#thinkin about getting her a cat n playing it off in story as like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riddle-me-ri · 2 years ago

Note

My cat fell asleep on my arm and that got me thinking of you could write a fic about reader falling asleep on the various ozzies XD how would they react and what would they do?

(Btw I absolutely love your writing I check your blog everyday to see if you've written anything new and it's always such a treat when you do 💝)

A/N: first off I am absolutely here for the cats invading everyone’s personal space and claiming human limbs as beds, as well as the fact there were two similar themed requests (same anon? Maybe possibly?) I hope y’all don’t mind I sorta combined the two of your requests because…yeah they were really similar rip. I will link the backstory to Farrell!Penguin’s drabble in his section, and the other Ozzies will be original.

Penguins Reacting to Reader Falling Asleep on Them:

Arkhamverse Penguin:

Well, what was he to expect? That coat he wears is comfy inside and out.

You were sitting beside Oswald at the head of the long dining table.

You heard some parts of the conversation, but it didn’t take long between the dullness of the topic and the cacophony of voices to all sound one in the same. You barely make out what Ozzie’s saying as your eyelids eventually get too heavy to hold open any longer.

Oswald was in the middle of giving an order when he felt the slightest weight on his upper arm. Everyone grew silent when they notice you’ve actually nodded off. Some men stared in shock, if they were to fall asleep during a meeting…Oswald wouldn’t hesitate to knock them out for good.

They weren’t you though. You had him wrapped around your finger like a vine to a branch. He glanced over to you. The scowl on his face perking up to a soft endearing smile towards you. He immediately lowered his voice, but still delivered the order in a stern tone. If any of his men raised their voices even the slightest, he’d shush them.

“Keep your bloody voice down!” He hissed. “Can’t you see my love is sleepin?”

Reevesverse/Farrell Penguin:

Click on Farrell Oz's header for the full backstory on how the reader managed to pop a squat on Oz’s lap.

Needless to say, you got pretty comfortable in Ozzie’s lap. You reveled in the closeness, being wrapped up in his warmth and clean but not overbearing cologne. You even gained the courage in your newfound comfortability to put your hand over his that was cupped around your waist. Oz quirked an eyebrow at the gesture, but smiled and let you hold his hand.

Once his friends went off to go dancing with their dates for the night. You enjoyed the one on one time with Oz.

Between the stories shared and the drinks sipped. Time passed faster and it got really late. You don’t remember how or what, but your eyelids were slowly closing like the red curtains at the end of a play. Oswald was so soft, warm, inviting. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t resist.

Selina walked passed handing Oz a wad of cash but not before giggling softly. “Looks like your date’s decided to take a cat nap.”

Oz furrowed his eyes until he looked down. Sure enough, you were snoozing away. You hand on his chest, the hand on his hand slowly losing it’s grip on his. He couldn’t help but mimic the smile you had on your face. He moved his hand that was on your waist over your free hand, to keep holding it to your side. Oswald grew to like holding your hand.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, it’d appear so.”

“You want me to clear a spot on the couch in your office, boss?” Selina offered.

Oz looked up at her and nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

Selina nodded back with a smile, but not before stealing a glance at you. “I think they’re a keeper. I’ve never seen you smile so much in one night.”

Oswald glanced back down at you. Your body completely lax against his, you’re breathing even. You must feel so content with him. He must make you feel safe…

He brushed a stray hair off your cheek and tightened his hold on you. “Yeah…I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”

Gotham Penguin:

“What I’m trying to say is…this war CANNOT and should NOT persist. Why must we shed MORE blood, WASTE away more lives!” Oswald was on another passionate rant, to no one in particular but it always helped his mind come up with the solutions.

“Ehh..boss…”

“What, Butch?”

Butch pointed to you on Oswald’s left side. He turned to you and almost jolted out of his skin.

Y-You were asleep. Gently resting along his shoulder. Your steady breathing caused the tiniest of hairs on Oswald’s pale skin stand up.

“H-How long was I talking?”

Butch glanced at his watch. “A little over 2 hours, boss.” He gave his employer a lopsided smile.

Oswald’s eyes widened. No wonder you dozed off, but he didn’t suspect…he never suspected. You would find him…cozy…inviting.

“O-Oh…that..that explains it..” Oswald whispered, worried that even the slightest hitch in his voice or twitch in his body will jostle you awake. He can’t say he’s quick to remove you away from him though.

Butch chuckled. Fully aware of the feelings you and Oswald had for each other but refused to act on. Whilst it was adorable, it was equally infuriating.

“Good night, boss.” Butch began making his way up the stairs to the spare bedrooms in the mansion.

“W-Wait! B-Butch..” He hissed. “W-What do I do about them?”

Butch shrugged, but continued to walk off.

Oswald was about to yell at Butch to come back and help him, but the slight tension in his body caused your head to squirm on his shoulder.

Well, this wasn’t one of the most uncomfortable places to fall asleep. He leaned back in the plush cushioned chair, your head still glued to his shoulder. Oswald reluctantly laid the side of his face on top of your head.

He couldn’t help but chuckle in warm delight.

Yeah, there were way worse conditions to take a nap in.

BTAS Penguin:

“Oh look, my dear! A gorgeous little dove–oh!”

He looks down to see you nestled into his chest, with one hand clinging to the lapels of his suit jacket.

You and Oswald were taking a small rest on a park bench. You enjoyed these special little moments with Oswald. Just the two of you taking a stroll through the park, talking about nothing, looking at all the birds that come your way.

It was still early in the evening, and it was fair to say you didn’t get the best sleep last night.

Oswald gulped at the close proximity. W-Why would you sleep on him? Surely he wasn’t the most..comfortable cushion. You had a better chance leaning your head over the bench, or resting on the bench’s armrest.

Yet, you didn’t do any of that.

You sought out for him, resting your body into his without so much as a second thought.

You…you really do like him.

Oswald couldn’t help but smile widely in glee. He could jump up in joy, but he will refrain so he won’t wake you up. He noticed the birds nearby chirping more than usual, as if they’re sharing in his delighted mood.

He wrapped his arm around you and gently squeezed you, so you were closer to him. His heart almost swelled when he saw you smile and snuggle your head closer to him.

Oswald kissed the top of your head before resting his chin on top of your head.

TNBA Penguin:

The night was electric. It was a special night at the Iceberg Lounge. Oswald was premiering a brand new performance act for the club. It took months of preparation and discussions, but it was finally happening.

The night couldn’t have had a better turn out.

Oswald was seated next to you in one of the half circle booths facing the stage. Once the act was over, Oz couldn’t help but notice you went rather quiet and his shoulder felt more heavy. He glanced down to see you snoozing away.

Any other time and if it’d been any other person he would be offended at such a rude display. However, he knew the cause, and how he was part of it. You put just as much hours into setting this up and getting this to work more than anyone.

Plus, he couldn’t help but enjoy the small palpations his heart was doing. He always enjoyed the idea of having you by his side. The idea of you being intimate enough with him to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, or…doze off on top of him.

This…this was a good start to making his idea…his dream of you two become a reality.

Oswald leaned up slightly off the back of the booth. As gently as he could, he readjusted himself so that he was laying back into the booth instead of sitting up straight. He grabbed your spare jacket that you rested on your lap and wrapped it around your upper body.

Oz gave you a small peck on your cheek.

“Thank you, my dear…for everything.” He whispered softly in your ear, silently hoping you heard him.

Telltale Batman:

You were so excited to see Oswald when he said he was coming back to Gotham City. Tossing and turning in your bed from excitement it was safe to say the rough three hours of sleep you got were finally catching up to you.

You and Ozzie were hanging out in his new apartment. After getting him settled in to his new digs. You guys ordered take out and grabbed a couple movies to watch on the couch. The food was long gone and you were in the middle of the second film.

Oz couldn’t help but notice you had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He glances down and sees you snuggled up against the pillow and his lower abdomen. Your breathing was even and your eyes were closed.

Always the one to mess with him, earlier you had rested a pillow on Oz’s lap and laid your head there to watch the films. Oz scoffed at you but didn’t make you budge. Now he was sort of regretting that decision. Only a little bit though.

One of your hands was gripping the edge of his black shirt and the other was wrapped around his waist.

God, you really were so adorable. Why the hell did you ever hang on to a low-life like him? No assets, no money, no estate…just a name that used to mean something…be worth something.

Even if he never quite understood you. He appreciated your presence in his life all the more. Oswald did not ever want to think about a life without you. He’s already lost Bruce, if he lost you too…he really wouldn’t have anybody else.

Oz leaned over you as best he could. Snatched the remote he turned the TV off and he gently slid his lap out from under you. He watched to make sure the sudden movement didn’t wake you. You ended up just nuzzling into the pillow. He chuckled.

Oz scooped his arms under your body and slowly lifted you off the couch. He carried you into the one bedroom with a king mattress. He recalls the small argument with you over his sheet and comforter colors matching the pillow cases. It makes him laugh internally to himself.

He pulls back the covers and sheets and laid you down gently into the mattress. Oz tucked you in, occasionally glancing at your eyes making sure you weren’t waking up. Before he left to crash on the couch, he took another glimpse of your sleeping face.

Oswald smiled, brushing your hair gently out of your face. He got up to his feet, but not before kissing your temple.

“Sweet dreams, love.”

One Bad Day Penguin:

The Iceberg Lounge had just closed after another successful night. You were helping Oz with his book keeping. Everyone talks about counting sheep to fall asleep…but what about counting and crunching numbers.

It had to have been about five in the morning, when Oswald all of a sudden felt a sudden weight on his back. You two were sitting back to back of each other, occasionally checking in on each other and making sure everything was in order and adding up.

However, he never expected you laying back and nestling in his back. Oswald couldn’t help but admit, you were warmer and more inviting than any blanket he’s ever owned.

“Hey, sweetie…you wanna call it a night?” He asked softly.

Your only response was some slight squirming and wordless murmuring.

“Ah..I see.” Oz responded sarcastically. In moments like these he wished he was more physically capable. He would carry you up to your room in the upper floors of the lounge.

But maybe I can make it to that couch…

There was a violet loveseat on the other side of your office. As quickly but seamless as he could, Oz spun around on his chair to catch you before your body fell from the lack of support from his back. Oswald jumped off from his seat, and slowly used the wheels of your chair to roll you over to the couch.

Once the wheels met the edge of the couch, Oz cupped his hands around your neck and lower waist. Using all his strength he moved you from the chair to the couch. Thankfully the transition didn’t disturb you.

Oswald took a deep exhale in relief. Now he got to take a good luck at your sleeping face.

It should be a crime to be this cute. It should be an even harsher offense to have someone so precious like you work for the likes of him. However he enjoyed your company too much, call him selfish but you made him happy. You made him feel like a human, deserving of happiness and love. Call him selfish if was ever going to give that up.

He didn’t even notice him crossing his arms on the couch. Slowly, he lowered his head to rest on top of his folded arms. Just watching you peacefully sleep.

You were able to peacefully doze off in his presence. Oswald began reminiscing on all his memories with you, and just how joyful and content he was in each one.

Oz slowly drifted off to sleep too, dreaming of the past with you and the future that has yet to make itself known. But if you were there with him, Oswald was more than ready for whatever the future holds.

#ri writes #ri almost added one more penguin into the mix but #I was worried these were getting repetitive rip #the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #arkhamverse penguin x reader #reevesverse penguin x reader #farrell penguin x reader #gotham penguin x reader #btas penguin x reader #batman the animated series penguin x reader #tnba penguin x reader #the new batman adventures penguin x reader #telltale penguin x reader #one bad day penguin x reader

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Text

Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.” It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power.

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles.

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words.

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone.

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend.

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile.

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well.

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it.

“It sounds wonderful.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.”

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out.

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there.

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling.

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night.

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own.

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand.

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up.

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands.

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation.

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.”

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring.

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends.

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway.

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.”

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint.

“It’s perfect.” Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze.

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none.

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner.

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #superhero au

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flightofaqrow · 3 years ago

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mothering (on mother’s day)

qrow + Sun Wukong ( @ultravioletvoleur )

fighting clearly hadn’t been what was on the kid’s mind. maybe he just wasn’t thinkin’ at all; he definitely isn’t right now as words tumble from his mouth, barely coherent. qrow still doesn’t need to hear these things about his niece, but he’ll let this one slide.

Sun leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this, “I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Quick update, may wanna say Happy Mother's Day to your niece. ...Kaybye!"

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qrow whips open Harbinger faster than a nevermore diving upon its prey, and fires a warning shot off as Sun makes a break for it, near missing the base of his tail.

he knows the kid well enough by now, and trusts Yang even more, than to truly buy into the implications of his statement. oh, but if playing this cat and mouse game makes the cheeky monkey so happy, qrow will absolutely go a round.

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“YIPE!”

That was a much faster reaction than he’d anticipated, barely making it ten feet before the crack of exploding gunpowder rang out. There was a hole smoking in the wall in front of him- dangerously close to banana height, and Sun began sweating. He turned very jerkily, with the closest approximation of a cocksure grin he could manage through his abject terror.

“Oh, uh. D-did you… Need something?”

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well, at least qrow got to make a point, should he ever actually need to act on teaching the kid a thing or two. alternatively, about picking fights one may not be able to win. a similar tough past he may have, thieves at least tended to work from codes of honor. not every struggle is the same.

he prods, sarcastic, feigned anger lining the sharp curve of narrowed eyes, sword still deployed at his side, “what in all of remnant makes you think you can just say things to me?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There is a very audible gulp as the Hunstman advances on him. Every other time they’d traded barbs, he’d gotten the sense that Qrow was something of an old glory days kind of person, who had lost their touch a bit. However, that split second action, and the pointed glare burning through his confidence like a hot knife through butter, told him a whole new story.

Qrow Branwen was what his nightmares were made of.

“Well you see I thought we were buddies and I thought you would know it was a joke I swear I haven’t laid a hand on your niece like that I would never well not never possibly in the future but definitely not right now not that I don’t think she’s attractive she’s very attractive oh but that’s not the only reason-”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

tch. forever a curse, even at his best. maybe he laid on the drama a bit too thick. honestly, he thought a bit of zeal is something Sun could appreciate. he’s far too much talk still, isn’t he? all bright light and translucent beaming rays which still questioned their own substance. he might be further ahead than he seemed at first, but still has a ways to go. …kids these days.

“of course I knew it was a joke, golden boy.” qrow folds away his weapon, drops his stance, while raising a brow. he lessens his posturing, but not his attention, hand still remaining on Harbinger’s hilt in the case of some trick.

“but I also took it as a taunt, tellin’ me you’re finally ready for a real man’s brawl. heh, guess i was wrong.”

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“What?!”

He’d almost lost his stones by way of his ass for a sassback?! Their Uncle was even more intimidating now, and he was going to die on that hill. Still, though, knowing that he wasn’t actually angry was a huge relief. The tension left his body and he slumped down with a sigh-

And then he noticed Qrow’s weapon was still out and ready.

“He-hey, uh. N-no need for that. I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I actually wanted to get you riled up so we could then use that energy into doing something for her. I- I know her situation with her mom isn’t great. I dunno the specifics, that’s for her to tell me when she’s ready, but…” He trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Well, I guess… I just want to make today lively for her, instead of having people walking on eggshells around her. Make her excited and happy that today happened, rather than add it to a growing pile of disappointing holidays.”

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“you moron,” finally, he fully releases, instead staring dumbfounded at the other. he really did think he could just come around and say whatever, and still get his way without consequences. what single-minded, reckless, stupid drivel. yeah, qrow had been an idiot brained teen at one point, but seriously never that bad. he didn’t have that kinda energy. different plans took different tactics, did they not teach anything at Haven or Shade anymore?

“i don’t need to be ‘riled up’ to do something for my family, kid. couldn’t you just ask like a normal person? i promise you, me bein’ jazzed up ain’t the kinda lively she needs.”

eyes now round with sadness; his chest deflates; pointed corners of his mouth turn down. it’s too close to the belligerence he used to have - unprovoked, but drunk. he’s trying so hard to be better than that. for a lotta reasons, but Yang too.

he breathes in, and out, fingers running in and out over his forehead. once satisfied in processing all these thoughts, in having switched gears, he turns to Sun once more, hopefully coming off with the same rational attitude he wants in return, “so, then, turn your brain and your sense of respect on, and just tell me what you had in mind, huh?

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“Well… That’s kinda the thing. I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

He leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this. In truth, he’d wanted to go about this like a normal person, more than anything. Something in him, however, be it a defense mechanism or just a general need for attention he’d never really received drove him to do everything to an excess.

Truth be told, nobody hated Sun’s antics more than he, himself.

“I… I’m going to try to be serious here, for a minute. It’s- It’s not something that comes easy.” He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m… scared. I’m really, truly scared, Qrow, of how she makes me feel. How much it would hurt to lose her, or even see her hurting. I just get so caught up in my own head that I can’t think straight, and… I’ve never…”

Another sigh. “I’ve never had a family before. So I don’t know what to do to help someone who’s mourning theirs. But I see her hurting, and I want to help, and when I came to you, I swear, I wanted to just ask, but. …That would mean… Admitting I love her.”

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oh, here we go. this roller coaster again. what about his look or his life or any of his choices made him seem like someone to go to for advice? qrow barely scraped his own life together, and still dropped the pieces too many times. but somewhere along the line, somewhere in just trying to do good - for his team, for Oz, for his family, for Ruby, something must have slipped in to his very psyche, huh.

Ruby somehow always knows the right thing to do. Yang had told her.

I had good role models. Ruby had told him.

he’s cursed. and he wrestles with it every damn day. and while he’d never call it a good thing, maybe some people see themselves in that same fight. maybe he sees himself in theirs and their struggle to understand and express themselves, and that’s why even in the times he wants nothing to do with other people and their decisions, and he’s sure he’ll just mess everything up, he can’t help but listen. he can’t turn them away. doing so would do nothing to mend the wounds of a broken world. and in the end, continuing to try is the only way to stick it to Salem.

he takes a spot next to the young man against the wall, knee bending and sole kicking up as he leans, crosses his arms, turns his head to Sun and fixes his gaze on him.

“yeah. loving people is scary. probably means you’re doin’ it right.”

qrow doesn’t know a damn thing about romance. not like that, anyway. he’s never been brave enough to face that very fear, to let someone that intimately close. almost, sometimes, maybe. somehow his chances always disappear before he’s quite there, only confirming those very fears. a great and terrible feedback loop, that. although, he can’t say such words are entirely unfamiliar; admittedly, the whole conversation is nostalgic. thrice over. he laughs, a bittersweet little huff, “…you sound just like her parents.”

that kinda love he knows, found, eventually. family. and if you ask him, they’re equally as scary to think of losing. “our family has never been the typical picket fence dream either, so don’t think you’re missin’ pieces of some non-existent normal. there’s no big secret about bein’ one, kid. you just gotta be there for each other.”

a palm-down hand raises to sweep across his body in a dismissive motion, “an’ not everything has to be some grand production to top the one before. trust me, i’ve screwed that up enough times to know.” qrow looks towards the ground, slides the toe of his shoe back and forth. “Yang, she… she’s used to people comin’ and goin’ in her life. if they come back at all. so, seriously… just go to her. be with her. she’s a tough egg, and too smart. she’ll tell you what she needs if you can just shut your giant trap enough to let her.”

#* not all are so brave = ultravioletvoleur *#* we got work to do = ic *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

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The Assistant / Chapter Thirty One, “Timing”

Find all chapters to this story here!

Check out the character survey from Becky’s POV I did recently! :-)

Warnings: Very brief mention of IVs (needles)

Song Inspo: My My Love by Joshua Radin (Click to listen)

Sneaky Peeeeeeeeeky!

“A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one inch mark.

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats.”

“No. W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, unable to control my words. Or my thoughts. Or my emotions.

At the drop of my words, Harry’s face falls. His eyebrows. The budding smile on his lips. And the brightness in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. And it escapes my mind when he crosses the distance between us. His black slacks, teal geometric-patterned button down, and curls are a blur in the seconds that follow. Suddenly, his arms are around me and pulling me into him. With sleep still clinging to my mind, and unsure of what to do, I freeze.

“Please don’t tell me you left work to drive 3 hours to come to Madley,” I confess quietly into the damp shoulder of his black peacoat. Shivering, his fingers run trails up and down my back.

“Shuddup, I ‘ave a case t’morrow nearby in Wolverhampton . . . Jus’ lemme do sumthin’ nice fer ya,” he says, his soft words drifting over the top of my head.

“I-I’m sorry. I just woke up and you caught me off guard,” I apologize meekly, feeling myself relax. My arms wind around his waist and lace themselves together over his coat.

“‘s okay,” he hums. His hands pause and I feel them brush my hair away. “I know ya hadda rough night- well couple o’ days,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. My lungs still and I wait, wondering if he’ll kiss my head. But it doesn’t come, and I try to will away the disappointment beginning inside of me. I’ve become so accustomed to it that it doesn’t want to leave this time. Then it’s joined by the happy disbelief appearing wet in my eyes.

“Couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, an’ figured I had t’ come up ‘ere t’morow mornin’ anyways. Wha’s an extra night hurt?” The first few words do it for me, and there I am spewing tears all over his shoulder. They’re not a waterfall, but the emotions growing inside of me feel that way. And they’re here, because he is.

He holds me tighter against him, and I feel his cheek rest on my head. Holding on tight to his coat, I let myself and everything I’m feeling melt against him. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here,” I confess in a trembling voice interrupted by sniffling.

“I think I do do, ‘coz you were there fer me tha day o’ tha funeral when I needed a friend. An’ at tha hospital. Ya showed up fer me, Becks, an’ I wanted t’ do tha same fer ya,” Harry reveals softly from above me. My lips bend into a happy smile amongst the tears that come harder at his words. “I brought dinna, ‘cuz I knew ya prolly hadn’t eaten. ‘s luck that I found ya atta vendin’ machine.”

His precious laugh greets my ears as his fingers tickle up my back. The bunches of fabric leave my hands, and I step away to search for those green eyes. After a few seconds, I find them staring down at me. They’re blurry behind the tears, but soon his smiling face sharpens.

“No mo’ tears, ‘kay? Le’s go eat some dinna an’ find sumthin’ good on tha telly,” Harry whispers, running the pad of his thumb along my cheeks. Nodding, his hand envelopes mine and we go to find a sitting area.

The halls are deserted besides a few nurses checking in on patients. Familiar medical-sounding beeps sound throughout the hallway. After guiding the way for Harry as I wipe my cheeks, we soon find our dining table. Or rather a sofa with a little table.

“I hope fish an’ chips ‘s alright,” he says, doubt filling his words.

“Of course they are. Did you get them from Maggie’s over on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I think so. Li’l shop with photos coverin’ tha walls?” he questions as he unpacks the brown paper bag.

“Yep, that’s the one. They make the best fish and chips I’ve had. And I would know, because I grew up eating these ones my entire life.”

“Well I guess ya would know then,” Harry relents, shrugging his shoulders with a toothy smile.

Whispered ‘thank yous’ float between us as we pass each other food and napkins. With two cups of water from the cooler a few steps away, we dig in.

“No kiddin��, these are good. ‘s always tha family owned shops that make tha best ones, innit?” Harry mumbles with a mouth full of food. I reply with an ‘mmmhmm’, trying not to laugh at the crumbs speckling his chin.

The crispy, buttery cod melts on my tongue. With my free hand, I grab hold of the gray remote sitting on the table beside me.

“Hey, ‘s my turn t’ pick what we watch,” Harry whines, stealing the remote from me.

“Rude!” I retort, but any words I had left to say collapse into laughter. Licking his thumb, he peeks over at me. A sly grin stuck to his lips.

Shaking my head, I look away and pick up a chip from the paper tray in my hand. When my eyes return to him, a ketchup-covered chip sits in his hand. Meanwhile, his face is screwed up in concentration at the telly. I smile, and then notice his reflection in the dark window on the other side of him. Kicking his foot with my right, he turns to the left to look at me in confusion.

“Just pick something!” I tell him, my palm turning up to help me talk. His dark curls dance atop his head as it goes from side to side.

“Oh hush, you. Cantcha letta man think?” he quips before feeding the chip past his cherry lips.

“No, not when it takes you an hour to pick what to watch,” I reply, yanking it from his hands.

“Heeeey! I was jus’ gonna pick that episode o’ Friends!”

“Wait, you like Friends?!” I nearly yell, my head snapping to look at him.

“O’course! Who doesn’t? I grew up watchin’ that show with me mum an’ sista,” he answers. With those words, my heart does a somersault in my chest. Oh my fuck, I’m falling again. “Wha’? Do ya not like it?”

“No, I-I love it. I grew up watching it, too. It’s like my comfort show - I watch it when I’m happy, sad, mad, excited- you name it,” I reply slowly, engrossed in gathering ketchup onto my chip. When I hear his murmured ‘me too’ from a mouth full of food, the devil and angel inside of me go crazy. For once, they seem to root for the same team.

“Favourite characta?” his words greet the air effortlessly. He licks the salt and grease from his thumb, and I suddenly regret looking up. The things you do to me, Styles.

“On the count of 3?” I ask, and his chestnut ringlets bounce with a nod.

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3.”

“Phoebe!” we both say in unison, sending us into fits of giggles.

“There’s nuthin’ betta than her on dat show. She’s hilarious, plays guitar, ‘s a surrogate fer her bloody brotha, an’ ‘s gorgeous,” Harry explains, and I’m following with every word. And with each one, I feel the butterflies in my tummy flutter again. For possibly the tenth time already tonight.

“All of the great jokes and catchphrases from the show are from her: Regina Phalange, Smelly Cat, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, ‘I don’t even have a pla’, Gladys the framed doll, and that stupid taxi. She’s blunt and so funny, but she’s so sweet and would do anything for her friends,” I continue, watching him nod emphatically as he picks up another chip.

“Couldn’ ‘ave said it betta meself. Oh I love dis episode where they’re stuck at tha beach house. Poor Phoebs findin’ out tha truth ‘bout her mum dat way, tho’,” Harry comments, his mouth falling into a delighted and then sad O. My eyes follow his to the screen of the telly where our attention is held for the next twenty minutes.

My shoes only stop squeaking when I stop in front of the garbage bin. After tossing the greasy paper bag, I rub a pump of hand sanitizer into my hands. I wince at the awful sounds my shoes make as I try to walk quietly down the tiled hallway. The snoring greets my ears before I see him, but when I do, I smile. With careful steps, I pluck my backpack from the couch before leaving the room.

“He still sleepin’?” Harry asks, looking up from the Friends marathon from the telly. We scored!

“Yep,” I answer, plopping down onto the sofa beside him.

“Good,” he answers, slumping down further into the gray cushions. My backpack drops with a thud to the floor after I got what I needed. “What’re ya doin’? ‘s eleven-thirty, love. Tha’s no time t’ be doin’ homework.”

“I know, but I need to submit an assignment before I forget. It’s due at midnight,” I answer, seeing his nod out of the corner of my eye.

My laptop wakes with its usual jingle, and I watch my browser load. The audience laughter fills my ears at a humorous line from Chandler. Surprise, surprise. The maroon and navy blue colors of my uni’s website appear in front of me. Within a few moments, I’m on the web page for my course.

“Wha’s tha assignment?” Harry inquires, his eyes never leaving the telly. A laugh creases his cheeks, making me smile. But I’m not very sad I missed what’s so funny, because he makes up for it.

“Um, it’s an essay about Thomas Cromwell and his theories and stuff,” I reply, opening the page for assignments.

“Ah, I see they ‘aven’t changed coursework much from my day. Cromwell ‘s bloody obvious when ya start talkin’ ‘bout British law.”

“I know, it’s like the professor didn’t even try when drafting this assignment,” I comment with a small titter. Relief washes over me when I get a message saying my submission was successful. And something else too from being able to talk to him about law so easily. Something akin to how a hot chocolate makes you feel on a winter’s day.

I glance up and find Harry losing it with laughter. There’s a fleeting temptation to ask him to clue me in. But a laugh tingles on my lips when I find what he’s laughing at. Monica’s crying as she holds onto Chandler’s arm, an ocean scene in the background.

“Can’ believe Joey actually peed on Monica.” The words leave Harry’s mouth in between chuckles rather sloppily.

“He was just trying to help!” I comment, unable to stop laughing either.

“But it doesn’t even help! They say it makes it worse even,” he laughs, rubbing his forehead.

Shaking my head, my eyes fall to my laptop screen. After a few clicks, lines of text cloud my eyes. My eyes roll into the back of my head at their appearance. I find it nearly impossible to hold back a groan.

“What’re you gripin’ ‘bout ova here?” Harry questions with teasing in his tone.

“I have to read the entire case of Haughton v. Smith for a test, and it’s so confusing. I mean, working with you brushed me up on a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. But still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense to me,” I huff, my chin falling into the palm of my hand.

“Alright, lemme see what part yer at,” he says in a quiet voice. I try to ignore the regret budding inside of me at what I said about working at his firm. And how it makes me feel, and probably him, too. I don’t know why I ever bring it up, because sometimes it feels like when somebody else brings up the ex-boyfriend, or something. The sofa cushion dips as he closes the space between us. The angel and demon inside of me erupt into synonymous cheers when his arm goes around me.

“God, did you forget your glasses or something, Grandpa?” my question sputters from my lips in a cackle, watching him squint at the screen.

“Oh shuddup, an’ I mean it,” Harry quips, looking away for a moment. When I see the reason why, instead of a laugh consuming my thoughts, something else does. For some fucking reason, my heart warms at the sight of him unfolding a pair of mottled brown Pantos glasses. He tucks the brown case into the inside of his blazer, his peacoat on a chair. “Ya ya, laugh all ya want at me an’ me readin’ glasses.”

But when he looks down at me with them settled on his nose, I don’t laugh. “Why aren’t ya laughin’ anymo’, hmm?” he questions.

“I think they look really nice on you. They make you look handsome and sophisticated,” I tell him slowly, and it’s undeniable the pink that pinches his cheeks.

“Well ‘s ‘bout time fer dat t’ happen, only took me twenty-nine years,” he jokes, bringing a smile to my lips. My head goes from side to side as I close my eyes, my cheeks bunching from happiness painting my lips. Yeah, it’s about time for a lot of things right about now. “Alrigh’, lemme look what part yer at fer real now.”

I nod, trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Pitching my head back, I feel it bump into his arm. Nevermind my fucked neck, I return my eyes to the screen to try and forget that his arm is around me. But they immediately refuse and slowly trail to Harry, his face mere inches away from mine.

Okay, no, stop thinking about his lips and what they could do, I tell the demon inside of my head.

Becky, you could. You so know you could do it.

Shut up! He’s just helping me with my homework, that’s all this is.

Oh yeah? And when are you going to let yourself think about the real reason he’s here, huh?

I can’t do that right now.

Yes, you can! Maybe if you think about it, you’ll realize how good of an idea it would be to let yourself kiss him. I’m sure he’s thinking about it too.

Just stop!

His thumb and forefinger knead his bottom lip. It bunches together in little waves as his eyes flit across the screen. Whiskers the shade of his curls are scattered across his face. They’re dense atop his upper lip and around his chin. And God, I can’t stop thinking about them. Wanting to touch them. Feel them on my face- okay stop it, Becky.

“Well yer mostly at tha end, so wha’ doesn’t make sense t’ ya?” Harry finally says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me.

“I know, but I feel like I don’t know what I just read. And the verdict is contradicting to me,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Well maybe it’d make more sense t’ ya if ya weren’t lookin’ at it at almos’ midnigh’, love.”

“Yeah, well it’s kind of the only time I have lately with everything. I’m afraid to email my prof again saying I need an extension when it’s due tomorrow. I’ve needed a lot of them lately. I just wanna get it done,” I respond quietly, looking to the telly awkwardly. It’s always hard when the truth comes out, and the emotions that hang on to it.

A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my left eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“Kids used to make fun of it when I was little. They’d call it a worm under my eye, because of its shape. It used to be more pronounced and bigger when I was little, but it’s still pretty noticeable,” I answer, adding in an eye roll that he laughs at.

“Aww, poor Becks. But if it counts, I don’ think it looks like a worm. ‘s cute on you,” he adds seriously, pinching my cheek. That makes me look over at him, and I already know that I’m blushing.

A small ‘thanks’ leaves my lips before my eyes dip to my laptop. Close to a minute of silence grows between us before he breaks it. “‘Kay, so Haughton vs. Smith found that ya can’t commit tha crime o’ handlin’ stolen goods, if tha goods they’re talkin’ ‘bout weren’t actually stolen. ‘s an important case t’ know, cuz it was ‘ventually ovaturned by tha Criminal Attempts Act o’ ‘81. Ya’ll neva be able t’ forget tha connection between tha two, issa given. Ya don’ need t’ worry ‘bout that law now tho’, they basically mean tha same thing.”

“Thanks for explaining it, I hope it’s enough to help me pass the test on it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly.

“Open tha test, an’ ‘ll help ya with it.”

The second my eyes land on Joey’s body covered in sand on the telly, they whip back to Harry. “Really, you’d help me?”

“‘Course I would. Tha’s what ‘m here fer. An’ it wouldn’t hurt t’ see if I still got it.”

“You’ve been a lawyer for years, and this is pre-law, so of course you do. And not to mention, ranked as one of the best in London,” I reply smiling, clicking open a new tab. I suspect how my words will make him feel, because they fill me with the same emotions. Pride. Happiness. Astonishment. And more pride.

“Well, I do me best,” Harry titters proudly. A cocky hum leaves his lips as he brushes off his chest. A laugh sputters from my lips that I can’t contain. “Heeeey, don’ be laughin’ at me.”

“Sorry, I just can’t control myself when you start dropping dad jokes,” I respond nonchalantly, clicking on the tab labeled ‘Assessments.’

“Just pull tha bloody test up an’ le’s get it ova with,” he huffs, amusement still lacing through his words.

“Awww, is it past your bedtime already?” I pout, turning my eyes to him. His lips smush together and I hear the smallest of squeaks get past them. “You know you like my grandpa jokes, don’t lie.”

“Shuddup, li’l one, an’ open tha goddamn test already,” he huffs. If anybody else heard him, they’d think he was mad at me. But even as my eyes cast over the column of tests from this course, I know different. I can hear it in his voice - the joking, the molasses, the affectionate teasing, and the friendship.

Wow, nice choice of words there, Ms. Denial.

Shut up, devil.

“I am not little!” I retort in a high voice, making my two tabs appear as two windows on my screen. Side by side. Cheating time!

“Becks, yer like 5’5, if that.”

“No, I’m not! I’m 5’6, you liar!”

“Ya, cuz that one lousy inch really does a whole lot, doesn’t it?” Harry counters, his voice melting into a goofy one. I respond to it with a hearty laugh that is soon accompanied by his. “Yer still a li’l one t’ me, love.”

“Fine, Grandpa Harry.”

The annoying sound of a laugh track pricks at my ears. Blinking hard, the room around me is blurry. But after a groggy minute of blinking, it begins to sharpen. I don’t remember the lights getting turned off, but the telly screen burns my eyes. Rubbing them, I moan from tiredness. Dropping my arm, I feel it hit something. Looking down, I’m confused. When I lift my head from whatever it was resting on, I find what I was laying on. And well, what was also laying on me. Still is. Her face scrunches adorably before relaxing, nuzzling her head against my shoulder once more.

Becks.

After combing my hair off of my forehead, the lock screen of my phone wakes me up a little more. Especially when I see that it reads 1:18 am. Fuck, I need to get to my hotel and go to bed. I have my case tomorrow. But when I hear a noise and find the culprit, all of those thoughts wash away. An incoherent sound runs off of her lips, ones that are so close to me. Fuck, again. But when my eyes scan the rest of my body, I realize that she’s all over me. Well, almost. Her right hand rests on my chest as she leans against the back of the sofa. But her pretty little head of dark hair is laying on my shoulder. My arm is around her, holding her close to me. I can feel her other arm tickling my side.

Memories float to the surface, and suddenly I’m back at the hospital in London. In December. A phone call woke me from my slumber beside her on the sofa. The both of us curled up on opposite sides. Sleep clinging to my eyes and begging to me to return to it. Her shoulders rising with every soft snore, but it was the most daintiest one I’d ever heard. It felt like my heart was being squeezed tighter with every move I made to leave her. When I draped the second blanket over her. And how much it hurt to move the hair off of her face. To press a kiss to her unknowing head. But nothing compared to the anguish I felt grow with every step I put between us.

Blinking hard, the dark room materializes around me again. Her precious snores welcome my return to the moment. A smile brings my lips upwards as I watch a crease grow between her eyebrows. She’s too goddamn adorable. And that’s why I came, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist her. I can’t say no to Becky. When she called me crying and a mess worrying about her dad, I didn’t know what I was doing until I was putting the town of Madley into my GPS. I guess The Beatles were right with that one song, and plenty of others. She’s really got a hold on me. And before I could begin to stop myself, her skin is like velvet under my thumb. I rub the crease away with the pad of it, and suddenly my head dips. My lips barely brush her hair when she groans below me.

“Harry?” she murmurs, lifting her head from my shoulder.

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

She yawns, moving away to look around sleepily. But soon she returns back to my arms, cozying up to me once more. And I couldn’t be more thankful, or conflicted. The latter word drills into my mind as I rub a hand down her back, sleep trying to coax me back in, too.

“We fell asleep,” she mumbles, her honey voice coated in that very word. Fuck, does it make me feel things. Things that I’d much rather not.

“Yeah, ‘s one in tha mornin’.”

“Shitttt,” she sighs, sitting up fast. Her growing locks pour over her shoulders covered by a crewneck jumper. Faded pictures of balls from different sports are scattered across the heather gray fabric. Like something my dad wore when I was a tot. “You have your case tomorrow.”

“‘m fine, I already dropped me stuff off at tha hotel an’ got me key,” I tell her, missing the warmth of her against me. And I miss the fact in those words alone of what I’m missing. Her in my arms. “But ya should prolly get sum sleep, too. Seems like ya’ve been missin’ it lately.”

“I’m okay, just lots of homework,” Becky says, running her long fingers through her wavy hair.

“‘d offa me hotel room, but ‘s half an hour ‘way in Wolverhampton. An’ there’s only tha one bed,” I tell her, unsure of why. I blame it on the sleepy brain.

“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch in his room. It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” she assures me. Her arms crack as she stretches them toward the ceiling. I can’t help myself when the baggy jumper rides up, exposing the slightest of her milky white tummy. Fuck. But just like that, it’s gone in a flash. If only my feelings worked that way.

It’s like she has some sixth sense that I’m thinking about her, because her eyes cast over to me. It’s hard to make out their ocean blue in this dark, but I know they’re there. I can picture them if I need to, because I do it all the time - trying to make myself remember what they look like. The exact shade. The speckles of darker blue amongst the color.

“Yer welcome,” I return. The tired smile I get in return melts my insides like butter. But that’s how I feel when I’m around her, and that’s how much of a hold she’s got on me.

Shocks of electricity dance across the back of my hand. I don’t need to look down to know her hand is on top of mine. And how it’s making me go crazy. She’s only a few inches away. I could do it. Before I stop myself, I begin to lean in, and she watches me do it. But with only a few seconds left, we jump apart at the sound of a ringtone.

Embarrassment covers me like a dark cloud, among other nasty emotions. My head falls, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Pulling out my phone to distract myself, it doesn’t do that great of a job as I hear her talk to somebody on the phone. Dammit, I was so close. With a hand in my hair, I scroll through emails. Deleting some and saving others.

“Sorry, that was Robbie. Just checking in, since I forgot to update him, I guess,” Becky tells me, lifting my head with her voice.

My head only goes up and down, avoiding eye contact. Because I can’t muster it after what just happened, or what didn’t.

“‘s late, ya should get sum rest,” I announce, getting to my feet. Picking up my coat, I slip it on before I dare to look at her.

She smiles shyly at me, sleep hanging around her eyes. Even rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her jumper is precious. And her legs jittering in her faded blue jeans. Vans the shade of her favorite color donning her feet.

“Yeah, you too,” is all she has to say.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. For a mere second, I entertain the thought of trying again. But fuck it, she’s so far away right now, figuratively and literally. I can catch a hint of her scent sticking to me, and it makes me sad to realize.

“Go get sum sleep, ‘kay?” Are the only words I can think of as I walk up to her and pat her arm.

“Yeah, you too, Harry. Careful driving.”

“Thanks, Becks, I will. Sweet dreams, love,” I mutter, looking at her over my shoulder.

And I keep walking, and leave her behind. Regrets coursing through my ears, and emotions tugging at my seams. The tiredness coating my every thought and action, only make it all the worse. I’m not sure if I want to wake up more for the car drive to the hotel, because then it will all feel even more real. And discouraging.

“Harry?” stopping in my tracks, I hear her call my name. Spinning around, I feel her before I see her. Her arms surround around my waist and her head comes to lay against my chest. All within seconds. “Thank you . . . for coming.”

A pain sounds in my chest when I hear the emotion in her voice. And it takes all of me to not echo it, because I know I could. And that I would. Instead I say, “Yer welcome, Becks,” and I do at least one thing I wanted to do tonight. Dipping my head, I smooth down her hair and press my lips to her hair for more than a few seconds.

The sweet smell of orange blossom greets me, and my smile is havoced by pain. Her warm breaths tickle the skin at my neck as my hands lace together at the small of her back. Her arms squeeze me around the middle before releasing, and she lets go of me. I think about trying again, but the thought is fleeting when she begins to walk away from me.

And I let her do it. Once again.

The burbling of the running water fills my ears. Well, besides the sound of the football match. Surprise, surprise. And the next sound. His cheering. It makes me smile as I wipe my hands with a paper towel.

“What’s the score now?” I ask, walking back into the room. His eyes don’t go to me at the question, instead they remain on the screen.

“Six-two. It doesn’t look too good for ‘em,” my dad replies snarkily, a devilish glint in his eyes. But it’s there, and that’s all that matters. It’s what makes the smile stick to my face.

“Don’t let your food get cold,” I say, bending over to dig into my backpack.

“I’m done eating. You can have the rest, Ree,” he replies just as I feel the smooth handle I’m searching for.

“I’m okay, thanks. I was probably going to check out the special in the cafe.”

“Oh so only I have to eat the hospital food?” my dad whines, pouting at me when I look at him.

With a laugh, I remark, “I’m eating their food in the cafe too, you dork.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, chemo brain,” he replies, tapping a finger against his head. A striped green hat keeping it warm. His arm returns to the white blanket pulled up to his waist. Light shines in his eyes and his arms lift into the air when they make yet another goal.

Whoops and hollers leave his chapped lips. But this morning, they’re pinker. And so is his skin. If only in the slightest, I notice them. Running the brush through my knotted hair, I yawn as I watch him. A patterned hospital gown covers his upper half, with the sleeves just coming to above the IVs in his left arm. Fluids and meds. The antibiotics. Yippee.

But the thoughts are mulled over when I look to his plate sitting on the moveable tray beside him. It was scrambled eggs, toast, applesauce, and milk this morning. And he ate nearly half of it, even if it took about half an hour. But I want to blame part of that on the football match his eyes are stuck to.

“I’m going to see if I can find your doctor. I had a question,” I tell him, dropping my hairbrush back into my backpack.

“Ree, don’t worry about it. He’ll come by later,” my dad insists, but I stand from my chair regardless of his answer.

“It’s fine. I need to stretch my legs anyways.”

He hums a reply I can’t decode, but I hear his teasing about blocking the telly when I walk by. Over my shoulder, he flashes me a small smile before returning to yelling lazily at the referees. Nurses and doctors pass me, going to and from rooms to the nearby nurse’s station. Tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, I search for the shock of white hair of my dad’s doctor.

But no such luck.

As I approach the nurse’s station, sounds of beeping, call lights, and murmuring voices fill the air. But another sound stands out from the rest. And I hear my name, or well my last name. It takes me a second to locate where it’s coming from, but when I do there’s a flutter in my chest. And I know I’m in trouble, or maybe that I’m just realizing it now after all of this time.

But I don’t save him right away, and instead I observe. Confusion sews his eyebrows together over those misty green eyes. One lone curl tickles his forehead, breaking free from his damp hair. His black peacoat is draped over his arm clad in a warm violet blazer. A dusty rose button down peeks out from its collar, and I smile. I don’t even know why. But as the seconds tick by watching him talk to the nurse, I think I know why.

“Looking for me, Styles?” I pipe up, stepping forward with my hands hidden away in my hoodie.

Harry’s eyes fall from the nurse and pan over to me. A lazy smile works its way onto his face quickly, only interrupted to thank the nurse.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, turning to walk towards me.

“What are you doing here? You have your case today, you said,” I respond, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie. The cracked decal of Robbie’s old band covers the front.

“Came t’ bring ya out t’ brekky. Me case doesn’t start ‘til tha aftanoon, bug,” he responds with half of a smile, pinching my arm affectionately. And there’s that nickname, again, I think as my insides turn to mush. “Well jus’ down t’ tha cafe if tha’s alright. I saw sumthin’ ‘bout biscuits ‘n gravy, an’ sumthin’ smelled mighty delicious when I came in.”

“That sounds great,” I say, a smile inching its way up my lips. The wet ends of my hair knock against each other, and my chin. “I’ll just let my dad know,” I tell him, turning around to walk away.

But after only a few steps, a sudden thought brings me to halt. It wills my feet to turn around and look at Harry. “Would you like to meet him?” I ask tentatively in a meek voice. “He’s doing a little better this morning, but I think that’s thanks to the Arsenal match on the telly.”

With what appears to be a shaky smile, he replies, “‘d love t’. Hope ‘s not me Manchester United boys playin’ ‘gainst ‘em.”

Waving a hand towards me, he closes the distance between us. His leather boots squeak from the last bits of melting April snow. It’s only a few moments before I peek my head into his room, and low and behold, he’s still transfixed by the match.

Rapping my knuckle against the door, I get his attention before saying, “Hey, can I steal you away from your precious game for a few? There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, adjusting his blankets before the telly’s volume falls. Over my shoulder, I shoot Harry an encouraging smile. He returns it, but I can see the nerves showing through.

Pushing open the door fully, I walk in and he follows from behind.

“Dad, this is Harry Styles. My uh, former boss I’ve told you about,” I fumble for words, giving a magician-like wave to him. Well, the right words. “He stopped by last night and brought me dinner. He has a case today in Wolverhampton, and we’re going to get breakfast downstairs before.”

A weary smile curls at the corners of my dad’s lips. Nodding, his dusty pink lips part, “Ah, so this is the fella you were with until all hours last night,” he jests, pulling nervous laughter into the air. “Yes, it’s about time we met. I’ve heard a lot about you, son. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Becky, and for your well wishes. It’s meant a whole damn lot to me, and I know for her too.”

Okay, dad, let’s not board the emotional bus yet. Or maybe, ever.

Happy laughs float around the room as Harry steps forward, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands. “‘s a pleasure t’ meet ya as well, sir,” he rasps, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand firmly.

“Call me Chuck, Harry. I’m not that old yet, although sometimes it feels that way,” my dad jokes, widening the smiles on all of our faces.

“Yes, ‘course, Chuck. I’ve also heard loads ‘bout ya, all good things, so no worries. Ya’ve been in me prayers an’ thoughts ova tha last 7 months. Sure raised a great daughter, ya should know.”

A permanent smile warms my cheeks as I shyly look over to Harry. He meets my eyes and smiles back at me. Winking, he shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thank you, son. That’s mighty good to hear, although I’m not too sure about that son of mine sometimes,” he laughs, soon getting a scoff from me.

“Oh I mean Robbie, too. I’ve only met tha bloke once or twice, but I was impressed. Certainly since I was surprised t’ find out Becky hadda twin,” Harry comments, his eyes burning a hole into my cheek.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that story. Their mother and I were pretty surprised to find there was two, also,” he chuckles. “But Ree likes to do that sometimes.”

Shaking my head, I look away and to the Spring sunshine. It seeps in through the cracks in between the window shades. Their soft laughs fill my ears before Harry’s voice does again.

“Yeah she’s a spitfire, alright,” he comments, and finally I meet his smirking eyes before they return to my dad. “But ‘m glad t’ hear yer doin’ a bit betta. Hopefully they can get a good handle on dis soon, an’ you lot can go home.”

“Thank you. We hope so too,” my dad nods, running his thumb along the buttons of the tv remote. “I truly appreciate you taking the time to be here with Becky . . I know it means more than words to her.”

Looking away to the floor, his words find the chink in my armor. I feel the lump rise in my throat along with memories of last night. Luckily, the tears stay away and I get away with it.

“‘Course, ‘m glad I was able t’ come an’ be with her. Dunno if she told ya, but she was there fer me when my grandad was in tha hospital befo’ he passed. An’ well, I know how much it means t’ ‘ave sumbody there,” Harry murmurs, almost giving a reason for the tears to make an appearance. But they don’t, and I’m repeating ‘thank yous’ inside of my head.

“I’m pretty proud of my little Rebecca Ann, and it only grows more every day,” my dad comments, flitting his eyes over to me. His words make my cheeks tingle with a new blush and because I know another pair are on me, too.

“Yeah, she makes it ratha easy,” Harry agrees softly, pulling my attention to him. The gentlest smile sits atop his lips, and a sad sweetness twinkles in his eyes.

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your match. We’re going to grab breakfast before everybody else gets the same idea,” I pipe in, unsure of when and how to sever the moment. But the look in Harry’s eyes does something to me, and I don’t know what to do with it.

We exchange short goodbyes before I’m following Harry out of the room. The rising volume of the football announcers voices send us on our way.

“Rebecca Ann, huh?” Harry smiles beside me, the nurse’s station in our rearview mirrors.

“Go ahead and make jokes about it. It doesn’t even sound like my name, I don’t know. I’ve only ever went by that for forms, when I got in trouble, or like on the first day of school and graduation. And the Ann is just my middle name, I don’t have a two parter,” I explain hurriedly, surprising myself when I don’t hear one of his delightful giggles. Tearing my eyes away from the poster at the end of the hallway, I look to him. And he isn’t laughing, which confuses me.

“There’s no jokes t’ be had. I think ‘s pretty, yer name. Figured ya were a Rebecca, but wasn’t sure. Nor did I know yer middle was Ann. Tha’s my mum’s name, ‘ve always loved it,” he tells me, coming to a stop in front of the gunmetal colored doors of the lift. The sickeningly sweet look on his face sends the butterflies in my tummy to flight. Again.

“Oh thanks,” I almost blurt, pressing the button to go down. But then as we step into the welcoming lift, more come to me. “It was my grandmother’s name. It always made me feel closer to her, like I always had a piece of her with me.”

“Tha’s nice. ‘ve always liked it when parents carry on family names like dat. It makes me think ‘d like t’ do tha same with me own kids one day,” Harry continues as I watch the doors shut, cutting us off from the rest of the world. If only for a few minutes. But still.

“Me too.”

“So nobody ever calls ya Becca?” Harry inquires, catching my attention.

“Eh, not really. Maybe Skye sometimes, and my grandma Ann did, but not much anymore.”

“Hmm maybe ‘ll hafta use it then,” he quips, but then he wears a confused smile he pulled out of thin air. “Eh I dunno, actually. Ya’ll always be me Becks,” he finishes, making my heart do a dance. And fueling the angel and demon having a party inside of my head.

“Yeah, I agree. Anything else would sound weird.”

“Ya look like ‘im, ya know. Tha eyes, tha hair, and tha shape o’ yer face - bloody spitting image ya are. ‘Specially Robbie,” Harry acknowledges.

“We get that a lot, but thanks, I like to hear it. Sometimes I can’t see it, though,” I recall. “Which parent do you look like?”

“Um, dunno. I get comments ‘bout lookin’ like both o’ me parents. I guess I mostly ‘ave people say I look like me dad with sum o’ my mum’s features. Which sounds wild.”

“Yeah, I can relate with people saying I look like my dad. It’s like, oh thanks for saying I look like a boy,” I laugh. Turning to look at him on my left, a small one sputters from his smiling cherry lips.

“I know, ‘s weird.”

“I can see it, though. How people think you look like him,” I tell him. When I watch his lips settle into a silent, straight line, I feel instant regret. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, ‘s okay. Jus’ hard hearin’ people say ya look like sumbody ya don’ like.”

A small ‘oh’ passes over my lips before I can stop it. My eyes leave him and go to the changing red number above my head. Words bubble up inside of me, and I tell them to stop. But then I can’t.

“I think I know how you feel,” I murmur, daring to look over at him, her face flashing in my mind. His far away eyes lift from the floor and pan over to me.

I try not to lose myself in their infinity of green, but it’s worthless. And soon I am, and thoughts of last night leak from my memories.

I know it’s at the back of his mind too. That almost kiss. The one he tried to initiate, and the one I want so bad. Five months ago, I don’t know if I would’ve. But now in this moment and in this elevator, all alone with him, I couldn’t want something more.

Or somebody.

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