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octoberobserver · 2 years ago

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Dearly Loved and Forever Missed

(Read on ao3) (This was inspired from this Tumblr post.)

OBITUARY

Richard Tozier

1976-2016

————————

A native of Derry, Maine, Richard Tozier suffered through a troubled childhood that was marred by self-doubt and indecision. His countless insecurities led him to ridicule the few friends he had, an action that would come to haunt him for the remainder of his meaningless life. Richard was an awkward-looking child, and his parents regarded him with both shame and disappointment. Their contempt for him only intensified during Richard’s adolescence, when his repulsive inclinations towards homosexuality and deviance emerged.

He began performing in the late 1990s, and went on to achieve an unimaginative and forgettable career in stand-up comedy. Unable to escape his anxieties and incapable of sustaining any real human connection, he was eventually abandoned by his remaining friends, who never really knew him in the first place.

In the end, his pathetic indecision in life and disgusting sexual urges left him alone, without any reason to live, and now everyone knows his dirty secret. His death is the punchline to the only funny joke he ever made: His life.

He is survived by nobody, and will not be missed.

“Hey Eds, have you seen the—”

Eddie Kaspbrak’s gaze shot up from the laptop, just in time to see Richie freeze, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence.

“Richie…” Eddie rasped, his chest clenching painfully as he gestured to the screen, unable to look at the words he had just read, they swimming in his suddenly blurry vision. “What the fuck is this?”

Richie blinked, once, twice, before storming over to the table and slamming the laptop shut, eyes lowered.

“It’s uh, it’s nothing. Do you know where the take out menu is for that new Thai place? I can’t find it in—”

“That is not nothing, Rich,” Eddie cut across him sharply, “that’s a fucking obituary. A horrible, disgusting—”

“Why were you looking through my laptop?” Richie interjected, voice weak as he continued to avoid eye contact, crossing to the sink and turning on the faucet.

“I was going onto the Thai place’s website because I knew you were craving curry and wouldn’t be able to find the menu,” Eddie explained, standing up and walking towards his friend’s back that was lined with tension, his shoulders hunched, his head lowered as water continued to flow.

“...Did you write it?”

It was a question he really didn’t want to ask. Couldn’t bear to consider the possibility, but also disliked the idea of it being some sort of sick hate mail.

Meaningless life. Shame and disappointment. Repulsive inclinations. Unimaginative and forgettable. Incapable of sustaining any real human connection. Abandoned. Disgusting sexual urges. Without any reason to live. His death is the punchline. Survived by nobody. Will not be missed.

Eddie’s stomach twisted with nausea as those words flashed before his eyes and he tried desperately to blink them away.

Along with the unshed tears.

Slowly, he reached out to clasp Richie’s shoulder.

Only to have Richie shrug it off, sidestepping him to grab a glass.

“No, I didn’t write it. Fuck.”

He shoved the glass under the water and took several large gulps before slamming the glass back down and finally turning off the faucet.

He sighed.

“But I might as well have.”

Eddie’s heart clenched in his chest as he waited, worry gnawing at his nerves.

Richie’s back was still to him, his hands gripping the kitchen counter, his head hung low.

“It’s what that bastard made me see back in Derry. Just like...just like the Missing Posters back in ‘89, only new and more traumatising. Gotta give the guy props for flair, I guess.”

Ice flowed through Eddie’s veins.

Of course. Pennywise .

“Shit, Richie, that’s...that’s so messed up,” he muttered lamely, hands wrapping themselves around his elbows, hugging himself to stop from reaching out for him again.

“But…” he cleared his throat, hating how raw his voice sounded as he swallowed down the emotion that was clawing its way up his throat, “why is it on your laptop? It’s...it’s saved in your work folder, Rich, I—”

“I typed it out awhile back,” Richie gave a shrug, his back still turned, “surprised I could remember it pretty much verbatim, but ol’ Penny did always have a knack for being particularly haunting.”

Eddie thought of his mother strapped to a table and begging him to save her. He thought of lepers and spider-Stan heads and claws impaling him to death. He had to agree.

But even with all that, nothing made him feel as sick as those three short paragraphs. Not his mother’s screams. Not lepers projectile vomiting all over him. Not the decapitated head of his then-dead friend sprouting legs and attacking them. And not even his own death.

Will not be missed…

Did Richie really think that? Believe that? Pennywise did always base his attacks on fear so…

Bile rose up Eddie’s throat.

“Why did you type it out?”

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. But those words were stuck in his rib cage somewhere, right beneath his scar, nestled firmly between his own fears and insecurities.

Richie heaved another sigh, finally turning around to rest against the counter, folding his arms tightly across his chest and staring at a spot on the floor.

His entire body screamed, I don’t wanna talk about this. Drop it, Eddie. Leave it alone. Leave me alone.

Will not be missed…

“Rich,” he coaxed gently, trying and failing to catch his eye, “why would you—”

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know, okay?!”

If Eddie were a lesser man, he would have reared back in shock at Richie’s outburst, but as it was, he was too busy trying to make sure Richie didn’t hurt himself as he suddenly began to violently pace back and forth, his voice loud and thick with emotion.

“It stayed with me. And I hate that. I hate that something so fucking dumb, so insignificant when compared to all the shit we went through, fuck, you went through, before and after, keeps fucking showing up in my dreams. Taunting me, making me read it over and over and over like it’s some self-fulfilling prophecy that I just haven’t accepted yet. Because fuck, Eds, he wasn’t wrong, you know?”

Richie paused, waving a hand, his eyes wide and wild behind his glasses.

“I was a total screw up. I was filled with self doubt and insecurities out the wazoo. I was awkward-looking and Maggie and Went didn’t know what to do with me most of the time and they...they knew. They always knew about me and they...they just never brought it up ‘cause fuck, I don’t know? I guess I was already enough of a shameful disappointment without being fucking gay in the eighties on top of all that.”

He let out a horrible sound, a cross between a laugh and a sob, running a hand through his hair.

“And my career was unimaginative, forgettable, fucking atrocious most of the time. I was so insecure that I let other people write for me, but deep down, I knew they had a point. I just…wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t funny enough. And any ‘friends’ I had didn’t know me, not really. They knew “Trashmouth” the character I played so I wouldn’t have to get real with anyone, show anyone who I really was because I knew when they saw me, the real me, they’d leave. But they still did anyway.”

He sniffed, shaking his head.

“And I hated myself, was disgusting and pathetic. I couldn’t leave the closet so I ridiculed it instead. Aligned myself with sexist and homophobic dickwads so I could use those jokes as a shield, all while getting off to the same shit I made fun of. Settled for strangers in bars in cities I’d never visit again, my own right hand and the most discreet porn subscription I could find. I was a hypocrite and a coward.”

He sagged back against the counter, his entire body deflating as his voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

“And maybe he was right, you know? Maybe the funniest joke of all is—me. I’m the punchline. Little Richie Tozier who always yelled the loudest and craved attention and notoriety, ended up being nothing but a washed up, closet-case with more neuroses than friends to miss hi—”

Eddie surged forward and tugged Richie down against him, wrapping his arms tightly around his back and leaning up on his tip-toes.

“Beep beep, Richie.”

A choked sob escaped Richie as he practically melted into the hug, his arms coming up to wrap around Eddie’s waist, clinging tightly as he pressed his face into the crook of his neck.

Eddie suppressed a shiver as Richie’s lips brushed his skin, focussing on his words.

“None of that is true, Richie, do you hear me? Not one fucking word. You weren’t a screw up, you were the smartest kid in school, are you kidding me? It used to drive me fucking crazy that you never opened a book but would somehow get straight A’s. And you weren’t awkward looking, you were cute as hell. Even with your terrible Hawaiian shirts and coke bottle glasses you were charming as fuck in your own way.”

A small exhale that could have possibly been the beginning of a laugh, tickled Eddie’s neck.

“And Maggie and Went were maybe a little baffled by you, a little confused, but I don’t think they were ever, ever disappointed or ashamed of you. Fuck, your mom was only telling me last week about the time you won that trophy for your routine in the talent competition and how she still has it proudly displayed on her mantel. And Went said at dinner two months ago about how relieved he was at seeing you thriving after coming out. About how he hopes you find someone who’ll love you for you.”

Eddie felt Richie tense a little at that, his arms tightening around his waist.

“And as for your career, the nineties weren’t fucking ready for Richie Tozier. So you were forced to spout other people’s shit even though you are a thousand times funnier and so ahead of the times you were practically Marty McFly. And I don’t blame you for keeping on the ghost writers. You were making a living. And I know you’re not proud of the things you said, but you’ve more than made up for it, Rich. You’re so honest now, so apologetic and repentant for every shitty one-liner some jackass wrote for you. You’re doing your best to write your own material and it’s gold, Rich. I know I’m biased but, fuck. You have a Netflix show. Completely written, 100% by you. I was here, I saw the blood, sweat and tears you put into that routine, and we all couldn’t be prouder of you.”

He squeezed Richie’s shoulders to emphasize his point.

“Even if the ‘your dad’ jokes still make me want to jab a chopstick in your eye.”

A full laugh, albeit quiet and subdued, escaped Richie then, the little puff of air causing goosebumps to spread across Eddie’s neck and spurred him on.

“And you…you can date now. Openly, publicly. I know the world isn’t perfect, will never be, but you have so much support, Rich. So many people behind you that just want you to find happiness with someone. You don’t have to hide anymore. You were so brave coming out, telling the world who you are and I know...there is someone out there just waiting for you. And he’s the luckiest guy in the world.”

Eddie’s heart thumped hard in his chest as he willed away the ache, the words far more honest than Richie could possibly ever know, even as they broke his heart to say them.

His breath hitched as Richie’s hand brushed up from his waist to settle in between his shoulder blades, tightening the hug.

“A-And,” Eddie forced himself to continue, “You have friends, people who know you inside and out and...love you for who you are. You will forever have people to miss you, Rich. Fuck, I miss you when you fly to New York for meetings, I can’t even bring myself to imagine how much I’d miss you if—”

He cut himself off, shoving down that horrible thought before it can break the surface of his deepest, darkest fears.

He stepped back, breaking their hug to catch Richie’s eye, but his arms staying firmly around him, their stance almost like a motionless dance.

Their gazes met, their dark eyes shinier than usual, their cheeks damp.

“Bottom line is, Loser, you’re not allowed to die any time soon. But when you do, your obituary will be nothing like that. It will be filled with details of a childhood rife with laughter and fun, a career which thrived after complete revitalisation and a life filled with love. So much fucking love it’ll have all the readers jealous as fuck. You know, if people still read newspapers in 2076.”

A full belly laugh met those words, Richie sniffling so loud it should have grossed Eddie out and had him running for a Kleenex, but instead only had him grinning widely, his eyes tracing the adorable flush crossing Richie’s cheeks.

You are so, so loved.

“You think I’m gonna live to see a hundred, Eds?”

Eddie nodded.

“You better. ‘Cause I sure plan to and you’re not leaving me to yell at kids to get off our lawn by myself.”

Richie blinked.

It was then that Eddie’s words caught up with him and heat rushed to his face.

Jesus, Eddie. Why don’t you just fucking propose while you’re at it. Fuck.

“You think we’re still gonna be living together then?” Richie asked, voice quiet and...vulnerable in a way Eddie couldn’t ever remember hearing.

“I thought this whole roommate thing was only temporary?”

Eddie knew it was a joke. That Richie was just poking fun at Eddie’s own words when he had first moved in with him coming up to a year now, when he was freshly-resurrected and recently-divorced and in need of a new start.

He lowered his eyes, shuffling a little, but not breaking their loose embrace.

“Uh, well, I mean...probably not, right? You’ll uh...you’ll have found someone by then. A boyfriend or…or husband maybe, but I—I’ll always be there for you, Rich. I’m not going anywhere. Except maybe like, to become your neighbour when—”

“I’m not gonna find some random boyfriend or husband Eds, so you won’t be going anywhere unless...unless you want to,” Richie cut across him, giant hands giving a quick squeeze to Eddie’s hips that had him sucking in a breath.

He looked up.

Those large, dark eyes that he had never truly forgotten even with Derry amnesia magic, stared down at him with a look that had his stomach swooping pleasantly.

“I don’t want to,” he replied, firmly but quietly, reluctant to burst whatever bubble they had found themselves in.

“I don’t want you to either.”

A beat.

Two.

Eddie watched, utterly transfixed as Richie’s eyes flickered minutely downwards. Eddie let his own do the same, catching on Richie’s lips that were slightly parted, short little breaths fanning against his skin, their faces merely inches apart.

How could he ever think he isn’t loved?

Almost unbeknownst himself, Eddie reached up and brushed away the remaining tear from Richie’s cheek with his thumb.

“So, I guess we’ve got another sixty years for you to learn how to load the dishwasher without me having to correct it then, huh?”

Richie chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, dear.”

Eddie’s stomach gave another swoop and god, he wanted to kiss this gorgeous, infuriating, ridiculous man with every fibre of his being.

So he did.

Richie let out a gasp as their lips met, but it was soon replaced by a groan as he pulled Eddie flush against him, kissing back wholeheartedly.

Eddie wound one hand into Richie’s hair, the other clutching his hip as his mind sighs— finally .

Years of unspoken words were woven into that kiss, passing between them with a strength that made Eddie weak at the knees.

Reluctantly, he pulled back barely an inch to catch his breath, staring up at Richie with a gaze he knew to be honest and open and everything he wanted him to know.

But he wanted Richie to hear it, too.

He deserved that and so much more.

“I love you, Rich. I always have. You...you’ll never be alone, or unmissed. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

A slow but radiant smile broke out on Richie’s face, his eyes wide with awe.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and began peppering every inch of Eddie’s face with wet kisses, murmuring words in between.

“Love you so much—since I was—twelve years old—I want you for forever—and after—can’t wait to watch you—yell at kids—grumpy old man—”

Eddie snorted out a laugh, catching Richie’s face in his hands before he could stoop back in to smack a sloppy peck on his forehead, instead capturing his mouth again, this time trailing his tongue along his bottom lip.

Richie opened his mouth with another loud groan, their tongues meeting as he pulled Eddie even closer to him, lifting him several inches off the floor in a move that should have had him grumbling, but instead shot a bolt of arousal through his abdomen.

Something to examine at a later date...

“Fuck Eds,” Richie gasped against his lips as they exchanged soft smiles, “you kiss me like that again and I might even learn how to use the tumble dryer...”

~*~

OBITUARY

Richard Tozier

1976-2076

———————

A native of Derry, Maine, Richard "Richie" Tozier grew up in a loving household with his parents Wentworth and Margaret who were always a little bemused by their energetic and vivacious son, but proud of his unique and fun personality, their home always filled with a litany of impressions and voices.

Richie had a small, but close knit group of friends, affectionately called The Losers Club, made up of best-selling horror novelist, Bill Denbrough (1976-2074), stylist to the stars, Beverly Marsh-Hanscom (1976-2075), award-winning architect of Hanscom & Co, Ben Hanscom (1976-2075) travel writer & groundbreaking documentary filmmaker, Mike Hanlon, (1975-2074), civil rights lawyer, Stanley Uris (1975-present), and Richie’s future-husband, founder of the L.O.V.E.R. Foundation for LGBT+ kids, Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier (1976-present.)

The Losers’ many adventures and anecdotes were lovingly recited by Richie over the span of his near-forty-year career in comedy, first as a standup comedian and then as a television writer and producer, his comedy/drama Clownin’ Around becoming an international hit and earning him multiple awards including, Emmys, Golden Globes and memorably, a People’s Choice Award for its depiction of a same-sex couples’ adoption process.

Richie famously came out as gay live during one of his shows, ‘Trashmouthed’, completely unrehearsed to the shock of the media and public at large. But he was soon embraced by a wave of support after issuing a heartfelt, sincere apology for his past jokes. Soon after, he and his future-husband began dating, eventually marrying in 2019 and adopting a daughter, Margaret, "Maggie-Bev."

Richie is survived by his husband, Eddie, their daughter, their two grandchildren and their dog. He was dearly loved and will be forever missed by his family, friends, and many fans around the world.

(More Reddie fics)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #it 2019 #my fanfiction

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stxleslyds · 3 years ago

Note

EVENT LEVIATHAN issues 2 and 3

EVENT LEVIATHAN BUT IT’S ONLY JASON TODD.

Oh, Anon, I am sorry it took me so long to answer your ask, to be honest with you, I had completely forgotten this book ever happened and when I went looking for it, I saw who was the writer for it and my brain disconnected completely.

Michael Brian Bendis, what a polarizing writer. I had forgotten why I didn’t like his work much but this book made me remember that his writing gives me headaches. I swear, every time I read his work I am left wondering if I missed an issue or a page, it’s like I always lack information even though he makes sure to write a lot in those “monologue boxes”.

But I am not here to complain about Bendis, let’s talk about why Jason appears in this book and how is he characterized in it.

If you don’t know what Event Leviathan was about, in the first issue we are told that a terrorist has been attacking places simultaneously. This person, known as Leviathan collected some of the people that survived the attacks (like Batgirl), and others he let escape (like Green Arrow). All of the attacks were on organizations (A.R.G.U.S, Spyral, D.O) that were the pillars of the world intelligence community.

Because the case is big and operating on a big scale, several detectives and heroes (Batman, Robin, The Question, Lois Lane, Plastic Man, and Manhunter) have come together to figure out who is behind Leviathan’s mask.

In the second issue, their main suspect is Jason Todd after Damian suggests that Jason’s “special war on crime” can be related to this worldwide level of terrorist activity.

Well, If you couldn’t tell by the way that I phrased that, I really believe that DC and Bendis had to do some weird changes to the narratives because Jason hadn’t been really at “war with crime” for a very long time, or at the very least, not on that level (against organizations selling/controlling intelligence). So, right of the bat, I am confused as all hell.

Jason at this point in time was working as the Ice Lunge’s owner, so this was after the events of RHatO (2016) #25 and after Roy Harper’s death. But before I get to explaining why Damian and the others thought that Jason was behind Leviathan’s terrorist attacks, let's talk about Jason’s characterization.

How to write about a character based only on “tropes” that the publisher of the book told you. A Guide by Michael Brian Bendis.

We find Red Hood in Seattle, already investigating Leviathan. So, yeah, to me it was kind of obvious that Bendis put Jason there to build up the reason as to why Jason was the main suspect of being Leviathan or working with them.

We are offered some very casual banter with Batman as well as the ever-present subplot of Jason caring for Barbara Gordon. I am not a fan of whatever DC was and is trying to do when it comes to Jason and his crush on a person that he barely knew and has rejected him before. Bendis was probably told to put that there, I really don’t see Jason going out of his way to ask if Barbara is final but oh well.

In that panel we also see Jason say this to Batman, “can we put away the stuff between us so we can work on the case?” to which Batman answers, “of course”.

What the hell was that? First Batman beats the living shit out of Jason (Jason even says that he never saw Bruce hit the Joker as hard as he was hitting him) and rips the bat-symbol of his suit saying that they no longer work together or whatever, then we have Bruce going to Jason to tell him that Roy is dead, he gives him a hug but then proceeds to tell Jason that he is still banned from Gotham.

DC really reduced all that to “stuff between us”, alright, all I am getting from that is that I was right when I said that DC lets Batman get away with his horrible treatment of his kids as if it just were a subplot. Lovely, I hate being right.

But that’s not really what I want to discuss, I want to discuss the level of detective/investigation skills that Jason has got going on for him in this issue. Suddenly Jason has information about what happens with organizations like Spyral, ARGUS, and DEO? And then Bruce asks Jason if he has been in contact with Talia recently?

I am not mad about those last things, don’t get me wrong, Jason being good at investigating and him being (possibly) in contact with Talia are great things BUT they don’t fit in his story anymore.

Where is this Jason coming from, it must not be from the narrative that Lobdell had going on, Jason never showed much interest in keeping up with that side of the world or in doing detective work. And his relationship with Talia was downgraded a lot, basically, all Talia had done was keep an eye on Jason since she first met him before he was robin (yeah, that was a thing that happened as told in RHatO (2011) #25) and that how she found out that he died, after he came back from the dead, she put him in a Lazarus Pit and then sent him to the All-Castle so he could become Ducra’s apprentice. That’s literally it.

Or are we working with a Jason that maintains his Lost Days origins? There isn’t time on the timeline for that to have happened so his involvement in this book and the way that they are writing him is very confusing to me.

Jason doesn’t say anything about Talia except that he pulls an Uno reverse card on Bruce and asks him if he has been in contact with Talia. But just like many things with Bendis as a writer we never really hear any of them say anything about Talia and they continue talking about something else.

Alright, back to sharing what they found it is! Jason has apparently investigated this very closely because he cannot stop bringing up the fact that the attacks leave no bodies behind. Either people escape or vanish from the attack site.

But here is where the so-awaited “Batfamily” mention comes in. After Bruce tells Jason that he is putting a team of Detectives together Jason asks this, “we can’t keep this in the Batfamily?” Gods, was DC on crack when they wrote this? The Batfamily? Honestly? Two of your best detectives are not around to help you and your so-called family left Dick Grayson all alone in Bludhaven!

What Batfamily are you talking about Jason? You, Bruce, and Damian? I can’t with DC pushing and pushing the wildest concept in their universe.

After all that Batman spends a lot of time explaining what has happened or what was supposed to happen, he talks to Jason about how the other detectives were getting closer to retrieve a body that they needed to study. In between what Batman is explaining the scene of Plastic Man talking with Leviathan happens and there Leviathan says that they know each other. So, that’s a clue, whoever is behind the mask is someone that Plastic Man has met before.

We find out that Batman was retelling that story to Jason, so Jason starts putting the pieces together. Batman already has a team, they know that Leviathan has been spearing some heroes’ lives, there is a cause for all the attacks (“a new world order”), and that the attacks leave no bodies. Jason even begins to put together the list of suspects but then Jason asks Batman if they have their number one suspect and Batman says, “Yes”, and it’s Jason!

This is so funny to me, like what? How did they come to that conclusion? Luckily Bendis “explains” the Detectives’ team’s reasoning, I guess? They take turns to ask Jason basic questions that Jason deflects from some reason? It is so dumb.

From this page the most important thing that I gathered is that Damian (the one who initially accused Jason of being Leviathan) says that he doesn’t “think that you (Jason) know you are doing any of this. I think it manifested itself out of grief”.

What? A terrorist that has some sort of technology that makes explosions that leaves no bodies and spares some people’s lives, is being manifested by Jason because Roy Harper died. Did I understand that correctly? That’s their big idea as to why Jason is their number one suspect?

Team of detectives, yeah, I don’t see it.

It makes zero sense! First of all, what “war with crime” was Jason having at the time, and they also say that that war was “a point of controversy for years”. Excuse me? Are they really calling Jason using guns (with rubber bullets) a SPECIAL war with crime? What are they referring to? Are they talking about the events of Under the Red Hood? Because Jason hasn’t been that version of himself in years! We don’t even know if those exact events happened in this continuity!

I am so lost; I actually don’t know why they are relating a terrorist attack to Jason. I don’t know, to me, Jason’s appearance here is unjustified and lacks logic.

Now, we find ourselves in the third issue, where an unnecessary amount of time jumping is done. First, we are in the present after both Batman and Robin let Jason run away. Listen, I know that they tried to paint it as Jason kicking both their asses but I saw those pages, they threw three punches and one of them connect with Jason’s jaw. Batman and Robin just stopped fighting Jason.

I don’t know, why they had to make Damian say that Batman let Jason get away when he was there too and did nothing.

And then they had Damian say this about Jason, “I have never been a member of his fan club but Jason Todd is one of the great master fighters of all time”. Okay, sure, Jason has had a lot of training and he has been immeasurably overpowered over the years but I still find Damian saying this a bit weird, like why would he say that? The fight that is shown after this look into the present is just like any other fight that any Bat-related hero has had. Dick has had more impressive fights than that one after the New 52 and he was immeasurably nerfed.

I love Jason getting recognition for the things that he does right and that he is good at but I need you to represent those moments better. The fight isn’t that grand and they clearly let him run away!

In the fight there all jumped off of a building, (Jason, Batman, Robin, Manhunter, Arrow, and Plastic Man) Jason shoots at everyone and they have a “fight” midair. Then Batman, Robin, and Jason fall through a glass roof and they continue fighting in a pool, this is where I say that they let Jason ran away, they showed us Damian kicking Jason in the face and Bruce punching Jason in the face. But then Jason electrifies both of them while they are in the pool? Listen, this is very nitpicky but Batman and Robin are wearing proper suits for vigilantism, if their suits aren’t prepared to receive some electric shots then wow, but also, the electricity does nothing to Jason even though he is also in the water? Jason’s Red Hood suit at the time was a pair of pants, a shirt, a vest with a hood, and some bandages on his arms… You are telling me that Jason was wearing a suit that protected him from that? Alright, I will believe it, after all, I am very dumb.

Then Jason fights Manhunter, a simple fight apparently, he doesn’t show much fighting skill because she looked like an easy target and then Jason stops fighting and decides to have a nice chat with Lois Lane.

“Why did you run?” I think he ran because a bunch of people accused him of being a terrorist and threw themselves at him at the edge of a building, what kind of question is that?

This page is just, I cannot describe how confusing it is. Lois finally asks that if it isn’t the Red Hood, then why would Leviathan try to set him up? To that Jason answers this, “I was thinking about that on the way down here. Because I am perfect. All this should be me” then he explains “I lose sleep running the numbers in my head, on how measured response to the criminals of the world brings nothing but more chaos. Batman knows this. If this Leviathan is making a big play to change the world, maybe it is the move the “crime-fighters” just don’t, will never have the guts to take. Maybe.”

What. Is. Going. On? Where did this version of Jason come from, this isn’t really in tune with UtRH Jason, RHatO Jason, or RHO Jason. This take on Jason is completely different, Jason doesn’t involve himself with threats on a worldwide scale, he doesn’t care how all heroes around the world operate, and he is not the only one that does things differently from Batman and other heroes that have similar morals.

What is this Jason saying really, is he suggesting that a global terrorist attack can lead to the reconstruction of how heroes work?

Why does Jason think that what Leviathan has going on is similar to things that Jason has done? What did Bendis read that I didn’t? How did Bendis come up with this characterization of Jason?

Because even though RHatO and RHO Jason went beyond Gotham he still fought for things that were directly aligned with his story, Ra’s al Ghul, the Untitled, Essence, all of that wasn’t on a global scale, why is he so suddenly aware of more than that, I just don’t think that his participation in this book is justified.

In these other panels he also comes off as way too aware of what is going on, and I understand that to a certain level all heroes might keep up with what going on a global scale but it seems like Jason knows way too much for someone that hasn’t been connected to those organizations and or people before.

Jason appears a little more after that but nothing of true importance is said anymore in this issue. After, Lois finishes her talk with Jason she reunites with the rest of the team and is like “It wasn’t Red Hood, let’s move on” and that’s that.

That was all Jason did in those two issues. A mix between nothing, knowing too much and him speculating about what a terrorist would want to do next.

Before I give my last thoughts about Jason and these issues, I want to share with you these panels from issue 5 of Event Leviathan.

There, Zatanna and the others confirmed it. Even though Lois listed the Red Hood as a suspect the other detectives told her that not only none of their suspects were Leviathan but that none of them were Leviathan adjacent.

OF COURSE, JASON HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH LEVIATHAN!

Here is what I think, Jason shouldn’t have been in this book, it makes less than zero sense for him to be there. Jason being set up by Leviathan had no logic whatsoever. Jason and Leviathan’s levels of “disruption” are on completely different levels.

I just don’t know why he was there.

Anon, once again I am sorry for taking so long to do this review, I hope you had fun reading this, and I hope that you have an awesome day!

#jason todd #red hood #robin #batman #event leviathan #dc comics #asksss #lois lane

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bonniebird · 4 years ago

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Living with Mr Shelby

AN: This was a fic from way back in 2015/2016 it has been updated and edited.

Living with Mr Shelby Masterlist

I sighed quietly as the train chugged over the tracks jolting me a little. I was moving to Birmingham away from the countryside and into a city that looked like it was being swallowed by a giant cloud of black smoke.

"Next stop Birmingham." A jolly looking man in a conductor's uniform yelled through the train and I noticed a large group of people rushing to get to the doors before the train had even stopped, I struggled to pull my trunk down from the overhead compartment and nearly tripped on the hem of my dress. My grandparents had owned a farm in one of the smaller rural towns, which was where I grew up. I only ever had to wear dresses when guests came over or we went to school or church. One of the many things I missed about my home, my father had died in the war and my mother had passed away in childbirth my Grandparents helped my Father raise me for a time. The loss of my mother left my father horribly depressed.

He would vanish for weeks and come back bruised and bloodied. Grams had told my Father his gambling and drinking would catch up with him but it never did.

It caught up with us.

Mr Kimber was a man my Father had borrowed money from and he saw fit to retrieve his money by forcing my Grandparents to give up their farm.

They passed away a few weeks later hours from one another, the only comfort I took in their passing was the fact that they could be together, without Kimber's interference. The cockney had turned up at the inn I was residing in and demanded I hand over any valuables to pay off my Fathers debt and if I didn't have enough to pay him back, he would make use of me in one of his clubs. So I had decided to leave town, rumor had it there was a man Mr Kimber was afraid of in Birmingham. I had no idea who he was or where in Birmingham he lived but I would rather live near a dangerous stranger than get caught by a well known enemy.

"Here Miss let me help you." A short man with browny grey curly short curly hair stuttered and helped me get off the train.

"Thank you, Sir." I greeted him politely like my Grandmother had taught me, making the man blush and stutter even more.

"Ain't no lady ever called me Sir before, just plain old Curly." Curly let go of the arm he had been holding while he helped me step out of the train and quickly looked around for someone.

"Mr Curly, do you know any Inns that are taking residents?" I asked and Curly stopped fidgeting and looked down at me, he scrunched up his face and began getting wound up because he couldn't think of anywhere.

"I'm sorry Miss, but you could ask Tomm... I mean Mr Shelby if he knows anywhere." With that Curly hurried off leaving me standing alone in the smog filled air wondering who on earth Mr Shelby was and where I would find him.

I hitched up my skirt and headed towards the exit deciding that I needed to find a place to sleep before it got even darker. Men were stumbling out of the many pubs that lined the streets and some even had the audacity to ask me for 'a go.'

I shuddered at the thought of degrading myself to such levels when my Grandmother spent so long teaching me how to read and write so that I could avoid such jobs. I found an inn on the main high street and hurried inside waiting by the front desk for someone to come and great me, a slender man who had a round boyish face and a rather large woman who looked overly motherly hurried out of the back room once they noticed me.

"Hello my name is Lola Farnsworth, I'm looking for a long time residency until I can afford a place of my own. Do you offer this service?" I politely asked when they suddenly become very unfriendly.

"You're not from around here are you?" The woman asked, strain was clear in her cheerful voice, I shook my head and explained my predicament quickly and they soon became relaxed again.

"Well as long as you ain't caus'in trouble and you pay for the room you can stay as long as ya like." The man said handing me a key while I signed a piece of paper saying I would pay for the room once a week.

"Thank you, I'll see you tomorrow." I said after declining their offer of carrying my bags upstairs something I quickly regretted and swung open my door.

The room was simple but then again so were my needs. There was a large twin bed, a cooker, fireplace and a kitchen table set. By the fireplace was a comfy looking two seater sofa that had several singe marks on it where people had dropped the ash from their cigarettes.

I hurriedly unpacked my things discovering a tiny wardrobe hidden away to look like a cupboard, and prepared myself for bed as I glanced at the watch my Grandfather had given me for my sixteenth birthday and saw that it was nearly half past ten.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #bonniebird #peaky blinders #bbc peaky blinders

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mutedrop · 4 years ago

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idk if this is the dumbest place and idea to open up about my personal life, but I'm gonna do it anyway.

some relationship advice would be appreciated...

this might be a long story so bear with me.

so, I met this girl back in 2007. i was fourteen. we instantly hit it off, and it didn't take long before we started dating. i think I'd already figured I was bisexual by then. i think we were the couple that people would call "like an old married couple".

we dated for almost three years. neither of us were mentally in the best place, i was depressed (i was horrible, well, u know how depression can change you), she had issues of her own.

she cheated in 2009. we broke up. and if I wasn't already a mess then i definitely became one. i was really angry for a long time, but we didn't get out of each other's lives. we stayed "friends", however unhealthy it was. because she moved on, and i was right there, watching it happening next to me when I couldn't bare the thought of having her out of my life.

time passed. it was really, really hard for me to get over her. but i guess at some point I did, i started drifting away from her - well, distancing myself from the pain that kept jabbing in my bones. she changed partners, moved a little further away. i want to remind you we stayed friends.

i dated a few other people, had some one night stands. but i never felt right with any of them. i was always the one who "ran away" and ended things with people. i think there were probably at least three hearts i broke at that time because I just didn't feel it, couldn't do it.

i think I started to heal, in more ways than one. i was still a bit of a mess, struggling to, kind of, know what I wanted. i didn't really know what my gender identity was, and it bothered me. for a long time I bordered on transgender ftm. (i even got diagnosed as one in... 2012-2013?). these days i just go with genderfluid. i have a more feminine phase now, and it’s okay with me!

few years passed and we didn't see each other a whole lot. i mean, we hung out, she just lived further away. although seeing her was always really painful. i think I evaded her actually.

i decided to move back to my childhood town in 2016. we saw each other less. we lived two hours apart. i was already getting my shit together, and was mentally whole a lot better (also, i wasn't a moody teenager anymore).

fast forward to 2020, i started seeing a girl I met on tinder. we hung out, hooked up, and i already saw she was getting quite attached over the summer. at that point, I was making phone calls with my ex (yes the one I've been talking about the whole time). she'd broken up with her girlfriend of 7 years at that point. I broke off the thing I had with the girl I met, because I couldn't do it. It didn't feel right.

not long after that, I went to see my ex. it had been almost half a year since we last met i guess. i stayed at her place for a few days. i had so much fun - i couldn't remember the last time I laughed like that. and I felt things.

when I left, i couldn't hold the emotions for long. i told her that I felt i still loved her. she told me she noticed.

we started talking. she warned me about expecting too much of her. we spoke on the phone. met again. I talked about my feelings, a lot. she talked about how her exes were always jealous of me. we were always something else. there's something deeper, a connection i couldn't find anywhere else. we saw each other again, and i talked more. she told me she wanted to kiss me, but she was terrified - that if we'd try again and failed we would lose our friendship.

next time we met and while I was making my leave, she did. kiss me, that is. and, gods, nothing never felt so right before.

we met up a few times during the autumn. but i was puzzled. once i asked why wouldn’t she touch me - and i mean just brushing fingers, holding hands. she said she had a lot of her mind, that she was anxious. we were kissing, but i didn't know where we stood. i asked a few times, but she couldn't give me an answer. she got a new dog suddenly - sounds irrelevant but it kind of isn't - and i felt ... betrayed? i was actually really angry, because it was impulsive, and i was already attached to the imaginary future i had in my head. i know it sounds dumb but i was jealous of the dog. it... sounds so dumb now that I tell it! i have three of my own, so I’m definitely a dog person. somehow it was just... too much. but i felt like as if she was trying to push me away. i told her how i felt about it, how it actually hurt me, because i felt like i wasn’t enough.

(at that point i’d already started to write my feelings into a fic, all of this I’ve been talking about now, and i let her read it the more i wrote.)

i stayed with her for a few weeks because of a job i got for the time. at a point, i grew a little frustrated. i felt like a roommate who got kissed. she’d said she’d want to take things slow, but after a while i asked about it again. because I... might sound dumb and selfish, but i wanted to feel loved. that things would lead up somewhere. that the relationship would grown, and not stagnate on such a weird level. i didn’t want to be a... foregone conclusion. the fact we were friends and used to date didn’t mean i would just have her have me if she wouldn’t work for it. i felt like i was pining. and I sat her down and told her i wanted to talk about it. she’d kiss me, but didn’t really like to be touched.

and again, i might sound selfish, but hugs and kisses aren’t enough for me in a serious relationship, if it ever came to that. i want to be touched, i want to feel like i’m one with a person i yearn for. i want things to collide, i need the flirt, the fluff, i want to share how i feel, what i think, even if a little beyond the innocent. the feeling like i’d be missed if i went away. but i still felt like just a friend to her, when I felt so much it hurt more often than not.

so we talked, and it wasn’t without tears she told she wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to get intimate. and as far as i knew her and understood what she said, she’s not asexual (and she definitely wasn’t back when we were together), but she had an issue with sex. but she wouldn’t let me in on it. i asked if she ever would, and I didn’t get a straight answer. it’s never straight with her. i would, and i would love to, help her, talk with her about everything, but she deflects every time i try.

and since then, I’ve been really torn.

she said she wrote me a letter about it, but as luck would have it, it got lost in the mail and it’s been two weeks since she sent it. and I don’t dare to demand her what she wrote. but i feel like i’m sinking, because things are still the same. we’re not closer, things aren’t growing (although it’s a bit because i had so much work i haven’t been able to see her). but i feel like i don’t want to keep asking and asking, again and again, for reasons. i’m constantly holding myself in. i don’t dare to try warming things up, even just innocently flirt. i don’t want to push her, but I’m also getting so so tired of not knowing a shit about anything.

i have no idea if i’m just on my way for getting my heart broken, again, by her. i’m willing to work for us, but i don’t know to what lengths she is. i’ve told her, that i can’t wait forever. i just can’t take it. what the hell am i supposed to do?

#relationship problems #advice appreciated #sigh #i'm just so tired of this #i just want to be loved #and i want to love freely #i want to be able to show how i feel #she's not on tumblr

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atc74 · 4 years ago

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Soul to Souls - Six

Warnings: Mentions of a hunt, missing your “soulmate”, drinking mentions of sex, implied smut, a good ol’ girls night

Summary: Since she was four years old, Annaleigh has seen the same boy in her dreams. For twenty-five years, she grows to love the boy that has now turned into a man. Dean Winchester just lost the only family he has ever known. The guilt drives him to work harder than ever before. He works to forget the pain, until he meets Annaleigh and she turns his world upside down. What she learns changes both of their lives forever, but what will he do when he discovers the truth? Will he accept it or run back to the only life he has ever known?

Pairing: Dean x OC Annaleigh

Word Count: 2043

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, @katehuntington, thank you both for being my guides! Dividers and new cover art by the amazingly talented @talesmaniac89.

A/N: This was my very first series I ever wrote four years ago in September 2016 and I am so happy and proud to bring this back home.

Soul to Souls Master List

Dean heeded Annaleigh’s advice, taking a couple weeks to rest and recharge. Bobby understood when Dean called to tell him he was taking a much needed break. There wasn’t much to do in her small town, but he spent as much time with Annaleigh as possible, when she wasn’t working. They took small day trips and enjoyed the peace and quiet provided by the mountains.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and that end came one morning in the form of a phone call from another hunter that needed backup. Dean reluctantly packed a bag and kissed his girl goodbye.

“I will be back as soon as I can, I promise you that, Red,” Dean vowed into her hair as he held her tightly to him.

“You better, God Himself has plans for us,” Annaleigh whispered back, not wanting to let go, now that she finally had him. She knew she could never ask him to leave the life behind, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to worry about him when he did take on a hunt.

Silent tears fell as she watched him drive away, but Annaleigh refused to go back inside until Baby’s tail lights disappeared from view. It was only then that she went back into the house and counted the days until he returned to her.

The days passed slowly without Dean beside her. Annaleigh continued with her appointments, as her clients still needed her, but she found herself increasingly restless the longer he was gone. With nothing better to do, she picked up a couple more shifts at the bar, just to keep herself busy.

The bar was pretty empty for a Thursday night. Annaleigh was just clearing a table, and thinking about calling it a night, when she heard the bell above the door. She turned to see who it was, surprised when it was Cora and Trista Dozier, two of her favorite people and the owners of Two Sisters. She greeted them at the door with huge hugs. “Girls! What brings you in tonight?” She smiled and turned to grab a couple of menus and take them to a table.

Trista wrapped her arm through Anna’s as she spoke. “Well, we haven’t seen your Adonis in flannel around lately so we thought we would keep you company, maybe get the scoop.”

“Oh no, missy!” It was Cora that spoke up this time when Annaleigh tried to seat them at a high top table for two. “Not here, we are going to need a much bigger table tonight!”

Anna looked at her, a confused look on her face. “But it’s just the two-?” She never got the words out as the bell on the front door rang again. Alyssa walked in, followed closely by Mandi, and made a beeline for the three ladies.

Cora ignored her question. “Girls’ Night, party of five, please! We are treating you to a good time, since Mr. Man is out of town on business.”

Annaleigh opened her mouth to protest, but Cora reached out and placed her hand under Anna’s chin and pushed it closed, effectively stopping any argument she might have attempted. “Okay, then. Let’s get started,” Cora chirped. Anna shook her head, knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument. Walking into the back room, she took off her apron, stored it in her locker and clocked out. Before heading to the table, she ordered a round of beers to get them all started.

“Anna! Get your ass over here! You are not on the clock anymore and it is time for you to have fun and let your hair down! We can get our own damn drinks, girl,” Alyssa yelled across the bar.

“Just this one round, I swear. Then, I will put myself at your mercy for the rest of the night, my Queens,” Annaleigh replied to her, pulling off a graceful curtsy before she carried the bottles back to the large table they picked in the corner, right next to the old jukebox. She swore that thing was older than all of them, but it was a classic, and so was the music.

The beers and shots flowed as the time passed. Annaleigh felt like a pretty lucky girl from where she sat. She had amazing friends that took a whole night for her just to make sure she was having fun and not alone. She had an amazing and sexy boyfriend that she could not wait to get her hands on again.

Mandi piped up from across the table, a wicked grin on her face. “So, tell me, Annaleigh...how is Dean in bed? He is so gorgeous! And those lips...oh man! I bet they can do things! Can’t they?”

Anna almost fell out of her chair at the turn of conversation. “Mandi! I am not telling you guys about our sex life!” She protested loudly. There weren’t that many people in the bar to overhear, but she still didn’t want to spill their secrets.

“Come on, Anna!” Trista was the next one to start in on her. “We live vicariously through you. Tell us something! Just one, or maybe two, teensey, weensey, little details. Please?” She begged, actually batting her damn eyelashes trying to get Annaleigh to cave.

Cora, who was generally the quiet and shy one, surprisingly chimed in as well, “Yeah, Anna! Just a couple of teensey, weensey nuggets of sexiness. With a body like that, he has to know how to use it! And I am willing to bet you bitches fifty bucks that it ain’t so teensey, weensey. Am I right? Or am I right?!”

Alyssa looked at Anna and blurted out, “Don’t leave anything out! I want all the dirt! ”

Anna threw her head back and let the laughter roll out of her. It felt good to be with all of her girls again. “You are all horrible! And relentless! Anything I tell you guys does not leave this table, understand?”

She eyed them all, to make sure they were all listening intently, before she spoke softly, leaning into the circle. “You all know that I don’t have a ton of experience, but Dean is the most incredible, thoughtful, and generous lover I have ever had, or could ever have imagined. He is so patient and really takes his time to make sure that I am satisfied. He never, and I mean NEVER, comes first. He says it is his job to make sure I am fully satisfied before he is.” Now their eyes are locked on her, hanging on her every word, mouths open, salivating. Dean is gonna love this when I tell him. He will appreciate the ego boost, she thought to herself, a grin playing at her lips.

Annaleigh swept her eyes around the table before she continued, “And those lips? Mmmm, God. That body is just made for sinning. And I love every inch of it; it’s soft but hard in all the right places. His eyes change color depending on his mood; like when we are in the heat of the moment they get darker, almost like a forest green. So, I know when they turn, I am in for it and done for - I won’t be able to walk straight the next day!” She threw her hand over her mouth, stopping herself before saying too much and getting all worked up, knowing she was still going home to an empty bed.

Alyssa reached out to grab her hand for more, but Annaleigh had already gotten up and wandered over to that ancient jukebox, looking for anything else but talk of her sex life to keep them occupied. The music selection varied across different genres, but most of it was classic rock. Dean would be so happy. She dropped a handful of quarters in the machine and started pushing buttons, picking a few of Dean’s favorites, a few of her own, and a few the girls could sing along to, now that the bar was nearly empty.

Anna got back to the table just as the bartender brought them another round, whiskey this time. Thanking him, Anna picked up her glass and looked at her girls. “To good times, great friends, strong drinks, and amazing lovers.”

“Amen, sister!” They all yelled and laughed as they downed the contents, slamming the glasses back down on the table, Alyssa howling like a wolf at the moon.

The sounds of Zeppelin floated through the bar as they talked about anything and everything. Trista and Cora filled them in on some new things they were trying out next week at the bakery, telling Annaleigh she needed to bring Dean in for their new pie flavor, since he was now their official taste tester. Mandi was excited about a new comic book series they got in this week. And Alyssa told them all about the new yoga classes she was teaching at the Community Center. Anna sipped on her beer as she listened to her friends talk and laugh, and she realized how much she had missed them and how badly she had needed this.

Mandi ordered a round of shots, something sweet and fruity this time, and Anna had to wash it down with a swig of her beer. Just then, the jukebox started a familiar tune Anna had not heard in forever. She jumped up out of her chair and sang into her bottle, pretending it was a microphone as she danced around the now empty bar, save the bartender.

The liquor was doing its job, and Annaleigh was well into the second verse when she heard the bell over the door, and she turned, her heart skipping a beat, but there was no one there. Just the wind, she thought to herself, slightly disappointed. Annaleigh resumed singing, channelling her inner diva the best she could.

When the song ended, Anna looked at the clock over the bar, realizing it was after one in the morning, and she was suddenly exhausted. Returning to the table, she hugged each of her girls, thanking them for the best girls’ night ever. Cora grabbed Anna’s face in her hands, saying, “I miss your face! Don’t keep it away so long next time.”

Annaleigh gave one final wave to the table and blew kisses to each of them before turning to get her things, but she stopped dead in her tracks.

There he was, leaning against the bar, with a drink in his hand, in that red shirt that reeked of sex and sin. The man that very well could be the love of her life. Somewhere she heard someone scream, but she quickly realized it was her and before she knew it, she was running into Dean’s arms. She jumped and wrapped her whole body around his. Anna kissed him with everything she had before he let her down.

“I missed you so much! When did you get back? How long have you been here?” Anna threw the questions at him as fast as they popped into her head.

Dean wrapped his arm around her as they walked to the back room. “I missed you, too, Red. I just got back a little while ago. And, I’ve been here long enough to see you put on a show.” He threw his head back and laughed at the memory of her singing. Her heart was happy, hearing him laugh in the flesh.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” she asked, playfully elbowing him in the ribs.

“You looked like you were having so much fun out with your girls, I didn’t want to intrude,” he admitted. “But, I think it’s high time we get out of here. Watching you like that does things to me, Honey.”

Annaleigh grabbed her stuff and bolted for the door, blowing one more kiss to the girls and giving a thumbs up. She turned back to Dean and gave him her best pout before belting out the chorus of the song she had been singing again.

He ran after her, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder before striding out the door. Even in the parking lot, they could hear her friends cackling and Alyssa howling at the moon again.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

Soul to Souls tags: @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @iwantthedean @jensengirl83 @deanwanddamons @smol-and-grumpy @kbl1313 @waywardbeanie @whatareyousearchingfordean @princessmisery666 @spnbaby-67 @shy-violet-soul @lastcallatrockysbar @winchesterxfamilybusiness @fangirlxwritesx67 @squirrelnotsam

#dean x annaleigh #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean x ofc #dean winchester soulmate

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confessions-of-a-blogger · 3 years ago

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Karma, or bollocks?

I wanted to write what's happened in my life for a while, well, my adult life. I find writing very therapeutic and something I have enjoyed doing since I was 13, so 16 years now.

I haven't found the need too, but now, I do.

It's going to paint myself in a bad light, or a good light, you can judge I am fine with that, I have lived with these choices for a long time, some more recently fair to say.

In the words of Nickelback 'Something's gotta go wrong cos I'm feeling way too damn good'

I always say out of every negative, and there can be alot, there is a least one positive. I hope by the end of this, I find that positive.

So the beginning, kind of. October 2012.

I was with a girl, but went to America for a month with my best friend at the time. He used to live there and I came into a bit of money, always wanted to go to the states, and had the most wonderful month.

About 2 weeks in I got a scent that something was happening between my partner and someone else, and I was right. I snooped on her Facebook inboxes, and found she had been talking to a girl, more than talking really, flirting, saying she wish she could be with her, the usual jazz. Which, I had done myself previously, and I deserved it to happen to me. I jumped from relationship to relationship for years, my therapist said it was because I didn't feel loved by my mum after years of abuse, I always went from woman to woman to find the love, and I agreed.

When I came back, I was expecting to break up with her, but I was about to look after my friends dog in his flat for an unknown period of time, and she had told her mum this, so her mum kicked her out.

With nowhere to live, I felt like it was now my responsibility, so we spoke and worked on things.

A few months down the line, she fell pregnant, and I was over the moon. I always wanted the family life, even after the red flag, but unfortunately she miscarried.

Then things changed slightly. Controlling behaviour, both our heads in the wrong places, still trying to hold a relationship together, and of course still sleeping together, and she fell pregnant, again.

This time I was at fault, I didn't wanna be with her, and I figured she was going through my phone, so I left her things to find so we could break up.

Then I felt horrible. I left my pregnant partner. Regardless of if I wanted to be with them, I should not of done that, at that time, so we got back together, and she miscarried, again.

2 back to back nearly killed us both off. So I made it clear I didn't want to try again and she went onto the pill.

Which she then stopped taking, and on her highest ovulation day she got me drunk, we fucked, and she fell pregnant a third time.

Not wanting to make the same mistake, I stayed. For a while. The thought that someone just went behind my back to get pregnant after I made it clear I couldn't cope with another miscarriage brewed. I had already struggled with mental health from the years of abuse by my mum, I didn't want to go through a third and come out alot worse.

We got to 12 weeks, and everything was okay with baby, but I knew I needed out. It was a massive betrayal of trust, and I could no longer trust her.

Her birthday came up, then Christmas and New year, so I didn't act on this, I didn't want to cause more stress and miscarry again.

In Jan 2014, after a month of just basically both of us talking to other people, I ended it, and a month later I was with someone else. Needless to say, it wasnt a good thing. I felt like I was being blackmailed by my ex to do all these things just so I could see my unborn. I always wanted children, and said I would do anything to see them as often as possible.

In May that child was born, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. The blackmail continued and in August it all came out that I had been essentially having an affair, not that I wanted it, and that caused strain on my relationship at the time. I was wrong, very very wrong to do what I did, and should of stood my ground, but maybe the rest of this story will show you how hard that would of been.

Things were hard, I was being stopped from seeing my child as often as I liked, and it was a case of 'can you have her tomorrow' always at short notice, and always having to juggle work around that. When I couldn't change shifts at short notice, things got worse. Arguing on her side, emotional abuse, the works. Child as a weapon.

After a few months, I would say February 2015, contact turned very very minimal.

In March, my partner cheated on me twice, with the same person, but I loved her and accepted that as she accepted my actions the year before. And we moved passed it, even if it was on the anniversary of my mum's death.

A few more months down the line, the contact with my child stopped completely, and over the years no matter how hard I tried, for a while, I got nowhere.

My partner cheated on me a further 3 times, and in 2016 she left me for someone else. 7 weeks later we found out she was pregnant.

She told me she hadn't slept with the guy the first 2 weeks but she was 7 weeks pregnant. So we got back together. I was dating someone, someone I wanted to date for a while, but felt this was the right thing to do. If I had one chance to make it work I had to take it. I didn't miss an appointment, and I only just missed the birth. Then we did the DNA, and in the best Jeremey Kyle moment of all time, she told me she wanted a family with me regardless of the result, we would be a family and a day later, the DNA test showed that I was not the father.

I was okay for a few weeks, but I couldn't live with looking at a child that should be mine all the time whilst not being alllowed to see my own, once I said that, she left.

Then out of nowhere, my ex rings me, and I see my eldest for a while, a month or 2, before she got back with her fella and the contact stopped, again.

Then I lost my job, and had nothing. Time to rebuild, whilst being off sick for 3 years.

In that time I met someone, they were super nice and we had good times, but truthfully, I was still hung up on my ex for 2 years, and then I chose to settle. I hadn't had nice before, things were good. I thought I would finally grow to love her, and I did to some aspect, but I never fell in love.

Then one day, in February 2020, I walk into a shop and there she was. The person all these soppy love quotes are about, the person I dreamed of meeting since I was teenager, stood before my very eyes. At that point I knew I had to break up with my partner. If you look at someone else then you should not stay with the person you are with. I went in a further 3 times and every time all I could think was wow.

Then lockdown happened, and well, signs were there that my partner was pregnant. When lockdown ended in the summer, she came to mine, and low and behold, she was. 23 weeks pregnant.

We had one week to decide and we booked everything for an abortion, but, I was born at 24 weeks, so we both opted against it.

In September, I applied for a job at where the girl I always wanted to be with/find, and got it. At the same time, my partner gave birth.

I pushed my feelings to one side. They only grow when I think someone might be interested and that certainly wasn't the case. I now had a family to provide for, and that family life I always wanted with a nice, lovely, good looking girl, plus, the girl I liked and her bf both worked there, and I got on with both of them, so my feelings kind of disappeared to the back of my mind.

Then the job was made permanent, at a time when my relationship was failing, and over the course of a few months, things creeped in that made me unhappy, and I was so pissed off with myself that I just settled knowing it wasn't what I wanted. Stupid me, everything I wanted and got turned to dust, I thought being with someone nice meant that I would get the happy ending and a family life, but life doesn't work out like that.

But fate has its way sometimes. I had found my dream girl, I got the job, it was permanent, and out of all the people I worked with it was her I went to for advice, and it appeared we had similar thoughts, but also, we were both unhappy in our relationships to some extent, and I just got contact with my eldest again, for a while at least.

Then something amazing happened. She flirted. I couldn't believe it either, and then we became good friends, that helped each other out.

I spoke to my partner, told her I was unhappy, and we tried to work on it, but it got worse and my mind was made up. So I pretty much made it clear to the girl I worked with I liked her. I told her she was my type, and she seemed interested if i was gonna break up with my partner, and I was. Then I reacted to some pictures of her on her insta story, where she looked absolutely out of this world, and then suddenly we knew we had to break up with our partners.

She wanted to call a break but fate had its way again and they actually called things off, and so did I. Not to get with each other, but because we knew we were unhappy whilst being made happy by someone else. We had both checked out our relationship a while back, I guess we just forced each others hand.

Its not been a month, and I am crazy in love, but we aren't together, as much as I want that. We are taking things slow in terms of commitment and I am okay with that. I never thought I'd get this far. I only imagined we would go out on a works Christmas do or something and I might slide it in there how I feel, so the fact this all happened has been crazy.

Talking everyday, seeing each other often, and our first proper date coming up, and I am really living the dream.

But now, I haven't seen my eldest in months, and when I asked, she is 'too busy,' imagine if I said that.

Now I just get ignored often by both, and whilst I have had the month of my life, the bad is happening.

I'm now worrying its going to be 2 children I don't see, and that really would be karma for all the hurt I caused.

But at least I have you, my light in the dark times, you really really make me happy, and I have never felt like this before. Thank you for being there, and making me feel on top of the world.

Just to be shot back down by 2 people, ignoring, and making life difficult.

So is this karma, or is it bollocks.

#real life #venting

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viking-raider · 5 years ago

Text

HOME *Fic Request*

Summary: You and Henry crushed on each other, while growing up in Jersey. But, when he went away to boarding school, then became famous, you lost touch for a long time. Until, Henry decided to return home to Jersey, for a holiday, and recalled his crush on you, now a teacher, when you happen upon each other on the beach.

Pairing: Henry/Reader

Rating: You guessed it, FLOOF!

Word Count: 6,214

A/N: The Lavender and Red roses he brings the Reader mean something, I always felt Henry was a hopeless and amazing Romantic so he’d hide a message in their color. Lavender means: love at first sight, since they fell in love at first sight as kids, and again as adults, and the Red means: conveying deep emotions, since they both love each other very much.

Inspiration: Requested by @jessevans (x)

Tag List:@jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie

“Are you ever going to tell her you like her, bro?” Simon asked, watching Henry stare at their next door neighbor, as they all hung out on the beach.

“That requires talking to her, and not stuttering every three words.” Charlie replied, grinning at his little brother.

“Shut up.” Henry barked, walking away from them.

“Hey, Henry.” You called, as he walked by. “You going home already?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah.” He smiled at you, feeling his face warm. “I got, um...homework.” he said, turning to head home, flipping his brothers off as they laughed at him, and unaware of you watching him go.

20 years later – 2016

“Welcome home, bro!” Simon grinned, as Henry walked in the door of his family home in Jersey. “It's only been how fucking long, since you were last here? Home not big enough for the mighty Superman.” he teased, hugging him.

“Fuck off, Simon.” Henry grinned, hugging him back. “I'm not the same little brother I was, last time, I was home.” he commented.

Simon looked his brother over, Henry wasn't the same kid he had been, he was bigger in many ways, especially with all the muscle he was packing now, even more so since he'd just finished filming the Batman v. Superman movie. “Perhaps not, little.” he chuckled, patting Henry on the chest.

Henry laughed back, and the pair started play fighting until their mother yelled at them for it, and told them to come join the rest of the family at the table for dinner. After dinner and spending time with his family, Henry found some time to go down to the beach he enjoyed visiting as kid. He walked along it, watching as the sunset, enjoying the sea breeze and listening to the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the sand; it was the most peaceful Henry had felt since before he became Superman. He paused, seeing someone sitting in the sand a couple yards away from him. A shiver run down his back, catching the last of the sun's rays in their hair, and seeing the profile of their face, making his mind jump back to his childhood.

There was a knock on the door, and a bit of a scuffle behind it, before it finally opened, revealing 13-year old Henry, blushing like mad, and out of breath. “Hey, y/n.” he grinned, wildly.

“Are you okay, Henry?” You asked, tilting your head at him, concerned.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” he gulped and licked his lips, nervously. “Uh, I can, um, help...you?” he asked, trying to play it cool, and failing.

You chuckled, smiling back. “My brothers, and I, want to know if you and your brothers want to go to the beach with us?” You asked, brushing your hair behind your ear, and making poor Henry gulp even harder. “We got a new volleyball net.” You offered, in reason.

“That sounds great, y/n.” You heard Henry's oldest brother Niki say, popping up behind Henry. “We'll meet you guys there!” he said, pushing Henry out of the way, and grinning at you charmingly.

“Excellent.” You grinned back at him, but, your eyes lingered on Henry, before you left.

“You're welcome, Henry.” Niki grinned, going upstairs to get ready for the beach.

“Y/n?” Henry called to you, coming closer.

You started out of your thoughts, and glanced up at the voice calling to you. “Henry Cavill?” You frowned, standing up to greet him. “Holy shit. How have you been, Superman?” You teased him, watching him blush as easily as he did that last time you saw him.

“Good.” Henry answered, licking his lips. “How long has it been since...we last saw each other?” he asked, he'd found you even more gorgeous, now, than he had growing up with you.

“The day before you went off to boarding school.”

Henry's lips pressed into a flat line and he gulped around the horrible memory of going to boarding school, but blinked and shook it out of his head, not letting it distract him from you. “Christ, I was fifteen.”

“Yeah, feels like a lifetime ago.” You sighed, you'd heard how hard it was for him. “And you're famous now!” You smiled, changing the subject for the both of you.

“I am.” Henry laughed, looking down at his bare, sandy feet. “And, what do you do now?” he asked, meeting your eye.

“I'm a teacher, now.” You told him, brushing your hair behind your ear. “At our old Preparatory School, actually.” You blushed.

“That's incredible.” Henry beamed. “You were always great with kids.” he said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Piers, told me you got married a few years ago, I'm happy for you.” He told you, feeling the bubbling bile in his stomach reach his throat, as he said the words, and forcing the smile to stay on his face.

“Piers, knows better.” You told him, sighing.

Henry blinked, caught off-guard. “What do you mean?”

“James and I had our divorce finalized yesterday.” You grinned, despite the hurt in your chest. You had loved your now ex-husband, but, that loved didn't last a year, into the almost seven-year marriage. It wasn't like the love you'd held close to your heart for Henry, even after all these years. You could still feel it throbbing against your heart, as you looked up at him.

“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, moving to hug you, before he even realized what he was doing. “I'm so sorry.” he whispered, against your hair.

You were utterly shocked that he hugged you, the gasp you took when he closed his arms around you, letting you feel the impressive change in his body since the last time the pair of you hugged, the alluring scent of his cologne, and warmth of his body against the cool sea air.

“I'm going to miss you, Henry.” You'd told him, standing in his parent's living room, as they threw him a going away party, before he went off to Boarding school, the next day.

“I'm going to miss you too, y/n.” Henry sighed, he'd practically begged his parents not to send him, but they wanted the best education for him, so he was going. “We'll be able to see each other on holidays.” he added, hopefully.

“I'd really like that.” You smiled, then hugged him, quickly, before jetting off to some other part of the house, shy, embarrassed and hurt, that he was leaving.

Of course neither of you saw each other on those holidays, it was a few months later you went on a foreign exchange program to the U.S, and Henry graduated, before you came back, staying in London, permanently.

Suddenly, both of you realized what had happened, and shyly moved apart, stammering apologizes and brushing them off with mumbled words.

“Anyway...” You cleared your throat and ran a hand through your hair. “What are you doing back in Jersey?” You asked, managing to look him in the eye again.

“I, uh.” Henry gulped, toeing at the sand. “I just, uh, finished filming Batman versus Superman, and thought I'd come home and take a...” he wiggled his head, trying to find a word to use.

“Take a holiday?” You helped, smirking.

Henry looked at you slowly, a sweet smile pulling on his lips, meeting his blue eyes so much, you could see the bit of brown in his left one. “A Holiday.” he agreed, nodding.

“Well, Henry.” You smiled back, glancing up at the now dark sky, the bright stars. “It's late, on a school night...”

“Oh, right.” He started, looking embarrassed. “I'm sorry...could I....walk you home?” he asked, flustered.

You looked at him, a tiny bit amused by his being gentlemanly, especially since he played Superman, you thought, fighting a giggle about it. “I'd rather like that.” You smiled. “But, it is like a...fifteen minutes walk to Cannon Street.” You warned.

“Fifteen or fifty minutes, I don't mind at all.” He assured you back, politely offering you his arm.

“Fair enough.” You chuckled, taking his arm.

Henry let you direct him in the way to your house, that you had, fortunately, gotten in the divorce settlement, or you'd be living with your mother in St. John, clear on the other side of the island; where you would have missed Henry finding you on the beach. You both walked together in peaceful silence, but Jersey was a small place, and people generally, always, knew each other, even by just a face. Henry's face was hugely recognizable, and Jersey was largely proud of their home town boy making it big. So, people recognized him, and You, on the street, stopping the pair of you a few times to take photos with him, or sign something, before letting him off the hook, and you took his arm again. You were unphased by all the attention he got, he was just Henry to you. You were proud of him, always. However, he was still that boy you knew; his status might have changed, his body and whatever else, but, he was still that Henry Cavill, the sweet and shy boy next door, that had owned your heart since the day you and your family moved into the house next door to his. You were six, and he was eight. He was good to you, at times, the world was not.

“Well, this is me.” You smiled, pulling you both to a stop in front of your house.

“It's a sweet little place.” Henry smiled, looking up at the simple two-story row house. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, looking down at you, thoughtfully.

“Of course.” You nodded, sweetly, shy butterflies in your stomach.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” He asked, biting the inside of his lip.

“Like, go out on a date?” You asked, brow creasing.

“We don't have to go out.” He told you, his fingers circling the top of your hand as it rested in the crease of his elbow. “We can have it here, if you're more comfortable. I'll even cook for you.”

“You cook?” You grinned at him, playful and flattered.

“I do,” He nodded, straightening up. “Quite well, if I say so myself.” He added, teasing.

“Well, we can find that out.” You told him, encouraging his suggestion.

“How about Saturday?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You took a deep breath, even this far you could still smell the sea as strong as if the both of you were still there. “If you don't mind me grading papers, while you cook? Friday's are still test and quiz days.” You giggled, licking your lips.

“I don't mind at all.” Henry told you, softly, leaning his head a little closer to yours.

You gulped, feeling his warm breath on your face. “Then, it's a date, Mr. Cavill.” You told him, resolutely.

“Perfect.” He grinned. “Don't worry about groceries, I'll have that covered.” He added, as you let his arm go and started inside.

You looked back at Henry over your shoulder and gave him a wink, then went inside, resting back against your door and giggled with glee at the prospect of Henry Cavill cooking for you, in your house. “I could melt.” You said, pushing off the door.

Henry stood on the sidewalk outside your home; watching, seeing your shadow move along the shuttered windows, his mind flitting around various things, what to cook for you, what wine to bring that you might like, what to wear, and what teasing his brothers were going to give him for finally being able to ask you out...sorta. Seeing your shadow appear in behind one of the windows, he turned abruptly on his heels and quickly walked across the street and back home.

“Where were you, Hank?” Charlie asked, his brothers were staying at the house, for the night, so they could see him.

“Um..” Henry gulped, eyes wide and on the floor between them.

“What did you do, brother?” Charlie asked, smirking, he knew that look of his brother's, he was guilty of something, something juicy.

“You remember,” Henry started, then thought fuck it. “You remember Y/n?”

“Of course, she was like a sister, we all spent so much time together, and you crushing on her like a poor man after bread.” Charlie laughed. “What about her?”

“I asked her out, on a date, just a few minutes ago.” Henry confessed, meeting Charlie's eyes.

“You do know she's married, Henry.” Charlie said, shocked.

“No, she's not.” Henry snapped, butterflies in his stomach. “She's divorced as of yesterday.”

“Well, you went quickly.” Charlie teased, slapping Henry on the shoulder. “How in the hell did you see her again? Don't tell me you went out after dinner, to go looking for her.”

“No!” Henry groaned, frowning, and abashed. “I went to the beach for a walk, and I found her there.”

“And?” Charlie pressured him.

“We spoke and I walked her home.”

“That's a twenty-minute walk!” His brother roared.

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“She's my son's teacher.” Charlie smirked, amused and proud of Henry. “And, this is a stupid small place to live, bro. It's not London, where you never see the same face twice.”

Henry pursed his lips, Charlie was right, he had somewhat forgotten the small town effect. “Anyway, we're having dinner at her place, I'm cooking for her.” he muttered, more to himself.

“How romantic.” Charlie smiled, patting Henry on the shoulder before going back upstairs, and finding Simon standing in his old bedroom doorway, smirking, he'd heard it all. “How, did you get her to go to the beach, Si?”

“I called Mary, to walk her there, get her out of the house, since she's been really depressed about the divorce.” Simon replied. “Then, I called Mary and faked an emergency, and she left, and like I knew, y/n stayed long enough after, for our dear brother, Henry, to meet her, after you brought up how nice a night it would be for a walk on the beach.” He grinned.

The two brothers had conspired to get You and Henry together, they'd conspired a long time over it, all three of them. They knew how much Henry and You loved each other, and never understood why things always seemed to keep you two apart; school, work, a marriage and whatever force it was. But, the three of them, would get the two of you together, by the time, Henry returned to London.

Saturday came, and Henry was racked with anxiety and worry about it. He went over the list of what he wanted to buy at the shop before he went to your house, rethought about the type of wine he should buy, worried that it wouldn't pair with the food, or worse, you wouldn't like it. Niki stood in the kitchen, watching Henry mumbled the words on the shopping list, for the twelfth time.

“Hank.” Niki said, his military commander voice coming out. “For fuck sake, man.”

“What, Niki?” Henry snapped, flustered.

“Come on, and grow that set of balls, you fucking have!” Niki barked back, like he was talking to some grunt on base. “You and that girl have been smitten, and goggling, at each other since you met. How the fuck, does me, Charlie, Simon, even Piers, mom, dad, her parents, and everyone on this island know it, and not the two of you?”

“She likes me?” Henry's heart leaped.

“Like you?” Niki grabbed Henry by the shoulders and gave him a good shake. “Y/n fucking loves you, you oaf! She married another man, while still holding on to her love for you. It's been how long, since the two of you have seen each other? And her love is still there. You've dated several women, got engaged once, but, your heart didn't love them. It was y/n, that you love. That's why those relationships never worked out, for either of you. I'm tried of us pussy footing around it.”

“She's in love with me.” It slowly all came to Henry now. “Fuck, I love her, Nik.” he grinned like a fool.

“Yeah, I know.” Niki quipped at him, relieved, finally, to see it on Henry's face. “But, don't be an idiot, and storm the castle, and scare her away. It's been twenty years of holding on to the love, probably feeling no hope of it happening. Not to mention, she's freshly divorced. Be the gentleman and good man you are, Henry. That's who she loves, you. Not your fame or money. She loves the real you.”

Henry shook his head. “No, if she can be so patient, I can as well. It's just dinner, after all.”

“A dinner you're fretting over, like a man going over his fucking vows.” Niki laughed at him.

“Shut the fuck up, Nik.” Henry laughed, pulling away from him. “I have to go shopping.” he said, picking up his coat and heading out.

“Don't fuck this up, Henry.” Nik said, to himself. “She's a good woman.”

You were running around your house like a terror from hell. You'd been cleaning your house, top to bottom, ever since you agreed to have Henry over to dinner. You'd changed outfits twice, and was thinking of a third time; were you too casual or too formal? Fuck, you never fretted this much when you and James were dating, course then, the two of you never really went on dates. So, finally you decided on something that said, I made an effort, but, I'm still bring myself. Nearly jumping out of your skin, when your doorbell finally rang.

“Fuck, have mercy.” You mumbled to yourself, hurrying to the door, paused a moment, then pulled it open, greeted by, a thankfully similarly dressed, Henry, who clutched a paper bag of groceries in one arm and a boquet of lavender and red roses in the other, that made you, instantly smile brighter. You took the roses from him, to release his arms of some of the burden, and smelled them, closing your eyes happily, no one ever bought you flowers before.

“You like them?” he asked, stepping into your entryway.

“I love them, Henry. Thank you.” You told him, stepping out of his way. “The kitchen is this way.” You led him down the hall into the nice and modern kitchen.

“What a kitchen.” Henry commented, surprised, as he set the groceries on the island. “You even have a pot filler by your stove.”

“Yes, James updated it in a frenzy after, God knows what. But, by the time it was finished, he lost interest.” You confessed, looking around it.

“Do you use it?” He asked, pulling things out of the bag.

“Sometimes.” You told him, watching the things he pulled out. “My mother usually the most, when she visits.” You stood on tip-toe to see what else he had, curious to what in the world he was going to make. “What are you feeding me, Henry?” You asked, turning and going down the hall into a closet and taking down at vase from its top shelf, so you could put the flowers in water.

“Thai Chicken and Coconut curry.” He told you, carefully folding the bag and setting it out of his way. “I recall you love Curry.” He said, watching you fill the vase.

“I do, a great deal.” You nodded, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Pans are there.” You pointed to the cabinet above the stove, any utenils you need are in the drawers on either side of the stove, and if you find yourself needing more spices, the pantry is the glass door with the word pantry on it.” You quipped.

“Excellent.” He said, pulling out a skillet from the cabinet above the stove, then turned to the island, biting his lip over all the food laid out over half of it, but grabbed the bottle of red wine, he'd bought two bottles, just in case, and showed it to you with a smile, suggestive.

You smiled back, reaching under the end of the island you were standing at and pulling out two wine glasses, from the hanging rack there. “The opener is below your left hand.” You told him, rounding the island to him with the glasses.

Henry took the bottle opener out of the drawer, and popped the bottle open. “I hope you like red wine, it pairs best with the curry I'm making.” he told you, pouring your glass, then his own.

“I love wine, in general.” You told him, taking a sip and savoring it.

“I'm glad.” He smiled happily at you, took a sip of his own glass and went to the counter behind him to grab a knife to cut up the chicken and other components of the dish, before getting it to simmer with the coconut milk. He tilted his head to you, one hand on your wine and your other holding a red pen, as you graded the big stack of tests in front of you.

“Are the tests still as silly as they were, when we attended?” He asked, coming to stand next to you, to watch.

“No, they're actually quite good.” You told him, scanning the test on top one more time, before setting it in the stack of papers you'd already done. “It's the answers that seem rather silly, nowadays.” You smiled at him. “The curry smells incredible.” You complimented him, your cheeks warming.

“Well, I hope so.” Henry grinned back, a blush on his own face. “Even though, this is the first time, I've made it.” He frowned back at the skillet, worried he'd mess it up or you wouldn't like it.

“I'm sure it will be excellent, Henry.” You told him, resting your hand on his arm. “How can something smell that good, and not be that good.” You inquired, following his gaze back to the stove.

“We shall find out.” He said, going to stir it.

You'd graded a good amount of your papers, by the time Henry had dinner ready, twenty-minutes later. You put them aside and put your full attention onto him as he plated it, biting the side of your lip as your heart skipped, he was gorgeous. The tip of his tongue poked out a tiny bit between his full lips, as he focused, chuckling softly, when he cursed, spilling a little bit on the counter. You got up, grabbing the dish towel by the sink, and leaned in to wipe it up, Henry looked up at you as you did, both of your faces an inch apart.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, but not for the spill.

“It's alright.” You whispered back, understanding his meaning.

He put the pan down and cupped your cheek, then kissed you, with a pent up passion. You met his passion, tossing the cloth in your hand carefully onto the counter, and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him pick you up and set you on the counter by the sink. Your kisses grew heated, and sloppy at moments, but, both of you were panting with satisfaction of finally being able to let it all loose.

“I'm sorry.” Henry said again, his hands resting on your hips. “I shouldn't have kissed you, I don't want you thinking I'm trying to rush anything.”

“I don't think that.” You told him, pressing your palms to his neck with your thumbs caressing his jawline. “I'm glad, I finally got to fucking kiss you, the way I've wanted too, for so long.” You confessed, licking your kiss swollen lips.

“As am I.” Henry smiled happily, kissing your lips again, ever so softly.

“We should eat, before it goes cold.” You told him against his lips. “You worked too hard, to let that happen.”

Still smiling, Henry moved away from you, and you hopped off the counter. Grabbing your plates, and refilled wine glasses, you both retired to your dining room, sitting across from each other and dug into the food Henry made.

“Oh god, Henry.” You moaned, eyes closing at the amazing taste of the curry.

“You like it?” He asked, his fork between his mouth and plate, waiting for you to take the first bite.

“It's super good.” You told him, going in for more. “You've out done yourself, Mr. Cavill.” You complimented him. “You are, indeed, a good cook.”

“Why, thank you, love.” He beamed, finally taking his bite, and finding you quite right about it. “So, how long have you been teaching at the school?” he asked, between bites.

“Three years.” You answered. “How long are you staying in Jersey?” You finally dared to ask him.

“I'm staying for a month or two.” He replied, a bit reluctant. “My agent's been contacted with a few roles that I'm interested in, and one that's been asked of me.”

“Oh?” You asked, genuinely interested.

“Yeah, one is Justice League, obviously Superman.” Henry easily spoke with you. “and,” He grinned, at the thought of the role, he hadn't told anyone yet. “One with Tom Cruise, for a new Mission Impossible movie.”

“That is so cool.” You grinned, excited for him. “Do you know what role?”

Henry sighed, still smiling. “Yes, the character is an American, Secret Operative, named Walker.” He explained, loving the look of genuine excitement and interest, not like most of the other women he's been with. Niki was right, you really loved him.

“Good guy or bad guy?” You asked, finishing the last bit of your food and taking up your wine glass.

“I'm not sure yet.” Henry told you. “I'd be excited if he was a bad guy, it's something different than what I've been playing the last little bit. And,” he leaned across the table to you, he was so excited, it infected you. “I get to grow a mustache.”

You giggled, at his excitement over it. “You must be thrilled, I'm sure you'll do an absolutely amazing job, whether Walker is good or bad.” You assured him, you were already proud of him for it.

“Why don't you come with me?” He asked, spontaneously, catching you off guard.

“What?” You smiled, flustered.

“We'll be filming in the summer, so you won't have to worry about school.” He reasoned with you.

“You want me to come with you, to wherever it is you'll be filming, during the summer?” You asked him, your stomach flipped with a flush of maybe it was too soon, and wanting to say yes, all at the same time.

“Yes.” Henry said softly, then blinked, his eyes going to his empty plate. “Fuck, I'm sorry, that was stupid. We've only just seen each other after years, and here I am asking you to come away with me. Nik told me, not to storm the castle.”

Your head dropped back as you roared with laughter, catching Henry off-guard this time. “Niki wouldn't go to the store, without a layout of the store's aisles, names of everyone that worked there, what number of the aisle that a specific item he needed was on, what shelf and where on said shelf, Henry, and you fucking know that.” You laughed, you'd grown up with the five Cavill brothers, and knew everyone of them, well.

Henry bust out laughing with you, knowing you were right. “But, still...” He closed his mouth, then opened it for a moment, before closing it again.

“You can tell me.” You whispered to him, reaching across the table and resting your hand on his. “Anything, you always have.”

“I don't want to rush, but I love you,” He told you, turning his hand to take a hold of yours. “and have since I was a nine.” He finally confessed. “Fuck, I'd take you away right now, if I could...”

“I'd go with you.” You interrupted him, gulping.

Henry looked up at you, his cheek twitching as a smile tried to pull across his lips. “Would you?” He whispered, quietly.

You squeezed Henry's hand has hard as you could, wanting the point to be made physically, emotionally and verbally. “Yes, all you need is to ask me, Henry.” You whispered back to him in the same tone.

“Would you go with me, when I film the movie, this summer, y/n?” He asked, in a steady conviction, dripping with just as much emotion, as he squeezed your hand, gently back.

“Yes.” You answered, in a normal and strong voice.

“Would you do something else, for me?” He asked, meeting your eyes.

“What?” You grinned.

“Come back to my parents with me,” he asked you. “I'll bring you home, I did bring my car.” He added. “I want my brothers to finally see us, and get the fuck off my back.” He laughed. “It seems they've been conspiring for a long time to get us together.”

“I know.” You grinned, slyly.

“What?” Henry asked, surprised, sitting up. “How?”

“Your brother married my best friend.” You told him, thinking of Mary. “She couldn't keep a secret, even if you didn't tell her one.” You chuckled, you loved her, but it was true. “She told me, after overhearing Simon and Charlie, talking about how to get us into the same place, once they knew you were coming home.” You explained, utterly amused.

“And, you didn't tell me until now?” He marveled at you.

“Unlike, my dear Mary, Henry.” You giggled, taking the last of your wine. “I can keep a secret. I mean, I kept the one about loving you, for twenty years.”

“But, everyone knew you had it.” Henry protested.

“Everyone, but you, who I had been hiding it from.” You countered, winking at him.

“Well, you've got me there.” Henry agreed, raising the last sip of his wine to you, in salute, then downed it.

“So, shall we go break the news?” You asked, pushing your seat back and getting up.

“We shall.” He grinned, getting up with you. “And, thinking about it.” He added, noticing the empty bottle of wine and the second one half full. “I think we should walk, we've had a few and it's not that long a walk.”

“Very smart.” You agreed, going down the hall to retrieve your coat. “Maybe, stop by the beach.” You suggested to him, holding out his coat to him as you both stood impossibly close.

“How many hours I've spent on that beach, either thinking about you, or watching you.” He admitted, taking his coat. “To finally step onto it with you.” Henry leaned down and kissed you again.

“You are an incredible person, and soul, Henry.” You told him, pressing your forehead to his. “It's one of the endless things, I love about you.” You brushed your hand through his hair, loving how soft it is, and his curls. “I love you.”

You and Henry entered his parents' house, and found his family just finishing their own dinner. All of them turned in their seats as you stopped in front of them, eyes on the pair of you, then dropping to your linked hands.

“Oh my god, Henry!” His mother, Marianne cried, getting out of her seat. “It's about time you told y/n the truth.” she grinned, ear to ear, and making both you and Henry blush. “Welcome into the family, y/n. Not that I never considered you a daughter to start with.”

“Mother.” Henry blushed, licking his lips and looking away.

“Christ, Henry.” His father chuckled, grinning himself. “Your Mother's planned your and y/n's wedding since you were ten.”

“Holy Christ!” Simon howled, holding his sides.

“A family conspiracy, I see.” You smiled, taking it in stride, and humor.

“So, has your mother, y/n.” Marianne told you, surprisingly.

“What?” You croaked, turning almost as red as Henry, in an instant, and looked up at him. “It's a wonder, how it is, we didn't end up in an arranged marriage.” You said, laughing harder, as Henry practically melted from the hot blush he had going on.

“We did think about it, but your fathers said no.” Marianne farther confessed.

“Mother.” Henry gasped, eyes wide as an owls, but she just shrugged at him.

“We always thought you two were so good for each other...”

“Don't use the soul mate word again, mum.” Niki said, insanely amused by the goings on.

“Again?” Henry squeaked out.

“This has been one, well thought out plan.” You admitted, giving them all props for it. “I commend, and thank you for it.” You looked at Henry, who looked at you, his face relaxing and his color returning. “If you all weren't so insist about it, I don't know if we would have done it ourselves.” You professed, blinking softly at him.

Henry nodded, sharing your sentiment and feelings. “I agree.” he whispered, kissing you, right there, in front of his entire family, Kal included, as Marianne clapped wildly and his brothers laughing their heads off.

“Are you two staying for dessert?” Marianne asked, when the kiss broke.

“Most likely, have each other for dessert, mum.” Piers commented, winking at Henry and you.

“Piers!” Marianne snapped, softly at her youngest, who just shrugged his shoulders and hands at her, unabashed.

“I can go for both.” You whispered in Henry's ear.

“I heard that!” Charlie chimed in.

“Oh, shut it!” Henry barked at him, playfully. “You all got what you want, and we got what we want.” he said, putting his arm around you. “So, what's for dessert?” he asked, as a place for you two was made.

When dessert was finished, You and Henry walked down to the beach, hand and hand, happy and full. You took your shoes off, walking in the wet sand as the soft waves washed over your ankles. Henry seemed content, but also thoughtful.

“What's on your mind, Henry?” You asked, hugging his arm and pulling him closer to you.

“Thinking about how I already miss you.” He told you the truth. “Granted, I won't be leaving until filming for the movie starts, and you'll be coming with me...” he sighed.

“You're thinking about after, when school here starts again.” You nodded, looking out over the water.

“I'll be back in London, and you'll be here.” He watched the water with you. “I know, it's not too far to travel, but it seems almost farther than the time it took us, to get where we are, here and now.”

“Well, what if I told you,” You started, pulling him to a stop. “that perhaps we wouldn't have to be so far apart.” You asked, looking up a him, still holding his hand as your other hand rested on his side.

“What are you talking about?” Henry frowned, shaking his head, confused.

“At the start of this school year, I was given an offer,” You explained to him. “to teach, at a school in London, next school year.” You told him, with the hint of a smile, hoping it was alright with him.

Henry's eyes grew. “Really?” He asked, feeling a hope.

“Yes,” You nodded, smiling up at him, seeing the spark in his eyes. “I was given recommendation from our school.” You told him, grinning.

“That's incredible!” Henry exclaimed, picking you up and kissing you. “Do you have a place?” he asked, still holding you, wet and sandy feet dangling.

“The school offered me a place until I found something.” You told him, feeling the pounding of his heart against yours.

“Fuck that.” Henry snapped, shaking his head. “Stay with me.” he told you, adamant. “I love you! Christ, I think Kal loves you more than I do, he'd love it just as much.” he searched your eyes. “Please.” he begged you, setting you down.

“I am yours, Henry.” You told him, dearly. “I want to go where you are, where ever you are.”

“And, You will.” He told you, grinning so hard his face hurt.

“Oh, don't do that.” You whimpered, seeing tears in his eyes, choking you up. “You know, what happens to me when you cry.” You told him, wiping at them as they slipped down his face, your own falling with them.

“I'm so happy to be home.” He sniffed, holding your face in his hands. “Home.” he empathized, pressing his forehead to yours.

324 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

1129

[created by: youvebeensurved - LiveJournal]

How often do you get fountain drinks from a gas station? I’ve actually never tried getting a drink from one of those fountains. I find them nasty, and the fact that gas stations aren’t the most hygienic of places certainly doesn’t help their case.

If you get online and look at graphics, what website(s) do you go to? I never find myself looking for graphics. The closest thing I search are vector icons, and for those I have an extension on Chrome that lets me look for icons to place on slides and such.

Who would you say your favorite celebrity is? At the moment it would be Rosamund Pike, but my all-time favorite would be Beyoncé.

Have you ever slept in your car? If so, explain. Sure, mostly when I took naps in between classes. There were also a few times I had late nights out and didn’t have a place to crash at, so I’d sleep in the car for the night before heading home in the morning.

If you were forced to murder one of your parents, which one would it be? This is a horrible question.

What song are you currently obsessed with? Find Me Here - Hayley Williams.

Explain your last run in with the police: Never happened.

Who was the last friend you hung out with, and what did you guys do? In terms of a physical get-together, I was with Angela, Hans, Pia, Kyelle, Al, Gab, and Sam and we had dinner and drinks at this gastropub that announced its impending permanent closure by the end of February. Virtually, I hung out with Andi, Peter, Carmel, Rita, Robin, Mik, and Elis to have a Jeopardy game night over Zoom.

What time do you usually go to bed and wake up? On weekdays I try to turn in anywhere between 9–11 PM and wake up by 6:30. On weekends, I try to stay up until midnight at the earliest, but I’m trying to make it a habit to stay up until like 2–3 AM just so I can catch up on my hobbies and shows. I wake up anywhere between 5–7 AM.

If you could have any job in the world, what would it be? What's stopping you? Lawyer, which is a route I seriously considered for a few years. I get extremely tense in arguments though so I doubt I’d be the best fit for that kind of career.

Do you have a friend that's in a horrible situation right now? Explain. Yeah, my college batchmate (who’s now also my co-worker) Aimee tested positive for COVID this week after being in and out of a fever over the last two weeks.

What was the last store you were in, and what did you buy? I suddenly needed plastic bags while I was packing groceries at the office the other week, so I went to the nearby convenience store to check if they had any. They didn’t, so I left without buying anything.

Who was the last person you texted, and what did this text say? I was texting some media friends to tell them some shoes we had ordered for them to try out are going to be delivered to their address within the day.

What is the reason for the last time you cried? A show I had been watching had an emotional scene.

Who is your favorite character in your favorite movie? Joanna, of course, mainly because that’s the character Audrey Hepburn plays.

What color did you last paint your nails? I can’t remember the color I chose the last time I had my nails painted 79472394348 years ago.

It's 112 degrees out today, describe your attire: A very thin tank top with airy shorts.

Do you have any friends that are currently in jail? Explain their situation. Not friends but I can think of a couple of relatives who’ve gotten ‘in conflict’ with the law. I won’t get into their cases but for both of them, it was because they got tricked by their respective abusive bosses, hence the quote marks.

Do you tend to take long or short surveys? I like taking those whose lengths are right in the middle - anywhere between 35-80 questions. Shorter ones look boring and I find the longer ones too time-consuming.

What do you currently desire? I changed my mind about La Creperie and will be going to Ramen Nagi instead since I just remembered they currently have a truffle ramen thing that’s only going to be around for a limited time, and I want to get my hands on it before they take it off the menu.

How often do you honk your horn? Depends on how stupid the people I’m driving with are on a given day.

For what reason were you last at a park? We don’t have too many parks here so there’s little opportunity to stay at one. I remember seeing one with Gab when we were at BGC a little over a year ago, but we only walked through it since it was part of the route we were taking to get to our actual destination.

What junk food can you never pass up? Salted egg chips and pizza.

If you're a girl, what is your favorite brand of feminine hygiene products? If you're a boy, what is your favorite brand of condoms? I don’t have a favorite.

Where was the last place you went on a walk to? Just around the neighborhood. I also wanted to make this morning’s route with Cooper a little longer so he could walk more, so we went to parts of the village we don’t normally reach.

How are you feeling today? I’m content :) It’s the weekend so I’m not too tense like I normally would be on weekdays. I also have plans to go out later today so I’m looking forward to that.

Do you ever make your own surveys? Never tried because I know I wouldn’t be able to come up with new and interesting questions.

How flexible are you? Not very. I can’t even reach my toes when I do stretches.

What is your favorite class? Any history elective. I also like biology, anthropology, and some aspects of political science.

What is your boyfriend's name? I don’t have one.

What is your favorite drink? Non-alcoholic, cold water. Alcoholic, Long Island Iced Tea for mixed drinks, and tequila.

Who is your best friend? Angela.

What time is it? 11:20 AM.

What is your middle name? My second name is Isabelle, but I’m not sharing my legal middle name.

What 3 websites do you visit daily? YouTube, Google Suite, and Twitter.

Where do you work? At home, haha. But under normal circumstances I’d be working in an office somewhere in Metro Manila.

What is your favorite band? Paramore.

How do you feel about abortion? Personally not a fan of the procedure for myself, but I am as pro-choice as it gets.

Do you want any kids? Very much so.

Have you ever microwaved soap? Nah, but I know what happens to it from watching YouTube videos hahaha. It’s so fun to see it gradually expand and become a pretty lil cloud.

Are there any new movies that you want to see? I Care A Lot, but I feel sooooooooo lazy about watching new movies. Idk if I’ll ever get around to it.

How many places have you lived? I’d say around five in total, including the house I currently reside in. I’ve lived in my parents’ apartment in Manila, then we briefly moved in with my dad’s parents, and then I spent most of my childhood in a duplex living with my mom’s side (and got to live in both houses), until we finally settled here when I was 10.

Do you have any health issues? Yeah, the main one I have to live with is scoliosis.

Are you texting anyone? Nope. And I don’t really text anymore, either. Most of my conversations take place on Messenger or Viber.

What do you drive? A Mitsubishi Mirage hatchback.

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Sure, both male and female ones.

Are you drinking or eating anything? Nope but I am starting to feel a bit hungry.

What color is your shirt? Yellow with some grey text.

Do you drink? Like...alcohol? Sure. I have the occasional soju night.

What year do/did you graduate? I graduated high school in 2016, and college in 2020.

Do you play any sports? Table tennis, though it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to play. I got to take it as a PE elective on my last sem, but my time with it got cut off because of COVID :(

Do you pop your fingers? Yeah, I just cracked my knuckles a few minutes ago.

What is your shoe size? I can wear a size 6 or 7.

Have you ever had a UTI? Apparently I’ve had one, but all I got from it was a persisting high fever. I didn’t actually have any difficulties or felt pain in my urinary tract, though of course I felt scared to pee during that time because I thought it would hurt lol.

What was the last thing you baked? Cookies. A lifetime ago, since I don’t normally bake.

When was the last time you showered? Yesterday afternoon when I was finally able to clock out of work.

Would you rather go to the dentist or the doctor? Dentist. I actually find the procedures soothing. There’s a whole lot of issues that can be unpacked when you visit doctors, so I’m kinda scared of that.

Have you ever been in love? Yes. I miss the feeling and being able to act on it, but I’m liking being with myself too.

How do you feel about public speaking? I’m ok with it for the most part. I know I can speak well and generally have a good hold of my thoughts, so I don’t mind if I have to do it unless I have to talk about something I’m greatly unfamiliar with, like insurance or economics lmao. The latter situation is the only time I’d feel unprepared or scared of public speaking.

Do you see anything green? Yeah, since we have artificial plant accents on the coffee table.

What shoes do you usually wear? Sneakers or running shoes.

Do you take any birth control? Nope.

Who is the last person you talked to? My sister; I just asked her to turn the volume down on the TV.

Are there any fast food restaurants that you refuse to eat at? Just Tokyo Tokyo. I can take or leave Burger King but for the most part I find their burgers too plain.

Do you recycle? Whenever I can, yeah.

Do you know what you want to major in in college? I wanted to take up journalism. I suppose I don’t regret it, since I ended up wanting to be in a field that’s close enough to it anyway and I don’t feel like the skills I learned went to waste.

Have you ever snuck anyone in your room? Nah, I always let my mom know if I’m letting someone over since she doesn’t knock and would find out anyway.

Who was the last person in your bed besides you? Gabie.

Have you ever been in the hospital? Other than when I was born, yeah, at least once.

What's the last movie you watched? I watched Midsommar with Nina and some cousins last Christmas lol. We unknowingly downloaded the Director’s Cut, which we found out wasn’t as good as the main version since they added cheesy scenes to it, which ruined the suspenseful mood of the movie.

What's your favorite fruit? Avocado.

What do your bathroom walls look like? The bottom half has coral-ish tiles, while the top half is just a plain white wall. In the downstairs bathroom the setup is the same, but instead of coral tiles we have light blue wall tiles instead on the bottom half.

What do you spend most of your money on? At the moment, most of the money that I do take out of my account is the money I give to my parents every couple of weeks to help out with the bills. The next main thing I spend on is food, because I always have cravings I need satisfied haha.

Do you have any weird obsessions? Reading about serial killers and unsolved crimes isn’t really considered ‘weird’ anymore since a lot of other people have taken up the interest. But that’s probably the most out-there ~obsession that I have.

Do you bite your nails? I do but not obsessively.

What's the last color you dyed your hair? I’ve never tried dyeing my hair yet.

How do you feel about mustaches? Not my personal preference, but you do you.

Is there anyone that you really want to see in concert? Beyonceeeeeeeeeeeeee.

#survey #surveys

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jetsandbennie · 6 years ago

Text

as both becomes all

summary: you’re pregnant and not with ben. it all feels like quite a lot to handle.

warnings: angst, fluff, smut (18+). female masturbation, female receiving oral, pregnancy

pairing: bodyguard!ben hardy x reader

word count: 13.1k

thank you so much for the positive feedback this little trilogy has gotten - i never expected that it would have gotten as popular as it did, and i’m so excited to be posting the final part of it!!

( gif creds to @ michaelscofieldx )

The tour ends abruptly.

Fans who were meant to be attending the last few shows are sent emails from your tour company, apologizing profusely, claiming that you had a health emergency that required you to not perform. And it’s true, of course, but you feel horrible. For nearly a week after you cancel the shows you’re getting angry tweets and DMs, people claiming it’s unprofessional.

News of you getting shot goes unnoticed. The first source came from DailyMail, and it was enough to make people assume it untrue. You don’t bother to correct it, because, after all, it is a rather private matter. And you need time to heal yourself.

So you make a few apology posts. A second email goes out with a $75 voucher for your merch, which is more than some of the tickets even were, but it seems reasonable. Sweatshirts and baseball caps and bracelets go out of stock within hours, and in a few days angry tweets change to ones of fans showing off what they’ve got.

You enjoy looking at them. Lying on the couch, head throbbing, your brightness so dim you have to squint to see what you’re scrolling through. You like a few, maybe type a comment, but eventually looking at your screen hurts your eyes even more. So you drop your phone onto your stomach, grumbling at your cousin to turn the lights down, and with a roll of her eyes she complies.

It’s been a painful week, and boring, as well. Your cousin comes over, the one who’d been watching your dog, and she talks to you for hours at a time. It’s easy to talk to her. It always has been, really.

“You know - this bodyguard, Ben -” and saying his name is just about painful. You swallow before continuing, pushing yourself up against the couch and swinging your legs over the edge. “We were a thing.”

She raises her eyebrows, looking up from her phone on the other side of the couch. Her eyes meet yours, narrowed in confusion, before nodding. “Well, I figured.”

“You -?”

“You talked to me about him a lot. And then not at all.” She leans over and rests her phone on the coffee table, hand stroking your dog in her lap. “Is it over?”

You haven’t told anyone. Intended to keep it a complete secret, hush hush, until you decided what to do. But you - you can’t - so you nod slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat, and mutter, “It’s over. He ended it. But there’s - I mean -”

“Mhm …”

“I’m pregnant.”

Saying it makes it so much real, and you draw your knees up to your chest. Rest your chin against them, shake your head slowly. And then you continue, “I’m pregnant, with his fucking baby, of course. And I don’t know what to do. I don’t -”

“Hey,” your cousin mutters, reaching over to grab your hands. There’s an instant flashback to the two of you as children, mere months apart, running through the park with your hands firmly clasped, and it’s some sort of comfort in this strange situation you’re forced in. “It’s okay. You know that. You’re gonna be fine.”

You roll your eyes without meaning to, and then you feel bad. “I just - it really doesn’t feel like I’m gonna be fine. This is a fucking problem.”

It’s something you can both agree with, at least. Your cousin raises her eyebrows, and then says, “Did you tell him?”

“Nope,” you respond, popping the p.

“You know you have to do that.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to keep this thing. I don’t know.”

“He still has to know. Even if you decide not to keep it. He has to know.”

She’s fucking right. God, the asshole.

—————————

It takes a lot of Instagram stalking to figure out where Ben lives, and truthfully you’re a bit embarrassed by it. But you’d rather the internal embarrassment than the external type, by asking Ben where he lives, so you suffer in silence.

He doesn’t have an Instagram - statues generally don’t - but his best friend, Joe, does, and he posts religiously. At least three posts a week, and Ben takes up a lot of them. It makes your heart hurt, a bit, seeing Ben so beautifully carefree in some of these pictures -

A blurry shot of him and Joe on a boat -

A photo of him stuffing the largest cupcake you’ve ever seen into his mouth -

A video of the two of them doing the macarena at a party -

Because suddenly it feels like this is a whole new part of Ben, one you’ve never seen but Joe does. And the best friend is supposed to know more, you suppose, but you wish you could have stayed with Ben long enough to take silly videos and pictures with him.

It was all so secret.

When you scroll back down to 2016, there’s a group shot of four men - Ben and Joe among them and then two you don’t recognize - but their handles are tagged, and you click on the shorter stranger’s profile first (his name is just ramim, which, depending on what his name is, seems pretty straightforward.) It’s bare, two pictures and private, anyway, so you go back and click on the taller man’s profile. HIs username is gwilymlee, which is quite the name, and he has quite a few pictures.

Ben is in a few of them. Not enough, in your opinion, but you scroll down, eyes finding every picture with your blonde (ex?)bodyguard in them.

But then.

In 2016. A bright shot of Ben and Joe in front of an apartment building, the blonde holding a keyring with a positively overjoyed look on his face. It’s a building you know - one you’ve passed before - and you sit up just a bit straighter as you read the caption gwilymlee added.

New apartment for benny! Finally moved out of his parents’ basement!

Bingo!

You push your half eaten bowl of strawberries away from you, resting your elbows on the kitchen island and examining the picture more. You know where this fucking building is and you know how to get there and what if he is there? What if this is it?

Of course, there’s the chance that he doesn’t live there anymore. That he moved, perhaps. But there’s a feeling in your gut, the kind that feels like a handwritten letter from the universe herself, and you think it is his. His apartment, still. Think it might be fate. And you know you have to try to see if you’re right, at least.

Really, you try not to doll yourself up too much. You don’t want it to look like you put in effort to see him, but if you go looking like a total bum then perhaps he’ll think that the breakup destroyed you, and you can’t have that. So you settle - a pair of jeans and a hoodie - and a touch of makeup. Just enough, really. Then you punch the apartment building’s address into your maps and set off, positively determined and entirely too nervous.

In 23 minutes you’re there. Parked on the street outside, gazing up at the red brick building, with moss artistically climbing across the exterior walls - it’s positively beautiful and you’ve thought that since the first time you passed it. Always said it would be a dream to live here.

You press a hand to your stomach, over the soft cotton of your Billabong pullover. There’s nothing there. No movement. Not that you really expected there to be, but - well, maybe you thought the baby would be reacting to this life altering decision you’re going to discuss with Ben.

You’re stupid.

You climb out of your car, locking the doors before shoving the keys into your pocket, and slowly you walk up to the front doors, keeping your head down, gazing at the beige sidewalk beneath your feet. Your hands grasp the handle for the door - cold beneath your touch - and you pull it open, walking into the warm lobby of the apartment building.

There’s a mere receptionist at the desk, three couches, and an elevator, and you feel strangely claustrophobic in this space - but no, not claustrophobic, you don’t think. Maybe just uncomfortable. Ben has been here, once upon a time. Maybe today. Perhaps he has a friendship with this nice receptionist named Lola, or maybe he’s less partial to her.

You give her a smile and then a moment for her to recognize you, as always happens. And normally the moment of surprise bothers you, to an extent, but you appreciate it coming from Lola. Like watching her eyes widen, her lips part, and then she clears her throat and says, “Oh! Hi! What can I do for you?”

Freshly painted fingernails drum against her desk as you lean in, giving her a small smile before questioning in an ultra soft, sweet voice, “I was just wondering if you could tell me - I have a friend who I believe lives here. I thought, maybe, you could confirm the name for me?”

You’re not sure if this is against the rules for her to do, but Lola nods eagerly, dragging her fingers across her keyboard. “Of course! What’s her name?”

“Ben Jones,” you reply, watching her fingers fly across her keyboard. “He never really told me where he lived. And I really miss him.” It’s the truth but you don’t fucking know why you said it. To build a story, perhaps. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Anyway, does he still live here?”

“Yes, he does,” Lola tells you, and your dumb heart skips a beat. “Unfortunately I can’t tell you what apartment he’s in, but -”

Whatever else she says goes unheard as the door opens again, and you turn around to look at who walked in -

“Oh!” your eyes widen and your cheeks heat up. “Joe. Hi.”

Joe is holding a bag filled with groceries - one of the fancy reusable ones from Wegmans that your mother always bugs you to use - and he looks only the smallest bit confused at you being there, in his best friend’s apartment building, but then he clears his throat and says, “Oh. Hi.”

Lola is forgotten as you take a deep breath before giving a smile to Joe. “Are you bringing those to Ben?” you question, nodding down at the groceries he’s holding.

“Yeah,” Joe nods, holding up the bag. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to - um - visit Ben, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then Joe clears his throat, turns to the receptionist and says, “Hi, Lola!”

“Hi, Joe,” Lola replies, and the absolutely uncomfortable situation is the tiniest bit rectified. “Going up to see Ben, I gather.”

“Yep.” Joe spares you a glance, walking to the elevator. “And I’m bringing her up with me.”

—————————

Ben’s apartment contains every ounce of personality that the man himself ever lacked - pictures on the walls, colorful furniture, a small dog jumping up on your thighs as Joe holds open the door for you to duck into. It’s small, you suppose, though nice - a small hall leads to the kitchen and living room, and it’s all open and nice, and you feel strangely choked up looking at it.

“What are you doing here?” Ben questions, drumming his fingers against his kitchen counter. You know the question, of course, is directed at you, and you can’t exactly explain it yet. Not with Joe here - unpacking the groceries he brought and setting them in their cabinets. It looks like he knows his way around the place, but considering he knew the receptionist by name - it isn’t shocking.

You brace your hands on the kitchen island and pull yourself up onto it, feet dangling as your eyes follow Joe’s path. “I’d love to tell you, really,” you begin, crossing your arms over your chest. Joe pauses in the middle of stuffing a second box of macaroni into a cabinet and meets your eyes, brows furrowed. You understand why Ben and Joe are friends, you think - they seem to balance each other out, in some sort of way. Joe is goofy where Ben seems to be serious. Opposites attract, you muse to yourself, in more ways than one. Ben just seems to be a magnet for the opposites. “Joe, would you be an absolute angel and mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

You’ll need more than a few minutes, but Joe doesn’t need to know that. Not right off the bat. You give him a smile and he sets the pasta down on the counter, giving Ben one final glance before making his way off down the hall. The front door opens and shuts and then your gaze snaps back to Ben, his hair messy with his sweatpants low on his hips, and you focus your eyes directly into his.

“Why are you here?” Ben asks again.

“You’re so blunt, Ben. Aren’t I allowed to visit you?” your voice is sweet and Ben sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “Kidding. But, really, is it that much of a burden that I’m here?”

“It’s just -” he sighs slowly. “I don’t know.”

Your feet thumb against the island with every swing of your legs, cut short by the rhythmic bangs. “Alright, Benny. Something kind of bad is happening.” You pause. Gauge his reaction, and you can tell he’s trying to appear calmer than he is but his eyes give him away. “I wasn’t going to tell you, truthfully. And maybe that’s kind of fucked up, but I was planning on just handling it myself. But my cousin - I told you about her, I think - she told me I have to tell you, because otherwise that kind of makes me a bad person. Not in those words, of course, but the implication -”

Ben holds up a finger to silence you. “What is it, Y/N?”

Your heart beats hard against your chest, and your throat feels oddly dry, but you don’t want to give your nerves away. Not to him. And the worst he could do is - is reject you, not support you in your decision, whatever it is. But that wouldn’t be too different from not telling him at all, right? Which was the original plan. So you take a deep breath, and your feet thump thump thump against the island. “So, you remember when I was at the hospital.”

You’re only starting from that point to fuck with him. But he nods, crosses his arms, and you continue. “Well, the nurse had a - um - rather pressing health update to tell me about.”

In an instant, it seems, Ben is by your side, and you fight the urge to shift closer to him, so your thigh is touching his torso, but your eyes are slightly leveled when you turn and look at him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice rich with concern. “Are you sick, or -”

“Pregnant, actually.”

Watching his expression morph into a thousand different ones would be amusing if you weren’t slightly terrified of his response. But Ben goes from concerned to surprised, and then confused, and then he rolls his eyes and takes a step away from you.

“Oh, shut up,” he says, back to you, and your brows furrow in confusion. Ben turns back around, and his lips are spread into a humorless grin. “You’re not pregnant, Y/N.”

You press your palms against your thighs, exhaling a deep breath, and then you retort, “I promise, I am. Took three drugstore tests and made the hospital take another more official one. I was in denial, too, but I thought you should know. You know, being the dad and all.”

The last sentence - a metaphorical bomb dropped - sends Ben’s head flopping forward into his hands, and for a few minutes he doesn’t move. Just stands still, his face in his palms, and you sit atop of his kitchen island and wait.

Wait for him to get it together, you suppose. You need him to get it together, to talk to you about it, to maybe go outside and tell Joe that you guys are going to need a lot more time than a few minutes, because this conversation can’t be jammed into a time slot. It’s positively indefinite. And getting started on it - on decisions, decisions, decisions - can only occur when Ben fucking stands up and looks at you.

“I’m not too thrilled either, Benny.” it’s the only comforting words you can think of, and your feet still hit the island. It’s a nervous tick, you think. “I promise. But you’re - the dad - and this conversation has to happen. With you.”

“Oh, god,” is all Ben mutters in response, and then he moves his face up so that he’s looking at you - eyes peeking through his fingers, wide and bright. His face is oddly pale. “Please tell me you’re not kidding. Please. If you’re joking …”

“I’m not,” you promise, and then you hold your hand out to him. Stick your middle finger out. “Oops,” you mutter, replacing the middle finger with your pinky. “I swear. I swear I’m not kidding.”

Murmurs of oh god reach your ears, and you let your hand drop back down to the island. Your other hand presses over your stomach, just a comfort thing, and then you swallow. Watch him, still. Make out the way he reacts to this, because he seems just as shocked as you were.

At least he’s not hearing it from a nurse he’s never met five minutes after being broken up with and after being shot, you think, but that hardly seems fair.

Slowly you push yourself off of the island and take a step closer to Ben, reaching out to wrap an arm around his shoulder. He doesn’t push you away and then you envelope him in a warm embrace, and he doesn’t necessarily reciprocate - too busy covering his face - but perhaps he feels comforted.

You do, at least.

“Hey.” you pull away and press your hands to his cheeks, pulling his head up. “Can we talk about this, Ben? Seriously?” He nods slowly, and his eyes look the tiniest bit watery. You hate to focus on it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Okay,” Ben says, and you furrow your eyebrows at the complete non-response. Then he drops his hands to his side, sighing, and then he grabs your wrist. It isn’t your hand but it’s close, and you hate the way your heart rolls in your chest at the feeling. The thump thump thump you still hear is no longer your feet but your heart, beat beat beating inside your body. “You know I’ll support you no matter what.”

And because you did know this - did know he’s a decent man - you smile slightly and reply, “I know.” You’d thank him but it hardly seems like an extraordinary sentiment. More like something he’s supposed to do. But men were unpredictable, really, because when your best friend had a pregnancy scare in high school, her boyfriend said that he’d never talk to her again if she didn’t get rid of it.

She wasn’t even pregnant. So you push down your pride and cough dryly. “Uh - thank you.”

Ben takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, gnawing on the soft pink skin, and you open your mouth to speak again when the apartment door opens again - you jump, turning to look at who walked in, and Joe pops his head into the kitchen.

“Are we done talking?” Joe asks, as if the incredibly intense conversation you’re having with Ben involves him at all. But he’s nice. You appreciate him, even if you hardly know him.

“It’s gonna be a while, Joey.” Ben motions for Joe to leave, and the ginger sighs, then gives the pair of you a smile. Perhaps he’s noticed your close proximity to each other. Maybe he thinks you’re getting back together - maybe he wants you to. Or maybe he’s just a friendly person.

Joe leaves, and you turn back to Ben.

“Look, sweetheart,” Ben begins, and the nickname forces your eyes to the floor. You don’t want him to see what that name still does to you. He can’t see the heat in your cheeks - the softness in your eyes. “Do you know what you want to do?”

There’s a pause. Then Ben adds, “Because - I mean - I’ll pay for any procedures. If that’s what you want to do.”

The language makes you cringe a little, and you take a few steps back so you’re leaning against the counter. Procedures. It’s certainly a possibility, and outweighing the other option at the present moment, but you hate - well - thinking about it. You nod slowly. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I want to do. I mean, it’s a fucking - a fucking baby, Ben. And I’m doing pretty well now, career-wise. I can hardly take a break to care for a baby. And you’re -”

But you don’t want to finish that last sentence. Don’t want to tell Ben what you’re thinking.

“What? What am I?” His voice isn’t rude, really, as if he suspects you were going to say something completely horrible, and you appreciate him for it.

“Not with me, I guess. I mean, doesn’t having split up parents constitute as a broken household? I don’t want to raise a baby in a broken household.”

Ben shakes his head. “You know I wouldn’t make you raise our kid on your own.”

“I know that, but -”

“I don’t think it’s a broken household, then.” he shakes his head, blonde hair swaying from side to side. “They’d be loved by both their parents, if you decide to keep them.”

You drum your nails against the marble island. “It doesn’t have to be broken at all, though.” And this is where you need to shut the hell up, but you can’t stop. “If I - we - whatever - decide to keep the baby, why couldn’t we raise it together? Together?”

Ben brings his thumb into his mouth, nibbling at his nail, and it takes him a moment to reply. Perhaps he’s wary of this subject. Has to choose his words carefully. “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me.”

“This isn’t the time.”

“It’s as good a time as any. Let’s get all the painful conversations out of the way now.”

You think you should’ve kept your mouth shut, actually. But you’re going and going, and you can’t stop now. You need to hear what he has to say - hear it for yourself. Why have you been agonizing over this? The baby, the break up? You deserve some sort of closure, and he’s in the place to give it to you.

“I couldn’t protect you,” Ben speaks slowly, tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip. “And that scares the shit out of me, you know? Because I’m supposed to protect you. That’s my job.”

“Ben,” you interrupt. “That had nothing to do with being involved with me.” You hesitate. “Do you want to be with me?”

He opens his mouth immediately and then shuts it. Finally he clears his throat and says, “Yeah. I do. I really, really do. But I want to keep you safe more. And it’s hard when I’m - I’m distracted.”

It all sounds so fucking stupid. “You know, there were, like, a thousand guys who sent in applications to be my bodyguard.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “Really? A thousand guys who wouldn’t have let you get shot in a fucking 7/11?”

“You didn’t let me, you know.” But that hardly seems the point of bringing the other applicants up. “You don’t have to be my bodyguard, Benny. If that’s really what’s stopping this from happening.”

There’s a heavy pause. The air feels thick around you, warm and constricting, and you shift slightly. You are entirely too hot, and you aren’t really sure why. It was so cold outside. Too cold, really. And you want to strip down to the bare dressing essentials right now.

Ben shakes his head, and a small, humorless smile tugs at his lips. “Let’s focus on the baby for now, yeah?”

—————————

Tomato sauce. Gnocchi. Sourdough bread.

It’s only three things, so you rolled your eyes when your cousin tried to write it down for you. I’m not an idiot, you know, you told her, and you’re still holding that sentiment strong in your mind.

You hate cooking, really. Your cousin, though, is a chef so she both loves and excels at it, and whenever she visits, she’s in charge of cooking duty. But you, though - you have to get the groceries and clean up and do the dishes. It’s an even price to pay for a good meal.

You have the pasta and the bread - perfectly firm, as your cousin told you - but the tomato sauces are a bit more tricky. Your cousin gets a specific brand, and she told you it so many times before you left the house but you can’t remember. God. You probably should’ve written it down. Your brain can’t handle all three things, apparently, and if that isn’t embarrassing.

u can’t already have pregnancy brain, your cousin replies when you text her asking for the brand confirmation. like ur barely pregnant. get it tf together.

look it isn’t my fault.

should i blame ben?

You shut off your phone and throw it into your basket. Well, fuck her. Pregnancy brain. Is that even a real thing? You feel just as smart - or not - as you were before you got pregnant.

You’ll just grab a random brand. If she gets mad at you for it then you’ll just throw it back at her for making fun of your pregnancy brain. But looking at all of the plastic containers full of bright red sauce, you can’t determine which is even the best to buy. And you could look at all of the brands but that’s so much work.

So you grab Prego. Just to give your cousin a little laugh.

Even looking at the word, though, makes you a bit nervous. Because you - haven’t really thought about what to do with the pregnancy. And you’ve talked to Ben since then but they’ve done little to make your mind up. Dropping the Prego sauce into your basket, you turn and make your way to the checkout, mind returning to the overdriven state it hardly seems to leave.

Sometimes you wish you could just get a break. Go back to before you knew about this. To when you still had Ben and not a care in the world, unaware of the baby, unaware of the impending bullet and breakup.

Time travel doesn’t exist. You can’t go back. Only forward. And that’s fine. You like to think everything will work out in the end, anyway.

Aisle number 5 has the least people while still being open. Giant never has open aisles so it’s between 5 and 9, and there’s a line at 9. Only one woman at 5, pushing a cart full of snacks, and in the cart is -

“Well, hi, cutie.”

Your voice has morphed into an ultra sweet, soft voice that’s reserved for your baby nieces and nephews and little cousins, and the small, pale baby sitting in the cart seems to enjoy it. She looks up at you with a smile, mouth containing one growing-in baby tooth, and her baby blue eyes are wide.

“Her name is Ella,” her mom says to you from where she’s standing, placing her groceries into the same reusable bag that Joe used for Ben. (Kind of makes you feel like shit for not using that bag, but whatever.) Her hair is dark, tied into a ponytail, but her eyes have the same bright blue hue of her daughter. “Ella Grace, legally, but we all call her Ella.” Then the woman’s eyes meet yours, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “I know you, I think. Are you famous?”

Heat spreads through your cheeks, and you smile a little. Poke Ella Grace’s cheeks. “Um, kind of. I don’t know.”

“You’re modest,” Ella Grace’s mom says, pausing in the middle of stuffing a third bag of Lays potato chips into her bag. “My stepdaughter has a poster of yours in her room.”

“Oh,” you murmur, moving your hands in front of your eyes and then waiting a few seconds before pulling away. “Peek-a-boo!” You watch as Ella’s face lights up, and then she giggles loudly. “You’re such a sweetie, aren’t you, Miss Ella?”

Her mom grins at you, setting her bag in her cart. “She’s a sweetie now, but when no one else is around she’s a demon.” She maneuvers her way to the front of her cart and leans down to kiss the top of Ella’s head, and the baby gurgles in response. “You’re such a natural. Has anyone told you that before?”

Your stomach flips dramatically, and you swallow slowly. Begin setting your groceries onto the conveyor, and they move towards the entirely-unbothered cashier slowly. “No, haven’t really heard that before.”

“Well, you definitely are.” She begins pushing her cart away, and small pale fists reach out to grab the air near you. “See? Ella loves you.” The woman pauses and turns back to look at you. “My stepdaughter will never believe it. Really, she won’t.”

“Tell her I love her,” you hear yourself saying, but you’re not focused on it. Feel clammy and cold, all of a sudden. The woman bids farewell and leaves, and you shakily pull out $30 from your wallet and hand it to the cashier. Your total is less than $20 but the guy looks like he could use the extra cash, and you can’t stand to watch him pick out your change. You just grab your plastic bag, give him a smile, and walk as fast as you can out to the parking lot.

A car passes you - a black Toyota. The woman, Ella’s mom, waves at you from the driver’s seat, and you grin at her. As soon as she passes the smile melts off your face, and you grab your keys from the pocket of your windbreaker and unlock your car door as fast as you can.

When you’re in your car, heat turned up as high as it can go - for wind and for white noise - you let your head fall against the seat, a tear trickling its way down your cheek. You sniffle pathetically, bringing your wrist up to wipe away the evidence of your stress and sadness and anger - and all you can think about is Ella.

You’re a natural.

You reach into your pocket, where you’d stuffed your phone before ditching your basket, and unlock it with shaky fingers. Hot air surrounds you and it’s just about suffocating, but you’re unbothered. Just open up your text messages, look at your eighth most recent - simply named benny - and type out a text as fast as you can manage.

i’m keeping the baby. i have to.

And the response is lightning fast, as if Ben had been waiting for your text.

You know I’ll support you no matter what.

I love you more than anything.

And your fingers fly across the screen as you type your reply.

you know i do too.

Then, can i come over? really quick.

You’re always welcome here.

—————————

When Ben answers the door you get barely a moment to look at him before you’re being smushed into his chest, his arms tight around you, and it feels like home.

Your eyes are watery and the tears stain his light grey t-shirt, and you throw your arms around his torso. Squeezing him so tight it feels like he could burst and being in his arms is so great. God, you never want to leave. Never mind your cousin waiting for you or the things you have to do in life. You want to stay forever.

“You’re okay,” Ben mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head. His hand rubs circles into your back, slow and smooth. “It’s all going to be fine, alright? We’re gonna be parents.”

“I know,” you choke out, hiccuping. “I can’t - I have to keep it, Benny.”

His lips press against your head and then he pulls away, placing his hands on your arms to steady you, and you bring your wrist up to wipe at your eyes. “Alright.” And you can tell he’s struggling with what to say - you are, too - so he moves his hands down your arms. Grabs your hands, and his palms are warm and soft. “I’ll support you until the end of time, sweetheart.”

Another tear slips down your cheek but you refuse to move your hands first - squeeze his tighter, really. Then you clear your throat, mumble, “Sorry for showing up.” Because - really - it’s getting later, now, nearly 7. And you don’t consider that late by anyone’s standards, but what if he was getting ready for bed? Or preparing to go out with Joe and those other two guys on Instagram? “Didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

Ben smiles humorlessly. “I wasn’t doing anything. Just watching a movie, probably.” His eyes fall down to your joined hands, as if he’s just realized the physical connection between the two of you. You prepare for him to drop your hands, fast and sharp as if they burned him, but he doesn’t. Just squeezes tighter. “Is your cousin waiting for you?”

“How did you know I’m going home to my cousin?”

“You’re always going home to your cousin.” His face is a shade too red and his eyes look watery, and you feel slightly bad. “You talked about her a lot.”

On tour is the forgotten next part of that sentence. You don’t, surprisingly, want to think about your time with him now. Just want to focus on this.

Stay in the present, you think. The future, maybe. But not the past. It’s all you can do to move on from there, with this fucking baby and - and Ben.

—————————

i’m giving you a hypothetical situation here.

After sending the text to Ben, you rest your phone on the couch in front of you. Your house feels too empty, the lack of people you live full-time with suddenly overwhelming - your cousin is over a lot and so are some friends but, really, you just have your dog besides that. And he’s lazy, constantly wanting to lie on top of you and nap.

You’d been fine with that before, but at 15 weeks pregnant you’ve started pushing him off of you when he tries to rest in your lap. Your stomach is beginning to show, a small bump that goes unnoticed when you wear baggy clothes. You’re always hyper-aware of it, though. Worried that your dog will hurt the baby.

So your dog is ignoring you, now. Offended that you won’t let him stretch out over your body for hours at a time.

It just makes the loneliness worse. Even if you have a person attached to you at all times.

Alright. Hypothetical situation. Go.

if i was extremely desperate for nutella, and i was all out of nutella, would you get me some and bring it to my house?

A text bubble appears right away, indicating that he’s typing, and then it goes away.

Haha.

I can bring you nutella.

Wait, this is hypothetical, isn’t it?

it doesn’t have to be!! my address is 2275 sawyer street.

You throw your phone onto the couch with a grin, settling back against it with your eyes on the TV. Pretty Woman plays, a favorite movie of yours, and you hate not paying attention to it.

Even if you can recite every line by heart.

What if, by chance, you notice something new about the movie you’ve watched a hundred times? You can never be so sure.

After 10 minutes your phone rings, and it’s Ben - you let it play out for a few seconds and then answer it, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Ben says, and you can hear rain softly pattering, both through the phone and from the outside. “Hey, I’m driving around your neighborhood, and I have no fucking idea how to get to your house.”

You smile slightly. “There’s a pretty long driveway.”

“Yeah, but where does it start?”

You sit up, put the phone on speaker, and lean over to rest it on the coffee table. “Look, I know exactly where you are, because everyone gets caught up in the same area.”

He pauses. “Seems like a confusing house to have.”

“Well, it’s more private, you know?”

“Private, secret, whatever. Just tell me how to get there.”

“Alright, so …”

After a minute of explaining exactly how to find your house - an explanation you’ve given more times than you can count - Ben hangs up with the promise of arriving in less than 2 minutes, and you push yourself up off the couch. Reach for the remote and pause your movie, and then you head down the hall towards the front door.

There’s a knock after a couple of seconds and you lean your head close to the door, calling out in a mocking, sing-song voice, “Who is it?”

There’s laughter from the other side. “I have your Nutella.”

You unlock the door and swing it open, coming face to face with Ben. In his hands is a plastic grocery bag, and through the sheer material you can see the Nutella label, staring you right in the face.

“God, Benny, you’re an angel.” you grab the bag and peek inside - three fucking containers of it, and you can nearly moan at the sight. “You know, I’d hate to be doing this with anyone else. I can’t think of a single person who would go out and get me Nutella at 9 at night, but here you are.”

“You can count on me, sweetheart,” Ben tells you, and you take a step backwards into the foyer. He lingers outside, a hand braced on the doorframe. “You know, your house is pretty big.”

You shrug. “I’d call it average size.”

“Always so modest.”

You look up, eyes meeting his, and then a smile spreads across your face. “You can come in, you know. I wasn’t planning on having this be a drop-off situation, but if you wanna go, then …”

Ben is inside before you finish the offer, shutting the door behind him and blowing warm air into his palms. You pad off back down the hall and into the living room, Pretty Woman paused right on the scene where Vivian is going shopping for clothes and gets kicked out of a store. Your favourite in the movie, really - though it does tend to make you quite sad, and even more when you watch it now.

“Hey, turn around real quick.”

At Ben’s voice you pause and then turn, brows furrowed. “What -”

“I didn’t realize you were starting to show.”

You look down at your stomach, the tiny swell of the baby clear in your tight tank top. “Oh. Guess I am.” Pause. “Barely, though. Soon I’ll grow more, probably too much, really.”

“Yeah, probably,” Ben replies as you turn back again to the living room. You throw the bag onto the couch and then flop onto the cushions, sinking into it. “When did that start?”

“A week or two ago.” You pause as Ben leans against the wall, watching as you dig through the bag to grab one of the containers of Nutella. “Believe me here, Benny. You weren’t purposely left out of the loop. My cousin said I have pregnancy brain already, but I don’t think that even exists. Can you grab a spoon from the kitchen? I swear, I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass here.”

Ben dutifully turns towards the kitchen and returns a minute later. He sits next to you and then hands over the metal spoon, and you untwist the top of one of the Nutella containers and dig the spoon into the sweet snack.

There’s a moment of silence - broken only by the movie - and then Ben says, “I wanna know about these kind of things, Y/N.”

You look at him, lapping the Nutella off the spoon. Your brows furrow - truthfully you hadn’t thought it was a very big deal, starting to show. It just seemed like something that was bound to happen. Nothing special. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ben tells you. He stretches his arm over the back of the couch, eyes on the television screen. “I just want to hear about the pregnancy. Developments and everything.”

“Alright.” you hesitate, digging your spoon back into the Nutella jar. “I mean - I am sorry. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, that’s all.”

“I mean, it isn’t, really. It’s just important to me.”

There’s an easy fix for this, you want to say. What if we move in together? What if we get together? You’d probably notice the bump before I do, Benny.

Ben looks at you and then moves his arm so it’s around your shoulders, and you practically melt into his touch. “I didn’t mean to make you feel shitty about it, you know,” he tells you.

You shake your head, curls brushing his nose as your head moves. “I don’t feel shitty. I’ll tell you about everything. Promise. Even when I wake up in the middle of the night and vomit my guts out into the toilet.”

He nods slowly, fingertips tickling the side of your arm. You take another spoonful of Nutella, pressing your head against his shoulder and trying to pay attention to the movie, but it’s hard, now. Because this feels quite a lot like cuddling, and it messes with your emotions quite a bit for Ben to be instigating cuddling with you. But after a moment Ben urns to look at you with a small grin tugging at his lips. “Now, how often does that happen? Should I be concerned?”

—————————

“How much money are you putting into the betting pool?”

Ben rolls his eyes, shutting the pamphlet he’d been reading and shoving it into his pocket. He has a stack of them shoved into the pocket of his sweatshirt - the waiting room had a variety of them and Ben took one of each.

He leans close, mouth right by your ear. He’s standing beside the table you’re seated on, his hand braced beside you. There’s no one else in the room with you but he still keeps his voice down, as if he’s wary of the doctor coming in and hearing your conversation. “I’m not putting money into guessing the baby’s gender, Y/N.” The last syllable of your name breaks off into a laugh, and you throw your head back with a giggle.

“Alright, alright. I’m just saying, Benny, I know it’s a girl.” you lower your voice, reaching into his sweatshirt pocket to grab one of the pamphlets. You unfold it and hold it in front of your face, and Ben bursts into laughter. “Shut up! Nothing’s funny!”

Ben rests his head against your shoulder, and you lean towards him, pressing your bodies impossibly closer despite the barrier between your seats. “And I know it’s a boy. I can feel it.” As a point he reaches in and presses his hand against your 20 week stomach. “See? That’s a boy.”

“That’s a girl.”

“This is why I want to make a bet.”

“And I refuse to bet on what sex my baby is gonna be.”

You cross your arms and huff pointedly. Ben picks his pamphlet back up and traces his finger along the page. You reach behind you and pull your phone out of your pocket, opening up Instagram. You have notifications - the result of a selfie posted earlier that’s already reached 700,000 likes - and you scroll through your homepage absentmindedly. Angry tweets and Instagram callouts have subsided dramatically in the past few months and you’ve been on your merch team to get all of the products out in record-breaking time - makes it so that people can’t get mad at you for it anymore.

Or, they can, but most people consider it unreasonable.

The door opens abruptly, and you shove your phone back into your back pocket, sending the doctor a wide grin. “Hello, Dr. Green!” you chirp, voice unnaturally high, and you pray that’s the correct name.

“Hello, Y/N. Ben.” Dr. Green is a sweet lady, short with dark hair, and she always seems happy. You appreciate it - appreciate the enthusiasm at your pregnancy. Her excitement at every new development marks the difference between a good doctor and a great one, you think. “It’s just a routine checkup - you know the drill by now, right?”

You and Ben nod in unison, and you reach for his hand on the table. He takes it, intertwining your fingers, and Dr. Green smiles at the pair of you.

You lie back onto the table, pulling your shirt up over your stomach as Dr. Green spreads some of the gel over your bump - it’s always cold, no matter how prepared you pretend to be for it. It’s always a surprise. Your eyes turn to the screen, your thumb rubbing the back of Ben’s hand, and you squint at the screen until you can make out the vague shape of your baby. And it’s -

Overwhelming.

Previously it had been hard to really make out the baby but now you can see it, make out its features. And it seems real.

LIke it’s really happening.

Dr. Green points at different parts of the screen, a manicured nail tapping against the hard surface. “You can see the eyes, here - look, this is the head. You see?”

Your eyes go glassy as you gaze at the screen, squeezing Ben’s hand. “Yeah. There he is, Benny,” you grin, looking up at Ben, and he rolls his eyes.

“She. There she is.”

Dr. Green’s eyes dart between you two, and then she asks, “Would you two like to know the baby’s sex? We’re far enough along that we can tell, and the baby appears to be in the right position.”

Ben says, “Oh, we definitely do,” at the same time as you nod furiously, hair swaying with every movement of your head. “Please,” you tell the doctor, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look at the screen. “We’ve kind of been fighting about it.”

The doctor smiles, raising her eyebrows. “I heard,” she murmurs. “Are you putting money on it?”

You turn and mockingly glare at Ben. “I wanted to, but Benny here thought it was immoral, or something.”

“Because it is,” Ben argues, “I don’t want to win money because of what sex my baby is.”

Then Dr. Green asks, “So, Ben, you think it’s a girl, correct?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then, if this were a bet, I’d have to say that you -” Dr. Green moves the probe around your stomach, and then points again at the screen. You squint to see what you’re meant to be looking at. “You, Ben, would be winning money.”

It takes you a moment to process what she said, and your eyes widen.

Rewind. What?

You glance up at Ben, and you find that your vision is blurry as you look at him - from what?

Are those tears?

“Oh, my god,” Ben breathes, eyes fixed on the screen, and then he collapses into the chair beside your bed. “Oh my god.”

“Are you serious?” your mouth falls as you stare at Dr. Green, a smile spread across her face. “It’s a girl? You’re serious?”

“I’m 100% serious. You two are going to have a baby girl.”

Ben pulls your intertwined hands up to his face, pressing his lips to the back of your hand before losing it - his face drops and you can make out tears falling down his cheeks. You laugh a bit, leaning over and trying to wrap your arm around him, but it’s a bit difficult.

After a moment Ben looks up at you, and his face is red, eyes watery. “Oh my god, Y/N. We’re going to have a daughter.”

You look back up at the screen, hiccuping and giggling at the same time. “I know. A baby girl. I mean, you’re positive, right?” The last part is directed at the doctor, and she grins as she nods. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” You reach up and press your hand against the screen, as if it’s the equivalent of touching your daughter in real time. “Can we have copies of this?”

You’re positive you’ll never be able to capture the emotions you’re feeling now ever again, but having copies of it - well, it’ll be the perfect way to remember it. And when Dr. Green prints you two copies of the sonogram (and then a third and a fourth, for Joe and your cousin, you tell her, because Ben has been rendered incapable of speaking) you clutch it in your hands, eyes unable to leave the blurry picture of your daughter inside of you.

—————————

You gave Ben a key to your house the week you found out the baby’s sex.

And it really did seem like a great idea. You gave it to him and then marked it with a small, pink, heart shaped sticker, and Ben made a show of hooking it onto the same keyring he has his apartment key on.

In turn he gave you the key to his apartment. You put it in your pocket and have since lost it, but he doesn’t know that.

Now, though - giving him a key has started to seem like a really horrible idea.

Your fingers tweak at your nipples, peaked in the cool air of your bedroom - the window is open, sending the early morning breeze straight into your room. Your other hand works at your cunt, pumping one finger in and out of yourself, palm of your head rubbing against your sensitive clit.

Soft moans are like a mantra off your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut. If you think hard enough, work your mind enough, you can trick yourself into imagining that your fingers aren’t your own.

Ben’s are larger, you decide. You add another finger to the one that’s fucking into your pussy, and you let out a louder cry at the feeling. When you curl your fingers just right - the way Ben knows how to, better than anyone you’ve ever been with - it brushes against your G-spot.

Ben was a master at finding it. You’re even better.

Your back arches up, and you bring your hand from your tits down to your pussy. Your two fingers rub desperate circles into your clit, and you swallow a mouthful of air.

“Fuck,” you hiss, tilting your head back into your entirely-too-soft pillow. And your mind goes back to the man you wish were here with you - the one you want, the one whose fingers you’re desperate for - and you cry out, “Fuck, Ben -”

“Fuck.”

The voice isn’t yours, and you sit up, panic flashing through your mind - bright red sirens, blaring around your mind, and you pull your sheets up over your body, naked except for your panties.

And - Ben is there. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, and in between his two fingers is the pink heart decorated key you gave him.

“Oh my god.” your voice is soft and you swallow thickly. “Ben. Hi.”

“I didn’t know you -”

“I’m fucking sorry -”

“Don’t be, I walked in -”

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean your head back, feeling a prickling behind your eyes - you’re needy and embarrassed and you have an unbelievable urge to rip Ben’s clothes off, because he’s so fucking hard and you were almost there.

You almost came from the thought of him.

“Ben,” you interrupt him, and he leans against the door, pushing his keys into the pocket of his sweatpants. “Ben, I’m really fucking - horny.”

He hesitates. “I see.”

“And I really, really miss you. And your - appendages.” You push yourself up so you’re kneeling, sheets falling down over your chest, stopping just above your stomach. “Please. Benny, please.”

“Sweetheart -”

“Please. Oh my god, Ben, I fucking need you.” you clasp your hands together as if you’re begging, and in a way you certainly are.

You can see Ben’s mind whirring - your eyes pointedly trail down to the bulge in his sweatpants, and then back up to his eyes, and then Ben lunges at you.

His lips meet yours and it’s frantic - desperate - everything you’ve been missing for the past six months, nearly. Your hands tangle in his hair and pull him down to you, and eventually the two of you lie on your sides, mouths not moving from each other’s.

It’s different, completely different, from how it was. His hand goes to your stomach, resting on top of the bump as his lips move against yours. You whimper into his mouth, and Ben groans as your hand trails down to the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Ben grunts as your nails drag across his boner. “Six fucking months I’ve been wanting this, you know that?”

You pull away, attaching your lips to the underside of his jaw. “You know you could have had me. I was fucking desperate for you, Benny.”

“Mmm, well … I figured.”

You move your head away from him, furrowing your brows. “Awfully conceited.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting said that a lot of women have spiked sexual libidos during pregnancy.” You push Ben onto his back and throw a leg over his thigh, straddling his waist, your panty clad cunt pressed against his dick. “And - oh, fuck. I’ve missed this, sweetheart.”

You try not to wear your emotions on your sleeve but it’s hard - your heart swells and your cheeks heat up, and then you rock your hips against his once.

Try not to let him know how much you’ve missed this.

The pair of you have all the time in the world, really, but you can’t move fast enough. You grind your cunt against his rock hard erection, desperate for him to be inside of you, to be full of him again and he hisses, hand trailing behind you to land one firm smack on your ass. He grins as you yelp at the sensation.

Ben reaches down and tugs your underwear away, and your hands go to the ties of his sweatpants, undoing the small knot with deft, shaking fingers. You tug his pants down over his cock and it’s - it’s so much bigger than you remember.

He’s achingly hard, his cock swollen and purple at the tip, and when you wrap your hand around the base he lets out a soul-wrenching moan. His hands go to your hips, massaging your sides as you adjust yourself so you’re sitting just above his cock, positioning yourself above him before sinking down.

“Oh, fuck!”

He is bigger than you remembered, and it just about fucking hurts, having him inside of you. You throw your head back and cry out, feeling breathtakingly full after months of only your fingers. Ben moans loudly, fingernails digging into your sides, and you’re sure it’s just as surprising for him as it is for you.

“You’re so fucking tight. Oh my - god.” Ben’s face is coated in sweat and you bring your hands down to his cheeks, wiping some of it away before leaning down to kiss him sloppily. “Feel so good around me. I fucking missed this, sweetheart.”

“I missed it - I missed you,” you breathe. And you’ve seen him so much, still, in these past months, but it’s different. You know it is. Being around him and being with him are two separate planes of existence and you’ve been stuck on the former for six fucking months. 24 weeks. “I needed you so bad.”

Ben’s hands on your hips help you work your way up and down, and you just want to lie down and let him fuck you but that’s - not necessarily a possibility, now. Not with your girl inside of you, restricting your movement in that way.

(You wouldn’t give her up for the world.)

His thumb presses into your clit, rubbing circles into it with an achingly slow pace as you try to maintain steady rhythm, bouncing up and down, rock n’ rolling your hips against his. You brace your hands on his chest for leverage, lifting yourself up off of him and then back down, and with every movement, mixed with his hips bucking up into yours, that perfect spot inside of you is hit.

Again and again.

You were so close when he started and you topple over the edge within minutes, cumming desperately, seeing the night sky behind your eyes. Stars align your vision and it’s so beautiful, so great, all you want to see. That ball of pressure builds up in your core and explodes, again and again.

“Fuck,” you moan out, voice strangled and throaty, and you finally have to stop moving - admit defeat - because your legs are exhausted and you’re completely emotionally and physically overwhelmed, and really, you’re not sure that this isn’t some crazy dream you’ve made up in your mind, anyway. “Wait -”

And you detach yourself from him. Ben cries out and you resist the urge to grin at the noise, how needy he is for you, how much he’s wanted this. You roll onto your side and Ben follows, his chest pressed against your back, and with this new position he re enters you.

It’s different - you’ve never tried this before, even in your hypersexual relationship in the pre-gunshot, pre-break up, pre-baby days. He wraps his arm around your body, fingers rubbing at your clit again and you know you’ll be reaching your second orgasm at the hands of the man you’re so fucking in love with it physically hurts.

Every time your lungs fill with oxygen Ben tears it away - short moans escape your body as he fucks you, mixed with the firm circles on your sensitive nub, and you lean your head back into your shoulder. Ben tilts his head so he can press his lips to yours in the messiest kiss you’ve had, but it’s perfect. It’s all you wanted - no, needed - and your eyes water just at the feeling.

“Want me to cum inside of you?” The question is fucking stupid, because you’re already pregnant - there’s nowhere else you’d rather him cum except for inside of you, filling you up again. His other hand works at your sensitive breasts, tweaking your nipples so they’re peaked in the cold air. Even with the sweat that drips down your body you’re fucking freezing, and it reminds you of that first night you spent together.

(And you swear this is the most passionate sex you’ve ever had.)

You nod, thick mane of curls tickling his nose, and Ben buries his face into your locks. He presses his body close to yours and finally lets himself fucking erupt, releasing a strangled moan. Thick spurts of hot cum coat your inner walls and you sob out, squeezing your eyes shut, and the feeling of his cum inside of you after so long sends you over for the second time. Your chest rises and falls with desperate, heaving breaths, and you suck in air until you’re coughing.

Ben buries his head into your shoulder, his breathing just as desperate as yours. And the pair of you don’t speak - can’t, at least in your case - and you try not to think about any of it. The break up, the future, the past. Just let yourself live in the moment, in Ben’s arms, until exhaustion chases you into a dream filled sleep.

—————————

When you wake up Ben is gone.

You’re not sure what you expected, but he hasn’t answered your texts in three weeks. You told him that you have to talk, and that you should be getting started on the nursery as you approach 7 months, and the read receipts mocks you.

You hate being the one to double text. It only seems necessary.

you can’t fucking ignore me benjamin.

Read.

we’re adults. we’re having a fucking kid. this isn’t right.

Read.

what did i do?

Read. Read. Read. Read.

You find the key to his apartment in your car and you debate going to pay him a visit but you decide - foolishly, perhaps, and for the sake of your pride alone - that you want him to find you first. To seek you out.

You’re not really sure if you’re being the adult or the child here. Maybe both. Maybe neither. You’re just being you, and as you get further along you find that it’s the easiest thing to be.

—————————

At 7 months you find yourself getting a bit panicked about the Ben situation. He hasn’t texted you nor sought you out yet, and you can’t help but think that this is it. Unconditional support has found its end. You and Ben are done, and he’s gone.

Wouldn’t be the first man in your life to do that, but with a child on the way?

(Still not the first man.)

It’s a heavy cloud weighing down on you, raining on your parade wherever you go. LIke sitting at a restaurant with your cousin, picking at your lo mein with a permanent lump in your throat.

And she looks at you, brows furrowed, bringing her hand in front of your face to snap twice. Regain your attention. “Are you alright?”

No, you want to say. I think I fucked everything up. And you didn’t, you have to remind yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong. You don’t know what the fuck is happening with Ben but - but what did you do? To deserve what he’s doing?

So you smile at your cousin. “I’m fine.” The baby moves inside of you. “She’s crazy, I swear. Wanted Japanese and now she’s freaking the fuck out at the thought of it.” And that’s a lie. You’re so hungry for the noodles you could fucking scream, but you also think you drank your lemonade too fast.

You shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket and stand, giving your cousin a smile before turning and walking towards the bathrooms. It’s a small corner of the restaurant - two doors, marked with a small man and a small woman, and you lean against the wall by the women’s restroom.

Breaaaaathe.

It’s hard. You open your phone and look at your texts, as if expecting to see a response from Ben that you’d somehow missed but it isn’t there. Of course it isn’t. You’d know. You’ve only been checking it obsessively for weeks, desperate for him to reach out and apologize for the shit he’s been pulling.

And there’s nothing.

He doesn’t fucking care.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t.

You put your phone away and look up, shock flowing through your veins. “Joe -?”

The ginger looks up from his own phone, and your eyes meet.

“Oh!” And he looks genuinely happy to see you. It’s - it’s so good. So nice, that he looks as if running in to you is some miraculous experience. When have you last felt that from someone? “Y/N! Hi!”

“Hi, Joe,” you smile, and then your mind connects the dots - Joe - Ben’s best friend - Ben who won’t talk to you -

And then you take a step forward, hugging your jacket closer around your body, and ask, “Have you spoken to Ben lately? By chance?”

Joe furrows his eyebrows and takes his bottom lip in between his teeth - the way Ben does. You wonder if one of them picked it up from each other, or if it’s just a coincidence. “I … I have. And I heard about your, uh, situation with him.”

“You have?” You tilt your head, smiling. “Can you explain it to me?”

“What?”

“Ben hasn’t texted me in nearly a month,” you tell Joe, and you don’t want to be getting angry but you can feel the heat flowing through your veins. It isn’t Joe’s fault, you tell yourself. “I don’t know what I did. I mean - well, if he told you, then don’t you know why I’m being fucking shunned?”

Oops. You hadn’t meant to slip the f-word in there. Sometimes it just wiggles its way into your thoughts.

Joe hesitates, and then says, “I think he’s scared.”

“Scared?”

“I don’t know. That’s what he told me. He said he was scared.”

I’m scared too, you want to say. You want to yell it. Your phone feels like a fire lit in your pocket, all of a sudden, and you want to throw it on the ground until it fucking smashes. You want to shake Joe - no, Ben - until he understands, understands that everything he’s feeling is amplified for you. And you’re fucking furious about it. But you can’t take this out on Joe. It isn’t his fault.

You swallow. Take a deep breath. “Okay.” You need to think about what to say. Because now there’s - a prickling behind your eyes, and you can feel the tears on their way, and if you cry in front of Joe you’ll never forgive yourself. “Can you tell him to call me?” And, fuck, your voice cracks on the very last syllable. “Please. That’s - I just really, really need him to call me, okay?”

Your eyes are watery and you sniffle pathetically. Joe nods - you see that - and then he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you, and you let yourself fall into his embrace.

It doesn’t matter that he’s practically a stranger.

It doesn’t matter that you’re waiting for the bathrooms at a random Japanese restaurant.

All that matters is this. The comfort. The silent promise of some sort of remedy for whatever’s been going on with Ben. Joe can help.

You trust him on that.

—————————

The doorbell rings as soon as your cousin drops you off at home - you’ve kicked off your sneakers and ripped off your jacket and then there it is.

Ring.

You grip the doorknob with a sweaty hand, swallowing thickly before calling to the other side of the door, “Who is it?”

There’s a pause. And then, “It’s me.”

So you open the door. Come face to face with Ben, his hair messy, and every bit of your anger evaporates at the sight of him.

Ben takes a step inside and shuts the door behind him, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. He presses his hands against your back, and even if your stomach is in the way it’s fine - feels good. Good to have him back.

“I’m so sorry,” Ben mumbles into your hair. His voice is muffled by your locks and you tighten your grip on him. A silent it’s okay, even if it isn’t. It will be. “I should’ve never - fuck. I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I love you so much.” He pauses. “I’m not your bodyguard anymore. I quit. I had to. You know - you know I had to.”

You pause. Pull away, brace your palms on his cheeks. It’s what you’ve needed to hear - all you’ve ever wanted to. It all feels so fucking right - the relationship you’ve needed, the baby you’re going to have, the future you can foresee.

“Fuck, Benny. I love you,” you tell him. “I love you so much.”

And then you lean up, press your lips to his, and you work your way further into the house. There’s no better place to start making up for lost time like the present, you moan into the cool air, and he throws his head back and laughs, the small distraction breaking his focus away from suckling a hickey into your inner thigh. Just like how he used to.

—————————

“You know, we should do one of those things where we put her name up on the wall above her crib in - like - block letters, or something.”

You push yourself on the rocking chair in the corner of the future-nursery, watching as Ben works at the crib on the ground. You haven’t bothered yourself with helping too much - at least, not with the heavy-duty, manual labour type of shit - but the decorations have been perfected because of you.

It’s a beautiful room. You and Ben spent weeks agonizing over how to do it and you finally think you’ve nailed it - white walls and a grey crib, carpet so soft that your feet sink right into it. You picked out the rocking chair, too. Same shade of grey as the crib, and adorned with a pink pillow and a dozen of stuffed animals that have been evicted to the ground so you could sit.

“That’s a good idea,” Ben tells you, squinting his eyes to read the instructions for setting up the crib. “We don’t have a name, though.”

You hum. Not officially, you don’t - haven’t gotten around to that conversation - but you certainly have ideas. “Well, let’s get on it, then. Wanna hear my ideas?”

Ben grins. “Sure, sweetheart.”

“Alright!” you clap your hands together and then fish your phone from your pocket. You turn it on and flick to your notes app, scrolling until you find the list of names you’d put together. “Starting from my favourites and going down. Evangelina, Charlotte, Madeline -”

“They’re long.”

“Well, long names can get cute nicknames, you know? Anyway … Madeline, Caroline, Genevieve, Adaline …”

Ben holds up a finger, and you stop reciting your list. “I like Genevieve a lot.”

“Really?” you tilt your head to the side. “Because that’s closer to the bottom of my list, really.”

He laughs, turning so that he’s looking at you. “Well, I like it more than the others. I don’t know a lot of girls named Genevieve, either.”

You lean your head back, pushing your foot off of the ground to rock yourself a bit more. You shut your eyes, rest a hand on your stomach and think - Genevieve. You certainly like it or else it wouldn’t have been there in the first place - and it presents the nickname Evie, which you dubbed as the ideal nickname for Evangelina, your first choice.

“Hypothetically,” you begin, and Ben mockingly rolls his eyes. “If we named her Genevieve, what would her middle name be?”

“Does she need one?”

“It seems right.”

Ben pauses, looking away from the instructions he’d been trying to comprehend. “I don’t know. Marie?”

You groan. “Something less basic, would you?”

“Then what about Charlotte? That’s cute, isn’t it? And I know you like it.”

The name flies around your head - Genevieve Charlotte Jones - and then a tiny grin tugs at your mouth. You nibble on your bottom lip and then bring your thumbnail up to your mouth.

Ben glances up at you, gauging your reaction to the suggestion. “What do you think?”

You push yourself off of the chair and kneel down beside your boyfriend, leaning in to press a firm kiss to his lips. “I love it. I love it so much, and I love you so much.”

—————————

Hitting the nine month mark is surprising and unsettling and it certainly shouldn’t be. Almost every mother gets to this point - where, as Dr. Green says, it’s any day now. But you feel special for it - feel an amount of pride, especially when you walk into the nursery and look at the nine letters spelling out your daughter’s name, right above her crib.

Hitting the nine-month-and-one-week mark is normal and it doesn’t bother you, really, that your girl has gone past when she’s supposed to come out. Pregnancies are nine months, aren’t they? But she wants to stay, you suppose. And that’s fine. You accept that. Lord knows how difficult it’ll be when she comes so you’re fine with it, fine with her staying.

Hitting the nine-and-a-half-month mark makes you desperate.

You decide you want her out. You’re done with being pregnant, having her kicking you at all hours of the day, craving everything, constantly feeling exhausted. And you try your best to keep it from the public, reducing it to rumours coming from unreliable news sites, so social media has been a burden.

Selfies. Selfies and shots of just your face, and absolutely nothing from your stomach down. No photoshoots, and you don’t let your friends post anything that’ll give it away.

Genevieve and Ben can be your surprise until she comes. Then you’ll decide what to do, whether to tell everyone, whether to keep her a secret for a bit longer.

Until she comes. And it seems like she never will.

You and Ben decide to make Joe and your cousin her godparents, in case of any emergency, and they take the role with (in your cousin’s case) a squeal and a hug, or (in Joe’s case) tears. There hardly seems anyone more fit for the job than the people who, in their own way, brought you to this point.

At nine and a half months you’re lying in bed with Ben, your hair wet from a shower, and your body is riddled with tiredness - it’s all you’ve been feeling. Tired and sore, all the fucking time, and Genevieve is still in no rush to make her appearance into the world.

“Ben,” you mumble, feeling his arms around your waist, hand against your stomach. “I can’t wait until she’s here.”

You can feel him smile against your neck. “Me, too.”

“No.” you turn your head so you can look at him. “I’m really sick of being pregnant, if you want to hear the truth. It’s a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

Ben untangles his body from yours and sits up on his knees, looking down at you. The moonlight streams in through the window, illuminating his body to you and yours to him, and he leans down to kiss your neck. “What can I do to help?”

It’s such an innocent request. You’re already prepared to taint it as you push yourself onto your elbows, sighing and telling him, “Well, there’s this rumor I heard.”

“Alright …”

“That having an orgasm can induce labor.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Ben grins. His hand trails from your stomach to your pajama shorts, undoing the tie before starting to pull them down your thighs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and he can push your legs apart with warm hands. His hair is floppy and the light lets you see it better, every individual strand highlighted by the glow.

“I’ll give you all the orgasms you want, sweetheart,” Ben tells you, voice soft yet loud in the silent room. In what feels like a heartbeat he’s lying on his stomach in between your legs, bracing his palms on your smooth inner thighs. He traces your skin, drawing pictures and telling stories that only he can understand until a chill runs right up your spine, and your fingers run through his hair before squeezing the locks.

Ben takes the hint, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit. Your hips buck up instinctively - the small jolt of pleasure makes you feel so fucking good already, so desperate for him. Ben looks up at you with a wicked grin, teeth shining, and then he leans in to nip at your clit.

“Fuck!” you gasp, sucking in a sharp breath. “God. God.”

One of his fingers, as thick as two of yours, traces along your folds, collecting wetness on his fingertips. Slowly he slides his digits into your cunt and your body accepts them eagerly, walls clenching around him - Ben leans in to kiss your inner thighs again, sucking another dark hickey into the skin.

He fucks you nice and slow with his fingers, moving his mouth from your thighs to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucks the small bud desperately, cheeks hollowing, and you’re sure he’s rock hard but all he wants is for you to cum. You can tell when he gets like this, when all he’s chasing is your pleasure and not his own. His hips, though, give him away. Rocking against the mattress, needy for any bit of friction, and it’s so unbelievably erotic to watch.

You reach down and search for his free hand, the one not pumping in and out of your pussy, and you intertwine your fingers. Ben’s eyes flicker up to you and he raises his eyebrows, waggling them until you’re giggling and then choking on the air you’re sucking in.

Your bodies are luminescent under the moon, and you press your other hand overtop of your stomach, crying out as your hips buck into your boyfriend’s mouth. Ben’s teeth graze your clit at the same time as his fingers curl to brush your g-spot and the pressure building in your abdomen finally releases, legs quivering and throat raw and skin clammy.

Ben milks it out for every last drop he can, and then he laps the juices up off his fingers that are beginning to trail down his wrist. You can feel stickiness on the inside of your thigh but you don’t mind, really. Usually that would bother you, and maybe you’d ask Ben to go get a washcloth, but you don’t want him to move as he cuddles into your side.

“Do you want me to help you?” you question, soft voice giving away the exhaustion you’d been hoping to hide. “You looked … needy, Ben.”

He snorts, kissing your shoulder. “I fixed it myself. Don’t make fun of me.”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I wasn’t planning on it. Jesus. Go to sleep.”

Ben kisses your puckered lips and then tugs the sheets up over you. They stick to your sweat covered body and it feels good. Cools you off, almost, even as your human furnace of a lover attaches himself to you.

Fingers run absentmindedly through his hair, and your eyelids are brutally heavy but you can’t fall asleep. Even as Ben begins to snore.

This is how it’s supposed to be, you think. How you wanted it to be. You and the love of your life and your unborn daughter, stirring inside of you.

(By tomorrow night, she won’t be stirring inside of you - she’ll be very much outside, sobbing with her fists in her eyes that match her dad’s.)

(But you don’t know that yet.)

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy fluff #borhap imagines #borhap smut #pls follow the maker of that absolutely beautiful gif #and thank you all o much for reading these bodyguard fics

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