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callsigns-haze · 3 months ago

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His Shadow: Chp 6

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of their apartment, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The soft light highlighted the simple, yet cozy space they had made their own—a sanctuary that was their little world, hidden from the eyes of everyone else. Knox was still asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of the tension building between his parents.

YN stood near the window, her back turned to Azriel, arms crossed over her chest. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders tense as she stared out at the city, her reflection barely visible in the glass. Azriel could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves, and he knew that this conversation was inevitable. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He had taken the week off, needing to be with his family, needing to be with her. After overhearing Cassian and Mor talk about their little spying expedition on YN, he had made the decision quickly, without hesitation. But now, as he watched YN’s back, he wondered if he had acted too impulsively.

“Why did you do it, Azriel?” YN’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the stillness of the morning. It was calm, but there was an edge to it—one that Azriel recognized all too well. She was holding back, trying to keep her emotions in check, but he knew she was upset. “Why did you take the week off?”

Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings rustling slightly as he stepped closer to her. “I wanted to be here with you and Knox,” he answered, keeping his voice steady. “After everything that’s happened, I thought you could use the support. I wanted to make sure you both were safe.”

She turned around to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else—something that looked a lot like hurt. “Safe?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Azriel, we’re not in immediate danger. You’re acting like I can’t take care of myself and our son without you hovering over us.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Azriel replied quickly, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He was protective—maybe too protective, especially now that their lives were more complicated than ever. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to take hers, but she stepped back, putting more space between them.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You’re here because you don’t trust me to handle things on my own. You’re here because you think you need to shield us from everything—even from your own family. But Azriel, I can’t live like this. We can’t live like this, constantly looking over our shoulders, constantly hiding.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew she was right. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt this deep, unrelenting need to protect her, to protect Knox, to be there every moment in case something went wrong. The thought of losing them—of anything happening to them—was more than he could bear.

“YN, I’m not trying to smother you,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the desperation he felt. “I just… I need to be sure. After what happened yesterday, after knowing they were watching you—I can’t just leave you both alone and hope everything will be fine.”

Her eyes softened slightly at his words, the anger ebbing away, replaced by a sadness that made Azriel’s heart ache. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

“Azriel,” she said more gently, “I understand why you feel the way you do. I do. But this… this isn’t sustainable. We can’t keep living in fear, can’t keep reacting to what might happen. We need to trust each other, trust that we can handle things—even when you’re not here.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right, but it was so hard to let go of that instinct, the one that told him he needed to be there every moment to protect them. He had been living on the edge for so long, constantly aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows, that he didn’t know how to step back and just… breathe.

“I do trust you,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I trust you more than anyone, YN. But I’ve spent centuries living in a world where letting your guard down, even for a moment, can cost you everything. I’m sorry if I’m overbearing—I just can’t lose you. I can’t lose our son.”

YN’s expression softened further, the tension in her posture easing slightly as she stepped closer to him. She reached out, her hand resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t lose us,” she said firmly, looking up at him with a gaze full of determination. “But you have to let us live, Azriel. We can’t keep hiding in the shadows like this. I need you to believe that we can handle this—together.”

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as he absorbed her words. She was right, of course. YN had always been strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. And Knox—he was still so small, but Azriel knew his son would grow up to be just as strong. They didn’t need him to shield them from the world; they needed him to stand beside them, to be their partner, not their protector.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

She smiled at him then, a small but genuine smile that made the tightness in his chest ease just a little. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly, her hand moving up to cup his cheek. “We’re in this together, Azriel. Always.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the simple act grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered. “Always,” he echoed, his voice filled with a quiet resolve.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Outside, the sun continued to rise, bathing the room in warmth and light, as if to remind them that there was still hope, still a future to be had, as long as they faced it together.

In the crib beside them, Knox let out a small whimper, his tiny wings fluttering as he stirred from his sleep. YN pulled back from Azriel with a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with affection as she turned to their son. “Looks like someone’s awake,” she murmured, moving over to the crib to pick Knox up.

Azriel watched her, his heart swelling with love as she cradled their son in her arms. Knox blinked up at her, his small mouth forming a perfect little ‘O’ as he looked between his parents. Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around YN’s waist as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Knox’s head.

“We’ll be okay,” YN said quietly, more to herself than to him, as she rocked Knox gently in her arms. But Azriel heard the conviction in her voice, the belief that they would find a way through this—together. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe it too.

---

River House was alive with activity as the Inner Circle gathered in the spacious sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting warm pools of light across the room’s plush furniture. Cassian was sprawled in one of the armchairs, his wings half-draped over the sides, while Rhys sat opposite him, leaning casually against the backrest of a couch. Mor and Feyre were nearby, quietly sipping their tea, and Amren was perched on the window sill, her sharp eyes watching everyone with mild disinterest.

As usual, the meeting started casually, with updates on Velaris, news from the courts, and the usual banter. But something was different this morning, an undercurrent of curiosity running through the group. Azriel’s absence was becoming more noticeable, especially given his sudden declaration of taking a week off—a rare occurrence.

"So, does anyone else find it weird that Azriel's taking a week off?" Cassian said, breaking the silence. He shifted in his seat, his brow furrowed with a mix of concern and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. Not without a reason.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flickered with amusement, but there was a hint of curiosity as well. "It’s not like him," he admitted, his voice smooth. "Azriel rarely takes time for himself. He’s always working, always looking for the next mission or lead. But a whole week off? That’s new."

Mor nodded in agreement, her lips quirking in a small smile. “Maybe he finally realized he needs a break,” she said with a light laugh. “Even shadowsingers need to recharge once in a while.”

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow arched in thought. "He didn't seem like anything was wrong the last time I saw him. Do you think something’s going on that he’s not telling us?"

Cassian sat up straighter, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know how secretive he can be. But a whole week off? Something doesn’t add up.”

"Maybe he met someone," Mor suggested, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Maybe there’s a secret lover involved, and he’s just been keeping it from us.”

At that, Cassian snorted, his wings shifting behind him as he chuckled. "Azriel? Keeping a secret lover from us? That sounds about right, actually. He’s good at hiding things.”

Rhys tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “He’s been acting strange lately. Not just with the time off, but before that too. More secretive than usual. And those late-night disappearances…”

Feyre leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Do you think he’s hiding something serious?”

Rhys let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of the couch. “Could be. Azriel’s not one to share things unless it’s absolutely necessary. If something’s bothering him, he’ll bury it deep.”

Mor crossed her arms, glancing between Rhys and Cassian. “Do you think it has to do with the place we went to in the Hewn City? The woman—YN—she seemed close to him. Could it be related?”

Rhys’s eyes darkened for a moment, as if recalling the encounter at the pleasure house. “Possibly. He did seem more… comfortable there than usual. And she did say something about going back after maternity leave. Perhaps Azriel’s more involved in her life than we thought.”

Cassian shifted, his expression turning more serious. "You think he's involved with her?"

"It’s possible," Rhys said slowly. "But Azriel’s careful. If he’s keeping something from us, it’s for a reason."

Amren, who had been silently observing the conversation, finally spoke, her voice dry and laced with boredom. “Whatever it is, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. No point in speculating about his private life.”

Mor glanced at Amren, then back at the others. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on things. If he’s tangled up in something, we should know. Especially if it affects us or the missions we’re planning.”

Rhys gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking toward the window as if he were already piecing things together in his mind. “Agreed. But we give him space. Azriel’s earned that much.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, but if he disappears again, I’m dragging him back here myself.”

The group shared a small laugh, but the lingering tension remained. Azriel’s absence weighed on them more than they were willing to admit, and the mystery of his sudden break gnawed at their collective curiosity.

As the conversation lulled, Rhys’s gaze turned distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He could sense there was more to this story than what met the eye. Something was going on with Azriel��something deeper than just taking time off.

But for now, they would wait. And watch.

---

YN walked into the pleasure home, the familiar scent of incense and low hum of conversation filling the air. She had grown accustomed to the atmosphere over the years—the darkened rooms, the hushed voices, the hidden glances exchanged between patrons and the workers. Tonight, though, something felt different. Her nerves were on edge, her mind still unsettled by the feeling that she was being watched the other day at the market.

As she adjusted her black silk dress, ensuring it clung to her in all the right places, she pushed those thoughts aside. She had work to do, and there was no room for distractions. She glanced around the room, scanning the faces of the patrons lounging in their seats, drinks in hand and their eyes on the stage where the night's entertainment had just begun.

And then she saw them.

At one of the booths near the back, sitting comfortably as if they belonged, were Rhysand and Cassian. But this time, they weren’t alone. Their partners, Nesta and Feyre, were with them. The sight of the group made YN pause for a split second, her breath catching in her throat as recognition hit her. It was them—she had felt their presence before. They were the ones who had been following her at the market just the day before.

She played it cool, forcing a neutral expression onto her face as she straightened her posture. Whatever they were doing here, she wasn’t going to let them know that she had figured it out. She was already too involved in the tangled mess of Azriel’s secrets, and the last thing she needed was to attract more attention from his friends. Especially Feyre and Nesta. If they even had the faintest idea about her connection to Azriel, things could go downhill fast.

With a calm smile plastered on her face, she made her way toward their table. Her heart raced beneath her composed exterior, but she kept her movements steady, her steps measured and graceful as she approached the group.

"Good evening," YN greeted them, her voice smooth and professional as she came to a stop by their table. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Rhysand, ever the picture of charm and elegance, offered her a polite smile. His violet eyes met hers briefly, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe suspicion. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over Nesta’s shoulders, while Feyre, sitting next to Rhys, regarded YN with an air of quiet observation.

“We’ll start with a round of drinks,” Rhys said, his tone casual, but YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were sizing her up. “Something strong.”

YN nodded, jotting down the order even though she didn’t need to. She had memorized the menu long ago. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her mind racing as she made her way to the bar. It was no coincidence that they were here again, especially after what happened at the market. Rhys and Cassian had come to the pleasure home with Azriel once before, and now this was their third visit in such a short time. It couldn’t be a casual night out—it had to be something more.

Harvey, her bartender friend, raised an eyebrow as she approached. "You okay?" he asked quietly, noticing the tension in her shoulders.

YN forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. "Fine. Just...unexpected company," she muttered as she handed him the drink order. Her mind was spinning with questions, but she knew better than to discuss anything in the open.

As Harvey prepared the drinks, YN leaned against the bar, trying to steady herself. She had to stay calm, keep up the act. If Rhysand and the others were here for information, she couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not about herself, not about Azriel. Not about Knox. They still had no idea about her and Azriel, and she intended to keep it that way.

After a few minutes, Harvey slid the tray of drinks toward her, and YN lifted it carefully, balancing it in her hands as she returned to the table. She felt their eyes on her as she approached, but she kept her expression neutral, her smile practiced and professional.

"Here you go," she said, setting the drinks down in front of them. She noticed how Feyre’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to place her.

"Thanks," Cassian said, his voice gruff but polite. Nesta glanced up at YN briefly before turning her attention back to her drink, uninterested in the small talk.

As YN set the last glass down in front of Rhys, she caught his gaze again. His expression was calm, unreadable, but she could sense the questions lurking beneath the surface. She had been in enough rooms with men like him to know when someone was trying to figure out a puzzle—and tonight, she was the puzzle.

Before anyone could say anything further, YN gave them a small nod and turned to leave, her pulse quickening as she walked away. She had to be careful now. Whatever game they were playing, she was already too deep in it. And with Azriel out on his week off, the last thing she needed was for his inner circle to find out about Knox—or their relationship.

As she walked back toward the bar, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. They were watching her, but she had survived worse. She just had to keep her head down, play her part, and hope that they wouldn’t dig too deep.

But the nagging thought wouldn’t leave her: Why were they here again? And what, exactly, were they hoping to find out?

YN stepped through the door of their small apartment, her body aching from the weight of the day. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and her mind raced with endless thoughts—who had been spying on her, why the Inner Circle kept showing up, and what it all meant for her and Azriel. She had kept her cool at the pleasure house, but the constant pressure of pretending everything was normal while being watched was wearing her down.

The familiar warmth of home wrapped around her as she shut the door quietly behind her, but the tension in her body refused to ease. She dropped her bag on the floor, her gaze flicking to the couch where Azriel sat, barefoot and bare-chested, with only a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was leaning back, a book resting in his hands, though the moment she entered, his golden-brown eyes were on her, sensing her frustration without needing to ask.

“Rough night?” Azriel asked softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He closed the book and set it aside, his attention fully on her.

YN gave a small nod, too tired to speak. The weight of everything pressed down on her, making her feel like she could collapse right there in the doorway. Her shoulders slumped, and Azriel immediately got up, moving toward her with a fluid grace that belied the exhaustion she knew he carried too.

He reached for her gently, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion. The cool air hit her skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. It was the way Azriel’s hands worked with such care, as though she were made of something fragile, even though he knew better than anyone that she wasn’t.

When he unclasped her bra and slid it off her shoulders, YN let out a long, shaky breath. Azriel’s presence was grounding, his hands firm yet tender as he guided her to the couch. He sat down first, pulling her with him until she was lying against his chest, her legs draped over his as she settled into his warmth. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound in the room for a moment, and YN could feel some of the tension in her body begin to melt away.

But she still felt overwhelmed—by the spying, by the uncertainty, by the weight of the past few days.

Azriel knew. He always did. His calloused hands moved to the scars on her back, the ridged lines that traced where her wings had been brutally clipped when she was only nine years old. It had been a trauma that never left her, not in all the years since. Even though she had healed, those scars still carried memories she couldn’t shake. And Azriel knew how much they haunted her.

His fingers brushed lightly over the scars, tracing the familiar pattern as he began to massage the tense muscles beneath. The pressure was just enough to ease the knots that had formed in her back, and YN couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He always knew how to take the pain away—both the physical and the emotional.

"Talk to me," Azriel murmured, his voice a quiet invitation. "What happened?"

YN closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the soothing motions of his hands carry her for a moment. “I think they’re watching me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I recognized Rhys and Cassian at the pleasure house tonight, and... they’ve been following me. I know it.”

Azriel’s hands paused briefly before continuing their gentle rhythm. He didn’t ask who “they” were—he didn’t need to. He had already suspected the Inner Circle’s involvement, though hearing it confirmed made his chest tighten.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about them.”

But that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at YN. There was more—the weight of being watched, the fear that their secret might be exposed. The fear that her past, her clipped wings, her life at the pleasure house, and everything she had built with Azriel and Knox would come crashing down.

“They don’t know about us, about Knox,” YN continued, her voice trembling slightly as she curled in closer to Azriel. “But if they keep following me... I’m scared they’ll find out.”

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, a silent reassurance. “They won’t,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you or Knox. You’re both safe.”

YN buried her face against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside her. She believed him—she always did. Azriel had been her anchor, her protector, the one person who had stood by her when no one else would. But even with his promises, the weight of everything still felt like too much.

His hands continued to work at the knots in her back, his fingers gentle yet firm, easing the tension from her muscles. YN let out a shaky breath, feeling her body slowly relax under his touch. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink deeper into the safety of Azriel’s arms, the familiar scent of him wrapping around her like a cocoon.

For a few moments, it was just them—their shared silence, the unspoken bond between them. Azriel’s hands never stopped moving, soothing the aches and pains that had built up inside her. His presence was her sanctuary, the one place she felt truly at peace.

And for now, that was enough.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

There's three more chapters left and I think I might make a sequel but not with the mmc you think it is.... But the drama unfolds in the next chapter

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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moonchildstyles · 1 year ago

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rosemary

rosemary part one: harry has a lot of secrets and has perfected the art of being alone. y/n likes to wear bows in her hair and tries harder than anyone harry has ever known.

wordcount: 14.5k+

—————

The sound of the lock clicking in place as Harry twisted the deadbolt on his front door had his shoulders relaxing. The kind of comfort a locked door brought was something he'd never take for granted.

He kicked off his shoes beside the door, the dingy carpet making his beaten Vans look a lot cleaner than they really were. His keys clamoring atop the rickety side table he had set up next to the door had him wincing at the volume. He didn't like loud noises much anyway, but especially not after one of his longer shifts. Harry bypassed the single curtained window in his apartment, leaving the drapes heavily closed despite the morning light crawling over the horizon.

First order of business was changing out of his work uniform. He hated nothing more than relaxing in the same pants he had worked all night in, even if the dress code of the grocery store was on the lax side. He flung the maroon collared shirt into his hamper, followed by the set of stiff, dark pants he wouldn't wear ever in his daily life. He could have melted as soon as he threw on a heather grey t-shirt and tattered sweats.

The second he sunk into his bed, springs creaking under his weight, he felt the knots in his muscles begin to loosen. He'd never worked over nights before at any of his previous jobs, and he hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to adjust to falling asleep when the sun came up and the challenge his body would pose over working when he should be resting. At least, he was home.

His studio apartment wasn't heavily furnished—or even lightly furnished, if he was being honest. This was his seventh home in the last handful of years, and after a while the idea of lugging furniture around and anything other than the essentials made him just as exhausted as the actual process of moving. It was easier to pack up and leave when there wasn't much for him to miss. Instead, he often bought secondhand, or anything cheap whenever he settled in a place that seemed good enough for the time being.

This particular move left him with a plain bed frame, the legs uneven but fixed with the help of a couple of old books. His pillows were thin, matching the frayed sheets he had stretched across his mattress and the threadbare comforter topping the whole thing. Like with most of his past apartments, the carpets held stains from before he moved in, walls yellowed from cigarettes he didn't smoke, and the kitchen appliances worked at their convenience. The only things that were truly his, that he never parted with in any of his moves and made this place less of a crash pad, were the few well-loved books under his bed that weren't being used to prop up the frame, and the small photo of his mother and sister sitting on a shelf he was lucky enough to have found at a garage sale when he moved in.

Despite it all, Harry liked this place.

The town he'd landed in was on the quieter side, too small for much trouble to rise up. He hoped that would make it an easy place to stick around for a while.

His body felt heavy when he forced himself to stand from his bed and pad over to the tiny kitchen tucked in the corner of the space. As exhausted as his body was, his brain was still very much awake and urging him to eat something before he settled any.

His kitchen was made up of limited cabinet space, a trio of stubborn appliances, and a square of loosely-laid tiles marking the confines of the space. The flimsy cabinets were barely hanging onto their hinges, from before even Harry moved in. The shelves were sparsely dotted with canned food and boxed snacks. They were the easiest and cheapest things to grab, even if they weren't necessarily bites that he liked. Plus, they were easy to travel with if he needed to leave in a split.

The stubby refrigerator manning one of the walls held only the bare essentials, leaving the shelves and door more bare than not. The appliance mostly held the frozen meals he was able to get a discount on through his job. The microwave embedded in the wall stunk like burnt hair every time he ran it for longer than ten seconds. The stove was the most reasonable method of heating up food in this apartment, Harry had found, even if only two out of the four burners operated on more than a simmer. He had never used the oven in the three months since he made this his home, despite the fact it had been cleared by his landlord on move in day. The exposed wiring sticking out of the back looked like it would cause a house fire instead of just heating a lasagna.

Harry bypassed it all as he rifled through his near-empty cabinets. To be fair, this wasn't the worst place he'd ever lived, so he'd take it if things were on the rundown side and carried an odd smell if he paid close enough attention. It was a routine the way he pulled out a can from his cupboard, a Spaghettio's label wrapped around the tin, before reaching for the misshapen pot he kept in a lower cabinet. His movements felt robotic as he went along, forming his meal out of habit more than any conscious thought. His brain happily turned onto autopilot as he stirred the runny tomato sauce, noodles floating through, until boiling bubbles broke through the surface.

Taking it off the heat, Harry scooped it into a bowl. This was good enough for him.

With the pot in the sink to be washed and the can in the trash, he moved on tired feet back to his bed. He didn't have a dining table to eat at, and he didn't really care if he was honest. It wasn't as if he was hosting dinner parties or entertaining guests. He was happy enough with nestling into his blankets and eating on his bed.

Tucked underneath his pillow, Harry pulled out a well-worn book. A dog-eared page marked his place in the oil-softened pages. The spine no longer cracked when he folded open the pages, the stiff set in the glue having settled somewhere after his fiftieth read. The bent and frayed cover no longer phased him anymore, nor did the name inscribed in the inside cover that wasn't his. No matter the state, this book followed him through every move, every change, and every sleepless night.

He knew this love story like the back of his hand; the pages one of the only constants in his life of transiency.

Harry wasn't even that much of a reader the first time he had picked up the volume. He had only been looking for something to escape into when he first started going on jobs, the stress and guilt beginning to warp his mind. These pages still hadn't lost their shine in his eyes, this story having been one of the only bright points when he swore he was digging himself to rock bottom.

Absentmindedly spooning bites of his meal into his mouth, Harry slipped into the familiar story. The comfort was almost enough to have him lulled into something safe enough that he could have fallen asleep where he was sitting, memories of every sleepless night when he had turned to this book hitting his system. It was a feat little else had been able to achieve, and Harry was grateful for that. He couldn't keep staying up at all hours now that he had the challenge of flipping his days with this new job.

Sitting on his well-loved bed, a well-loved copy of his favorite book in hand, and something that could pass as breakfast if he squinted hard enough, Harry felt at peace for a moment.

He didn't mind being alone, not when it was like this anyway. He hoped he wouldn't have to move on from this place for a while.

—————

Cardboard scraped against Harry's forearm as he reached into his box, digging through the packages of cookies and crackers that filled this specific shipment. The fluorescent lights above him felt especially fried now that the sun had gone down, washing out his skin and paling the ink of his tattoos.

While the rest of the night crew were paired off and working together to stock the shelves, Harry was commissioned alone. He worked better by himself, he knew that, and it was nice to have his boss know that now too. It only took almost two months into his employment until everyone realized he wasn't the kind of person that enjoyed idle chatter or wanted to get close to any of these people around him. Now, he was able to enjoy his music in peace, the white wire connecting the buds hitting his chest as he moved.

Harry had a system with the way he worked. He wanted to finish as fast as possible, and not waste any more energy than he had to. He tried to organize his boxes as much as he could on the cart before he was stocking each line of product as quickly as he could, extras being cast aside until he could make a trip to the back room. It was all a system, something he planned out without even thinking. If not for the fading ache in his shoulders and knees he would feel at the end of his shift, he wouldn't even really remember his movements.

Given this focus, there wasn't much that could distract Harry as he worked. His goal was to finish as fast as possible and move onto something else to fill his mundane nights, not to linger on the guests of the grocery store or fill the silence with small talk he didn't care about. There was a reason he gravitated towards the operations side of this job and not the customer service aspects.

That's why he didn't give it much of a thought when he saw a pastel streak flash in the corner of his eye. He continued doing his job, organizing his box some, as he filtered through the packages of biscuits and sweet crackers, soft sleeves of cookies, and bags of other products. It wasn't until the pastel streak drew closer did he instinctively glance in its direction.

Her back was to him as she held her gaze upwards. She was scanning the shelves, this woman, complete with an overlarge cream sweater and a peach colored bow in her hair that shone in the light like the velvet fuzz of the color's namesake. One of the grocery store's signature maroon baskets was at her side, the handles tucked in her elbow. There was barely anything in her basket, but that isn't what had Harry's brows knitting in the middle by the time he stitched his attention back on his work.

It was way too late for anyone to be doing any menial shopping in his opinion, especially not a girl who looked as if she might deem throwing flower petals in the face of an attacker to be sufficient self-defense. But, that wasn't his business, he reminded himself. It didn't help soothe the tears in his mental health to imagine the worst possible scenarios starring those around him.

A centering breath was sucked in through his nose as he flicked the switch in his brain that had him thinking only of his body's movements. He curled around himself, stepping out of the way as much as possible so the pastel-peach girl could go about her business and disturb Harry as little as possible. The less approachable he looked, the less he'd be approached.

He didn't know if she wandered that aisle for the next couple of minutes or traced down the shelves on the other side before coming back, but that telltale shift in the air around him told him she was now behind him. The static told him she was right there, at his back.

Harry didn't acknowledge her presence, instead making it clear he was working and didn't want to be disturbed. He hoped she could see the wire of his headphones that much clearer against his dark shirt. He wasn't inviting her presence; if she needed help, Brett and Fawn were just a couple of aisles down and much more friendly.

As with some attempts at camouflage, it didn't work in Harry's favor. Some people didn't always see what was clearly in front of them, he knew that.

A small hand, complete with pearl polished nails and skin smelling of something sweet like honey and the savory bite of herbs, landed on the crook of his elbow. "Excuse me?" her voice leaked through his headphones.

With a tick appearing in his jaw and a pace of breathing he was sure looked just as forced as it was, Harry halted his work with a sleeve of graham crackers in his hand. His features felt stiff when he turned towards this girl.

He spoke as he twisted in his spot with a hand yanking his headphones out of his ears, her touch falling from his arm just as quickly. "What?"

When Harry's gaze brushed over her, cataloguing details to add to the pastel streak he had thought her to be before, the same attention that went into his work was now employed in keeping his features stoic and muscles hard. This woman... was very pretty.

Her cream sweater he had seen from behind was actually a cardigan, buttoned loosely over her torso with a pale peach top underneath. The buttons were pearls, matching the shifting light that characterized the varnish on her nails. Her jeans were high waisted, ripped in places that lead to a pair of pristine white tennis shoes, complete with a set of pink laces threaded over the tongue. The bow held back pieces of hair that would have normally fallen around her face, leaving small strands fluttered as if matching the tendrils of her bow that drifted down her back.

In the time he was trying to figure out who was standing right in front of him, she blinked at his harsh tone, almost recoiling as if she'd been struck. Her hands became a bundle at her middle as he squirmed under his gaze. Harry swallowed harshly.

"Sorry to bother you," she started, recovering some with a short smile on her lips, "I was just wondering... God, this sounds so much more dumb out loud than I thought it would." She cut herself off with a soft laugh, dropping her gaze from his to settle on the cardboard box on his cart. "Do you have any of those white chocolate raspberry cookies that come in the bag in your box? The soft ones?" she tired again, shuffling her toes against the linoleum, "I didn't see any on the shelf, so I was hoping you might have some in one of your boxes. They're my favorite so..."

Harry wanted to be annoyed, he really did. There were hundreds of less offensive situations he'd been in that bothered him more than he knew his mother would be proud of him for, but this just couldn't be added to the list. And that annoyed him. Though, there was something in him that felt a bit contented knowing that there was still a heart buried somewhere inside of him that wouldn't allow him to get upset at someone like her.

"Let me look." His voice was gruff as he brushed a knuckle under his nose.

He knew exactly what she was looking for, the packaging coming to mind. He liked this brand too, though he rarely ever felt as if he could spare the cash to indulge. He'd never tried the raspberry variation, though.

Working stiffly, he rifled through the box until he found the bottom layer of product. A white, rustic looking bag was tucked in a corner. The brand name stylized as if it were embedded on a wooden board was printed on the white bag, with the name of the cookies and the variation underneath.

White chocolate chunks with bites of real raspberry in a soft cookie.

That's the one.

Fishing it out, Harry unceremoniously presented it to her. He made a point to keep his eyes from lingering on her for too long. He needed to keep his clear head.

"This one?"

She lit up in a way Harry couldn't ignore. Her eyes had to have been holding glitter behind her irises the way the color brightened, matching her smile. Creases appeared around the corners of her eyes, soft lips stretched and complemented with laugh lines.

"Yes, yes, those ones!" she chattered off, reaching out to take the bag from him.

Harry shoved the crinkling bag into her grasp, watching as she stumbled back some before placing it in her basket among what he could now see was a bundle of rosemary and a package of noodles. Nonetheless, her smile didn't falter as she turned towards him again.

"Thank you..." she trailed off, her gaze dropping to his chest where a name tag was pinned to the breast, "Harry."

There was a lag in between the second he heard her voice wrap around his name and the beats of Harry's heart resuming at a rapid pace. His throat went dry for a moment, something he couldn't believe was happening to him over something like this. When was the last time someone learned his name just because they wanted to know him?

He swallowed that line of questioning down as soon as it popped up. "Um, yeah," he told her, turning back to his box as soon as he had the words out.

His headphones he had dangling in his grasp were replaced in his ears, his music still playing on, a different song now filtering than the one that had been when he ripped them out. Harry pushed his objective to the forefront of his mind, leaving little space to keep up with the way his stomach tightened hearing this girl's voice saying his name. He didn't want to focus on the fact he could still feel her presence for a moment after he had dismissed her. He wasn't going to let any of this fluster him—or whatever it was that could happen to a person who barely had any feelings left.

Calculating his movements was the only viable distraction until he could feel that static of her presence flitter away. It was only then that he dared to indulge himself in a short glance aimed in her direction. He caught the barest view of her wobbly bow and the edge of her loose cardigan before she disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone once more.

He was going to forget her, Harry decided. Whatever reaction he just had, wasn't going to happen again.

—————

Gazing down at his hands, Harry only saw red. It wasn't his blood that tainted his skin, but there was a pain in his body that made him want to argue that there was no way he wasn't injured. From somewhere far—but not far enough—away, a crashing sound rumbled through the warehouse. He felt his bones vibrate and his head go fuzzy. More blood dripped from his skin.

Another crash sounded, this time much closer to where Harry couldn't move his feet. It was as if he were bolted to the spot. More blood, more scars.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone. They were walking with a purpose, heavy on their feet.

His hands still shook even when he took his eyes off of the thick crimson dripping from his fingers. The person coming towards him looked familiar. Too familiar.

The second they were close enough, Harry recognized that it was himself. There was a gun in the clone's hand, the barrel pointed right at his head.

Another loud crash.

Harry woke with a start, rocketing up in bed. His breathing was heavy, thick and humid, with his hands shaking where they were clutching the thin bedding askew over his form. There was a sheen of cold sweat covering his body, his hair clinging to the back of his neck.

Looking at his hands, untangling from the bedding, Harry felt his heart rate go down a notch when he no longer saw blood coating the appendages. His vision still blurred at the edges as he came down, his lips mouthing a mantra he wanted so badly to believe:

It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream.

He didn't live that life anymore, he reminded himself. That was a part of his past, but it's all over now. Those scars would never reopen and his hands would never be stained that way again. He would make sure of that.

As he talked himself down, the rest of his apartment came back into view. The edges of his vision sharpened, showing him the rest of his full bed, rumpled sheets, and the book he had dropped when he finally managed to fall asleep in the middle of a passage. He busied his hands as fixed his book, righting the bent cover and smoothing back the crease that folded into the page he left on. With that sweat on his bare chest and thin comforter falling to his lap, he realized just how cold his apartment was.

Taking a deep breath, his lungs shuddering as he fought to regulate the pacing he lost in his sleep, he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He worked slowly as he replaced his book back to his rightful slot underneath his bed. Lethargy weighed down his limbs as he searched for his phone somewhere on the floor as he sat with his legs crossed underneath his bottom, the scratch of the carpet dragging across his ankles from where his pants rode up grounding him.

The screen of his phone was far too bright when he powered it up, the time being of no surprise to him even if he was disappointed. He only got a few hours of sleep before that dream woke him up into the real world, plenty of time left before he should begin getting ready to go to work.

This was how it always was for the past handful of years. Harry was lucky to have slept at all really, as some days he wasn't that fortunate, but there was no way he was going to be able to drift off again. But, he'd gotten rather good at finding ways to fill his time.

Standing on wobbly legs, Harry took his time stripping his bed. There was time to get through some laundry, he figured, hauling both his bedding as well as his full hamper to the rickety washer and dryer stationed in the hall closet.

Every movement was a distraction: separating the colors of his clothing, the measuring of the detergent, and the three times he had to set the cycle before the machine finally came to life all did their part to keep him from obsessively staring at his hands as if they would do something bad if he wasn't watching. It was routine the way he didn't allow himself to dwell on the dreams he could no longer forget like he could when they first started sporadically.

Harry felt like a shadow as the hours passed, even after a cold shower shocked his nerves and a bland meal had warmed his stomach. But, at least he was awake.

—————

Watching his hands as he stocked and stocked the shelves in front of him, more and more of himself came back to Harry. This was the perk of the more manual of jobs he had. He could use his body and keep track of every movement he made, every stretch of his muscles coming from his own volition.

It felt like a ritual the way a pastel flash struck the corner of his vision.

It'd been almost a month since the first time he'd seen her, and she made more trips with a basket tucked into the crook of her elbow than he had seen most other patrons. Maybe he only noticed her now that he recognized her and the phantom ache that touched the muscles of his stomach every time he saw her wander close to him. Nonetheless, he saw her more often than not, barely anything in her basket but small items and snacks, never once with a full shopping cart or a list in hand.

In an odd way, he'd almost begun to expect her—look for her. It was a part of his shift to see her drifting through the aisles in something comfortable, a ribbon in her hair, and that ever-present smile on her face. He'd never admit that though, even to himself.

Instead, when he saw her drift into his aisle—the frozen meal section tonight—he kept to himself. Harry didn't even bother to look up at her for more than a glance, even when he paused his music as he listened to her footsteps padding over the floor. Just like she always did since the first night she went out of her way to read his name tag, she offered him a soft smile of recognition as she passed by. Even though Harry hadn't reciprocated a single one.

Just like that, she kept moving, Harry's ear trained to hear her pad off until he couldn't distinguish her footsteps against any of the other noises filtering through the grocery store. He played his music again then, allowing something else to fill his head before she could wiggle her way inside.

Though he would rather not acknowledge it, there was something about the fact that the haunted feeling that had clung to him since his nightmare earlier in the day, finally began to dissolve. That turning in his stomach every time he saw one of the thin scars of his hands turned into the residual flaps of a butterfly's wings, even if he didn't dare give the feeling a name or even think of the cause.

Despite the fact there was something loose in his muscles now as he worked, his head a little bit more clear with that dream tied up in a peachy bow in the back of his mind, Harry was going to ignore it all just as he had every time he saw that girl.

—————

"Thank you, Harry!"

The bow girl's chirping gratitude only had Harry looking at her stiffly with a grumbled Yeah falling from his lips. Just as she had done the last couple of months since she made herself a presence during his shifts, she simply gave him a smile before bouncing away with her basket only containing a carton of banana milk and her favorite cookies. She was no longer perturbed by the standoffish responses he gave her. Harry couldn't decide if he liked that or not.

It was like this at least a couple of times a week. She never did a big shop, only stopping by at later times to pick up individual ingredients for a dinner she had chatted to him about, or little snacks she couldn't seem to go a day without. During at least one of her trips, she found an excuse to talk to Harry; she asked him about his day if she was close enough to feel comfortable starting a question (Harry never gave her a good answer, honestly), she told him about her own day and what she was shopping for if there was anything specific she had in mind. She almost always had a bow pinned to her hair, fluttering behind her and matching whatever soft piece of clothing she had cinched around her form. Harry had even begun fishing out a pack of her favorite cookies from his boxes if he was stocking that aisle, just to make it easy if she came in and asked him for assistance. It made the interactions quicker and less bothersome—at least that's what he told himself.

He knew more about her and her routines than he had any of the hundreds of people he'd met in the last handful of years since he started moving around. Even if that did make him feel a bit guilty knowing that she didn't have a clue about who exactly she was sharing these parts of herself with; she didn't know the mess she was tiptoeing around every time she interacted with him.

Tonight was no different, her leaving a rattling in Harry's bones that he wanted nothing more than to ignore like every other part of his life. If he was superstitious, he would think she could have cast some kind of spell on him with the way she and her little bows lingered in his brain long after she had checked out and gone on her way home.

That rattling followed him as he made his way into the backroom, his empty box needing to be replaced. An exasperated sigh fought to leave his chest when he saw almost half of the overnight team huddled in the area, puttering about as they chattered and pretended to work. He didn't like being roped into their conversations, and that almost always happened when he ran into more than two of them at once.

Harry didn't say a word as he broke down the cardboard box on his cart, pushing it off to the pile of the other flattened boxes before he reached for another. The conversations had quieted some when he walked in, but he could still hear what sounded like Brett and Fawn flirting in the back corner with a cart of refrigerated items that needed to go on the opposite end of the store, and Theo talking to two of the other guys that Harry hadn't bothered to remember the names of.

"Busy night, huh, Harry?" Theo started, dropping whatever topic he had been rambling to his friends about just a moment before.

"Yeah," Harry answered, voice stiff. It wasn't any more busy than any other night as far as he was concerned. Besides, he had other things he needed to worry about than to be making conversation with a coworker he barely knew. There was still a peach colored ribbon tying his stomach in tiny knots that he needed to fix.

Soon enough, a silence fell through the backroom when the others made their way out. Only Harry and Theo were left, Harry doing his part to semi-organize his chosen box before heading out on the floor again.

Maybe it was the rattling in his bones, or the vision of a peach colored bow that he saw every time he blinked, but something in Harry felt a little reckless when he peeked over at Theo focusing on his own box.

"That girl," Harry rumbled, feeling odd in his skin as he spoke, "The one with the bows in her hair... She comes in a lot."

Theo looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide with furrowed brows as he looked in Harry's direction. He even glanced over his shoulder as if there were anyone else there for the conversation to be aimed at. Harry had to keep from scoffing, dropping his gaze back to his working hands.

Floundering over his words, Theo tried to catch up once he realized Harry was voluntarily talking. "Um, the—uh—the one with bows in her hair?"

Harry hummed in response. "She's in a couple of times a week."

"Ohhh," Theo sounded, familiarity touching his tone, "You mean (Y/N)?"

Harry swallowed at the sound of her name. He'd never asked for it himself. "If that's her name."

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Theo nodding his head. "She comes in a lot, yeah. She's not good at keeping a list and always forgets stuff if she tries to do big shops, so she just comes in when she wants something or runs out."

Though he didn't want this information to mean something to him, Harry felt a part of himself slowly being fulfilled the more details he learned. She didn't tell him these kinds of things when she rambled about her dinner choice for the night.

Keeping his gaze tacked to his hands, Harry kept his words measured and calculated. "Oh," he started, "Is she from here?"

"She's lived here forever, yeah. Why?"

A beat passed as Harry opted to ignore the second part of Theo's response. He didn't need to have any details as to why Harry was asking after someone after working together for five months with only a handful of interactions. Even if he did want to share that, Harry didn't have any real answers to that why, anyway.

"Does she... What does she do?" Harry asked, the phrasing of his words feeling awkward falling out of his mouth. He was lucky he was so used to shielding his emotions and staying stoic, otherwise he would have cringed where he stood.

"Like for work?" Theo asked, his eyes warm on Harry's profile.

Lifting his shoulders, Harry only shrugged in response. It was probably a good idea to keep his mouth shut.

"She—uh—she works at the bakery over on Windsor. She and my sister work there together," Theo told him, acting as if Harry was supposed to know what bakery he was talking about and who his sister was. "(Y/N)'s pretty nice, though."

"Right," was all Harry offered by the time he finished organizing his box. He didn't bother to give anything more in response or wait for Theo to elaborate before he was walking out on the floor again. Even when he could feel Theo's eyes stuck to his back.

No doubt would this interaction make its way to the rest of the team before the end of the shift.

It was harmless curiosity, Harry argued. He just had to believe the harmless part.

—————

It's funny the kinds of things that happened in the day that then were transported and highlighted in a dream. Stranger's faces, odd conversations, a passing thought, things that normally wouldn't have been catalogued at all by a waking brain but were held tightly in the middle of sleep.

Despite the fact Harry made it home from work at three in the morning, he still ended up waking in the early morning after a lingering dream. He didn't remember much about the scene the longer he was awake, but he knew there were swaying bows in pretty hair. A soft voice could have been there too, along with a subtle smile, but he couldn't remember. All because he had seen those ribbons and heard that voice the night before.

For a split second, when he was surfacing from sleep, he wanted so badly to just roll over and continue whatever play was running in the back of his mind. But, sleep didn't come easy for him; he'd have to take whatever small amount of hours his body allowed him and be grateful.

That left Harry to lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling above him, peeks of sunshine beginning to filter through the heavy drapes on his single window. He pretended as if he wasn't waiting for flashes of the dream to come back to him, even as he reluctantly found his footing in the real world.

He was off work for the next two days. Forty-eight hours he would have to fill with the kinds of tasks he dreaded almost as much as actually reporting in for a shift.

Grocery shopping was at the top of the to-do list as well as the hated tasks list. He hated going into his work on his day off just so he could shop the canned food aisles and dodge small talk from the dayshift coworkers that pretended as if they had met him more than once during his training shifts. A trip to the library was due as well, his borrowed books packed away under his bed and read from cover to cover in the week since he'd last visited the building. There was also always cleaning and laundry to be done, more things to keep him busy before he would undoubtedly retire to his bed for the rest of the day and read as much as he could to keep his brain from going to mush.

Harry sighed at the day's agenda. This was the life he wanted, though, so he was going to appreciate every day of the boring tasks and the mundane dredge.

By the time he had a load of laundry running in his machine and his hands buried in the sink, doing dishes he put off until his weekend, Harry's mind was already wandering somewhere outside of his apartment.

Theo had been complaining last night towards the end of the shift about how his sister needed him to pick her up from work today. She was opening and had stayed the night at her boyfriend's before, but he wouldn't be able to drop her off and pick her up. That left Theo to take up the job in exchange for gas money and whatever treats his sister could sneak from the bakery. Theo kept droning on about how since it was Sunday, the bakery opened up early, leaving him to have to fight to stay awake after going home so he wouldn't miss picking up his sister.

Throughout all of the petty complaining and meaningless rambling, the only thing that stuck out to Harry was the hours of this bakery being narrowed down. He didn't mean to pay attention, not now after knowing who else worked there, but it was just another one of those things that stuck in his brain like a dreamy detail.

An early opening could mean that his bow girl—(Y/N)—might be there as well.

Harry's hands flexed under the soapy water. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to go to a bakery on a Sunday morning. No one would think anything of it—and neither should he. He liked pastries as much as the next person. Even if trying out one of the town's baked goods wasn't necessarily his goal for the outing didn't mean that it would be a bad idea. He had more self-control than most people—a bit of indulgence wouldn't break him.

Before he could get too far ahead of himself, Harry focused on washing the dishes in the sink. He laid each piece gently out on the tea towel flattened out beside the sink, taking extra care as if his slow pace could prove that he still had all that control he was boasting about. If he was really on the edge of breaking—about to make a bad decision—he wouldn't be so in control, he argued. He even waited for the load of laundry to make that erratic beeping noise that notified him that he could trade into the dryer.

Still clad in only a pair of sweats that acted as his pajamas, Harry lazily reached for his phone before looking at the time. Just before nine a.m. According the Theo, the bakery opened at eight in the morning today, right when he was picking up his sister after her early morning shift. Harry held onto that air of nonchalance as he looked up the open confectionaries around him, finding a link at the top of the page for The Flour Pot.

They were marked as open, hours laid out on the same popup. Only a handful of miles away from the grocery store and on the same block as his library. It wouldn't take him longer than fifteen minutes to get there. He could even stop by the library on his way back or do his grocery shopping.

There, he cemented. That just proved this whole thing wasn't just to see a fluttering bow or hear a soft voice. He had other things he needed to do, and after hearing so much about this bakery, he could try it out while he was in town.

With his laundry rumbling in the dryer and his dishes laid out to dry on the counter, Harry changed out of his sweats and threw on a hoodie to keep him warm against the chill in the morning air. He tucked his library books under his arm and started out the door, locking up behind him just like any other day.

Just as he figured, he was back in town in less than twenty-minutes, the directions on his phone taking him just a few buildings down from the library. With the early hour, he couldn't see the bakery being especially busy, but when he found a parking spot across the street from the building, his hands clenched around the steering wheel.

Through the lit windows, he saw a line inside. Morning sunshine kept the glass especially translucent, even through the decals pasted to the panes boasting the bakery's name and pots of leafy plants to play on the pun of the title. He could spot glimpses of patrons lounging in the few tables provided while others were waiting in line, the queue long enough to have others shuffling aside when the door behind them swung open.

Harry's heartbeat quickened at the sight. He never liked being where so many people were crowded. It was hard to keep track of so many and what they were doing and saying when they were packed in a tight space. He thought—hoped—that with the early time he'd be beating out the crowds.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reminded himself that there was no harm in having more than ten people in one space. This was something he needed to work on anyway—something he was working on. There was no point to becoming so nervous over something like this. The odds of someone recognizing him or something out of his control happening were slim to none.

The whole point in leaving those years ago was to have a normal life. This was part of that.

Before he could dwell on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Harry swung open his door. He planted his feet on the solid ground, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, and trekked on.

Keeping his eyes on his feet as he walked, Harry didn't look up until the entrance to the bakery was right in front of him. He had his phone gripped in one hand, prepared to pull it out and fiddle with it in an attempt to sate his nerves, while the other reached out for the golden handle embedded in the glass and wood door.

One peek through the crystal had his hand falling from the handle.

Behind the counter was (Y/N).

She had her back to the door, but he knew that bow. She'd worn it before. He knew that silken pearl color, the slightly lopsided loops, the fabric nestled in with the mess of hair on the top of her head. He knew that if she turned around, even spared a glance over her shoulder, what kind of smile would be painted over her features and the soft set of her features that was practically her trademark. He wanted her to turn around just so he could compare that smile to the ghost of the one in his dreams

It's the fluttering in his stomach and the pacing of his heart behind the cage of his ribs that had Harry turning around. He didn't care if anyone saw his reaction, if anyone noted just how weird the whole moment was. He wasn't able to make those extra steps to go inside.

He shouldn't be that happy to see her. That wasn't the kind of reaction someone in control would have. That only showed him the kind of weaknesses the walls around him had, the bits of crumbling stone that he was going to have to solidify before he could boast about all of his self-control.

This was the reason he never allowed himself to grow attached to anyone. The fact that she was the only person in five years to even bother attempting to penetrate those stone walls should have no bearing on how he conducted himself. He knew better than to let her soft smiles and fluttering bows and gentle conversations get to him. He was the one who knew better in this situation; (Y/N) didn't know what kind of person she was offering those niceties to, and it would be wrong of him to accept and even seek them out.

She didn't deserve what could happen if he let this loss of control continue.

Slamming his car door shut behind him with a reverberating rattle of the frame, Harry vowed that whatever had caused that flutter in his stomach and the clench of his heart would stop now. He can't feel that way about anyone or anything. He was taking back control now.

With his hands tight around the steering wheel and the thought of the bakery wiped from his mind, Harry hoped he never dreamt of bows again.

—————

Harry pretended as if he couldn't hear the conversation happening at the end of the aisle from him, a couple loudly wondering where they could find the artisanal bread. He didn't want to help them.

This was why he hated coming in any earlier than the call time for his overnight shifts. Even with the fact he was only covering a couple of extra hours—coming in at six instead of eight—the difference in clientele was too stark for his comfort. It was too early in the night even to justify sticking in his headphones and drowning out the noise of others.

Instead, he hoped that the slight frown on his features and the furrow in his brows would be enough to warn people away from him as he continued his stocking of the soup and other canned goods he was tasked with for the time being. The outfacing shelf gave him the advantage of leaving his back facing most of the customers that walked through, though he made a point to drift away whenever a patron stalked a little too close to his personal space.

Despite it all, a part of Harry was grateful for the distraction of work and the extra people around him. That was why he had been picking up hours here and there throughout the week. Anything to keep his brain busy since he had recoiled from the bakery a week ago.

He'd done a good job in his opinion, of keeping (Y/N) and all of the bows in her hair off of his mind. His resolve was being rebuilt brick by brick, reminders swirling in his brain of why he's never experienced those kinds of butterflies and the anticipation in his heart before. He wasn't the kind of person that needed that kind of feeling—deserved that overflowing of joy in his veins. He kept himself tucked away for a reason, and he needed to remember that.

His shifts no longer held a current of anticipation, waiting to see if this would be the night she would wander on by, sparing him a smile and a breath of her attention. Her place in his brain had been corralled to a back corner that he was adamant on keeping the barriers to steady and clean.

That was why when he saw a pair of white sneakers with pink shoelaces threaded through, he pretended as if his brain didn't go to one person immediately. It could be anyone in the world—should be anyone else. He shouldn't be able to recognize her from such a minute detail, but there was already that beat against the ladder of his ribs that told him everything he needed to know about how poorly he had maintained that corral in the back of his mind.

With a tick in his jaw, Harry reminded himself of his resolve. He kept his focus on his cart, taking more time to dig around while he waited for those shoes to disappear from the corner of his eye.

Of course, he couldn't be so lucky.

"Harry?" that soft voice asked him.

A slow breath was sucked in through his nose as he stood to the full of his height. He turned to find her looking at him with those eyes he could only remember glimpses of from the haze of his dream. Her face was clean from makeup, hair twisted back into a clip as she had forgone a bow for the day. Comfortable clothes adorned her body, slouching and stretching with pastel hues stitched through her top and flowers adorning her leggings. In her hands, nails sparkling with a pearly white polish, she had a solid block of cheese.

Harry didn't bother to offer a response. (Y/N) was used to it by this point, though.

"Do you know if this is any good?" she started, emphasizing the cheese with a flick of her wrist, "I googled a recipe for a grilled cheese today, and it wants this kind of cheese, but... I don't know. I just want to make sure I'll like it before I buy it, and all. Have you tried it before?"

If Harry could draw his eyes away from the dewy planes of her face and the glimmering sheen of her eyes, he might have been able to read the label on the block she had in her hand, but that didn't seem to be an option his body was willing to follow.

He knew he had been following the line of her nose and pillows of her cupid's bow for a beat too long when she tipped her head, a crease appearing in-between her brows. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze from her eyes to fall in the neckline of her top. He schooled his features, keeping himself in line as he brushed the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger.

Skimming his gaze over the white cheese in her hand, he shrugged some. "Um, probably," he mumbled, voice a rumble.

That glimmer in her eyes flashed to amusement. "You've probably tried it before?"

Under layers of the stoic front he put up, Harry could feel himself cringe. He knew he wasn't giving her a smart answer, but he didn't anticipate sounding that stupid.

Again, he shrugged. That was as much of an answer as he could formulate at the moment.

That same part of him that cringed at the lame answer he gave her, curled in on itself when he saw for the first time, (Y/N) grow crestfallen. She had always been very stubborn in her sunny disposition, only having been taken aback the first time they had met. Other than that, no matter how much of a downer he acted, there seemed to be a smile on her face she didn't mind offering to him, even if he didn't deserve it.

This time, he watched her brows pinch in the middle, her smile falling some to leave a barely there, lopsided curl that didn't reach her eyes. She dropped her gaze down to the block in her hand. Even her body seemed to shrink under his gaze, drawing her limbs close to her body in a recoil.

"Well, thanks anyway," she got out, the tone the same chirping pitch as usual, but there was no current. Nothing authentic sat beneath.

He watched as she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes attached to the label pasted to the cling wrap fitted around the cheese, before she began to head in the other direction. He'd never seen her so dejected before, even if she was only matching the energy he constantly gave her.

Guilt pooled in his stomach. It wasn't a nice feeling to see a light like her's becoming extinguished, especially from his own hand.

Before she could trail too far away, he peered over her hand and read over the label attached to her cheese. He recognized the French name from when he would help his mother in the kitchen. He knew this as one of the ingredients she would use for her macaroni and cheese; shredded and added to a pot to melt before being added to the spirals of noodles. He remembered how his main job when he was too young to properly help was to stir the cheese sauce, his eyes following the swirls and strings tracing through the cream.

Harry wasn't even aware he was taking a step to follow after her until he felt his toe push against the linoleum. "Actually—um," he started, watching as she turned to face him, features lightening, "That's a good cheese. Melts really nice. It'll probably be good for whatever recipe you found."

Instinctively, he wanted to curl back into his work, give himself a distraction and soothe some of that rattle in his bones. Instead, he forced himself to stay firm in his spot as she made those few short steps back to him.

(He couldn't help but to feel a bit silly, if he was being honest. All of this over a conversation about cheese. It verged into the territory of ridiculous if he wasn't actually experiencing it).

"Really? Thank you!" That genuine contentedness he had missed from her voice before was back, lilting and molding her words. "I read that it was good for melting, I just wasn't sure if I should slice it or shred it. The page didn't really tell me much on that."

Shrugging, Harry pretended to care about the box left on his cart he still needed to sort through and stock. "Shredding is good," he offered, "It melts easier that way, I think."

(He actually knew that, but he didn't really want to get into the story of the time he had tried to make his comfort meal shortly after he was separated from his mom. He had gone about it all wrong, having sliced it without thinking only to have to go through the too-long process of watching it melt in a puddle of milk. He would have attempted it again after that, but money was especially tight right after he left home and the ingredients for a single meal were too expensive. Besides, it would never taste as good as the one his mother made, and he didn't need to break his heart any more with the attempts).

Decidedly, (Y/N) dropped the block in her sparse basket. "I'll try that tonight and I'll let you know," she told him, the stray tangles of her hair swaying as she spoke, "Thank you, Harry."

Harry nodded his head, reaching into the cardboard box piled with different soups. "Yeah."

It was hard to breathe when she heard him say his name with that smile on her face.

But, (Y/N) didn't leave right away. She lingered for a moment, a step between leaving him behind and staying right there with him. He couldn't decide which outcome he was hoping for.

A beat later, she swung back to face him. "Have you ever been by the bakery a few blocks over on Windsor Ave?"

He swallowed. The vision of The Flour Pot immediately came to mind.

"No, I don't think so."

(Y/N) looked at him with a smile with shy edges, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Well, we have these cheesy breakfast soufflés that we only make on Friday mornings, that are really good. I bet you'd really like them if you like cheese and stuff." There was a slight wince and a huff of a laugh falling from her lips as (Y/N) finished.

She must also realize how silly they both sounded, too. Breakfast and cheese, the great unifiers, Harry supposed.

With the faint amusement bubbling in the back off his mind, Harry still felt something in him catch. Her recommendation felt something like an invitation. An invitation to go somewhere she would assumedly be.

Harry checked his expectations as he dropped his gaze to his hands, rolling a can of loaded potato soup so the barcode faced him. "I usually work all night Thursdays, so Friday mornings can be a little hard to make when 'm tired."

That nervous rocking continued even with the bright smile molding (Y/N)'s features. "I work there, so you can let me know when you have time to stop by and I can make sure we have an extra one for you," she told him, hands bundling together at her middle, "Or, just pop by whenever. Everything we have is really good, so."

Around him, Harry could still hear the annoying couple from before complaining about the layout of the grocery store. The overhead lights were mismatched on this section of the store, leaving some amber spots to combat against the stark fluorescents. There was a buzzing to the left where the refrigerators were keeping the cheese section where she had shopped from cool. But all of his attention was placed a few paces before him.

Harry spent years pushing people away. Not once had anyone ever been able to wiggle through even one layer of the protective walls he had around him. He made a point of that; it was the way it was supposed to be for everyone's safety. He didn't invite anyone into his life, and no one invited him into theirs.

Of course the first person to do so would be someone like (Y/N). She would be the one to dare to cross that line, offer a hand out to someone so adamant about not wanting anything of the sort. He knew those butterflies in his stomach were a warning; they were creatures to be heeded, not cradled.

Despite it all, Harry nodded. He looked at her, leaving his idling hands to play around without him. "I'll see what I can do."

It was the smile that bloomed across her lips that had Harry remembering that there were flowers that were meant to unfurl in the night.

"Cool," she said, something giddy replacing that authenticity, "Have a nice night, Harry."

"Have a nice night," he got out before he turned on his heel, pinning his attention straight on the box awaiting him. It was an abrupt ending to the conversation, but he couldn't look at her any longer if he wanted to keep some of his head. She was driving him mad again already.

When Harry looked up, he found her turning the corner of the aisle. Their eyes matched for a moment when she looked back at him too, a ghost of a smile stretching her cheeks before she was gone.

Taking in a deep breath, he centered himself.

Harry can not go to that bakery.

——————

As much as Harry loved his comfort reads, the volumes that became like classics to him, he couldn't read them all the time. Besides, he liked libraries.

While every building was different, the librarians with their own rules and nuances that ran the shelves, the spirit was always the same. Even the smallest of towns he travelled to had their own shelves to peruse. The crackle of the covered spines, some old enough to still be sporting checkout cards in the front cover, with pages loved by others, made him feel less alone. The library in this town was no different.

A quiet librarian manned the front desk or puttered through the shelves, offering Harry a quiet kindness he appreciated more than if she had given attempts to get to know him any more outside of the process of getting his library card. All she wanted to know was what kind of genres he liked so she could recommend books when he came in the more regular he became. He was left to ghost through the shelves, fostering books as he went before returning them home once their time was up. He was able to be comfortable there.

But, this town had to be mocking him at this point.

While he's been making a point to keep his head down and focusing on only himself and definitely not (Y/N), old habits die hard. A hefty portion of his life was spent with his eyes sharpened, taking in every detail and every person and every place around him. Even with years away from the circumstances that had him looking over his shoulder with every step he made, he couldn't shake every habit. But those habits made it way too hard to ignore what was going on just down the street from the library.

The Flour Pot was busy as usual when he stepped out of his car, library books held at his side with his fingers flexing around the plastic covering. A line was trailing out the door with as many people walking out with the brown paper bags or cake boxes as patrons were walking in with hunger in their eyes. Harry could almost hear the bell chiming above the door every time it opened, just like he swore if he listened close enough, he could hear a familiar laugh.

It took effort for him to keep his eyes ahead of himself, fingers tight around his books. He didn't allow himself to linger on the sidewalk or his gaze to stray, heading directly into the library.

Harry could feel his features twisted into frustration even as he stepped in the substantially quieter building. But even with his furrowed brow and the tight line of his mouth, Ms. Klarke didn't bat an eye. She had to be used to it at this point.

A lined smile had her lips stretched, showing off white teeth. "Done with this week's, Mr. Styles?"

He only nodded with a hum as he approached the desk, dropping the trio of volumes on the glossy wood. It was instinct the way he worked, pulling out his green library card.

Ms. Klarke worked with familiarity, scanning the code on his card before clicking through his profile. Her eyes didn't move from the computer screen as she spoke, "We got some new books in yesterday. I saved a few that I thought you'd like in the back."

Perking up at the prospect of the new arrivals, Harry felt his features smoothen out, a light falling into the usual rumble of his voice. "Really?"

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, a short smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she slid his card back. "Mhm. I'll be right back."

Taking his returns with her, she stepped into the backroom positioned just behind the front desk only to come back a moment later with another set of books. The volumes were freshly wrapped in the crinkling plastic, the covers still vibrant underneath without any smudging or scratching marring the art.

"I've heard good things about these," Ms. Klarke said, spreading out the trio on the wood for him to look at. "The descriptions sound like something you would like."

They were romances—the genre he had divulged to Ms. Klarke all that time ago. He recognized the covers and the authors, having read his own reviews and takes on the literature. Bright colors were splashed across, with the hallmarks of the genre coming in depictions of flowers or the minimalistic art that was becoming the norm. A twitch itched the corner of his lips seeing the pages she saved for him to have first.

"Thank you," he told her, looking at her through the lashes as he kept his hands at his sides, "I've seen a lot about these, too."

Ms. Klarke's lined features brightened at his words. "Gonna take them home with you this week?"

"Yes, please," he answered in a rush, "If that's alright."

Her brows pinched in the middle, already grabbing the books to scan them onto his profile for the week. "Of course it's alright. I saved them for you for a reason."

Harry was struck then. He stood, listening to the sounds of her hands clicking the keys on her computer and the beep of the scanner reading the barcodes, his hands shoved deep in his pockets with his fingers clenched in tight curls.

While Ms. Klarke didn't know really anything about him, she still had him in mind when she read these titles and made a point to save them off for him. She only knew him as far as the kind of literature he liked to spend his time with and the kind of care he treated each book with, but she knew him enough to trust him with these new reads.

She knew him enough.

He forgot what it felt like to be known. He missed the feeling of being known. Even if it was his fault that he was pushed into that forgotten corner in the first place. His impact wasn't supposed to be felt, even if he still felt the absence of the familiarity he had in a past life.

Two people now, in this town, had given Harry more than a passing thought.

The feeling was overwhelming.

"Thank you," he repeated when Ms. Klarke passed back his books for the week, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

With his books in hand, he exited out onto the sidewalk. Down the block he could still hear the faint commotion from the bakery, but his stomach didn't sour like it had only ten minutes prior. In that kitschy shop was the one other person who was trying to know him, even when he insisted on being alone.

The thought of walking in didn't sound so bad, even if he still kept on his path to his car.

—————

Harry had a plan.

Days after visiting the library, he had been tucked away in bed reading one of his new books when he couldn't get his mind off of (Y/N). The main female character was a baker with a softened heart, a bubbly demeanor shining through. Given the nature of the book, every peek into her heart was romanticized, especially in the first handful of chapters he was still working through. He couldn't help but to picture (Y/N) the more he read, disregarding whatever physical description the character was given.

She hadn't left his mind since.

Maybe it was the fact there was a scene written where the lead male character visited the pseudo-(Y/N) at the patisserie she worked at, but there was a niggling thought in the back of his mind that it might not be such a bad thing to take up her invitation from the week prior. While he was nothing like male lead—not in demeanor nor backstory—, he couldn't ignore the want he had for a moment like the one inked across the page.

It felt entirely reckless to give into that want, the kind of idea that would come to him after too many hours spent awake and too many romance cliches floating through his thoughts, but he'd done worse. Indulging in the pattering butterflies and bruising beats of his heart would land at the bottom of the list of the most dastardly things he'd ever done.

Besides, if this Sunday morning was anything like the last, it wasn't like there would even be enough time for his defenses to weaken enough for an impact to be made. If anything, he would see her in passing, the flutter of the bow in her hair as she bustled through the shop, and that would be it. Maybe a smile in his direction, but he couldn't imagine any more being spared for him.

He didn't need anything more than that, anyway.

Harry would be careful. Butterflies weren't strong enough to break stone.

—————

His hands were clenched into fists in the pockets of his coat, the sign to The Flour Pot gleaming on the glass window from the corner of his eye. Though he knew well that there were just enough patrons inside to create a hustle within the shop, Harry kept his resolve strong as he stepped over the pavement. He didn't skip sleep for the last handful of hours since his shift ended just to run home without even taking a single step inside.

Slipping inside, Harry forced his gaze to lift from his feet, a deep breath filling his lungs. Those small tables he had spotted from the windows were twisted wrought iron, the backs outlined with intricate shapes of flowers, hummingbirds, and shining suns. Cushions padded the seats of the chairs, a charming combination of mismatched patterns that all seemed to work together to make the space that much cozier. Customers Harry could recognize as some of the people he saw at the grocery store were littered about, though they looked decidedly much cheerier in this environment. Even with the chill in the air, hints of spring lingered within the confines of the shop.

Butter and sugar kissed the air, twining with notes of lingering herbs and spices, different ingredients that made up the confections filling the display case up front. Tiny lights were embedded in the trim, shining right on the flaky crusts of croissants, glimmering glazes on sticky buns, and the golden skin of homemade baguettes. More intricate cakes and laborious treats were held in glass cabinets behind the desk. Warm wood made up the front cash register area, the grains twisting and curving in the way only real wood could. Hanging from the ceiling behind the desk was the menu with every treat laid out and priced, twirling descriptions following just underneath with every add-on available. A note on the bottom recommended talking to the bakers about seasonal specials and their favorite combinations.

Everything looked new but second-hand at the same time. Harry didn't know what to compare the space to other than a home opened up for visitors. The treats in the case were just a bonus of being invited into such a home.

The flapping of the cafe doors leading to the back caught his attention, pulling his gaze from tracing over the space that felt as if it lived within candlelight. (Y/N) emerged from what he assumed to be the kitchen, a pan in hand full of something golden brown and filled with herbs. She dropped that pan onto the back counter before disappearing again, a pearly gold bow pulling her hair back. Her uniform consisted of a long sleeved brown top with The Flour Pot printed in yellow lettering as if the words were dripping in honey. He felt like a moth the way his eyes followed each of her moves, her being the flame he didn't want to lose track of.

That smile he pretended to not care about had her lips stretched with smile lines bracketing the curl. He watched on as she spoke to the dark-haired girl and the shorter boy working behind the counter, nodding her head with the tendrils of her bow going flying before she seemed to count out certain items in the case all before leaving to the back once more. In her hands, another pan reemerged with her.

As his eyes followed her, he was grateful for the first time for the amount of patrons occupying the building. The line in front of him gave him enough time to watch her—to get his fill to quell the battering ram made of butterflies in his stomach. Even if he wanted to keep his eyes to himself, drop them to his feet or find a blank spot to fix his eyes too, he didn't think he had it in himself.

With the line moving, Harry shuffled forward a pair of spots. At that same moment, the cafe doors swung open once more, (Y/N)'s arms empty as her eyes scanned across the guests in her shop. She found Harry in an instant, her eyes brightening and smile blooming. She brought her gloved hand up to wiggle her fingers in a quick wave for only him.

Before he could even lift his hand to wave back, she had sidestepped behind the desk and whispered something to the dark haired woman working the register. A quick conversation played out while Harry watched, (Y/N) whispering while the other woman gave small reactions. The conversation lasted only a couple of beats with the line still waiting before them, (Y/N) disappearing into the back after shooting Harry a look with bright eyes and a wide smile.

In (Y/N)'s wake, the cashier gave Harry her own look. It was something quiet and knowing, a short curl only on the corner of her lips before she slid her gaze back to the patron waiting in front of her.

(Y/N) and her bow didn't return again as the line slowly moved forward. Only the dark haired cashier and a shorter boy were working the counter, working as a team with the boy picking the pastries with gloved hands and the woman taking orders and collecting payments. The line dwindled as they worked, guests leaving with small paper bags and smiles wider than the giant muffins that took over the bottom shelf of the case.

While Harry felt like he could breathe better with every person that exited, it all moved too fast. By the time he reached the counter, Harry's brain was filled with nothing more than a buzz. In all his distractions of watching (Y/N) and being a little too aware of the others around him, not once did he really examine the menu. He didn't have a plan of what he wanted to order, every quick glance at the menu hanging above was more panicked than the last, nothing being absorbed.

The last patron in front of him worked quickly. The chatter of her voice was almost drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears, her order being rattled off in an instant out of practice before she was stepping off to the side to await her own brown bag of treats.

Stepping forward to the counter, Harry couldn't help but feel a little silly. The amount of high stress situations he's been in in his life, the kind that warranted the kind of panic and fight-or-flight reaction he could feel himself building to was more than any person should ever go through. But in all of those moments, he remembered moving through them like an expert, not thinking before doing.

This—ordering from a bakery—was going to be the one thing that broke his brain, it seemed. Figures.

The dark-haired girl behind the counter held that same guest service smile on her face when Harry approached, only the ends curled that much more when she saw it was him. "Good morning! What can I get you today?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, words intending to come out before nothing actually did. He barely recovered in the way he instead said, "Ummm."

From the corner of his eye, the cafe doors to the kitchen swung open. A pan full of stacked baguettes were in (Y/N)'s arms, eyes trained on the pyramid before she chanced a glance up. That same wide grin pulled at her lips the second recognition filled her eyes.

"Hi, Harry!" she chirped out over her shoulder as she deposited the pan onto the back counter, "How are you?"

His dry throat finally began to work again when he swallowed, his nervous hands beginning to pluck at his cuticles in the pocket of his hoodie. "'M good, thank you," he mumbled, "You?"

"I'm doing good, thanks!" She spun on her heel to take over the spot by the register. For a second, he saw the dark-haired girl bump (Y/N)'s hip with her own, before taking over the second station just to the left and tending to the line from there. It was a move that had to have come with a plan. "I wish I knew you were coming in today, I would have made you one of those soufflés I was telling you about."

"Oh, sorry," he told her, shuffling on his feet as the rest of the line behind him meandered around him to the available register.

The tail of hair she had pinned back with her bow bounced as she shook her head. "No worries at all! What did you come in for?"

For the first time since she stepped out, he pulled his eyes from hers to the sign above her head.

Maybe it was the noise around him, the chatter of other guests, the way he was hyperaware of every inch of space around him and how close others were getting to him before hiking left to the other register, or the fact he knew (Y/N) had her eyes on him, but the letters didn't make any sense when he tried to take them in. He knew the words, could associate them with different treats, but there was nothing that connected his thoughts.

Silence fell from his floundering mouth, the kind that felt too loud in a busy place like this.

In a second, (Y/N) sidestepped to the case at her right, her eyes bright and still on Harry as she nudged the sliding door to open for her. "My favorite at the moment are the raspberry and almond scones," she bubbled off, using her gloved hand to grab the pastry from the tray, "I just finished a batch, too. They also come with this lemon cream kind of glaze, if you wanted to try it that way."

Her energy didn't deplete as she spoke, showcasing the scone for him to see. She saved him from the way his throat was beginning to tighten the longer it took for him to come up with an answer.

Chunks of raspberries were visible in the pale base of the scone, sprinkled with almond slivers. It reminded him of the cookies she so favored at his own place of work.

"I'll try that," he told her, the even pacing of his breathing returning, "Thank you."

"Perfect!" she chirped, looking genuinely pleased at his response. Nothing inauthentic touched at her features as she gazed at him. "Do you want the glaze and everything?"

"Um, sure," he said, a nod of his head throwing a curl over his forehead.

He saw as (Y/N)'s gaze tripped upwards, trailing along the length of that stray hair brushing the bridge of his nose. A glittering sparkled in her irises.

The rest of the transaction went quickly, (Y/N) shedding her gloves and taking his cash as she asked about his work. Noncommittal answers were shared from Harry (he barely remembered the shift if he was being honest. His brain had been too fixed on this morning's plan).

"I'll have that ready for you in a second," she told him, toothy smile and all, "You can wait over there in the meantime."

A mumbled, kay... fell from his lips as he exhaled a deep breath. He nodded his head before he followed her direction and stepped off to the side. He half expected her to continue helping the line that had dwindled behind him, instead watching as she stepped off the side with his treats in hand.

Dropping his gaze from her, Harry pulled his hands out of his hoodie to inspect the sore cuticles he could feel beginning to sting with every touch. Spots of blood had spread to the plate of his nails, skin frayed and irritated at all the picking.

Harry expected to hear his name called when his bag was placed on the pick-up counter just as it had been for every other patron, only to have (Y/N) bounce around the entire case when she had finished puttering behind. The tendrils of her bow flowed behind her, skimming the length of her hair before she stopped in front of him.

For someone who didn't like mornings that much, she smiled a lot.

"Here you go," she beamed at him, offering him the small paper bag with the business's logo inked on the front. Beside the picture was his own name written in looping script, a smiling heart printed beside it. "You have to tell me what you think the next time I see you, okay? These really are my favorites, so if you don't like them I don't know if we'll be able to be friends anymore."

A breath of air caught in Harry's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow it down. Anymore, she had said.

"Got it," he forced out, taking the bag from her hand with their fingers barely brushing as he slipped his own under the handles, "Thank you, (Y/N)."

At the sound of his voice wrapped around her name, her smile only widened. "Of course. I'll see you around, Harry."

Before he could get too far ahead of himself, the indulgent butterflies in his stomach urging him to linger longer than he knew would be good for him, Harry spun on his heel and moved to the exit. He swore he could feel (Y/N)'s eyes on him up until he disappeared through the doors.

There wasn't a thought in his head other than getting back to the safety of his car as he rushed over the pavement, loose rocks in the old concrete kicking up in his wake. The slam of his car door behind him left the cab going still. The air was silent finally, leaving him sealed away with the ticking of his heart evening out.

Instinctively he locked his doors before reaching for his seatbelt. In that split second he seemed to forget the bag in his hand until he felt the warmth of the pastry in his lap.

He hesitated.

It would probably be best to eat it now while it was still warm, he decided.

In his parked car across from the rush of The Flour Pot, Harry carefully extracted his treat. His fingers brushed a slip of paper clinging to the side of the bag, the end trapped under the cup containing the lemon cream she boasted to him about. Laying the boxed treat on the center console, Harry plucked out the slip of paper.

It was a length of blank receipt paper, only to turn the page around and find that same looping writing that printed his name on the bag.

Come by next Sunday and I'll have a souffle for you :)

(Y/N)'s name was signed at the bottom, another smiling heart drawn beside the final letter. Another invitation.

Harry didn't need to take a bite of the scone to know that it was going to be his favorite too.

—————

Maybe he had been too giddy to see her again after those moments at the bakery, but Harry couldn't help but notice her the second (Y/N) walked through the glass doors.

It was as if he had it all planned the way he had been stationed in the herb and spices section of the store tonight, an aisle that was conveniently situated by the entrance. He had a bundle of basil in his grip when he saw her walk in, a clip dripping with crystal flowers holding her hair back with a The Flour Pot crewneck on. Fatigue coated her movements as she reached for one of the maroon baskets stacked by the door, the handles tucked into her elbow before she started towards whatever aisle she was shooting for.

There was a moment of her slowing on the front mat, eyes scanning through the shelves until she saw him, cart and all, and her expression changed. Her features softened and rounded, creases appearing by her eyes while her lips stretched into a smile. Her lips were soft and chapped, hair a bit messy, and sleeves dulled by a dusting of what had to be flour, but Harry still felt that knot in his stomach he did the first time he saw her all those months ago. Even more so, when his heart got carried away thinking that she may have been looking for him, too.

Harry dropped his gaze when he saw her begin her way over to him. He didn't want to look too eager to speak to her again, especially not when he couldn't even admit to himself that he was looking forward to see her.

"Hi, stranger," she greeted, voice lilting as the toes of her white shoes came into view of his downturned gaze.

Swallowing around his dry throat, he slowed his work and looked up at her again, features schooled into something stoic. "Hi."

Ever-pleasant and unperturbed by his attitude, she only looked to him with raised brows and expectant eyes. "So?"

A pinch drew Harry's brows together as he looked at her. So what?

When the beat of silence lasted too long for her liking, a teasing huff fell from (Y/N)'s lips. "What did you think of the scone?! You promised you'd tell me about it, remember?"

For the first time in a long time, Harry could feel one corner of his lips twitch, the beginning of a titled smile. He thought of the length of receipt paper he still had folded away in his wallet.

"It was really good," he started, shifting his weight on his feet, "The—uh—the lemon cream was really nice. Thank you."

The look on her face at his compliments could rival that of the waning sunshine outside the windows. She was bright and shining, warm like the sunset colored sky.

"I'm so happy you liked it!" she beamed, her shopping put to the back of her mind as she gave every bit of attention to him, "There's this recipe for a lavender version of the scone I've been wanting to try, but every time I tell the other girls they don't look as excited. They said it sounds like I'm trying to make soap."

Harry didn't even realize what he was saying before the words were falling from his lips: "I'd try it."

As much as he wouldn't—couldn't—say it out loud, he's sure he'd try anything she made. He wasn't lying about the raspberry scone.

Something sheepish touched at the corners of her smile as she dipped her gaze down to where he was now fumbling with a shaker of dried oregano on his cart. "Okay," she started, nodding her head, "I'll make some, and next time I see you, you can try them."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed around the dryness coating his tongue. "Thank you."

Under her attention, gaze peering through the fan of her lashes, those butterflies in his stomach and the beating of his heart traveled down to his palms, making them restless and the skin go clammy.

All of this over another invitation.

—————

rosemary represents remembrance; looking back on the past with the future right in front of you

ahhhhh!!! hes finally here!!! im so excited to be sharing this story w you guys and letting you meet one of my kings thats sooooo in my heart!! def a little different of a story for me so I really hope you enjoy it!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas or requests or just thoughts about this story !

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pinktyuns · 2 years ago

Text

sleepy spring mornings featuring choi yeonjun

hot.

was the only thought going through your still half-asleep brain as you struggled to blink open your eyes.

it’s so fucking hot.

once you were kinda awake, with open blinking eyes you regarded what the hell was making you so hot. bright washington sun crept through the curtains, sweeping the tranquil hotel room in a beautiful light.

looking to your right, you found the heat source, the culprit.

choi yeonjun, your boyfriend, sleeping ever so peacefully nuzzled into your side, brown hair messy and tussled with sleep, his arm thrown lazily over your stomach, keeping you close to him and his goddamn furnace of a body, his leg draped and entangled with yours under the sheets.

looking at him, seeing his breath rise and fall softly, the pout that seemed to always be on his lips jutting out, you couldn’t help but smile.

it was rare to see him like this, be with him like this, and instead of running away from his heat you brought him closer, wrapping your arms around him as he nuzzled closer to you, burying his face into your neck, his soft breath tickling you.

you brought your hand up to his messy head, smoothing the brown down and running your fingers through it, scratching his head lightly. he exhaled happily and, still seeming to be asleep, moved a little bit so you could see his face.

you felt like the grinch seeing him like this, your heart growing 3 sizes bigger at the sight of yeonjun.

you watched him breathe in and out, softly tracing his perfectly shaped face with your finger. across his brow bone, down his perfect sloped nose, softly grazing his cute little cupids bow, tapping his perfect pout ever so softly.

maybe it was the early morning making you feel your emotions even more so, but seeing him sleeping peacefully, cuddled up to you, lit up by the morning sun, you felt as if you might cry.

dating yeonjun wasn’t the easiest thing all the time, his schedule insanely demanding, your college classes challenging, and sometimes it was hard to just get a 15 minute facetime call these days. which is why you jumped at the opportunity to go with him on tour, seeing him on stage with his members, in what was his happiest element, made you happy even more so.

you were suddenly brought out of your thoughts with a sigh and a stir, yeonjun seeming to be waking up next to you.

cute.

was the only word that could fit this situation. you’d seen it before, sparingly, but yeonjun waking up was the cutest goddamn thing you think you’ve ever seen in your life. a small frown on his face, hair messy but somehow still perfect, eyes still closed, nose scrunched up, the pout on his lips jutting out even more so that you felt the intense urge to kiss it.

you leaned into him, feeling his breath on yours, and placed the smallest, sweetest ghost of a kiss on his perfectly parted lips.

you pulled back, hand still in his hair, smile on your face. looking at him in this light it was insane how someone so perfect could just be walking around on this earth, even more insane that you got to be with him like this and share these moments with him.

“whyd youstop,” a small, deep mumble fell out of yeonjuns perfect lips and into the room.

you scratched his head lightly again, seeing his eyes were still closed, ignoring the fact that his morning voice was somehow deeper than how he normally sounded and it was driving you crazy.

you giggled at him, his little glare on his face over the fact that you simply didn’t kiss him longer.

“i like when you kiss me,” he mumbled again, you caught sight of his ears turning a little red and he buried himself into your neck again out of embarrassment.

you laughed then, a soft real laugh, pulling him even closer to you, wanting to feel his warmth now.

“oh my god you’re literally the cutest person alive, did you know that?” you gushed over him.

you could feel his face growing hotter with the praise and he shook his head, “nuh uh, it’s you.”

you laughed again, “oh my god you’re such a baby.”

yeonjun, finally seeming fully awake, lifted his head at that, pulling his body weight and resting on one of his arms so he wasn’t on top of you anymore, rather, laying on his side regarding you.

you suddenly felt hot again, not from the temperature. it was still crazy to you how yeonjun could go from being the cutest thing alive to staring at you like he was literally going to eat you.

yeonjun smirked, he always thought it was funny how he still made you nervous.

he decided he was done teasing you and suddenly wrapped his arms around you, rolling onto his back and laying you on top of him.

“did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice soft with adoration but still octaves deep with sleep.

you nodded, feeling shy under his gaze, which he noticed and made him smile up at you, “the only thing is that you’re a fucking furnace, choi,” you pretended to be mad, “i feel like i’m gonna wake up sweating because you’re so hot.”

he laughed, a gorgeous, loud laugh that made butterflies settle in your stomach, and wiggled his eyebrows, “i know, right.”

you rolled your eyes, “you’re stupid.”

he grinned, his eyes practically disappearing with his giant smile, and whispered, “you love it.”

he moved his head forward and captured your lips with his, you practically melting into the soft kiss.

kissing yeonjun always had your head spinning, his lips always warm against yours, making you feel safe and making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy.

yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun. yeonjun.

he pulled away, admiring that spaced-out look you always got when he kissed you, no matter if it was soft and sweet like this one or rough and full of want.

he pulled you closer to his chest, your head laying on top of his heart, listening to the beating.

you both stayed like that in contentment for who knows how long, yeonjun breaking the silence with a small whisper, “i like having you here, like this, with me.”

you smiled on his chest, listening to the soft thump thumping of his heart, “i like seeing you like this, and being here with you.”

yeonjun pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing automatically and you hummed in response. the both of you finally sitting up and yeonjun grabbing his horn-rimmed glasses from the side table, placing them just on his nose, making him look somehow even more attractive, which you didn’t even know was possible.

he captured your eye contact, holding your hand, his thumb dancing over your skin, “i love you,” he said softly, a big dumb smile on his face.

a big dumb matching one on yours, “i love you, junnie. even if you feel like lava when you sleep.”

he rolled his eyes at that and released you, getting out of the warmth that was your shared bed and standing in front of you opening his phone.

you took the opportunity to ogle him, as any sane person would.

a shirtless yeonjun was a beautiful one, like yeonjun was all the time, but there was something else about him like this, grey sweatshorts (whore) riding low on his hips, honey-colored skin exposed and kissed by sunlight, making him glow, glasses perched on his nose, brown hair the most perfectly messy thing atop his head.

yeonjun didn’t look up, but felt your stare, smirking, “see something you like?”

you blushed, “no.”

he scoffed, shaking his head, “okay liar.”

you giggled, finally taking the opportunity to stretch when there was a soft knock at the door. both of you knowing it was probably staff (or beomgyu coming to bother).

yeonjun grabbed a navy blue botton up shirt and haphazardly pulled it over him, sadly coving up his golden skin, as he padded softly over to the door.

soft words were exchanged and the door closed and he turned with two starbucks cups, smiling at you,

“oh my god, yes,” you said, making grabby hands towards the cups which made yeonjun smile as he walked back over to you, stopping to grab his ipad from the bedside table.

he gave you your drink, the caffeine comforting you after just one sip as he settled back into the bed next to you.

he opened his ipad and pulled up youtube, looking for something to watch. when he made his pick, he rested it on his legs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you close.

you rested your head on yeonjuns shoulder, holding your drink and smiling softly.

you looked up at him again, admiring his perfect side profile, and gave him a small kiss on his cheek, making him turn to face you, smile on his lips.

“what was that for?”

you shrugged, “just because.”

he grinned, glasses pushing up on his nose, and kissed your forehead again, all while snuggling you closer against him.

as the sun got brighter in the room, it danced over the white comforter, and lit up yeonjuns hands and coffee cup. it was warm and perfect, just like yeonjun himself.

yea user yawnzzn killed me today so i had to write about it this was not supposed to be this long & it is unedited i just needed to word vomit about him because OH MY GOD!!!

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aingeal98 · 7 months ago

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I love the range in civilian vs hero identities that the batfam has like you have folks such as Bruce, Dick, Duke and Tim who's close friends know their civilian identities along with a few villains, and then you have Babs who's a little more paranoid but still has close friends know who's behind the curtain. And then there's Jason who's legally dead so very few people know who Red Hood is, and Damian who the general public won't know but who can easily be recognised by anyone who worked near him in the league. They probably get a kick out knowing who Batman is but they're loyal enough to not spread it beyond their circle. Likewise there's Cass who any fighter that's actually truly worth their salt should recognise, but most would just shrug and assume Batman has her working undercover as Wayne's bodyguard and adoption was the easiest way to do so.

And then finally, there's Steph. Who's dad loudly broadcasted to all of Gotham that she used to be Robin. Steph goes to college and gets at least one person a day coming up to her and being like "Hey uh... Can you tell Batgirl that the Russian Mafia near my apartment complex have started kidnapping kids." and Steph is like "I don't know why you think I know Batgirl but I'm sure she'll find out and fix it somehow." and no one calls her bluff because Batgirl (definitely not Stephanie no siree) does, in fact, fix their problems.

Bruce sends her a memo once a week lecturing her about safety concerns. She retaliates by making a twitter for Batgirl and exclusively posting unflattering shots from her cowl camera showing Batman mid fight in distress. Bruce backs down for now, because he does learn from some of his mistakes and the last thing he needs is this escalating into another gang war.

#dc #batfam #Batfamily #Stephanie Brown #Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Cassandra Cain #Dc rambles

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klausysworld · 1 year ago

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Pet Puppy

Klaus wasn’t easily fooled. He knew that the Salvatores, Elena & co were hiding something from him. So he did what anyone would do and investigated the matter.

He figured it out to a person, originally he thought that perhaps it was another Gilbert sibling but then one day he caught her scent.

She must’ve been a wolf, meaning she must be Tyler’s sister or another werewolf family was in town. So he went straight to his first sired hybrid and fired 20 questions at him. He watched as the boy struggled to find any possible loopholes to answer the questions in a a way that told him nothing. And yet by doing so it told him just about everything.

He figured out what she must look like, how she dresses, things she liked and what things meant to her. She was the perfect omega in his mind, a sweet little girl who would behave well and have a soft, innocent persona.

He knew she must if she had been hidden away this long, been compliant to the rules the Mystic Falls gang had set for her.

It wasn’t the easiest task as he searched through the Salvatores house and spied on the Gilbert’s. He checked Bonnies too but found she barely stayed there herself now that she had her mother back. Klaus had nearly forgotten that he was able to get into Caroline’s house after the whole biting situation.

But when he noticed the blonde coming to the grill and picking up an extra plate of food his curiosity peaked. He followed her home and that’s when he spotted the pretty face he had pictured so well as she came and pulled the curtains closed with a bright smile on her face as Elena beckoned her into her arms.

He had to come back another day, get her alone and see if she truly was the perfect omega.

His wolf already thought so and even if she wasn’t he might just take her for the fun of it, piss off everyone in town while having a pretty thing to entertain him.

Though that perspective changed when he got inside the house the next morning. He watched as she nearly jumped a mile when he came up behind her resulting in a pillow launched at his head and a chuckle to erupt from him.

He chased after her as she darted around the house, taking much enjoyment in the hunt before ultimately pouncing at her and tackling her to the ground.

His wolf could have purred at the instant submission she offered once he had caught her, the way her neck arched for him to bite if he so pleased and the little whine she emitted was delightful.

He looked down at her, keeping her pinned against the carpeted floor as he looked her over. She were smaller than he originally imagined but it only added to his attraction, her eyes big and fearful and yet a swirl of lust within them as his wolf produced a strong alpha scent to entice her in. His head tilted to the side and in response so did hers making the corner of his lips pull up.

She wriggled beneath him slightly in an attempt to get him to weaken his hold which he did after squeezing her neck gently. He moved back for her to sit up, he watched as she twitched in anticipation, as she got ready to bolt again. But she didn’t, just remained on edge as he trailed his fingers along each curve of her body. Certain spots he touched gained different reactions, mostly whimpers and little squeaks if he pressed down too hard.

But she didn’t shy away from him, she allowed him to touch and feel every inch of her skin that he could reach and shuddered or shivered in reply. Her wolf’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as his hands left a path of fire in their wake. Both amusement and lust mixed through him as she practically crawled her way into his lap and he rubbed all along her thighs, hips, back, torso, chest, shoulders.

His lips brushed along the side of his neck as she whined quietly to herself before stopping just behind her ear and kissing the spot tenderly.

“Pretty puppy” he murmured as a soft purr rumbled through her. Her head leant back against his shoulder as she sat between his legs. His teeth nibbled her earlobe lightly making her lips part and a soft moan to leave her.

Another 20 minutes went by of his kisses growing rougher, her sounds getting higher and louder as her body arched and clung to him.

Of course until a loud shriek tore his attention away from the swell of her breast which he had nearly gotten completely out of her bra cup. He glanced up to find Caroline looking horrified at the display of hickeys and bite marks in her friends throat, let alone her enemy with his mouth around the omegas tit.

Y/n was entirely out of it though and still moaning softly as his hands groped her gently, his eyes daring Caroline to do or say anything.

She practically ran out of her house, straight on the phone and screaming down it to Damon in a fit.

But by the time Damon had arrived, Klaus had Y/n back at his house.

Her legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he buried his face in between her breasts while he carried her up the stairs.

He nipped and sucked along them greedily before dropping her onto his bed and crawling on top of her. And he was entirely ready to claim her right there and then, until he looked down and saw her sweet face.

Her eyes completely black and her body almost vibrating from how loud her purr was. The backs of her fingers brushed over her chest as he hummed gravely.

“You’re such a sweet omega aren’t you puppy?” He muttered seeing her pant and tug at his henley like a dog in heat. His lips pulled into a smile and he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek. “Oh I think I’ll be keeping you my lovely” he smirked.

———————————————————————

And he most definitely intended on it.

He didn’t care how many times Stefan, Damon, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, Jeremy, Tyler, anyone came to try take her away. He had a firm grip on her at all times, keeping her at his side or pressed to his chest.

She was such a good girl for him, always doing as asked and curled up on top of him.

He would kiss her head and smooth his hands down her sides while feeling her face muzzle into his chest.

He carried her just about everywhere, whether it was to the kitchen or across town. There shouldn’t even be the slightest risk that she would be stolen from him. And he made sure of it.

Hands on her, arms around her, scent rubbed all over her and a range of sweet nothings and dirty somethings whispered in her ears.

She was his little pup until the day they both died, she would never leave him, not with how good he was for her.

He always kept her safe, protected, happy, loved and cared for.

“Hungry? Don’t worry puppy, I have your food on the way and your snack drawer is full.”

“Thirsty? Would you rather drink my blood or I bring you something different?”

“Sleepy little pup? That’s okay, you can curl right up here.”

Anything she needed, he could and would provide. Always…and forever of course.

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starlitscars · 4 months ago

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All you had to do

Severus Snape x F! Reader

Summary: It's a fateful night, already destined to be full of gloom and chaos. What else may go wrong if you don't listen to the the only thing Severus Snape wanted you to do, and show up at Hogwarts?

Word count: +11k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Half-blood Prince era, loosely focused on the book events, age gap (not explicitly specified at all, reader is in her 20s, Severus in his late 30s), typical violence in the Wizarding World, DEATH EATERS (reader included), fighting, breaking (many things), bleeding, unforgivable curse, Severus Snape needs his own warning, wounds, wine, inappropriate touching (not by Severus), protective! Snape, angry! Snape, degrading, language, angst and fluff and smut (yes, all in one), kinda slow burn (look at the word count), confessions, kissing, unprotected PIV, oral (M), praising, cum play, a bit of rough manhandling, a bit of aftercare, no use of y/n. Let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: I haven't written in ages and this is the first time I do so for the Half-blood Prince. All because Severus Snape is irresistible. I hope you bear with me. You might also check my TikTok content (username: stars.lupin) for more of him and other HP dilfs (if you like). Reblogs and votes are appreciated very much.

Your lack of patience has always been disturbing. Tonight is no different.

The Vanishing Cabinet provides little space for smuggling more than one person at a time. You like to imagine that's the only source of your labored breaths as you stand aside and watch – with a mixture of expectancy and impatience – as silhouettes of familiar faces appear by your side. When the last of your followers drapes the dusty curtain over the Cabinet in a poor attempt at concealing it, you turn with a shake of your head and slip past the wooden door.

It should be easy from now on. The corridor is drak, empty, and you've manged to enter the walls of Hogwarts as unsuspecting as possible. All that you're supposed to do is to take a shortcut towards the Astronomy Tower which isn't too far from where you're standing – the Room of Requirement. It's not, however, the easiest of tasks when a dozen of Death Eaters are on your tail and their master has relied on you to carry them there without attracting anyone's attention. Any sane person would imagine that you had a death wish by accepting it in the first place.

Not only one, but more than ten Death Eaters breaking through the safety of Hogwarts, right under the Headmaster's nose? If you hesitate for a heartbeat and give yourself enough time to reflect on your decision, it definitely is nothing but a death wish.

But your time is limited and it's only a matter of time before the staff realize there are intruders within the walls of the castle. So you don't think of the possibilities as you lead the way and stride down the moonlit corridor and past the numerous portraits on the walls, making a silent gesture to remind the Death Eaters of the plan "Follow me as closely and quietly as possible."

However, they don't abide by your simple rule as their heavy steps is far from being stealthy. When the group of the cloaked figures turn around a corner and reach the tricky staircase that should lead you to the upper floor, you halt by the second step and motion for one of them closest to you to wait by the foot of the stairs so that you can examine the last entrance for any unexpected trap or protective enchantment – which, to your dismay, seems to be a lot of it surrounding every inch of the corridor that directly connected your shortcut to the Tower.

Content with your instruction, some of the Death Eaters snigger and their faces glow with excitement as they huddle and look around for the first time, fully taking in the view of Hogwarts and its eerie air that seems to bother none of them. They don't pay much attention as your shadow disappears into the darkness and you find a hideout away from their prying eyes, letting out the breath that's been strangling you for the past few minutes since your arrival. When you're alone, your steady posture falters for a moment and the anticipation of what's going to happen slowly catches up on you. A green smoky Mark, large enough to be seen from yards away, has been charmed to levitate by the ceiling of the Astronomy Tower. Its penetrative glow easily conquers the pearly light of the moon and breaks through the dead darkness of the night, as if it wants to warn you of the presence of the Dark Lord right by your feet. The gloomy fate that has waited so impatiently for this day to finally consume you whole.

You've tried to not think about him. Him and his final words. But when you're alone and consumed with your fears like this... It's impossible. Your patience is little to nothing, and even that is wearing thin.

All you had to do – which happened to be the same as what Severus Snape wanted you to do – was to stay a safe distance away from this chaotic night, and yet you hadn't paid him a mind when you made your decision. You couldn't, really. The Dark Lord has put his full trust in you and one failed attempt or slipup leads to another, consequently ruining the perfect image you've been trying to craft for him for months.

Taking one more glance at the bizarre shade of green in the sky, you decide that your determination to walk on the same fragile line as Severus still outweighs all the scolding and ignorance he could direct towards you.

If he's going to risk his life tonight, then so are you.

Poor servants of the Dark Lord. Only if they knew what awaited them upstairs, only if they were as invested in this task as you are, they wouldn't be this pleased.

This is all a game of pretence. You won't back down now.

When you're supposedly done with examining the so-called shortcut – and more calm and determined than when you left your group – you retract your steps and emerge out of your hiding spot, not quite catching the attention of the Death Eaters at first. Some of them have gathered around a hairy, reeking figure who is babbling excitedly about-

"... You don't understand. Lots of kids are here. It will be a feast. I can smell the blood-"

You push through the crowd and draw your wand out, glowering at the source of those nasty words who was – much to your disgust – dragging his hairy, filthy hand over the portraits, a sinister smirk dancing on his yellow teeth. If only one of the people in portraits woke up, the whole school would be informed in seconds. And no doubt you'd kill him on the spot.

"No funny business," You hiss harshly, blood rushing to your face at the thought of his unpleasant ideas. "unless you want us exposed." You don't attempt to hide your disgust as you keep on staring him down. His blood-dried fingers pause midair and he scans his surrounding audience for some kind of backup. Seeing as everyone has backed down, the werewolf reluctantly retreats his dirty hand.

A moment or so passes until-

"So strict tonight. Have mercy on us, lady." He mutters to himself, mouth twitching into a nasty grin. It's a poor attempt on his side to justify his carelessness and greed, eliciting suppressed jeers from two of the Death Eaters. But you hear it loud and clear and your wand is poking at his jaw in a blink of an eye.

"You think Nagini will choose you for desert or the main meal, Fenrir? It's going to be a feast, after all." Your eyes trail up and down with repugnance, pushing the wand to dig deeper into his scarred skin to punctuate your words. He gulps in terror and backs down as quietly as possible. You turn to continue before any of them has the chance to spot the faint smirk on your face.

"Brace yourselves for what's to come. Wands ready by your side. This path should be free from Dumbledore's Guards..."

And your statement is partially true.

Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you lean down and march all the way towards the very end of yet another deserted corridor, undoing the protective enchantments and making way for the Death Eaters just as you'd been taught. A few feet away from the spiral staircase – which is located right below the Astronomy Tower – a sudden shout erupts from the opposite direction, bringing your hasty run into an unwanted halt.

"Found them, Granger. This way!"

To be honest, you half expected them to show up here at last. The Headmaster would not let the castle's protection go down without a fight. He wouldn't also let all of this look like a pretentious game planned beforehand and easy to guess by the Dark Lord's servants or the members of the Order, speaking of which, begin to round on you before you can fully turn on your heels.

Thankfully, there is not many of them.

But that doesn't mean it will be easy.

Especially when you witness the stunned expressions of your opponents as they see you not by their side, but rather against them and mingled within a sea of dark-cloaked figures. There's no time for explanations. Soon enough, hell breaks loose and the eerie darkness is replaced with jets of light being shot at different directions.

You fight with reluctance, eyes hopelessly searching for a sign of Severus in every corner. Why do you expect to spot him in the crowd, when all you want for him is to be safe?

The Death Eaters manage to trap two of the Aurors in ropes. A particular curse ricochets off the wall and blows the enormous chandelier overhead, shattering it into pieces. The force of the explosion sends you falling backwards. The stone wall cracks, bricks of various sizes along with shards of glass scattering all over the floor and filling the air with specks of dust. The incident seems to catch the Members of the Order off-guard too.

The pink-haired Auror who had informed the rest of the Members, crouches down to help another Auror whose face you don't quite make out in the momentary darkness.

This must be your chance to reach for the Tower. Calling hastily after Amycus Carrow and his sister, you gesture at the two nearest and mostly unharmed Death Eaters to make a brisk run for the staircase. You are so busy squeezing through the crowd and getting away from the remaining guards that you don't pay attention to a distant wand-waving that sends several shards flying in your direction.

It is probably aimed at everyone who attempts to mount the stairs. It doesn't really matter, as you're the last of the Death Eaters. Waves after waves of searing pain ripple inside you as splinters of glass dig into your skin, inflicting wound after wound on your forearm.

"You're hurt!" Alecto shrieks with panic, making a move to descend and help you.

"Just go up. GO UP. I'll be fine."

She nods and follows your order, disappearing off the view.

You turn your attention back to the chaos, catching sight of two Aurors narrowly dodging flames and spells as they chase after you. That's when it happens. Your knees give in for a split second and you stumble on the second step. Clutching the wand tightly into your uninjured hand, you flick it around and whisper several curses to block the stair.

You can't let this be over very soon.

But then you can't tell how much time has passed when you eventually make it to the Tower. Your head has started to throb with an agonizing pace, and the cool night air doesn't help the fresh cuts on your arm. If you dare a glance over the wooden floor, you'd spot drops of blood on your track. To make it all worse, everyone's attention is suddenly drawn to you. You stand more straight, maintaining an unreadable expression. As it's apparent, your arrival was in the midst of a heated discussion between Draco Malfoy and the Headmaster, whose calm eyes are now fixed on you.

You involuntarily gulp down, hoping your face isn't as pale as you think it is. A wand is aimed at him. He's disarmed. He's about to be killed. And yet all he does is to shake his head incredulously. The pain might've been a push to your delusions, but you're sure it's too subtle for anyone to notice. It's almost as if he's trying to remind you that "He won't be pleased when he sees you here, like this."

Your head hangs low, now finding more interest in the maroon liquid pooling by your feet than anything else.

Oh Severus. He won't be pleased by many things.

"That's right, what you're thinking. She led us to your spot, poor Dumbledore." Fenrir Greyback taunts in a mocking tone, earning the first nods of approval from his fellow Death Eaters.

"I see, and I have to admit it's been quite outstanding on her part," Dumbledore says, pausing for a moment to ponder his thoughts before voicing them, "It must be hurting you. They're putting up a good fight down there, I suppose? I suggest that you leave it to Draco and your friends here, seeing that you have already contributed to their plan..."

Friends. It makes you feel nauseous. These blasted things. All of them reek of blood, sweat, greed, and blind loyalty. If it wasn't because of Severus, you'd never be here.

"No..."

I can't leave it. I have to stay because of him.

"Draco, hurry up. We don't have much time left." Amycus spits, his voice laced with annoyance.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps makes their heads turn. Your heart skips a beat. You don't have to try to guess who it is. Only the person who'd taught you about Dark Arts could pass through the curses you'd put on the stairs earlier. He has a rich, heavy aura about him that effortlessly wraps itself around your whole being, rendering you speechless, breathless and yet alive at the same time.

The helpless shouts and screams coming from downstairs hasn't died down yet.

Silence stretches into infinity as you stand there. Your limbs feeling numb, even paralyzed. He doesn't notice you at first as he grabs Draco by his collar and pushes him aside.

Your eyes sting as you gather your courage and lift your head to spare him a fleeting gaze. He's this close to you. His features are gleaming under the greenish light of the Mark. And yet he's still unaware. Five blinks of your eyes is all takes for it to come to an end. On the first blink, his wand is drawn out and aimed directly at Dumbledore. On the second blink he tilts his head slightly to the right and catches sight of your wounds first. On the third blink he's looking into your eyes. You don't dare to jump to the next one, so you force yourself to stare back, unblinking.

And do you see the tiredness in those sunken, shadowed eyes? His expression is blank, or so he thinks it is. Because you don't fail to detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

When you're consumed by the force of your fourth blink, a pleading voice calls for him and he has to turn and look away from you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Severus, Please."

A jet of green light is shot from the tip of his wand, and on the fifth blink you're being dragged down the stairs along with the other Death Eaters, his grip on your uninjured hand only tight enough to reassure you that he's still there. You're still alive.

On the way down, your spinning head wonders whether Dumbledore had assumed Severus would waver and second-guess his decision if his gaze lingered on you a little longer? Was it really that?

"I'll get us out of here. You'll be fine."

You can't make out his face, but his shoulders are stiff. You nod nonetheless, words failing you miserably. He sounds unsure. His voice is shaking the tiniest bit. No one can assume that, seeing as his features intimidate even the fly who dares to pass by him in the air.

The pain is getting into you.

He takes a much needed turn, avoiding the chaotic fight unfolding as you pass the entrance and sprint into the cold night air. The courtyard is dark and your vision is getting blurry by each passing second, making it incredibly hard for you to watch your steps. You try to concentrate, you really do. You don't try to stop him though. You think that... Your presence along with the rest of the night's events should've caused more than enough concern for him.

You don't see why it would be necessary to risk it all again. It's not necessary to break your steps. You'd be fine, because he said so. You'd be-

A jet of red light soars past your head.

Distant voices call his name. They threaten him to stop. They don't know much about Severus Snape or else they wouldn't direct their threats towards him.

The growing shouts indicate that more students and staff have woken up. A number of Members have somehow managed to drag the fight out into the open. In your dizzy state, Severus dodges those shots with lazy flicks of his wand. He's so strong that he doesn't even need to turn to his opponents to know what they're up to. You wish you could keep up with him. You wish you could tell him how much you adore him for who he is.

It's a shame. All you had to do was to stay away from this.

Just as a rocket force hits you hard in the back, everything takes a quick turn for worse. You don't just stumble on your steps. The spell pulls all the strength from your body, your lungs too tight to breathe. You were just a few feet away from making it to the gate. Then you could Apparate.

Someone shouts "Incendio!" and flames of red-hot fire flash before your eyes before you collapse to the dark ground, vision going blank as you lose your grip with reality. The only warm touch that could leave you breathless, but alive, is gone.

°°°

Waking up in a cold sweat might not have been the best feeling in the world. It takes you a minute or two to register your surroundings as part of you incredulously waits for the ache to make an agonizing appearance, burn a hole in your limp body here and break a bone there. But you feel none of it. You might've just lost all your senses by now. At least you're not entrapped in complete darkness. At least you're alive.

The relief confuses you.

"My dear... He was not mistaken with his timing. He's never been... You are awake just in time." A voice exclaims with wonder and relief, pacing the dimly lit room to sit by the edge of the bed. She slowly helps you up in a sitting position.

"My wounds... my back-"

"You know better than to ask me who healed them." Narcissa Malfoy says in a soft tone. Your face must be riddled with a mixture of question and anxiety. Because when she places a soothing hand upon yours and slowly caresses it, you just realize that you've been clutching the bedsheet tightly in your grip.

"Is he- Narcissa, is he alright?" You ask, staring down at the marbled ground.

She smiles knowingly, still a little overwhelmed in her own world. "He is. He brought you here... I was worried for Draco, and then you. I still am... You must have seen- you understand how it all would've been if any of you failed tonight. But you're alright. Severus tended to your wounds. He sat by your side for a while..."

Something stirs inside you. He was here when you were unconscious. Severus Snape cannot be hating you that much, can he?

Narcissa pauses for a moment, swallowing the heavy lump at the mention of her son. She's right. It would've been a living nightmare if you hadn't succeeded in killing the Hogwarts's Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

"When I came in to visit you, he said you'd be up in fifty minutes sharp. Then he left to discuss the matters with the Dark Lord."

He's alive and unharmed. What else would you want from this world?

"Quit pondering the unknown. The Dark Lord is expecting you. You know you have outdone yourself in this one."

There's a glimmer of hope in the pit of your stomach as she leads you to the drawing room. The sound of chattering and careless laughter grows louder with each step. And before you chance a full glance over your surroundings, you're settled on a chair by the all-too-familiar ornate table that has witnessed many secret meetings within the Malfoy Manor.

All eyes turn to you when Voldemort announces your presence. Severus is in your line of vision, right by his side. An uncomfortable, cold shiver ripples inside you. You don't dare to let your gaze land on him, not yet.

The difference with your usual meetings is that there is no palpable sign of fear or gloom in the air now. There are several glasses upon a tray, filled with bloodred wine and floating around the table, except that no one is really holding it. It's charmed to move on its own accord. When it pauses by your side, you don't hesitate to pick a glass, draining it all at once.

Your companion Death Eaters snigger triumphantly. Their manners are careless, full of greed. It's almost as if they have just conquered the whole Wizarding World. The rough surface of their unbearable faces is consumed by liquor, drunk eyes roaming up and down your body to the point that it disgusts you to the core. It's an unpleasant experience, to say the least.

If only you could draw your wand out and leave a hole in their chests.

"I must say I am honored by your presence." Voldemort says at once, his pleased expression fixated on you. He extends a hand towards the crowd. The horrid noises die down as he continues. "Here our friends were thinking it would be an utter disgrace if you didn't get to share this victorious moment with us."

The comfortable silence lasts only for a moment. Several Death Eaters howl and thump their fistson the table, voicing their agreement with the Dark Lord's statement.

How very charming.

You place your glass down, fighting to gain your composure as you bow your head down.

"The honor is all mine, my Lord..."

Finally, your desperate gaze wavers and finds Severus. He is staring straight ahead. No scolding, no frowning, no nothing. It breaks you harder than the chandelier you'd witnessed hours ago. It cuts through your skin sharper than the shards you'd endured. It's salt to an open wound. You avert your eyes and settle them back on Voldemort who happens to have stood up, nodding his approval at your words. You maintain a respectful smile.

But who are you decieving? You're barely there. The only person you care about is avoiding you.

"However, I require complete heedfulness from you in your next missions – one of which happens to be very soon on your part – and should you need any assistance or advice, Severus here feels much obligated to help you. I trust him to be your partner in your upcoming task." Voldemort states as his skinny fingers trail over the huge snake climbing up his chair. He glances sideways at Severus, expecting an answer.

His beautiful, adorable face is contorted with disquiet. It's buried and gone before his master can notice anything. He forces a nod.

"At your order, my Lord."

When have you let your fingers disappear beneath the table? Why are you fidgeting?

All the heads incline towards Voldemort, glasses raising in midair for a toast.

"To the Dark Lord."

Their wheezing and babbling continues for another hour.

You stare down at your glass, watching as it refills itself with red liquor. Does he ever notice the little details about you? Does he detect the shake in your voice at times when you try your hardest to not choke on your words?

Voldemort is satisfied by what you have done. It should be your best-laid plan. Severus Snape has always forewarned you about early conclusions, but you can't help it when the thought crosses your mind. This has been your best-laid plan to day.

The only difference with reality is that, it isn't. You don't feel triumphant.

A sudden pat on your shoulder breaks your train of thoughts. You give Narcissa a questioning look. She only gestures towards the door, hoping that it's enough to bring your senses back into action. His dark black cloak is flapping as his silhouette disappears in darkness.

You scurry out, hasty footsteps echoing as you opt for the entrance door. That must be the only exit. The hallway is empty and dark. You pause in a corner, calling out his name. There's no answer other than the blowing whistle of the night breeze wafting in through the ground-floor windows. There's no sign of Severus down into the enormous yard or even by the wrought-iron gate of the Manor.

The darkness bugs you as you have to search every possible corner as well as watching your steps. You distinctly remember Narcissa telling you how the level of illumination should be the lowest for safety reasons. Haven't you suffered enough in the darkness?

"Severus, a word... Please."

You quickly retrace your steps, trying another pathway. Maybe he hasn't left yet. You call out again, pausing for a fraction of second to pull out your wand and illuminate your surroundings.

Two big palms appear out of nowhere and shove you headfirst against the nearest wall, the force of it knocking the air out of your lungs. Not giving you a chance to register what's happening, the stranger pushes your shoulders forward, pinning your hands behind your back in an uncomfortable angle. It sends your wand falling and rattling on the floor. You gasp in pain.

"Pick it, quickly."

The rancid voice calls to another stranger by your left. You twist your body from side to side, trying to wriggle out of the Fenrir Greyback's crushing grip.

"Let go of me, you filthy, blasted creature- ahh."

He only tightest his hairy paws, pushing you further into the wall. The cold, iron surface of an ill-shaped decoration digs deep into your cheek. He leans over and grins, his whiskers coming in contact with your skin. "Don't fight it little minx. No one's gonna hear your pathetic whines."

Greyback turns to the other stranger, voice laced with sarcasm and hatred. "Go and fetch more wine, Yaxley. We want to feast like beasts."

You barely suppress a shudder at those words. The other Death Eater seems to nod and disappear down the hallway with quick footsteps, no words spoken.

"Shocks you, doesn't it? I like it when you're frightened."

Your eyes are squeezed shut, heart thudding impatiently in your chest. His mere proximity is making you nauseous. The drawing room is so far from here that you wonder if anyone will ever catch you.

A terrible, drawn-out cry of misery sounds in the distant corner. If you're not mistaken in your miserable state, it's come from the same direction the other Death Eater had marched into minutes ago. The werewolf is too wasted to notice any other sound of the sort.

His animalistic grin only grows wider as he takes in your sight.

"Here I noticed you were leaving too early. It would be disrespectful to not celebrate properly... With a pretty thing like you..."

You try again, scrambling to loosen his grasp on your wrists. But he has just put all his damned weight on you, and his massive frame keeps you locked in place.

"You're sick and psychotic. I should've told- should've, NO!" Your scream is muffled as his hairy hand locks around your mouth. His other hand clawing its way past the hem of your skirt, aiming to feel all the way up to your hips. Tears of despair roll down your cheeks.

You wish you wouldn't live to see this day. It truly is a sickening scene – repulsive even – and full of everything you ever despised. Blood in your veins begins to boil with hatred.

The unbearable weight is suddenly lifted off your shoulders, air filling your lungs as if you have been breathless for a long time. The werewolf is practically thrown against the opposite wall, crashing down with a loud thud.

A wand is illuminated.

Your knees give away in an instant and slide down. You rest your head against the wall, willing the tears to stop.

"What the heck are you doing, Snape?" Greyback snarls, sobered up just enough to sputter an explanation. "Just because you're our Lord's favorite, doesn't mean you could beat up his loyal followers. I was not taking advantage of her. She was wasted and alone. She asked me to be her company."

The blatant lies come straight out of his pointed teeth. You wish your mind was less occupied back in the meeting. Nagini would've wiped any sign of his filth off the planet, as if he never even existed in the first place.

Severus is so angry that you're certain Greyback will have to pick those teeth off the floor if he keeps on mustering up some nonsense. You've never seen him allowing emotions to make an appearance on his face.

But under the dim lighting of his wand, you see him seething. The ferocity in his gaze might set any wrongdoer ablaze. If Fenrir could see the twist of rage and fire in his eyes the way you could, he would've wished to never talk at all.

"You old dungeon bat, get off us now. That slut wanted-"

The werewolf fails miserably. Those slurs are directed at you, and that's what sets Severus off. The next second he's writhing in excruciating pain, squirming on the dark green carpet of the hallway with a beasty wail of pain.

He's Crucioing him.

His rage apparently only intensifies when he turns to you. A slight shake of his wrist has the werewolf howling even harder in agony. But- this time his wailing and hopeless cries are silenced with a charm. No one's gonna hear anything.

Severus knows he doesn't need to ask you to make sure, as he's inflicting enough torture on the wretched brute for putting his hands on you. Still, he wants to stop the giddiness from taking over you. You're light-headed and unbeknownst to you, it's killing him for the umpteenth time in the past few hours.

"Is that true? Did you ask him to?"

His voice is raspy, but not discomposed. You just stare at him. The sheer terror has left you speechless, words foreign to your tongue.

He tries again, more softly. Concern is painting a deep line between his knitted brows. "You should answer me, sweetheart. I want you to keep your focus on me. Did you really want this?"

You shake your head slowly.

"No, Severus. No."

His piercing gaze lingers on your lap for a second or two before he turns. He decides that a broken jaw is Fenrir's payment for leaving two burning red marks on your wrists.

The crack echoes in the air.

Severus leans down calmly, undoing the spells one by one, not in a haste to let the Death Eater feel any kind of relief. Dark hair is covering his features, but his next words are loud and clear.

"Do something as close to this again, and I will make sure everyone lives to see the day I turn your bones into powder and keep it in a stoppered jar, right on the shelf of my cold dungeon. Every. Single. Bone."

Next thing you know is Fenrir's practically running for the entrance door, not even dreaming of looking back.

He must have understood. Severus Snape is a man who keeps his promises.

"I wasn't aware being incautious has become your new luxury."

He states and crouches down before you, examining your bruised cheek with much caution and care before his onyx eyes wander to yours.

"Severus, I- he caught me off-guard. I was looking for you. Wanted to talk about-" You choke back, eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Don't," He lifts a hand, stopping you before it all becomes too much again. "Don't start now. Not here. Can you walk for me?"

You nod wordlessly. If he's not ignoring you, if he's soft with you, if he's here for you, you can do the walking.

°°°

It turns out that Severus had left the meeting earlier in order to find a safe spot where you could settle for your next mission, he explained on the way. Apparently, it had to be located in a Muggle neighborhood, with the lowest chance of being tracked by the Ministry of Magic or the Members of the Order of the Phoenix. You and Severus were well-known among the Members and after the attack to Hogwarts, they'd be on the lookout for both of you.

Hiding out was one of your missions.

"...and we have to stay here until further instructions from the Dark Lord."

He doesn't really reveal much after that, but you assume that this hiding game won't continue for too long under the circumstances that he becomes the next Headmaster. You can only hope it doesn't happen.

More danger for him is a terrible idea, but you don't dwell upon it. For now.

Then he explained that the moment he returned to the Manor, first thing he decided on was to inform the Dark Lord. He then asked whether Narcissa was aware of your whereabouts and the confused Malfoy answered him with "She must be with you by now." It gave him an idea. A very bad idea. Most of the Death Eaters had already fled. But then, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Yaxley's poor attempt at sneaking the wine tray, two wands hidden messily beneath his sleeve. His first instinct was to follow the Death Eater. He had your wand with him.

The night is not as young as before, but still alive when you arrive to your hideout. It's a small Muggle house, not much into it. A dusty bookshelf, picture frames, a small table and a worn-out couch. Severus insists on using "No magic!" before disappearing in another room. You settle on the couch.

He returns with a glass of water and stands over you, waiting expectantly for you to drink it. The scowl is back on his face and it's permanent, but he still cares.

You drink in silence, trying to postpone what's to come, but those dark orbits are glinting with so much reprimand and disappointment that your throat feels dry again. You place the half-empty glass on the small table. His tense gaze follows it momentarily.

"Is there something wrong with my face? You've been staring daggers at me."

He's been teetering on the edge, and your mere question sets him off. "Many things have gone wrong and you were at the receiving end of them. I believe that your brilliant mind has conjured a good enough reason or two to explain this chaos, true?"

Well, you did not expect it to start like that. You're rendered speechless, so he continues, pacing back and forth on the limited space of the room.

"Let me reason then. Maybe the Miss 'capable of everything' in you wanted to ruin me by showing up to the one place I forbade her from?"

"I don't want to ruin you Severus. I never do."

"Then may I know why your actions have become so foolish and careless all of a sudden?" He seethes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I already explained it. I was caught off-guard when I came looking for you. I was worried sick and... I wanted to talk to you. And about what happened in Hogwarts...," you pause for a heartbeat, fiddling with the rim of the glass. You're not sure if your throat feels more dry or heavy with a growing lump. "The plan went mostly fine. I was being careful. The injuries weren't probably that deep or severe-"

That is a blatant lie. He scoffs, shaking his head.

"Please, I beg your finest pardon to stop there. Because I do not remember you being conscious when I had to choose between pulling the shards out first or tending to the rapid bleeding or mending your broken back. Do I have to go on?"

You shake your head, painfully aware of what he would say if he went on. The red imprints have turned into a pink shade, but not totally faded off your skin. Were you really hurt that badly when you tripped over and fell on the ground?

Guilt begins to wash over you. It has been severe enough to upset him, the Severus Snape who cares about very few things in life.

"I'm sorry Severus. I had to be more watchful. But don't you think I'm capable of more than what you want me to do? Don't you believe I can do more than just 'staying away from danger'? I did my job, well I did most of it- and the Dark Lord trusts me."

And if I wanted to be uninjured, I had to stop myself from thinking too much about you and It's never been easy. Not when you look at me like that.

His steps come to an abrupt halt in front of you, dark cloak sweeping mindlessly on the floor. "Capable or not, trusted or not. I cannot care less about your extraordinary achievements, because you happen to have been terribly careless in your acts of bravery. I made it pretty much clear that I don't want you to put yourself in danger like that, and that was final. But you and your cavalier attitude are too stubborn to notice a thing." He grits through his teeth. Your words and explanations do nothing to help the situation. If anything, he's getting angrier by each passing second.

You know he's being irrational. Severus Snape is totally mistaken if he thinks danger is only waiting for him behind the gates and he is the one who should be allowed to enter.

You shoot back.

"If you have made up your mind about finishing this job, me and my cavalier attitude will do the same. Please do not treat me like I'm defenseless or unaware of the danger, and it should only be you who is constantly risking everything. If you don't want me to be hurt, I'm letting you know that keeping me sheltered and away from you is the greatest pain. I want to fight by your side, Severus."

He lets out a frustrated growl, eyes narrowing.

"Merlin... why are you being so foolish? I just do not understand... You're asking to get yourself killed. What are you thinking? Or are you just not thinking at all?"

"I'm thinking that I can handle it just fine," You insist, stubbornly.

"You can handle it just fine," He repeats in a mocking undertone. "How very intriguing. Because if I'm not mistaken, you nearly died on me, not once but TWICE in a row even after I told you I don't want you to involve yourself in it."

You wonder if you're imagining things or that's a teardrop sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his white shirt. Your heart breaks just a little too much at that.

"That's the decision I should make, Severus." You say slowly.

The air is thick around you and you feel suffocated. Even in your worst state of mind, you weren't tricked into thinking that his aura leaves you speechless and breathless. You really shouldn't let the words fail you. You need a moment to gather your thoughts, and you need it now.

The glass is fully drained before you're standing, mere feet away from his rigid posture.

"Do you think I take pleasure in pretending that the violence doesn't affect me? Do you think I enjoy dealing with those creepy Death Eaters? Do you think it intrigues me when I have to die thousand times in a day, just to fulfill a stupid mission? Do you think I relish in the fact that one of them cornered me and tried to... to-" Choking back a tear, you continue. "Do you really think of me like that?"

"Why? Just give me a reason why you're doing this. Why aren't you being safe?" His voice thunders over the quiet stillness of the room.

There is something about the way he is looking at you. You think you'd seen it back in the Astronomy Tower as well, even though it lasted for a fleeting moment. Now it's permanent. It feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at this precise moment when you begin to realize that he's not shouting because he’s angry.

He’s afraid.

"Because I love you."

As soon as the confession tumbles out of your mouth, you're taking a step back, eyes wide. The three words that had been there, for months or even years, are now out. You knew he was different from everyone else the moment you'd laid eyes on him on your very first meeting in the Order. The day you changed sides, those three words never changed. You haven't just admitted it out loud. You've known it for so long.

Under any other circumstance, he would scoff and make a witty remark or even joke on it, 'love in these times is for fools' and honestly, who were you but a fool?

Love is daunting. It brings grief. But it also brings peace. It makes you feel reckless.

"You- you what?" He falters, voice barely audible and equally taken aback by what you've just said.

"I love you," You declare, inching your way closer. "And I know that all you want is to protect me, Severus. I know that I have been incautious. I know that you are worried, but so am I. My hands may tremble on the way, my knees may wobble, my whole being may shiver, but..." You step even closer, until your chest brushes his. The subtle scent of mint invades your senses. You look up, more sincere than he'd ever seen you, "as long I'm in love with you, I can fight and I will."

You love him.

And you know he loves you.

From the way he taught you extra lessons and always made sure you were taking care of yourself, or the way his gaze lingered on you a second or two or three longer on every passing glance, you know it. The soft edge and subtle acknowledgment that he only saved for you, the featherlight brushes of his fingertips on your cheeks, the way he bothered to heal your wounds and then went on to beat up the ones who had hurt you the slightest... None of it was your imagination. He never did those things for others. He, Severus Snape, had willingly waited by your side when you were on the edge of the line.

You don't have to question him about his thoughts in all those moments. You know.

He has shown you what love is, in his own way.

When you turn to give him space, it dawns on you that he might have put a few drops of those comforting draughts of his into your water. You struggle to suppress a smile, not feeling an ounce of regret after your confession.

"Please never try to stop me again."

"Hush now," He scolds softly, his frame towering behind you. He snakes his arms around your middle in a slow, tentative pace, giving you enough space to back down. Ever the thoughtful man he is, "this might just make the matters worse, but I love you too."

He tilts his head and rests his chin on your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest. His warm exhale tickles your skin. He's too close, too broad, too strong and irresistible that you feel an overpowering desire to ask him to imprison you in his hold for a long, long time.

But you wait patiently. You should have patience. The tension hasn't quite left him. He's barely touching you, but he's there, quietly solving the puzzle of anxiety and fear that has riddled his mind.

A ghost of a kiss is pressed below your earlobe, setting a warm shiver trickling down the delicate skin. He tries again, his hoarse voice now more confident.

"I love you," His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he's turning you around. "and I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life, stubborn girl."

He cradles your face between his large, warm palms. His thumbs brush back and forth over your jawline, a stark contrast to the brutal way he'd argued with you mere seconds ago. He ponders, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. When he finds nothing that might stop him, he leans down, brushing his nose against your own. His long fingers travel downward, curling around the nape of your neck. It's torturously slow and thoughtful, similar to that of a snake wrapping its way around its prey.

All you wish is to be his prey. His stubborn prey.

His hands. Lord, those hands of his. Severus could actually smother you with them, and you'd thank him. If you give yourself a moment to ponder the thought, it blows your mind how he has barely done anything and you've already decided to let him be cruel to you.

A sly smirk dances over the corner of his mouth, covered by the stealthy darkness of the room. He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly. It's a chaste kiss at first, experimental even. But he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, fingers squeezing around your neck hard enough to elicit a muffled gasp. Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the cold wall, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved. He doesn't deem it necessary to ask for it, wait for it. Your obscene thoughts are written all over your face, effortlessly guiding his actions.

"So divine. So pretty."

His breathless voice is barely audible, more like a thought spoken to himself as his gaze travels back and forth between your eyes and the lips he so eagerly wants to kiss until he turns you into a swollen, red and bruised piece of art.

His other hand rests over the small of your back, fingers digging deep to emphasize his praise. You whimper into his mouth, all hot and bothered by the warm imprints of his fingertips. You slide your hands up his broad chest and past his shoulders until your fingers tangle in those dark black strands of his. You hold onto him for dear life.

But even dear life crumbles under the intensity of his presence.

"I do not wish to witness what I witnessed today again. Will you promise to be more patient and careful from now on?"

"I'm all yours now. That much I can promise."

It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him.

It washes over him for a split second, the sort of reaction he would have if he were to use a step-by-step instruction to brew a potion only to watch it turn into a totally different draught. It's, however, soon replaced with a sinister desire, creeping closer to the unrelenting hold he has around your throat. He looks at you like he might just strangle you on the spot or give his all to make you feel good. Either way, all doubts and cautious touches are gone in an instant. Up until now, he didn't want to indulge in what he truly wished to do to you. And oh, you do want to be the reason Severus loses his control.

Taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, his firm hold forces you to maintain eye contact.

"That, I can say, is not very clever of you." He states, a tinge of warning, reprimand and lust mingled in his tone. It sends a shudder down your spine. His firm grip on your arm is already pushing you to turn on your hills before you hear his order. "Turn around."

A sudden gasp emanates from you as the side of your face comes in contact with the bare wall. You brace your palms against the cold brick to keep your balance, fighting the sudden urge to grind back into him when he creeps closer, caging you between his arms, still clad in that dark grey coat that you can't wait to see unbuttoned.

But something else is distracting you. You can't fight it from getting into you. Not when it's dark and you're pushed against a wall, locked in a position that sends memories of the prior events flashing before your eyes. You blink a couple of times, willing the blurry images to go away.

You try to focus on the moment, you really do.

His hands rest on either side of yours as he peppers open-mouthed kisses over the crook of your neck, setting your skin ablaze by the slightest friction of his match.

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, closer than before. You have no idea if it's meant to keep you focused on the moment, but then your skirt is bunched up in a fist, the rough pattern of his cotton slacks pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. It helps a little. You barely suppress a gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his bulge between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat over your groin.

"Are you going to stop me or take your lesson the way you deserve it?"

That werewolf was going to do what he wanted if Severus wasn't there to save you. He was going to touch you and no one would hear your hopeless cries.

"Would never stop my master... I would never." You breathe, need and desperation sewn in your words.

Severus hums in approval, "Good," then he brings his hand down to grip your thigh tightly beneath his wide palm, fingers resting dangerously close to where he knows you want them the most. "I shall make it a memorable lesson, then."

You're a mess between your legs, but still pretty much bothered, and Severus is painfully aware of it.

He doesn't relent or halt though, two fingers trailing up over the wet patch on your panties. He pushes the tips of his fingers up slightly, pulling a low whimper from you as they catch on your weeping hole. Then he opts for the languid drags again, feeling the growing mess under his touch. "Is there anything you wish to tell me? Those thoughts are all but bolting in your head."

"I don't know. I- I can't..." You whine, shaking your head. How pathetic would it make you look if he hears about your nonexistent fears and what ifs?

To be honest, you can't hide anything from him forever. Severus could easily read your mind. But he's being patient with you, appearing as nonchalant as ever.

"Is it distracting you? Go on sweetheart. We both know you can tell me what is bothering this pretty head. I'm here to listen." He reassures calmly. Somewhere between the first and last word, his fingers dip beneath the fabric of your panties to gather some of the slick. Then he halts his actions altogether, warm hand covering your mound in a delicious grip, but no friction to ease the tension.

Part of you ponders the double meaning behind his question. Because you're pretty much distracted by the soothing rub of his other thumb over your wrist. It makes the dark wall appear less intimidating than it already is.

You try to move, to create some kind of friction, but he holds you there. 'If you want your reward, you should earn it' was what he usually told you in all those tough, never-ending days of extra Dark Arts lessons. Back then, you didn't know much about him and if the small touches and placating smiles were anything to go by, you can earn this reward as well.

You clear your throat. As painful as it is, you should get the words off your chest. You trust him.

"Back in the Manor... I hated it- I hated the way he made me feel. Him and his- those filthy hands. All I could think about was you, Severus. If you weren't there-"

"Shh, I know sweetheart, I know. I am here now." Finally, finally he touches you with proper care, fingers dragging up the slit and smearing the arousal over your clit. He rubs slow circles at first, all while soothing the near-panic experience out of your body with his unwavering touch. One thing you realize about this man is that he doesn't tease, but rather goes straight to the point. The friction is such a relief. Your knees tremble as his touch becomes more firm and assured. "No one is going to hurt you. I won't let that happen again. Now tell me... you want your master to get rid of those bad thoughts for you, am I right?"

His words placate you. Your nod is quick, without a second thought. It's terribly easy to fold beneath him.

Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it beats impatiently in your chest.

He tuts, not quite convinced. His fingers work faster, making it incredibly hard for you to form coherent lines. Your low moans and whines turn a little louder, filling the silence of the room. The wicked desire in his slow drawl is not helping at all. "My girl should use her words."

But he doesn't give you the opportunity to do so when he fluidly shoves two fingers inside, emitting a gutteral moan from you. Your hands fumble in a clumsy attempt to hold onto a part of him, his arm, his cloak. You take him easily, pussy gripping his fingers with an obscene squelch that makes him cave and let his chest rumble with a sound between a low groan and a curse.

"I, uh- yes, that's right. Please do it."

He hums and pulls out before quickly plunging in again. The sudden force of it pulls you closer into him, if that's even possible. His fingers are knuckles deep, curled in a way that should be forbidden because of how sinful it is. But then he's hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

You practically claw at his shoulders, knees becoming wobbly as the euphoric sensation builds up within your core, the coil threatening to snap at any moment.

But you're making a lot of noise and it cuts deep through the silence of this Muggle house, not aware of the fact that it might give you away. Part of Severus wishes he could use a silencing charm. Instead, his free hand rests on the column of your throat, feeling the way it vibrates beneath each helpless moan, blessing his ears.

You might not see it, but his chest swells with pride. You're a mess, and he's the one responsible for it.

Very reluctantly, his wide palm covers your mouth, muffling your blissed-out cries. "Be a good girl and keep it quite... let it all out for me. I want you to think of nothing else. Just let go." His thumb presses hard against your clit and that's your undoing. Your head falls back, waves of pleasure blasting and rippling over your skin, chest warm with white-hot ecstacy.

You're a sight to behold.

Especially when you're putty in his hands like this.

And there's only so much Severus can do to refrain from bending you over the table and pounding into you senseless 'til the break of dawn.

You pant heavily, still quite entranced by the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you. Pieces of clothing have been tossed somewhere behind, long forgotten. You can't think of anything else.

He slowly pulls his fingers out, shushing your whine at the loss with a chaste kiss. You sigh into his mouth, feeling the thick, stiff shape of him between your cheeks, leaking and leaving a wet mark on your skin. He doesn't rush it as he smears your arousal over his tip and strokes a few times.

You don't brace yourself against the brick wall as he pushes his cock inside you, sheathing deeper inch by inch. He holds you close, left hand grasping your wrests behind your back within the tiny space left between your bodies. He goes a bit slow at first, allowing you to get adjusted to the stretch. You feel so full like this, walls squeezing around him in a delectable grip. He's applying the right amount of pressure in every angle, his grip not too tight to cause pain and not too loose to leave you unsatisfied.

He really knows what he's doing. Everything about him turns you on.

You shudder particularly hard when he pulls halfway out and slides back in, filling you full to the brim. Then his other hand begins to roam around your side, trailing a burning path over your curves. His labored breaths and low grunts echo in your ear with each thrust. He's so large, practically in your stomach as he starts to steadily thrust in and out. Your legs tighten involuntarily when the tip of his fingers brush past the hem of your soaked panties, stomach lurching as it pushes you into a slightly different angle. He curses under his breath.

"Ease up sweetheart," He grunts, voice an octave lower than before. "You'll have me all to yourself."

You try, but it's practically impossible when he's being so good to you. It's his own fault. You should be sorry, because your hunger only worsens as you listen to him.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, little dove?" Severus questions, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises that fall past your swollen lips. He peers down at you. There's this hidden yearning between your brows, moulded into a crease as you fight the urge to thrust back into him. It's so pathetically endearing. He might reward you later for it. "What are you sorry for? Are you sorry for being this desperate or sorry that you didn't abide by my words?"

A chocked out "Both" is all you can manage.

It feels like he's splitting you in half, but at the same time his actions are so measured and empowered that you have no choice but to gush even more.

"Feels good, ahh-"

"Of course it does." He chuckles darkly, releasing his grip on your wrists. You bend ever so slightly, back arching in display and relishing in the way he twitches inside you. "Needed it to the point that you went through the worst, just to have my attention. It's pathetic."

It is pathetic. But you love nothing more than his undivided attention on you.

His wide palms find home on your hips and he begins to pound into you without any reservation, any inhibition. His pace is relentless. Your legs shake on their own accord, swaying back and forth with each merciless slap of his thighs. The familiar coil forms in the pit of your stomach again, head going dizzy as he gives it to you over and over. The room is brimming with wet squelches and mingled grunts.

"You're mine and I will let every single one of them know it. I will have them bewail their useless lives if they hurt you ever again. Just wait... wait and be patient for me. Can you do that?" He rasps, a scrap of anger returning to his voice. In your flustered state, you barely hear his demand.

His fingertips dig into your bare flesh as he takes and takes. You wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's using you like this for his own pleasure. He's neither suppressing his rage over what the Death Eaters did to you nor hiding his lust over what he himself wants to do to you.

"Pathetic baby, cannot even think straight anymore," He tuts, pace slowing and thrusts becoming heavier. "Say it. Say that you're mine. Let it sink into your stubborn mind."

"Yours, Severus... I'm all- all yours. Severus, please-"

He pulls out abruptly. Your eyes well up in an instant, feeling lost at the sudden emptiness. Severus catches you before you could mourn the loss. His fingers tangle in your hair, and he tugs, forcing you to stare into his onyx eyes. "Where do you want it?"

You've never seen Severus like this. Face flushed, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, hair untidy, and incredibly handsome. There's a dark hunger in his gaze, eyes glinting black beneath the faint moonlight that streams in through the window. It takes your breath away.

Your mouth falls open without a word, tongue sticking out in a silent invitation. You hope he grants it. You'd beg for it if he wishes to make you.

His gaze wanders lower, staying there for one or two seconds. A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he releases you.

"Naughty one. On your knees."

You're scrambling to obey his order before he finishes it. Your knees come in contact with the wooden floor, hands fiddling impatiently in your lap as you blink the tears away, taking in the view of him towering above you.

He witnesses the slightest motions like this, so it doesn't go unnoticed by him when your searching gaze passes over his muscles and drifts all the way down to settle on his cock, mere inches away from your face. Your eyes widen. It's big, bigger than you had anticipated. His length is glistening with your arousal, veins prominent and red. You look back up pleadingly, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. It feels like you might just faint if he doesn't stuff your mouth full.

Severus saves you from misery by stroking himself a few times. Without breaking eye contact, the tip of his cock slides past your lips, disappearing in the warmth of your waiting mouth.

You sigh, swirling your tongue all around the shaft, tasting a mixture of precum and your own arousal. A lewd grunt emanates from him as you swallow around the length. His heady scent envelops you, deepening the dizzied state in your head. You want to go deeper, not caring if it might hurt your throat. If the pain comes from him, you want it.

So he allows you, the gentle brush of his thumb on your flushed cheek as his cock is buried deeper, lower, louder. He's past the point of caring if anyone hears these sounds anymore. He's more than halfway in when you reach your limit, opting to hollow your cheeks around him as he begins to move in slow thrusts.

You're being so obedient and measured. That's just the way he likes.

He pulls out with a pop and leans down, eye level with you as you catch your breath. His eyes roam over your face, taking in the wrecked sight of you. His thumb smoothes over the crease between your brows before he wipes a drop of tear off your jawline. You hadn't realized you were crying. "Look at you, silent and obedient, desperate to do what your master told you. Was that all it would take for you to listen?"

Seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them. Of course he knows he is your true master.

He stands back up, not waiting for your answer. It's written all over you. Much to your delight, he guides your head forward and you eagerly take his thrusts as he feeds his cock into your mouth, not once pushing past your limits. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, signaling that he's on the verge of coming undone. He pounds into you once, twice, three times and then you're bracing your hands on his thighs, nails holding onto the taut muscle as your hooded eyes threaten to fall shut. You take him as deep as you can. On the fifth thrust, he stills in your mouth, a string of curses falling from his mouth. He lets out a sound you'd never heard from him before.

It's not a grunt, a groan or even a cuss. He whimpers.

Head falling back as the euphoric waves crash into him, his cock twitches inside your mouth, thick spurts painting your throat. He's a work of art, all you'd ever wished to see in a man. Your jaw is slack, eyes stinging, knees hurting. Hell, even your whole body is limp and overcome by exhaustion. But you're too entranced by him to feel anything less than content. He holds onto you, riding out his high and all you wish for is to do it again and again.

You pull back slightly to watch his expression, more satisfied than ever. One look at his blissed-out and relaxed expression has you aching and longing for him again. Somewhere between your legs, you ache for his touch again, as if he hadn't just wrecked you moments ago. But the sight of him is enough for now. You can wait for more. He loves you and it's enough.

"You're pretty, but prettier when you listen to me, do you know that?"

You nod into him and smile, not quite able to talk as his cock is still buried halfway in your mouth. His eyes rake over your body, confusion quickly replaced with a small frown. He arches a brow, not tearing his gaze from your thighs. You've pushed them together tightly... in search of some friction. Has Severus left his girl unsatisfied?

He glances over his shoulder, catching sight of the unoccupied table in the corner. For a moment he considers lifting you up into his arms and laying you there, so he could gently soothe the ache for you...

But then you're drifting off with his cock in your mouth, body going limp as exhaustion takes over you. He knows you went this far because of him, so he makes a mental note to make it up to you in the morning.

He knows how to give it to you the way you deserve it.

"Will be careful... and, and patient. For my master." You mumble sleepily, arms wrapping around his neck as he envelops you in his hold, lifting you off the floor with extra care.

Severus smiles, gently carrying you to the other room and tucking you in the bed for a much needed rest. "That's all you have to do."

#severus snape x reader #severus snape one shot #severus snape #professor snape #snape #half blood prince #death eaters #hogwarts #order of the phoenix #severus snape smut #severus snape fluff

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the-fiction-witch · 1 year ago

Text

Morning Maid

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty af

I hurried myself through the hospital corridors and stairwells finally finding myself at the second-floor room not bothering to knock, I never did and he never made me. Plus my hands where littered with the various items I would be needing this morning. I went inside shutting the door behind me and scampering inside the little room.

I set fresh towels and his clean laundry on the table close to the wardrobe, set his breakfast by the stove ready to cook in a moment, and I set his sheets next to his bedpost given his body still laid in his bed.

The room dark, his fluffy hair only just poking out the covers.

I brushed off my hands and set the stove to begin warming as I went to the window pulling open the curtains to let in the sweet morning sun.

"Ughurhmmm-" Mumbled from the bed with a shift and a wiggle he turned away to face the wall so the light bothered him less

"Dr Dawkins?" I cooed sweetly "Dr Dawkins?" I cooed a little louder but neither even garnered a response, So I went to the wardrobe put his clean clothes away and got him out some fresh ones for the day ahead, I poured him a fresh glass of water that I sat on his bedside table taking the one I poured last night away now empty of course. And I grabbed his coat from the door taking my duster and giving it a firm few wacks to knock the dirt out much as one does a old rug. "Dr Dawkins?" I called again a slight song to my voice "Dr Dawkins!" I called again but still no response came so I carried on taking yesterdays laundry to the door to take with me, making sure things where dusted and organized returning his book to its place, "Dr Dawkins!" I called loud enough it echoed in the room "Dr Dawkins!" I called and by some miracle! he rolled over back to face the room letting the sheets linger at his waist skin dewy from the heat

Well. He's alive I suppose.

I sighed and opened the window and leaning my arms on his metal bedframe,

"Dr Dawkins" I called

Nothing.

"Doctor there is an urgent emergency" I said

Nothing.

"Doctor the hospital is on fire!"

I think his nose twitched.... maybe.

"Doctor Dawkins a large huntsman spider is crawling up your leg."

he let out a breath

Holy shit he breathed!

"This is why no one else signs up for you in the morning you know. I'm the only one who wouldn't have bashed you over the head with a frying pan by now" I chuckled "Dr Dawkins a lady is here to see you and she says she's pregnant"

He wiggled! a little mostly just shifting himself a little

"Okay... Jack there's a gangster here about a poker debt!" I yelled

I mean.. he stirred. a little bit.

I rolled my eyes and got his toast setting his breakfast on the table looking at his sleeping body a moment trying to think of a way to do this that didn't involve a frying pan or ice cold water...

"Dr Dawkins a lady is here to see you and she says she's pregnant"

nothing. dead as the bodies downstairs, and then it occurred to me

"Alright, I guess Dr Dawkins really is sleeping soundly." I smiled "I suppose then he won't mind I take the air out of his nice second-floor window, as it is so very hot today" I giggled leaning on the bedpost again "Umm it's so hot I think I may remove my dress."

And the moment! the goddamn second! I uttered that word his eye flicked open

"Jack!" I yelled making him jump as he clearly wasn't expecting me to be leant on his bedpost

"You lied." he pouted sitting up and leaning against the wall

"I didn't lie. I simply failed to tell the truth."

"That's lying. By definition." he said "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Ohh you know always wanted to see the sights around the hospital" I joked "What do you think I'm doing here, waking you, you dunderhead." I laughed going to start on his breakfast first making some toast as it was the easiest and he liked it the coldest

"I do not require waking." he said "Flip the toast," he said

so I did so "Don't you? Because we both know if I hadn't you'd still be in that bed at the lords hour of half past four you had it your way"

"it's my day off."

"Your a doctor you don't get days off." I laughed putting the toast on the plate and grabbing an egg I brought with me "Sunny, over, scrambled, how'd you fancy them this morning?"

"I'm on call then" He answered "scrambled please but make them-"

"Dry as a bone. I know Jack." I giggled "You planning on getting out the bed at some point I have to take the sheets down to the laundry."

"After breakfast"

"Alright" I rolled my eyes playfully adding his eggs to his plate "You know none of the other girls will come up here."

"Am I truly that terrifying?" He joked having some water

"No. they simply find your... suggestions passive-aggressive and annoying" I explain

"my suggestions?"

"You're nitpicking Jack" I laughed getting the marmalade from my things and spreading it thin over his toast making sure to keep it separate from the eggs

"Nitpicking? That what they're calling it now." He laughed "And it doesn't bother you?"

"No, you like things a particular way nothing wrong with that. I have simply learnt your way. as it is your way or the highway as it were" I laughed taking it over sitting on his bed with him to hand over the plate which he grimaced at

"I wanted jam."

"Well, you have marmalade."

"Why?"

"Because I brought Marmalade. and no Jack I am not going all the way back down to the hospital kitchens to see if they have any jam. You get marmalade."

"No bacon?"

"We're out of bacon so you got extra toast"

"Did he. get the last of the bacon?"

"No, Marybell tried to take it to him, I told her it's not fair when we only have four rashers of bacon to give all four to one doctor and one to the others we argued, we fought and I ate the bacon. that solved the problem" I smiled giving his plate a gentle inviting shimmy

"Still missing something aren't we?"

I rolled my eyes a moment but gave him a sweet kiss which he happily pulled me closer into before taking his breakfast

"Thank you y/n"

"You're welcome you little wombat"

"Aww thank you" he smiled

"That was an insult Jack" I laughed

"Is it? you love wombats?"

"... be quiet and eat your toast," I told him to get up to clean and tidy up

"has it crossed your mind none of the other girls want to come work up her because they know it's your job"

"That's possible. Sure does seem like I've become your bloody maid" I sighed "Still I'd rather be here dealing with your nitpicking than cleaning up the head surgeons' drunken escapades or dealing with your colleague's slaps on the arse."

"So my slaps on the arse are better then?" He chuckled setting his plate on the side

"You're certainly gentler Jack" I laughed "Last time I was in there with him I swear he was trying to hump me every time I bent over"

"See I'm much easier, I'm considerate I save all our humping for dinner time."

"Only because your too tried to do it in the morning" I laughed giving him another kiss and all but kicking him out the bed so I could change his sheets "If you could find the energy we both know you would."

"... Possibly" he shrugs stretching and yawning as he wondered across to his wardrobe in only his underwear "I like after dinner, puts me right to sleep"

"Like you need any help in that department. Often times I'm half tempted to call one of the porters up to cart your body out convinced you've kicked it.”

“You are in a very grumpy mood today” he said as he dressed

“oh? Something I should find chipper and enfrawling about stripping your bed off?” I asked

“Your usually pretty excited about stripping me” he smirked as he snapped on his suspenders and I only glared back “ooohh… very grumpy girl today”

“Maybe I should go visit the other doctor” I joked

“Noo” he whines as he came behind me and wrapped his arms around me softly and gently “absolutely not I won't allow it”

“Oh why not?’ I giggled starting to make his bed with his fresh sheets

For a moment there was silence but he nuzzled close “your my girl.” He cooed and I couldn't help but smile it wasn't what he said but how he said it, so softly and kindly, so sweet and gently, not saying it in a possessive sort of way like he owned me like I belonged to him but that I was his and its so sweet that even something so shall as doing this routine for the other doctor would utterly not be allowed. “Besides we both know I can't sleep without you anymore” he smiled

“You where getting along just fine this morning?”

“Because your been cuddling me all night, It was residual sleep from the last night when you were here” he said turning me to Face him

“Umm I see, nothing to do with the French postcards you've been hiding under your mattress.”

Immediately colour drained from his face

“H- how do you know about that?’

“I make your bed. And clean your room. Just accept you don't have any secrets from me jack. And if you think you do. You don't.” I giggled

“You don't know all my secrets’ he smirked tugging me a little closer

“try me.”

“Go on then what secrets am I keeping?”

“The naughty french postcards your ‘hiding’ under your bed, the stash of toffees you have hidden inside your hollowed out poetry book, the pair of underwear you have hidden away because they are lucky for some reason, that time you kept a baby kolar in your room to you hid it from me, you didn't I knew I just didn't want to ask i assumed you were going through something” I explained and his eyes went wide

“Hu.”

“Shall I go on about how you sometimes sit backwards in the toilet for fun or the fact every time you have a bath you sing a little song”

“I really can't hide anything from you can I?’

“Nope” I giggled nuzzling into his shirt and he happily tightened his arms around me kissing my head “yes”

“What?”

“I also know about the ring you've been hiding in the store room the last six months.”

“Damn it. I really thought I hid that, so … is that a yes?”

“Yes. But it needs resizing slightly its a little big.” I smiled continuing will the bed

“you tried it on?”

“Several times. I get really bored around here sometimes” I shrug, he smiled and pulled me into a sweet loving kiss

“So, as I'm only a on call today? Shall we perhaps celebrate?’ he suggested glancing at the bed

“Jack, you couldn't have suggested that before I changed the bed. It's clean. And immediately you want to make it messy again”

“I'll change it again after if my lady wants me too”

“No, later I need to get this stuff down to laundry” I told him going and grabbing the laundry but before I even reached the door “ahhh! Jack put me down!” I whined as he picked me up and tossed me on his bed

“Laundry can wait” he smirked stroking my chin “I cannot.’

#tbs #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #tbs smut #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #the artful dodger #jackdawkins

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darsynia · 7 months ago

Text

New (Nomad Steve/Nurse!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he met you.

Word Count/Warnings: 2,400 | None

As 1/7 of my Birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, NEw is a first kiss hurt/comfort fic about writing your own happy endings. It's a hugely busy week for you and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

Excerpt:

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

NEW

It takes Steve a painful amount of time to adjust to hiding.

It isn’t just that he’s recognizable, it’s that he’s always stood out, always. As a small baby he’d been gasped over by strangers, as a sickly child he’d see concern and aversion in their eyes, and once he’d grown into a scrawny adult, those reactions had just intensified.

Some accused him of making himself sick to avoid the war, as though he could have secretly known it was coming and starved himself into stunted growth just in case. For some, it didn’t matter what he looked like-- any man who wasn’t at war was fair game for ridicule. Even those who didn’t care either way found his presence unnerving simply because men his age were scarce. He reminded them of the people they missed, the people who didn’t have the ‘protection’ of being physically unable to join up.

If his life was a narrative, he’d be the best protagonist he could be.

Even so, there was a special kind of hell in wanting so desperately to fight for justice and be told how lucky you were to be disallowed. Back then, it had been important to him not to hide. There were certainly others in the same boat as he was, men who needed groceries, to watch the news in the theater, to have a walk in the fresh air. So he went out anyway. He was the example, the target, the archetype.

Once he had the serum, hiding meant all the hard work by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark would be for nothing, so he didn’t. Even in tights.

The symbolism was even stronger when he came out of the ice. Now, people look to him as a lodestar meant to bring them all back to decency and safety, and he wants to, but with action, not iconography, no matter how potent.

That hadn’t been enough, and now they’re here.

“You’ve been tying your shoes for five minutes, man. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sam.” Steve finishes up quickly and straightens. “Daydreaming, I guess.”

Sam leans over and looks out through the thin rectangle of night sky visible through the thick curtains. “At this point I think you can just call it dreaming. Stay safe out there.”

Steve watches Sam head off into the kitchen before he slips out of the apartment door and locks it behind him. He and Sam keep nocturnal schedules, but Natasha’s expert-level camouflage skills have netted her a day job that keeps them all afloat. Their plan of moving from community to community taking seasonal jobs has worked well so far.

This is the most ‘domestic’ of their locations to date; they’re spending the lead-up to Christmas in a small city in the midwest full of people who know how to keep their heads down and get things done. No one’s expecting a trio of superheroes to settle in a satellite town whose main attraction is a vintage bowling alley, but there are other calculations to consider. People make eye contact here. They bring their real selves to the conversation, and Steve’s been struggling with some real guilt about that.

As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he’d met you.

As it has for the past week, your heart starts racing when you get close to the track. The problem is, you were run ragged today, and you feel just like the mermaid from the original fairy tale. Every single step is like knives stabbing the balls of your feet, and your arches are singing ‘fuck you’ so loudly you expect Ursula to show up any minute.

You stop on the bench right inside the gate to let the burning pain subside a bit. The last thing you want is for your burly new crush to think you’re a lightweight, not now that the months of forcing yourself to run after work have paid off so nicely with… well, him.

Besides Frank, the school’s night security officer and all-around nicest tough-guy in town, there isn’t anyone else visible on the brightly-lit track. You take the opportunity to cross your ankle over your knee and reach for your shoe in preparation to swap it with the sneakers in your bag. These are a new pair, and you’d planned on wearing them every few days to break them in. As soon as you get your heel off you understand just how much you screwed up by not bringing the others in to swap into once you realized how go-go-go your day would be. The swelling is bad, and the beginnings of blisters sting in various places. There’s no way in hell you can jog today, and walking home is going to be excruciating. It’s a god-damned miracle you have the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mutter under your breath. The John F. Kennedy High School campus is the same distance from the bus stop as your apartment is, but in the opposite direction. Your feet had already been screaming, why hadn’t you gone home instead?”

“Thought you weren’t coming!”

Your crush’s voice cuts through the late November chill, warming your heart. You look up and see him crossing from under the bleachers, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s far enough away that you let yourself sigh, half in addlepated pleasure in seeing him, half in utter frustration at yourself. He’s the reason you came, of course. You’d walk across fire to spend time with this guy, and by the time you head home, that’s definitely what it’ll feel like.

“Sorry, long day,” you tell him once he’s close enough.

Hurrying, you yank off your second shoe and nearly swallow your tongue from the pain. Tears stand in your eyes, exacerbated by the surprise when you look up and your new friend is right there, almost like he'd teleported over. He’s crouched in front of you, and there’s nowhere to hide from his concerned scrutiny.

He confirms your assessment of ex-military by the professional once-over he’s doing, even more so when he takes your shoe out of your weary hand and tests the bend of its sole with a practiced hand.

“Don’t say it--”

“These are not very good shoes,” he pronounces. With a move as graceful as a ballet dancer, he shifts onto the bench beside you, still examining the shoe. You snag it from his hand and tuck it into your backpack with its mate, pulling out your tennis shoes before zipping back up.

There’s no chance you’ll be able to put them on, but, one thing at a time.

“You’re right. I didn’t expect to be the runner on the ward today, but we were shorthanded.” You wince at your feet, both of which are looking decidedly puffy. Shit, will either pair of shoes fit, at this point? “There’s a ‘best foot forward’ joke I could be making about hoping you’d be here running tonight, but honestly, I’m too wiped out to make it.” You look over as you finish speaking and catch his pleased reaction. It’s understated, but it’s there, enough to make you brave. “I have the day off tomorrow, maybe I can give you a twelve hour rain check? I bet you’re even more handsome in sunlight.”

To your dismay, his face falls and he looks down. You turn your head away, unwilling to see the evidence of just how badly you’d gauged this. He’s very clearly not interested.

“Or not! ‘Not’ is also okay, sorry about that, I--”

The words dissolve on your tongue at the gentle touch of his knuckle on your chin, turning your face back toward his in the time-honored tradition of romantic male leads.

“Please don’t-- Running with you has been-- Believe me, during the day-- I would like to, I just can’t.” Disappointment is etched across his handsome features, but more than that, you can see the way his mind is racing just like yours had just seconds ago. The man looks like he’s desperate to rewind to a moment that doesn’t feel like this.

There’s a remedy to that, and after a day of doing your best to fix everything and everyone around you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to surge up and touch your lips to his.

You meant to pull back right away, mirroring that thing where a couple knows each other so well that gentle brush is all that’s needed-- but your midnight warrior is still in the middle of the book. His large hand shifts to cup your cheek, holding you still for his head tip where he deepens the kiss and scrambles your brain. It’s impulsive, desperate, and honest. You grab at his clothing, needing to believe this is real, even as the two of you follow kisses with more kisses like you’re saying goodbye in an airport.

“Doesn’t look much like you’re runnin’!” the security guard calls out, his words so distant they almost don’t register at first.

That ends things abruptly, but the two of you don’t move much farther apart than a few inches, his hand still on your face, yours with a handful of his sweatshirt, right over his heart.

“Textbook,” you whisper, flattening your hand out to smooth over his chest. It’s solid muscle under there.

“Oh?” he asks, pulling his hand away swiftly like he’d forgotten how to be a gentleman in his eagerness to touch you. It’s charming as hell.

“This whole operation, it’s right out of the romance novel guidebook,” you praise. “I ought to look for cameras.” A shadow crosses his face, and you suddenly put the pieces together. “Shit, you’re hiding from something, aren’t you? That’s why you freaked out about coming here in the daytime.”

He’s already standing, but instead of stalking away from you, he’s looking around the track, turning in a circle of deep concentration. He’s looking for cameras, but not in a joking way, not as part of a bit.

“The school district would rather spend the money on Frank than cameras, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you murmur, pushing your voice into steadiness out of sheer determination. “The city contributes. It’s been so much safer when everyone who wants a night walk comes here, but there are fewer of us out in the winter months.” The fall chill is actually helping with the pain in your feet, so that's something.

Your mysterious crush is facing you again, apparently satisfied that the two of you aren't being watched by anything more permanent than good old Frank. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words have a horrid finality to them, but you’re focused on his eyebrows. They’re not on board with the rest of his body language. They’re beseeching, rather than resolute, hopeful rather than harsh.

You have one chance to get this right.

“There are some things I love about my coworkers, and let’s be real, a lot of things I don’t-- but do you want to know the thing I like least about working in a hospital?”

Your whole body is practically vibrating with adrenaline, and you realize this is your opportunity to shove on your shoes. As you do that, you refuse to look up at him. The goal is to bring his critical thinking skills back from ‘fight or flight’ mode. Then maybe you can get the two of you on the same page again.

It takes over a minute, but he lets out a long breath and sits down beside you. “Tell me."

“They’re terrible gossips,” you say, looking right at him. He’s not allowed to make the obvious (ruinous, new-relationship-wrecking) conclusion about what you’re saying, not without having to look you in the eye while he does it. “I can’t stand that shit. That’s why they send me on the errands. I’ve got everyone trained to stop talking when I walk by, at this point.”

His relief is visible. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” You set both feet on the ground and decide to test things out by standing. If you’re wobbly, you feel certain he’ll reach out and catch you. “Tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” he says, the picture of confusion. “You’re not-- You think I’m hiding from something and you’re not going to ask about it?” Even in the dim glow of the nearby track light, you can see the clench and release of his jaw.

“For all I know, you’re hiding from your last girlfriend. I know I’d find it hard to give you up, and I’ve known you for what? Two weeks?” Your feet are screaming at you about as loudly as the critical voice in your head, but happiness has made both just distant enough to achieve your goals.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you take to be a good sign. “Would that still be ‘textbook?’ This is all new to me.”

All of the cheeky, sarcastic, and cheesy thoughts that cross your mind would ruin the moment, so you go off script. It’s not the best, but it’s not awful, either.

“New is terrible for work shoes, but it’s lovely when it’s you. See you tomorrow night!”

Stay tuned for more stories in the Ro Roll! Would you like more of these two? Let me know 💚

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #captain america x f!reader #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

Shibuya Arc scenarios that live in my head rent free pt l

Getting sealed along with Gojo

Geto awakening by the sound of your voice

Word Count: 3,1k

Warnings: these hurt pretty bad; language

Getting sealed along with Gojo

It wasn’t the easiest task to get this far. The curtains of these fucking curses were not that easy to overcome, let alone unnoticed. But now you’re here. You finally made it to the train track where Satoru Gojo should be found. Satoru, your precious boyfriend of three years. Satoru, the jerk who left you alone at home without telling you a single damn word about Shibuya getting flooded by curses.

Your face is screwed up in nothing but anger while you scan the area for him. He has some fucking nerve. You’re a grade 1 sorcerer, very much needed in times like these. Who does he think he is to simply leave you in the unknown?

It isn’t hard to sense his immense powers. Without any effort, you smoothly glide over what looks like a crime scene. So many corpses of not only curses, but humans. What the hell happened here? And who did all of this?

Time seems to stand still when you finally catch a glimpse of him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t really happening, right? Your souls seems to leave your body behind, empty shell staring at the scene in front of you.

“Oh, look who decided to join us on this lovely day! Nice to see you again, (y/n)!”

It’s Geto’s voice and his so painful familiar appearance. Salty tears start to sting your eyes, memories of your last encounter begin to flood your mind uncontrollably. As much as you wished this was true, this has to be a cruel joke, an optical illusion.

“What the hell are you doing here, (y/n)? Get out of this place right now”, Gojo yells at you with an aggression in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

You flinch for a second, too overwhelmed by the act in front of you. Why on earth is your boyfriend tied into place and who was even able to do so? What is this thing with Geto’s appearance? What the hell is going on here?

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Satoru. Let (y/n) watch while I seal you. Too bad you won’t see here die then…Well, you can’t have everything at once I guess”, the shell of Geto comments.

“Sealed?”, you repeat incredulously.

Panic crawls through your veins, for a second you feel like fainting. You know all too well what that means. Getting sealed is another definition for getting killed. Even Satoru, the strongest of all…

What if he won’t make it? What if you’ll never see your boyfriend again? The sheer thought of being forced to live without him kills you from the inside and makes your former anger vanish in thin air. You’ve been through hell and back, grieved over Suguru when he died, fought battle over battle on each other’s side, taught the young ones with all your heart. But most importantly, you loved each other dearly every time your hearts beat, in good and bad times.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back”, Gojo assures you, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

“Do you know what getting sealed means, idiot?”, you cry out, tears now staining your face.

“She’s kinda right, Satoru…”

“It means we might never see again, it means you would’ve left me home alone knowing that this might be the last time you’re stepping through our door.”

The pain that is dripping from your voice is hard to bear for Satoru. He knows you have every right to be absolutely furious at him, that getting sealed is a challenge even for him he isn’t 100% sure about.

“But I couldn’t afford to live with the thought of losing you, (y/n)”, he replies, eyes locking with yours.

“I can’t let you go like that. It simply can’t end like this. I…I won’t let this happen!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

“As much as I enjoyed the show, it’s over now. Good night, Satoru Gojo. Let us meet again in the new world”, Geto speaks out.

Your mind races while the sealing begins to tighten itself around your boyfriend. What are you supposed to do? Are you able to stop it? No, absolutely not. If Satoru can’t stop himself from getting sealed, there is no chance that you can. Pictures of your precious shared moments, of his striking smile and his tight hugs linger through your mind. You can’t afford to lose him, a life without Satoru would be useless. You need to make a decision.

Satoru isn’t even able to react when you start sprinting towards him, vision clouded by pure determination. Just the split of a second before your limbs get cut off by the seal, you are able to press your body against his and get soaked up in the innocent dice along with him.

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

Slowly but surely, he opens up his eyes. No, this can’t be true, this has to be a bad dream, right? You can’t be with him in this prison, not trapped for eternity. But the way your arms are tightly wrapped around him is proof enough for your presence. You are here. You’ve got sealed along with him.

“Why on earth did you do that?”

“I can’t be without you. I’d rather die by your side than live without you!”, you bawl, pressing yourself against his body as hard as you can.

“(y/n), why didn’t you do what I told you, why did you come to Shibuya in the first place? You shouldn’t be here, especially because you know what being sealed means. I…I don’t have a definite plan on how I’m getting out of here yet! Why did you have to hold onto me!?”, he insists, grabbing your face roughly and forcing you to look at him while the violent tone in his loud voice shatters your heart.

Your whole life was ahead of you. Sure, Satoru would have missed you every time his heart beats, but missing you doesn’t hurt as much as destroying your whole damn life. He would have never asked such a thing from you. Never. And even though he himself wants so spend his so desperately by your side, this surely isn’t what he wanted.

“Because I love you, Satoru!”, you scream out.

He breathes heavy, eyes completely lost in yours while you cry your heart out. Fuck, you shouldn’t be here, this didn’t go as planned at all. He knew about the risks, that this mission will cost countless lives and yours definitely shouldn’t be one of them. He’d rather die himself than taking your life away from you. But now you’re here, sealed along with him.

“I love you too, (y/n). That’s why I wanted to protect you. That’s why I wanted you to stay in our apartment”, he murmurs.

Satoru can’t hold it back any longer. Without thinking twice, he wraps his strong arms around you, holds you close against his chest, strokes your head gently just like you deserve it. This was dumb, this was reckless, this might cost you your life.

But you did it for him. You did it because your love for him is greater than your fear of dying. And that’s probably the biggest proof of love that exists.

“I’ll promise you we’ll make it out of here, okay?”

“That doesn’t matter to me. As long as you are here, I’m happy”, you reply without thinking twice.

He pulls you in for a passionate kiss. Maybe love is the most twisted curse of all, but you’ll make it out together, he just knows it.

Your sacrifice won't be useless.

Suguru awakening by the sound of your voice

You heard rumors in the underground for a while now – rumors about Geto Suguru suddenly being alive again. And even though you would give your very own life for that being true, you just know it can’t be possible. After all, you were there. Back then, when he died through the hands of fucking Satoru Gojo and his student.

You know you shouldn’t be here, that searching at Shibuya is dumb and reckless considering the fact that you’re not bonding with the other jujutsu sorcerers, but also definitely not with the curses that roam around this area either. It’s stupid, but you simply can’t help yourself.

The little spark of hope that the love of your life might still be around haunts you down the crowded streets of Shibuya. You never really had the time to say goodbye to Suguru. After all the things you’ve been through together, building an empire to get rid of all those monkeys, building your very own life together and growing on each other, you could only stare in disbelief at his dead body. So many years. So many years he stood by your side, lifted you up when you were down, cuddled you into sleep, treated you like the most precious treasure on earth.

Maybe he did make it somehow, though. Maybe it was his plan all this time that everyone around him thinks he’s dead. If you haven’t seen it with your very own eyes, you’ll simply refuse to give up the idea of him still walking on this earth.

You just want your Suguru back.

Your ears perk up when you hear his familiar voice and you can’t help but sign in annoyance. Of course Satoru Gojo has to be here, trying to save as many monkeys as possible. But where he is, there’s action. And where action is you’ll probably find Suguru.

With neckbreaking speed you run down the underground tracks, screams and cries of pain and grief ringing louder and louder. Shivers run down your spine before you can stop them, a scenery of absolute horror reveals itself in front of your eyes. Deformed and dead curses plastered on the floor along with a few corpses of humans here and there. You can tell by the look in their frightened eyes that they’ve seen some horrible things. Huh, you couldn’t care less though. After all, you’re only here for Suguru. You don’t give a damn about some monkeys.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Suguru Geto!”

Your feet pick up their pace immediately, heart starting to hammer against your chest. That was Satoru. And he said his name. Is it really possible that your Suguru is here? Are rumors true after all? Until this moment, you never allowed yourself a single spark of excitement. But now that even Satoru said it you can’t help but grin from ear to ear, literally levitating into the direction of Satoru’s voice.

And then you hear it, loud and clearly. The sweet voice of your boyfriend, the love of your life. The voice you never imagined to ever hear again.

“Suguru?”, you cry out.

Time stands still when you catch a glimpse of him. Oh, he looks as handsome as ever, a wide grin plastered on his face while talking to Satoru. But something about his appearance makes your heart drop. You can sense that it’s his cursed technique, your eyes tell you clearly that this is Geto Suguru.

But your heart just knows this isn’t him.

“Is that really you, (y/n)?”, he questions when his brown eyes meet yours.

But they aren’t glimmering in excitement like they used to, his smile isn’t as wide as it was when you last saw him. No, everything inside of you screams in your face that it can’t be him, that this is the shell of the man you used to love. You want to break down and cry, to grieve losing the love of your life again.

But you swallow the lump in your throat away. Whoever this is needs to pay for using Geto’s legacy. And you’ll make sure he will.

“So it’s true, you really are still alive!”, you breathe out while running towards him.

Oh, you want nothing more than to die when he embraces you in a hug, his arms feeling just like they did back then. His smells tingles in your nose, reminds you of the countless nights you wore his shirts to bed and how you always sniffed on his clothing before washing it. You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

“Life itself, darling”, the voice of Suguru confirms, his hand stroking your hair just how you like it.

“This isn’t him, (y/n)! This is not your boyfriend!”, Gojo shouts in your direction, making you almost lose your cool.

You want to scream into his face, want to break down in tears. But instead, you burry your face in Suguru’s neck to stop yourself from crying.

“Shut up, Satoru. You’re ruining the moment.”

Whoever controls Suguru needs to truly believe that you’re on his side, that you are convinced he’s in fact Suguru. If that thing is able to control his body, it might as well be capable of using his cursed technique. And you know that you can’t stand a chance against him.

“I thought you were dead”, you hush, his hand gently lifts your head.

“But as you see, I’m clearly alive. I’m so sorry for not reaching out to you, my love. But this is a part of my plan. I couldn’t afford to get you involved into this mess”, he explains briefly, a warm smile playing around his lips while his eyes lock with yours.

“I’m so glad you’re back…”

“Did I tell you how much I love you already?”

“Go to bed darling, it’s way too late for you to be up.”

“Don’t worry my love, I’ll be back by your side as soon as I killed that boy. Have fun at the night parade.”

You blink away the tears that form in your eyes when memories begin to flood your mind over and over again. This has to end right here and now.

One last hug. You need to hug his body one final time. Just one sweet moment of pretending that Suguru is actually here, that you’re not talking with his empty shell.

“But you aren’t the man I loved.”

With a swift motion, you pull out your cursed gun and aim for his head, ready to shoot the man you love.

But you can’t.

Faster than you are able to react, he grabs your wrist so roughly that your gun falls deafeningly to the ground. Your heart sinks into your chest, sight clouded by thick anger and hot tears.

“Nice try. But I know you’re usually smarter than that, (y/n).”

“How dare you to use his body like that…I will make you pay for every damn minute that you defile him! Get out of his body!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Over and over, you fight against his firm grip, try to escape his cruel laughter while his eyes seem to pierce right through you. But he’s too damn strong and you weren’t prepared for something like this.

Violently, he grabs you by the throat, feet floating in the air while it feels as if your windpipe is going to rip every minute. You can’t catch your breath. With every passing second, your body refuses to fight back, vision already starting to get blurry by the lack of oxygen and blood pumping through your veins.

Is this really how it ends? Are you really dying through the hands of your former lover? How pathetic, how bittersweet. At least you’ll be by his side when you meet again, with your Suguru.

“I always loved you, Suguru”, you cough out.

Suddenly, his firm grip loosens and before you can catch yourself, you fall to the ground, gasping for air like a fish on land. What the hell happened? Why did he let go? Through watery eyes, you stare at the scenery unfolding in front of you. Suguru’s hand is wrapped around is very own neck, strangling himself so violently that he gasps for air.

“How interesting, that never happened!”, Suguru’s voice announces.

And then he stretches out his other hand. Into your direction, as if he’s trying to lift you off the ground. Tears start to swell up your eyes all over again as you take it. His fingers gently intertwine with yours, just like they always used to.

“I love the way your hands fit in mine.”

“The whole world should know that you are mine, darling.”

“Suguru”, you whisper with trembling voice.

It’s him. It just has to be him, you can feel it. Tenderly, he caresses your thumb while you completely break down. Fuck, you miss him so much. You want nothing more than your Suguru back. Why? Why did he have to die? Why did you even hope that he might be back? What a cruel joke all of this is, ripping open your party healed wounds all over again.

“I want you back”, you cry out, making even Satoru swallow heavy.

His index finger shakes telling you no before his hand swallows yours one last time.

You know that you can’t stay here like this forever, that Suguru’s remaining won’t be able to fight back too long, so you make the decision that tears you apart.

With one last loving press of his hands, you let him go forever even though it shatters your heart. The man in front of you might have Suguru’s voice, appearance and memories, but this isn’t him. You have to accept that the love of your life is gone.

“If you really think you can control Suguru like that you have to be a little dumb. He’s way too strong to get overpowers by some parasite. I will come back. And I will kill you for what you did to him”, you hiss.

“I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

Darling. Yes, you’ll always be Suguru’s darling. But that won’t stop you from ripping his body apart if you have to. At least know you know that he’ll always be by your side.

Always.

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