#harry probably insisted he lay down. and then he was listening to his heartbeat and fell asleep

[allmightyscroll-swag]

KIMHARRY NATION RISE UP 🫵🫵

this stemmed from me wondering if Kim would appreciate hearing Harry's heartbeat subconsciously. A gentle reminder that they made it- their alive. Both of them,,,

(and then suddenly this appeared)

[nationalharryleague]

In the Long Green Grass

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: the fluffiest fluff with husband!harry  

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi everyone!! Merry Christmas to all that celebrate!! this is my Secret Santa (run and organized by the lovely lu (@meetmymouth​) gift to the sweetest angel who walks among us miss hasibi (@peachybloomss​)!!! I hope you enjoy it my love!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what everyone thinks in my ask! Thank you so much for reading!! 

*** 

You were stirred by the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliff outside the home as the early morning sun streamed in through the windows. A small huf and whine left your lips, always one to ask for just five more minutes in bed, before you climbed from underneath the warm plush blankets and your toes hit the icy and worn wood floors beneath you.

The buttery yellow sunlight thwarted your plans to fight yourself back to sleep for those last few moments, prompting you to reach out your arms in a longing stretch. You released a light and sleepy hum of surprise when your arm hit a tiny furry body, and not the arm of the man who loved to sleep late in the bed beside you. Peeping one eye open, you made eye contact with Piper, Harry’s small jet black cat with glowing green eyes who was laying next to you, curled up on sheets that still held the indent of his body in them.

Piper wore a face of annoyance, obviously blaming you for interrupting her precious beauty sleep, and her eyes followed your body as you forced yourself out of the bed with one goal: find Harry.

Harry had a habit of disappearing, especially in a new place where there was just so much to explore. He was a wanderer (and an aquarius); always on the move, carried along by a thought or idea he just couldn’t resist. It was hard for him to sit still, a trait he probably picked up after tour after tour after tour, never allowing himself the luxury of rest or relaxation after it was never allowed to him. That was why you had insisted he needed time away from the city, finding a perfect spot in a small cottage that sat on the edge of a cliff along the ocean with a back garden full of sweet smelling flowers and tall cushony grass.

You tiptoed carefully down the spiral staircase that lovingly let out groans underfoot, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, into a kitchen that looked straight out of a fairytale. It was small with moss green cabinets and large bay windows that filled the space with light that kept the seemingly hundreds of plants in the house happy and thriving. A cool ocean breeze came in through the open windows of the small breakfast nook, bringing along the scent of a fresh pot of coffee that sat on the butcher block countertops like it had been waiting for you to wake all along. While you felt a jump of excitement within you for the coffee, it still hadn’t been what (or who) you were looking for, even though you were very glad you found it.

A sweet cup of coffee was thoughtfully prepared in a tea cup you had found in the cabinet with small wisteria flowers painted around it’s rim. You knew Harry would poke fun at your cup choice if he were there. “Tea cups are for tea,” you could hear him say, perking up the edges of your mouth into a gentle smile as you sipped it carefully. But the flowers reminded you of the beautiful wisteria tree that flowed in the wind and scattered it’s petals all over the back garden; you just couldn’t pass it up.

It took you quite a while to find him, even with the new found caffeinated energy running through your system. You had run into the two other cats at the house, both rather chubby tabbys named Jack and Gus, that called this back garden home on your search and you obviously had to say good morning. The two rubbed themselves up against your legs, begging for a scratch behind the ear and a bit of attention, and you obliged. Who were you to deny them of it?

The garden the cats got to call home was a dream. It was filled with every variety of colorful flower imaginable and blanketed in a sweet air that always hovered over the space. Your favorites were the small peachy blooms that smelled of sugary perfume. A stone fence ran the perimeter of the yard, a white picket fence in the middle opening to a swath of overgrown grass that swayed in the wind on a hill. If you squinted, you could see the house of the couple you were renting the cottage from, but they were far enough away it felt like you were the only people around for miles.

When you spotted a Harry-shaped hole in the tall grass up the hill, you had a sneaking suspicion you had found your missing husband.

The tall grass squished beneath your feet as you climbed the hill, creating a soft padding below, and the long blades tickled against your bare legs as you made your way towards him, still only dressed in one of his perfectly worn t-shirts from the night before.

“There you are,” you hummed happily when you reached him, standing above him as he layed in the grass. “I thought that I lost you.”

He looked like a renaissance painting as he laid in the grass that was dotted with small pink and purple wildflowers. His curls had gotten a little longer during his much needed break and they splayed out around his head in delicate ringlets like a halo. The light from the still rising sun bounced off his slightly dewy skin, giving him a glow that lit him up even more than usual. Stubble danced across his cheeks and jaw, framing his perfectly pink lips that held a gentle smile as he looked up at you from the ground. And his eyes squinted slightly, shielding his pupils from the ever growing brightness of the sky, creating delicate little wrinkles around his sea glass green eyes that looked so vibrant in the light.

A worn book that you hadn’t seen before, bound in dark green leather with gold detailing, sat on his chest; Poems for Lovers: A Collection was embossed delicately across the cover.

“You’ll never lose me,” he mumbled up at you, a gravel in his voice like it was the first time he had used it that day. You had been married for almost two years and had been together for five, but your cheeks never failed to redden when he spoke sweet nothings like that. “Good morning, angel,” he said softly, reaching his hand up for yours.

You moved to place your hand in his, but ended up only linking your pinkies together in the process; a light tug from the man below you signaled for you to join him on the ground. You couldn’t resist, sitting yourself down with your legs crossed in front of you on the slightly damp ground next to him, pinkies still locked together.

“Morning,” you greeted. “I missed you in bed. Piper isn’t much of a cuddler,” you chuckled while absentmindedly playing with his fingers, twirling his wedding band.

“She’s not very nice, is she?” he smiled, opening his eyes fully to meet yours as you strategically moved your body to block his delicate eyes from the sun. “I’m sorry my cat’s a bitch,” he joked. “She still thinks she’s my number one girl.”

“I tell her I’m sorry that I stole her spot in bed all the time, she never listens. Won’t even have a civil chat with me about it,” you teased sarcastically.

Harry let out an enthusiastic giggle at your words; it was high pitched, and came from his belly in loud bursts of air. His cheeks scrunched up and forced his eyes closed because he was smiling so wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes once again. His laughter was infectious and you couldn’t help but join in.

You two must have looked insane, sitting in the grass in a field in the middle of nowhere just after dawn, laughing like idiots. But you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Well, a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t have hurt.

As your gigges died down, you turned your attention to the book resting on his chest. “You ditched me in bed for a book?” you teased, letting the remaining laughter escape your body.

“I couldn’t sleep and I found it on one of the bookshelves. I thought it would be nice to read in the grass and watch the sun come up.”

“You should have woken me up. I could have thought of a few things we could have done to tire you out.” A smirk played on your lips as you tapped your chin, pretending to think, as you watched his eyes grow in amusement from your innuendo.

“You looked too peaceful sleeping. Also, drool and bedhead don’t really turn me on if I’m being honest.” It was your turn to react to his teasing.

Your jaw dropped in feigned offence and your finger flew over your shoulder to point back at the cottage. “I can go back if you’d like your privacy,” you said incredulously and with dramatics, until a few chuckles broke through and your resolve softened once again.

“Oh no no no,” he spoke with a grin, “come here,” moving the book and tapping his chest for you to rest your head on. You turned yourself around to lay yourself on the ground, placing your head on his chest and listening to his steady and calming heartbeat.

“How are your poems?” you asked, referencing the book he was now holding in his hands.

“They are very good. I’m glad I found it.” His voice reverberated under your head as he spoke, and you rose and fell softly with his breath.

“Read me your favorite.”

“Okay,” he began, thumbing through the pages as he held the book above both your heads. You listened as he let out a small “ah, here it is,” before he dramatically cleared his throat. “You might remember me talking about this one already, but I love it.”

You knew he loved it before he even began reading anything. He loved his poetry, especially when they were about love. Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart, often saying to you and interviewers “I just love love.” He loved falling in love with you and becoming a team, just as much as you did with him.

“It’s called The Wait,” he spoke gently, his voice taking on a deeper and more enunciated quality. You recognized the poem immediately, as it was the one referenced on his pants for the Vogue cover shoot. He had dedicated it to you then, and was doing it again now in the grass. “It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet of kisses off her mouth and put them into a dawn-colored vase in my heart,” he began. He spoke slowly and smoothly with the consistency and sweetness of honey. “But the wait was worth it,” he continued. “Because I was in love.”

You couldn’t help but think of your own story as he read. He had chased after you for years, with you always insisting that he was your best friend and you were afraid to ruin that. But gradually, your best friend became your lover, and your lover became your husband.

“I like that one a lot too.” You spoke softly and with reflection. “It reminds me of us.”

“That’s why it’s my favorite.”

You two layed in the grass for hours, not a care in the world, as he read from the book. Every poem took you two on a journey into a love story, one that for the two of you only existed on the page, but told of a very real love that couldn’t have been dishonestly written.

But with how you felt in the moment, with the joy and loving warmth you felt in your belly, you were sure you could write a million poems about the love you had with him.

Thank you so much for reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!!! 

[spxllcxstxr]

How I Long for Yesterday • S.B

(Gif not mine) (I’m so sorry)

Request: Nope, just my brain at 3am saying I should write this.

Summary: What do you do when you witness the love of your life die?

Warnings: Major character death, canon death, depression, numbness, grief, mention of blood, panic, crying, please don’t read of you don’t want to relive Sirius’ death

Word Count: 919

A.N: I want to preface this by saying that this isn’t well written. This isn’t some poetic take on Sirius’ death or grief. This is just a written record of my thoughts. I was heavily inspired by Grey’s Anatomy, the whole Izzie thing really shook me up when I watched it years ago, and I thought about it in the context of Sirius’ death. So don’t expect anything great or particularly heart wrenching. This is a short thought that I thought I should post. Let me know what you think. Love you all ❤️

Title: Yesterday - The Beatles

****

You watch your husband die.

You see the spell hit him, how he tenses up and gasps at whatever pain hits his body.

Fingers clench, unclench. The grimace is pronounced.

He steps backwards, teetering quite literally between life and death.

It happens in slow motion.

How he falls back and the grey wispy hands of the arch reach towards him, straining to hold his body tightly. Once one tendril touches his shoulder, you watch him go grey.

You watch the life get sucked out of him as he inches towards the veil silently. Like falling asleep.

You blink, and he’s gone.

You don’t remember screaming until your voice rips always from you, or falling to your knees, nails scratching at the stone until the tips of your fingers are stained red.

Apparently you sobbed, barely taking in enough air to stay conscious.

But somehow you collected yourself enough to cling onto Remus as he Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

You only make it a few steps into the living room before your knees give out and you find yourself laying on the hardwood, face turned to blankly stare at the wall.

Your clothes are still disgusting—blood wiped on your sleeves, your body sweaty from the fight.

But you don’t really register the discomfort enough to care.

You’re able to pick up fragments of conversations. Molly hovers over you and talks to people like you aren’t really there, and maybe you aren’t.

You hear that Remus and Harry aren’t doing too great.

Sirius isn’t either, considering he’s dead.

You feel like you’re in slow motion. Blinking and breathing takes a lot of effort, but when you finally convince yourself to do it, the moonlight shines though the windows instead of the sunshine.

One time, you blink, and Remus’ body is strewn out next to yours.

Talking takes effort as well and you really don’t know what to say. It seems he’s in a similar predicament.

And after listening to heavy footsteps pace above you for quite some time, you find it in you to speak.

“I asked him to run away with me.” You confess, staring blankly at Remus’ face. Both present and in some other void at the same time.

Your voice is cracked and hollowed and something so unlike you.

He continues to lay on his back, face still turned towards you. His beard is bushier, the circles under his eyes darker than usual. Your eyes focus and unfocus on his form.

“I told him that we could just get out of here; leave this whole war behind.” It’s a little above a whisper, the most talking you’ve done in—well, you don’t know how much time has passed.

“I already lost him once.” Your bottom lip trembles, yet no tears come. “I didn’t want to lose him again.” You sound so broken, you notice, the more you talk.

Your friend’s face aches with pity.

“He insisted that we had to stay and see this through. And look where it got us.” You scoff.

The floorboards of Grimmauld Place are cool against your skin, even after all the time you’ve spent just laying there.

Never moving.

Your body is numb, which is probably a good thing, considering your neck has been pressed in the same position for well over an entire day. But you don’t care.

“I have nothing.” You choke out through gritted teeth.

“You’ve got Harry.” Remus finally croaks out, trying to reach out for your hand. “And your friends. We’re all here for you—“

“I don’t care.”

He looks taken aback by your response, yet a fractured glimmer of understanding shines in his eyes. He lost a friend.

“You do care, (Y/n).”

Your eyebrows furrow, some semblance of dull anger coursing through your veins. The feeling of being alive you haven’t felt since that day.

“I don’t, Remus.” It’s guttural, coming from the back of your throat. “I’d trade the entire Wizarding world in a heartbeat to see my husband—my Sirius—alive again.”

“Don’t say that—“

Your fingers twitch against the wood.

“He’s everything to me, Remus. He is worth more than every single life on this planet.” You retort with as much energy you’re able to muster up.

“And he’s gone.” Quickly, you deflate.

“And he’s gone.” Remus repeats absentmindedly.

The silence is deafening once again. Remus is still some barely recognizable smudge in your vision.

“An hour before he was talking about finally being a family again, with Harry. And now...” You swallow harshly, throat aching. “And now his body is somewhere beyond the veil. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Shakily, you inhale, lungs constricting. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous piece of shit you’ve ever heard?”

“(Y/n)...”

“I just want to go back.” Breathing becomes strangled. “I just want to go back to when everything was normal.”

Remus continues to stare at you.

“When Sirius wasn’t dead.”

Your lip still wobbles, your teeth having trouble catching it.

“He couldn’t leave Harry.” You continue, Remus never interrupting. “He couldn’t leave knowing James and Lily’s murderer was still out there, terrorizing our world.”

“He couldn’t be selfish for just one bloody moment.”

When you lazily blink, Remus becomes much clearer in your vision. He’s staring at the ceiling. You vaguely register a lone tear trail down the side of his face.

You blink again and Remus is gone. You don’t know when he left. You don’t care that he left you alone on the floor.

So once again, you’re alone. And you really don’t know how to feel about that.

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @fific7 @quindolyn @msmb @lunalovecroft @justadreamyhufflepuff

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[faustrinus]

Warm

* Drarry (TW: mentions of blood and injuries). This is my second time posting this haha I am sorry. “Bloody hell, Potter.”

Harry lifted his head, staring at the blood pooling from his torso, “Yeah, it’s really bloody,” he agreed, “in case you couldn't tell.”

“This is no time for jokes, you git!” Draco rushed over, fumbling for his wand. “What did you do?”

Draco staunched the bleeding with a flick of his wrist and sighed, trying to assess the damage. How did I end up here? He asked himself for the hundredth time. Finding your Auror partner bleeding out on your driveway should be a strange sight, but it was one that Draco was all too familiar with.

“Where is the injury?” he asked, siphoning the blood off the ground with his wand.

“'m fine,” Harry slurred, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

“Bullshit, where is it?”

Harry huffed. “Torso. Right side.”

The injury was starting to bleed again, so Draco didn't waste any more time. The slash across his ribs had torn a hole in Harry’s robes, so Draco used his hands to widen the hole to get a better look at the area. By now, the blood was pooling again- and the way Harry was squirming like a fish out of water was making it worse.

“Stop moving!” Draco snapped, using his hands to press on Harry’s ribs.

“It hurts.”

“I know, but it will hurt a lot more if you keep moving. Just listen to me for once in your bloody life.”

“Fine, just-” Harry gestured with a limp hand. “try and make it quick.”

Are you really in the position to be bossing me around? Draco shook his head, trying to remain calm. Healing was easier when you were calm, and Draco needed a steady grip on his wand for this to work.. He couldn't let Harry die, not like this.

Draco pointed his wand at the wound, forcing his arm to stop shaking as he began muttering an incantation that made Harry wonder if Malfoy was singing to him at that moment by the tone every word was pronounced, the wand tracing the long injury slowly, it seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing, coming from some knowledge buried deep down in his memory. The flow of blood got slower and there was less, provoking a breath of relief from Draco, the spell was repeated one more time before the wound started to knit itself, making Harry flinch in discomfort for the suddenly burning sensation in the area. At least he's alive. “Now that you're not dying, could you tell me what on Merlin's beard happened here?”

“Thieves. They were trying to get into your house.”

“Potter. While I appreciate the concern,” and Draco coughed to hide the fact his heartbeat was louder than he expected it to be, “I am, in fact, fully able to defend myself.”

“Even without magic? The Ministry wouldn't like knowing you performed magic in front of muggles.”

“I would have managed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

“That doesn't matter. Why were you outside of my house?”

Harry tried to shrug, wincing from the movement and biting back a whimper, “I was just checking on you.”

“Checking on me? Why?”

“I haven't seen you at work in a few days. I wanted to find out if something happened to my partner.”

My partner. Draco was thankful that the streetlights were dim enough that this blush was hidden. "Luckily, it seems like no one saw anything," Draco changed the subject, "so if you could get up-" Draco cut himself off as he got a better look at Harry's face. "Is that a black eye?"

“Ehm.. yes?” Harry prodded at his eye, “I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Well, I dunno, you're the one who can see me,” Harry grumbled, he made no move to get up.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Did Harry have any survival instincts? He'd survived dozens of harrowing situations- both during and after Hogwarts- and yet here he was, bleeding and bruised on Draco's driveway. If Harry always acted like this when his life was at stake... it was a wonder that he hadn't been killed yet.

“Come on, let's get you inside," Draco sighed, "before someone sees.”

“You didn't mind that earlier. When I was drowning on my own blood.”

“That's because I wasn't interested in your blood staining my best rug, Potter," Draco said dryly, "besides, your life is a little more important than the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Thanks for that, I think. Can't wait to see your fancy rug.”

Draco huffed and slipped an arm under Harry's back to help him sit, cringing inwardly at the blood that soaked through his robes. He just needed to get Harry inside and make sure he wasn't about to die- and then he could worry about the states of his clothes. “I think I'm okay,” Harry grunted, relying heavily on Draco to stand.

“Careful,” Draco said sharply, “the wound is only knitted. It'll still hurt. “

”'m fine,” Harry insisted, but he let Draco wrap his arm around his waist anyways, "What about my glasses?”

“Draco cast his eyes to the ground, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. “I'll find them later." he said.

Harry nodded and shuffled forward, and he would have fallen over if it wasn't for Draco supporting nearly his entire weight.

“You alright?” Draco asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Harry grimaced, "doesn't hurt so bad."

Draco nodded, pretending not to notice the way Harry was gritting his teeth. He resolved to use a pain relief spell as soon as they were inside.

They both started walking towards the black door that opened itself with a flick of Draco's wand. Harry felt a wave of warmth envelop him as they passed the threshold, like a welcoming hug for his shivering body. From the outside, Draco's house looked like it'd be similar to what time ago was the Malfoy manor, but on the inside, it was the total opposite. Rugs covered the dark wood floor under each piece of furniture, and despite the monochromatic (green, of course) colour scheme, it was still very home-like.

“Your house is much nicer on the inside," Harry said, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“I have a lot of wards to keep things warm,” Draco explained, slowly guiding Harry to the sofa, "mostly for when winter comes around since I'm generally a pretty cold person.”

Harry huffed a laugh, “cold, as in personality or…”

“Right, that too, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes.

The candelabrum hanging above the living room was what reminded Harry the most of the Malfoy manor, with its expensive design and sparking metal accents. The sofa that Draco lead him was clearly expensive, too- and there was a certainly reason for its price. Harry sighed with relief when his body hit the soft cushions. It even smelled good- he sighed deeply as mil citrus scent- Draco's scent- surrounded him.

“I like your sofa,” Harry murmured.

Draco arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile, "I noticed," he said, rolling up his sleeves, and kneeling on the ground next to the sofa, "You look like a mess."

Harry tried to laugh, but he felt dizzy instead- like the world had stopped for a moment before getting back on route. His eyelids dropped, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the worried expression across Draco's face. “Potter, stay here.” And then everything went dark.

...............

When Harry woke up he felt weak, the type of weakness where you move a little and your body sends a big alarm reminding you you're going to faint if you try to move a lot. It was annoying to feel so useless when there was probably someone out there needing his Auror services.

Well, the good thing was that he did faint once, so it wasn't that probable for him to do it again. And seeing how the wound was already recovering thanks to what seemed like Draco healing abilities, Harry's spirits lifted up, it looked so much better and it also didn't hurt half as much. It was a really well-done work.

But of course, his muscles were still aching like he had run some type of marathon.

“You're awake.”

His eyes tried to focus, but it was hard when his classes were nowhere to be able to reach them, “Did you get my glasses?”

“Good morning to you too, Potter. And yes, yes I did,”

“Morning...?” Harry mumbled, looking around for a window to check if it was truly a new day, “How much time did I sleep?”

“Like fourteen hours? It was a lot. I don't know how you can sleep so much.”

Harry yawned and looked at Draco, who was sitting on the ground next to him, a blanket covering his legs- it wasn't really clear, but Harry could see the pillow laying on the floor and the rug wrinkled under it. Connecting all the dots was easy.

“You slept on the floor?”

“Yes, I stayed to make sure you didn't die in your sleep.”

“Sweet,” He answered rolling his eyes, “Thanks. You are very good at healing.”

Draco searched for Harry's glasses and handed them over to him, they were shining clean and looked more new than ever, “I fixed and cleaned them. They probably broke when one of the … assholes yesterday hit you.”

“You're acting very nice to me,” He started putting on his glasses, “Is it because I almost died?”

Draco ignored the comment and cracked his knuckles softly, his gaze noticing how messy Harry's hair got. It was cute seeing it sticking out in different positions and falling in a funny way on the man's face, “You were saying I'm good at healing?”

“Oh, yes. You are, the wound almost doesn't hurt anymore.”

“I'm glad. I had a lot of practice, I guess I became good without noticing.” Harry knew exactly what he was talking about- the whole sectumsempra thing. He knew Draco could not have healed himself that time because of how badly injured he was at the time, but he assumed he had to learn how to treat his own wounds after it happened.

“I'm sorry about that.”

Draco tilted his head, “Sorry about what?”

“The whole... “ Harry coughed, “curse thing.”

“Oh.”

“You weren't talking about that?”

“Not necessarily. But I guess it came to my mind now that you say it.”

Harry tried to make himself more comfortable to carry on the conversation, shifting around the couch, “Did it… leave scars?”

“Why are you asking?”

 “Knowing if I left some mark on you thanks to how irresponsible my actions were is something I deserve to know. Right?”

“You want to make sure you have reasons to feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Potter…” Draco tried to convince him subtly to change the subject, but Harry was a stubborn bastard and he was about to start complaining again if Draco didn't tell him, “Yes, it did. Only one though, It wasn't healed fast enough I'm guessing..”

“I'm really sorry...Draco,” Harry tried to sit correctly, groaning when he felt a pull to the side due to the wound, “Can I see it?”

“What makes you so interested? I don't get it.”

“I don't really know. I guess…. to make sure you're okay?”

Draco couldn't help but laugh a little, “It was years ago. Why wouldn't I be okay?”

But Harry was still staring at him to what looked like his attempt of puppy eyes- how old was he again? ten?

“Please.”

“Just because you almost died doesn't mean now you get everything on a silver plate.”

“We haven't seen each other in a long time. As Aurors we need to have a bond.”

He really wasn't giving up.

“Fine.”

Draco mumbled something and grabbed his wand that was laying next to him and muttered some spell. It took a few seconds for Harry to see it, there was a long scar going up from his neck to what it seemed down his chest. It wasn't really striking, but it was noticeable at a close distance. That's why Draco used a glamour charm- they were always working side to side, Harry would have already noticed and asked about it.

“It reached your neck? Merlin, it had to hurt a lot.” Draco denied softly and sighed, maintaining the charm drained his energy sometimes, “It's okay. Stop worrying about stupid things.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “I almost killed you. It's not stupid.”

“I think we can both agree it's too early to talk about this, Harry.”

Harry grunted but nodded anyways, letting himself relax a little. You almost die a few times and you get all sappy he thought, brushing the thoughts away. They stayed in silence a few seconds, and Harry could sense how his heart was beating a little bit faster than usual- how was he still paranoid after what happened yesterday? It was Draco's house, both of them were there, it was safe. Yet he still could hear his heartbeat bouncing around like it was a goddamn party in his chest.

“You know… Now it's my second bad memory with a knife, not really fond of them.”

“Well, I'm glad. I would be worried if you were fond of them.”

Harry giggled softly, making Draco smile a little when he saw he had enough strength to do it. “Well, what was the first memory?”

Draco decided to get up, stretching his legs while Harry was getting ready to say whatever he was thinking about. His eyes were squinted as he searched for the memory probably already forgotten, but when the light hit his eyes Draco saw it- he remembered.

And Harry swallowed, because he actually did not want to remember it. He was trying to keep an interesting conversation, but he had exposed himself without noticing.

“I remember that when I was living with my… The Dursleys, a lot of things happened, to be honest,” Harry started, trying to ignore Draco's stare, “clearly, they weren't the nicest people on earth. I remember this one time where I was cooking and my Aunt Petunia told me she would chop off my fingers if I messed up.”

“What?”

“It's not a big deal. But for some reason it stayed in my mind after all these years.”

Draco felt himself getting angry, “How old were you?”

“I don't remember. Seven? maybe eight.”

“Merlin's beard,” Draco eyes got wide, “You were a child, Harry, of course it stuck with you. And who in their right mind makes a seven-year-old cook?”

“I thought every kid had to do it. And I assumed Dudley didn't because well… he was their son.”

“And what were you? their servant?”

Harry shrugged, “I don't know. Something amongst those lines.”

Draco huffed, playing with the rings that adorned his fingers, “It sounds horrible.”

“But here I am,” Harry tried to play it off, but it was noticeable the subject was affecting him somehow, “all okay.”

Draco nodded and they stayed in an uncomfortable silence until he yawned, gaining Harry's attention- if he slept like fourteen hours, how many did Draco?

“...Did you sleep the same amount as me?”

“I can't hibernate like you, Potter.”

“So… you didn't sleep at all?”

“I slept a reasonable amount.”

Harry patted the empty space next to him, “How much is a reasonable amount?”

Draco hesitated a bit before slowly sitting next to the man- he would notice he was looking a bit tired. Well, it wasn't easy looking extremely bright when you spent most of your night making sure The Chosen One didn't die on your couch.

“...two hours.”

“What? Why? two hours is nothing. How are you even alive?”

“I have survived with less, thank you very much,” and with that the conversation was done, of that he thought until Harry tugged on his sleeve a little bit stronger that Draco could have expected, making him fall against Harry's body, he blushed instantly, pushing, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you get some sleep.”

“And you are planning to hold me?”

Harry yawned, “Yeah, pretty much,” he tugged again, making sure Draco stayed laying on top of him comfortably, “C'mon. Sleep.”

“I'm not your dog, Harry.”

“Then stop barking and get some sleep with me.”

Draco tried to push again, but Harry was holding him strongly. If he wanted to, he could have used a spell to get free of his grab- but it was rather comfortable to lay there. For a recently injured person, it was surprising Harry wasn't complaining about how he was closely brushing his wound, “What about the wound?”

“It's okay. It doesn't hurt.”

 Draco accommodated himself, “If one Auror knows we…”

“Cuddled until we fell asleep?” Draco nuzzled his face into Harry's neck “Yes, that. If one Auror knows that, I'm going to hex you.”

“Sounds like a deal. Good night.”

“How are you still sleepy?”

Harry was already closing his eyes, “I save my tiredness in a little box in my brain and then I set it free.”

“Dumbass.”

“Sleep.”

At the end, Draco stopped trying to ignore the idea. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on Harry's chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“Draco..?”

“Oh, wow. Now you're the one interrupting my sleep.”

“It's not that.”

“Then what?”

“You lied to me about something.”

“...What?”

“You're actually warm.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're warm,” Harry repeated, sighing, “I like it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but the faint smile drawn on his lips couldn't lie.

Maybe being warm wasn't that bad when Harry Potter was cuddling you.

[ethereal-parkner]

Unlikely Lovers

Parkner Week 2020 Day 2: Identity Shenanigans

read it on AO3

Peter was surprised that anyone was talking to him in the first place, to be fair, but for that person to be Harley Keener was an entirely different story. Harley Keener, who really didn’t talk to anyone voluntarily, who wore the same leather jacket every day (Peter could tell by the small rip on the left cuff) (not that Peter was looking), Harley Keener who, honestly, Peter didn’t know how he got into advanced calculus all things considered. Harley Keener who Peter had an eensie teensie tiny crush on.

“Look, I know it’s in like a month, but I really need a study buddy for this final.” Harley grabbed at his left sleeve with his right hand, picking at the threads with his short fingernails. Peter blanched.

“Yeah, yes, of course. I mean, what do you want to go over?” He felt like his breath was absent, yet somehow his voice was breathy all the while.

“I just need some extra review on everything. Would you want to meet up like two or three times a week?” 

Of course, Peter wanted to meet up with Harley Keener multiple times a week to talk about math. Peter had no idea what Harley was like outside of school, but he imagined motorcycles, cigarettes, and probably a really strong dog that barked at the neighbors.

“Great, can you make tonight? I know it’s short notice, but I’m kind of busy this week.”

“Yes!” Peter was possibly too enthusiastic, “Yeah, sure, that’s cool.” 

Harley decided to take Peter to his house after school, which was much more exciting than the idea of studying at the library, or an empty classroom, or anywhere else.

“A study date?” MJ quipped when Peter told her he’d have to miss acadeca. (Yes, he did forget he had practice, and yes, he was ashamed). “That’s cute. You’re off the hook, but just this once.” She narrowed her eyes at him before grinning.

“It’s not a date, MJ. He asked to study for calc, but it’s not a date.” 

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t have taken you to be interested in bad boys, but each to their own.” MJ ended the conversation by pulling out a book before Peter could answer.

“You’re going on a date with Harley Keener?” Ned questioned, just catching the tail end of Peter’s previous conversation.

“No! It’s calculus,” Peter insisted. He was not going on a date (despite his tiny tiny wish that it actually was a date).

“Dude, calculus is sexy. Guys dig calculus.” Ned joked, nudging Peter’s ribs with an elbow. 

“Calculus is not sexy, and it doesn’t matter anyways because it’s not a date at all! He doesn’t even like me like that. Ned, he doesn’t even know me. It’s just calculus.” It was true; Harley asked Peter to study because he knew the most notable detail about Peter: unchallenged on the road to valedictorian of Midtown. Of course Harley would ask Peter to help him study, and he knew there was no way Peter could say no.

Even if Peter knew he would spend the whole time watching the way Harley played with the sleeve of his jacket and listening to his voice that melted him like butter, Harley would be granting his attention to calculus, not Peter.

“More like calculust.” MJ snorted without looking away from her book, ignoring Peter who let out a loud gasp and swung at her.

At the end of a torturously slow day of school (learning material that he’d taught himself the year before) Peter stood at his locker grabbing books to take home and replacing them with books to stay at school.

“Hey, you ready?” The way Harley leaned against the locker practically made Peter forget the chain rule. Maybe Harley wasn’t going to be the one needing help with this material.

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, his cheeks flushed, “ready.”

If Peter was surprised when Harley led him to an Audi, he was even more surprised when they both sat in the back, partition raised so he couldn’t see the driver. So much for cigarettes and motorcycles, Peter thought.

If Peter was surprised to see a chauffeur in the car, he was astounded when he realized where they were going.

“Would you mind keeping this between us?” Harley asked after seeing Peter’s shocked reaction, “I really don’t want people treating me differently because of this.” Peter nodded, all words escaping him. “Thanks, that means a lot.” Harley’s smile looked somewhat like the sun to Peter, like it would be spoiled if he looked too long but he just couldn’t turn away. He was mesmerized. 

Harley led Peter out of the car and through the elevator of the building: Stark Tower.

“Hey, kiddo, welcome home,” Tony Stark called casually across the room. He stopped short when he caught sight of Peter, “You’re studying today? Well, I’ll be in the lab if you need anything.”

“Thanks, dad.” Harley gestured for Peter to follow into his large bedroom before sitting on the floor.

“I hope this isn't weird or anything. At my old school some people got super weird about all of this.” Harley noted, pulling books out of his bag.

“Oh, no no, of course not.” Peter stated. He was shocked, but he wasn’t beyond his limits. Harley didn’t know how much time Peter had actually spent in the tower.

“I think it’s really cool.” Peter blurted out halfway through quotient rule.

“What?”

“I just think you’re cool and down to earth, I mean. Despite privilege you’re just a normal person and you want people to know that. Mr. Stark seems to understand that too.” Peter thought about the people he’d met who came from money, those who lost themselves to greed, and those who remained down to earth despite the opportunity to float away entirely.

“Oh, yeah.” Harley said, setting down his pencil, “I just like to keep it under wraps because I really don’t want people treating me differently, you know, because of where I come from. Sometimes people think that money separates them from others, but that’s really not it.”

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, turning back to his paper, “I, uh, I hate this formula.” He grinned quietly.

“Me too. Let’s come back to it.” Peter let out a full laugh at Harley’s words.

“Yeah, we’ll come back to that eventually.”

Now that Peter was fully aware of who was on the other side of the partition, the drive back to his own home felt a lot more strange.

“Thanks for helping me study today. Do you want to meet again on Saturday?” 

-

Two weeks passed with Peter going to the tower to study twice a week and, eventually, going to the tower to spend time with Harley on a third day where studying is off limits. Mr. Stark had insisted that he was welcome anytime, be it as Peter Parker or as Spider-Man.

“What do you know about Harley Keener?” Peter asked quietly, laying on the floor of his bedroom. He tossed a pencil into the air above his head, catching it with ease as it came back down to him.

“Why would I know about him?”

“I know you know him.” Peter sat up to look his friend in the eye.

“I thought he wasn’t telling anyone about his family.” Harry finally turned to face him before continuing, “Why? Do you like him?” He grinned.

“Stop it, we study math together. That’s it.”

“Oh, I know how you feel about math,” Harry began, “I’ve met him a few times. We text sometimes.”

“And?” Peter encouraged him to continue.

“You know him better than I do. Do you want me to ask him about you?”

“No! No, you don’t have to do that,” Peter answered quickly. What Harry didn’t tell Peter, though, was that he had texted Harley nearly every day for the past two years, and for the past few months, he’d been talking non-stop about the cute boy in his calculus class. (Harry was able to put two and two together pretty quickly. Fluffy brown hair, genius, more excited about math than any normal person? That’s Peter through and through.)

“Oh? You must like him?” Harry grinned at the other boy.

“No! I mean, I like him as a friend, of course. I think he’s nice, he’s really cool, and he likes to talk to me. But it’s really not like that at all. He just asked me to help him study.” Peter’s voice held a slow decrescendo as he stumbled through the messy sentences. It really wasn’t like that with Harley, whether he wanted it to be like that or not. Peter didn’t exactly have a ton of friends, he couldn’t lose one over his feelings.

Harry texted Harley.

-

“Wait, so like, a date?” Peter hadn’t meant for the words to come out, and regretted them instantly. All he could do was wait for Harley’s response like he was waiting for death.

“Yeah, like, a date. If that’s okay with you.”

So Peter changed his mind about waiting for death.

“Yes! I mean, yeah, of course.” Peter hardly heard anything over the feel of his own heartbeat. He felt like he could die happily (but not until after his date).

Harley was beginning to shove his math books into his bag when he looked back up at Peter from the floor of his bedroom. The way he smiled made Peter feel like he was becoming one with the air. (Holding hands with the atmosphere, cuddling the aura, kissing the ambience).

“We can skip one study session, right? God, we’ve been doing these for so long,” Harley groaned, combing his fingers through his golden locks.

“Sure, of course. I think we’re already okay for the final honestly,” Peter laughed.

The next two days lasted for a million years, no, a billion years. Talking to Harley during school, texting at home, he nearly lost his mind waiting for his date. He was going on a date with Harley Keener-Stark. May asked him more than once why he was so restless, tapping on the dinner plate, pacing the kitchen at odd hours in the night.

On the day of their date, Peter had three hours at home before he was meant to be picked up. 

��Seven o’ clock, meet me at my house,” Harley had told him with a wink as they left calculus together. Every minute, though, seemed to last an hour, so who could blame Peter for going out on patrol to pass the time quicker? It just so happened that the Green Goblin wanted to make his entrance at 6:45. Peter could get it over with quick.

He rushed through a fight that, to be fair, could have been a lot quicker if Peter were careful, if Peter were focused. As much as it felt like it, Harley Keener was not more important than the safety of the city.

Peter took a knife to the abdomen at 7:15, he had Green Goblin webbed up by 7:20.

Blade still sticking out of his stomach ungracefully, he swung to the only place he knew he ought to go. He swung to the place where he was supposed to be in the first place.

He tore off his mask to breathe and kicked through a window that he was so sure was the floor of the medbay. Apparently bleeding out affects a spider boy’s perception.

“Peter, what the hell? What’s going on?” Harley was rushing toward him, unable to decide between being frantic and cautious. “Get me to the medbay,” Peter barely choked out before looking Harley in the eye, “Can we reschedule our date?”

“We’ll have another one.” Harley wrapped an arm around Peter’s midsection and let Peter lean up against him as he led him down a floor.

They did eventually have their date on the day of the calculus final. (Harley took him to ice cream and they cuddled up on his couch to celebrate their one hundreds on the exam).

[mtraki]

(Warning: fluff and smut ahead!)

Arthur had double-backed and retraced his footsteps twice that evening, on the way to Miss Schofield’s tent.  Fortunately nobody still awake was paying him any mind.  This time he’d made it to just a few steps from where he could reach the entrance or call on her within.

It wasn’t a good idea.  But every time he turned back for his own tent, he’d somehow convinced himself all over again how harmless it was.  How it might do him some good.

It wasn’t a good idea.  It’d invite disaster into the careful, teetering balance they’d established.

 With winter upon the land in full, and jobs worth the risk all but dried up, he spent more time around camp, seeing to keeping them warm and fed.  Together, the two of them had gotten wiser about choosing their moments. Stolen kisses and lingering touches with none the rest the wiser. He’d attempted a few whispered compliments, but they’d sounded foolish the moment he uttered them.  Her flirtations were much better, setting fire to him time and again, so he never need worry about the cold.

It was good.  Much better than he deserved, for certain.

It did nothing for his nightly torments.  The last time he remembered sleeping peaceful was back in Tall Trees, when she’d come out looking for him.

Where he’d had the nerve to kiss her.

Where he’d slept with her pressed cozily into his side…

It wasn’t a good idea.

He cleared his throat, quietly.  A half-hearted attempt so he could tell himself he’d tried the next time he walked back to his tent with his tail tucked, “Miss Schofield?” His whisper was soft.  He didn’t want it to carry. Wasn’t convinced he wanted to be heard by anyone at all.

 Only able to bear waiting one racing heartbeat later, Arthur turned to leave again when he heard the rustle of movement.  Panic chased up his spine, and he almost leapt forward to escape.  Instead he froze.

 “... Who’s out there?” Her voice came soft and guarded.  It bothered him that he might have troubled her, so Arthur turned and stood at the entrance so she could see him from where she peeked out.

 “It’s just me.” He answered in a whisper, “... I’ll let you be.”

 “No...  That’s alright.  Did you need something?”

 No.  Yes.

 Even in the dark, the moonlight eyes seemed to see the war within him, so she said before he could answer, “Just tell me what it is, Arthur.  Please.”

 She was too clever for him.  In just a few short weeks, she’d learned just how to say that ‘please’ in a way that would shoot straight through him.  He hoped he grew used to it, and all those vulnerable parts would scar over so it wouldn’t work anymore…

 He hoped she didn't use it often enough for him to ever get used to it…

 Letting his breath out slow, a long plume in the dark, he said, at length, “... I dunno how to ask it polite…”

 “Then don’t bother with polite.  Ask me plain.”

 “...I…” He sighed again, hanging his head heavy,  “Can I spend the night wit’ you?”

 “Of course,” She said it so simply, like she’d been expecting him to ask.  Like it wasn’t such an imposition upon her and her beloved privacy.  Something swelled hot and aching in his chest, “Come in, and turn on the lamp, please.  It’s on the right.”

 Doing as bidden, Arthur ducked into the tent, removing his hat and turning to the right, groping for the lantern in the dark.  Deeper in the small space, he could hear Catherine fussing with cloth, probably laying out her pallet to accommodate the two of them more comfortably. His hands found the lantern-- still holding the last vestiges of heat from before she turned it out for the night-- and he was able to strike a match to light it again rather quickly, despite the anxious feelings threatening to put a tremble in his fingers.

 Golden light flooded the small space, and the outlaw set his hat to the side before turning to look at Miss Schofield again.  His heart promptly stopped, lurching into his throat so he might choke on it.

 She had indeed lain out the pallet and blankets to accommodate the both of them.  She was also wearing little more than her skin.  He had vague memories of the sleeveless shift she had on-- the rainstorm, he thought, but he’d been quite drunk that night, and couldn’t be sure-- that let light through enough to see the cream of her skin through the pale lace and silk.  Her arms were covered in gooseflesh. She was probably freezing.  Even so, one of her hands was slowly sliding a lace strap down the round of her shoulder, widening the half-moon of skin below the nape of her neck.

 In a rush, he caught her hand, trapping it between his and her shoulder.  She looked up at him, bemused and a bit pensive.

Oh.

Oh.

 “... No, darlin’.  That… that ain’t what I meant.” He swallowed around a suddenly very dry throat, “... I jus’... I jus’ meant to sleep.  Together, wit’ you.  An’ uh… well, I thought I might hold you…?”

 “...I see…” She looked to the side, a wry smile on her face, and Arthur knew she was either chastising or laughing at herself.  Then she met his eyes again, “Are you sure?”

 “W--”

 “--I mean that if you had intended somewhat more, I would not think the advance improper.  You do not have to fabricate--”

 “--I ain’t fabricatin’ anything, m--Catherine.” He shook his head, thoughts whirling frantically, “I jus’ want some sleep.”

 Both her brows raised as she continued looking at him over her shoulder, and her mouth formed a small moue, “Just some sleep…”

 “Yes..?” This hadn’t been a good idea.  Already large parts of him were judging the best way to retreat while conserving the greatest portion of his dignity.

 “... Alright,” She blessedly relented, holding up both hands with a shrug, “you can put your clothes over there…”

 “... What?” He stared after her as she pulled back the woolen blanket, clearly with the intention of slipping under it.

 She huffed a quiet laugh, “There’s no need for a fuss, Arthur.   It’s cold enough for you to wear a union suit underneath, isn’t it?”

 Setting his jaw, he narrowed his eyes at her, “What if I ain’t wearin’ one?”

 “Then I guess you’ll have to square with sleeping naked here or clothed back in your own tent,” She smiled at him brightly, shrugging a shoulder, “But you are not climbing into my pallet with your dirty clothes on.”

 He was tired, and anxious, and the note of finality in her voice brooked no argument or negotiation-- especially with how she pulled the blanket up around herself with her back turned.

 So he just… began taking off his clothes, starting with his boots, “Y’know, some men might consider this an unreasonable imposition, Miss Schofield.” He muttered over his shoulder.

 “I know,” He heard the smile in her voice, “but I wouldn’t pass the night with such men of my own volition.”

 “And what happens if I’ve got to get up in a hurry?  Someone comes snoopin’ around?”

 “I have full confidence in your abilities to defend the camp in your underthings or even in the nude, Arthur.”

 “Sure.  Fine. But you think them fools are talkin’ now…”

 She laughed quietly, “You can tell them I was being unreasonable.”

 Heat coiled through his belly, and Arthur wasn’t sure whether she’d meant for there to be a double-meaning to her words or not.  He finished undressing, carefully laying out a revolver where he might reach it in the dark without a belt and holster on.

 “Leave the light on.” Was her quiet instruction, that made him wonder how closely she was listening to him, or if she’d been peeking over her shoulder.  Otherwise he wasn’t sure how she’d known he was reaching for the lantern.

 “You sure?”       “Yes.  It’ll help when one of us wakes, confused about where we are.”

 “Alright…”  He looked at her, then at the pallet laid out, “... How you wanna do this?”

 “Lie down like you would if you were alone.”

 “Usually on my back…”

 “I know.”

 His brow furrowed, “... You sure it’s alright?  Gonna take up a lot of room...”

 “Just lie down, Arthur.”

 Taking a deep breath, the outlaw complied, settling himself down on the pallet.  As he settled in, the lady turned and started spreading the blanket over his legs.  Then she looked down at him, “I’m on your right side now. Is that alright, or do you want me on the left?”

 “Yer fine wherever you like, Catherine,” He told her softly.

 Giving a small smile, she laid herself down next to him while he watched, drinking in her nonchalant grace and how casually she submitted her body to him.  Without a second’s hesitation, she pressed close, tucking her front against his side so that her head rested on his shoulder, like he wasn’t a barely-washed outlaw.  Once she was settled in position, he felt and heard her quietly let out her breath, and every muscle in her body relaxed, yielding herself utterly, as if in full trust in him.

 It was beautiful, and perfect.

 But Arthur could not relax.  His heart still raced, and his thoughts tumbled recklessly.  He let them wander, crashing around in his skull, because if he tried to corral them, they’d focus on how Catherine had been prepared to lie with him even more intimately.

 On how that revelation caused heat and tension to pool relentlessly between his hips.  How her figure folded so neatly against him, and his arm around her, and the smell of her all around him only intensified that insistent, foolish line of tension.  How her hand resting on his chest felt equal parts possessive and trusting, and how much he wanted to surrender himself to it like a paltry offering. Weeks ago, he’d known himself to be a man half-conquered.  He wondered if it was more than half, now.

 He wondered if he was completely in her possession.  He wondered what that meant.  If it was a good thing. For anybody.

 “You’re very tense,” He heard the lady murmur gently, and Arthur wondered how long he’d been lying there, sleepless and harried and achingly hard.

 “Sorry.” He whispered back.

 Her hand brushed lightly across his chest, “Are you uncomfortable?”

 “I’m alright.”

 She hummed softly to herself, “What are you worrying at, then?”

 “Nothin’ in particular.” He lied, and hoped she didn’t catch him in it.

 When she didn’t reply, he figured she’d gone back to sleep, so he closed his eyes and told himself he could do the same.  After a few minutes of trying to convince his body to unclench, he felt her index finger make indistinct circles, gently against the wool of his union suit, her hand still resting on his chest, “Everyone is very excited about this lead Mister Bell proposed…”

 “Sure.  Folks get restless-- especially fools like the Callander brothers and Williamson.” He mumbled back.

 “Mac and Bill were joking about some kind of killing competition… Is the mark going to be heavily guarded?”

 Arthur sighed, uninterested in the subject at the moment, “Might be.  Train load of money for the banks out this way, for the winter.”

 “Are you going to catch it around Armadillo, again?”

 “Seems to be the plan.  You worried?”

 “... No.  I’m sure you’ll handle the business well enough.”

 “I’ll do my best, anyway.” He answered, running the hand of the arm around her gently up the side of her arm in what he hoped was somewhat reassuring.

 She lay quiet a moment, seeming to think this over, “Do you suppose then we’ll have enough money to go to California, like Dutch has been saying?”

 “Oh, I dunno.  You’d have to ask Dutch…”

 “We both know he won’t tell me,” Catherine gave a delicate snort, “He hardly gives me any clear idea of direction, much less details.”

 Grimacing, unwilling to try and unpack or explore that, Arthur offered a neutral, “Sure…”

 Suddenly, she propped up on her elbow, and Arthur looked up at her studying his face with her pale eyes, “... What do you think about it?”

 “About California?” He smiled wryly and shrugged, “Seems as good a place as any other, I reckon.”

 “Do you suppose anything will change when we get there?”

 Blinking at her, Arthur noted the faint tension in her brow, “I couldn’t say, Catherine…  Dutch says we’ll get some land and keep to ourselves.”

 “I know what Dutch says, but it sounds like something he’s probably said before.  But I wasn’t here before. You were.”

 “... Well, I mean, there was this place he was looking at a little before he brought you to us.  But he didn’t buy it. Never found out why. We had to move on after that.” Then he knit his own brow at her, “Why?  What’re you houdin’ after?”

 Her eyes had drifted away from his face, and she was looking at the canvas beyond him.  The outlaw could almost see the thoughts ticking furiously in her head. Finally she looked at him again, “... I think nothing will ever change, Arthur.  I don’t think California will be any different.”

 “You never know…”

 She shook her head, the length of her plait snaking over her shoulder and falling heavily in a loop, “I don’t believe California will offer what Mister van der Linde is looking for.  Even if it provides everything the rest of you need, he won’t be content.”

 She was probably right.  Arthur knew from experience how Dutch’s moods could get.  He’d get restless and excited about something or another. Some new truth to champion.  Some new injustice to thwart. Another example to be made. Another enemy to strike down.  It’d been more exciting when he was younger, and though he’d never always bought into all of it, Arthur thought the drama of it was well-worn, now.   There’d seemed everything to gain and nothing to lose back then. Now… now there was a whole group of them. Not just three or four men, but women and a child now too…

 But he didn’t say anything.  He just looked up into Miss Schofield’s beautiful face, wondering what might become of all this-- of them-- and why she was bringing it up now.

 “What if…” She whispered softly, smoothing her hand against his chest, as if feeling out the shape of his muscles there.  Arthur mused idly if she knew how it was torching through his blood, throbbing molten below his guts, “... What if we went on our own?”

 “Alone?” Arthur frowned, “... That ain’t a good idea…”

 The lady popped up, supporting herself with her hand instead of her elbow, though her other hand remained where it was, “Why do you say so?”

 “Dutch always said--”

 “--I don’t care what Dutch thinks about it,” She interjected quickly, “I want to know what Arthur thinks about it.”

 He blinked at her, feeling his chest clench up, stuttering the breath from his lungs as her hand started drifting down over his ribs and toward his belly.  He could tell there wasn’t any intent in the touch-- it seemed, after all, that she was pulling her hand away from him in a slow and casual way.

 “So think about it.  I’ll ask again later.”

 “... Okay…”

 Suddenly her hand froze, over the middle of his belly where the wool of his union suit had pulled away from his skin like a tent canvas to accommodate the problematic bulging and protrusion further down.   Staring at her face, which had turned to look at where her hand was resting, Arthur only had a thimble’s full of hope she hadn’t noticed. Then she returned his look with a small, knowing smile, and that hope evaporated.

 “... I… Pardon me--”

 Her tone was impossibly kind, “--It’s fine, Arthur.”

 “... It’s… I ain’t--”

 “--I know you cannot help it.  You don’t have to apologize.”

 Sighing, utterly embarrassed and disgusted with himself, he insisted, “... I really didn’t come here for that.”

 She laughed quietly, “I believe you.  But a man is entitled to change his mind…”

 With a frown and a snort, Arthur told her, “Ain’t worth troubling over.”

 “It will help you relax…” She said it like an invitation and an indisputable fact both.

 That was probably true.  Didn’t make it a good idea.  No matter how every part of him was eagerly on fire over it.  He was surprised, in fact, just how furiously he did burn.  After all, he’d buried these urges years ago, in heartache, regret, and bitterness, and they’d rested quietly since.  But with Miss Schofield unearthing them, somehow they were just as potent and foolhardy as he remembered. There was no hope of sleeping now.  Had there ever been, here in this tent with her? Or had he merely tricked himself into thinking so?

 His eyes were drawn from the cool patience in her expression, down, along the pale column of her throat, over the delicate contours of her collarbones where he yearned to press soft kisses (and which he would undoubtedly spend hours and pages trying to reproduce in his journal), and the heavily shadowed hints of lace-covered breast and belly…

��She knew he was looking-- had to know, seeing as her eyes hadn’t left his face-- and yet she did not protest or say or do anything but remain still and let him look.  She neither encouraged or discouraged her suggestion, and seemed instead insistent on letting him make up his own mind.

‘What you want has… become important to me.’

 Despite his protests that she do otherwise, she was still trying to give him what he wanted.  Well, there were a lot of things he wanted-- especially at this moment, blazing with lust-- none of them he likely deserved.

 But for certain, “... I don’t want to make a mess of things.  Or hurt you. Or make problems for you-- well, more than I’ve already done…”

 She moved her hand, then, bringing it up from his belly to caress the side of his face, “How do you suppose you’d manage that?” Was her gentle question.

 Taking a breath, attempting to steady himself, he replied, “By gettin’ you wit’ child, fer a start…”

 Strange, that the lightning in his pulse was strong enough to keep at bay-- if only for the moment--the floor-dropping, quiet, horror and self-loathing that always accompanied the acknowledgement that he could produce, and      had     produced, an innocent child.

 She gave a quiet laugh, “Oh, well, I suppose there is always that dreadful fate…”

 “It’s happened before.”

 His words or tone, or both, doused her mirth, but it was neither shock nor horror that replaced it.  Instead, he recognized that quiet, warm, ever-patient look she’d given many others. It was a look that invited him to bare the ruin of his soul to her, knowing she would listen and not judge, and it devastated him just as completely as he’d reckoned it would.

 But he did not tell her more about Eliza or Issac.  Not now. He knew he would, eventually, but there was too much else rampaging through him that to try and draw together words to do them justice was impossible.

 Leaning down, Catherine pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips and said, “If that is your concern, do not be troubled.  I am well-educated in how I might prevent an unwanted consequence. Besides, please do remember that I can provide you relief without risk at all.”

 There was that ‘please’, again, driving through his chest like a railroad spike, splintering whatever was left of his pragmatic sense…

 “I don’ think there’s any such thing,” He groaned quietly, against her lips after leaning up to capture them again, “as ‘relief’ when it comes to you, darlin’...”

 “You poor thing,” he felt the curling smile against his lips while she murmured in answer, “It won’t do any harm to try anyway, don’t you think?”

 Admittedly, he wasn’t doing much thinking.  All he knew was that he was kissing her, and drowning in the scent of wildflowers, and if his heart gave out from all the trampling around his ribcage, it’d be the sweetest death anybody could hope for.  His right hand came up, sliding along the delicate line of her back through the silk and lace. Parts of him longed to pull her close against him, but would just as soon crush a delicate bloom in his hand as force her down on him if she didn’t offer it herself.  But while his hand travelled carefully up her back, hers moved more confidently down his front until he felt her stroke lightly the length of the tentpole in his union suit, and his breath caught, clattering, in his throat.

 “Steady…” She whispered, breaking the kiss, “Breathe.”

 Confused, Arthur furrowed his brow at her, wondering what she was talking about with such a soft demeanor, “W-what?”

 “Focus on your breathing,” She gave him a small smile, “So I don’t have to scrub a mess out of your union suit later…”

 He chuckled, but a part of him inside burned with embarrassment, or offense, or something between the two, “... You think I made it this long without knowin’ how t’keep my composure?”

 The smile melted from her face, and Arthur watched the lady’s pale eyes search him, trying to read him.  Then she cocked an eyebrow and said quietly, “In most cases, I suspect you very much have full control of your faculties, Arthur.  But I tell you from experience: that all goes out the window once a lady has a hand on your cock.”

 Laughing in earnest this time, burying the sound into the side of her throat, leaning up, Arthur was unable to contradict her, “... I ain’t ever livin’ that down, am I…”

 “I’m not trying to humiliate you,” She whispered, removing her hand from his chest to thread her fingers through his hair-- but she did not pull him away from her neck, so Arthur continued pressing kisses there against the delicate skin, “I really do want you to focus on your breathing.  I can make it wonderful…”

 “It’s already wonderful.”

 “Trust me.”

 He did, he supposed.  Still... “... You want me t’jus’ lie here an’ breathe?  I’m kinda liking what else I’m doin’, in fairness…”

 “No,” The outlaw felt the quiet chuckle in her throat more than he heard the sound, “You don’t have to stop if you don’t want to.”

 Humming his acknowledgement, tracing his lips lightly down a prominent tendon toward her collarbone, the fingertips of his right hand had just found the nape of her neck, and his left hand found a rather natural place to rest at the side of her waist.  It was nothing new to take the lady by the waist, as he’d done on numerous occasions-- the neat, snatched curve fit his hand easily, and made for a good anchor point from which to lift or direct her physically when needed--but he was surprised to find her so soft and slender without her corset.   Without the whalebone and confusingly numerous layers she wore, Arthur was rather startled by how slight she was under his hands.  He suddenly felt awkwardly large by comparison.

 Her fingers had left his hair-- something he decided he would miss unless she did it again-- and both hands met in the center of his chest, “Will you be cold if I undo your buttons?” she asked, still whispering.

 “No,” Was his admission, murmured into the hollow between her clavicles where he breathed deep of her wildflower scent.  His rampaging heart had him burning up in his wool suit under the wool blanket, “What about you? You warm enough in this… what is this anyway?”

 “They’re called ‘combinations’,” Was her helpful answer as her fingers busied themselves efficiently at his centerline, undoing each button with ease, “And I am now with you.  You put out heat like a stove, Arthur.”

 “Happy to be of service,” He smiled, sliding his fingertips carefully from the nape of her neck to her jawline and chin so he could tip her face down to drink her up in another kiss.  It was a hard sell for him to accept he could, in truth, be anything but a burden (if not an outright menace) for her, but he was coming to the conclusion that at the very least, she liked the way he kissed her.  Especially when she seemed to hesitate every time in whatever else she might be trying to do, like she’d forgotten just what it was in the moment. A paltry victory, probably, in the face of how she managed to stampede over him with every look, word, smile, and touch.

 But it gave him an excuse to kiss those full, sweet lips more often.  A particularly wicked part of him took extra pleasure in the way her breathing caught, in what he imagined was an expression of affront to her more delicate sensibilities, whenever he slipped his tongue to mingle with hers.

 He was so secretly pleased with the reaction, in fact, that he didn’t realize she’d managed to finish unbuttoning his union suit until he felt her shifting her weight and then her ladylike hands-- still soft despite the callouses she’d industriously made for herself over the last few months-- sliding along the bare skin of his belly, up over his ribs, raking through the trail of short, coarse hair curling there.  He hadn’t noticed, either, that his other hand had left the relative safety of her waist and slid up her ribcage so that her movement had slipped the swell of one breast to be momentarily cupped in the span between forefinger and thumb. Arthur froze, unsure, pulling away from the kiss to watch the lady’s expression, the apology already on his tongue.

 She laughed softly and shook her head, “Touch them.  Touch everything. Whatever you want.”

 “I… I didn’t want to presume--” It was amazing how fast her nimble little hand could move from the top of his chest to cupping his privates, skin to skin this time.

 “Touch me.  I’m going to touch you.”

 Arthur needed no further encouragement.  Both hands moved, seeking out the lines of her his pencil had all but memorized.  He marveled again at how slender she seemed in his grasp. But his fingers sketched along the lines of lean muscle in her back and along her ribs before his thumbs sculpted lightly toward her sternum and he palmed both breasts through the silk and lace, noting their firmness and weight.   He noted too, how breathless she seemed when he seized her mouth again.

 Meanwhile her hand had circled his girth and was making long, smooth strokes.  Fire churned in his guts while a groan scrambled gracelessly up his throat and through his mouth into hers.

 “Breathe…” She reminded him with a soft kiss, so gentle and sweet he shivered under the kindness he knew in his bones he didn’t deserve.  The knowledge kept the frustration at bay.

 He breathed, trying desperately to turn his thoughts away from how badly the twisting, screaming knots in his guts wanted to release.   He wasn’t a young man anymore! He had no business feeling this green! He was no blushing virgin, no wet-behind-the-ears whelp. He knew how to handle himself!  He’d bedded women before!

 … Well.  Admittedly, he could count the amount of times on one hand.  The amount of times sober were even fewer. He only remembered two of their names.

 He’d never lain with any of them a second time.  He’d never asked. They’d never offered…

 Well.  Except now here was Catherine-- three, that was three of them he remembered, now-- and here she had him full-aware that as he exited his mid-thirties that he had little more experience in loving a woman than he’d had as a young buck half that age.

 What was he doing here?  Wasting her ti--

 She kissed him, suddenly hard and fiery, and pulled away just as abruptly, leaving him spinning while she rested her weight on his chest with her other forearm.

 “Wandering off by yourself, Arthur?” She grinned at him, sly playfulness curling her lips as her hand gentled at his hair.  Her grip remained firm at his cock, pumping faster.

 She’d known.  He wondered if it was his face that’d given him away?  “‘M’sorry…”

 “There are two buttons there on the front center of my combinations.  Small and white. Maybe you’d like to undo them?”

 “I… suppose-- I… Catherine…”

 “Yes?”

 “... I know I ain’t no good…  You don’ have t’be nice about it…”

 She blinked at him, something vaguely patient and amused in her expression, but something darker flickered in the shadows of her moonlight eyes, “...Few men are, sweetheart.  I’m sure you tell each other differently. It’s like anything: it takes intention and practice if you want to do it well. It’s a skill you can learn and master, if you want to.”

 “Is that right…?” He mumbled, but thinking about it, why would it be different from anything else?

 “Don’t get all twisted up about what you ‘ought’ to be doing.   You’re already doing everything I’ve asked you to,” She told him gently, tilting her face to one side to press a soft kiss over the scar on his chin, “The rest is just what you’d like to do.  Would you like to see my breasts?”

 “I… sure…”

 “Then get those buttons I told you about open,” She smiled, “and you’ll get your chance.”

 He chuckled, sliding his hands from where they’d been exploring the small of her spine up her sides and over her shoulders to meet at her chest, “My second chance, you mean..?”

 In his peripheral as he sought out the little white buttons hidden in the lace, Arthur saw the lady’s fine eyebrows crash together and a small frown cinch her lips, red from kissing.  He was about to remind her of the first occasion, amused that he remembered and she didn’t (though, given the circumstance, he supposed she could be forgiven for not remembering, how much pain she’d been in).

 But then she blushed, “... Oh!  I… I suppose you’re right…”

 Arthur couldn’t help it.  The quiet laughter was slipping out around his clenched jaws already.  How silly. This proud lady not batting an eyelash at sharing her bed with a reprobate like him, her hand stroking him iron hard, but embarrassed at the recollection that he’d already seen her bare breasts in an occasion she barely recollected.  How needlessly complex the modesty of a lady! Cupping her lovely face with a hand, he kissed her again, slow and warm, in the hopes of mollifying the tightening lines of ire around her pale eyes.

 The buttons gave him something to concentrate on, besides breathing steady and the awareness that he was completely unworthy to be where he was, doing what he was doing.  They were tiny and round, and slipped easily out of his shaking fingers. But there were only two of them, thankfully, and then the silk and lace split in the center in a slender ‘V’ of pale skin over her sternum all the way to her waist.  If he pushed the material to both sides, opening it further, it would reveal her chest fully, just as she’d said.

Steady.  Breathe.  With a gentle touch, he parted the opening on one side, sliding his fingers over the top of her breast, above the budding, rosy nipple.  Gooseflesh rose at the brush of his fingertips, and it was that that forced another groan around his clenched teeth.  That and how Catherine’s hand had slowed, wringing fire through his guts with long, firm, deliberate strokes.

 “Pretty soon, I think…” She murmured above his head as he buried his face in that widened ‘V’ of exposed skin to press more heated kisses, his other arm wrapping around her back.  She moved then, within his grasp, sliding a leg over her arm and his waist, so that she was no conger half-reclined at his right, but now all but sitting astride him. Her fingers returned to his hair, guiding him with her as she sat back, so he could continue to press kisses, dropping his free elbow behind him to support his weight, “... Arthur, do you want me to take you in me?”

 “Huh?” Slowly, he tilted his head back to look at her.  Blood was roaring in his ears, so he wasn’t sure he’d heard, much less understood her, clearly.

 “I’m sure I could fit you, if you wanted...”

 “‘Fit’ me?”

 “Well, if this other woman could, I don’t see why I couldn’t try…”

Oh.  His teeth ground together, struggling to keep his focus.  Steady.  Breathe.   Just the thought of being inside Miss Catherine-Louise Schofield had him shuddering at the brink of his control.

 It must have shown on his face, again, “I’ll be careful.  If it’s what you want.”

 It was.  Christ Almighty, it was, he realized.  There wasn’t anything at all wrong with what magic she was working with her hand, and even though it had him half-spooked what might happen-- what consequences might crash in on them-- Arthur wanted her core clenched around him and her arms wrapped around his neck, riding him into the sunrise, drinking the breath from his lungs with her kisses.

 It’s what he’d wanted since the time he’d seen her bent over Dutch’s little table, eyes and expression infinitely distant.  Not like now, where there was something quiet and warm in her small smile, and her eyes were alert, focused, and shone with pleasure-- at him or just herself, he couldn’t tell.  He nodded, jaw aching from the force he was putting on it.

 “Alright.  Give me just a moment…”

 Her hand changed over his cock, and she shifted again, exhaling steadily, the focused expression intensifying on her face.  It was then that Arthur understood fully what she’d said and what she was doing. He was not alone in the observation that she was so slender and delicate compared to him.  Also, it seemed her ‘combinations’ split in the middle, because he could feel the brush of her skin and then the moist kiss of her labia...

 “D-darlin’, don’t hurt yourself---fffnnn…” Wet heat enveloped the sensitive head of his manhood, where it was met with resistance.   But not even a moment later, Catherine exhaled, and inch by glorious inch, he was wrapped up by her body as he slid deeper inside her.  Their eyes locked, and something that had started growing up from his loins bloomed in Arthur’s chest, warm and bright, and his only recourse was to pull her against him, cupping her face with a hand to kiss her.

 “...Y’alright?” He whispered, feeling the tension in her neck and shoulders.

 She nodded, her smile somewhat wry, “... Yes.  You?”

 “Yes,” He chuckled, resting his forehead against hers, “You’re incredible, darlin’...”  He meant it.  A part of him was shocked by how much he did mean it.

 “Oh, I know better, Mister Morgan,” She teased with a playful smile, pressing her hands against his shoulders to lay him back and giving her hips an experimental roll while still gripping him tightly within herself.  Arthur’s mind reeled with pleasure and threatened to buckle entirely, “A man is always so full of compliments in the bedroom…”

 He had no reply, but found his hands in the place where her waist blended into her hips, and he struggled against the urge to grip hard.  He didn’t want to leave bruises. He didn’t want to hurt her. Especially not while she was making him feel so amazingly good.  She moved again, setting up a languid, relaxed rhythm, and it was simplicity itself to match her, rolling his hips up to meet hers while she rode him.  Inside, each stroke seemed to drive him deeper and infinitely deeper into her softness, with heat matching what swelled inside himself, while she squeezed around him just strong enough to be felt.  He ached for release, and bit it back. His fingers twitched needily into her flesh.

 When he broke their shared rhythm with a low groan and a curse, Catherine only smiled and adjusted to meet him at this faster, decidedly much more desperate one.

 “Come on then,” she said gently, resting more of her weight on her hands at his shoulders and arching her back to free her hips and legs, “come on.”

 Arthur’s mind did buckle then, and his hands grew rougher, pulling her down onto him as he bucked up into her, even as she rolled her lower half to meet his thrusts.  His eyes drank in the way her firm breasts bounced as if to echo each slap of flesh meeting flesh, and the flushed skin across her face and down her throat.  The way her kiss-swollen lip had been drawn between her teeth, just a little. Her moonlight eyes locked on his face, watching him watch her through a glaze of lust and ecstasy.   Admiring her work, perhaps?

 Part of him liked it-- liked the idea of her examining and commanding him like a plaything, her plaything-- and he shuddered deep inside at the thrill.  But another part didn’t like it at all-- didn’t like how it separated them so neatly-- because after all, if he was her plaything, didn’t that make her his plaything?  Again, he was reminded of the glint of Dutch’s rings in the lamplight, and the dark, uncaring eyes.  Of Catherine standing at the edge of the ridge with her hair blowing free in the wind, under the moonlight, confessing that she knew she was being used, and had been raised to accept it.

 No.  It wasn’t like that.

 Surging up, he moved both hands, one to reach back and support him, the other to pull her in to meet his kiss, deep and hard, as if through it he might communicate what she meant to him, and what them together like this meant to him, in a way he’d never find words for.  By force of necessity, their rhythm adjusted once more, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and ground herself against him.

 “What’s wrong?” She whispered.  Instead of answering, he dropped his mouth under her jaw, pressing a line of heated, open-mouth kisses.

 She clenched around him, and he shivered, the rest of his willpower beginning to rapidly crumble, “C-Catherine…”

 “I know.” Was her gentle response, “Whenever you’re ready.  Shall I come off of you?”

 No.  Yes.

 Yes, definitely.  No matter how much he wanted to stay buried in her and tangled up in her for the rest of his days…

 It seemed only an instant passed, and yet it was an instant that stretched a thousand years, but he was freed from the confines of her core, only to be nestled securely between their bodies, burning like a brand between their bellies.  He hardly had space to acknowledge the transition before the fire spilled over inside him, and he shuddered his release with a groan into the side of her throat while the world flashed blinding white for another too-short eternity.

 Then it passed, and like every other time before it, the self-conscious shame crashed in through every window and door, chasing tension through his spine and limbs and twisting sour illness through his guts.  Just what in this whole damn world did he think gave him the right to--

 “Shh.” Catherine’s gentle admonishment was accompanied by her fingers dragging through his hair, nails gently running against his scalp so that he wanted to arch into it like a great cat. “Whatever you’re thinking just now: stop it.  Everything is fine. You conducted yourself commendably. You’re a lovely man and it was a pleasure to lie with you.”

 Closing his eyes, Arthur breathed in the wildflower scent of her skin, noting the heady, musky smell of sex that joined it, “... If you say so…”

 “I do say so.  Should we lie down properly again so you can get some sleep, now?”

 Exhaustion was pulling at him with a strong, steady draw, “... Suppose we ought to… Did I make a mess?”

 “Only a bit, sweetheart.  It’ll wipe up easy enough.  Let me get my handkerchief over there…”

 She wiped up his bare belly, and the bit of her silk and lace that had been spattered, assuring him that it would wash out fine, before wiping clean his sensitive manhood that was rapidly tucking itself back into its foreskin.  Then, tossing away the soiled handkerchief again with a smile, the lady laid him down and snuggled up against him once more. It seemed to Arthur he fell soundly asleep the moment her hand returned to the center of his chest, like it might be a millstone plunging him into the dreamless waters of oblivion.

 He woke slowly, hearing the impatient, not-too-distant stamping of horses, hungry for breakfast and the scarce twitterings of birds that opted to linger during the winter months.  But it was movement that had drawn him to wakefulness, and his eyes opened to discover Miss Schofield attempting to slip out from under his arm.

 “Mornin’...” He offered in a thick whisper, causing her to turn her head, giving him a horrifyingly embarrassed look before covering it with a warm smile, whispering back,

 “Good morning.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you…”

 “‘S alright…” Indeed, he was feeling admittedly better than he had in weeks, and it was…

 … It was really nice to see her first thing in the morning, a little rumpled and soft before she put herself together in her layers and pins for the day.

 “... Suppose I should get up an’ dressed anyway before someone asks why the horses ain’t fed yet…”

 “Assuming they don’t notice your tent is empty…?” She prompted with a smile.

 “Ah… yeah.” He wasn’t too worried.  The camp was quiet. It must still be early enough nobody else was awake, “... You want we should keep this to ourselves?”

 Her smile widened, “As opposed to shouting from the top of the wagons how we spent our evening?  I don’t think that’s either of our way…”

 “Well, no… I mean…” He furrowed his brow, unable to fight the amused smile, “I just… I dunno if you want them findin’ out you laid down with sour ol’ Arthur…”

 She slapped a hand to her cheek, feigning horror, “Oh my Heavens, you’re right!  They might just start thinking I’m some sly Jezebel!  Some faithless, Godless, shameless whore!”

 Scowling, he sat up, taking hold of both wrists and pulling them toward him, firmly in his seriousness, but not rough, “Now, that’s enough of that sort of talk.  You know what I mean…”

 “No, Arthur, really.  You’re the one with a reputation to lose.  I’m already soiled goods--”

 “--Now stop that, I mean it, Catherine.”

 She sighed and leaned forward, kissing him on the corner of his chin, “So do I.  The men respect you. I don’t know how much that might change if they know. I don’t care what they think of me, but I know this gang is very important to you.”

 Arthur, for his part, was fairly certain they wouldn’t believe him even if he did let slip what had happened.  He hardly believed it, himself.

 “... We’ll just… see what happens, then.  I guess.”

 “Alright.”

 Turning and beginning the process of buttoning up his union suit again so he could put his clothes back on, Arthur supposed it hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

(There are two things I want to mention here: a) UH... I'm not very experienced in writing publishable smut, so I'm sorry if it's awkward... >>; b) I know there are some rumblings in the fandom complaining about Arthur 'being written as blushing virgin' [as opposed to the more popular/common portrayal of him being a sex god, able to satisfy all our thirsty desires], but I headcanon that he's just... not very experienced.  I know that's not as sexy, and I'm sorry if it's not your jam...  If it's any consolation, he'll get more notches in his belt as the story goes on. [And in theory so will I...?])

[islareeveswriting]

World of Our Own | Harry Styles Uni AU | Chapter 16

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LISTEN TO ISSUES JULIA MICHAELS 'Cause I got issues But you got 'em too So give 'em all to me And I'll give mine to you Bask in the glory Of all our problems 'Cause we got the kind of love It takes to solve 'em

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Word Count 9.8k

For the first time in a long time, Rae wasn’t woken up by the sun, but instead just by her body deciding she’d had enough sleep. The room was still largely dark as she blinked her eyes open. Out of habit she winced in anticipation of bright sunshine streaming through the uncovered velux windows she’d gotten used to in Harry’s room, but she needn’t have. The blackout blinds in this room meant it was bathed in a darkness that would have had Rae believe it was still the middle of the night had the clock on the wall not been telling her otherwise.

It took a second too long for Rae to remember where she was. The dark, and the unfamiliar, bare walls made her heartbeat speed up a little with an ounce of fear as her eyes snapped open. But then she felt him behind her and she calmed instantly as she remembered. She was in Harry’s room. Not the one covered in music posters or littered with plants and records and books, but instead the one he’d grown up in that didn’t let the sun menace her as she woke, and wasn’t home to a muddle of eclectic collections.

Harry’s arm was draped over Rae’s waist lazily. His hand was limp with sleep but his fingertips brushed against her stomach, covered by the Rolling Stones t-shirt of Harry’s that had become more hers than his recently, as she breathed. Slowly, Rae rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the night before slowly dripping back into her mind.

In her head she worked backwards, starting with her and Harry crawling under his duvet whilst The Notebook (because Harry always won) played on his TV, and working back to walking into the pub with Anne. She was sure it hadn’t been the way any of them had planned the evening to go, but her least of all had anticipated sitting down for dinner but never getting to the dinner part. Harry had told her she wouldn’t meet his dad that visit, and she’d accepted that, because he wasn’t ready for that.

Once they’d gotten back to the house, after walking home mostly in silence, arms around one another, Rae didn’t push Harry on any part of the evening. She didn’t ask about his dad, or how he felt about his mum at that time, or about the panic attack. It was so clear it was all that was on his mind, and she just wanted to make him forget about it, just for a little while, so he could at least try and relax. However, as she lay there that morning, his arm draped over his stomach and little puffs of his breath hitting her shoulder, she had so many questions.

Harry had never really opened up about his dad or the relationship he had with him. All Rae knew was the skeleton story Harry had given her. It was void of Harry’s feelings about the whole thing, it was a bullet point presentation of what had happened and nothing else. It was clear to Rae now though, that Harry had a lot of overwhelming feelings about his dad and she wanted to help him. All she wanted was to make it better, but she wasn’t convinced Harry would let her.

The panic attack had scared her. She acted calm and collected, talked like she knew what she was doing, but she hadn’t a clue and it frightened her. She’d never seen anyone like that, unable to breathe despite the rapid breathing they were doing, eyes completely hidden by tears and virtually shaking with what was racing through them. The fact it was Harry she was witnessing in that state, somehow made her feel worse about it, and the only reason she could find for it was because she’d never cared for someone the way she cared for Harry.

Rae sighed to herself and unpeeled Harry’s arm from her as carefully and quietly as she could, sneaking out from underneath him before letting him get comfortable again and placing a kiss against his head. Lying there thinking about it wasn’t doing anyone any favours, so she decided she’d creep downstairs, make coffee and they could start the morning the way they always did, and go from there. Rae knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore it forever, but she also knew Harry would be able to make her think he could.

Rae tiptoed from the bedroom in Harry’s t-shirt and the underwear she had on underneath. The house was silent, literally, there wasn’t a sound, even from outside, so she crept down the stairs just as quietly as she’d snuck away from Harry. A few of the stairs creaked under her feet and she winced each time until she was in the hallway and shuffling towards the kitchen.

The door was shut so she pushed it slowly open, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sight of Anne sat at the breakfast bar, facing the now open door.

‘Oh sorry love, didn’t mean to scare you.’ Anne grinned, but Rae could see it was a little forced. She looked exhausted. Her hair was clipped up messily in a giant crocodile clip and her eyes were dark, framed by equally dark circles. She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink and as she yawned, pulling her fluffy blue dressing gown further around her body, Rae thought maybe she hadn’t.

‘It’s ok, I didn’t realise you were up.’ Rae smiled back, her voice quiet and a little croaky as the first words of the day rose up her throat and fell out of her mouth. ‘I was just going to make coffee.’ Rae informed Anne, hesitating by the cupboards as she tried to guess where the mugs might be.

‘That’s ok, I’ll do it you take a seat.’ Anne offered standing from the stool and opening the last cupboard Rae would have gone for to retrieve two mugs.

‘You don’t have to do that, let me.’ Rae tried to insist sliding closer to Anne on the tiled floor that was ice cold under her bare feet.

‘No come on, I insist, sit down, you’re a guest.’ Rae laughed and did as she was told, pulling out another stool and sitting herself down. Suddenly, she felt very self conscious in the little clothing she had on as she took Anne in, in her pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. Harry’s t-shirt covered Rae’s modesty just fine, until she sat down and it rose up so it barely covered the black underwear she had on underneath. Rae tugged at the t-shirt, willing it to be longer, she scored another inch, but that was it so decided to just scoot closer to the worktop to hide her bare legs.

‘One for Harry too?’ Anne asked, looking over her shoulder at Rae who just nodded and smiled in response. ‘How is he?’ Anne asked and Rae could hear the slight hesitation in her voice. Rae wondered if she really wanted to know, she knew it wasn’t because Anne didn’t care, but because of the guilt she knew Anne was feeling because she saw it swimming in her eyes over the table the previous night.

‘Still sleeping.’ Rae chirped with a smile.

‘He had a panic attack didn’t he?’ Rae froze, she hadn’t been anticipating that question. How did Anne know that? But then Rae thought about it, of course Anne knew. She probably knew the signs a mile off, she probably saw it coming from a million miles away and that was why she hadn’t hesitated in sending Rae off after him. Then Rae panicked again. Maybe Anne thought she’d been able to see it too, maybe Anne thought Rae knew that Harry used to get panic attacks. When Rae jostled herself from her reeling thoughts, she looked up to Anne staring at her. ‘Rae.’

‘Yeah, he did.’ Rae mumbled before biting her lips together.

‘Oh god.’ Anne breathed turning back to the mugs. Rae heard her take a shaky breath. ‘When was the last time he had one?’ Anne asked quietly. And there it was, the confirmation that Anne had no idea Rae had never seen one of Harry’s panic attacks. Again Rae stayed silent for long enough for Anne to turn to her and push her for an answer.

‘I-I don’t know.’ Rae sighed, shaking her head and playing with her fingers as she looked at Anne. Anne’s eyebrows knitted together, the skin between them creasing. Rae sighed again. ‘I didn’t know Harry got panic attacks until last night.’

‘He hadn’t told you?’ Anne all but gasped, Rae just shook her head. ‘Oh I’m sorry love, I didn’t know.’ Rae shook her head and smiled.

‘Don’t be silly it’s not your fault.’ Rae told Anne honestly. ‘I don’t think he told me because, well by what he said last night, he hasn’t had one this year.’ Rae explained to Anne who’s head dropped immediately.

‘I’m so sorry, I knew it was a bad idea, I knew…’ Anne’s words were running away with her. Rae could see she was getting upset so hopped off the stool to move towards her quickly.

‘Anne, slowdown.’ Rae encouraged reaching for Anne’s arms and sliding her hands down until Anne’s hands were in her own. ‘You did what you thought was best, you shouldn’t blame yourself for how Harry reacted.’

‘I should have known.’ Anne carried on, her voice wobbling a little more than it had been already. ‘There was no way Harry was going to sit down with his dad like that.’

‘Maybe not, but no one was to know he’d react like that either.’ Rae pointed out, but Anne shook her head.

‘I should have done.’ Anne swallowed, looking down at their feet. ‘Harry started getting panic attacks when his dad left the first time, that’s when the anxiety started, it got worse the second time.’ Anne explained and Rae nodded, suddenly understanding, properly, for the first time, better than she had done before, why Harry was so cut off about his dad. ‘It was unfair for me to put him in that situation.’ Rae didn’t know what to say then, any argument she had felt futile after what Anne had told her. So she took a breath and just pulled Anne close.

‘He won’t hold it against you.’ Rae reassured, because she knew that was true at least. ‘Last night was a lot, give him a bit of time.’ Rae suggested and she felt Anne nod as her arms unlaced from around Rae.

‘Thank you love, he’s got a good one with you ey?’ Rae just laughed and let go of Anne too, reversing back towards the stool she’d come from.

‘Do you want me to try talking to him?’ Rae suggested tentatively.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Anne told her as she poured boiling water from the kettle into the two mugs on the work surface.

‘I know.’ Rae shrugged with a smile. ‘But if you think it will help, I can try.’

‘Do you think it will help?’ Anne asked, but Rae shrugged she really didn’t know. There were two possibilities, Harry listened to Rae and considered what she had to say, or he flipped a switch with her the way he had with Anne and Glen the night before. She knew which she’d rather, but deep down she also knew which was more likely, and they didn’t match. ‘Look, only if you want to love, I don’t want it to effect things between you and Harry.’ Rae just nodded and smiled. ‘Coffee for two.’

‘Thank you.’ Rae smiled picking the two mugs up from the side where Anne place them to make it easier for Rae to take them. Anne just nodded before Rae left the kitchen, not quite as silently as she entered it.

Rae was careful not to spill any of the hot drinks onto the cream carpet under her feet as she took the stairs slowly and steadily. Harry’s door was slightly ajar, how she’d left it, as she rounded the bannister towards the bedrooms, but light was creeping out of it, not how she’d left it. Rae budged the door open with her hip, the door swinging open, to reveal Harry sat up in bed, a stony look on his face.

‘Don’t talk to me about it.’ Harry warned immediately and Rae’s smile instantly fell from her face. Harry’s face was hard and he was giving off that cold vibe that she hated, she could see it in his eyes more than anything and that’s what she hated most. ‘I could hear you both talking like I’m a child who needs to be tiptoed around.’

‘That’s not how-’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, there’s nothing to talk about she made a stupid mistake and that’s it, done.’ Harry snapped, his words short and irritable. Harry lifted his hand and swiped it through the air signalling the conversation was done.

‘You need to talk to her Harry.’ Rae pleaded, her voice soft like velvet as it left her mouth, despite the cruel attitude Harry was giving her in return.

‘No I do not.’ Harry insisted, spitting a little as he did so. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, I made my feelings quite clear last night.’ Rae didn’t need reminding of that. The way he’d changed so instantly, hardened with an edge like a shard of broken glass, was frightening. She’d seen him turn once or twice, but never so quickly and never so aggressively. There had been something else there too though, a fragility Rae hadn’t seen from him before, and she saw it chip and break as he got angrier.

‘Well then you need to talk to me.’ Rae went on, refusing to let him run from this. She saw Harry sink back a little, clearly not anticipating that line, his eyes narrowing as he tried to work it out on his own, anticipating her next words, but as always, never getting there first. ‘You never told me you got panic attacks.’

‘Because I don’t.’ Rae rose one eyebrow at him, there was no way he’d forgotten because it was stained on her mind like red wine on a white shirt. ‘I don’t, it was a one off.’ Harry barked. It was clear as day he didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to go into the details, or admit his weakness, but Rae had let him get away with hiding from things before and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

‘And what if it’s not?’ Rae challenged, finally putting the mugs down on his desk, a little forcefully so the liquid waved at the sides and nearly spilled over like a little tsunami of coffee. ‘What if it happens again, like it used to when your dad left.’

‘So she told you.’ Harry groaned, letting his head fall back against the wooden headboard behind him. Rae could see him setting his jaw out of line, his nostrils flaring as he processed the information and realised he had no choice, but to face up to it now.

‘You should have told me.’ Rae pointed out, standing at the edge of the bed, her knees resting against the mattress.

‘I didn’t get a chance.’ Harry argued, loudly, snapping his head back down to look at Rae.

‘You’ve had nine months Harry.’ Rae reminded him. As Harry took Rae in, her dark brown eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted and her voice had risen to match his own tone. Harry knew he owed her an explanation, but the argument felt easier.

‘Not everyone’s like you Rae, not everyone gives all their information in the first two minutes of meeting someone.’ Harry told her, it wasn’t an unfair comment, he didn’t think. Rae was open and forward, she could admit to that. It was one thing that set Harry on edge when they’d first met. Now it was something he loved, then it had been unnerving for him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rae recoiled, clearly a little stung by Harry’s words.

‘It’s not a bad thing so don’t look so hurt.’ Harry snapped. ‘I just mean not everyone’s as open as you, and you know I’m not, why would I tell you about that part of me? It took me a month to even talk to you properly, think about it Rae, why would I want to admit that to you?’ Harry pointed out, his voice getting quieter again as he went on.

‘Ok fine, understood,’ Rae sighed, because when he said it like that she didn’t really have a choice but to understand. Really, she should have seen that coming. ‘But now I know, can’t you help me understand a bit better.’ Rae all but begged crawling onto the end of the bed and sitting back on her heels. ‘Last night was horrible for me Harry, I didn’t have a clue what was going on, I didn’t know what to do, it was scary.’ Rae’s voice was quiet and Harry saw her swallow on nothing as she remembered the events from the previous evening.

Harry felt something close to guilt. He hadn’t been able to see it at the time, his vision had been stolen by the unrelenting, flooding of tears he couldn’t even try to control. But as Rae sat at the end of his bed and told him how she’d felt as Harry went into unprecedented and unforgiving panic, he saw the fear in her eyes. It was just a glimmer in that moment, so he could only imagine how it would have burned in her eyes at the time. It didn’t feel nice.

‘Well you coped pretty well considering.’ Harry smiled, but Rae rose an eyebrow at him again, and Harry sighed, nodding, because now wasn’t the time for roundabout compliments that acted as a shield for what was really going on. ‘Ok yes, I realise why I should have told you, but that’s it you know now, there’s nothing more to say.’ Harry told her, reaching out for her and making grabby hands, but Rae kept her distance for a second.

‘There is-’

‘Well not now, please.’ Harry cut in, begging with more than just his voice, his eyes too. Rae just stared at Harry, she wanted more than that, but she didn’t know what to say. She could see he was tired, he looked as tired as Anne had, maybe a little more, the only difference was Rae knew Harry had slept. ‘Rae, I promise you, I will tell you, I will talk to you about it, I promise, just not now.’ Harry told her, eyes as sincere as Rae was sure they could be. ‘I have got a pounding headache, there you go that’s part of it, I get the worst headaches the next day,’ Rae huffed a sort of laugh as Harry offered her a lopsided smile before continuing. ‘I just want to sit in bed with you for a bit, drink mum’s shit instant coffee and plan what we’re going to do today.’ Harry bargained.

‘Harry, you are a coffee snob.’ Rae giggled turning back around, deciding to take Harry’s promise as what it was and leave it there, to get the coffees again.

‘Speaking of which, I want to take you to the best cafe later.’ Rae turned to Harry’s beaming face and it made her glad she’d decided to accept Harry’s promise, despite the nagging need at the back of her mind to know more.

‘The best cafe?’ Rae smirked sarcastically. ‘I think you’ll find the best cafe is the Three Monkeys in West End.’ Rae informed him, thinking back to the cute bohemian cafe her and Essie frequented whenever Rae went to visit.

‘West End?’ Harry asked confused, and Rae chuckled forgetting for a second that Harry didn’t know the place. By that point, he felt so intertwined her life that, sometimes she forgot he didn’t know all the details.

‘Yeah, suburb in Brisbane, it’s great though, you’ll like it.’ Rae smiled, looking forward to sharing her patch with him as she handed Harry one of the still steaming mugs.

‘I’m sure it’s great but it’s not as good as Peppers.’ Harry told her like it was gospel, a smug look on his face that she’d have wanted to slap away had it not been him and had it not made her feel a little flustered as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

‘Well I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’ Rae giggled as she crawled across the bed next to Harry careful not to spill any of her drink. ‘So that’s the grand plan is it, coffee, get ready, more coffee?’ Rae asked, carefully lifting the cup to her mouth, realising it was too hot instantly as it stung her lip and blowing against the liquid.

‘Sounds perfect doesn’t it?’ Harry smirked and Rae nodded as she sipped, again, but more tentatively this time. ‘Can you imagine if we weren’t both coffee people?’

‘Would be terrible wouldn’t it?’ Rae breathed, a faux-shocked tone to her voice, like that was the most ridiculous thing she could think of. Harry nodded with a humoured, playful smile pulling at his lips that made Rae giggle and drop the act for a second.

‘Just awful.’ They both fell into giggles as Harry continued. ‘Tea’s better up here than it is in Brighton though, must be something about the water.’ Harry announced, dipping his brow a little as he thought about it, and once the giggling had ceased.

‘You think tea in Brighton is shit, wait til we get to mum and dads.’ Rae challenged. ‘That I will win.’ Rae grimaced. She hadn’t missed the bore water from the farm that often tasted just a little too stale for her liking.

‘You can keep that one love, don’t want the award for worst tea.’ Harry told her, Rae chuckled, blowing on the mug of coffee before taking another sip. Harry took a large mouthful of his, proving, that as Rae had guessed, he had an iron stomach, before he swung his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close to his body as they sipped at their morning coffee, that wasn’t quite to Harry’s standards, and let themselves sink into the day.

At some point in the morning, after Rae had showered and she was padding around Harry’s room still at a little damp, with only a towel wrapped around her, Anne shouted out to say she was popping out for lunch. Rae responded with a generic, polite response, and waited for Harry’s voice to sing around the house, but it never did. Rae felt her heart drop to her stomach so she was sure Anne’s did the same. She wanted to call out that he was in the shower so probably couldn’t hear her, but they both would know that was a lie because the water had stopped running minutes previous.

Rae remained silent, willing Harry to to stop being so stubborn and wish his mum a good day, just to keep the peace if nothing else. He never did, and the next thing Rae heard, as she pulled her hair out of the loose top knot she had it in for showering, and chewed on her lip, was the front door open and close. She sighed to herself, groaning a little as she fell back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling and dragging her fingers through her hair that splayed out around her.

‘What are you doing lazy bones?’ Harry’s voice was light as he opened the door, chuckling at the sight of Rae fallen against the bed. Rae raise her head a little and looked at him the disappointment all over her features.

‘Wouldn’t have taken much to say goodbye, would it?’ Rae snarked, raising an eyebrow at him the way she did that reminded Harry, Rae wasn’t going to take any of his shit, in case he needed reminding.

‘Stop it, just fucking stop it.’ Harry fumed quietly. ‘Stop getting involved, this is not your thing to get involved with, this is between me and them and I’m not arguing with you about it anymore, done.’ Harry said, before turning to the wardrobe pulling the door open aggressively. ‘I’m going to talk to her later ok? So you can stop giving me the look and the lectures, and we can just have a nice day, please?’

‘Ok.’ Rae breathed, lost for words and not having anticipated that reaction she was a little taken aback. ‘I don’t want to argue with you Harry if that’s what you’re thinking, I just don’t want you to regret something.’

‘I snapped because I feel guilty enough for not saying goodbye without you looking at me like that.’ Harry sighed, pulling a t-shirt from the wardrobe and throwing it haphazardly towards the bed. ‘Can we please just leave it for now?’

‘Ok, sure.’ Rae didn’t know if she was giving in, letting Harry get away with something or just being reasonable, she wasn’t sure what she felt, but she also knew it wasn’t worth arguing over, because when it came down to it, Harry was right. It wasn’t really her place to make comment, she barely knew his family, she had no idea the intricacies of it. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything.’ Harry smiled turning back to her, she just bit her lips together. ‘Fuck I hate this.’ Harry groaned stepping closer to Rae and sitting on the bed beside her. ‘Please don’t look at me like that Rae, I can’t stand it.’ Harry breathed into her hair as he pulled her close. ‘I’m so sorry for letting it get on top of me and shutting you out from it, but this isn’t how I wanted our time here to be.’ Harry tried to explain. ‘I just want to have a nice day with you today and tonight we can sort this, I’ll talk to mum and then we can talk and you can ask me all the questions you want about it all ok?’ Rae nodded against his chest, feeling him stroking her hair down her back, fiddling with the ends, probably untangling them the way he seemed to like to do.

‘Just please don’t make me feel like I’m not invited into this part of you.’ Rae begged quietly, looking down at her lap.

‘That’s not what’s going on, I promise, I’m not doing that, I love you it’s just a lot all at once.’ Rae nodded again, Harry placing a kiss on top of her head.

‘Can I just ask one thing, then I promise we’ll save the rest til later.’ Rae bargained quietly, head still against Harry’s chest as she awaited his response.

‘Of course.’ She heard the smile in his voice and it relaxed her a little. She didn’t know why she felt so uptight about asking Harry about his panic attacks, but she guessed it was because it was so clear he didn’t really like talking about it, and she didn’t want to argue with him as much as he didn’t, and she didn’t know how close she was to walking on the wrong side of the line. She wondered if it should feel like that, she thought probably not, but then she remembered all of this was so new to both of them and they were getting used to one another, learning new things all the time and reshifting to fit better, this was just one of those things and the only way they could work out the right to shift around it was to talk about it.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about them earlier? Your attacks I mean.’ Rae asked, moving back from Harry and looking at him so she could see his eyes as he heard her question. They didn’t change, he just lifted one side of his mouth and nodded. She didn’t need to be worried, she could see he really did want her to know everything, but more than that he wanted them to be happy. He was learning that sometimes getting to happy meant a little bit of discomfort first.

‘Honestly, I didn’t think I needed to.’ Harry sighed. ‘I thought they were done, I hadn’t had one in so long that I didn’t think I’d ever get one again, that’s stupid I know, but I just thought you’d never see them so it would never be something we’d have to talk about.’ Rae nodded, she could understand that.

‘It’s not stupid.’ She told him with a weak smile. ‘Do you think you’d ever have told me even if it hadn’t happened last night?’ She was curious now, but Harry wasn’t shying away and his eyes were just fixed on her face. They flicked away for a second as he thought.

‘Probably, at some point.’ Harry nodded. ‘I had every intention of telling you exactly what happened when my dad left, just not yet, I think that’s why I flipped so hard about it all, it wasn’t down to me, it was just forced on us, completely out of my control.’ Rae nodded again, she knew that about him, he’d told her about that.

‘Your mum recognises that by the way.’ Harry dipped his brow at her. ‘This morning, she told me she shouldn’t have put you in that situation.’ Harry nodded then, suddenly understanding. Rae felt lighter somehow and she wanted him to know that, so she told him, true to her open nature. ‘I feel better by the way, now we’ve talked about it a bit, my head doesn’t feel so cloudy, I don’t feel so nervous about treading on your toes.’ Rae laughed, but Harry didn’t, his face just fell.

‘I made you feel nervous?’ Rae shrugged and nodded a little at Harry’s question. There was no point lying about it when she was asking him to open up to her, it felt a little unfair. ‘You can always talk to me Rae, you can ask me anything, I promise.’ Harry told her, his voice as sincere as it had ever been as it drew slow out of his mouth. Rae smiled and nodded, she knew that now and looking back she didn’t know why she was so nervous. ‘I know I loose my cool sometimes, but I don’t want you to think that means you can’t talk to me about things like this.’

‘Ok.’ Rae smiled, leaning up to give him a light peck on his lips, he managed to kiss her back, just. ‘If I can ask you anything…’

‘Oh god.’ Rae giggled as Harry moved back from her a little.

‘Can I borrow that?’ Rae asked motioning towards the Kiss t-shirt Harry had thrown on the bed.

‘No.’ Harry scorned, grabbing the t-shirt from behind him and clutching it to his chest. ‘It’s mine I’m wearing it.’ Rae pouted as Harry quickly pulled it over his head. ‘I’ll choose you an outfit.’ Harry beamed, his eyes glistening with the excitement of his idea. Rae giggled and rolled her eyes as Harry sauntered back to the wardrobe, gripping his towel tight around him so it didn’t fall.

‘Just remember I’m feeling the northern chill yeah?’ Rae pointed out, reminding him how much complaining she’d done about how cold it was ‘up here’.

‘It’s summer Rae.’ Harry chuckled turning over his shoulder to look at her.

‘And yet I am cold.’ Rae insisted, Harry just rolling his eyes and turning back to the clothes she’d hung up in his wardrobe. Rae watched as he rifled through the clothes, sliding them along the rail to look at them. She hadn’t hung many of her clothes up because she didn’t own many clothes that justified hanging space. Even so it took Harry a while to settle on something from the wardrobe. Eventually he turned, holding up a black and white striped t-shirt dress. It was very sixties inspired and when Rae saw it in the window of some random boutique whilst wandering around the lanes of Brighton with her camera, she knew she had to pick it up.

‘This one is perfect.’ Harry beamed, pushing the dress towards Rae, still hanging from the hanger.

‘Perfect?’ Rae enthused taking it off him, with wide, surprised eyes. Harry just nodded wildly at her as Rae laughed.

Harry was right though. Paired with her black boots and denim jacket, it was the perfect outfit for the day. It was a beautiful sunny day outside. The sky was bright blue and entirely cloudless. Even Rae felt warm as they wandered around the streets of Holmes Chapel hand in hand. Rae felt blissful, the angst of the morning dispersed as Harry gleefully pointed out some of his favourite spots, places he’d frequented growing up, his school, the bakery, all the bits that helped make him who he was. Rae couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

Of course she hadn’t left the house without her camera. The Fujica felt fitting for strolling around Harry’s hometown, and she kept it close as the walked. Harry took it off her a couple of times to take photos of her, despite her insistence that he didn’t need to. He even lifted it at arm's length to get one of the two of them. Rae laughed, knowing the chance of it coming out any good was slim considering the light behind them. It didn’t matter though, she’d still develop it and stick it into an album she already knew she’d create of the summer.

A lack of breakfast and the walking they did, meant it didn’t take long for Harry’s tummy to start growling. Rae laughed each time she heard it, and eventually insisted they find the cafe he’d promised was the best around. If she was honest, her own stomach was beginning to feel empty. They’d ordered a pizza to share the night before, but sleep had felt like a better offer once they were under the duvet with it and they’d only finished a slice and a half each. Harry talked a big game about amazing sandwiches and beautiful cakes, and she hoped it lived up to it because her belly was calling for it once he’d said it.

It was hard for her to admit it, but the cafe Harry took her to was pretty good. They sat outside in the sun, both being complete sun worshipers they couldn’t resist the little table out the back, in a sunny spot of the small garden. Harry’s skin glowed golden as he reclined in the metal chair, basking in as much of the sun as he could get. He lifted his face to it and Rae watched how it danced across his cheeks, and how the corners of his eyes squinted behind his sunglasses, the sun too bright for the cheap knock off Ray Bans he’d opted for that morning.

‘You’re like a little lizard.’ Rae laughed after swallowing the last mouthful of the chicken club sandwich she’d picked from the menu. It was a struggle to get it all down, as usual her eyes were bigger than her stomach, but she’d pushed through mainly because it tasted to good and she thought she could cope with being a bit overfull for that. Harry lowered his head to look at and smiled. ‘You’re gonna like my neck of the woods.’

‘I’m excited.’ Harry admitted, with another soft smile.

‘I’m glad.’ Rae smiled. ‘Think you’ll get nervous?’ Rae asked. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t worried about Harry’s anxiety and how that might play out with her family. At the back of her mind was the way he’d been with her when they first met, how quiet and shut off he was. She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in her home, or not completely himself. It was hard not adore Harry regardless, but when he was truly himself, when anxiety was forgotten and like a distant shadowy part of his life, it was impossible.

‘Probably, I’ll be ok though.’ Harry reassured with a convincing smile. ‘Do you think they’ll like me?’

‘For sure.’ Rae promised. And she was, 100% sure. Harry was perfect to her. He filled her mind with wonder and excitement, he pushed her further than she could push herself and was the reassurance for her mind when all she could do was doubt. Rae knew, without question, when her family saw that in her, which they would, because like Harry they were people she couldn’t hide anything from, they’d love him.

As was always the way with Harry, he insisted he pay for the lunch. She tried to put her foot down, but he just told her she could pay next time. Rae rolled her eyes because she could guarantee they’d have the same conversation next time. Rae would let him get away with it whilst they were on his patch, but there was no way he was paying for anything once they got to Australia, she knew that for certain. It didn’t really bother her, she never got on her high horse about it, she just simply felt guilty that he would never take her money.

They’d walked from Harry’s house into the village, he wanted to point out as much as he could and it would be easier done from the pavement rather than the car. It wasn’t far, and they walked back the same way they’d come from the cafe, passing the pub as they went.

‘So Tom and Jonny, Dave from last night, his sons.’ Harry started as they trundled past the front door of the pub, his head nodding towards it with his quick family tree explanation. Rae nodded remembering the mention of the names as Harry had introduced Rae to the portly, just over middle aged man, behind the bar the previous night. ‘They’re friends from school, they want to meet for a drink one night if you’re up for that?’

‘Of course.’ Rae smiled, looking up at Harry. ‘Sounds like fun.’ Rae enthused. Once she’d gotten over the nerves of meeting Anne, Rae felt a lot calmer about meeting more people from Harry’s life. After spending the day traipsing around the streets he’d grown up on, she felt even more keen to know more.

When they got back to Harry’s the house was still empty, and deadly quiet. Rae couldn't believe how quiet it was around that house. Even her parents farm, in the literal middle of nowhere, wasn’t so close to silence. She hadn’t been immersed in the quiet like that for a long time, Brighton was busy and even in the dead of the night there was always some sort of sound. She didn’t realise she’d missed it but it was apparent then that she had. It was so peaceful she couldn’t help but feel calmer as Harry closed the door behind them and they kicked their shoes off.

‘Fancy a nap?’ Harry asked with a tilted head as they hung in the small hallway of his mums house. Rae just nodded, her sleepy eyes and messy hair making him sure of the answer before he actually got it.

Rae followed Harry up the stairs, letting him take her hand as she did so. With each step, she felt her eyes get heavier. She hadn’t noticed she was that tired, but with the promise of a bed at the top of the stairs, the previous day was suddenly taking its toll on her. She could tell Harry was tired too, apart from the fact he kept yawning, he intermittently rubbed at his eyes with scrunched up fingers, a sign she’d come to recognise as Harry feeling sleepy.

Harry’s room was exactly as they’d left it, bed roughly made, blind still half shut and two towels dropped on the floor from where they’d got dressed. Harry didn’t hesitate to fall onto the bed, dropping Rae’s hand as she giggled, Harry groaning into the pillows under his face. Slowly he rolled onto his back and stretched his arms out toward Rae, making grabbing hands with lazy, half closed eyes. Rae smiled and crawled onto the bed beside him, pushing her body as close to his as she could. Harry wrapped his arms around her, letting her nuzzle into his chest until she was cosy and comfortable before squirming a little himself.

It didn’t take them long to fall asleep once they were curled up close. Rae went first, Harry’s warmth hypnotising her and finally convincing her that she was fully sleepy and needed a rest. Once Harry felt her breath slow down and the little puffs of air hit his chest through his t-shirt, he succumbed to it too. They got lazy with sleep and Harry’s arms loosened a little but Rae hardly moved an inch, remaining tightly pushed into him as they slept, dreamless sleeps.

It felt like no time had passed at all when Harry began to stir from the sound of a knock at his door. He opened one eye, just enough to be aware of any movement and then opened both fully when he heard his bedroom door open. Harry twisted a little, but was careful not to disturb Rae who was still sleeping soundly next to him.

‘Oh sorry love didn’t realise you were asleep.’ Anne whispered as Harry took her in with his sleepy eyes.

‘S’okay.’ Harry grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his fist willing them to adjust to being suddenly awake again.

‘Are you two hungry I was about to start dinner, just chicken and salad nothing fancy I’m afraid.’ Anne explained, in a hushed tone, biting back the smile at the sight of her son and the girl he so clearly adored curled up close on his bed.

‘Sounds good.’ Anne smiled and nodded, turning to leave the room again to let them get the sleep they both clearly needed, or at least wanted. Harry had Rae’s voice at the back of his mind though, and even though she looked so peaceful and beautiful sleeping next to him, he was sure she’d forgive him for pulling his arms from around her. ‘Do you want a hand mum?’ Harry asked just before Anne closed the door completely shut again.

‘No it’s ok, I’ll be fine.’ Harry could hear the smile, the lightness, in his mum’s voice. Harry sighed, it had always been the same with his mum, even before things got really bad, nothing was ever a problem, everything was easy. This wasn’t though and despite how much Harry wanted to leave it at that, he knew he couldn’t.

‘I think I should give you a hand,’ Harry insisted with just the right amount of force to make Anne realise it wasn’t a discussion. ‘We need to talk.’ Harry explained, his voice sleepy, but somehow stern. Anne just nodded, Harry saw her chest inflate with too much air for a single breath and he could bet she was already close to tears. In her mind she was surely seeing the night before, Harry with fists clenched and tight jaw, nostrils flaring and desperate for breath as he got closer to breaking down. She didn’t want a repeat, and neither did Harry. He was sure, however, if it was just him and his mum, he could keep the control he lacked when his dad was around. ‘I’ll be down in a second.’ Harry told Anne, shifting a little and Rae finally stirring beside him. Anne nodded and fleeted just as quietly as she’d entered.

‘What’s going on?’ Rae grumbled not opening her eyes and pushing herself yet closer to Harry, her face disgruntled and sleepy as Harry moved to sit up.

‘I’m gonna help mum with dinner.’ Harry whispered stroking her head lightly.

‘Ok, give me a sec and I’ll come help.’ Rae told him, though her body said otherwise, she just seemed to sink heavier into the bed.

‘No, I need a minute with mum.’ Harry told her and it was then Rae opened her eyes and looked up at him. They were still half lidded from the nap that hadn’t completely left her, but from what Harry could see of her dark brown eyes, he knew there was a little hesitation.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Rae offered, untangling her limbs from his and pushing herself to sitting beside him. Harry shook his head, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

‘No, it’s ok.’ Rae nodded and pushed herself up to the wall, leaning against it as Harry stood up. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’ Rae nodded again. She wanted to say something, something encouraging, supportive, but she couldn’t find any words that seemed like the right ones. Instead she just offered him a reassuring smile as he looked over his shoulder at her and pulled the door open.

Rae let out a drawn out, somewhat shaky breath as the door closed behind Harry from it’s own weight, sticking slightly on the carpet to stop it closing fully. She heard Harry taking the stairs slowly, the bottom two creaking under his feet and then silence. For some reason, though she wasn’t sure what it was, she felt nervous. If she never saw Harry in the state he’d gotten in last night again, it would be too soon, and she put it down to that as she pulled her knees into her chest and leant on them, listening intently for any sign of a raised voice.

The amount of times Rae had seen Harry get angry, could be counted on one hand, and she was sure he’d never get angry like that with his mum. But then, she never thought she’d have seen him curled over himself, shaking like an abandoned puppy, unable to do the basic human process of breathing. Twenty four hours ago Rae thought she knew Harry well, now she was realising there was still so much to learn.

Harry pushed the kitchen door open, he didn’t know why his mum had closed it, but as Harry automatically shut it behind himself, he thought it might be to encourage him to do exactly that. Anne looked up from where she was reading, or pretending to, the label on the chicken, her glasses perched on her nose. Harry offered a smile, but it wasn’t returned, instead his mum just swallowed and turned to face him. The panic attacks had always been something Anne had taken in her stride, from the age of eight Harry had dealt with them and Anne had helped him through every time. However, the anger that began to precede them as Harry had got older was something Anne couldn’t help but fear.

‘Don’t look at me like that mum.’ Harry begged, softly, sliding into the kitchen on his socks and pulling out a chair. Anne nodded and turned to do the same, sitting at the end of the bench almost opposite Harry, but almost next to him. ‘I’m sorry for acting the way I did last night, and I’m sorry for not saying goodbye to you this morning.’

‘That hurt Harry.’ Anne told him, as if he didn’t already know that from her timid voice and overly softened features.

‘I know, I shouldn’t have been like that with you.’ Harry admitted looking down at his hands where his fingers were already toying with the heavy rings there. Anne couldn’t help but smile at that a little. It was a habit he’d picked up almost immediately when his internal battle started getting worse, all he did was fiddle with his hands, twist things around his fingers, the suggestion of rings helped him, and it appeared they still did. ‘I was angry.’

‘I could see that.’ Anne pointed out, an annoying, know all, motherly tone in her voice that made Harry bite his jaw together. ‘You can’t keep ignoring those issues Harry, the panic attacks fine I understand you feel better coping with them in your own way, but the anger, you’ve got to deal with it properly.’ Harry didn’t know where to look, or what to say. ‘It’s getting worse and it’s going to get out of hand.’

‘You do realise I don’t get angry normally don’t you?’ Harry pointed out a little viciously. ‘I haven’t been angry like that in so long, fuck, I haven’t had a panic attack this whole year at uni.’ Harry told her pointedly.

‘That’s not the point, you need to learn to control it when it does get like that.’ Anne told him, as always her voice calm and reasoned. Harry shook his head and looked down at his hands, working harder on his rings than they had in awhile.

‘If I don’t have to see him again it won’t get like that.’ Harry hissed, flicking his eyebrows.

‘You can’t keep blaming everything on him.’ Anne told Harry, reaching out for his hand but he just flinched it away dropping them into his lap. ‘Harry.’ Anne begged, but Harry just shook his head.

‘He ruined me mum.’ Harry told Anne weakly, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘This only started happening to me when he left so don’t you dare tell me it’s not his fault.’ Harry spat, his eyes beginning to leak. ‘You have no idea how it feels waking up every morning and feeling like my stomachs turning and my heart is going to beat out of my chest, and then to have you just spring on me a dinner with the man who is the reason that happens.’

‘Harry-’

‘No Mum, listen a minute, because I don’t think you get it.’ Harry went on taking a breath to steady himself. ‘Because of him I am terrified of new people, not just because I think they might walk away, cause fuck knows if your own dad can then anyone can, but because what if they laugh when they find out? He did, didn’t he? When we told him, he laughed, said I was stupid ‘what sort of lad cries over a bit of nerves’ I think were his words.’ Harry cleared his throat as he felt himself choke on the memory. ‘People look at me and see a tall, strong, good looking, don’t laugh, lad but inside I’m five and I’m terrified and I’m weak and I’m alone in all of that because no one knows, because I won’t tell anyone, because I hate being less than what people think I should be.’ Harry sobbed then as it poured out, like it never had before. It was clicking with himself as the words came, he’d never put so much thought to it before, but now he was pieces were puzzling together that before had never seemed to fit.

‘I’m so sorry love.’ Anne breathed reaching into Harry’s lap for his hands not caring if he flinched away now and instead just holding his fingers tightly between hers. ‘Have you told anyone about these feelings?’ Anne asked and Harry just shook his head. Who could he have told when he was only just realising himself? ‘Niall? Rae?’ Anne asked, but again Harry just shook his head and dropped his eyes further. Anne nodded and breathed deeply, trying to sort the information in her head and work out what to say next.

‘I’m scared mum.’ Harry admitted, his voice shaky.

‘I know, it’s ok.’ Anne told him moving forward to pull him into her arms. She held his head as it rested on her shoulder and he sobbed. It was like he was eight years old again and he was trying to work out both why his dad had left him and why his body was reacting the way it was. Only now he was twenty, but the confusion was exactly the same. ‘I shouldn’t have done that last night, it was stupid, I know that.’ Anne told him. ‘I’m so sorry Harry.’ Harry just continued to cry on his mum’s shoulder, thick, heavy tears, rolling down his cheeks and onto her t-shirt. ‘I love you Harry so much,’ Anne started hesitating for a second. ‘And your dad does too.’ Harry shook his head pushing back away from his mum. ‘He does, Harry he loves you.’

‘If he loved me he wouldn’t have made me feel like this.’ Harry mumbled through tears that refused to stop falling.

‘He doesn’t know, how would he know? You won’t talk to him.’ Anne pointed out, and it was because Harry knew that to be true that he bristled up and tried to go on the defensive. Anne got there first though. ‘I’m not defending what he did, and I’m not asking you to forgive him, I’m just saying maybe talking to him would help you, and him.’ Harry shook his head and looked at his hands again, and again they were already doing what they did without him even really being aware.

‘I don’t want to see him.’ Harry hissed. Anne sighed, helpless and a little hopeless too.

‘You could take Rae-’

‘Not a fucking chance.’ Harry cut in. ‘He’s poisoned enough parts of my life, she’s one of the only parts that hasn’t been touched by him and I’d quite like to keep it that way.’ Harry told his mum, not really realising what he was saying as he did so.

‘Is that why you haven’t told her?’ Anne asked, narrowing her eyes at Harry. Again it wasn’t something Harry had really thought about, but now Anne was asking the question he supposed it was. ‘You can’t shut her out of this Harry, it will eat you up keeping it to yourself.’

‘You are not one to give relationship advice.’ Harry laughed.

‘This isn’t relationship advice Harry this is life advice.’ Anne pointed out strongly. ‘You cannot have something like this in your head and expect to be able to live your life day to day bottling it up.’ Harry swallowed down on nothing. His mum’s voice had that tone like she knew better, and that was only because she did and Harry hated it. ‘It will destroy you and it will destroy your relationship if you don’t tell her.’ Harry swore he felt his heart stop at even the suggestion of that, but still he just shook his head.

‘What am I meant to tell her? My dad left twelve years ago and I’m still not over it.’ Harry laughed at himself, chuckling like it was the best joke he’d ever told, but his mum didn’t even flinch.

‘Don’t belittle your feelings like that Harry, that’s half the bloody issue.’ Anne told him sternly. ‘What do you think? She’s going to think less of you, think you’re less of a person because a traumatic life event has an effect on you.’

‘Mum, her brother died when she was fifteen and copes fine.’ Harry told his mum, sure Rae wouldn’t mind. For a second Anne was taken back by the information, she definitely hadn’t seen it coming, but then why would she.

‘Everyone deals with things differently Harry, if anything, that makes her more likely to understand.’ Anne pointed out. ‘I think you two need to talk, properly talk,’ Anne sighed. ‘You need to tell her about these feelings, open up to her, and ask her about how she’s feeling love, sometimes people aren’t coping half as well as they make it seem.’ Harry took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hands, drying his rosy cheeks as best he could. The thought of Rae battling with feelings the way he was made him feel sick. He hadn’t even contemplated that she might be, she was so open, so honest and he knew her so well. Surely he’d be able to tell if she was keeping something back, the way he’d been able to tell when she wasn’t being completely honest about her final project review. But then maybe, deep down she wanted to be honest about that, and maybe deep down she wanted to keep feelings towards Jonah hidden.

‘You’re right mum I know you are, just-’

‘No Harry, that stops now, the excuses, the shrugging it off and ignoring it, it’s got to stop.’ Anne insisted forcefully. ‘You have got to face up to this.’ Harry knew there was no backing away from it, he knew his mum was right, and there was no way she was letting him get away with it any longer.

‘We were meant to be talking about you and dad.’ Harry pointed out, suddenly realising their chat had turned into more of a therapy session for him and he was still no closer to finding out what was going on between his mum and his dad.

‘Ok, what do you want to ask?’ Anne questioned, deciding it best to get it over and done with. ‘First you gotta promise me you’ll talk to Rae properly and get all this off your chest with her too.’ Anne backtracked quickly, Harry nodded, one side of his mouth lifting a little.

‘Promise.’ Harry whispered.

‘Good, ok, fire away.’ And Harry did. He asked everything he’d been dying to know from the minute he saw his dad in the pub the previous evening. He didn’t always get answers he liked or wanted, in fact a lot of them he hated and he wished he’d never asked a couple of them, but still things got clearer in his head and somehow that made it easier. It didn’t make it okay, not even close, he still hated it, every bit of it, but a little understanding made it a lot easier to process.

Harry had that feeling in his mind as he wandered back up the stairs towards Rae. His shoulders felt heavy as he slumped towards his bedroom, his heart was beating wildly. Something terrified him, something wired into him made him fearful of being so honest. Maybe he could blame it on his dad, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was something intrinsic to him. And, maybe that was what scared him most. That he could talk about it until the world ended, he could explain how his dad made him feel and it might not change anything, because maybe it wasn’t down to that at all, and maybe it was just him and nothing could change it or stop it and he’d forever be scared and lonely and running from it.

When Harry opened the door, Rae was where he’d left her, sat on his bed, against the wall, head bowed, clearly chewing on her nails as she gripped her legs tight to her chest. Her head flicked up to him as the door opened and for just a second he felt normal, but then she spoke.

‘Everything ok?’ Rae asked hopefully, nervous eyes wide and wondering.

‘We need to talk.’

DUN DUN DUNNNNN. I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one and theories for the next. Feedback as welcome as every, but please be nice!

Thanks for all the love on this up until now, I can’t believe we’re nearly at the end wahhh!

As always dedicated to my main girls @harrysmeadow​ and @cuddlemusclestyles​. LOVE YOU.

Enjoy x

[webcricket]

The Lucky Ones

Characters: CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1798

A/N: Birthday challenge fic written for @splendidcas prompt #17 - “A kiss for good luck?” Congrats on 3K followers Shan! And happy 2-0! Fluff with extra ‘luff’ and a capital ‘F’ because birthdays should be sweet.

“Cas, wait!” Breathless from sprinting through the bunker, you caught up to the angel before he reached the stairs. It was now or the actual real imminent probability of never based on the supreme peril of the situation the seraph and the Winchesters intended to confront. Ignoring the nervous flip-flopping of your stomach, you gulped, swallowing your uncertainty, voice timorous. “A kiss for good luck?”

He blinked, eyes glinting puzzlement at your odd request, jaw slackening in an as yet unspoken appeal for clarification.

Sensing your resolve failing under the steady regard of those shining sapphire eyes, you mustered your will to action. Laying a palm on his chest for balance and standing up on your tip toes, you pressed a chaste kiss half onto his slightly parted mouth - the prickle of his unshaven cheek stinging your soft lips.

He peered down as you shrank away, expression curious, contemplating your pink flushed cheeks, shyly slumped shoulders, and apparent sudden inability to look anywhere in the vicinity of his vessel.

“Um, so good luck,” you managed to mumble, attempting to redirect any need for further explanation by pretending the quick kiss did not just require every ounce of courage you could gather.

When his tongue darted out to wet his parched lips in preparation to speak, he could taste the residue of strawberry lip balm lingering on his mouth. He determined the taste to be a pleasant one. Brow furrowing in thought, he regarded you with a tilted countenance. “What about Sam and Dean?”

Presented with evidence of the angel not interpreting your action as the embarrassingly cliché romantic gesture you intended it to be, you recovered your ability to look him in the eye. Lifting your chin, you met his searching gaze, offering an honest reply. “They don’t need luck, they have you.”

Eyes softening, a rare small smile illumined the angel’s aspect. Though baffled by it, he appreciated your unyielding faith in him. He didn’t know where it came from, or why he deserved it, but you had a way of shining a light brighter than the brightest in all of creation when his thoughts turned darkest.

Drowning beneath his ocean blue scrutiny, you could not help but mirror his smile.

“You coming, Romeo?” Dean brooded on the landing, hanging over the railing, glaring at the angel, tone impatient, slaying the moment as emotionlessly as a hunter would behead a vampire.

Your indignant eyes flew to the elder Winchester, scowling.

“Death doesn’t wait for any of us, sweetheart.” He shrugged unapologetically, all business-of-the-hunt, and ducked from view.

“That’s because you killed him, Juliet!” your raking shout echoed off the tiled walls.

Cas reached out, brushing your shoulder, drawing your attention. “Thank you Y/N, for the luck.” Shuffling his weight from foot to foot and back again, he hesitated - uncertain if it would be the correct thing to do to offer you hope of their safe return, deciding it would not hurt, yet unable to tell what might very well be a lie directly to your face. He turned to mount the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder without looking at you, tone falsely reassuring, “We’ll be back soon.”

Clamping your eyes shut to hold back the threat of tears, you listened to the padding of the angel’s heels on the steps, counting them, committing the sound to memory, wincing when the metallic clang of the outer door heralded your isolation. Fingers gingerly touching your lips where the tingling sensation of his stubble persisted, you choked back a sob.

Three days later, drained by constant worry and lack of sleep but somehow rallying the reserve energy to vibrate with contained excitement at Sam’s text of their imminent safe return, you stood again in the very same spot in the map room where you and the angel had parted, focus fixed on the door above. You stood, and you stood some more – and then you paced the room, every normally ignored creak and settling sound of the bunker setting you spiraling on edge.

When the boys finally made their tardy entrance hours later, arriving via the garage egress, they discovered you sound asleep, collapsed in a tangled heap of arms and hair on the map table.

“I told you we should have come straight home.” Sam frowned empathetically at your harried appearance.

“Trust me Sammy, the look on her face will be so worth it,” Dean insisted, a dopey smirk jerking his mouth.

“If you say so.” Sam shrugged, ever the skeptic when it came to his brother’s half-baked shenanigans.

“Awe, look, she’s drooling,” Dean snickered in a hushed tone, bending over your frame to peer into your face and poke your lax cheek.

“She’s exhausted.” Castiel shot Dean a reprimanding glare, striding in from the hall door. “And Sam is correct.” The angel crouched protectively beside you, features tempering sorrowfully when he beheld your strained aspect, two fingers swiping lightly across your brow to soothe your worried mind. He carefully hoisted your limp figure from the chair, intending to carry you to your bed where you might find peace, or at least be free from Dean’s teasing.

“Hmm, Cas?” Halfway to your bedroom, you stirred to consciousness, foggy eyed in his strong embrace, muscles tensing, arms instinctively snaking around his neck and shoulders when the realization of being held aloft dawned on you.

Cas abruptly stopped in his tracks, rocking on his heels, explaining, “You fell asleep at the table.”

“Oh.” You relaxed, melting against the heat of his body, cheeks flushing warm and pink at this close proximity.

The angel’s throat bobbed prominently, flustered and wide-eyed as he stared down the hall. “I was, uh, going to put you to bed.”

You wanted to respond with something along the lines of by all means, don’t let me stop you, but before the words could leave your lips, you second guessed yourself. You did that a lot in the presence of the angel.

“But since you’re awake, perhaps we should go to the kitchen instead.” He nervously licked his lips.

You contemplated the square line of his jaw, pondering what mode of thinking could possibly have prompted him to change destinations from the bedroom to the kitchen in the span of a few heartbeats. Even for Cas, this was far north of odd. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided it didn’t really matter. Kicking your legs playfully, you chuckled, “Well since I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter, by all means, onward my angel.”

Cas squinted down at you, the corner of his mouth quirking into what might pass as an amused smile. He spun around, redirecting to the kitchen.

As you drew closer to your destination, your ears picked up on the familiar muffled murmur of Sam and Dean bickering.

A few feet before the doorway, Cas cleared his throat, angling his chin so as not to shout directly in your ear, “Sam, Dean, Y/N is awake, we’re coming in!”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cursed. “Hang on!”

A glass crashed on tile, something metal clanged to the floor, someone grunted, and the light emanating from the threshold of the kitchen extinguished - replaced with a shimmering orange glow.

“Cas, what’s going on?” you whispered, peering up into the angel’s glittering eyes.

In answer, he swept you across the threshold.

Your eyes drifted from the cluster of balloons in Sam’s hand, to the bouquet of your favorite flowers in the other, to the pure smile lighting up his face, to the delicious looking candle-illuminated cake outstretched in Dean’s arms, to Dean’s borderline smug self-satisfied grin, then up to the angel’s smiling eyes.

Cas bent to set you lightly on the floor. “Dean said this is a surprise party. Are you surprised?”

“Cas, dude, look at her face.” Sam grinned wider. “She’s surprised.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Dean beamed, pivoting to slide the cake onto the table.

You bounded over, leaping on his broad back to hug him. “Thanks guys!” Slipping to the floor, you punched his bicep hard.

“Ow, what’s that for?” Dean winced, rubbing the throbbing limb.

“Love tap.” You stuck out your tongue. “And payback for worrying me.”

Sam stepped up behind you, engulfing you in his long arms, embracing you tight and planting a sloppy kiss on the top of your head. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

Dean leaned over to peck a kiss on your cheek, pausing to whisper in your ear, “Totally worth it and I’m not even a little bit sorry.” Straightening up, he winked. “Now blow out those candles and make a freaking wish so we can eat. You have no idea how hard it was to spend four hours in the car with that confectionary masterpiece.”

“Yeah, you actually literally have no idea.” Sam laughed.

“It’s a cake, stuffed with pie.” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Piecaken. One day someone decided to stuff a pie up a cake’s ass and the world became a better place.”

Filling your lungs to capacity, you puffed as hard as you could, milking every last wisp of air from your chest to douse all the candles at once.

“You owe me $20.” Dean thwacked his brother on the pecks, screwing up his face at the unanticipated firmness of them.

Sucking in a deep breath, you glared between them. “Seriously guys?”

“Hey, don’t look at me, I had no doubt about how much you blow.” Dean laughed, crossing the room to flip the lights on and grab utensils and plates.

Sam rolled his eyes. “What did you wish for, Y/N?”

Your gaze settled on the spiraling smoke wafting upward from the extinguished candles, focus rising with it to find the silent angel beyond the table observing what must seem to him to be silly human antics. You sought out his eyes, giving him a tiny blushing smile. “No telling wishes, but maybe if I’m lucky, someday it will come true.”

Dean clattered the plates and forks across the table, startling you.

When you glanced back up, the angel was gone.

A hand grasped your shoulder, twirling you around, and before you could comprehend what was happening, Castiel’s arm wound around your waist, his lips pressing tenderly to yours. Easing away, he steadied your swaying body, hugging you firmly to his chest, blue eyes brimming over with affection. “A kiss for good luck,” he whispered, tone gravel.

You couldn’t suppress the delighted grin blossoming across your features. “I don’t need luck Cas, I have you.” Palms skimming his chest and neck to cup his cheeks, you threaded your fingers into his dark locks and yanked him back to your lips.

Dean’s forkful of chocolate cake slash cherry pie hovered just shy of his gaping jaw.

Sam smirked at his brother, muttering out the side of his mouth, “Hey, you owe me $20. Guess that makes us even.”

[emulateharry]

story of my life

Chapter 18

I wasn’t sure that I could get this one done the block was so huge.  But @melissas173, @niallandharrymakemestrong, and @whoopsharrystyles helped me climb over it. Thanks, ladies. 

WARNING: NSFW.  There might be a self-harm trigger in one scene.

Kacey was brushing her teeth before bed.  It had been a long day, but a good one.  After leaving the rehab center, they had made it to Harry’s with no problems and only a few paps waiting outside his house.  She had spent the day napping and watching movies with Anne waiting on her.  Harry, under protest, had gone out to have lunch and spend time with friends.  He argued that he wanted to be at home with her but Kacey had insisted that he needed some time away.  When Anne sided with Kacey, he grumbled about them ganging up on him but went to hang out with Nick Grimshaw anyway. While he was out, Kacey puttered in the kitchen determined to make him a birthday cake.  The only recipe she could make from memory was her grandma’s pound cake.   Harry had all the ingredients and she chatted amiably with Anne as she zested the lemons and mixed the batter.  The aroma filled the house as it baked, overtaking the faint scent of paint and new furniture.  Harry was surprised when he arrived home that evening, bearing the pizza that Kacey had requested.  They ate pizza and then cake while snuggled on the sofa and watching a classic old movie called Gaslight.

Kacey was tired after all the changes and excitement of the day.  Harry refused to let her walk up the 20 steps to his room on the 3rd floor.  Though she was getting stronger, the wounds in her abdomen and thigh hurt when she climbed stairs.  Harry scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his room where he had placed her things earlier.  He sat on the bed now, waiting for her to finish in the bathroom.  The water had stopped several minutes earlier and she had still not come out. He got up to go in and check on her and opening the door he saw that she wasn’t there.  He walked through to the closet and saw her there looking at the clothes.  Hers were on the rod next to his but she was focused on his. “You know, Harry, you have the most, um, interesting fashion sense,” she commented as he walked up to her.

“Heeeey.  I’m on the GQ most stylish men alive list for three years running,” he protested.

“Are you sure that’s not because of your last name?  ‘Cause this suit looks like my grandma’s couch,” she snarked.

“Kassidy, this is Gucci,” he said, as if he were talking to a toddler.

“I don’t care if it’s ‘Smoochie’, it’s ridiculous.  Oh!  Here’s another one.  Now this looks like Gran’s drapes…in pictures from the 1950s,” she giggled.

“I know you have a concussion and probably aren’t thinking straight so I will ignore your taunts,” he intoned in mock seriousness.

“Is this my shirt?  No? Why do you have a woman’s shirt in here? No, this pink one with the polka dots,” she said, pulling the article in question off the rod and holding it out to him.

“That’s mine.  I wore it at the Apple Music Festival.  What? Pink is my favorite color,” he replied a tinge of defensiveness creeping in.  Flipping through the hangers he found another one.

 “Here.  This shirt.  This is one of my favorites. Can you guess why?” he asked pulling a sheer shirt with roses embroidered on it from the rack.

Kacey eyed it carefully, feeling the fabric on her fingers.  “Because three of your four nipples are visible when you wear it?” a grin breaking onto her face, eyebrows raised.

“No.  Because you wore that and nothing else but five-inch heels when you seduced me in your foyer,” he said, voice low and smooth, looking at her intensely.

Kacey swallowed hard.  She looked up at him, her heart pounding suddenly at his proximity.  His eyes pinning her to the spot as she saw the desire growing in his face.  He was so close that she could smell his hair and his skin.  She was filled with an urge to touch him…and taste him.   Her breathing became more rapid and just as she was about to reach out to place her hands on his chest, he turned to hang up the shirt he was still holding.  When he turned back to her she was staring at him, at his mouth.

“Harry…” she began, nearly breathless.

“Yes, pet?” he answered softly.

“Harry, I would really like to kiss you right now,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Harry inhaled sharply and searched her face for any sign that she remembered, that she remembered the last time those words were shared between them. Seeing none, he smiled ruefully before responding.

“Yes, please,” he breathed.

She tiptoed to reach him and placed her hands on either side of his face.  Stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, she kissed his mouth.  Gently pulling his soft, plump lower lip between hers she could not resist touching it with her tongue.  Harry sighed at the feel and parted his lips slightly.  Kacey’s heart was pounding, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.  She touched his tongue with her own, the taste filling her senses.  She moved hers over his tentatively at first, then with increased passion.  Harry matched her intensity, pulling her to him, enfolding her into his arms.  Pulling apart, she was breathing heavily, panting with longing.  With just one kiss she was nearly melting with desire.  Harry lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom.  Placing her gently on the bed, he hovered over her until she reached up and pulled him on top of her.

“Harry, please. Please, Harry,” she was begging but she didn’t care.

“Please what, pet?” he asked looking at her, searching her for permission, for encouragement, for…what?

“Please, Harry, I need you…” she managed.

Harry paused only for a moment, adrenaline leaving him weak, before peeling off his shirt.  Kacey placed her hands on his chest, fingers tracing the swallows then inching their way down to the butterfly, then to the laurels leaving gooseflesh in their wake.  She paused at the waistband of his jeans, sliding her fingertips just under the edge where they encountered the tip of his already hard cock.  Harry’s muscles tightened at her touch and a small moan escaped his lips.  Kacey withdrew her hands and sat up pulling the t-shirt she was wearing over her head.  Laying back down, she kept her eyes on Harry’s face seeing the want and the love there.  He leaned back to peel her panties down her legs and toss them on the floor before standing to pull off the rest of his clothes. He stood at the foot of the bed while Kacey drank in the sight of him; she was certain she had never seen a man more beautiful than Harry.

Harry was savoring the sight of his girl, the woman he loved, reclined and ready for him.  It had been so long, he was almost shaking with need. In a flash he realized that while this was a reunion for him, it was as far as she knew, her first time with him.  Memories clicked through his mind and he trailed the back of his fingers up the inside of her shins.   She shivered in anticipation.  When he reached her knees she parted her legs for him, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks at his attention.  He climbed up on the bed, replacing his fingers with his lips.  Kissing her inner thighs, licking and nipping, he was making her squirm.  When he licked the arousal from her center, she arched her back off the bed and moaned.  He continued licking as Kacey writhed above him.  Placing one last gentle kiss on her clit, he continued his journey up her body, tasting as much of her as he could.  Reaching her breasts he cupped them in his hands, leaning to suck on first one nipple and then the other.  She was almost mewling, hands in his hair pulling him up to her.

He abandoned her nipples and raised his head, looking at her face, her lovely face.   Not even the fading scar could detract from her beauty.  Maneuvering himself between her legs, he kept his eyes on her.

“Kassidy, baby, look at me.  I want to see your eyes, baby,” his voice raspy.

Kacey locked her gaze with his as he lined himself up with her entrance.  As he slowly pushed into her, her eyes rolled up.  She was so full, he felt so good, so right. Her mind may not have remembered him, her heart may have been fuzzy on her feelings for him, but her body knew him.  Her body knew him and reveled in being reunited with his.  As he pumped in and out of her slowly, he made love to her mouth with his tongue.  Increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts, he propelled them closer and closer to the peak.  Leaning on one arm, he reached down and massaged her nub of nerves eliciting deep moans that he captured with his tongue.  Kacey was bucking into him, the pain from her thigh and stomach seeming to intensify the pleasure bubbling throughout her body.   Harry flicked her nub with his thumb as he plunged deep hitting the spot that gave her the most pleasure.  With a gasp, Kacey was overtaken by an orgasm that left her breathless.  Feeling her contract around him, seeing her face contorted in ecstasy, flung Harry into the abyss.  Lying atop her, trying to breathe as he pulsed inside her, he found her eyes once again.  Kissing her softly, he rolled off and pulled her to him.  She snuggled deep into his arms, laying her head on his chest. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he whispered “I love you Kassidy,” his voice catching on her name.  Tears filled his eyes and overflowed onto his cheeks before dropping to the pillow.  He had missed her so much, he loved her so much.  She held him tightly, listening to his heartbeat, feeling safe.  They lay together until they fell asleep. * Harry was awakened the next morning by Kacey’s mouth.  Her tongue was licking up the length of his cock, hesitating at the tip she used suction to pull it past her lips.  Rolling her tongue all over the soft, smooth skin of the head, she paid special attention to the slit underneath.  She grazed her teeth into the tiny cleft and smiled as Harry gasped. Giving a last little lick she looked up at him with a smile.  “Morning to you!” she grinned at his sleepy, stunned expression.

“What’s all this, love?” his voice gravelly as he looked into her eyes.

“This is Harry’s Cock Appreciation Day,” she giggled.  “Seriously, morning wood this beautiful should never be wasted,” she added reverently before dipping her head back down to savor him once again.

Kacey took her time, using her tongue, her throat and her teeth to prod Harry into making unintelligible noises that increased in intensity as she worked him harder.  Using her thumb, she massaged his perineum and was surprised as he bucked into her throat.  He was unable to control his hips and she opened wider, taking all of him, as he fucked her mouth.  He was groaning her name, almost as a mantra, his hands wrapped in her hair as she took him over and over again.  She ran her finger along his seam and back to his opening and brushed her fingers over the sensitive skin.  With a last shout of her name he came, his warm fluid coating her tongue and throat as he throbbed out his release.

Applying suction and sliding her lips of off him, she looked directly into his eyes before swallowing loudly and then licking her lips.  Once he could breathe normally again, Harry grabbed her and pulled her into a deep kiss.  Holding her face he kissed her again and again.  They stayed in bed wrapped in each other until tantalizing scents emanating from the kitchen reached them and their hunger for food made itself known. * Kacey was absolutely exhausted. And discouraged.  She had been at Harry’s for almost a week and could barely make 15 minutes on the treadmill without collapsing.  She was doing better on the stairs, the pain lessening as her muscles healed and became stronger.  But her stamina was still lagging behind.  She was sitting on the sofa in the lounge feeling guilty because Anne insisted on waiting on her while Harry was out attending meetings.  She had just brought her a cup of tea and some biscuits and was sitting on the other end of the sofa.  Kacey had been trying to read a book, but the lingering effects of the concussion made it difficult to concentrate on the words which then gave her a headache.  So she bided her time watching movies and sleeping.

Anne watched the end of the movie with her, one she hadn’t seen in a long while.

“I’ve always loved this movie! It’s so sweet,” she remarked to Kacey as the end credits rolled.

“My mom used to love this one too.  I remember she walked around patting me on the head saying ‘That’ll do pig’ and then laughing,” Kacey smiled at the memory.  The smile faded to be replaced by a forlorn, pensive look.

“Would you like to talk about your mum, Kacey?” Anne asked tentatively.

Kacey smiled, sadly, and took a deep breath before saying “She was an amazing woman.  Really.  She was so smart and pretty and everyone loved her…but I barely remember her.  I was five when she died.  Old enough to understand that she was never coming back, but too young to understand why.”

“Oh, Kassidy, that must have been so hard for you,” Anne said, patting her knee. “How did she die, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ve been told that she had been depressed but the meds made her lethargic and she refused to take them.  One night she came home after a bad day at work; I was at my grandparents’ house for the week. That night she got into an argument with my dad and he left to go cool down.  When he came back several hours later, she was asleep so he didn’t disturb her.  But she wasn’t just asleep.  She had taken a bottle of Vicodin that was left over from some oral surgery.  She never woke up.  She died two days later at the hospital.  One day she dropped me off at my grandmother’s and then I never saw her again,” Kacey finished softly.

“Oh, Kassidy, I’m so sorry,” Anne said, tears filling her eyes.  Kacey told it so matter-of-factly but Anne could hear the emotion just under the surface.

“So I grew up with the knowledge that I wasn’t enough.  I mean, my own mother didn’t love me enough to stay, how could I ever be enough for anyone else?  You know the worst part? You know how when you are little and you get hurt or scared by something?   You run to your mom and she holds you and everything is alright again, right?  Nothing has been alright since I was five years old,” Kacey explained as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Oh, Sweetheart, no.  Oh, Kassidy.  How do you know that your mom didn’t stay longer because of you? That she loved you so much she stayed longer to be with you?  Darling, you are a lovely young woman and I know she would be so proud of you,” Anne declared.

She opened her arms and Kacey, fully crying, allowed her to pull her in.  Anne sat stroking her hair as she cried, thinking of Kacey’s visit to Cheshire and her actions after the yacht video.  It all made more sense.  Anne’s heart broke for the little girl who lost her mother and for the young woman who was carrying such a heavy burden unnecessarily. Kacey was asleep on the sofa when Harry got home that afternoon.  He kissed her forehead and went into the kitchen where his mum was preparing supper.  Snacking on a carrot, he told her about his day.  He mentioned that friends, spearheaded by Nick, wanted to throw a birthday party for him the following Monday.  She said that it sounded lovely but without her usual enthusiasm.

“Mum, is something wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Darling, has Kassidy told you about her mother?” she responded.

“Yes, the basics.  Why?” he was curious.

“Did you know that Kassidy is convinced that she is not lovable? That she’s not ‘enough’ for anyone?” Anne inquired.

“What? That’s ridiculous.  Why would she think something like tha-- Oh.  But how could she think that?  She’s so amazing.  I never told her, though.  I never…Oh, mum, no wonder she left.”

“Well, Harry, you will just have to show her that she is wrong.  I’ll leave it to you, son” she said as she prepared to set the table.  “Now go wake up your girl, it’s time to eat.” * Kacey was having a good time.  Dinner was boisterous and loud. She enjoyed meeting all of Harry's friends but was particularly taken with Nick, and he with her.  Harry was in his element, basking in the attention of his friends.  He was laughing and joking all through dinner.  He kept in physical contact with Kacey at all times, it was as if touching her enhanced all the joy.  At every lull in the general conversation, he turned to her; little whispers and kisses and caresses were exchanged.  After dinner the waitress brought out a plate of cupcakes with candles and everyone sang to him. The group next moved on to a club where they had a private room reserved.  Anne and Gemma came along in the car with Harry and Kacey.  Nick met them at the club and, after imbibing an adult beverage full of tequila, Kacey dragged him to the dance floor.  He was protesting the entire time until Kacey shushed him and went to talk to the DJ.  She made it back to him just as the first trumpet strains started.  Nick’s eyes grew wide and he barked out a laugh as Kacey started throwing some silly disco moves at him.  They did some ridiculous dancing to Adam Ant, giggling the entire time. Harry was watching them, beaming at his girl.  Kacey returned to the table, flushed and a little winded. Harry, talking to someone she hadn’t met yet, grabbed her hand for a squeeze as she passed. Kacey, Anne and Gemma were talking at the table.  Kacey was laughing at something Gemma had said when she felt the atmosphere in the room change.   It was like there was an increase in the tension level, an air of expectation.   She heard a few whispers buzzing nearby but chose to ignore them.  She was making a comment to Anne when three women walked, or rather strutted, up to Harry who was standing a few feet in front of her.  They were obviously models and were wearing clothing that displayed their meager assets to anyone who would look. Two of them hugged him and gave him birthday wishes.  The third sidled up to him, sliding her hands over his chest and aimed a kiss for his mouth which he dodged deftly and it landed on his cheek.  She murmured a somewhat tipsy and breathy ‘Happy Birthday’ reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.  Kacey tamped down the flare of anger she felt at the roving hands on her boyfriend.  

Harry was clearly not happy that the women were there and Kacey surmised that they had crashed his party.  The ringleader gave her a sidelong glance and it took all of Kacey’s willpower to produce a genuine smile for her.  Maybe she was an actress after all.

The model greeted Anne with an air kiss and some small talk.  Over Kacey’s head, Harry shot a look at Gemma who spent a moment debating with herself before deciding to help her younger sibling by removing Kacey from the area.   Coming up with an excuse, she asked Kacey to accompany her to the restroom to which she agreed, albeit reluctantly.  As they were walking away, the flirty model remarked to her friend that one of her favorite movies was ‘Scarface’.   Around them, there was dead silence apart from the tittering of the three women.  Gemma tightened her grip on Kacey’s arm and kept walking.  Kacey heard Anne’s voice but couldn’t make out what she was saying.   Nick, having seen the women walk in, intercepted them just as Kacey turned to Gemma.

“Did she say what I think she said? Did she just call me scarface?  Are you kidding me?  Who is that half-naked, stiff-legged cretin with a death wish?”  Kacey said indignantly.

“That is Kendall Jenner.” Nick said quietly, one corner of his mouth turned up.

“Isn’t she a Kardashian? Oh my god, Harry will need a full-on biohazard detox shower after she kissed him!  There’s no telling where that mouth has been.” Kacey ranted.

Nick snorted and Gemma was trying to pull her away to the toilets when Kacey saw Kendall put her hands on Harry once again.  

“Is she touching him?!  I will snatch that skinny bitch bald!  No, Nick.  Someone needs to pound her fucking face into the floor and that someone is gonna be me.  Aw Hell no!  Did you see that?  She just touched his face!  That whore better take her hands off my man.   Gemma, so help me…” she trailed off as Gemma practically dragged her out of the room.

Nick stood looking after them, a huge grin on his face.  

Harry was beside himself.  When Kendall walked into the room and tried to kiss him in front of Kacey, he thought his heart would stop.   Fortunately she missed his mouth.  Kendall was drunk, as seemed to be her usual state since that damn boat trip that he would regret for the rest of his life.  When she called Kacey that name, his blood had boiled.   While he tried to get his anger under control, hands fisting at his sides, his mum came to the rescue and spoke to Kendall.   Quietly admonishing her for her rude and obnoxious behavior, Anne continued until Kendall seemed somewhat chastened.  She turned to Harry, ostensibly to apologize, and put her hands on his chest and arms.  When she touched his face, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the door.   Kendall was surprised when he stopped there and told her to leave.

“You want me to leave?” she was incredulous.

“Yes.  Take the other two and go.  You weren’t invited, Kendall,” his voice was firm.

“Are you serious? You’re choosing her over me?!” her voice rose to a shriek on the last word.

“Yes. I will always choose her over you.  Now go or I will have you escorted out,” he finished, the anger creeping into his voice.  

He turned and walked away, leaving her dumbfounded.  Harry went to her friends and asked them to leave as well.  They turned on their very high heels and stalked to the door where Kendall was being approached by the security team.  The women were escorted out of the club by the bouncers.  They were caught on camera by the dozens of paps waiting outside, yelling obscenities and threatening the club staff.  It was all over the internet within minutes, and the response wasn’t pretty.  

After watching the club security leave with Kendall and her friends, Harry went in search of Kacey.  He found her sipping a margarita with Nick, who was laughing uproariously at something she had just said.  

“Oh Harry,” he said once he caught his breath, “I like this one.  You should keep her.”

Kacey grinned at him over the salt rim of her drink, a slight pucker in her forehead when she saw the remnants of lipstick on Harry’s cheek.

“Harry, sweetie, you should go disinfect your face before whatever germs she deposited there take hold,” she advised calmly.

Harry just stared at her; he was surprised that she was not angry.  She was smiling, and her tone was humorous with a touch of serious.  He could not help but contrast her demeanor with Kendall’s.  Kacey’s calm manner was a relief after the drama that always seemed to surround Kendall.

“No, seriously, go wash your face or I will not kiss you ---or do anything else to you---until you get tested for all the STDs.  That can take days, if not weeks.  Go on.  Shoo,” she said waving her hand at him.  

Nick burst into laughter as Harry, grinning sheepishly, did as he was told.

The rest of the night was pleasant.   Kacey charmed all of his friends and Harry was so proud of her.  He knew that she had been nervous to meet them but she won them all over with ease.   It was still early by ‘in crowd’ standards when Kacey began to droop.  Harry noticed and was making ready to leave the party and take her home.  Kacey refused to let him leave his own party early and insisted that he stay.  She would have Andy take her home and then return for Harry when he was ready.  Harry felt a frisson of fear at the thought of Kacey walking into his house alone and his mom seemed to notice.  Anne grabbed her purse and coat and announced that she was tired as well and would be leaving with Kacey.  They made their goodbyes and Harry walked them to the door.  He kissed Anne on the cheek before pulling Kacey into his arms for a thorough goodbye kiss.   He waited until they were out of sight to return to his party.

[emma-writes-stuff]

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Hey, so I know I’ve only posted Supernatural so far on here, but here’s a little Harry Potter thingy I threw together because I felt like it.

Young Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 2646

I’m sorry, I know that there’s someone already “fan casted” for young Sirius, but whenever I picture young Sirius, I will always picture Ian Somerhalder, so that is who I’m using. Oopsies.

You were curled up in a small ball on a cream-colored chair in your bedroom, the one you had next to the window with the white curtains drawn shut, your knees tucked underneath you and a book laying across your legs. You were wearing a humungous long-sleeved Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt that fell about to your mid-thigh, as it had once belonged to your much taller than you and much more muscular than you boyfriend, before you “stole” it from him. (In reality, he was happy that you took it, seeing you wear his clothes was one of his favorite things in the world.)

  It had been a week since your sixth year of Hogwarts had ended, and now it was summertime. Three in the morning and sixty degrees outside. Just the way you liked it.

  However, you were internally panicking every second at the thought of the love of your life and what it must be like for him right now. While you were enjoying your summer with your lovely parents in your nice house with the pool in the backyard and your overly energetic ten-year-old dog, poor Sirius was stuck in a humungous gray, lifeless mansion, either in his room trying to avoid everyone, or being screamed at repeatedly for his “failures”. It made you tear up even thinking about anyone treating him like that. The fact that anyone could ever possibly think that your kind, incredibly handsome, strong, brave, (fairly) smart, funny, selfless, giggly, loving, cuddly, adorable boyfriend of three years and absolute best friend of six was a failure of any kind physically hurt you to think about.

  Slamming your book shut and leaning your head back on your chair, you squeezed your eyes closed, unable to think about anything else now other than Sirius. You thought about how much you wanted to be laying across him on the couch, your head resting on his chest and listening to the sound of his heartbeat, the crackling of the fireplace, and the occasional rumbling of his voice as he whispered something to you, running his fingers through your hair endlessly, completely content to just be laying there. You thought about how much you wanted to spend Christmas with him at Hogwarts again, you, Sirius, James, and Remus all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters James had purchased, Sirius’ sweater hugging him perfectly while you drowned in yours, the thick wool falling almost to your knees. Staying up in the common room with Sirius on Christmas Eve after the two of you had so excitedly been counting down for the last month, both of you wearing lopsided but adorable Santa and Mrs. Claus hats, laughing and giggling at random things until it hit midnight and the two of you discovered you had been cuddling under the mistletoe all night, gently kissing as it officially became Christmas Day. Completely losing it and laughing your asses off when James walked down the steps into the common room the second you split apart, dressed in a full Santa suit (including the massive, white, slightly Dumbledore-esque beard), with a giant red sack full of your presents thrown over his shoulder. How wide his eyes had gotten when he realized the two of you were still awake and him laughing a little before hesitantly walking backwards up the steps with a, “Ho? Ho? Ho?” You and Sirius losing it again before making your way up to his room and falling asleep in his arms with a smile on your face. Being woken up by Remus and James leaping onto your bed in their previously mentioned ugly Christmas sweaters, jumping up and down and screaming “MERRY CHRISTMAS, LOVEBIRDS!!!” All four of you running downstairs to open gifts, the only four students that had stayed over the holiday. Spending the day by the fire and listening to the record player and collection of records (old and new) that Sirius had somehow bought you, which was extra sweet knowing that it was a Muggle invention that he would have had to learn about and figure out and then spend a ton of money on, knowing how much you would love one. The record player that was now only a few feet away from you on a stand in your room after you had brought it home for the summer.

  You remembered playing Quidditch, a Chaser, until some random Slytherin you were playing against purposely threw a Bludger at your head and sent you toppling thirty feet straight down off your broomstick. How Sirius had zoomed to you the second you left the wooden stick, pushing with everything he had in him to get to you before you hit the ground, but failing to get there. You remembered being rushed to the hospital wing, how no matter how hard they tried to get him to go away, Sirius insisted that he was the first one to get to you on the field and he would be the last one to leave your side, that it was only fair as he followed like a lost puppy until you were in the hospital wing, his fingers intertwined with yours and body racked with sobs as he blamed himself for you getting hurt, convinced that he should have blocked the Bludger, caught you before you hit the ground, something, although there was nothing he could have done. You blacked out about three or four minutes after the fall, but you were told in private by James that he had been bawling, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible person and a worse boyfriend, I love you, I love you, please be okay, you can hate me if you want, sweetheart, but please be okay, I love you so much please” over and over again. The thought of it broke your heart. It had taken you a few months to remember everything that happened in the few minutes after you hit the ground, given that the hit had given you a concussion and three broken bones. Which, luckily Madam Pomfrey repaired in a week, but she highly recommended you stayed off the field the rest of the season, and you promised her that even if she hadn’t said something, there was no way Sirius would let you touch a broomstick any time before you were thirty. She had just smiled knowingly at you before saying, “I don’t think that boy’s left your side for a second the last week unless I told him he had to so I could do something. I’d be shocked if he’s eaten or gone to a single class since the game. You’ve got yourself a keeper, hon, you really do.”

  After the fall, you had spent the last twelve games of the season in the stands, all decked out in some sort of house t-shirt and your team varsity jacket or sweatshirt. Most of the time you would also put face paint on each cheek: a line of red on each, a line of gold on each. Sirius loved it, especially when you would put his number on one underneath the lines. The team wasn’t as good without you, not nearly, but the fact that you were right there for them, cheering them on from the sidelines, seemed to give them enough of a reason to push through and (barely) win the majority of the games.

  You remembered when you finally told each other how you felt and he begged asked you to be his. It was very early fourth year and James was so tired of hearing Sirius go on and on about you (as was Remus of hearing you go on and on about Sirius to him) that the two of them somehow convinced Sirius to just go for it and ask you to the Yule Ball. He had been so nervous approaching you, shaking and awkwardly holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers behind his back. “I, erm, I’ve kind of been slowly been writing this, um, big giant speech that I would eventually give you……erm, sort of for the last two years. And now I’m realizing that I’ve- um, forgotten, most of it and that, oh, god, I’m ruining this whole thing and- Y/N, you’re my best friend in this whole entire world. Don’t tell James. You’ve been there with me through everything, and I feel like I can tell you anything. I honestly, I don’t know how I would have made it through everything without you. I need you, Y/N. And as bad as I feel because I know there’s no way you’ll ever feel the same way, every time we hug or walk around together or you kiss my cheek or fall asleep against me or laugh or even just look at me- I guess I would say that, um, my heart, it just flies. I know I’m just embarrassing myself now and you probably just feel bad for me, I just, I think that- I think that you’re the greatest person in the world. You’re so beautiful and smart and funny and talented and kind and absolutely everything that I’m not. I’m in love with you. There, I finally said it out loud. I’m, um, I am in love with you, and I’m holding onto the tiniest chance that even after this shitty awful speech of mine that maybe you would be willing to, um, go with me? To the Yule Ball?” You remembered how he looked down at the ground, completely ashamed of himself for “ruining” everything, you standing there in shock until you stepped forward, lifted his head and said, “Sirius, I’ve been in love with you since first year,” and flung your arms around him. How he had laughed and spun you around, how as he put you down he cried, “Wait, so……is that a, a yes?!?” And how you replied, “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

  And you remembered the day you first met Sirius Black. The day that you, a confused, muggleborn eleven-year-old girl stumbled your way onto the huge train with gigantic eyes full of wonder. How you wandered from compartment to compartment, only to see that all of them were full………except for one. The one with the messy haired kid with dorky glasses and the (even then) handsome boy with ebony hair, fighting back and forth over some sort of sport team. How you had shyly slid the door open, despite your outgoing nature, and cautiously asked, “Can, um, can I sit in here with you two? All the other compartments are completely full.” How the handsome one had grinned at you, nodding his head as he quickly replied, “Yeah, definitely!” How the three of you sat together, laughing and joking and planning pranks, immediately hitting it off. You were instant friends. James and Sirius told you everything there was to know about the sorting ceremony, and how they were sure you would end up in Gryffindor, which they seemed to think was the best house by far. You remembered how close you and Sirius seemed to be after only a few minutes of talking, and how James had later told you that he could see it the second you stepped into their compartment.

  You sighed, standing up and walking across your room to put your book back on the shelf, when you heard a loud crash and a yelp from downstairs. You leaped what seemed to be five feet in the air at the sudden noise cutting through the silence, heart racing out of your chest as you swiped your wand off your dresser, just in case, and crept swiftly down the stairs and into the living room. Running into the room and flicking on the light switch in a second, you yelled, “Who’s there?!?” in an angry tone, only to see a familiar, tall figure in front of your fireplace.

  He turned to face you, black hair whipping around his head and an incredibly scared, vulnerable expression on his face that made your heart ache.

  “Sirius?” you breathed out, running towards him and falling into his arms, wrapping yours around him. Taking a step back, you looked up at him, seeing that his eyebrows were furrowed together and it looked like he was holding back tears.

  “Oh my god, are you okay? What are you doing here?” you sighed, relieved, heart still racing against your chest.

  “I couldn’t take it, Y/N. I was asleep and she came running into my room, o-out of nowhere. Screaming at me like a bloody banshee……I couldn’t take it. She just wouldn’t stop- everything I ever did………it hurt, but I was alright, I could deal with it. But then she started on you. I’ve got, erm, I’ve got pictures of you, pasted all over my walls. She- she called you a bloody mudblood. A fucking mudblood. I was j-just so angry. I lost it on her and I- I finally ran away. I did it. I didn’t know where else to go, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid- bloody stupid…”

  “Shhh shhh,” you whispered, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his head into your shoulder, which he happily obliged to. “I am so glad you came here, and I am so glad that you finally left that place.” You could feel him shaking now, crying a little.

  “God,” he said, his voice broken and muffled by your shoulder. “Why am I crying? I’m happy to be out, I am. Why can’t I- I stop crying?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just me, you can- you can cry,” you whispered. “I love you so much, and I swear it’ll be fine. You can stay here, we can share my room, we can visit James all the time- it’ll all be fine.”

  “Okay,” he paused to cough a little. “Okay.”

  He let out a shaky laugh before saying, “You know, I was in such a hurry to get out of there, I didn’t grab anything but my wand. I literally have no clothes or anything.”

  You laughed a little before responding, “I’ll go back to get all of your stuff tomorrow. I might also make a small stop to punch your mother in her ugly face, but…”

  He wrapped his arms tighter around you, kissing your neck as he buried his head in your shoulder again. “You would really do that?”

  “Punch your mother? Because, I mean, Sirius, after six years you know me well enough to know that I would totally…”

  “I mean go back there. To that awful place where they would hate you, just to get some stuff of mine?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  He pulled away, staring at you with slightly wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, his eyes quickly filling with love and a smirk growing on his face.

  “God, do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked seriously. You grinned at him right before he crashed his lips against yours. “You are actually the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life.”

  “You’re in the top ten,” you said with a crooked smile.

  He raised his eyebrows as if challenging you. “I guess that means that over the next two and a half months that you’re stuck with me, I’m just gonna have to make my way to number one.”

  “You really think you can beat junk food?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at you with a dorky smile before replying, “Trust me, I think this is a challenge I can win.”

  You laughed. “Someone’s feeling pretty ambitious.”

  “Well, if I can get you to somehow like my sorry ass, I can do just about anything.”

  “Fair enough.” You grinned at him before finally saying meaningfully, “I hope you know that you really are the most important thing in my life, Sirius.”

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Thank you, really, for letting me stay.”

  “Thank you for coming home.”