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freedomfireflies · 8 months

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The Angel and the Fae

Summary: The one where Harry is an angel that falls in love with a garden fairy.

And even the heavens can't keep you apart.

Word Count: 3.2k

Harry thinks you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

He decides this the moment he sees you. Resolves instantaneously upon a fleeting glance that you – with your long hair that flows beneath the crown of white lilies atop your head – will be the reason he falls from heaven.

He watches you from the edge of Aspen Hollow. Never once stepping foot past the sacred edge that surrounds the ethereal garden where you preside. Not even a feather from his wings is permitted to dance into such holy ground.

A fawn has crawled its way into your lap. Entrusting you with its care and safety as its eyes fall shut and it blissfully settles into your delicate and soothing embrace.

You’re speaking to it. Softly. Comfortingly. Trailing your finger from its nose down to its spine.

“There, little one,” you’re cooing. Hushed yet reverent. “Sleep now.”

Harry considers himself lucky to be able to hear the way your heart beats beneath your chest. Steady. Rhythmic. Calm. You’re happy. Content and filled with tranquility.

He detects the exact moment you sense him. Catches the hitch in your breath and the jump of your pulse.

He readies himself to explain – to assuage you. He expects your fear, your resentment. Expects you to cast him out. Forbid him from returning.

Instead, you seem…curious. Hesitant but inquisitive, and when your head turns, his lungs just about cave in.

And in that moment, when your eyes find his, his purpose changes. His entire reason for existence is plucked from one instrument and played on another. A tune so beautiful, so melodious…it makes his heart sing.

You’re watching him much like he was watching you. But you don’t move from your spot on the grass, instead keeping the fawn safely tucked away in your lap.

You blink, and Harry swears he can feel the flutter of it against his cheek.

“Hello,” you call quietly, your gentle voice carrying across the few hundred yards from where you reside.

You must know he’ll be able to hear you, and Harry straightens up dutifully, his wings following suit. Expanding some as if to display a sense of chivalry.

“Hello,” he calls back, equally as soft.

You seem to study him for a moment, and Harry swears this is the longest he’s ever gone without breathing.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” you tell him, and he nods once.

“I know,” he admits. “I suppose I just…found it hard to tear myself away.”

You glance down at the sleeping doe on your lap, and he feels his insides twist now that your eyes aren’t on him.

“I apologize if I’ve disturbed you,” he adds, hoping to encourage your attention back.

You hum faintly and brush your palm down the baby deer’s back. “You have not.”

This makes Harry’s mouth curl up into a giddy smile. “Then would you mind if I stay? Only for a moment? I feel quite at peace here.”

You regard him carefully. Inquiringly. “I would imagine an angel is quite often at peace.”

He considers this. “Peace is a privilege,” he finally replies gently. “And it is one that is often lost on me.”

This seems to surprise you, your lips parting delicately as Harry’s pulse begins to thump in his ears. “Then you may stay as long as you’d like.”

His grin doubles in size as he nods his appreciation. “Thank you.”

However, when he remains planted near the tall oak tree that sits beside the edge of the garden, you glance back over.

“Angel,” you call, and Harry’s entire chest caves in. “You’ll disturb me more if you hover like that.”

He hesitates, looking over the soft but hallowed grass only inches away. “Angels aren’t allowed inside The Garden.”

“Not unless invited,” you correct, and he straightens up. “And I am inviting you in.”

Still, Harry can’t make his feet move, despite the way his wings are desperate to carry him to you. Centuries worth of warnings and guidelines are attempting to remind him of his place, of his duty and his loyalty to the heavens. But that does nothing to dampen his urge to go forth and take.

“Angel,” you repeat with a glimmer in your eye. “Come.”

And that’s all it takes for his foot to instantly cross over into sacred ground.

The moment his wings pass through the invisible barrier, a forceful wind ripples across the garden. Echoing between the trees and the grass as the billowing of air sweeps from flower to flower. All the way to the other side.

You feel your eyes widen as you watch him approach. He’s hesitant but intrigued. And perhaps you know better than to invite him in, but your heart aches to provide the handsome figure a moment of serenity.

He studies every petal and vine as he walks through, wonderstruck by the enchanted orchard. He smiles brightly when a blue jay swoops down beside him, the small bird fluttering around his head a time or two before disappearing back into the branches.

And the angel laughs. A sound that resembles the moment a wave breaks against the shore. Loud and lively before it settles and softens.

“This is beautiful,” he says, and you nod.

“It represents serenity. A moment of calm before the next stage of life.”

You both look to the small creature in your lap, and the angel’s expression changes. “Are you saying hello…or goodbye?”

You smile gently, trailing your fingers down the sleeping fawn’s spine. “We are saying hello.”

Those clear, green eyes seem to sparkle at you as he grins. “Hello,” he repeats.

You nod again. “She’ll be sent down soon. The moment the sunlight disappears behind the mountains.”

The angel is intrigued, crouching down a few feet away as he studies the way you trail your palm over the soft coat. “Is it hard to let them go?”

“No,” you answer easily, smiling some. “They are meant to live. To flourish. To exist outside of this realm and give back to the earth what it has given to them.”

The garden falls quiet. You feel him watching you while you watch the creature in your lap. He seems to be wrestling against another question and you chuckle to yourself as the fawn awakes.

“Off you go,” you whisper quietly, helping the wobbling baby doe from your lap before it’s bounding toward the grass and disappearing out of sight.

Left alone with the quiet angel, you both stand and turn to each other. Now provided with a better glimpse of his large frame and sizable wings.

He straightens up under your inquisitive stare, feathers fluttering as the wind passes between you. “I appreciate you allowing me in,” he says tentatively. “I don’t mean to break your rules.”

“They are not my rules,” you correct, waving his apology away. “I believe that anyone who needs a moment of stillness should be given one.”

This seems to charm him. “And I believe you are the first and only fairy to think so.”

You grin. “Perhaps. But I’ve never understood the divide between angels and fairies. Both are providers of comfort and refuge. It seems silly to be at odds with each other.”

He hums, and you wonder if you’ve offended him. “I agree,” he says, and you feel your muscles unwind. “But the heavens have a different belief.”

“They believe that just because fairies were created by a different hand, we are not to be trusted," you snort beneath a quiet breath. "That we are all tricksters and supernatural entities unworthy of eternal salvation.”

“Are you?” His tone is playful, and you feel your smile return tenfold.

“I am a garden fairy,” you reply. “I tend to the trees and the animals. I don’t have time for tricks.”

His look of amusement seems to mirror your own.

“And you?” you ask next, gesturing toward him. “An angel without peace is like a heart without rhythm. Why do you come here when you know better?”

He takes a moment to consider his answer. “Truthfully, I don’t know,” he finally responds. “There was a pulling. On my soul. My wings. They led me here and I wasn’t quite sure why.”

“Well, have you found the peace you were looking for?”

His eyes meet yours. “I have.”

Another unspoken moment dances between you as your attention drifts toward the very plumage he displays so proudly.

You’ve seen angel wings before but never this close. Never when they were near enough to touch. Truth be told, you weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance, and you imagine the quiet angel can hear your heart racing.

But he’s smiling at the way you stare. Seemingly amused by your fascination and wide eyes as you watch the cream-colored feathers flutter against the wind.

“They’re…beautiful,” you admit softly, attention following the curves and dips of each row expanding from his back. “Are they heavy?”

“Not normally, no,” he tells you. “Only in times of great sorrow.”

Confused, you raise a curious brow.

His grin grows. “Each feather symbolizes that of someone I’ve watched over. And when they move on, a piece of their soul stays with me. It lives and it breathes, and it is.”

He steps closer and you feel your breath catch, awestruck by the way the large pennons begin to curl around his frame.

“When their soul is happy, the wings feel weightless,” he continues, a far-off look in his expression. “And when they’re sad, when they cry…my wings cry for them.”

There’s a pleasant sort of ache in your chest. “You’re a guardian angel.”

“I am.” His arm outstretches for you, palm to the sky as he silently requests your hand. “Here.”

Hesitantly but with great keenness, you oblige his instruction, sliding your fingers along his skin.

The moment the contact is made, you both seem to jolt. Magnetized by the feel of his flesh against your own. A stark contrast that’s somehow hauntingly familiar. Soothing in a sense. Destined.

He brings you closer, guiding the tips of your fingers to his wings. Ghosting them across the soft feathers as you suck in a quiet breath and feel the entire weight of the world on his back.

He holds you for only a moment before allowing you to travel the expanse of his wingspan on your own. Delicate strokes along the rows of quills that seem to bask in your touch.

“How do they feel?” he asks quietly, almost as if not to startle you.

Your lips roll into your mouth as you search for the right words. Or any word that could even begin to come close to describing such an ethereal sensation.

“Magical,” you finally say, and he smiles.

“Certainly no more magical than a fairy.”

Smirking to yourself, you lower toward the grass, and extend your hand. Your fingers dance above the blades momentarily before you make a quick snap of your wrist.

Instantly, a flower springs forth from the dirt. Sprouting up out of the soil in full bloom as the angel’s eyes widen.

You pluck it from its roots and straighten back up before offering him the small, dainty lily stem. He steps forward, allowing you to guide the flower behind his ear and tuck it between soft, chestnut curls.

“How do I look?” he asks.

You laugh. “Magical.”

He holds your giddy stare for a second longer before he murmurs, “You’re quite beautiful.”

A bit stunned, you smile, and wave the compliment away. “You must be standing too close.”

With a cheeky hum, the angel suddenly steps back, his wings now fluttering about the air until his feet lift from the ground.

Then, his feathers carry him a few hundred yards away before he lowers back down, studies you, and calls, “Nope. Still beautiful.”

Despite yourself, you laugh again. “You’re quite forward for an angel.”

“And you’re quite timid for a fae,” he retorts, returning to you as a rustle of wind sweeps through your hair. “I was expecting a bit more fearlessness.”

“I’m only fearless when I choose to be,” you tell him. “But I just met you. Why should I share all my secrets when I don’t even know your name?”

The handsome angel considers this before nodding and stepping up to you. “Harry,” he says quietly, as if the answer is reserved only for you. “They call me Harry.”

A stunning name for a stunning man, and you feel your pulse jump while it makes a home in your mind. “Harry,” you repeat, making him grin. “That’s quite pretty.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “And what do they call you?”

You lift one shoulder in a gentle shrug. “I suppose I don’t really have a name. Or at least I don’t have anybody to use it if I do.”

His eyes soften while he glances over the crown of delicate white flowers woven between the locks of your hair. “Then I will call you my Lily,” he decides, and there’s a new sort of blossoming in your chest. “If I may.”

You struggle against such merriment. “You may.”

“Good.” He seems equally as enchanted, and for the first time in almost a hundred years, you feel mesmerized by an angel. Then, his chin motions just behind you. “The sun is beginning to set.”

Turning, you find that it is, and your heart soars as you eagerly reach over and take his hand to drag him toward the middle of the garden.

It’s an action made without much forethought, the need to feel his skin against yours almost like instinct now.

For a moment, you both hesitate. Unsure of the presumptuous act until Harry squeezes your palm, and silently encourages you to lead him where you’d like to go.

You take him toward the middle of the meadow, just beside the calm stream of water.

There, you find the baby fawn. Standing curiously on the other side, waiting to bid you goodbye.

You and the angel come to a stop on the edge of the grass just as the sun is filtering between the trees. Casting a golden hue across the orchard and setting the secluded hollow aglow.

And just as the stars are beginning to take their place in the sky, the sweet doe meets your eye, and lifts its head.

You smile. “Goodbye, little one.”

Its left ear flicks before it turns on its heel, and leaps over the hill. Disappearing from sight as it’s carried into another realm.

Leaving The Garden behind.

Harry seems to hold his breath from beside you as he looks down. “And will it be okay?”

You lace your fingers with his and nod. “It will.”

Silence settles between the trees, between your hearts. It’s comfortable and it’s still and the faint sound of rustling leaves calms your racing pulse.

You look over and allow your attention to trail across his face. Taking note of each line, each edge, each crinkle. The shape of his lips, the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw. The dimples in his cheeks and the dark hairs of his eyebrows.

He’s quite handsome. Alluring, in a sense, yet oddly safe. You imagine this was by design. To help those he protects, and comforts feel more at ease in his presence.

And while you’re looking at him, you notice he’s looking at you, too. Just as intently, with nothing but admiration. He studies the faint, golden sparkles that litter your skin. The way they glimmer beneath each drop of moonlight, a common feature amongst fairies.

You imagine this isn’t the first time he’s seen a fae’s enchanted flesh. But he indulges in the sight of you, nonetheless. Indulges in your magic.

Then, he steps forward, and you feel the air shift.

“May I confess something?” he whispers, and you sense his slight hesitation.

“Of course.”

With a deep inhale, he tentatively reaches out his hand and ghosts the tips of his fingers along your cheek. “…I feel an overwhelming urge to kiss you.”

Your lashes flutter while the insides of your stomach twist and turn into impervious knots. “Oh?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Mhm. And I know that breaks…every rule in existence.”

“And then some,” you breathe, struggling against the desire to push yourself into his palm.

You wonder if this is part of the ruse. If perhaps you feel so enamored by him because that’s what a guardian angel does. It encourages you to feel more susceptible. Maybe this pull to him is nothing more than magic.

Still, it pulls you, nonetheless.

“I want to kiss you, Lily,” he murmurs, moving closer until the front of his chest just brushes against your own. “And I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do now.”

And you know the admonitions. Know the rules, the history between angels and fairies. You know that his very presence in this garden is inviting trouble into paradise, and yet…you have no yearning to tell him to go.

Because you don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to take his hand from your cheek. You don’t want him to leave this sacred orchard at all, and even though every fiber of your being, every nerve-ending, and every cell in your body is desperately attempting to warn you…you push into his touch, anyway.

“I think…you should kiss me,” you finally say, grasping onto his wrist.

This answer surprises you both. Neither one of you understand it or have the knowledge to comprehend the repercussions.

All you know is right here, right now. His hand on your face, his lips much too close, and his aura. His effortless ability to make you feel like you’ve just come home.

His thumb follows the outline of your cheekbone. “Are you sure?”

You squeeze his arm a bit tighter and nod once. “I don’t see why not. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He grins – a wide, toothy grin – and you decide that it might be the most beautiful thing in this whole garden. “What a fearless way of looking at it.”

With that, he kisses you. Presses his lips to yours and takes each strained breath from your lungs.

It’s hesitant and it’s unsure and it’s perfect. A moment in time meant just for the two of you, here beneath the large willow tree and the pale light of the moon.

Eventually, he pulls back, but he keeps himself close. His mouth moving to your cheek while your eyes fall shut.

And you drink him in. His scent, his skin. Memorizing each inch of the angel in your arms as you ask yourself what you did to deserve such wonder.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” he says. But it’s heavy, the way he speaks. “If I don’t return soon, they’ll come looking.”

You nod your understanding and swallow the lump in your throat. “Go,” you whisper. “You have souls to protect.”

This makes him chuckle before a wounded look of remorse settles on his expression, the palm of his hand slipping around the back of your neck.

He dips down to rest his forehead against yours, almost as though looking for balance. Stability amidst a sea of uncertainty, and you’re more than happy to offer it to him.

“My Lily,” he exhales, and the sound of your name on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine. “I am so glad my wings brought me to you.”

Smiling, you nuzzle the tip of your nose against his.

“May they bring you back again.”

The next parts will be all the angst and turmoil and fluff and smut, I swear, I just had to do the background first HAHAHA WE ARE THROWING ALL THE TROPES INTO ONE POT AND COOKIN' BABY!

Amazing credit for the beautiful dividers to @firefly-graphics 💞

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