─ summary ⋆˙⟡ the love you and heathcliff share runs deep—but wuthering heights doesn’t allow the two of you to express it freely. heathcliff’s suggestion sparks a choice that could change everything.
─ warnings ⋆˙⟡ established relationship, use of “old” english, intended for afab reader (however, no specific pronouns used), and slight mention of an addict father.
─ word count ⋆˙⟡ 680
─ author’s note: ⋆˙⟡ this is quite short so i apologize! as of late, i haven’t known what or who to write about, but after seeing the new wuthering heights movie, i got inspired to write this fic. please don’t hate me, but i loved the movie 😔 so here’s a little heathcliff content even though i’m not sure how many people are actually interested in this haha
You instinctively smile as Heathcliff’s hand runs up and down your back. Your favorite moments with him were ones like this where the two of you lay in his bed and you rest against his chest, blabbing about complete nonsense. If you were offered to spend the rest of your life in this very moment, you would easily accept. Lost in comfort, you realize you missed whatever it was Heathcliff had said to you. “Hm?”
“How much longer must it be this way?” You shift upwards from the position you were in, showing attentiveness as his tone becomes serious. You look into his brown eyes that—naturally—stare back at yours.
“What ever do you mean?” He gives you a look of slight annoyance. You know exactly what he is referring to. And you honestly dread when he brings it up, but also understand why he does so.
“I cannot hide like this forever. And I am sure you cannot either,” he licks his lips and awaits your response. You stay quiet for a moment, carefully considering how to phrase what you will say next. You don’t want to hide your love for Heathcliff. In fact, you want to shout it out in front of everyone—but no one would approve. Especially not your father.
“No, I cannot hide like this forever. But, in this place, who would ever agree with this?” You gesture between the two of you and the way you unintentionally straddle his lap. Heathcliff reaches up to play with a piece of your hair. He does so silently before opening his mouth to say words that cause you to freeze in place.
“Then let us run away,” he searches your face for any sort of emotion, quickly picking up on your lack of body movement. There is no turning back now, so he doubles down. “Let us go and never turn back.”
“I– Heathcliff…” you manage to say, rocking your foot out of anxiousness. “We have lives here.”
He shakes his head in response, hands cupping your face. “Perhaps we do, but we live quite miserable ones. Loving you secretly is miserable.”
If melting into a puddle due to someone’s words was physically possible, it certainly would have happened to you now. You so badly want to say yes, but leaving Wuthering Heights would be like leaving behind pieces of yourself. “My father,” you remind him. “I could not just leave him. I would not ever forgive myself.”
Heathcliff hums in understanding, appreciating your sweet nature. “You must understand that you have to live for yourself. We have to live for ourselves. Do you expect to live and die in these very moors? Continue to watch your father drink and gamble until his final day arrives?” You begin to visualize living the life Heathcliff speaks of and start to shudder. As unfortunate as it was to admit, you knew that he was right.
“You are right,” you reply, rubbing at your forehead as if to push the images out of your mind. Paying attention to your every move like he always did, Heathcliff’s hand replaces your own as he gently but firmly massages the damned thoughts away.
“So you agree then?” You nibble at your lip and hesitantly nod in agreement.
“Yes. We should go. We deserve to be happy,” you speak to him affirmatively but mostly say the words to convince yourself. He smiles contently and reaches up to tenderly kiss your lips.
“Indeed we do,” he says, looking out the window as the moon perfectly casts through the window, settling directly on your face. You were always beautiful, but in this light, you looked unreal.
Though the two of you did not have any sort of plan arranged, it did not bother you. Being anywhere was heavenly so as long as Heathcliff was beside you. The thought of building a new life together in a new place admittedly made you worrisome, but if you needed additional comforting, you knew he would give it to you with no hesitation. And that alone eased the majority of your nerves.
Hello! I greatly enjoy your work and since requests are open I’d like to make one.
Heathcliff trying (and failing) to cook a meal for gn!reader who is currently struggling to bring themself to do much of anything.
If you would be so kind. Thank you.
If someone were to tell Heathcliff from a few years ago that in the future he would be thoroughly whipped for someone, enough to be cooking for them despite his inability to do so, he would try to bash their head in. Now, he is walking around a grocery store while squinting at the online recipe he found. 'Easy simple dishes for beginners,' the article says at the very top.
The trip itself was not too bad, he almost always go with you to help you out, let alone he already has experience living alone before your relationship. He managed to get all that he needs while trying to swallow the nagging worry at the back of his head about the step after. Heathcliff can definitely cook for you. Of couse he can! Who do you think he is!
He speeds back home to start cooking early. You have not been able to take care of yourself for a bit and he cannot keep on relying on everyone else, even if they are open to it. Heathcliff had woken up at 4:00 to prepare, half an hour for the groceries and some more time for the commuting. A part of him thinks that this is overkill, the website itself says it should not take too long, somewhere squarely around two hours in total, while he has no plan of waking you up so early. But Gregor has also said that if he is not used to cooking then all of the steps will take much longer. He had scoffed then but he kept the other man's words in mind.
The kitchen is filled with barely muffled curses and the sounds of cookware bumping against each other, alongside something suspiciously alike to food burning. Heathcliff has the windows wide open, vents working overtime while he waves the shoddy cooking mittens around to disperse the smoke. Never before does he appreciate waking up so damn early because he can faintly see the clock ticking away to his inevitable shame. He thinks about calling up Gregor, the old dude has got to wake up by now, for help but his damn pride gnaws at him. What kind of man would he be if he cannot cook for his partner!?
In the end, he regretfully puts another pot in to soak and gets to scrubbing the earliest one to get dunked into the sink. One borderline herculean task later, he is standing there in the kitchen, multiple pots and even pans in the sink, some singed to hell and back and others has managed to congeal into strange globs. In his hands, however, is one pot closest to perfection after over four hours of struggling.
The man is at the verge of tears as he goes to plate it up (bowl it up?) for you. There is a faint taste of smoke, yes, but that is simply how the dish is supposed to taste, not that he almost burned the aromatics, nope.
You wake up to the faintest hint of smoke and the sounds of Heathcliff's footsteps approaching your bedroom. He pushes the door open and is visibly surprised to see you having already woken up. He sets the mysterious bowl and cutlery down onto your table with a 'clink' and goes to stand by your bed. "Why 're ya up so early? I told ya to rest and I'd wake you up later." For all the harshness in his tone, you can tell he was worried for you. Instead, you turn to the steaming bowl and ask, "today's breakfast?" Heathcliff feels his face warm. He suddenly feels like the hard earned bowl looks so scrappy compared to what the others had made.
He nods with great difficulty, swallowing that nagging shame at his own ineptness, as he delivers it to your hand with the gravity of a guilty man before the judge. The man stares at you scooping a spoon into your mouth with such intensity that you wonder if he has poisoned the dish or something along that line. You can taste some char and the seasoning was unevenly mixed in, some spots saltier, some spots bland, but you like it. You know it must have been made by Heathcliff himself in all of its imperfection and the way he has been fidgeting with his fingers. He pretend he is not affected at all but he cannot stop glancing back and forth between the bowl and your face.
For once, he finds himself entirely unable to read your expression. He only manages to heave a sigh of relief when you smile. "I knew ya would like it. Totally." Maybe you can teach him how to cook properly once you feel better. Afterwards, Heathcliff realizes that he will have to take care of the pots and pans in the sink and he sighs. It is all worth it to see you well fed. He will do it all over again for you, hopefully less of a struggle though.
→ masterlist
a/n: pspsps so sorry anon for taking ten yrs to finish this ask pspsps i don't know how british ppl talk so forgive me if he doesn't seem very brit. i also wrote this in the middle of the night so i will fix any problems tomorrow, i fought with tumblr and my copy paste for the formatting like dang, why are you like this when i just want to sleep istg :sob:
─ summary ⋆˙⟡ over the course of four and a half years, healthcliff has been gone, leaving you with no choice but to adjust and move on with your life. so what happens when he returns to the moors with an explanation you never expected?
─ warnings ⋆˙⟡ use of “old” english, angst, afab reader.
─ word count ⋆˙⟡ 1k+
─ author’s note: ⋆˙⟡ hiii! a few of you requested more heathcliff, so here it is! i had a lot of fun writing this and i tried to make it longer than my other heathcliff fic, so i hope you all enjoy it. as always, thank you for your support! 🩶
When you sat on your bed and heard those eggs crack, your heartbeat nearly flatlined. And when you lifted the blanket to actually see them and know they were real, you clutched onto your chest so tightly that it bruised red.
You hadn’t seen Heathcliff in four and a half years—yet not a day went by where you didn’t think about him. Though you started to adjust to him not being around within the first year, a part of you never truly came to terms with his absence. Being the overthinker that you so often were, you had come up with many conclusions as to what could have happened to Heathcliff. Perhaps he was dead. Or maybe he fell in love with another woman, married her even.
Regardless of the scenarios you came up with, you itched for some sort of confirmation that he was still alive. And right now, you had just that.
────────
The cold night air caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You were smart enough to bring your cloak, but it hardly helped in this weather. To be quite honest, you were physically cold, but mentally? You weren’t at all. Your mind was entirely too focused on pushing through the fog to see him.
You give not a second thought to your nightgown getting dirty as you walk along the short, rocky hill in front of you. Dusting your shoe off with your numb fingers, you survey the area in hopes of finding Heathcliff. You stay silent for a few moments, and then—nothing. You don’t see anyone. Don’t hear anything. Frustrated and feeling defeated, you turn to head back home before stopping in your tracks. You sense something… someone. Him. Heathcliff.
You turn around and though the fog blocks much of him, you can make out his figure. “Heathcliff!” You begin to run towards him, holding onto your dress as if to propel you faster. You stand in front of him, staring at his new appearance before a sudden rage comes over you. “Oh, how dare you leave me!” You lightly shove him and watch his amused expression before wrapping your arms around him in an invigorating hug. You manage to pull yourself away from his chest and take a few steps back, observing this brand new version of him.
“Staring is quite rude, you know,” he quips with a smirk. His gold tooth flashes at you through the fog and almost makes your knees give out. You recollect yourself and scoff at his comment.
“Do not jest. It has been years and you have returned a new, rich man.” Heathcliff smiles fully, the same one that comes to your mind every time you think of him.
“Does that surprise you?” You shake your head no, wiping the tear that falls from your eye.
“Not in the least,” you solemnly say as you reach out to hug him once again—this time, feeling his arm wrap around your waist. The two of you stay that way for a few moments before you detach yourself from the hug and pat your tears dry with your fingertips. “Now, now. We mustn’t become too emotional,” he looks at you and raises his eyebrows, chuckling at the fact that you are the only one crying. “Come back to Wuthering Heights with me, Heathcliff. Everyone would be delighted to see you!”
“Perhaps. But I am sure your husband would not be,” he flatly responds. You tilt your head in confusion at his assumption.
“What gives you the impression that I am a wife?”
“As you said, it has been years. So, are you or are you not?” There’s a beat of silence as you start to notice Heathcliff’s jealousy. You understand now that this is his way of seeing if you are still an available, single woman. It brings a smile to your face when you realize he still cares as much as you do.
“No, I am not a wife. Now, it is only fair that I ask if you are a husband,” you question, anxiously awaiting his answer. Relief washes over you when he grunts a sound that resembles no.
You nod, trying your best to hide your excitement at the idea of you and Heathcliff having a chance at being...something.
“What is on your mind?” You bring your attention back to him and feign a look of perplexity. He takes a step closer to you and tsks. “Do not give me that face, for I know you too well. Tell me what it is that you think of.” Usually, you would have insisted that nothing was on your mind. But it had been far too long and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to get answers to your lingering questions.
“Tell me… why did you leave me? I just about died when I heard you’d left, Heathcliff. Why did you do it?” Tears well up in your eyes yet again, but it feels useless to try and hide them.
He looks away from you to debate whether or not he should be honest with you. But when he looks back at you and sees your pleading eyes, he knows he has to take the route he’s afraid of: the truth. “I could not control myself any longer,” he admits. If anything, his response confuses you further.
“Could not control yourself? From what?”
He decides to speak without giving it much thought in avoidance of second guessing himself. “From you.”
Still confused, you attempt to pry it out of him. “You must be more specific, Heathcliff-“
“I loved you! I love you. It is the entire reason I am back here,” the confession takes a weight off his shoulders while simultaneously putting a pit in his stomach.
Your mouth goes agape. Words suddenly seem too hard to come by, so you take a forward approach. “Kiss me. For I love you too.”
It does not take Heathcliff long to register your words. If you hadn’t been away from each other for this long, he would have been a gentleman, asked if you were sure. However, a need for your touch was at the forefront of his thoughts. With that, he takes your chin in his hand and kisses you in a manner that is both loving and hungry.
For the first time in four years, the two of you feel alive. You’ve both tried to chase this feeling through other ways, but nothing could equate to this. His hands cup your face to deepen the kiss, his thumbs occasionally brushing against your cheeks.
“I love you,” he whispers in between kisses, bringing you closer to him as if you aren’t chest-to-chest already. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you smile at him, a feeling of content blossoming within you.
