, would he still want her? Probably, actually. He’d tell her it was a cultural show of love or something stupid and she’d never know if it was true, or he just wanted to get her naked and beneath him.

Feyre sat still and let the piki work, grateful that Mor produced a longer dress for her to wear. It was still a little too sheer for her liking, though Mor was quick to remind her that it would be dark out, and no one would notice too much.

No one cares, was the tone, though. Feyre wanted to not care, too, but something about everyone seeing her body felt deeply violating. She wanted to tell this to the people around her, but they didn’t understand. Nudity was just another normal part of their life here.

Before the dress was slid over her body, Feyre was made to stand totally bare while Nuala and Cerridwen painted her body in the same golden swirls Rhys was covered in. The markings of his family line and his horde, Mor explained solemnly. She had enough grace to only look when she needed to, helping them with their lines when they were confused about the order.

And to tell Feyre to stop moving when her piki took that animal hair brush and unceremoniously began painting her nipples gold. Feyre had protested, and Mor, cheeks flaming, had explained it was simply part of the ceremony. When he took her to bed, he would lick the gold paint off. Custom this, tradition that—it sounded like he wanted to taste her and needed an excuse to do so.

By the time they finished painting her face and weaving beads into her hair, night had fallen and Feyre was hungry again.

And nervous.

But mostly hungry.

Rhys came in a moment later, eyes sweeping over the scene before they fell on Feyre. Mor rolled her eyes, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she barked what sounded suspiciously like an order in the Drakkari language. Rhys’s upper lip curled, but he otherwise remained silent.

For a king who didn’t accept feedback, she sure did let the people around him tell him what to do.

“Am I satisfactory?” Feyre heard herself asking. She tried to sound defiant, proving that she didn’t care if he liked how she looked, but she knew he caught her insecurity. Rhys took a step toward her before clenching his fists at his sides.

“You look like a Morakkari,” he finally said, a tendon straining in his neck. “Come.”

Feyre could see firelight in the distance, mere pinpricks in the rolling hills beyond the camp. It was clear no one but the pair of them were there. Feyre took just a moment to admire him in the glowing light from their tent. He’d painted over his markings with the same gold and beside the two weapons he had strapped criss-crossed over his back, he wore only a pair of well-made pants with the same beading clinking over the seams.

He looked like a king to her. Granted, Feyre didn’t know what kinds were supposed to look like, technically, but she assumed they must have carried themselves the way he did. There was a confidence to him that she found herself drawn to, even when it would have been to feel nothing for him at all.

The air was too cold for her liking. She half turned to see if she could find a cloak, but Rhys caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. “No running, kalles. Not anymore.” “I wasn’t…” she started, her voice embarrassingly breathless. He arched a brow, catching her tone, but otherwise didn’t comment on it. They simply walked beneath bright stars, their only point of contact his fingers wrapped around her wirst.

He took her to his pyroki. Feyre balked, digging her sandaled feet into the ground. “Please,” she whispered when the beast turned its blood-red eyes on her.

“Bryaxis won’t hurt you,” he murmured, releasing her arm to hoist her up onto the creature by her waist. “He is loyal to you as he is to me.”

Feyre didn’t bother to ask him how he knew that. Rhys swung up on the beast after her, one arm wrapped around her middle to hold her firmly between his thighs. There was no point in wondering if he was erect—he was, just like always. Feyre might have squirmed away had it been possible, first of all, but Rhys’s body radiated heat and she was cold. The horde king wrapped his arms around her.

“No fear,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Just as a Morakkari should be.”

She’d take his word on that given she was very afraid, personally. What did Feyre know about being a wife? A queen? Nothing. She knew nothing at all, truly, and in a few moments she’d be shoved center stage before people who expected something greater than she currently was.

Panic rose in her throat. Could Rhys feel it? His large hand spanned over her thigh and as she began to spiral, Rhys’s thumb began to rub reassuring circles over her skin.

It helped a little. Feyre focused on breathing and keeping her limbs relaxed, hoping to avoid any more chafing. They weren’t going far, besides—the lit pyres that dotted the hillside came into view rather quickly, illuminating the gathered crowd of the curious horde.

They’d only seen glimpses of her. Only heard snippets of her voice, likely yelling at their leader. As their faces came into view, Feyre felt more than a little shame over the whole thing. There was a wariness to them as a whole as Rhys slid off Bryaxis before lowering her before them.

Reverence, too. This was Rhys’s choice, and even if it made them nervous, they would respect it. Feyre vowed she’d try harder, if only so they didn’t look at her with such careful expressions. It felt reminiscent of the human village and how everyone found her strange and a little off-putting. It made friendships nearly impossible.

She didn’t want to live the rest of her life just as lonely and isolated as she’d been before. Seeing Mor’s face in the crowd alleviated some of her fear. The Drakkari female flashed her a beautiful smile before offering a subtle thumbs up, which Feyre had taught her days before when they’d exchanged information between their two cultures.

She couldn’t help her own half laugh, fear slipping as her face split with a smile. People were watching—Rhys was watching, too, and when she glanced up at him, she saw what looked almost like awe staring back at her.

He’d told her he wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh. It was in her nature to do the opposite—to scowl up at him and suppress the small moment of joy she felt. But Feyre wanted to do something easy, something appreciative…so she smiled up at him, too.

His fingers curled over her shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to say thank you. Feyre exhaled, her breath clouding in front of her face, as the crowd bowed their heads in respect while parting so the pair of them could pass. Long tables laden with more food than Feyre had ever seen in her life was arranged in rows of three, all before an erected dais with a heavy chair seated atop it. That was clearly where Rhys was supposed to go, but there was nowhere for her. He made his way up while his horde took seats on comfortable pillows, still holding Feyre’s shoulder.

Did she sit at his feet, then? That felt strangely humiliating. She hovered for a moment, trying to decide if she’d just sit and endure or if she’d defy him before everyone and take a seat at one of the tables.

His arm snaked around her waist and with a definitive jerk, he ended the debate raging in her head to pull her into his lap. He chuckled, as if he knew what she’d been thinking, but said nothing at all. Sitting was the permission his horde needed to begin eating and talking while Rhys surveyed, lord of it all.

“Did you eat this morning?” he questioned as food was brought to them on a tray?

“Yes,” she agreed, watching as he took a piece of fresh meat from the golden platter. Rhys brought it to her lips and Feyre opened, noting how his fingers lingered on her lips for just a moment too long.

“I will have beveri sent in the morning. Five, to celebrate my new Morakkari. Your village will eat as we do.”

Feyre felt tears prick at her eyes. Twisting in his lap, she said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t,” he replied in that self-assured way of his. “But you would want me to.”

Feyre took a gulp of the heady wine rather than answer him, the golden goblet placed in her hand by the man she was supposed to marry. When did that happen, besides? As she drank and ate and watched, Feyre began to suspect that this was all that was necessary. A simple declaration letting everyone know she was claimed, a feast and then…

And then.

As she drained her goblet, it occurred to her that she could get so inebriated she was barely aware of what happened at all. He could do whatever he liked with her and she’d be blissfully unaware and half asleep.

He wouldn’t.

He could have taken her at any time, at any point, for any reason at all. And he hadn’t. He’d thought about her comfort, her enjoyment, and to Feyre, she assumed that meant he wanted her to enjoy it. If she lost herself to oblivion, he’d simply wait.

And maybe, deep, deep down, Feyre was curious. Her mind wandered once she said her goblet down, pleasantly warm and overall relaxed. Eating turned to dancing as musicians struck up a tune that was familiar enough that people cheered when they heard it. Someone began singing, deep and throaty, in the Drakkari language she was coming to appreciate while the drums picked up, holding a beat lively enough for people to dance to.

Behind her, Rhys smiled in her hair as a child tripped over their own tail in a clumsy attempt at dancing. Feyre, too, couldn’t hide her giggle as she turned to bury her face in his bare chest. Touching him felt easier, felt safe, even.

She didn’t know how long they watched in silence like that. Only that with each passing moment, Feyre’s regrets began to melt away. Reclined against his body, she didn’t notice he’d begun to get agitated as the night deepened and the drums began to pick up. His fingers, once passive on her knee, began sliding further and further up her thigh while his mouth remained pressed to her neck, inhaling the smell of her softly.

Feyre didn’t try to stop him, though she didn’t encourage him either. She simply allowed him to move that hand over her cold skin, higher and higher with each pass until the clawed tips were in danger of ripping a hole through the thin fabric.

Feyre squirmed backward when he began ruching the material up over her legs only to find his rigid erection pressed against her spine. Rhys groaned in a huf before his teeth tugged at her ear.

“It’s time, Morakkari. I will wait no longer.”

“Time?” she asked as he swept her up into his arms. His horde watched the way they had been all night, but no one tried to stop him. No one was going to interfere.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve waited long enough. No longer.”

Feyre took a breath. Was she afraid?

No.

Excited.

#did i mention he was big???? surely a reasonable amount of times #feysand

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omgkatherine01 · 1 year ago

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Moments to Memories: Chapter 2 - Valyrian Steel

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Pairing: Daeron Targaryen x Fem! Targaryen reader

Please comment, like and share ❤

You were a bright young girl, and you noticed things very quickly, even before your younger brothers: Jacaerys and Lucerys. While you had been born with the Valyrian silver hair, your brothers all had dark brown locks on their head. You knew the Queen had also taken notice, but while she had been speaking about it openly, your grandsire had dismissed his wife's accusations.

But you weren't as blind as your old grandfather, you knew your brothers had not been sired by your father, Laenor, but it didn't matter because in the end, you were all Blood of the Dragon, and Laenor Velaryon had been your father.

Now, at the age of 13, you were waiting in your family's chamber for the news of your mother giving birth to your third brother.

She was pregnant again after six years, and during the pregnancy, you had been with your mother's side every day, attending her and making sure she was alright. Of course your father was there as well, and your brothers too.

But, you were also worried about what could go wrong during childbirth. You were afraid that your mother won't make it. Like your grandmother, who died in childbirth, and then a few hours your baby uncle died after coming to the world.

You were sitting on the window and sketching the outside with the new sketch book you have received from your uncle Daeron.

The thought of your said uncle made your cheeks heating up slightly, and you tried to blink the thoughts of him away.

"Wow, y/n! That looks amazing!"

You looked up from your sketches when you heard Luke's voice. You smiled at him, relief of the distraction, "Thank you."

"May I have it?" he asked.

You let out a soft chuckle, "Of course. I just have to finish it first. After that, I will give it to you."

"Yes!" Luke said with a grin as he jumped up and down before running to the carpet where Jace was sitting at.

You saw Ser Harwin Strong approaching the boys and smiled a little. Ser Harwin was the new Lord Commander of the City Watch after your mother's uncle, Prince Daemon, disappeared 13 years ago.

You heard the rumors.

That you could be possibly Daemon's daughter because he and your mother were together one night.

You asked your mother about the rumors before when you first heard them, and without a thought, you even asked your grandfather, and asked if you were a bastard like everyone think about your beloved brothers. He dismissed it, and told you they were nothing but lies.

But deep down, you thought otherwise.

Was Daemon really my father?

Your mother never answered you about that question.

Your thoughts were cut short when one of the maids walked in, "Princess y/n, your mother wishes to see you."

"I'll be back soon," you told your brothers. When you received a nod from them, you stepped out of the chambers and spoke quietly to the maid, "Is she alright?"

"It's almost time," the maid informed you.

You walked to your mother's side where she was now laying on the bed and petting her large belly. Your mother smiled at you, and you placed her hand on your mother's belly, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about me," she answered.

"How's my little sister doing in there?" you asked with a small smile.

Your mother laughed and petted your soft hair, "You still think it's a girl?"

"I hope so," you admitted, "I want a sister, you know that."

"Yes, I do," your mother said with amusement. Your smile faded away, and she tilted her head and gave you a small smile, "What is it, my love?"

"I'm just worried about you," you muttered. "What if something will go wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong," your mother assured you, "I promise you that." You looked down, as your mother looked at the few midwives around, "Could you please let me and my daughter some alone time for a few moments?" They nodded and left the room. Your mother nodded to her desk, "Can you open that top drew and give me the wooden box inside, love?"

You did as told and walked back to the bed to sit on it. You handed the box to your mother. She opened the box and pulled out a necklace with a ruby on the pendant. "It's beautiful," you muttered with a small smile as you touched the ruby gently.

Your mother smiled softly, "Yes," she said as she placed the box on the side. "You know what this made of, right?"

"It's made from Valyrian steel," you answered with a nod.

Your mother nodded, "Yes. It was gifted to me." She hesitated for a few seconds as she stared at the necklace. "From your father. Your real one."

You took the necklace when your mother held it out for you, "My father?"

Your mother nodded and gave you a small smile before she answered, "He's my uncle. Daemon."

"So, the rumors were true?" you muttered, "He is my real father."

"Yes," your mother breathed out as if she was relief to get this out of her chest. She looked at your face. "To be honest I never planned on telling you this. I never planned on telling Daemon about you. He disappeared before you were born. Before I even realized I was pregnant. I haven't seen him since I married Laenor."

"And the rumors of me been a bastard like they say about Jace and Luke are--" you stared.

Your mother stepped in, "You are not a bastard. And neither are your brothers. You are a true Targaryen. No matter what anyone says, you listen to me, you and your brothers have Targaryen blood in your veins. Do you understand?" You nodded, and your mother placed her hand on your cheek softly, caressing your soft cheek. "Listen to me, y/n, there's nothing more scarier than a full blood Targaryen. You are one. And you're the next in line to the Iron Throne, after me. It's already been said and done."

You knew your duties as the next Heir to the Iron Throne, and when you were younger, you were afraid of been the next Queen if something would happen to your mother.

You even confessed to your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys of your fear; that you wouldn't be a good Queen. However, Princess Rhaenys assured you that you would be a wonderful Queen, and not to worry about it.

You nodded to your mother and took a shaky soft breath before answering, "I understand."

Your mother nodded and took the necklace, "Turn around." You slowly turned on the bed and pulled your hair to the side as your mother placed the necklace around your neck. "I want you to have this now."

She clipped the necklace and you turned to her again. "Are you sure?" you asked softly.

Your mother smiled softly and nodded as she touched the ruby. "It looks better on you."

You smiled softly as the midwives walked back inside.

A few hours later at your family's chambers, you and your brothers were informed that your mother was going into labor. You wanted to go and see your mother, and be with her during it, but your father convinced you to stay with your brothers and that he will go and see her.

You, along with Jace and Luke, were happy that Ser Harwin had volunteered to watch over the three of you and keep us company while you were all waited for your parents and the new babe. Jace and Luke were playing on the carpet while Ser Harwin and you were sitting on the couch.

After a while, you noticed how your brothers were getting worried since your mother haven't come back yet, so you decided to entertain them with one of your stories. You were kneeling now in front of them on the carpet, and your brothers were listening to the story of Aegon the Conqueror.

Ser Harwin was watching the three of you with a fond smile; he loved to sit with the three of you and watch how you managed so quickly to pick the boys' interest with your stories. It was true that Jace and Luke were his sons and the soon born babe Rhaenyra was giving birth to, but you weren't his.

As you grew up, the rumors about you been Daemon Targaryen's daughter with Rhaenyra continued on. Even so, Ser Harwin was close with you just like with Jace and Luke, and he loved you very much like he loved the boys.

Laenor was the same, he was ignoring the rumors, and he showed the three of his children his love for them.

He didn't care that you, Jace and Luke weren't really his. He was still your father, and you always saw him and called him one.

You and Laenor have a very good and loving father-daughter relationship. Since you were a child, Laenor would often had sneak you out of the castle at night to go on dragon rides at night, he knew that while Rhaenyra would have no problem with this, you loved the idea of doing something that you thought was breaking the rules.

Before you could ride your dragon, you used to ride on your father's dragon with him. When Hellfyre was big enough, you were giving the chance to ride on him. You and Hellfyre would race together with your father and his dragon between King Landing and Driftmark, oftentimes trying to rile Meleys up, when Princess Rhaenys found out what you and her son were doing, she would join you often, which made you and your grandmother get close, to Laenor's happiness.

However, his mother didn't like Luke and Jace, simply because they were with brown hair and not silver hair like the rest of the family. Despite Laenor asking his mother to spend time with the boys, Princess Rhaenys seem to enjoy spending time with you.

You were loved by her and your grandfathers, Viserys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon. Corlys did however show he also loved the boys and was more than happy to spend the time with them just as much as he like to spend time with you.

As the time passed, one of the maids approached the family's chamber and smiled at you and your brothers, "It's a boy," she informed you, cutting in the stories.

Despite wanting a sister, you smiled at hearing that you had a new baby brother. "Yes!" Jace said with a grin as he jumped up to his feet.

You were telling the boys another story when the door to the chamber was opened and a tired and in pain Princess Rhaenyra slowly shuffled into the room with Ser Laenor walking behind her with the newborn son wrapped up in his arms.

Ser Harwin was the first to stand up, looking upon your mother. He wanted nothing more than to forget the formalities and help ease her pain in any way he could.

You smiled in relief when you saw your mother, and she stood up, "Mother!"

Jace and Luke quickly looked up at your mother and stood up. "Mother, look," Jace said and the three of you walked toward the warming chamber that held the dragon egg.

Jace was quick to grasp the handle, wanting to be the one to show off the egg that had been chosen. Luke stood tall beside your brother with you standing behind him, making sure that he didn't try to touch the dragon egg as he had in the dragonpit.

Jace lifted the top of the warming chamber off and the crackling sounds of the coals within fill the room, as well as the unmistakable smell of a dragon.

"We have chosen an egg for the baby," Luke said, looking up at your mother with a toothy smile. Proud to have picked out the egg for your new brother.

Your mother let out a noise of approval and pain as she slowly moved to sit down on the couch, watching the three of you as you fuss over the egg, "That looks like the perfect one," she said as she grabbed Ser Harwin's arm and lowered herself onto the couch. She smiled up toward Ser Harwin and looked back toward her children.

"Y/n and I have let Luke choose this time," Jace proudly told her and Luke excitedly nodded.

"It was from Dreamfyre's newest clutch of eggs, Helaena was happy that we chose one from that clutch," you told them with a smile, quickly grabbing Luke's extended hand that almost touched the egg once again, "No."

Rhaeryna smiled as you held Luke's hands onto his chest, keeping them from going for the egg again, "Tell her we appreciate that."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, Princess," Ser Harwin said as he walked towards Ser Laenor, he watched you and Jace hold Luke back from the egg. "I thought it best to escort the children."

"Laenor and I thank you, commander," your mother said gratefully as she tried to position herself in a way that relieves some of the pain she was feeling. Ser Harwin looked towards the babe in Laenor arms, folding his hands together to keep himself from reaching out.

You moved yourself and Luke closer to your father to get a pick at the babe in his arms, from what you could see was that he had dark hair like your brothers and he still had blood on him. Your father looked down towards you as Jace approached too, slowly positioning the babe a little lower so the three of you could get a better look at him.

"He's so cute," you said softly with a smile.

Your father smiled at you, "What a fine knight he is going to make, right y/n?" he asked you, and you nodded in agreement.

"Might I?" Ser Harwin asked your mother, who smiled towards him and nodded.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey," your mother told your father, who stopped rocking the babe in his arms.

Laenor looked between Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin as the smile fell from his face, "Of course." Laenor moved to hand Joffrey off to Ser Harwin as you looked towards your mother with a confused frown.

"Joffrey isn't a family name," you said and looked back toward your father, "Neither House Velaryon nor House Targaryen has had someone named Joffrey. It's not a Valyrian name."

Your father looked at you, "Well, it's a name of a good friend of mine. The name comes from one of the best knights I have met."

Ooh, you thought sadly. The friend that died. You gave him a soft smile and nodded, "I like that name."

Your father smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you softly to his side. You turned your attention to Ser Harwin. The sight of Ser Harwin gently rocking the babe was a sweet one. He knew that this was his son as well, that this child had fight and strength within him.

Luke turned to your father, "Father, please may I hold Joffrey?" he asked, but before he got an answer from your father or mother, he reached for the baby, trying to grab him in Harwin's arms. Both you, Jace, your father, and Harwin hold him back from trying to take the babe.

Your father looked between your mother and Harwin and directed you and your brothers toward the door, "No, No, No. Back to the dragonpit for you three. Before they send out a search party."

Once the three of you were in the hallway, your father softly closed the door behind him to give the new parents time to bond with the newborn.

Taglist:

@lady-targaryens-world, @minaxcarter, @bitchyunknownuser, @aestmilky

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #daeron targaryen #daeron targaryen imagine #daeron targaryen x reader #daeron x reader #daeron targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n

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markhoffmans-certified-slut · 10 months ago

Text

Ghostface | Pt.2

Pairing: Stu!Ghostface x female!reader

Prompt/summary: Time went by slow after that night the masked stranger broke into your house. When he appears for a quick meetup in your shed, your hopes were high that he would stick around this time, maybe even reveal who he was. Instead, you learn that he was the man who killed your old schoolmate and you’re left with a mental dilemma until he decides to come back. But what will you do when he finally takes the mask off and tells you the truth?

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings/contents: Fluff, mild language, kissing

Notes: Okay, so I was torn for, like, awhile on what direction to take this chapter and how the reader would find out that the masked stranger is actually Stu, so I hope that you guys like the rout I took for this. Enjoy soft Stu. I want to also say thank you to everybody for being so patient while I was writing this. I know how much I hate having to wait for part 2 to come out, but the creativity just wasn't coming to me for such a long time.

Now that it's finally here, I hope it's as good as the first one, or it's worth the wait. As the author I feel biased in saying I don't love it because I had to write it, pause and then proofread to see where I was at and make sure I wasn't repeating myself, and then write it again, and then repeat the process, and then proofread all of it at once in the end.

You can find part 1 here!

<>~<>~<>

It had been a week and a half now since the mysterious stranger had broken into your house, and despite not hearing a single word from him again, you couldn’t get it off of your mind. That night, you laid in your bed for hours before finally being able to fall asleep. Not a single word had been uttered about that night, when your friend asked why you stopped replying, you lied and said you had fallen asleep. If she knew the truth, she would have called you insane, made you do a rape test to get his DNA and convinced you to go to the cops.

Why hadn’t you done that? Even you weren’t sure. The next day, you were on the edge of your seat. You’d even called into work because you just couldn’t think.

Your parents were back home, asleep in their room while you sat in your plush chair in your own beside the lamp reading your book; a gripping horror novel that you couldn’t put down. It was nearly 2 o’clock in the morning and your eyes were exhausted, but you had tomorrow off and you wanted to spend your time reading, you would simply sleep in tomorrow. It would be worth it.

It only happened in times like these, but for once, the man was off of your mind. However, when you were at work, it seemed impossible to not think back to that night; you had sex before, but it had been nothing like that. Not knowing who he was had almost excited you even more— he had been right, and that had made you shiver at the thought. Not even in your wildest dreams did you think that you would ever had enjoyed what happened that night. Not until you experienced it.

Your phone started to silently buzz against your leg. You didn’t think too much of it; sometimes your friend would call you at night to see if you were awake. Nonchalantly, you glanced down, expecting to see her goofy contact photo. Instead, you were greeted with the familiar words ‘no caller ID’ for the second time. You were quick to put your bookmark into the page you were on, completely forgetting the words that you’d just read, and set the book down as you reached for your phone.

Your hands nearly shook as you brought your phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice was quiet, not wanting your parents to hear you in case they were awake.

“Hello, (y/n).” The familiar voice spoke over the phone, and even though it had been so long since you had spoken to him, his voice sounded like someone you’d spoken to every day. You couldn’t help the tingle of excitement in your stomach.

“I hadn’t thought that I would hear from you again.” You said, peeking at your window that was locked and covered by your thin curtains.

“Why not?” You were quiet. “I’ve been here and there this whole time.” He said as if it was nothing. “You look cute when you’re zoned out. Thinking about my cock inside of you?” The man teased, a devious laugh following his words as if he could see the way your face flushed.

“Do I get to know who you are yet?” You asked, glancing around your room as if he was going to appear out of nowhere like he had last time. “Or are you going to leave me in suspense forever?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Where are you?” He was quiet. “Are you here?”

“It might be hard to fuck you with your parents in the next room; you’re not what I would call quiet in bed.” The man teased. “If you want it so bad, come outside.” You were quiet for a moment before you spoke.

“Outside…?” Ever since you were little you had been afraid of the dark. Sleeping in the comfort of your own room with the door shut and the lights off was one thing, but going outside late at night when nobody was around was something that you had never done or wanted to do. It was dangerous. You were afraid of the worst that could happen.

As if the worst hadn’t already happened when he broke into your house and fucked you.

“What? Afraid of the dark?” He asked, but the tone of his voice made you think that he already knew the answer. “Come outside. Meet me behind the shed. I’ll be waiting.” And with that, he hung up, leaving you in the silence of your bedroom.

You set your phone and book aside, standing and quietly creeping towards your bedroom door. You opened it as quiet as you could and crept out, hearing the snores coming from your parents room. Their door was shut, but you still winced at every creak in the stairs.

Knowing that turning on the light to the backyard would wake your parents up, you kept it off and unlocked the door, sliding it shut behind you and holding onto the handle like a lifeline. The backyard was pitch black and the shed was on the other end around the pool— that thankfully had lights so that you wouldn’t accidentally fall into it. The last thing you needed was to try and explain to your parents why you were fully dressed and in the pool at two in the morning.

Slowly, you worked your way towards the old tool shed and crept around the side. Behind the shed was well kept, but nothing was ever back there. There was no point in leaving things behind the shed. You looked around, finding yourself alone in the darkness. You wondered if the man had tricked you, but you jumped when a twig snapped beneath someones feet. You spun quickly, looking up at the man.

He stood tall, the mask placed perfectly obscuring his face and the costume he wore last time hung loose around his ankles. You didn’t say a word as the man stepped closer to you, but this time you didn’t back away from him either. You waited and watched, craning your neck to look up at him when he stopped in front of you.

“You know, if my parents woke up…” You hesitated, unsure of exactly what would happen if someone happened to glance out of their window and see you standing in your backyard in the middle of the night, conversing with a masked, cloaked stranger that nobody— even you— knew. You reached up, rubbing your bare arms quietly. A gloved hand reached forward and tilted your chin up. “It would be a lot easier to explain a boy in my room than… this.”

“You’re saying you want me in your room again.” The man spoke as if he was making a question, but he chuckled. “I told you, I don’t know yet.” With a sigh, you grasped his hand from your chin and brought him with you this time, walking around the shed and opening the rickety door. You were quick to walk inside and drag him in with you, reaching up for the dim overhead light as you shut the door.

There was more room than usual in the old shed after your father had gotten rid of the old lawnmower and was on the hunt for a new one, though there were still an abundance of old tools lined against the back wall that the man could use to maim you.

You made sure that the door was completely shut before you looked back and turned your full attention to the man that was standing there staring at you.

“Why are you back?” You asked, getting nothing in response from the man before you. “What if someone saw you sneaking around?” He chuckled this time.

“Worried?” He asked tauntingly. “I came back for you.” The words shouldn’t have made your heart flutter the way that it did, but you couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that settled uneasily in your gut when you were around the man. Everything was wrong with him, but maybe that was what excited you. “I haven’t been caught yet.” You weren’t exactly sure what that meant; did he mean that he hadn’t been caught here, or was he out doing this in multiple places? What was his motive?

You hesitated for a second before you spoke again.

“You did it, didn’t you?” You asked quietly, met only with the blank stare of the mask as you eyed him. “Killed that girl.” He was quiet. “Were you going to kill me, too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“Why did you feel like killing her?”

“Because I wanted to.” The cold words left the man and left a dry lump to form in your throat. What if he had just felt like killing you? What if he changed his mind and felt like that soon? You were once again in a compromising position with the man that just admitted to killing someone that you used to sit next to in math class when you were in high school. “You ask a lot of questions.” A blindfold was pulled from the mans pocket once again and was dangled lightly in front of you.

“Do you want to kill me?”

“No.”

“What if you change your mind?” This time, he was quiet. With a sigh, you leaned closer to the man and closed your eyes. You weren’t sure what was going to happen this time, but you couldn’t help it— you just couldn’t say no to the man. Not with the unknown of what could happen. This time he left your wrists unbound, dangling by your side almost awkwardly. The man in front of you moved closer, his gloved hand reaching up for your chin again.

You let him guide you, eyed closed and blocked from whatever he was doing. You were shocked when a pair of warm, chapped lips pressed to yours, but you were quick to give in to the man. His tongue teased your bottom lip as you shifted on your feet, unsure of whether or not you were allowed to reach for the man with your free hands.

As if he read your mind, the stranger reached down and grasped your hands in his. He brought them to his shoulders and let them rest there while you let his tongue push into your mouth; he was an exceptional kisser, his warm body moving to press close to yours while your fingers grasped at the halloween costume he wore. You dared to explore, touching the warm base of his neck. When he didn’t stop you, you let your fingers wander further, grazing his jawline before you felt his hair.

You didn’t care about who he was as he led you back a few steps. Your back pressed to the shed door and his hand slipped behind your head to hold it in his large hand. You gave into his every movement, letting the man do whatever he pleased while you moved your hand to feel his face; clean-shaven, soft skin rubbed beneath your fingers as he kissed you.

The man reached down with his hand and grasped at your thigh, lifting it easily and wrapping it around his waist, making it easier for him to slide closer to you. His body fully pressed against your own, the obvious hardness in his pants pressed to you. Your hand moved up in his hair, running through it while you kissed the man back almost desperately. You ignored every tingle in your body, every instinct, and let him pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist while he pushed you back against the wall again.

He moved away from your lips, nudging your chin up and pressing his mouth to your neck. You leaned your head back, giving a soft sigh as he gently sucked on your skin. You were hoping that he wouldn’t leave a hickey for one simple reason: how the hell would you explain that to your friend tomorrow?

His teeth nipped teasingly at your skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to elicit a low sound from the back of your throat.

Lips pressed back to yours, pulling you in for another heated kiss— but there was something different about this one. Even before when he was kissing you like he was desperate for it, this time it felt stronger. The urge to feel your lips against his had surpassed even him as he squeezed your hips. The bruises were fading from the last time that he had come here to see you, but his grip still gave you a tinge of pain as he held you.

He smelled fresh— intoxicating. His kiss was too good to deny. His body against yours made you tingle. The shame couldn’t even sit in your chest when his tongue pressed to your mouth again. Your fingers grazed his cheek, tracing along his jawline before they rested on his neck.

Suddenly, the man pulled back, moving far enough away that you couldn’t feel his breath on your lips anymore— but you could hear his soft breathing. You gave a soft sound when his hand groped at your bare chest over the shirt that you were. Both of you were silent— you were afraid that speaking would break the tension that was held over the two of you right now. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as he gave your nipple a light pinch.

A quiet exhale left the man as he reached up to gently touch your face. His fingers traced your cheekbone down to your jaw before he pulled back, grabbing your hips and setting you down on the ground. You gulped lightly, listening intently for the man to make sure that he didn’t disappear on you again. Blindly reaching out, your fingers came into contact with the man sooner than you thought they would.

“I thought you snuck out on me again.” The man before you only gave a soft hum to acknowledge that he had heard what you said. Then, his fingers edged behind yours and fiddled with the blindfold that you wore. You wanted desperately to know who the man was, but you weren’t surprised when you opened your eyes after he took the blindfold off and met the white Ghostface mask.

Trying to hide your disappointment wasn’t easy as the man pushed the blindfold into his pocket this time. The man reached over to flick the light off and reach for the handle. For a moment, he hesitated; you held your breath, unsure if what to hope for in the moment, but you were quickly let down when he opened the door and stepped outside of the shed.

You were left in dead silence as the man left. For a moment, you waited; part of you was hoping that the man would be outside of the shed when you stepped out, but you knew that he wouldn’t be. He had no reason to wait. He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he?

With a sigh, you walked out of the shed, entertain the dark backyard alone. You shut the shed door and crept back inside of your house, locking the back door and sneaking back upstairs to your bedroom. The soft snores of your parents gave you a moment of relief; at least, if anything, they hadn’t known about you and the masked stranger in your backyard in the middle of the night.

Plopping back down on the plush chair, you grabbed your book, but you were left simply staring at the page filled with words, not processing anything that you were looking at. Your mind was empty, but it was racing a million miles a minute at the same time.

The thought was heavy on your mind until somehow, at some point, you finally laid in your bed, closed your eyes, and fell asleep. It felt like hours went by, and maybe they did— you didn’t bother to check your clock.

What was the point? It wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Whether it was 11 o’clock or 6 o’clock, you would still have been laying there contemplating everything but thinking nothing all at once.

And when sleep finally took you, the last thought on your mind was that the man you were kissing smelled familiar. But you couldn’t pinpoint from where.

<>~<>~<>

Tonight was date night; your parents effort to rekindle the romance had given you a night (or at least the better half of two hours) with the house all to yourself with your obliging work schedule. Sometimes that meant your friend would come over, sometimes it meant you’d pass out in front of the television on the sofa with some cheesy horror movie playing with empty takeout containers on the coffee table.

Only twenty minutes had gone by since your parents had left, but because of the season, it was already dark outside. The lights were off, Nightmare on Elm Street was playing on the television. You were scrolling through your timeline on your phone, occasionally sending quick back and forth messages to your friends, but it was a relatively quiet night. You weren’t quite hungry yet, but an empty soda can sat on the coffee table waiting to be discarded.

Truthfully, you were bored. You had been ever since that very first night nearly a month ago now. You had to admit, after a mysterious, masked stranger breaks into your house, it’s hard to find every day life exciting. You were left working with a bored mind and speaking with a lackluster vibe towards life in general. Everybody had sensed it by now, but nobody other than you (and most likely the myserteous stranger) knew why it had happened so suddenly.

Your phone started to buzz on the coffee table.

‘No caller ID.”

You watched it for a moment, then with a sigh of discontent, you leaned up and grabbed it, then flipped it upside down. Was blocking the strange man out of your life even possible? You didn’t know, but you did know that if you didn’t answer, he would most likely just show up anyways. You weren’t in the mood for “Guess where I am” games tonight.

With the finality of the phone call, your phone buzzed twice and then went silent. Not even a moment passed before there was a knock at the backdoor.

You stood up, walking back to the glass door and seeing nobody there when you flipped the light on. You looked around for a moment before reaching to unlock the door and heading back towards the sofa. Things were quiet for a minute, almost unusually quiet, before the glass door slid open. With your back to the door, you simply watched the movie that was playing.

The chance that this was someone else was too low for you to worry. Besides, if it was, who cared? Life was dull, maybe some excitement would spice things up for you again.

With a frown, you looked back. What were you thinking? What was wrong with you? Even you were starting to go off of the deep end and finding it harder and harder by the day to fully understand what was going on.

But sure enough, there he was: tall, cloaked, a mask placed perfectly on the face of the man that you assumed to be extremely handsome. You had felt his face, his strong jawline, his soft, short hair. Despite not being able to see him, there was a feeling in your gut that he was very attractive.

Without a word, you looked back to the television as he slid the door shut. You heard it lock, then soft footsteps started to come closer to you. The floorboards right behind the sofa creaked.

“Are you going to stay this time?” You asked, side eyeing the man as he moved around to the side of the sofa. “Because I’m not restarting the movie.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he sat down on the other end of the sofa, glancing from you towards the television. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Time seemed to creep by extra slow tonight. Maybe it was because you weren’t entangled in a heated, blindfolded make out session with the man like you were before, or maybe it was because no words were being said for the better half of twenty minutes.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, standing up. “Because I’m getting hungry.” Heading to the kitchen, you left the man sitting alone in front of the television and opened the refrigerator. There were plenty of leftovers inside, but nothing jumped out at you. Your stomach grumbled, but as you searched effortlessly, not even the chips in the pantry sounded good. With a groan of annoyance, you shut the pantry and turned around, though you gave a soft gasp quickly afterwards. “You scared me.” You met his gaze through the mask; somehow he had quietly snuck into the kitchen and stood only a couple of feet away from you. How he’d perfectly avoided every creak in the floorboards you weren’t sure. It was almost as if he knew the layout. Had he been stalking you for that long? “Why are you just looking at me like that?” You asked in an almost annoyed tone. “What are you gonna do, Mr. Ghostface? Kill me?” You were almost patronizing the masked figure that didn’t budge. “I didn’t think so.”

You walked around the man and walked towards your phone that sat in the living room. There were several messages from your friends, but you chose to ignore those, instead going to your apps and looking for the mobile pizza app.

When all else failed, a pizza for delivery was never going to disappoint.

“Are you opposed to pepperoni?” You asked aloud, glancing back towards the kitchen where the man still stood. He gave a small shake of his head, though time time he started to walk into the sitting room with you. “I’m thinking that pizza is kind of the only option here.” Quickly, you selected a medium pepperoni pizza and clicked delivery. Now, you had about twenty more minutes alone with the man before a nice distraction such as food came.

You went to sit back on the sofa, but the man caught your wrist before you could move. You looked at him, confused. At first, he reached for his pocket. You knew what he was going to do so you tried to hide the disappointment on your face.

But he shocked you, stopping himself and instead slowly reaching up and adjusting the mask to askew away from his mouth. You frowned at his strange behavior, watching as he slowly leaned in.

You regained your composure quickly— after all, wasn’t this what you’d been wanting again this whole month? Even a small kiss from the man that you spent your nights daydreaming about.

So you closed your eyes and tilted your head up. Warm fingers grasped your chin— you hadn’t even noticed he’d taken the black leather gloves he wore off— holding you in place for a shockingly soft kiss. This time, you automatically reached up, hands resting on his shoulders and holding onto his cloak. Your nose brushed the mask, but you didn’t think twice about it, tilting your head to the other side so that you wouldn’t disturb it.

His warm hand rested behind your head, holding you close to him and deepening the gentle kiss. You swore you felt the same hint of desperateness that you had felt before. His hand moved away from your chin, reaching down to grasp at your waist and pull you snug against him. You gave a soft gasp into his mouth when he abruptly pulled you against him, only giving him the ample opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth.

Your phone buzzed twice— a message, most likely from your friend that you hadn’t replied to— it was something that you ignored as he gently moved you back only pulling away from a moment to sit on the sofa with you.

You went to sit beside the man, but he was quick to grasp your hips and pull you onto his lap. Your cheeks flushed and you gave a small, nervous laugh as you shifted against the man.

“What are you so worried about?” He reached up, pulling the mask off of his face and meeting your, now shocked, eyes with his intense gaze. “You think I can’t handle you or something?” You went to speak, but instead only a small ‘uh’ escaped from your mouth. You were speechless, staring at the man with an open mouth.

“I… Stu…?” Your shock was quick to turn to annoyance. “Are you fucking around with me right now?” He raised an eyebrow in question quickly. “Somehow, someway, you found out about that night and now you’re just trying to get on my nerves?”

“You realize that makes absolutely no fucking sense, right?”

“Yeah, well… well, you make no sense.” He scoffed.

“Like when?”

“Like right now. What are you… what are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to do for a really, really long time, and what I’ve been too afraid to do because I was worried… well, I was worried that you wouldn’t… feel the same.”

“So you dressed up as Ghostface and broke into my house?” He was quiet for a second before giving a slightly awkward laugh.

“Yeah, uh… that was maybe a little weird.”

“A little weird?”

“Hey, you know what, you can’t even deny liking it. I felt how fucking wet you were, you secret little whore.”

“Hey!”

“I always knew you were like this.” He spoke over you, fingers gently grasping your hips. “I did this because… I was scared, okay.” He forced out, not meeting your gaze and instead keeping his eyes down on your clothed chest. “I was afraid that you’d hate me if I told you that I had a little… fuck— fine, a huge crush on you.” Your cheeks were warm as he clenched his jaw and sighed. “You already hate me when I’m me. I thought maybe… you wouldn’t hate me if I was someone else.” Your chest fell at his soft tone.

“I don’t hate you,” you spoke gently. “I never hated you.”

“You didn’t?” He asked, finally meeting your eyes.

“No. You get on my nerves sometimes and I really hate how you’re always teasing and pestering me, but I never hated you. I always kind of liked you. Even when you were being obnoxious.”

“There’s no chance you ever… liked me at all, is there?”

“I guess I kind of thought you were cute when I first met you. But you seemed uninterested so I just kinda… brushed it off.” You shrugged gently. “Maybe… thinking about you that way again wouldn’t be that hard. I mean… you do make me laugh. And you’re pretty funny. And you do give really good head.” He chuckled. “But did you… did you really kill that girl…?” Stu was quiet for a second too long. You were tense on his lap as his fingers tightened on your waist. “Fuck, Stu— why?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” He was joking, you knew that, but things were too tense for you to laugh at him. After all, you were finding out someone you had sat next to for years now was a murderer. “I’m joking.” He said when you didn’t laugh. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Could I really trust that?” You asked softly.

“I guess I can’t expect you to. But I can tell you that I wouldn’t anyways. And if I wanted to, I already would have. You and Billy are my best friends. I wouldn’t ever hurt my best friend.”

“Does Billy know?” Stu hesitated for a second before giving a gentle nod.

“But you can’t tell him that you know. He’d be pissed if he found out that I was here now. Or that I’d ever come here in the first place. I couldn’t stay last time because I had to go but… just don’t tell Billy.”

“Is Billy… like this, too?” He was quiet, giving you your answer. But neither of you said anything. With a sigh, you looked down and shut your eyes. Warm fingers gently grasped your chin.

“Listen, I know that this is a lot of information to take in. I didn’t want to tell you, but I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. It’s hard not to tell you whatever you’re asking when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, you just have this look.”

“Are you calling me intimidating?”

“If the shoe fits.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like you can just see right through me.”

“After this past week of me being around you and not having a single clue that you were the masked stranger that broke into my house and gave me the best fuck I’ve ever had… I don’t think you’re really that transparent anymore. Sorry that I ever called you that in the first place. That was kind of mean.” Stu sent you a smile, a cute one. You knew that it should be different, but you were seeing Stu in a completely different light— and not a bad one.

“Call it water under the bridge.”

“What… happens now, Stu?” You asked, almost hesitantly. “Do we just go back to hanging out with Billy and pretend that this entire thing never happened?” With a soft hum, Stu gently squeezed your hips in his hands.

“Maybe you’d let me… take you out and we could see what happens when I’m not just some masked stranger breaking into your house anymore. If you want.” You were quiet for a moment, eyeing the man with a nearly unreadable look on your face. Stu swallowed hard as you gently cupped his face in your hands and gave a soft hum. You leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips; when you pulled back his eyes were closed and lips still puckered. He sent you a disappointed look when he opened his eyes, but it was quick to change when you spoke.

“I think I’d like that.”

“You’re so pretty like this.” Immediately, you felt your face flush as you looked down. “Without the mask on and the blindfold covering these pretty eyes I can really see you.” He gently gripped your chin and made you look at him. “God… I always knew you had this intimidating look, but you never let me look at you like this. I could look at you like this forever.” Scoffing, you pushed his hand off and looked away again.

“Quit buttering me up, I already told you I’d go out with you.” Stu gave a soft laugh and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your neck.

“Can’t you just let me be nice to you?”

“No, it’s weird.”

“It’s only weird if you let it be weird.” With a soft huff, you forced yourself to meet his intense gaze again.

“I’ve never thought of you like this before, I always kind of pictured you as a brother or a really weird friend. Thinking about you this way is… different. And you looking at me like that it’s just… you’ve never looked at me like that before.”

“Not that you ever saw.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re oblivious. I’ve always looked at you like this.”

“I think that I would have noticed if you stared at me like… that.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“The whole time?” With a soft laugh, Stu nodded his head.

“The whole time.”

“How didn’t I ever notice?” You asked with a frown. “I know I don’t always see things like that but… this feels hard to miss.” By the end of your sentence you spoke so softly Stu had barely heard you. He gave a soft laugh and shook his head.

“I asked myself that question all of the time. But I was too worried you’d kick me out of your house if I ever came over alone. The easiest way to keep you from noticing was to have Sidney or Tatum around so you’d be distracted.” Stu sighed. “I don’t think you could ever really understand how pretty you look when you think nobody is watching you.”

“I wouldn’t have kicked you out— if you had ever come alone. Who knows, maybe I would have… noticed and you wouldn’t have had to go through all of this trouble in the first place”

“Don’t you get it?” He laughed softly. “I’d do this over and over and over again if it meant that it would end up with you sitting on my lap like this. It doesn’t matter if we had to redo this entire life all over again, I’d always do whatever it took to get you here with me.”

“And if we didn’t end up in the same life?” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Then I would find you and I’d get you like this in that life, too.” He said confidently. “There’s something about you that draws me to you like nobody else ever has. Maybe that’s what it feels like to meet a soulmate. You believe in that kind of thing or do I sound like a dick-jerking idiot right now?” You laughed, making the man smile at the sound.

“I never really believed in soulmates, but hey— anything is possible, right?” You shrugged. “I never thought I would have liked a stranger breaking into my house and fucking me, but here we are.”

“Awe, you wanted me to come back.” He teased you.

“I did.” You said softly. “I thought about you a lot. Not just sexually, but… I just wanted to know you.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.”

“I like that.”

“Men like you always like crazy girls.”

“But not smash a window with a tv and run my car into a tree crazy. You’re more like “Let’s go into that haunted, abandoned building and see if we get shanked by an old homeless guy who needs cash for cocaine.””

“You were the one that said there were probably homeless people on crack in that building.” Stu laughed and shook his head.

“Remember how annoyed Billy was?”

“I remember showing up to his party late and getting called an idiot for dragging you into that, but it was you the entire time who dragged me into it.” You snickered. With a dramatic gasp, Stu covered his chest.

“I would never put someone so pretty in danger of getting stabbed by an old man on cocaine.”

“Well, it wasn’t me.” Stu gave a quiet sigh and shook his head.

“Alright, fine— it was my fault. I’ll admit it.”

“I think you’re maturing.” You teased the man who sent you a small, genuine smile.

“You bring out the better side of me.”

“That was cheesy.” You said, but you were quick to flush and look down.

“You know you liked it.”

“Maybe.”

“You know, I meant what I said.” Quirking an eyebrow, you met his gaze again.

“What do you mean?”

“I really think that… that I’d find you in any life we could ever live in. Even if you lived across the earth. You’re some… god, I sound like a fucking dick-wad right now.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’re someone I think I was meant to be with. You really do bring out a better side of me. You know how you made that joke about romantic tropes in movies where they always end up finding each other because they just meant to be?” You nodded. “I think that could be us.”

“You really think so?”

“A guy like me will always need a girl like you. I think I’m lucky I ever met you. And I think I’m even luckier that… you wanted me around. Even if it was just a little bit. You could have chosen Billy. You could have wanted Randy. You could have even been with Sidney or Tatum, but… it’s not them here. And it wasn’t ever them that you looked at like this.” Despite your embarrassment, you sighed and kept eye contact with the man. He was looking at you differently now. Almost as if he was desperate for you to validate that what he was saying was true.

“I think girls like me need guys like you around. Sometimes I’m too serious. You help lighten the mood. Without you I… well, I forget to think of the little things. Like laughing at myself when I slip in the snow or being able to make a joke about an insecurity. You help keep me lighthearted. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“You know, if things don’t go well on our date, I don’t want things to be awkward. I don’t want you to not talk to me again thinking it ruined our friendship.”

“Honestly Stu,” you gave a soft laugh and shook your head as you spoke, “I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever look at you again and not think about you telling me you’d find me in some parallel universe.” He gave an awkward chuckle and finally broke eye contact to look away. “What, are you embarrassed?” You teased, earning a playful eye roll from him.

“Shove it, would ya?” Laughing, you leaned in and pressed your head against his shoulder.

“Come on, Stu. Like I could ever forget this.”

“I almost wish you would.” Gently, you reached up and grasped onto his shirt and held it tight between your fingers.

“I don’t want to.”

“So what you’re saying is… that, in a parallel universe, you’d find me, too?”

“I’d spend my whole life wanting to feel this… content.” He hummed and pressed a kiss to your head before he sighed and laid his head back on the sofa. “I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” With a small smile, you leaned up and quickly pressed a kiss to Stu’s cheek.

“I think I have an inkling.”

#slashers #scream series #scream smut #scream fluff #scream 1996 #scream franchise #scream stu macher #scream stu macher x female reader #stu macher x female reader #stu macher x female reader fluff #stu macher x reader #stu macher x reader fluff #stu macher

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courtforshort15 · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 5,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This one has a fairly graphic description of something towards the end regarding death.

Masterlist

Chapter Index

The small bookstore looks nothing short of a location where a bomb had been detonated.

It hardly resembles the haven you had run into a little less than an hour ago, dust-covered and shaking, head and body increasingly vulnerable with every second that passed by. When you’d entered the building, numerous bookshelves had been standing throughout the floor space, symmetrically and strategically placed for maximum efficiency and exposure, each one bold and welcoming in the face of new and experienced readers. Rows and rows of colorful books had been placed lovingly on the shelves, every single one of them looking ready and eager for someone to pull it out and bring it home. Displays and racks of reading materials ranging from cook books to self-help guides to religious texts, and it was as if each item was a swift and earnest reminder of New York City’s diverse population and their reading needs and enjoyments.

The small shop had likely belonged to a small business owner, their blood, sweat, and tears shed in its foundation, a testament to their love for the written word and the journeys it could take a person on.

And it was just…gone.

“Jesus.”

His response is soft. “I know.”

“If you hadn’t pulled us into the bathroom, then we—”

“Let’s not go there, okay?”

Your heart aches as you take in the scene, and your eyes lock onto the lone bookshelf that had somehow endured the chaos. It’s as if it exists solely to offer some sort of twisted and miserable reminder of the way the shop had stood so proudly only minutes before. Books are strewn across the floor, and though some are relatively unharmed, there are others that are burnt with only the spine and a few pages remaining, nothing left but words that have turned into ashes.

Glass crunches under your shoes as you leave the bathroom and walk slowly into what remains, a soft breeze drifting in from the large hole in the store that had once been wide, clear windows. Heat drifts in, too, the feel of it sweltering, and where it had once been the simple heat of a beautiful spring day, it’s now sticky and bitter and utterly unwelcome.

Matt walks cautiously ahead of you, hand slowly dropping yours as he makes his way to the front of the store, dark head tilting here and there as if focusing intently on something before deciding to move on. He expertly navigates his way around fallen bookshelves, sidestepping piles of books that have fallen and huddled together, and you follow behind slowly, your feet instinctively taking you through the same path he’s seemingly mapped out for you.

When he reaches the space where the windows had once rested, he stops and situates his body so that he’s angled halfway between you and the street, head once again cocked to the side. He lifts a finger to his lips as if encouraging you to be as quiet as possible, but it’s a hard task to accomplish with the way your heels continue to press into the glass, and each step clinks far too loudly. Your shoe catches on something, and you can’t help the swear word that loudly leaves your mouth as you regain your balance.

Somehow you manage to make your way to his side, cringing as you take in the full view of the street. You don’t have words for the destruction, to be honest. A slowly burning car lies on its side up the block from you, the freshly planted trees and flowers across the street are crumbled and smashed into the sidewalk, buildings are torn apart, gaping holes yawning wide with heaps of glass and brick spilling onto the street. The sight is something you’ve never seen before, and each second you spend staring at it, the further it stains and bleeds into your memory.

You guess you’ve joined the millions of people who have witnessed a New York tragedy. It’s a club you hadn’t ever thought you’d have to join, the kind of club that offers memberships with PTSD as the recurring charge, and it rocks you to your core.

“This isn’t…this isn’t something we’ll ever heal from.”

Though he only says it in a barely-there whisper, the tone that manages to seep in is solemn and grave. “No. No, it’s not.”

Utterly sick to your stomach, you turn your head to face Matt, needing to see something besides the trauma seeping out onto the road. The cut above his hairline is still bleeding, leaving a small line of red trailing down the side of his forehead, and in this lighting it seems to be more severe than you had maybe thought it was. With a wince, your hand twitches at your side as if you want to wipe it off, but you force yourself to remain still. He had seemed surprised when you’d tried to help earlier, and you don’t want to throw him out of whatever he’s focusing on.

Your eyes shift back to the street reluctantly, and you note that, for some reason, you’ve been instinctively waiting on his go-ahead to begin the arduous journey to the subway station. Opening your mouth, you start to ask him what he’s waiting for, but he interrupts you.

“I think we’re good to go,” he says as his head snaps back towards yours. His mouth is twisted in a grimace, and you can see the glimmer of fear that flashes over a face that’s just as weary and exhausted as yours. “I don’t hear anything nearby.”

You nod immediately, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay. Which way?”

His head swings to the side. “The subway station is a few blocks north and two blocks west, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Matt blows out a loud breath, and you watch as he steels his spine in front of you. “Then we need to go right.”

You don’t question how he knows, instead choosing to gather your strength and wits for a journey that would normally be considered a short walk. But four blocks feels like a marathon away, feels like you’re making the walk between the Shire and Mordor, the trek likely to contain danger and trauma and fire lying in wait at every twist and turn.

The whisper of your name pulls you back to the bookstore, and the tone conveys a softness that is at an extreme clash with everything going on around you. Your head turns so that you’re facing him head on, his body seemingly undaunted and thrumming with an energy you haven’t yet seen on him. It’s almost like he’s taken all the chaos around him and suddenly focused it into something even stronger, something more determined than the things flying around the city like they own it.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice shockingly calm for someone who is about to leave behind the only semblance of shelter he’s had since this all began.

It’s your last chance to back out, but you wave it swiftly aside. “Yes.”

His nod is almost curt in its movement, the jerk of his head brusque and determined. Without a single second wasted, he steps over the small wall of brick that had once held up the glass, only a foot or so in height, dress shoes making their way from the carpet of the bookstore to the concrete of the sidewalk easily. He turns back to you before he’s even finished stepping outside, wordlessly offering his hands to you to help you clear the brick as well, fingers grasping yours tightly to help you maintain balance.

Matt lets go of your left hand once you’re settled next to him and swiftly takes a right, pulling you along behind him for a few seconds as if to make sure you’re still by his side, before releasing contact altogether.

You can’t run, not without risking a major fall or sprained ankle, but you trail after him as fast as you can, walking briskly and jogging at random moments to keep up with him. He notices pretty quickly that you’re unable to keep the pace he has set and immediately slows, keeping himself just a few steps ahead of you. He’s somehow able to dip and avoid large pieces of fallen debris that litter the sidewalk, and you once again follow the path he’s all but laid out for you.

His coordination and agility is far beyond what you had anticipated, even far beyond what you would expect from someone who has perfect vision, and you’re left feeling both confused and grateful for his navigation through the wreckage.

There’s a haze that’s settled over the city, one filled with ash and dust that’s been both kicked up from the normally filthy streets and created through the destruction of concrete. You do your best to breathe through it, do your best to see through it, grateful that the lenses of your glasses offer some sort of protection from something getting into your eyes.

You try your hardest to focus on the mission, focus on the goal of finding shelter, but you can’t help the sheer horror and sadness that hits you whenever you look up long enough to see the level of devastation present. Your heels feel more unstable than ever as you walk, and each step you take is clouded in fear and anxiety, even as you move as swiftly as possible with every ounce of determination you can drag up.

“You with me?”

“Yes,” you quickly reply, fleetingly puzzled, because surely he can hear your heels scraping along the concrete and the way you’d stuttered out the word fuck when a distant crash startled you. It only takes a split second to realize he hadn’t been asking if you were behind him, but rather checking in on you to see how you were doing.

What strikes you, perhaps the most, is how deserted the streets are. Or, at least how deserted these specific blocks are, though, to be fair, you aren't super close to the hole in the sky. It could be a completely different story closer to Stark Tower, which sits a few blocks south and a few blocks east, and you're exceedingly grateful that your little slice of Hell's Kitchen is just far enough away from the main action. But still, even once you turn the corner, there’s no one. You’re not quite sure how it's possible. The island of Manhattan is home to over one million people alone, and the number of people around the city doubles during the work day. It’s a place where people flood into and recede from daily, like some sort of tide that washes up and retreats.

You leave your answer at the yes you had responded with, figuring it’s easier to leave it there rather than explain the way your heart continues to drop with every step you take. You don’t expect to get to the subway station unscathed, there’s too much going on around you, and far too much out there that can cause you harm.

It’s the city that never sleeps, but even with the crashing and the explosions and the police sirens, it’s never felt more quiet.

Where the fuck is everyone?

You guess, you hope, that people have found shelter. The opening of whatever portal had appeared over Stark Tower had caused widespread panic, people fleeing for their lives, crashing into and around each other in an effort to get away and get inside. But it doesn’t explain why New York suddenly feels like a ghost town.

He may not be able to see the streets, but you’re completely positive he can feel the emptiness of them.

You suppose the invasion, if that’s what this should be called (how could one word ever begin to accurately describe the chaos?), had first happened approximately forty five minutes ago, give or take, plenty of time for people to find somewhere to go to wait out the shit storm that’s reigning down. For a quick moment, it makes you suddenly second guess your decision to head towards the subway station when everyone else is staying indoors, and you briefly wonder if Matt is feeling the same way.

But you don’t know how long this is going to last, and while the bookstore had been a temporary solution, it certainly had not been a sustainable one, and right now the focus needs to be on finding something that could outlast the onslaught for as long as possible.

The first crosswalk lies not too far ahead, and some part of you slows as you would at any other normal instance, but he keeps moving swiftly, clearly aware that there’s no need to pause for traffic. Cars and vans and trucks have been abandoned and left for fate to decide what will happen to them, many of them already damaged beyond any hope for repair. Most have their driver side doors open, as if the drivers barely had time to exit their vehicles, much less worry about closing the doors. Some vehicles have crashed into others, and you’ll never know if it was purposefully as someone tried to escape, or if cars were thrown into each other from the force of various explosions and blasts.

But all vehicles, or at least the ones you can see, are empty of people. You’re grateful for that, at least, knowing it means that the people on this particular block were able to find relative safety.

It’s a pretty straight shot from one street corner to the one across the intersection, and Matt makes his way across briskly, you hot on his heels, doing your best to keep the pace despite the way your feet are throbbing with each and every step. He’s extremely patient even in the urgency of the moment, somehow knowing every time your foot catches on something, quickly turning around and placing a hand on your arm for balance.

It happens more often than you care to admit, knowing that each tiny tumble, however miniscule, is delaying the progress to the subway station.

You’re not too far past the intersection, crossing in front of an alleyway, when he turns abruptly on his heel and pushes you into the gap between the two buildings.

“What–”

But he’s shoving the two of you down behind a giant green dumpster before you can finish your question, and his body twists slightly over yours. You cling to his suit jacket for balance with one hand, and place your wrapped up hand on the brick of the wall for additional support, your quads burning slightly as you hunch over. His form may be covering you slightly, but your face is still turned towards the entrance of the alley, and your eyes are wide as they stare over his shoulder, waiting to see whatever had spooked him. Nothing happens, not for a few seconds at least, and it rattles your nerves, your body already anticipating another round of terror.

Matt abruptly shifts, moving as if to cover you more completely, and it momentarily pulls your attention from the mouth of the alley. But you don’t think his movement succeeds in his goal, largely because your head is still completely exposed, and it certainly doesn’t stop your eyes from suddenly tracking the things that fly past the gap of the buildings, some sixty or so feet above the ground.

They come out of nowhere, sliding into your vision as quickly as they leave, too far away and too fast for you to get a clear glimpse, but you’re one hundred percent certain that it’s one of the things that had been standing outside of the bookstore when the glass had shattered, stalking down the street looking for people to kill in cold blood, no remorse or empathy for the humans who call Earth home.

“They’re too fast,” he mutters, the sound harsh even in its low volume. “I can’t–I hear them coming, but they get too close way too soon. Not a lot of time to hide.”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss under your breath, twisting your head so that you can see better over Matt’s shoulder. “They’re everywhere.”

Your eyes shift to the face that’s mere inches from yours. “You can hear–? How far away can you hear them from?”

He hesitates for just a brief moment. “Far,” he says before taking a large, shuddering breath. It almost sounds painful, as if his lungs are protesting the sudden intake of oxygen. “But like I said, they’re too fast. I hear them and suddenly they’re right on top of us.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I…yeah. That about sums it up.”

Matt stands up slowly, bracing his hand against the wall as he reaches up to his full height. You follow the motion, not bothering to cover the quiet groan that escapes you. Your body has been turned and twisted into far too many uncomfortable positions today, and you find yourself internally grumbling about the lack of effort you’ve put into exercise lately. Every muscle in your body hates you right now, and you don’t want to think about how sore you’ll be once the adrenaline has left your system.

“Are they gone?”

Head facing away from you, Matt takes a small step forward, his focus on something you can’t see or hear. You stay where you are, ready to duck back down the dumpster if needed. The ground is filthy, the pieces of trash that hadn’t made it into the dumpster littering the concrete, and you can’t help but allow yourself a moment of disgust.

“It’s hard to tell” he finally says with a sigh as turns back to face you. His face is hard in its frustration. “They’re–they’re everywhere. Moving too fast to track sometimes, especially with so many of them. I can’t quite…I can’t be completely positive of where they’re at or where they’re going.”

Swallowing, you nod your head as if you understand, but you really don’t. “And you’re–you’re relying on your hearing to tell you where they are? From blocks away?”

“Yes,” he responds simply as he rolls his shoulders. The look he sends your way is as dry as it is nonchalant. “It’s not like I can use my eyes, so…”

You flush. “Right. Stupid question.”

Matt waves it off without much thought and places his hands on his hips. A loud bang sounds off from somewhere in the distance, far too close for your taste, and he flinches at the sound before straightening his shoulders.

“So,” you say, resting back against the brick wall. Your voice is shaking, just a tiny bit, but the two of you don’t acknowledge it. “I don’t think the coast is ever going to be completely clear.”

He grimaces. “Agreed.”

“And we’re definitely worse off right here than we were at the bookstore. But we’re still a few blocks away. Do you think….? Should we just find somewhere else to go inside?”

“Then we keep heading north,” you confirm with a quick and decisive nod of your head. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face and you hastily wipe it away. “But we need to keep sticking to the side of the buildings. The alleys can help hide us if something comes our way.”

Shaking his head, Matt immediately rejects the idea. “There’s too much glass. And everything–everything seems so vulnerable here. They’re crumbling buildings so easily. We're so lucky that the one we were in didn't collapse completely when that thing landed on it. I still...I really think it’s safest to be underground.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably the best we can do right now.”

“Right. Ok. Let’s go.” You pass by Matt and make your way to the front of the alley entrance fully intending on taking a step back out onto the sidewalk, ready for this to be over and dreading every inch you’ll be walking. He walks up quietly behind you and appears at your shoulder, but somehow he must sense your reluctance because he doesn’t exit the alley.

The frown on his lips isn’t as severe as you’ve seen it so far, but it's definitely pronounced. “You’re hesitating.”

You deny the comment with a shake of your head, even though he’s partly correct. “No, I’m ready. It’s just…it’s a ghost town out here,” you remark almost helplessly, motioning towards the empty streets that he can’t see but can surely hear. “I haven’t seen a single person since we entered the book store. Where is everyone? Where did they go?”

Head cocking slightly, Matt’s quiet for a moment before answering a question that had been kind of rhetorical. “There’s people in the surrounding buildings.”

“What?”

“Yes, everyone has run inside at this point, I think.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. Running an aggravated hand through his hair, he sighs and appears to give into what he was about to say. “But I…I think the glass makes them too vulnerable. People are standing too close to the windows, makes them too much of a target.”

“It’s a long story,” he tells you, and you watch as he sort of folds in on himself as if he’s let go of some sort of large secret he’s still not sure he should have revealed. But it only lasts a moment before he’s standing up tall again, head tilted up and mouth set in determination. “And I…I promise to tell you when we get through this. Alright?”

“How do you even know that?”

When.

There were so many things to live for, so many things to keep fighting for as hell continues to break loose around you, but you’d be lying if you said that the thought of this man sharing something with you hadn’t just become one of them. You have a feeling it’s not something he’s shared with many, and you have the weird inkling that maybe he needs to tell you just as much as you need to hear it, if only to hold on to the thought that there could possibly be life after whatever the hell is going on in the city.

Not if.

You stare straight at him, taking in the way he’s somehow managed to expose a vulnerability while also demonstrating his strength and determination. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

The smile he sends you is hesitant, clouded by the heaviness of the situation, but it’s there, and it’s beautiful.

“Deal.”

Things continue to boom and shake, sirens continue to blare, but you follow Matt out of the alley way without question, once again allowing him to navigate and lead you through the piles of debris. He stays a few steps ahead of you, black suit jacket covered in dust and tiny tears that must have been a result of the windows that had shattered. His hands are clenched fists at his side, and the haze that has fallen over the city does its best to pull him in, but you refuse to lose and be lost by him.

The sun is still bright up ahead, even through the smoke and the fear, and the sight of it leads you forward, wanting nothing more than to have the opportunity to live and feel it heat your skin on a day that’s not shrouded by terror.

This block is just as eerie, just as desolate, as the one you’ve already walked down, nothing but random empty cars and scorched pavement, likely from the blast of whatever sort of weaponry these things are firing around with little care as to who or what would be in its path. It reminds you of a post-apocalyptic movie, the kind where there’s nothing left to save except the gas from a gas station or non-perishables from a corner store.

You do your best to stare straight ahead at Matt’s back rather than the disaster that’s been painted around you, but you can’t help but glance up and down, left and right, mind still struggling to link the peaceful Wednesday afternoon to where you are now. You’re in a constraint state of disbelief, some part of you still on that street corner with your iced coffee in your hand, lip curled as you send Brenda’s call to voicemail, nothing on your mind but your painful shoes, unfinished spreadsheets, and the warmth of a sunny spring day.

The loud screech and following crash from a few blocks over pulls you back into your body with a jolt, and it leaves you feeling bitter and broken. Your skin feels itchy with the dust, your feet throb with every step you take, but you’re here, and you’re alive, and you—

Out of the blue, Matt falters.

He’s not facing you directly, but you can see that his face has lost its color.

You almost crash straight into him, the speed of your body nearly too fast to avoid running into his back, but you’re able to swerve at the last moment, coming to a stop just slightly ahead of him. He hadn’t tripped on something on the sidewalk, but he had stumbled, his body briefly losing his coordination as his focus shifted elsewhere.

“Matt?” you immediately question, alarmed at how pale he’s gone. His name leaving your lips is half a started yelp and half a demand for an explanation.

He whips his head toward yours, seemingly startled at your presence, and you take a quick step forward to rest one of your hands on his shoulders. Shuddering, he leans slightly into the contact, face still far too pale for your liking, and you don’t hesitate to take another step into his space.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, lips open and dragging in a panicked breath. “At the next intersection,” he begins, throat bobbing dramatically, and it sounds like he’s forcing the words out. You wince in pain for him, because whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t sound like it’s coming easily. “Not the one we’re about to cross, but the next one…don’t…don’t look left.”

Confusion floods through you, and your eyes can’t help but narrow. “What? Why not?”

Matt’s mouth opens and closes twice before he speaks again, body once again shuddering even as he tries to reel himself back together in front of you. “You shouldn’t–it’s not…” He swallows, and the motion almost looks painful. The sun hits his glasses just right, and from this angle and distance, you can see the eyes that shift and dance over your face and beyond your shoulder rapidly. “Just try not to look left, if you can help it. Okay?”

You frown, unable to stop the expression. “I’ll try.”

And you’re not lying when you tell him you’d try not to look left at the intersection, but in all honestly, you wish you’d tried harder.

The bus is turned over on its side just a quarter of the way down the block when you take your first few steps into the intersection, and its hulking mass out of the corner of your eye catches your attention unconsciously. Before you’ve even thought it through, before Matt’s suggestion has a chance to repeat itself in your head, your head is turning to look at it.

You shouldn't have.

You really shouldn’t have.

It's definitely not the only vehicle in the street, definitely not the only one that's been completely destroyed by the disaster, but it stands out, for obvious reasons. The whole thing is covered in flame, dark smoke weaving its ways out of the pores left often by the shattered glass of the windows, twisting higher and higher into the sky. A giant hole is torn into it, leaving parts of the metal hanging by mere scraps, the tires sagging even without the weight of the bus riding on them.

But the worst part is the sight of the bodies burning inside. Broken, shredded, diminishing.

There’s a scream tearing itself out of your throat, the force of it as scalding as the fire that’s burning not half a block from you, and it’s a sound that belongs in horror movies.

Matt is immediately moving in front of where you’re turned, effectively blocking your view. But it’s too late, the damage is done, and the scene is something that will be in the back of your head for the rest of your life. “I told you not to look left,” he says in your ear, his voice every bit as broken as yours, layered with the same levels of fear and grief as yours. “You shouldn’t have—”

But you’re pushing past him before he finishes speaking, your mind suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that someone could be in there, someone could be alive, someone could need help, and–

It’s primal, this feeling of urgency to get there, this feeling of urgency to pry apart metal if you need to, scalding your hands until they bled if it meant that you could help someone. But it’s also irrational, because even in the back of your head, you’re completely aware that there’s no one who could have possibly survived whatever ball of fire had been thrown at the bus.

The bus had been full of people on their way to work, teenagers skipping school, men and women on their lunch breaks. It had never stood a chance, not when something had locked on to its location and found it to be a suitable destination for its rage and need to destroy. Something that had once been so full of life was now nothing more than a pile of metal, heat, and burning flesh.

Before you can get more than five steps away, Matt’s pulling you back into him, body once again coming between you and the scene. You try to step around him again, but he blocks you, his own frame shaky and full of horror as he wraps his hands around your upper arms to keep you from moving forward.

It fills you with a sense of panic, his attempt to keep you from helping those poor innocent people, so you struggle in his hold, ripping your body left and right to help loosen his hands. But he’s far stronger than you, and so even while he keeps his hands loose enough as to not cause any pain, his grip is still firm and you’re unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. “Let me go, Matt.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he tells you quickly, and the words seem hazy in your mind, as if your head can’t process and believe he’s telling you to walk away. “We need to leave.”

“What? No! No, there might be people in there, we can’t leave.”

Matt shakes his head rapidly, and the slow, single tear that trails down his face alarms you as it cuts a severe line through the thin layer of dust that has collected on sweat-soaked skin. “There’s not anyone to…there’s no one we can help.”

“How do you know?” you wail, voice high-pitched and panicked, still trying to pull away. “We have to—”

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer into your space, hand dropping one of your arms and instead coming up to rest on your cheek. The other hand soon follows, completely cupping your face between hands that are every bit as nicked and cut as yours. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes move from the plume of smoke that continues to rise over his shoulder back to his face. “There’s no one to help. I promise.”

“But–”

“I promise,” he repeats slowly, gently, and the words are so full of sadness that you almost need to take a step back. “There’s no one in there that we can save, sweetheart.”

The name doesn’t even register, but the rest of the words do, the clear image of death settling over you, even as gently as they’re said. You bury your head in your hands, the frames of your glasses digging into the skin of your right palm and the tie wrapped around your left, the shock too vicious and blinding even for tears.

Choking back a dry sob, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, flinching when the sound of something exploding blocks away reverberates through the city. The sound is startling enough to make you jerk your head out of your hands, and the danger you’re in by simply standing in the middle of the street, nothing hiding you from view and covering your head, sets back in. You take it as some sort of terrifying sign to finally move, nodding your head in a jerky motion and doing your best to compose yourself.

Even so, you can’t help the hiccup that escapes your mouth. “You’re…you’re sure? That there’s no one–”

His head falls forward slightly, his face displaying a sense of devastation that’s no doubt shared by all of the city. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes flutter shut as a shudder of grief wracks your entire body. “Okay,” you whisper in acceptance. It’s a painful acceptance, and a part of you still wants to run to the bus and check for yourself. “Then we need to–”

“Yes,” he immediately agrees.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, one that scalds your lungs as the air moves in and out. You take a shaky step away from him and start walking, suddenly desperate to put as much distance between yourself and the bus that has already imprinted itself harshly in your head, forever scalded into your long term memory. You can’t let yourself stay here, you need to focus on what’s going on ahead of you and keep going, however anguished you feel about it. It wretches at your heart to leave those people so callously behind, knowing they deserve more than someone turning their back on them in their first moments of death.

But you also know that you need to keep moving if you want to make sure you’re not added to the growing list of casualties, guilty of nothing more than choosing to live in the concrete jungle of New York. There will be a time for mourning, a time to scream and cry and wallow in a misery so large it would swallow you whole, but now is not that time.

And so, with one last look at the twisted kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and oranges bursting up from the overturned vehicle, you finish crossing the street, Matt just a few steps behind you.

#matt murdock #Daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #battle of new york #tw: death

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aserene · 11 months ago

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Aserene's Master Fic List

Last updated 1 September 2024; the newest works are in red. Anything posted on AO3 or FF can be found in this list, fragments and WIPs will be listed at the bottom of each section. My AO3 works are largely locked to registered users only due to AI scraping. If you need an account, please feel free to hit me up for an invite code while I have them to spare.

Fate: the Winx Saga

Why "Did it break your skin" or "Hello Bloom" has such an impact is a question I can't answer. Sorry, Not Sorry.

Regin of Dragon Series

The Smoking Incident (Silrah, pre-canon, Keggar Explanation)

Are you my fairy Godmother? (Silrah, Ficlets, Bloom & Farah Prequel to main story)

The Heir of Dragons (WIP, Silrah, HOTD cross over, Farah meets Rhaenys, Bloom & Farah found family)

Sparrow, Spider this is how it had to be

Sparrow, Sparrow on the hill (Silrah, Farah-centric time travel fix it)

Spider, spider in the tree - Tell me how it ends (Silrah, Saul-Centric time travel fix it)

Echantix and More

Snow (Silrah, Bloom & Farah bonding)

Across the Sea, Soar Above (Silrah, Make Mermaids cross over)

Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust (Silrah, Winx power swap)

Downpour (Silrah, Power Reveal, Bloom & Farah Bonding)

Lighting (Silrah, Skloom, Protective Farah & Saul)

Farah and the Caturday

Tell Tail Heart (Silrah, transformation accidents)

Let me tell you a tail (Silrah, Bloom & Farah, transformation accidents, Bloom’s in trouble)

Other Works

State of Mind (Farah has trouble with her powers)

Down an unknown road to embrace my fate (Meet the family, Silrah, lost child, Selkie)

Made You Look (Silrah, fluffy)

All the Stars in Your Hair (Silrah hair braiding, slight Star Wars cross)

A Solo Guardian (Silrah, Farah & Bloom bonding, Direwolf)

A road so rough, this I know (Road trips, Silrah, Episode tag)

Prompt Fills:

HEX Gifts

tis the damn season (meet the family/kind of, snowball fights)

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter (Winter whump, snowball fights)

soft snow falling in a winter serenade (winter party disaster)

Reverse Big Bang

Ferns are what it must mean to love without yearning (Farah the Fern)

WIPS:

The Geas of It (Silrah, Skloom, accidents, Like father–like son)

The Best Days (AU Fix it, Rosalind picked the wrong parents, Silrah & Bloom)

Exile (High Court Fae take an interest in Bloom)

The Heiress (Winx reflections on how they got their magic)

Farah the Cat (WIP for Farah and the Caturday)

Pawlp Fiction (WIP for Farah and the Caturday)

Car Crash (Silrah, baby bloom)

Saul asks Luna for a favor (silrah, Luna, protective Saul)

NCIS

Let me save you the trouble. They’re all jibbs.

Long Live the Queen.

Ex Files Take Two (episode re write)

A Christmas Fairy-Tale (Episode tag, team as family)

I’ve Read all the books beside your bed (domestic fluff, secret relationship)

Bella Noche (vampires)

One in a Billion (Halloween)

I talked to your dad, It’s a love story, just say “yes” (meet the family, Judgement Day fix it)

Coffeeshop Chatter (Batman won’t like this prompt, Jenny overhears the wrong thing)

In absentia lucis, Tenebrae vincunt, Coram amore lux valet (accidental love confessions)

The Director’s Fool (April fool’s prank)

The Cure for Hangovers and Other Aliments (Gibbs to the rescue)

Noli timere malum, sed time heroa (Jibbslet, Kidnapping, Angst with happy ending)

Truth in the Lies (fake marriage)

Ask Her (tag to Knockout)

Say Goodbye 007 (Mentions of JAG, fluff)

The Twelve Days of Christmas (Christmas fluff)

Twist of the Mind (WIP, Secret Relationship, memory alteration)

Off the Clock (Girl talk)

He Knocked (Episode tag)

Haunting (Halloween Fluff)

Muscle Spasm (Gibbs whump, Jenny gives TLC)

Paris Rose (fluff & crack, lipstick)

Only With You (undercover as married)

The Missing High Heels (Slight sequel to Only with you)

Jen, Jenny, and the Director (fuff & angst, crack treated seriously)

The Manual (Gibbs’ Rules, Fluff, Team Dynamics)

History Lessons (Fluffy collection of ficlets)

Carols in the Night Series

Carols in the Night (Holiday Found Family)

February Ills (Fluffbruary Sequel to Carols in the Night)

The Easter Bunny (Easter theme)

Mother's First (Mother's day)

He didn't have to (Father's day)

Judgement Day Rewritten Series

Second Chances (Gibbs wakes up in a world where Jenny isn’t dead, yet)

From Now On (Jenny gets a second chance and learns what honesty can change)

The Reality of Acceptance (Gibbs follows Jenny to LA)

Expressing the Inexpressible Series

That’s not her style (Tabloids report on Jenny)

Goodbye Earl (Gibbs finds an interesting person in the middle of an investigation)

Home (letters, fluff and angst)

Our Song (tooth-rotting fluff)

Do you Remember? (orchids, hidden relationship)

24 (WIP)

It’s beginning to get to me (WIP)

Anything you can do (WIP)

A little fall of rain (WIP)

Something in Red (WIP)

So Close (WIP)

Ever, Ever, After (WIP)

She’s in Love (WIP)

That’s How You Know (WIP)

One Step Closer (WIP)

WIP

Watering Your Plants (Post Hiatus)

The Deal (deal to have a baby)

Now I lay me down to sleep (secret relationship)

Xena: Warrior Princess

So you’re saying there is a chance…

All Fics are Xena/Ares

Eventually, these will be rewritten and posted on AO3

As Long as You’re Mine (post Looking Death in the Eyes)

Reckoning the Thoughts (takes place during “The Reckoning)

The Pendant (Aphrodite fixes Looking Death in the Eye)

WIP

Wrapped Around Your Finger (Post Xena coming back from Callisto)

Black Roses Red (Hercules bashing)

An Affair to Remember (Looking Death in the Eyes Fix It)

House of the Dragon

WIP

Rhaenys Intervenes (Time Travel Fix-it)

Daemon and Rhaenys work together to save the House of the Dragon (Time Travel Fix-it)

Go All the Way Back (Rhaenyra and Rhaenys Time Travel)

Rhaenys Overhears (Rhaenys will make sure she is the only one with the title of the Queen Who Never Was)

Cross Overs

Call my name and save me from the dark (Fate, Wednesday, NCIS, I have issues okay?)

Wishes come True, Not Free (Fate/Labyrinth)

A Demon and A Fairy Sat Drinking (Fate/Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)

Grave Digger Redux (Bones/NCIS)

My Perfect Romance (NCIS/My Perfect Romance)

Captain Bennett’s Christmas Catch (Christmas Catch/NCIS)

The Man with the Blue Eyes (NCIS/ CSI Miami)

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dream-phantasm · 2 years ago

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Leona Kingscholar x Reader: Love Letters (END)

Y’all, let’s pretend it’s still Feb 14

this thing has literally been chilling in my drafts since the first part of this series 😭 so, uh, if anything seems off, it’s because I wrote this before I wrote parts 2-6

Hope you enjoy! This entry contains a very small reference to Episode/Book 1

You enter the library. Your mind was still racing from the possibilities of your…admirer? Ugh, it was still weird to think about! Who could it be!?

You weren't even here for the books but it would be nice to maybe get some studying done. There was a big exam coming up soon or so you had heard from Riddle. You sigh and get to work, gathering books.

Plus, Ace and Deuce wouldn't come find you here anyway. You had dropped Grim-sitting duty on them, which in retrospect, wasn't a good idea. If anything did happen, you had no part in that. You'll bail them out of the consequences later.

You'd been here a few times before. After all, you were a complete stranger to this world and the library seemed like the best place to find out more. Since you weren't from this world, you could treat this just like reading the lore of a fictional world. That made things fun for you.

You made your way to your spot at the back of the library. Nobody usually goes back there so you've laid claim to it as your private reading spot. The books you've compiled completely block your view so you carefully put them down, watching your step. You pull a chair out and you freeze.

The soft sound of breathing and a light inconsistent thumping. You look beyond your pile of books.There lies a slumbering man, head laying on his arms as he's slumped over the table.

He has messy brown locks, there are two braids framing his face. His unbuttoned shirt and rolled up sleeves gave off the impression he was rather careless with his appearance. You really hated how he appeared to give off that 'I woke up like this' look but still managed to look gorgeous. Most notable of all, of course, were the fuzzy lion ears on top of his head and the furry tail with a tassel of fur at the end.

You stare silently. Internally, your thoughts are going off like a lightning round.

Who is this guy? Is this a beastman? Should I be scared? Is this a good time to run? Will he wake up? What will I do if he wakes up? Can I even outrun a beastman? If he's not a cat, what is he-

He shifts. His head leans slightly to the side, off his arms. He does this rather gracefully and now you can see his beautiful features that just scream 'big trouble'. Oh boy, that scar is not helping your heart. You're starting to understand your admirer. It does indeed feel like an oncoming heart attack.

You notice him shivering just a little. Maybe beastmen were simply more sensitive to the cold draft. It is basically Winter after all and you've definitely had it hard living in Ramshackle. You sigh and shrug off your blazer.

Hoping you don't wake him up, you gently lay it over him. You tense as the tassel at the end of his tail thumps against the chair. His ears twitch and your heart clenches.

It's adorable, the animal traits. Especially on a handsome guy like that? Well, the gap here was gigantic. Paired with the scar, it gave him a roguish-edge that would make anyone swoon.

Wait a second. A scar? You stop and gasp rather loudly. You quickly slap a hand over your own mouth. His ears twitch and you pray to the great sevens he hasn't woken up.

It's the grouchy guy from the botanical garden! The last time you had seen him he was threatening to bite your face off or something and you hadn't paid attention to his face. Aha! So you were right, all the attractive people here were the worst.

His name was Leona, or so you had assumed. That's what Ruggie had called him that day. Ah, stupid! You knock yourself on the head. If only you had recognized him sooner!

You had met him other times before in the botanical garden again. Your conversations were always awkward with him making sly remarks and implications about mauling you.

Once he was in a better mood though, he made an okay conversational partner. Leona was rather intelligent and sometimes he threw some advice at you when you were doing your homework. Of course, that was because of his weird superiority complex over you.

You never really paid attention to his face though, the first time he had looked at you was intimidating enough. You never asked for his name either. Your mind must've repressed the details of his face in your head.

You hadn't gotten the chance to speak to him again since everything just…happened with Heartslabyul. He had completely slipped your mind as you were reeling from the incident. You felt kind of bad.

You glumly wondered if you could get your blazer back. But then again, you didn't want him to freeze to death. But then again, if you took it from Leona now, you could leave your future nuisance cold. Wait, that was kind of mean. He was kind of friendly and helpful sometimes.

You wish the guys here weren't so complicated but you had to admit, that was their charm. Yes, they were all jerks. You're starting to think Stockholm syndrome is sinking in.

With a sigh, you take a seat and open a book. You sneak a glance at the beastman to find he's still sleeping like a rock. Leona's no longer shivering. I just let him have the jacket because I don't want to risk waking him. You reason to yourself.

You bring your focus back to the book you're currently reading as you try to ignore Leona. Dang it, even when he's not doing anything, he manages to captivate your attention. You huff but keep your eyes on the book.

What feels like about a few minutes later, you lower the book with a sigh. "Oh my great-" You try not to scream.

His lidded emerald eyes bore into you, pinning you still. A tiny amused smile plays at his lips as his . You nearly threw your book at him out of sheer shock.

"You- How long were you awake?" You calm yourself down with deep breaths as you still look at him wide-eyed. "Hm, long enough." Leona makes a low hum, there's still a calm smile on his face.

"That's very specific." You respond. Silence fills the air as you try to hold a staring contest with him. You don't really feel like returning to your book. His green eyes just keep drawing you in. You wonder how deep they go. You might've been imagining it but they were really bright.

"Hm, like what you see?"

Your face turns red as you groan. You drop your head into the table. "No, stop. This is the worst Valentines day." You grumble.

"Tell me about it." You hear him reply, you hate how every time he speaks, your heart skips a beat. You're starting to understand your admirer. "Don't patronize me. You're attractive and cool, you got a bunch of confessions or something." You snap. You're just stating the obvious when you call him that.

"What? There's nothing to be jealous about. Valentines is a day just like any other, where some win and others lose." Leona drawls. "Ugh, yeah. At least there was free food." You mumble, then you remember Ruggie. "Wait no, my food got stolen by that jerk." You scowl.

You're still face down on the table. You notice his tail underneath the table. You watch as it inches closer to you.

"Did you like the candy hearts?"

You freeze. You didn't…nobody but Ace, Deuce and Grim should've known the contents of that pouch. Of course, the only exception would be the-

You shoot up from, just as you feel the tassel of his tail wrap itself around your ankle and pull. You fall forward onto the table, inches away from hitting the wood.

"Wow, what the heck was th-" You shout before you look up. You can feel his breath tickle your face but more importantly, those green eyes. The orange vest meant he was a Savanaclaw student if the animal features weren't already a dead giveaway.

"You…You're Leona Kingscholar, the dorm head of Savanaclaw." You pause.

"That's right. I would've thought you'd figure this out sooner." He snorts softly. Leona looks at you expectantly to continue.

"And…"

"And?"

"You're my secret admirer."

You're this close to banging your hand against the table if it turns out you're completely wrong.

"So, you finally caught me."

You breathe out a giant sigh of relief, leaning back into your seat. "Oh thank the great sevens!" You laugh, wiping tears of joy and relief from the corner of your eyes. You lay back and laugh some more.

"You're…that overjoyed that your secret admirer was me?" Leona looks incredulously at you. You stop to breathe, you realize how weird this probably looks to him. "Uh, um…" You consider his question carefully.

You blink at him blankly as you think. He sighs after a moment. "Ahh, I get it. So, it's a rejection." He grumbles. "No, no, i-it's not like that!" You frantically shook your head.

"I…I accept. You're cool. I want to get to know you better first though? Like, why were you so confident I wouldn't reciprocate?" You raise an eyebrow. To your surprise, a subtle blush somewhat forms on his face as his eyes widened only slightly.

"I don't know if you're really that dense to not notice. Most people don't like me, herbivore." He growls, tail flailing around lazily. "But, Bucchi seems to like you plenty and those Savanaclaw students cared enough to cover up for you." You frown.

"That's because I pay Ruggie and those students fear me too much to say anything." Leona snorts. "Hm…I don't think that's true at all." You sigh,

"You're very intelligent, cool and most of all- You're pretty pretty." You pull a cringe face that immediately gives you secondhand embarrassment…from yourself. Leona seems to think it's dumb because he shoves his hand in your face and pushes you back.

"Ah, okay. I get it." You groan, grabbing his hand off your face. Leona smirks, his fingers intertwining with yours.

Your face turns red, being around this man would do you no good.

Ao3: HERE If you see it posted anywhere or by anyone else, it's not me.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x mc #leona kingscholar #gender-neutral reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #x reader #love letters #valentines day #fluff #valentines #happy valentine's day

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holicare · 8 months ago

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The Secret to Luxurious Locks: The Ultimate Guide to Hair Mask Treatment

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Shampoo: Start by washing your hair with a gentle shampoo to remove any dirt, oil, and product buildup.

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Massage and Relax: Take a few moments to massage the mask into your scalp and hair. This not only feels luxurious but also helps stimulate blood flow to the scalp, promoting healthy hair growth.

Time to Soak: Leave the mask on for the recommended time (usually 5-30 minutes, depending on the product). Use this time to relax and unwind – perhaps indulge in a good book or a cup of tea.

Rinse Thoroughly: After the designated time has passed, rinse out the mask thoroughly with lukewarm water. Be sure to remove all traces of the product to prevent buildup.

Condition (Optional): Follow up with a conditioner if desired, although some hair masks are formulated to be used without additional conditioning.

Style as Usual: Once your hair is rinsed and towel-dried, style it as usual. Notice how much softer, smoother, and healthier your hair looks and feels.

Conclusion Incorporating a hair mask treatment into your weekly hair care routine is a simple yet effective way to achieve the beautiful, healthy hair you've always wanted. Whether you're dealing with dryness, damage, or just want to add a touch of luxury to your self-care routine, a hair mask is the perfect solution. Say hello to gorgeous locks that are sure to turn heads wherever you g

#hair mask treatment #Mask #hair mask

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sowinsza · 9 months ago

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[Shadows of Honor]

[Chapter 1: The Call to Arms]

In the quaint town of Voronezh, nestled deep within the heart of Russia, the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Within the walls of the Voronezh Karate Dojo, a group of dedicated martial artists trained diligently under the watchful eye of Sensei Ivanov.

As the evening descended, Sensei Ivanov gathered his students for a special announcement. "Comrades," he began, his voice echoing through the dojo, "Our dojo has been chosen to represent Russia in the upcoming World Karate Championship in Tokyo."

Excitement rippled through the room as the students exchanged eager glances. Among them, Yuri, a young and determined fighter, clenched his fists in anticipation. "Sensei, we will not disappoint you!" he declared, his voice brimming with determination.

Sensei Ivanov nodded approvingly. "I have faith in each and every one of you," he said. "But remember, victory does not come without sacrifice. We must train harder than ever before if we are to emerge victorious on the world stage."

With renewed determination, the students pledged to give their all in the coming months of rigorous training. Little did they know, their journey was only just beginning...

[Chapter 2: Trials and Tribulations]

Weeks turned into months as the students of the Voronezh Karate Dojo dedicated themselves to their training regimen. Each day brought new challenges and obstacles to overcome, but they faced them with unwavering resolve.

One evening, as the students gathered for their nightly training session, Sensei Ivanov announced a surprise sparring tournament. "This will be a test of your skills and determination," he explained, his gaze piercing through each student.

Yuri felt a surge of nerves coursing through him as he stepped onto the mat, his opponent glaring back at him with fierce determination. With every move, he pushed himself to the limit, drawing upon the months of training he had undergone.

As the final round approached, Yuri found himself face to face with his toughest opponent yet. Sweat glistened on his brow as he squared off against his adversary, their eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills.

With a burst of energy, Yuri launched into a flurry of strikes and kicks, each one landing with precision and power. In the end, it was Yuri who emerged victorious, his hand raised in triumph as the dojo erupted into cheers and applause.

As he caught his breath, Yuri knew that this was only the beginning of his journey to greatness...

[Chapter 3: The Path of the Warrior]

With the sparring tournament behind them, the students of the Voronezh Karate Dojo delved deeper into their training, honing their skills with unwavering dedication. Under the guidance of Sensei Ivanov, they explored the true meaning of karate – not merely as a martial art, but as a way of life.

As Yuri immersed himself in his training, he found himself drawn to the teachings of the ancient samurai warriors. He poured over books and scrolls, studying the principles of honor, discipline, and courage.

One evening, as he practiced alone in the dojo, Yuri was approached by an elderly man with a weathered face and wise eyes. "You possess great potential, young one," the man said, his voice soft yet commanding. "But true mastery comes not from strength alone, but from the indomitable spirit that lies within."

Intrigued by the man's words, Yuri listened intently as he spoke of the trials and tribulations he had faced on his own journey as a warrior. Inspired by his wisdom, Yuri vowed to embrace the path of the warrior with all his heart.

As the days turned into weeks, Yuri delved deeper into his training, pushing himself to new heights of physical and mental endurance. With each passing day, he felt himself growing stronger, more focused, more determined than ever before.

And as he stood beneath the moonlit sky, the echoes of his training reverberating through the night, Yuri knew that he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead on his quest for mastery...

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nosfearatus · 3 years ago

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So I've been thinking through the rewrite I had in mind for open heart and I've decided to put it together chapter by chapter. I might make it into some kind of fanfiction later, but for now I just want to get the outline down.

Chapter 1: Of Dolphins and Sharks

You are an emergency medicine intern at Boston's premier teaching hospital, Edenbrook. The emergency thorectomy occurs as in the original but when the nurses dreamily sigh over Ethan Ramsey, MC asks if that name's supposed to mean something to them, which starts off the running joke of people asking if MC practiced medicine in the woods, which, no, MC just doesn't care to keep up with these doctors outside of any research they've done. MC heads to get changed and encounters Bryce, a neurosurgical intern, and Jackie, an infectious disease intern, mostly sticking to the original, and they all head to the atrium together for orientation. MC is unfamiliar with Harper Emery, but Bryce mentions one of her more famous contributions to a medical journal and MC recognizes her by that.

Then MC meets their senior resident, Zaid Mirani, he's a bit of a jerk but it's easy to read that he genuinely cares about his interns. Throughout the day MC also meets several other doctors when helping emergency patients settle into other wings of the hospital. Sienna is the intern responsible for a kid in the pediatrics wing that MC helped reduce a fracture on and MC immediately notices how kind and warm Sienna is. Elijah is an oncology intern that MC meets when the two of them get lost and are both conveniently looking for the same cancer patient, who is typically an outpatient but was admitted after getting violently ill at work and was brought into the emergency room by handsome and kind paramedic Rafael Aveiro. Landry is a pathology intern who MC meets when running some blood samples from a patient to the lab and he mentions how he looks up to Ethan Ramsey, while MC offhandedly mentions that maybe meeting your heroes isn't a good thing, Ramsey enters the lab and acknowledges MC but not Landry, a fact that awes Landry and makes MC uncomfortable.

The gem scene in chapter 1 is a 15 gem scene where you can just hang out with your new friend group in the cafeteria at lunch and get to know each of them better and learn why they became doctors. You also realize that you guys are really good as friends and decide to move in together, this unlocks the penthouse apartment because you guys jump on it ASAP. It's sweet and friendly while also providing the premium housing without having to resort to underhanded tactics or selling your friend's services. Immediately after lunch MC is getting some menial filing done when the ER is suddenly thrown into pandemonium as a scuffle erupts. Chapter ends.

#playchoices #open heart au/rewrite #i guess if i want rafael to be a more central part of the plot i have to write it myself.#thats all i want and still pixelberry disappoints #also this is gonna rely heavily on knowledge gained from untold stories of the er and similar shows #i just think it would make good drama #also it wont rely on mc having revelations from nothing all the time. it will still happen. just not constantly.#instead of the trevor arc in book 2 i was thinking instead making an arc based on the gloria ramirez case #but anyways the short of it is is that your lis are jackie bryce rafael and zaid #most li scenes will be choose what you do between the four lis or what li do you see? except for eight total diamond scenes #these can easily also be platonic and there will be two for each li #at the end of book 1 you soft lock your li #aurora and kyra arent introduced in book 1 but are introduced in book 2 as potential lis #aurora was at mass kenmore to try and evade her aunts shadow and kyra had been an outpatient before her cancer took a turn for the worse

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achillieus · 4 years ago

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we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from [email protected]

I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes imagine #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #fools

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jawllines · 4 years ago

Text

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

It was dark.

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it?

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was.

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.)

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two.

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles.

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment.

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity.

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy.

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be.

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out.

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her.

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?”

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.”

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder.

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow, “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater.

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking.

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?”

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?”

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.”

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?”

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.”

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?”

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words.

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.”

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.”

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.”

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.”

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke.

Her response is blunt, “No.”

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!”

. . .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry.

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers.

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold.

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain.

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!”

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

“You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --”

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.”

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.”

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid.

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it.

He was just absolutely rotten.

. . .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten.

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends.

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie.

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good.

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus.

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often.

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior.

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self.

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon!

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep.

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out.

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now.��

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited.

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead.

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly).

God, she was so rotten!

. . .

“Have you felt weird lately?”

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others).

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.”

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way.

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here.

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue.

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour.

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad).

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy.

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.”

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?”

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.”

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.”

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?”

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side.

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio).

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him.

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.”

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.”

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.”

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.”

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.”

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.”

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.”

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.”

After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door.

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that.

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.”

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.”

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?”

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?”

“No --”

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?”

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --”

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence.

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.”

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?”

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?”

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?”

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.”

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.”

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use.

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown.

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere.

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it.

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.”

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it, “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.”

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.”

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.”

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.”

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!”

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --”

“Harry --”

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.”

. . .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits.

She’s only curious.

. . .

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall.

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner.

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor. Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind.

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out.

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow.

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed.

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank.

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals.

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them).

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice.

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning.

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears.

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done.

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous.

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely).

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who -- before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs).

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?”

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.”

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?”

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code.

And there’s nothing.

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected.

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.”

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?”

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own. It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting.

“I oughta call you Bambi then.”

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake -- “Harry, shouldn’t we --”

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest.

“We shouldn’t just --”

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut.

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space.

But nothing happens.

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time.

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it.

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?”

. . .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often.

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer.

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in. If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall.

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over.

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!”

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?”

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.”

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.”

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly.

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.”

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails.

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands, “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.”

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.”

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.”

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?”

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.”

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?”

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.”

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though.

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout?

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?”

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen.

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...”

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?”

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?”

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on.

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --”

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.”

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers, “But --”

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out.

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep.

Harry just fell right to sleep.

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed.

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest.

Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch.

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything.

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for.

Y/N rolls her eyes.

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.”

. . .

It had been a while since Harry had worked.

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong. He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from.

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior.

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it.

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead.

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things.

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure.

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep.

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens.

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.”

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.”

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.”

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work.

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?”

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.”

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?”

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.”

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?”

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.”

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him.

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.”

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store.

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?”

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.”

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

“Where are you?”

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.”

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.”

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?”

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills.

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?”

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?”

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red) “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?”

“He loved them, mate, he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.”

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.”

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.”

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.”

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.”

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --”

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?”

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to.

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all.

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.”

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.”

“What a coincidence -- so did I.”

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit.

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?”

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.”

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon.

“I was doing some research while I was at work --”

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods.

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.”

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.”

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful.

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.”

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding.

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.”

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought.

#WRITING #WOOOOOOOOO #SPOOKY #YAHTZEE #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT BECAUSE I LOVE IT LOADDS #AND I LOVE YOU LOADS #HAPPY READING :D #HARRY STYLES

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adorerdraco · 4 years ago

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 3

PART 1

PART 2

Summary: PART 3 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and finally allowing the relationship to blossom!

Warnings: just the tiniest bit of angst, crying (ofc), Draco sad for a little :(

Words: 7.3K (THIS IS SO LONG OMG BUT MEMORIES IN ITALICS)

A/N: PART THREEEE !!! I think this is my favorite piece of writing in this series and the LONGEST. I know series start losing an audience after the first part but I hope that those who have been following this enjoy this one as much as I do ! I went off the HBP script bc i wanted Draco to live it up and be happy and playful ! also i do not own gif.

The sky was a darkening orange, the sun casting its last glowing light of the day as it quickly began to disappear behind the Hogwarts castle. Small birds and other flying creatures passed overhead, going towards their homes in the trees before nightfall, chirping and singing as they did. The sound of wind rustling through leaves from trees and overgrown plants brought a peace in the air between the couple.

Draco turned his head to the side, a soft smile forming on his lips as he observed you. The both of you were on your backs lying on a spot of grass under a small tree, a different tree than the one the two of you had your fall out by a few months prior, requested by you. Draco thought back to a couple weeks ago when you and him had been walking around the outskirts of the school and you had seen it in the distance.

“That tree is cursed,” you muttered bitterly, eyeing it behind Draco’s head. He turned back to look at it and grimaced.

“I’m still terribly sorry about that, love,” he slipped his hand into yours, bringing the pairing up to his lips and gently placing a kiss on your skin. “We’ll find a new spot.”

“Effective immediately,” you nodded in agreement. “Plus, my friends dared me to climb it last year and I fell off and broke my arm and leg. I hate that tree.”

“Arm and leg?!” He stared at you in disbelief, “Merlin’s sake, Y/N, it’s shocking how clumsy you are.”

“You should be glad I’m clumsy,” you retorted, “you wouldn’t have been graced with my presence now if it wasn’t for me tripping into you.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he smiled, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Who would’ve thought that I’d be a fool for the klutz who sprained my finger and busted my lip on two separate occasions before we’ve properly met.”

“On accident!” You exclaimed horrified, stifling a laugh as he did the same.

Your eyes were closed, peacefully allowing yourself to fully bask in the sunlight that was kissing your skin in its golden hues and warmth. Draco turned onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow so he could admire you better. The longer he looked at you, he felt a shiver run down his spine and a foreign queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach appear that he could only describe as tons of tiny blue cornish pixies wreaking havoc on his insides. In simpler terms, butterflies.

“Are you staring at me again, Malfoy?” You hummed quietly, your eyes still closed as you questioned him.

“No, why would I?” He answered with a playful arrogance, the grin on his face widening as your eyebrows furrowed at his answer.

“You’re rude,” you mutter, trying to fight back a smile. “I think I remember you doing the same thing earlier and telling me, and I quote, ‘I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,’ end quote,” you tried mocking his haughty accent as you quoted him which only earned you a laugh from Draco.

“That sounds nothing like me, you must have me confused with some other poor bloke,” he snickered, a laugh leaving his mouth immediately after.

Your hand came up and playfully slapped his chest, a smile finally breaking onto your features. “I love hearing you laugh. It makes me happy.”

He slowly leaned over, his face hovering over yours before he leaned down even lower and gently pressed small kisses onto your still closed eyelids, your nose, your forehead and then finally your lips. Your face scrunched after every kiss, except for the last one which you happily returned.

“You make me happy, I have you to thank for the laughs,” he said quietly, his hand reaching up to smooth back the flyaway hairs on your face, “and for several other things. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.”

You finally open your eyes, peering up at him with a loving gaze. It honestly felt like you had opened your eyes in heaven and an angel was leaning over you, greeting you at the gates of paradise, that angel being the platinum blond boy, his warm gray eyes staring back at you with the same look you had in yours. It was a sight to behold, behind Draco, the sun had gone down, leaving a haze of purple clouds and a pinkish sky, the leaves from the tree above swaying gently in the cooling breeze of dusk. As breathtaking as the scene was, Draco outshines it.

He looked so much more different than he did a little over a month ago, the day he had almost had his meeting with death. His skin had regained some color, he was still pale, but the pink undertones he always used to have had returned. His eyes were a lighter gray, almost a sky blue as they now held a warmth he had been so evidently missing. The bags under his eyes were still there, but not as deep or as dark as they had been before.

A smile reappeared on your face, your palm finding its way to his cheek and resting it there. He leaned into the tender touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he enjoyed the feeling. It felt like a movie, or a book, or a dream, your heart was doing happy flips in your chest as you tried to rationalize how in the world you were in this current position. It was bliss.

“I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,” you murmur, stealing the compliment he had used on you earlier in the day. Your palm moved up towards his hair, letting your fingers rake through his hair as he smiled.

“Hey, that was my line,” he mumbled.

“No, I got it from some other poor bloke,” you laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. He leaned away from you and lied back down on the grass, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips as he closed his eyes.

“He sounds dodgy, you should probably stay away from him.”

You rolled over on your stomach and onto Draco’s side, your head falling over his chest as his arm underneath you came up to rest on your lower back. You looked up at him, straining your neck so that your lips could meet his. He lifted his head up slightly, meeting you halfway. Like every time you kissed him, the world around you stopped and it was like every single good thing in the world came together in that one moment. You could always feel the love in his kisses, wordlessly letting you know how much he adored you and cared for you. Just as he could tell the same with yours.

You pulled away, opening your eyes to see his slowly flutter open. Both of you holding that same dazed and dopey in love look that was there every time your lips left his.

“I could never stay away from him.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco let out an irritated huff, marching his way down to the dungeons with his robe billowing around his legs with purpose, similar to how the long and greasy raven haired professor’s often flailed about.

Speaking of said professor, Draco was headed towards Snape’s office after receiving word from one of his Slytherin friends that their Head of House had requested him. The idea of talking to Snape right now made him feel dizzy, knowing full and well he was going to be reminded of his painful duties and be ripped out of the short-lived paradise he has been living in recently.

He didn’t want to leave his bliss, at all. He even neglected mending the vanishing cabinet for a while just so he could put all his attention and efforts on you, something he found to be much more important and rewarding. The plans for Dumbledore, especially, strayed even further from his mind as if they didn’t even exist to him at all.

When he reached the office, the door was already open and he saw Snape standing over his desk, looking down at some papers he had scattered over the old battered wooden surface.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape acknowledged lowly, not looking up from the papers, “close the door behind you and have a seat.”

Draco walked in slowly, taking in a deep breath and did as he was told, shutting the heavy wooden door once he forced himself to go inside. He made his way over to one of the empty chairs near the desk and begrudgingly sat down, letting out quietly the shaky breath of air he was holding in. This was the last place he wanted to be.

“Tell me, Draco,” the Professor finally looked up from his papers to give Draco a pointed look, “how is the vanishing cabinet coming along?”

“Fine.”

“Is that so?” He drawled out accusingly, taking short and careful steps around the desk. “Would you say it is able to transport individuals successfully?”

“I haven’t quite gotten it there yet, Professor,” Draco answered weakly, letting his eyes wander around the room and looking at all the different jars lined up against the walls just so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“With that information, it appears to me then, that it is not fine.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Hardly,” Snape sneers, stepping even closer to the chair the cowering boy was sitting in. “Do you think me a fool, Draco? Do you think that I do not know what you have been doing with all of your time? I see that look in your eyes, you’re in love, and stupidly so.”

Draco fearfully looked up at him, seeing a rage beginning to build up in the black of his professor’s eyes. He stayed silent, the sound of his heart rapidly thumping against his chest was the only thing he could hear. It felt as if he were going to explode with panic.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” Draco lied through his teeth, locking eyes with the man as he stared him down.

Before he could blink, Snape had taken one long stride towards him, placing both hands on either side of the arms of the chair, Draco immediately leaning as far back as he could as his big-nosed teacher got in his face.

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” He snarled, “I know what love looks like.”

Draco was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling painfully as his heart began to beat impossibly faster.

“This is no time for fun and games, especially for love,” he grabbed Draco’s left arm, forcefully rolling up his sleeve and flashing the skin upwards towards the blond’s face, “I’m afraid all of that ended the moment you had taken this mark.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he cried, the Dark Mark was staring angrily at him and he twisted his arm out of the hard grasp it was in, rapidly pushing his sleeve down again so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer.

“You don’t have a choice!” Snape stepped away from him and looked down at the boy who was quickly breaking down before him. “Your fate and that of your parents, is on the line. Eventually, it will be Miss Y/L/N’s fate in that position as well. There is only so much I can do to help you, Draco. Remind yourself that the Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate or take kindly to any sort of foolery.”

Draco shook violently with tears and anger, his head falling into his hands as all his realities began to hit him all at once. This is exactly the pain he was trying to avoid. He knew he would have to face it again eventually, but not this soon. He figured he would have more time with you. More time to live in the fantasy that left him feeling so euphoric when he got to his dorm at night after a long day of classes with you filling up the spaces in between. He wished he had more time to enjoy his love, the love that was so beautiful and light, so effortless. He wished he had more time to be happy.

Now here he was, stuck on a path he couldn’t change or control. A path that was forced upon him and had no choice or decision he could make. He often wonders what his life would be like now, if the Dark Lord never came back, his father never went to Azkaban, he never quit quidditch, his mind never tainted in evil plans for murder and destruction. He often imagines that life. He imagines you, waiting for him after a quidditch game, cheeks rosy from the frosty wind that whipped around the stands, smiling up at him so beautifully as he proudly took you into his arms after he caught the Golden Snitch and won Slytherin the Quidditch cup. He would be going to an after party at the common room, everyone praising him and his skills and being jealous of him and the girl on his arm.

He didn’t see it, but Snape gave him a small empathetic look, remembering his own pain and loss at the hands of Voldermort.

“I suggest for you to shift your focus to the more important matters at hand, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape says in a low voice. “You may leave.”

Draco roughly wiped away his tears before he jumped up from the chair and rushed towards the door, pushing it open with his body as he nearly ran out of the dungeons and up towards the Great Hall where dinner was being served.

Once he entered the hall, his eyes searched for you at your house table, knowing you’d be there with your friends. His eyes scanned up and down the rows a good two times before he finally saw you, throwing your head back in laughter as everyone talked. The pure joy on your face made him feel the tiniest bit lighter and his breathing a fraction easier.

Your friend noticed him first, tapping your arm vigorously as she pointed in his direction. You turned, your eyes meeting his frazzled ones and you frowned when you realized he had been crying. You threw your napkin down onto the table, hastily slipping out of your seat as you took quick long strides over to him. When you got to him, you slipped your hand into his and walked the two of you out of the hall in a hurry and headed into an empty corridor.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice laced and dripping with worry and concern as your hands reached up to cup his face. “Are you okay?”

Draco let the tears fall again, crying even harder at the your question. He was not okay and soon, neither were you going to be. On his way to you, he made a decision to do something. It was dumb and reckless, but in his mind, he knew it had to be said and done. If there was any sliver of a chance in the future where the two of you lived somewhere near happily ever after, he knew he couldn’t get there if he kept lying to you.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” he croaked out, “and you’re not going to like it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The silence surrounding the top of the astronomy tower was thick and dreadful. The faint moonlight above Hogwarts had cast ghostly shadows onto your faces and illuminated the grimaces you both shared. A cold and bitter wind passed through, picking at and numbing the exposed skin that neither of you cared to acknowledge. You sat on the floor across from him, an empty look filled with tears pooling in your wide eyes. He had told you everything. He pleaded for you to say something, to react, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen and mumbling an almost incoherent ‘I need to think.’

Out of all the things you expected him to tell you, this was not one of them.

It all finally made sense to you. The broken down and erratic state he has been in for months on end was for a very obvious reason now. It was hard for you to grasp at first, wondering how he could ever agree to be a part of something that was so dark and evil. Your mind temporarily mourned the boy, feeling as though that it was over for you two. But the longer you thought, the more it became clear to you that this was in fact, not his choice. It was the first thing he even said to you before he told you about his status as a Death Eater and all the dreadful things he has to accomplish.

And as you stared deeply into his pained eyes, you knew it was true. The Draco you had fallen in love with and are still just as in love with, was the same one sitting before you. Sharing something with you that could potentially jeopardize his life, his family’s life and everything else for the worst. He had trusted you with his darkest and most deepest secret. And it took you less than five minutes to process it all, your final thoughts coming together calmly and without hesitation.

“This doesn’t change anything for me,” you say finally, scooting yourself closer to him and taking his hands in yours. “I still love you all the same.”

A breath of relief left his lips, a sharp and painful ache in his heart suddenly easing drastically the second he heard your words. It was the same relief someone feels when waking up from a nightmare or just bad dream in general, a tranquility settling in that none of it was real and you can let your mind relax.

“But you must see me differently now then?” he then asked with a frown, his relief leaving his body again as his mind hit him with all sorts of pessimistic thoughts and ideas. “I’m not as good as you thought me to be.”

“I do see you differently,” you placed a finger under his chin, gently moving his face so that he could look in your eyes and you noticed the hurt that flashed in his storming gray’s. “I see now that you’re so brave, and so strong. I think it takes a lot of courage to be in your situation and not lose yourself completely. The weight of the world is on your shoulders, but you’re still you and you should be proud of that. You are just as good as I thought you to be.”

He blinked back the tears that had gathered and pricked at his eyes, his hand reaching up gently onto the back of your head as he leaned forward so that now your foreheads were resting against each other.

“You really are the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know that?” He states quietly. He placed a kiss on the space between your eyebrows, letting his lips linger intimately as the two of you relished in the feeling of being so close to one another, mind and body. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated affectionately.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by in a blur since the night at the astronomy tower, your relationship with Draco had only grown deeper and more meaningful since then. Instead of the ill-fated news tearing you apart, it brought you more closer together than you could have ever imagined. It was as if your souls were finally bare to one another, meeting and embracing each other lovingly on the astral planes.

The dynamic had changed, but only for the greater good as you had encouraged him to spend as much time as he could on the vanishing cabinet. It wasn’t like you wanted him to fix it, but you knew it would come at a great cost if he didn’t so he needed to. You thought back to a couple days after he had told you his duties, frowning at the remembrance of the shame in his voice as he explained everything to you.

“I think I’ll just leave it to rot in the room of requirement,” he muttered bitterly, his eyes focused on his thumb running over the softness of your knuckles. “I’ll just set it on fire and say it was an accident.”

“As much as I’d love for you to do that,” you sigh, “it would be like sentencing yourself to torture and death.”

Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m already headed there.”

“No,” you interject, “you’re not.”

He stayed quiet, trying to get the painful images out of his head that his mind was currently putting on display for him. No matter how many times you told him, he was never able to fully get rid of his pessimistic thoughts.

“He is going to find a way in, eventually,” you lean your head onto his shoulder and he tilts his head to the side so that it rests against yours. “It might as well be you who does it. You need to get onto his good side and from what you’ve told me, it’s only obvious he’s wary of your family.”

“He doesn’t have a good side,” he scowled. “He currently has my father locked in Azkaban, my mother in distress, and me doing his dirty work from within this school. He’s more than wary of us, he’s punishing us already.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He sighs, squeezing your hand back.

“It’s alright, love, nothing I can do about it anyways,” he trails off sadly. “But you’re right, I have to do it. I have to fix it.”

From then on, he had split his free time between mending the cabinet and being with you. It was hard for him as it was for you, but either of you knew there was no other way.

You were sitting by yourself next to the Black Lake, hugging your knees to your chest as you mindlessly played with the overgrown weeds you were sitting in. Your wand danced over a patch of dead flowers, wordlessly casting a spell you had learned in Professor Sprout’s class that brought life back into the wilted daisies.

You missed your favorite Slytherin, still not used to not the sudden changes in his schedule that kept him away from you. Your friends obviously kept you company, but there were times like this when you just wanted to be alone and sulk. And sometimes always, you just really missed Draco.

All you wanted at the moment was to hear his laughter, to feel his arms wrap around yours and give you gentle kisses all around your face as you giggled underneath him. To hear him whisper to you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. It was like a cliche love story that you couldn’t get enough of, it was your life. And you never knew that those same stories you always laughed and made fun of but secretly deeply desired, would come into fruition with Draco Malfoy, the boy you’d had a crush on since third year who never even knew you existed until this year.

Despite everything life had thrown at the two of you in these short but also long months, you had formed something so intense and real that most people would never get to experience, especially someone your age.

You heard a faint flapping of wings get louder as it approached, the shadow of a familiar owl appeared from behind you and you turned to look at it. It was Aquila, Draco’s beautiful and large eagle owl swooping over you before landing in front of you, dropping a letter at your feet. You gave her a little pat on the head, and she closed her eyes gently before she backed away and flew off back towards the owlery.

You unrolled the small piece of parchment and smiled as you read it.

Just broke something in the room of requirement for tripping over it and it reminded me of you. Now I can’t stop thinking of you. I’m rushing to finish now, I’ll see you soon. xx DM

The parchment was rolled back up and tucked into the pocket of your robe, a happy sigh slipping past your lips as you rested your chin on your knees. Your eyes landed on some familiar glowing fishes in the water near you from a few days ago and you allowed your mind to slip into the memory, yet again.

Draco lied across your lap, your fingers dancing around in his hair as he hummed in content. He loved it when you did that and you always made sure to play with it any chance you got when the blond mop was vulnerable to you.

He had met up with you after a shower and skipped styling his hair, the platinum strands freely going in their natural direction of falling over his forehead. You ran your hand towards his ends, pushing and slicking them back into his old signature hairstyle from when he was little.

A laugh tumbled from your lips at the sight and he peered up at you, rolling his eyes when he realized why you thought it was funny and sitting up to flatten his hair back down.

“You think my hair is funny, do you?” He accused with a pointed look, but you noticed the laugh that he was trying to hold back. You shook your head ‘no’ while still laughing and he finally smiled.

He lurched forward, playfully and gently tackling you down into a fluffy bed of dandelions, a ridiculous amount of the puffs from the flowers flying up into the air around you and into the dark night sky. He attacked your collarbones with kisses, your shoulders, up your neck and then your lips. You loved when he would do that, leaving multiple lingering kisses along your skin so he made sure to do it any chance he got, just as you did the same with playing with his hair.

After he was done snogging you, he sat up again and pulled you up with him, a comfortable silence falling between you two. The comfort only lasted a minute or two before a thought had trickled its way into your head as your hands sat over his forearms.

“Can I see it?” you asked quietly, afraid of sounding insensitive or offending him you immediately added, “only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

Draco followed your gaze onto his arm and he stiffened, his blood all of a sudden feeling cold in his body. Not once since he’d gotten the mark has he looked at it for longer than a couple seconds, absolutely loathing the fact that it was permanently etched into his skin. He was hesitant, wondering if you would be disgusted by it and him, but you looked at him with such a genuine concern and curiosity that he couldn’t say no.

He fiddled with his sleeve a little, rolling it up towards his elbow and facing the mark towards you so that you could observe it. Instead of looking at it, he looked only at you and your facial expressions, he wanted to see exactly what you thought in the eyes that were the window to the soul.

The mark looked as if it were a scar, it rose a little bit above the rest of his milky skin, angry and swollen. Your fingers ghosted above it, Draco shivering underneath the closeness of your touch. He felt your hand tenderly stroke the mark, your finger tracing its outline with a delicate pressure. The next thing you did was lean down, delicately and lovingly placing a kiss onto something that only represented hate and evil. The complete opposite of everything that you were.

“This doesn’t define you, Dray,” you say warmly as you pull away. “I know you hate it and I know it hurts to see it. But it’s not you. And one day, it might be so faint that it’ll just be a reminder of how you survived and got through the most difficult point of your life.”

He nodded, staying silent as he took in your words. They made him feel better because if that what was you believed, who was he to say it was wrong? He desperately wanted your words to be true, so he happily accepted them and let them relax the part of his mind that constantly doubted himself.

You rolled down his sleeve for him before settling yourself onto his lap and pulling him into a hug. His hands rested themselves on your lower back, one almost slipping down onto your butt before you reached behind you and raised his hand back up as he snickered. He let his head lie against your chest, the even and soft thumping of your heart calming him instantly and he sighed, pressing a kiss into the exposed skin above your shirt.

You reached down beside you and plucked two dandelions from the ground, holding them up and twirling them around in your fingers.

“Muggles like to say that if you make a wish on a dandelion and blow on it, your wish will come true,” you hum, making him look up at you in confusion.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he mumbles. You give him one of the dandelions and smile.

“You never know until you try,” you raised an eyebrow before giving him one. He eyed it with doubt and you pouted, silently pleading for him to do it with you. “Just close your eyes, think of your wish and blow.”

He waited until you squinted your eyes shut, he didn’t, but as he watched you he wordlessly made his wish. He wished that he could have moments like this with you for the rest of his life, moments of loving nirvana. Ironically, you had wished for the exact same thing.

When you opened your eyes, you blew onto the flower and he did the same with his. The both of you watched the fluffs flail about in the wind around you until they were carried higher and higher up into the starry night sky and out of your sights. You held the boy underneath you tighter against you and he followed, his hand again trying to land on your butt but you stopping it again and both of you laughing.

“What did you wish for?” He asked, the question muffled against your sweater.

“If I tell you then it won’t come true.”

“That’s rubbish.”

The afternoon was fleetingly turning into evening, the sun beginning its descent behind Hogwarts and a number of thick clouds had formed in the sky that blocked the beautiful orange sunsets you loved.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Draco announced his presence from behind you, a weird tone in his voice as he approached you. He plopped himself down beside you and gave you a long affectionate kiss before pulling away from you with a half-hearted smile.

“You seem very cheery,” you teased, poking his frown with your finger before forcing his lips up into a smile and he let out an airy chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you want the bad news or good news first?”

“Bad.”

“I think I’ve finally fixed the cabinet.” He said suddenly.

“Oh,” was all you could say as you processed his accomplishment. His hand reached for yours, interlocking your fingers with his as he anxiously waited for your answer. “So what’s going to happen next?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answers honestly. “I suppose I’ll let Snape know and then eventually You-Know-Who will become aware. But I don’t know what chaos lies ahead. I don’t even know if it’s fully mended, I’m waiting until tomorrow to test it out.”

“Why not today?” you ask quietly. You felt your hand beginning to nervously sweat in his as each second of silence passed by.

“I wanted to have one last normal day,” he looks up at you and smiles faintly. You return it even though you felt as though you were nearly about to empty out your stomach from earlier’s lunch. “Before everything changes.”

“So then, what’s the good news?” You desperately wanted to change the topic, hoping that his good news would be enough to ease your panicked mined for the moment and luckily, it did.

“You and I are spending all day and night together,” he responds happily.

“Who said that’s good news?” you eye him mockingly, a goofy smirk making its way onto your lips, your mood improving instantly as you thought of the next 24 hours with your love. He gaped at you in fake shock, blinking slowly as he tried to come up with a comeback that would stump you.

“You know what, Y/L/N, perhaps I’ll ask Pansy instead, she’s been rather fond of me again lately,” he snickers, a look of horror replacing your previous teasing.

“Absolutely not!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t aware of how sleepy you were until you had gotten back to Hogwarts, a clock on a faraway wall in the dungeons displayed 1:11 AM. You were stopped right outside the Slytherin common room, Draco pinning you up against a wall as his lips passionately and lovingly danced with yours. Your hands were tangled in his ridiculously soft hair as he gripped onto your hips tightly.

This was the way the two of you should have been living, every day, stupidly in love like teenagers and having fun.

The whole day had gone by in a flash. Draco had taken you out for an evening stroll around Hogsmeade, stopping at The Three Broomsticks for butterbeer and food where you talked about everything and anything, avoiding any negatives completely and only talking of childhood memories from home and school or of funny stories that had come to mind. He had then taken you to a small jewelry shop where you admired every piece of gem in there and basically begged Draco not to buy you anything which he repeatedly tried to argue against.

Somewhere along the line, you found a small group of stray cats, dragging Draco by his hand to the little bundle of kittens hidden in a hollowed tree stump. One hissed at the two of you, backing far into the corner of the the stump as it protected the rest of its siblings behind it.

You had reached into your pocket, getting out your wand and pointing it towards the ground in front of them and whispering some spell Draco had never heard of. Suddenly, a small pile of cat food had appeared in a heap on the ground and the two of you watched as the leader of the litter had began to inspect it.

“Where did you learn that?” he laughs in astonishment as the kittens began to hurriedly munch on it.

“I found it in a book about cats in the library one day while I was bored,” you said with a sheepish smile. “Nice to know it came in handy.”

You then began walking around again, this time further away from the castle and the little village and more near the Forbidden Forest. This was the Hogwarts equivalent of long romantic walks along the beach. It was there where you found a small cliff and sat down to rest with your legs dangling wildly over the edge.

“With your track record, you should reconsider the way you’re sitting, darling,” Draco chuckles, his eyes peering over the edge and into the dark and rocky surfaces below before as he shuddered in fear.

“Relax,” you say, pushing yourself back from your spot and standing up before looking up at him. “You really think I’m that clumsy that I’ll fall off a cli-”

Draco reached out for you before he could even process that a chunk of the cliff had given out from underneath you as you stood. You fell into his embrace, the both of you staring down in terror at the tumbling piece of earth, watching it crash and explode as it hit a sharp boulder below. Draco let out a breath of relief, giving you a ‘I told you so’ look.

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

So now here you two were, still snogging in the dungeons without a care in the world. You were so wrapped up in each other that you hardly noticed the sound of Filch approaching nearby, the sound of his lantern accidentally falling behind a corridor made you finally rip away from the kissing, looking in the direction of the noise.

“It’s Filch!” you hiss before pushing Draco towards the entrance of the common room. He quickly said the password and slipped the two of you inside once the stone had opened up, quietly laughing to each other as you heard Filch yell a distant, ‘students out of bed!’

Draco wasted no time in taking your hand and sneaking you into his Prefect room, the both of you haphazardly tumbling inside out of panic when you had seen another Slytherin passing by somewhere near the staircase to the room. You landed into the room with a ‘thud’ and Draco underneath you with his face twisted in that of pain.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me I’ve done it again,” you scattered off of him, grabbing onto his hand that he had landed on with too much force as he tried to stop both of your falls. His wrist was staring to swell up a strong pink and then red as you felt around the bone.

“You’ve done it again,” he laughs quietly through the pain at seeing your reaction. You gave him a scowl before reaching for your wand at drawing it at his injury.

He admired you as you handled his wrist with the same caring and tender touch that you gave him the last times you had healed him from the accidental trips of fate that had been thrown onto him, literally.

You breathed out a quick, “episkey,” and let relief wash over you as his sprained wrist healed to its original glory and he flexed it back and forth just for your benefit.

“Thank you, my little personal healer and injurer,” he stood up, pulling you with him and gave you a tight embrace that you lazily returned with an exaggerated frown.

“On accident!”

“I’m only joking, love,” he chuckles before giving you a kiss that made up for his teasing. “Also, I got you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping away from him as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small velvet rectangular box before handing it to. You took it in your shaky hands, opening it up to be greeted with a glittering silver band bracelet, glowing green emerald jewels going all around it. You gasped at its beauty, pulling it out of its box as you looked up at Draco as he beamed at you.

“I know you said not to buy anything, but I had to.”

You flung yourself into his arms, kissing him all over his face as he laughed from underneath you.

“I love it, Dray,” you gleamed, carefully slipping the band onto your wrist. “Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling to himself at satisfaction that he had gotten something for you at the jewelry shop even though you insisted that he didn’t, he couldn’t help himself. Eventually, he thought, he would be adding a diamond ring to your new collection of expensive accessories from him.

You let your attention focus onto the space around you, it was dark and a little disorganized seeing as he was hardly ever in there now, only to sleep. You had been in his room plenty of times recently to talk or if he was feeling upset but this was the first time you were going to actually sleep through the night with him. You weren’t even prepared for the impromptu slumber party, but it didn’t bother you all too much as your boyfriend passed you one of his sleeping shirts and shorts.

When you clambered into bed with him, legs entangled and bodies pressed up against each other, you sighed sleepily in content. You laid in silence, the sound of steady breathing and a tick and tock of a clock nearly sending you into a deep sleep while you admired the new bracelet on your wrist until your brain started conjuring up thoughts of the very near future.

“It’s all going to be different now, isn’t it?” you mumbled.

He waited a moment before responding, the same thoughts began to run through his mind and he sighed, letting out a breathless, “yes.”

There was another moment of silence, a painfully quiet one as now the both of you had started to think and torture yourselves even further.

“I’m scared,” you whisper timidly, the grip you had on Draco’s shirt got tighter.

“I am too,” his head turned to meet your eyes, the same wide eye look being held in them that he’s been seeing a lot of that day. “But I promise that no matter what happens, I’m always going to love you. Forever.”

Tears had accidentally slipped from your watery eyes and you buried your face in his neck to inhale his scent to calm yourself down. It was weird in theory, but there was something about the mix of his cologne and minty smelling soap that relaxed your whole body from whatever would be bothering you.

“I say this all the time,” he started again, his hand mindlessly played with your hair as he spoke. “But thank you, for helping me, healing me and not just on the outside. I owe you so much and I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you cried relentlessly now, “so, so much.”

Draco stayed quiet, his own tears falling now but he didn’t want to make the moment sadder than it already was, so he sucked it up and gave the top of your head a long and amorous kiss while you cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was morning, a heavy set of clouds rested over the castle in an eerie and gloomy way. You took it as a sign that everything was going to end up that way, dark and melancholic. It was sad, being the only two people as of right now who knew what was coming to Hogwarts in maybe a couple hours or days time. But there was nothing you could do but hope for the best and silently place your hope that Harry Potter would save the day as he somehow always did. You didn’t dare tell Draco that, however and as much as you disliked Harry for nearly killing your lover not too long ago, you needed to believe that there was hope for a future with no Voldermort.

You walked timidly behind Draco as he guided you to the room of requirement. Your eyes were glued to the back of his perfectly styled head and iron pressed black suit and if you weren’t in such upsetting circumstances, you would have let yourself admire him longer, but you couldn’t quite focus on anything other than what lied ahead.

He had asked you to come with him to test the vanishing cabinet, wanting your support as he brought life to the thing that would bring destruction to the beloved school. You stood quietly, watching the very large doors of the room appear on the wall as Draco called for it silently.

You had never been in the room before and that was apparent when you looked at everything in awe, seeing all the forgotten artifacts and knickknacks for the first time that were piled onto each other for miles on end. He lead you through the maze of objects until you stopped at a tall and ashy gray run down wardrobe, his other hand grabbing onto the corner of the drape that was feebly covering it and pulled it down in one swift motion causing a pile of dust to fly into the air around you, making you feel suffocated all of a sudden as you stared at the revealed cabinet.

He let go of your hand, reaching into the pocket of his blazer as he pulled out a small green apple to place inside the middle of the cabinet. You watched carefully as he closed the doors of it and pressed his wand up against the opening, his eyes fluttering closed as he thought of the spell.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” a small whooshing sound passed and Draco opened his eyes to check if the apple was still behind the doors. The apple was gone, and your heart sank in fear. This was it. He took one deep breath before shutting the doors closed and placing his wand against them once again.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered, “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The whooshing sound came back and he slowly grabbed the handle of one of the doors, his hand reaching inside of the cabinet and pulling something out. He turned around to face you, his skin paling in fear, the apple was back in his hand and as he turned it, you spotted the new clean bite around its side.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thumping rapidly as you realized what this meant.

“You fixed it.”

PART 4

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